and the young ladies spend their time in closet devotions, till they go to bed. The sons, you know, madam, are grown up; and those young gentlemen are the very picture of their father,-sober, virtuous, religious, and modest; and yet are really gentlemen, and behave themselves as much like gentlemen, as any men do. Dear mother, when I came home, and heard my brother damn the coachman, and curse the maids; when I heard the noise, the clamour, the profane words that our servants have in their daily conversation, it amazed me. I thought at first all gentlemen had been like my brother; but I was soon convinced when I had been a while at my aunt's. Moth. All this, my dear, is the consequence of the difference of education, and signifies, my dear, that your aunt has done her duty, and I have not done mine; nothing else has made the difference, indeed, God's grace excepted. 2 Daugh. Dear mother, do not afflict yourself with what is past. Sure none of us will be such refractory creatures, as to resist your good design of reforming us now. Moth. O, it is too late to bring your brothers to any go vernment now. 2 Daugh. I hope not, madam; if they are grown up, and thereby may think themselves past government, yet sure they are not past persuasion; they may want judgment when little, and are then rather to be taught by compulsion and correction; but as they are now masters of more reason, they will the sooner submit to the affectionate persuasions of a tender father and mother, especially in a thing so apparently and convincingly for their own good, soul and body. Moth. I have a great deal of reason to fear the contrary, as well in your father as in your brothers. 2 Daugh. I think my sister is passionate, and very fond of pleasure and gaiety; but, madam, time and your autho rity, I hope, will prevail upon her to reflect upon her own interest, as well as duty. Moth. Go to her, my dear, and see if you can work any thing upon her. 2 Daugh. Alas, madam! I shall be a very simple instructor to her, who thinks herself so wise. She reckons me but a child, fitter to come to school to her. Moth. A less child than you, my dear, has been my instructor; why may not you be her's? 2 Daugh. I'll visit her, madam; but I question whether she will speak to me, for I know she is in a great pas sion. Moth. Well go, and bid her come down into the parlour. Here's your father a coming. Tell her, your father and I want to speak to her. 2 Daugh. Yes, madam. Notes on the Fifth Dialogue. This dialogue chiefly discovers the difference of two families: one religiously educated, faithfully instructed, and taught both by the care and example of the heads of the family; the other abandoned to the gust of their own inclinations, and let loose in the pursuit of their pleasures, without any regard to their present duty or future happi ness. The benefit the young lady received in the religious family of her aunt, and the effects of it, shows us, 1. How pleasant a religious life, when duly conformed to, and willingly complied with, appears to be; and, 2. what convincing force it has in it, even upon the minds of those whe have no part in it themselves. THE SIXTH DIALOGUE While the mother was thus managing her daughters, the father was much engaged with the two sons; and his hardships were every jot as great as the mother's, and his encouragements the same too. It is to be observed here, that the difficulty in this part of the education of children does not lie so much in the question what to teach them, and what principles of the Christian religion to go upon, as to bring them by reasoning and argument to be teachable; to persuade them that they have any occasion to learn, or that they are capable of teaching them, and to cause them to submit to instruction in general. The father called his second son up to him on a Sabbathday in the morning, before he came down stairs, and, taking him into his closet, began this dialogue with him. The son, you are to suppose, has been bred a gentleman and a scholar, was about seventeen years of age, and was newly come from the university. The father begins thus : Fath. Son, I suppose you know what day this is? Son. Yes, sir. Fath. But perhaps you do not know, that not you only, but all the family, myself not excepted, have never taken due notice of the Sabbath-day, or of the manner in which we ought to behave on that day. The duty appointed for the day has been too much neglected; above all, the great duty of setting it apart for the worship and service of God, and keeping the Sabbath-day holy. Son. I remember the fourth commandment, sir. Fath. Yes, we can ali repeat the commandments by rote, and do every day at church say them over and over; but the little regard we have shown to them in the week, is too plain a proof of our thinking but little of what we say: for God knows, in my house there has been little difference between a Sabbath-day and another day, unless it be, that the Sabbath-day has been spent the worst of the two; for excepting our just going to church, which also is made a mere diversion, and a kind of entertainment, all the rest is spent in mere revelling, feasting, visiting, and either riding abroad, or mirth and gaiety at home; and this is so notorious, more in my family than in any other, that I am sensible it is high time to put a stop to it, and I design to tell you all my mind this evening, that the reformation may be effectual. I hope none of my children will oppose their own good. Son. I hope not, sir. Fath. Nay, if they oppose me never so much, I-am resolved in this, if they will be foolish and wicked, they shall be foolish and wicked for themselves, not for me, or for any body else. For my part, when I look back upon my family, and consider how we have lived hitherto, I wonder that the judgments of God have not distinguished my family, and made us as public, and as much the amazement of the world for our punishment, as we have been notorious for our sin and, therefore, if it were only for the fear of the hand o heaven, though I hope I act from another principle too, I think it concerns me to set about a family reformation, with all possible diligence and application. Son. Indeed I never considered it, sir, till of late; but for some time past I have begun to see we have not been right. It is true, we do not live as other families do; and I have often thought so, but perhaps not with so much concern as I should have done. Fath. Well, child, my design of altering it will be so much the more agreeable to you then, when you come to practise it. Son. If it were not, sir, it shall be the more agreeable to me, if it be your command. Fath. I would not command any thing that should not be agreeable, if it were not absolutely necessary. But in things indispensably our duty, the humours of any side are of no weight at all. The duty must be considered, rather than the inclination of those who are to perform it. Son. I am not only willing to obey it, for its being your command, sir; but my own inclination concerns to set about any thing that will rectify my life, and teach me to govern myself according to my duty. Fath. What you say, child, is very obliging, as it relates to me; and as I have always showed you, by my own conduct in your education, that I have entertained a particular affection for you more than for the rest of your brothers and sisters; so this return is so very pleasing to me, that I cannot but tell you I will not forget to show it you; and that I think myself very highly engaged by it to distinguish you in my affection, and in concern for you, as you have distinguished yourself in your duty and regard to me on this occasion: but the readiness you show to this work of reformation, from an inclination to the thing itself, is a particular which I rejoice in, and love you for, with an affection which I was not master of before. But tell me, child, whence came this inclination? how first came any thoughts into your mind about it? I am sure I have never before spoken a word about religion to you in my life. Son. I won't say so, sir. Fath. Aye, but I have too much cause to say so; and I am convinced I have not only failed of my duty, for which I heartily beg pardon of Almighty God, but have been injurious to you, child, and to all my children, in not furnish ing you with the knowledge of your duty when you were young, and giving you early instruction; by which much of the follies of your lives might have been prevented, all the time you have now mis-spent had been saved, and you had all been long ago what now I doubt you will not obtain without great difficulty to me and yourselves. Son. I am sorry to see you afflict yourself, sir, about that, I hope it shall not be too late still, |