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country to complete your education, you were placed in a very unfavourable situation for becoming a protestant.

I must close this long letter with wishing you and my dear niece every blessing, if God in his providence should unite you. My best wishes attend your valuable father, Signior Albino, Miss Neville, and Thomas Livingstone, and his wife.

Believe me to be, Dear Sir,

Your sincere friend,

MARY WORTHINGTON.

LETTER LVI.

From Mr. William Neville to Mrs. Worthington.

DEAR MADAM,

I RECEIVED your obliging letter, and rejoice to hear that God has delivered Mr. Charles Clifford out of the dreadful state which he described to you. We all feel ourselves exceedingly obliged to him for the concern he has shown for our dear Eusebia. I showed my father your letter, and he determined to wait upon him, that he might hear him relate where he had been to inquire after my sister, and that he might tell him how much we all considered ourselves obliged to him.

Yesterday morning I accompanied my father to Poplar Grange, where we found the elder Mr. Clifford, Mr. and Mrs. Barnwell, and Mr. Law the rector of Barnwell; but unhappily Mr. Charles Clifford was not at home. The old gentleman insisted upon our dining with him; and we the more readily complied, that we might hear what Mr. Barnwell would say about my dear Miranda. He was silent about her till Mrs. Barnwell said after dinner to my father, I suppose, Sir, Miss Barnwell intends to come home no more. She may think that we shall entreat her to return, but she is much mistaken: she is very unduti

ful, I assure you. As she was an only child, Mr. Barnwell has humoured her till he has spoiled her; and I tell him he must take his labour for his pains.

Truly, Sir, said Mr. Barnwell, I once thought her equal to any one, both in person and mind; but the girl is become a fool. I have been informed that she lodges at old Livingstone's the hedger, and I have since heard that she is sometimes at your house. My sister Worthington told me that she was about to be married; but I did not ask to whom, as I suppose it was to some beggar like herself.

Here Mr. Law took upon himself to help Mr. Barnwell oul, by saying that Mr. and Mrs. Barnwell were undoubt edly justly offended with her for keeping company with low people, the scum of the earth, and for not submitting to that authority which God and nature gave a parent over his children.

Had I given way to my feelings, I should have said something very severe to the rector. But, I thank God. that I maintained a proper government of my temper; for persons, when they are angry, seldom do or say any thing of which they have not afterward cause to repent.

My father said in reply to Mr. Law that he had been acquainted with Miss Barnwell from her infancy, and that except the common foibles of childhood and youth, he had not observed any thing in her conduct or manners which did not recommend her to his esteem. With regard to you, Mr. Barnwell, said he, I fear there is something blameable in your conduct to your daughter. This suspicion flows from your own confession; for I assure you Miss Barnwell has never mentioned you to me, but with the respect due to a parent. You have intimated pretty plainly that you have no concern for her welfare; or rather you have demonstrated it, by affirming that you have no desire to know any thing about the person who wishes to make her his wife. If he should be a person in low circumstances, you seem to suppose that she will have sunk into the depth of misery. But why should you think so? If her husband be an honest, industrious, and religious man, he may render her happy, and be a suitable husband for her, if you are determined to disown her as

you seem to be. Provided he be a man of that description, if you will do nothing for them, I will give them something to begin the world with.

Sir, you are very kind, replied Mr. Barnwell, and I know, mean the best. At the same time I cannot think it quite right that children should be encouraged to be diso bedient to their parents. She knew that she would be wel come to my house, if she came with a determination to be obedient. A child of mine shall not cast off my authority, while under my roof.

Pray, Sir, said my father, what is her specific crime? It is possible I may be a mediator between you. I have only heard in general terms from Mr. Law that she keeps company with the scum of the earth. If that be the case, undoubtedly, Sir, you have great reason to be dissatisfied; and I myself shall think her a very improper companion for my children, lest they should be corrupted by her evil example.

I am afraid, Sir, you misunderstand me, replied Mr. Law; by the scum of the earth. I did not mean wicked persons, but persons in mean circumstances.

ces.

According to this definition, Sir, said my father, the same opprobrious appellation might be given to Christ and his apostles; for they were persons in mean circumstanThe same also might be said of Socrates, of Epictetus, and of the wise and virtuous Cincinnatus, who was called from the plough to be a Roman Dictator. I am amazed, Sir, that you who are a minister of the meek and lowly Jesus, should call the virtuous poor the scum of the earth.

Mr. Law, Sir, answered Mr. Barnwell, only intended to show the impropriety of my daughter's keeping compawith persons so much below her.

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True, Sir, said Mr. Law; and I maintain that she not only acts imprudently in so doing, but that to imprudence she adds disobedience to her parent, who insisted upon her promising that she would not go among that kind of people any more.

Is going among poor people, Sir, replied my father, a crime of so black a dye? This surely you cannot mean to insinuate. The crime, if there be any, must lie in the oc VOL. II. F 2

casion of her going to see them. Was it to do them good or to injure them?

Sir, cried Mr. Clifford, I believe I must unravel this affair, since I perceive my friends cannot persuade themselves to tell you the plain truth. The case is this. Miss Barnwell was left at Islington with her aunt, who is a dissenter, while her father went to Jamaica, and she cannot be satisfied now unless she is permitted to go to the meeting. And ought we to wonder at it? I tell my friend Barnwell that he is certainly in the fault; for if it is a crime to go to a dissenting meeting-house, why did he leave her with a dissenter? For my part, however, I see no evil in it for though they are in general poor people. who attend the meeting in country villages, yet they are the sober and industrious poor. I do not mean to reflect upon Mr. Law: but if you examine the character of the poor people throughout the kingdom, and find a poacher, a hedge-breaker, a hen-roost robber, or one that goes to no place of worship above three or four times in a year, you may almost take it for granted that he is a churchman. I believe none of you will accuse me of being prejudiced in favour of any religious sect; yet I cannot help perceiving that the poor among the dissenters, in general, are persons of understanding, decent, industrious, civil, sober, and valuable members of society. If dissenting teachers, without the aid of government, have the art of civilizing a considerable part of the labouring poor, I think the whole nation is obliged to them.

I have no dislike to dissenters, said Mr. Barnwell. I would have every person go to that place to which he has been accustomed: but my pride will not suffer me to permit my daughter to associate with such low people.

It seems, Sir, replied my father, I have at last discovered your daughter's unpardonable fault. Being influenced by the just fear of him who made her, and knowing that she as well as you and I must soon stand before his judgment-seat, she wished to act agreeably to her conscience, and to spend her sabbaths where she at least thought she heard the gospel of Jesus Christ. Indeed, friend Barnwell, you have acted not merely improperly, but with great inhumanity. Your child asked for nothing but what

the laws of God, of reason, and of her country allowed, and you yourself also would have allowed, as you acknowledge, only on account of your pride. I have heard of the wicked, in his pride, persecuting the poor, and of people being deceived by the pride of their heart: but I never heard that pride made a person wise. In reality there is not a man upon earth whose folly is not equal to his pride. Discard, therefore, this troublesome inmate, and be persuaded to think that you will be wise and happy in proportion as you are humble.

Is there no such thing then, Sir, cried Mrs. Barnwell, as a virtuous pride?

I have heard of such a thing, replied my father, but I scarcely know what it is. Pray, Madam, how would you define it?

Why, Sir, replied she, hesitating, a virtuous pride is is a virtuous pride.

Mrs. Barnwell means, Sir, said Mr. Law, that there is a propriety to be observed in all our actions, and that every person ought to keep up his dignity by associating with none but those of his own rank. Miss Barnwell was not only born in one of the higher orders of the community, but has had a genteel education, and is a lady of good natural sense, and of considerable reading. It is truly as `tonishing that she could so far underrate her own judg ment, as to suppose she could learn any thing from a fellow, who, a few years past, was only a shoemaker. It is undoubtedly a species of insanity, that persons, at least of her rank and education, should leave their parish church, to hear an undigested harangue, delivered by a fellow, who, I should suppose, does not understand the common rules of grammar. Are not gentlemen of a liberal education, intended for the ministry, and regularly ordained, better qualified to teach Christianity than an ignorant mechanic?

With Mr. Neville's leave, said Mr. Clifford, I will answer this question. My father assenting, he thus began: If, Sir, I had a son whom I wanted to be taught the languages, mathematics, logic, metaphysics, &c. I certainly should send him to you rather than to the shoemaker: but if I sincerely wished him to be made a Christian, I

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