Fath. But, if not too late, the work is double, the task hard, the attempt almost desperate, and the success very doubtful.

Son. Dear sir, you shall have no difficulty with me. I am entirely resolved to be guided by your instructions, to follow your rules, obey your dictates, and submit wholly to your direction, let the difficulty be what it will to me; and, therefore, I only desire to know what the first steps are you would have me take.

Fath. The first steps, my dear, are the breaking off the ill practices of our family, and the regulating the house by rules of virtue, sobriety, and a Christian life,-things we have all been strangers to here.

Son. This, sir, is that which I told you before I had an inclination to formerly, and 'tis with a great deal of pleasure I shall close with all your schemes of that kind; because it is sometime ago since I have seen and observed, that, as I thought, we did not live like Christians, but rather like heathens, and that other families were quite another sort of people than we; and I could not but be in love with them, and weary of our's; for I cannot but think, that nature itself dictates to a man of sense, that a life of virtue and sobriety is more agreeable to us, as men, than a vicious, wicked, profligate course, which not only ruins the estate, the conscience, health, and the good name of the person, but even his reputation, as to the world also.

Fath. I was asking you before, what first raised these just reflections in you, my dear; for as I acknowledged then, I say again, I own thou art not beholden to me for them.

Son. The first hints I had of this kind, sir, were a great while ago, from some accidental conversation with Mr. our neighbour, when we were little children.

Fath. What, the old gentleman?

Son. No, the young; and afterwards with his mother, when, after our usual recreations, he carried me home to their house.

Fath. How was it, child? for I long to hear the story. If any good person has helped me to do my work, or done it for me, I shall be very thankful.

Son. No, sir, not so much of that; but when I first began to play with that young gentleman, some years ago, his mother heard me use some ugly words, such as I was but too much given to then, and sending her son away, the old lady took me into her parlour, and gave me sweetmeats, and asked me a great many questions.

Fath. What questions?

Son. She asked me, if ever I was taught to swear? I answered, no. She asked me, if my father would not chide me, if he heard me swear? I told her no. But I was sorry for it, sir; for I presently thought, that to say so, reflected upon my father, whether it was true or no; and that I ought to have said, yes, he did, though it was not true.

Fath. Dear child, the sin was mine, and the shame of its being true ought to be mine, and shall for ever be mine. I am glad thou didst not speak a false thing to her. What said she then?

Son. She did not say much to me the first time; but she only told me, it was a sad thing that a pretty boy, as she said I was, should be ruined; and I thought I saw her weep.

Fath. Did you see her again after that?

Son. Yes, sir, she got me in again the next day, and gave more sweetmeats, and asked me several questions about God and heaven; and I was sadly ashamed I could answer her to nothing at all,—for I knew nothing of it but what I had heard by chance, or learned by rote. She asked me if I was willing to know any thing for my own good in another world? and I told her yes, with all my heart. She told me, if I would come and visit her son every day, she would use me like her own child. But she desired me to promise one thing beforehand. I said I would promise any thing she pleased. Then she said, I must promise her not to swear, nor take God's name in vain. She

told me, that I was a gentleman, and my father and mother were persons of distinction;-that it was not only a sin against God, but below me as a gentleman, to swear, and use ill words;-that if I should swear when I grew to be a man, it would spoil all my education, and no sober man would keep me company;-that if I would not leave off swearing, and taking God's name in vain, she must not let her son play with me, for she should be afraid her son should learn such words too, and then he would be undone.

Fath. And did you promise her, my dear?

Son. Yes, sir, I promised her; but I could not forbear crying; and when I got away from her, I could not help crying a great while by myself.

Fath. What did you cry for, when you came away?

Son. I cried for shame, to think I should do any thing that need such a reproof, and that it should be counted scandalous or dangerous to any children to be permitted to play with me.

Fath. And did it not make you angry with the lady that had reproved you, and hate her?

Son. No, sir, it made me love her; and ever after that, to this day, I have several times gone to her, and made her long visits.

Fath. And does she continue to talk to you so, child, still?

Son. Yes, sir, to this hour, and calls me her son; and but that I would not dishonour my mother, I should call her mother too, for she has been better than a mother to me.

Fath. How did she go on with you?

Son. When she had gained my promise against swearing, she brought in all the wicked words I had learned among our servants, and made me promise to leave them all off; sometimes she would persuade me, other whiles give me money, and other good things. After that, she asked if I used to pray to God? I told her, I said my prayers. But, my dear, says she, do you know what prayer means? I told her yes; but gave her so weak an account

of it, that she told me very affectionately she would tell me what prayer was; and after having explained the meaning of it, she gave me a few short directions what I should say when I prayed: and then told me, I ought to pray to God every morning and evening, as the Jews offered up their morning and evening sacrifice, and that God expected such a worship; and after she had for two or three times talked so to me, she made me kneel down by her, and she stood up and prayed a short time over me.

Fath. This blessed woman! what does my family owe her! And what didst think of it, child?

Son. Truly it made my very heart turn within me, when I heard a stranger so earnest in her prayers to God for me, who did not belong to her; and some of her expressions cut me to the heart.

Fath. What were they, child?

Son. I fear they will trouble you, sir, if I mention them.

Fath. Well, let me hear them, however.

Son. She prayed that God would supply the want of instruction to that poor neglected child, and teach him by the powerful influence of his Spirit ;-that he would give the knowledge of himself to me, and reveal Christ in my heart, that, being taught of God, I might believe in him, and, believing, might have life through his name. She prayed that God would bless her endeavours to instruct me, though I were not committed to her charge, and that I might be convinced of sin, and then converted unto God, Fath. How canst thou remember all this?

Son. It is written so deep in my heart, dear father, I can never forget it while I live.

Fath. What effect had it upon you, child?

Son. Why, sir, the effect was of many kinds. First, I entirely left off all the ill words I had used, according to my promise, and I went about mighty pensive and sad for some time, musing and considering what my condition was -that I was prayed for as one neglected and abandoned;

and what she meant by the teaching of the Spirit, and what by the work of conviction, and conversion, and the like. Fath. And how were you informed?

Son. I was then as impatient to be with her every day, as she was to have me; and I continually harassed her with questions and importunities; and she opened and explained every thing to me in such a manner, that I soon became able to understand the most difficult points in religion.

Fath. And what effect had it upon thee, child? Didst thou not lose it all when thou camest home to thy father's wicked family?

Son. No, sir, not at all; I began from that time to read the scriptures, to pray by myself, and to consider to what purpose I was born, and what was to befal me in a future

state.

Fath. And how long did this last, child?

Son. I thank God it is not wrought out yet, sir.

Fath. And is it possible, my dear child? Has there been such a thing as a child of mine praying to God? Has there been a creature that has thought a word of heaven and his Maker, in my uninstructed, prayerless family?

Son. Little enough, sir.

Fath. And how comes it to pass neither thy brothers nor sisters never heard of it?

Son. I knew they would but laugh at me, and mock me, and think me a fool; and they have done so as it is, when I would not go with them to plays, and to their Sabbath-day rambles.

Fath. Why, my dear, was it you that refused to go? I always thought they slighted you, and did not care to take you with them, and have been angry with them for it.

Son. No, sir, they would always have had me with them; but I durst not go, I abhorred it.

Fath. How camest thou to be against it?

Son. My new mother always persuaded me against it; told me the many judgments of God that attended Sabbath