ophilus (for that is the title under which I shall conceal the name of my friend) began at the university, which we entered and quitted nearly at the same time; and it was improved into an intimacy by an occasional intercourse of several years. He was sensible, lively, affable, generous, and humane; but with these qualities he had one fault, which often made me tremble for its consequences, an impetuosity of temper, which ill brooked opposition or restraint. In 1785 I left England, under a promise of writing to Theophilus, which I never performed, although I always retained a sincere regard for him. I returned to my native country at the close of the last century, and inquiring after the companion of my youth, I learnt that, in 1787, he had succeeded to a large estate in -shire, and had ever since lived in the country, visiting the metropolis only when called to it by business of importance.

Intending to surprise him by an early visit, I forbore writing to him, but from circumstances which it is unnecessary to particularize, I had no opportunity of executing my intention before the beginning of last September, when, without any previous notice, I repaired to his house. At the distance of three quarters of a mile from it, I passed through a village, which I was informed had been established by Theophilus; the neatness of the cottages, and the appearance of their inhabitants bespoke industry, order, economy, and comfort. My name, as that of a perfect stranger, was announced to him by a servant. I heard it repeated with a vivacity which

convinced me that I was not forgotten, and that I should be a welcome visitor in a moment afterwards my friend took me by the hand, and his voice confirmed what his countenance expressed, that he was really glad to see me.

We had chatted more than an hour, with all the hilarity and interest which a renewed friendship, after long separation, inspires, when we were most disagreeably interrupted by rude noises at the gate a servant en, tering announced the arrival of some clamorous complainants, who required the interposition of my friend as a magistrate. He immediately arose, apologised for the necessity of attending his duty, and was preparing to leave the room, when I requested to accompany him. The parties stated their complaints, which had arisen out of a drunken brawl, with the greatest vehe mence, although they were sa trifling and ridiculous, that I could not suppress my vexation at the ill-timed intrusion. My friend, however, heard them, not mere. ly with patience, but with complacency, and I admired the dexterity with which he soothed and composed the enraged oppo nents, and the well-adapted impressive admonition with which he discharged, after having rec onciled, them. All this was done without any emotion, and with so much good humour, that I could not conceal my surprise. Theophilus, smiling, replied, "You knew me at a time when I should not have borne such a scene with so much composure; but since our separation I have been studying morals and manners in that book, (pointing to one which I

saw was a Bible): in that," continuing his discourse with a rising animation in his voice and eyes, "there is a character de scribed, which no mortal can ever hope to equal, but which I daily study, as a model of unattainable though imitable perfection; a character which combines such dignity and condescension, such sublimity and humility, so much forbearance under affront, such patience under ill usage, such love to God, and such good will to man, evinced by habitual piety and philanthropy, that even men of the world are compelled to admire it, whilst those to whom it is given to understand it love and adore it. Imagination never conceived a character so amiable, so elevated." From this and some other expressions I suspected that Theophilus had become a Methodist; and the morning and evening use of family prayer, with the general tenour of his conversation, so different from what it used to be, tended strongly to confirm the suspicion, although I saw nothing in his behaviour, or in that of his family, of the cant, precision, and formality attributed to people of that denomination. The suspicion, however, (I now confess it with shame,) abated somewhat of that cordiality which I felt on the first renewal of our intimacy; but an intercourse of a few days completely annihilated it, and my admiration of his character and love of his person hourly increased. His deportment was so invariably courteous and kind, his conversation, though serious, was so free from gloom, so affable and cheerful, his whole demeanour was so graceful and engaging, that I never saw the

character of a fine gentleman more strikingly displayed than by him. Decorum, civility, and politeness, we expect, and usually find, in persons of a certain rank in life; but in him they ap peared the expressions of innate benevolence. His complacency was without effort, the result of principle, the indication of a mind disciplined and composed; and although I knew that his thoughts were frequently occupied by bu siness of urgent importance, which required intense consider. ation, I never saw him absent or embarrassed in society, or inat tentive to conversation, to which, without any appearance of dictating, he often gave an improv, ing and entertaining tone. But nothing struck me more forcibly than his behaviour to young peo ple; he seemed to feel that to be extensively useful to them he must possess their esteem and confidence, and as this was an object which he had constantly in view, he conciliated their at tachment by a' familiarity which never lessened their respect for him; he would join them in the hours of recreation, participate their gaiety, and promote their innocent amusements; and without the repulsive formality of instruction contrived, even at those times, to impress upon their minds useful knowledge and important truths; and when he assembled them, as he often did, for the express purpose of instruction, it was conveyed in such a mode that they seemed as anxious to receive it as he was willing to impart it. Nor was the society of Theophilus less agreeable to the aged; the same behaviour endeared him to them which conciliated the young in

short, as a master, a landlord, or a member of society, he was equally respected and esteemed by his family, his tenants, and his neighbours, and the influence of his opinions and conduct was beneficially felt wherever they were known. The embarrassed applied to him for advice, the distressed for assistance, and the unhappy for consolation, and the sympathy which he felt and exhibited on such occasions gave a grace to his generosity, and a softness to his admonition, which gained the affections, as well as the gratitude, of those whom he relieved. I regretted that I could not see him in the character of a husband and father, but he had lost his wife three years before my visit to him, and the death of his only child had preceded that of its mother.

When I visited Theophilus it was my intention to pass a few days only with him, but I was attracted by the irresistible fascination of his society to prolong my stay. I joined in all the daily devotions of the family at first, rather (I will not disguise the truth) from a motive of conformity than from a sense of religion. But it was impossible to be long in the company of Theophilus without feeling the influence of his character. The union of piety and external elegance is irresistible; in him they were united, beyond what I ever saw in any man, and it was evident that he had not learned politeness from the fashionable world only, but that it was the expression of principle and feeling combined. The prayers which he used in the family were either those of our church, or compila

tions from the different services of it, or compositions of our best divines; and they were uttered by him with so much unfeigned devotion, that it was impossible to hear them often without being affected by them. I had, in fact, become in love with religion before I knew what it was, for although my mind had not been indurated by the maxims of infidel philosophy, I had never seriously considered the subject of revelation.

Theophilus remarked

with

pleasure the traces of this alteration, he improved the opportunity afforded him by it, of introducing moral and religious topics of conversation, to which, in the first days of our renewed acquaintance, I should have paid little attention; and he led me insensibly to the perusal of books calculated to enlighten my understanding, and awaken and alarm my apprehensions. Sometimes he would descant on the frivolous or vicious pursuits of the times, expatiate on the misery occasioned by them to individuals, families, and the nation; or contrast the turbulence and anxiety of a life of dissipation with the solid composure of a religious mind, and the dying despair or insensibility of the impenitent sinner, with the serene confidence of the true believer. All this was done with so much judgment, that I felt its effect without perceiving the object of it. To shorten the narrative, I had passed a month with him, when one evening after he had read a discourse to his family, which furnished the subject of our subsequent conversation, he addressed me with an awful

affecting seriousness, and in terms which I shall never forget.

"I love you, Edward (said he) and I mean to give you a solid proof of my affection. Our friendship began in youth, and was founded on a similarity of dispositions, which led us to the same occupations and amusements. Let the friendship of our declining years be cemented by the rational desire of promoting the eternal welfare of each other. I now look back to the time when we passed our mornings and evenings together, in follies and pleasures, as a period of delirium; and whilst I tremble at the recollection of the dangers in which we were plunged by it, I adore with unspeakable gratitude the mercy which rescued me from it. To you I am bound to make this confession as an atonement for my criminality, in encouraging by my example and participation the thoughtless dissipation of your younger years. Ignorant of your situation abroad, and unapprised even whether you were living or dead, what pain have I not felt from the recollection of that period! and often have I raised my voice in prayer for you to the God of mercy, that he would look down upon you with compassion, and recal you from the dangerous courses in which you began the career of life. Most devoutly do I thank him, that he has afforded me an opportunity of telling you this myself; most devoutly do I implore him, that under his good providence I may be the means of rescuing my friend from the misery and destruction of sin. Eighteen years, the third part

of our lives, have elapsed in absence from each other; they have passed like a dream, and the remainder of our allotted existence, be it more or less, will soon vanish in the same manner, and the question, which we cannot evade, will then be asked, how we have passed our lives? Have we lived to the glory of God or to ourselves? What an alarming question to beings, who are created for an eternity of happiness or misery, deriving from nature a propensity to evil and aversion from good, with an incapacity in themselves to will or to do any thing pleasing to God. But the gracious Father of mankind has not placed his children in a state of remediless misery, he has not imposed obligations upon them which cannot be discharged; and though we cannot save ourselves, he has provided a salvation for us. Peruse the volume of eternal life, which has been given for our information; there the mystery of the redemption of man, which human imagination could never have conceived, is plainly revealed. Ruined by sin, man must have perished forever, if the Son of God had not descended from heaven and made atonement for the sins of the world. He has borne the burthen of our iniquities, and the gates of immortality are no longer barred against us. Through faith in him we have access to the mansions of heavenly bliss, for he is the way, and the truth, and the life. But we cannot enter them with the pollutions of carnal desires and appetites, with earthly passions and affections; our desires must first be spiritualized, our affections sanctified, our nature must