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that you are a rational creature, and that you are far ex alted, in the scale of being, above the elements and animals which surround you. You find yourself in possession of an ability to contemplate, measure, examine, and compare the natures and properties of almost every thing which you behold. Now it is evident, that all these excellent properties did not meet in one creature by chance, but that they flow from admirable wisdom, contrivance, and design; and it is equally evident, that He who conferred on one part of the creation these peculiar excellences, intended that some valuable purpose should be answered by them. We were not sent into the world merely to eat, to drink, and to sleep. He who has given us a power of regarding his works with pleasure, and his providential care with gratitude, has undoubtedly intended us to be his humble companions, when we shall have learned to think properly of him and of ourselves. In the present state, the human race resemble a magnificent structure in ruins. If we are wise, we are also foolish; if we are strong, we are also weak. But our moral imperfections are much greater than our natural. Selfishness is, by nature, the spring of all our actions. It does not merely show itself in pride, vanity, self-dependence, covetousness, envy, hatred, murder, and all those vices which are odious in the sight of men, but can also assume the appearance of humility, candour, self abasement, liberality, contentment, love, and universal beneficence.

“And pray, Sir, said I, what would the world be with. out these virtues?

"Without them, replied he, or without the appearance of them, it would resemble a desert filled with beasts of prey. From whatever motive actions flow which conduce to the happiness of mankind, they who perform them deserve the gratitude and esteem of society, But those whom the Parent of the universe honours with his friendship here, and will reward with endless felicity hereafter, are influ enced by a nobler motive than what I have mentioned. Not that I think it either possible or desirable to divest ourselves of self-love: it rather is to be wished, that that passion should be in subordination to a more exalted principle. This principle they only possess, who are so wist

as to make this book (taking up a bible) their bosom friend. It is with propriety called the word of God. Here he speaks to the children of men. Here the original and the present state of man are displayed, and the divine character is revealed. If, Sir, you know yourself, you must have acquired your knowledge from this book: nor is there any true knowledge of God but what is drawn from the same fountain. And unless you are by some means brought to think nearly in the same manner with the divine Being, you will never dwell in his presence.

"I was struck with the solemn manner in which he spoke these words, My dear Sir, exclaimed I, what would you advise me to do?

"Take this book, replied he. Esteem and keep it for my sake; but much more for your own; and most of all from a regard to him who has put such an invaluable treasure into the hands of his creatures. Read it, and meditate on it, every day of your life. It will afford you matter for prayer and praise in your closet. If you value it as you ought, it will make you thankful for your existence; it will make you a blessing to your family, and to the world; it will be an antidote against the fascinating smiles of prosperity, and the stings of adversity; it will give you true felicity, by causing you to love the Author of your being and it will make you consider death as your friend, by giving you a pleasing view beyond the grave.

"These things, and many others which this good man said, had a wonderful effect on my mind; and a sense of the love of God in the salvation of sinners by Jesus Christ, made an abiding impression on my heart.

"In a few days I departed with considerable regret. Having visited Boston, and many of the principal towns in Massachusetts, I returned. When Mr. Woodbridge was satisfied that his good instructions had not been without effect, he consented to present me with this lady, for which favour I had before solicited him in vain. When we had lived together happily about thirty years, my family who had heard me talk a great deal about France, became anx ious to see the place of my nativity; and, as almost every person has a desire to revisit the haunts of his childhood and youth, I did not oppose their inclination. We went by

the way of London to Dunkirk, and after seeing many parts of France, took up our residence at Cassel, where I was born, and where I had the happiness to meet with your brother. But the alarming state of public affairs made us anxious to return to this country. A worthy friend of mine, who lives about two miles distant, bought my estate when I went to France, and was so kind, when I returned, as to let me have it again for the price that he gave me for it." Thus ended Mr. Bethune's narrative which afforded us great pleasure.

I must now hasten to a close.I am continually thinking of my friends in England. I long to see my dear brother, and my highly valued friend Miss Barnwell. My dear Mrs. Worthington, too, dwells much on my mind, as well as Thomas and Mary Livingstone.

I am, with the greatest regard,

Dear Madam,

Yours most sincerely,

EUSEBIA NEVILLE.

P. S. If three months should elapse before I hear from England, I shall begin to be impatient.

LETTER LXXXIII.

From Mr. Bethune to Mr. William Neville

MY DEAR SON,

FOR what appellation can be more proper for a friend whom Mrs. Bethune and myself love with parental tenderness, and whom my children love as a brother? It afforded me equal pleasure and surprise to see your dear sister in America. She is now at my house, as you will learn by her letters to Mrs. Worthington. She is frequentlymuch concerned on your account: but when she reflects how wonderfully she has been delivered, she trusts that VOL. II. Q 2

God will also deliver you. She often wishes that you, and her friend Miss Barnwell, and the worthy Thomas Livingstone and his wife, were in this country.

When you were with us in France, I could perceive that you had a great inclination to accompany us. But I did not encourage it. I remembered that I was a parent: how then could I desire you to leave your family? I could not think of acting so unjust a part. If your parent shall have renounced you on account of your religion, in me and Mrs. Bethune you will find another father and mother, and in my children, brothers and sisters. I do not say that we will love you, but that we do love you, with a love which I trust will never end. In this world the love of the redeemed does but commence, and it meets with many stormy blasts to stop its growth: but on the other side of the everlasting hills an eternal spring abides, and the love of God and of each other will be ever growing, ever strengthening, ever improving.

You have repeatedly told me how excellent a parent, and how worthy a man your father is. His being your father gives him a claim to your love and obedience; and his being such a father entitles him to your most affectionate tove and obedience. If your leaving him would give him any pain, by no means do it. My invitation, which I need not assure you is most sincere, goes only on the supposition that, on account of your religious sentiments, your father may be able to part with you without regret. In that case come over to us, and bring Thomas Livingstone and his wife with you, if you can do so.

I can add no more, but that your mother, and brother, and sisters, are well. Francis has settled in Kentucky, about thirty miles below Louisville. I do not know what would give us greater pleasure than to hear that Mr. WilHam Neville had landed at New-York.

kam, my dear son,

Your affectionate father,

FRANCIS BETHUNE

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LETTER LXXXIV.

From Signior Albino to Mr. James Neville.

DEAR SIR,

AS you and your family were in London, and we had no one to conduct divine worship in your chapel, Thomas Livingstone and I went yesterday to Barnwell to hear Mr. Lowe. We had scarcely left Thornton, when Mr. Henry Clifford came to the Abbey to inquire when you were expected to return. Being informed whither we were gone, he followed and soon overtook us. Thomas seemed for the first time ashamed of his ass, and said, that if he had expected to have Mr. Clifford's company, he would have ridden upon one of his master's horses.-If you think, Thomas, replied Mr. Clifford, that I esteem your company a dishonour to me, on account of your riding on an ass, I assure you that you are mistaken. However, it seems a little out of character, if we consult the etiquette of the world, for Mr. Neville's major-domo to ride on so unfashionable an animal. I wish mankind would learn to despise those things only which are in their own nature disho nourable.

As we were passing by Mr. Barnwell's house, he and his lady stood at the gate of the court-yard.—Mr. Clifford, cried Mrs. Barnwell, is the age of chivalry returned? I see you have got your squire.

We are going, Madam, answered Mr. Clifford, to hear Mr. Lowe.

Astonishing! cried Mrs. Barnwell. He is an illiterate fellow; and when such commence preachers, they hold themselves up to contempt.

It is no new thing replied Mr. Clifford, for the servants of God to meet with contempt. The poor fishermen of Galilee held themselves up to contempt, and they were treated as you have treated your neighbour.

Come, come, friend Clifford, cried Mr. Barnwell, get off your horse and go to church: we shall have service in the afternoon. Of all the people in the world, I never

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