be. (Cries of "We only know your goodness and kindness.") Hear me without interruption, my friends. I have now an example to offer you, that you will think worthy of following. You loved my Father. (People "Ay, as our own souls.") Look at this Bible. Your master, when he came to die, felt that he needed from this to learn how. See, it is all marked with his own dying hand. (The people gather close to look, and exclaim mournfulty, "His own hand!") Yes, his own hand I shall read you some of the passages here is one. "There is none other name under heaven given among men whereby we must be saved, but the name of Jesus." I have told you that in this name is my only hope; but here is my father's own dying hand subscribing to the same single trust. You know the strict propriety of his life. If any man could have approached God in his own righteousness, he might. (People, "Ay, at an earthly bar, none could have laid a fault to his charge.") Yes, my friends, but when about to appear at an heavenly bar, even he found that he needed One to stand between him and the judgment he deserved there; and which of us then need hope? (People, "None, none.") Then I trust you will all flee for refuge to that Saviour to whom he trusted the salvation of his soul. I will read another marked passage from this Bible. "God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life." And this, "God sent not his Son into the world to condemn the world, but that the world through him might be saved." These are some of the passages of this word of life, on which my father rested his hopes for eternity. My friends, shall we not follow his steps? This is my own Decision, in the strength of God my Saviour. It is the Decision, in the same strength, of all my family. (The people are much mored.) Mr. Ross, you are our guide and teacher-you will, I am sure also, be our faithful reprover. Now, my dear Sir, before we separate, will you entreat God for us, that he may enable us to obey his most gracious command, to believe in his Son for the salvation of our souls; and to awaken all of us to the vast importance of that which Christ himself calls "the one thing needful." Pray, my dear Sir, that none of us may venture again "to give sleep to our eyes till we have found a place for the Lord in our hearts." (Mr. Ross and Edward, &c. take off their hals, while Mr. Ross prays.")pp. 103-106. The conclusion of the whole matter is, that "There can be no half-measures in religion. We are not religious-we know not what it is-we deceive ourselves if we suppose we do, unless it is the subject that occupies our most serious and most anxious thoughts; unless all other subjects seem trifles compared to it; unless we see that we would gain nothing if we gained the whole world, and lost our own souls. We do not love God, and have no authority from Scripture for supposing we do, unless He has a place in our souls and affections different from, and superior to, and altogether unlike the place any human being holds there. We do not know Christ, unless He has so manifested himself to our souls, as to make us feel that He is supreme in all that attracts the love and adoration of the heart and soul: "Whom," as the Apostle says, "having not seen, ye love; in whom, though now ye see him not, yet believing, ye rejoice, with joy unspeakable and full of glory." pp. 107, 103. "Profession is not Principle," the other work mentioned, is a more labored production of our author's pen. The writer has here underta ken to expose the unsoundness of the religion with which "the wise men of this world" content themselves, when they rest in a mere intellectual assent to the authority of Revelation. He has set himself to awaken the conscience of a philosophic moralist; to remove the objections against vital religion, which arise in the mind of such a person; to ferret out his errors, and trace them to their principles; and to detect the fallacies with which, as we must fear, many an acute mind has reasoned itself into practical scepticism and final ruin. The design is a worthy one, and we think our author has executed it with a good degree of suc ture of the obstacle which prevents a sinner from returning to obedience. There appears in him, and more in some other late writers on that side of the water, a strong tendency to represent it as a physical impossibility; as if man was not made with powers adequate to the exercise of holy affections. They They do not indeed design to exonerate the impenitent from blame; but they rather weaken the hold which the truth ought to have on his conscience. We have said thus much, because that when we commend a work, as we do this, we do not wish to make ourselves responsible for all that it contains. We are aware that it is no easy task to avoid both Scylla and Charybdis, in stating and applying the doctrines of grace. And the inherent difficulty is greatly increased, by the changing nature of the errors to be combatted, and the deceitful character of the heart which is to be wrought upon. We will not absolutely assert that it is possible to exhibit these truths in a manner sufficiently impressive and convincing, and yet to leave no room for perversion, on the one hand or the other. Yet we do feel that a more thorough investigation of the subject would help such a mind as our author's, to meet some difficulties better than he has done. ill health, and the loss of a beloved child, been led to feel the necessity, and to experience the comforts of real religion. His friend Conway, a sort of Christian deist, hears of the change, and visits him with anxious curiosity, for the purpose of learning its nature. The few incidents of the story are pretty naturally interwoven in the conversations which take place during this visit. The wife, and son, and daughter of Howard, are introduced into the dialogue, as dramatis persona, rather, it should seem, for the purpose of giving life to the picture, than as contributing essentially to the main design. The history of Arthur Howard, another son, now deceased, makes an interesting episode. The whole story is briefly this. Arthur, who was a cripple but possessed of a cultivated and acute mind, had been led to renounce a hollow-bearted profession of Christianity, and to embrace the truth in the love of it, through the persuasions of his young friend Travers. During Mr. Howard's sickness, before alluded to, his attention is turned to his soul, and he sees something how he stood related to a holy God. This awakens deep anxiety, and Arthur becomes his faArthur ther's spiritual monitor. finally communicates to his father a narrative of his own conversion, and of the patient and judicious course through which Travers had led him. The truth made a deep impression upon the mind of Mr. H. The pious and happy death of Arthur, which took place soon after, was the blessed means of deciding his resolution, in favor of religion. He then endeavours to promote the spiritnal interest of his other children. Charles, with tender feelings, but a proud heart, rejects the truth. Eliza receives it with meekness, and obeys it in the love of it. Travers becomes acquainted with her character, and offers her his hand, which is accepted. It is just at this time that the intercourse takes place be tween Howard and Conway, which 75 It will be easily apprehended, that the object in view obliged the writer to enter, in a measure, into some of the most difficult points of theology. There may therefore, be in this volume more passages, which a superficial reader will be likely to Yet he has continued to pass over. imitate scripture so well, in illustrating the practical bearing of divine truth, that we think no one, who has the least spark of the spirit of inquiry about him, will fail to derive entertainment and instruction from a careful perusal. The principal speaker is a gentle man of fortune and intelligence, by the name of Howard; who has, by VOLVI.-No. 11. makes up the body of the work. In answer to the inquiries of the latter, Howard enters into a minute account of what had passed in his own mind; and labors, with great candor and faithfulness, to justify his religion, in the view of his philosophical friend. And not only does he give a reason of his own hope, but he endeavours to do it in such a manner, as shall establish equal conviction, excite corresponding emotions, and secure similar resolutions for God, in his companion. They had been old and intimate friends, and their views had been the same respecting their relations to God. The following extract gives a view of what had been their religion; so different from the service which God requires, so opposite to the religion of sin ners. "How. Do not puzzle yourself, my dear Conway, to discover what it is about me that leads you to believe, you can scarcely tell why, that I am changed, that I am not exactly what I was when we last met. The truth is, Conway, that I am not. You shall know all respecting this change, that I myself know. It is not only in my opinions, it is infinitely more in my feelings; and in both, most particu larly so with regard to the Supreme Being, and the relation which man bears to him. How often have you and I, dear Conway, compared our opinions and feelings on those most important subjects. When we last met, we were nearly of the same mind regarding them. With what composure have we at times traced the character of the God of our conceptions, after having admired the wonderful order of his heavens, and the exalted sublimity, and touching beauty of the works of nature. Con. Yes, Howard; and why not with composure? Is not a calm and rational state of mind the most suitable, when attempting to conceive or to trace the character of the Supreme Being? How. Yes, Conway. Certainly we ought to trace the attributes of that Being from whom we received existence, and with whom we expect to pass eternity, with every power of our souls deeply and solemnly engaged, and as free as possiis from all distraction. But what I wished to recal to your remembrance, was the remark we so often made, in the days of our warmest emotions, Conway, that while nature was before us,-while we gazed on the mingled grandeur, and softness, and tenderness, of a glorious sunset, for instance, or autumn moon-light, we did not reason,-we loved, we adored. It was when the impression was past that we begin to reason. e considered the result of those reasonings very beneficial to us, and those moments of rapture which led to them as the purest and sweetest of our lives, and I doubt not they did tend to calm and elevate our minds. But, Conway, did we after all know God? or did we in truth ever worship him? Con. Did you not say this moment, Howard, that, on viewing the sublimity and beauty of God's creation, we loved, we adored? How. Yes, Conway; our hearts were filed to painfulness with feelings of love and adoration, but on what or whom did we bestow those full affections? We gazed on the loveliness of creation, till our hearts panted to find and love its Creator, but did we find him? We retired and tiful order of the heavens, and the profubecame calm; and recollecting the beausion of charm that was displayed through all nature, we saw dimly, that he who created and sustained the greatness, and minuteness, and loveliness, and order of the whole, must himself be inconceivably great, and inconceivably wise, and inconceivably lovely, and we felt that in our natures we were at an inconceivable distance from him; and he passed from our thoughts as altogether inconceivable, while we believed, that amidst the wonderful vastness of his providence, we, as a part, and in connexion with other intelligent parts of a great machinery, would be sustained in existence till we came to the moment when we must submit to the common fate, and pass through death-we hoped to immortality; but the nature of that immortality we guessed at too dimly, to rest our thoughts upon it,-at all events it would be happy to the virtuous. Con. Well, Howard, I know not that by reasoning we can approach any nearer to God. But, my friend, you speak as if we had actually denied the truth of Christianity; now, in a modified sense, neither of us ever rejected the Bible as the guide of our hopes, and its morality, at least that of the New Testament, though perhaps impracticable, we considered beautifully pure, and its Founder How. Do not proceed, Conway. Pardon me for interrupting you, but I know your opinions; they were mine, and it is in these opinions I am utterly changed. Those I formerly held, now appear to me tremendously guilty. You are offended, Conway; but I must speak to you, my friend, dear to me as my own soul, what now appears to me truth as clear as day. Conway, we have both erred, dreadfully erred. My letters to you have betrayed the change in my soul." Oh! if you knew how I have attempted to express my meaning in those letters so as not to shock you, or seem to you a madman!—and now I have almost convinced you that I am one." pp 9-12. The particular sin, which seems to have made the deepest impression upon Howard, is that of ingratitude. It would be as reasonable to find fault with others, for not having eyes like our own, as to decide against the reality of their conversion, because their views of guilt do not entirely correspond with our preconceived notions, or our religious experience. It is easy to conceive that there may be a great difference, as minds are so different. Thus a high minded man shall be chiefly affected with a view of what is base in his conduct, a man of scrupulous honesty, by what is dishonest, and the tender conscience with the guilt of violating God's holy Law. "By their fruits ye shall know them." And we know that fruits, the same in kind, have yet endless varieties, in appearance and flavour, according to the trees on which they grew. Howard proceeds to describe the process by which he was brought to feel that there was something in religion which he did not possess ; a peace, an intercourse with God, and a confidence in his fatherly care, which he had never yet enjoyed. "How. To me it appeared perfectly just reasoning to conclude, that I was in a very deep degree guilty of ingratitude to God. It appeared also clear to me, that I had acted like a fool in superciliously neglecting, as I had done, the only book in the world, whose pretensions to inspiration had borne the test of the strictest examinations of ages; and on which, those men whose characters I revered as the wisest and best the world ever saw, had rested their hopes of immortality. Nor did I myself know of one single instance where candid examination had ended in a different result. Con. My dear Howard, I cannot help doubting that last assertion. How. I only say, Conway, that I never knew of its ending differently. Amongst all those with whom I have conversed intimately on the subject of religion, I have never met with one who even pretended to know the Bible thoroughly, but those who are guided by it. On the contrary, Con. I cannot say that I am intimately acquainted with the Bible; yet I have read it through more than once, and often read portions of it on a Sunday,―besides, you know I frequently attend church with my family, where I have so often heard it read, that it seems quite familiar to me. 1 cannot, however, pretend to be master of its contents. How. I understand you, Conway, from my own experience. We hear detached portions of scripture in church, till we become intimate with its peculiar language, while we have scarcely admitted one of its precepts or doctrines into our minds. Con. Perhaps so, Howard but proceed. How. Well, my friend, you know me well enough to believe that I would no longer continue in this state of ignorance, at least of the Bible, which it was in my power to examine. As to my ingratitude, When I I prayed to God to forgive me. sought, however, for a plea to urge, that I might obtain forgiveness, I could find none. I said, 'Merciful God, forgive me, for hitherto I have not been aware of the guilt of this ingratitude;' but why have giver our speculations regarding God seemed to have as much resemblance to the truth, as the setting sun has to death,—the one is a beautiful image,-the other an awful reality. I felt as if I had brought myself near to God by my heartfelt attempts at thanksgiving; and the idea of his presence was awful to me beyond expression. I had always, I supposed, believed in the omnipresence of God. I now felt what really believing it was. I felt continually, as it were, surrounded, and wrapt in the presence of One, so pure in holiness, that I shrunk from my own character in comparison, as from what in His sight must be pollution,-One so incomprehensible in the wisdom and vastness of his ways, as to make me feel the utter, inex. pressible insignificance of every pursuit that did not lead to the knowledge of his character and will. I longed to read the Bible, for I felt that the little I knew of its language suited to my feelings, could alone express them,-such as these words of Job, 'I have heard of thee by the hearing of the ear, but now mine eye seeth thee, wherefore I abhor myself, and repent-' Con. What an expression, Howard! abhor yourself! Can you be serious? How. If you recollect the character of Job, Conway, you will allow that mine never could have borne a comparison with his; yet these were his feelings on receiving a clearer manifestation of the character of God, than he had enjoyed before his days of adversity. It is ignorance, and inexperience of the vividness, the at times appalling vividness, with which the Spirit of God manifests truth to the soul, that makes us regard such language as extravagant. You are silent, Conway, but you look dissatisfied. Do you now, (smiling,) think me mad? Con. My dear Howard, did you, at the time you experienced those vivid impressions you describe, imagine yourself under the influence of supernatural agency? How. No, my dear friend. Such an idea had never then entered my mind. I have since learned from Scripture, to ascribe to the Spirit of God all manifestation of religious truth to the soul. Con. Proceed then, my friend, 1 intreat you. How. Well, Conway, I wished to read the Bible. I was then, however, still unable to sit up above a very short time, and my poor Emilia continued to watch me with an anxiety which proved to me that she did not consider me out of danger. When I begged her to bring a Bible to me she became as pale as death. Only she and Arthur were in the room with me. He instantly started up, and clasping his hands together, rung for his servant, and hastened out of the room. You feel worse, Howard,' said Emilia, attempting to ap pear composed. I assured her I did not, but she would not believe me; so unusual is it for us who call ourselves Christians, to consult, when in health, the source of our pretended faith. Emilia gazed on me with looks of apprehension, as if the time of our separation must be near. I felt that I had not strength for the exertion that a real avowal of my feelings would have occasioned; so soothed, and rallied her, till at last she was persuaded to leave me alone with a Bible which Arthur had brought to me. On opening this Bible, I found written on a blank leaf at the beginning, 'Arthur Howard, my first read Bible, though styling myself a Christian, and in my twentieth year.' So my poor boy has also discovered his criminal ignorance, thought I. Or rather your criminal neglect, said my now vividly awakened conscience; for I had never se riously attempted to instruct, or lead him to inform himself on the subject of religion. Poor Arthur's reflection on himself spoke volumes to me. All my other children had been equally neglected. They had all, you know, Conway, been educated in the observance of the forms of religion; but further I had taken little charge on the subject, thinking it a part of their education in which their mother would succeed better than I. This unfortunate boy, who, by the carelessness of those to whom we had entrusted him, had been rendered an object of painful anxiety to his friends, and unable from his childhood to participate in any of the pleasures suited to his age; and who, from extreme sensibility, shunned society, in which, he said, every eye changed its expression when it turned to him, this dear boy, for any thing I had taught him, was as little fitted for another world as for this. While my heart condemned me, it was at the same time inexpressibly softened; and though I felt unworthy to raise my thoughts to God, still I adored his goodness in thus having been a father to my neglected boy. Arthur's Bible had many passages marked. Con. (Mored.) Poor fellow! I am glad it was so. How. Aye. Conway; but why so? Why is it, that when those we loved are gone to another state, we never think they were too religious, but feel the more secure of their being happy, the more certain we are of their having devoted themselves to God in this world? Con. It is so, Howard; but go on. How. I turned up several of those passages marked by Arthur. One arrested my attention. It was this, Acquaint thyself with God, and be at peace.' Now, Conway, what do you think is the meaning of that passage? Con. I think the meaning pretty plain, Howard. We have only to recollect the |