sunk under the load. I tell you, Sir, I am, I must I will be the friend of those who were friends to my dear child.

When Miss Barnwell was come, my father apologized for not sending for her yesterday. He told her, that his grief was then so intense that he had not power to think of any thing; but that the affection she had manifested for his Eusebia would for ever endear her to him.

Miss Barnwell thanked him, and said that the affection between his daughter and her had been reciprocal, and that they had only parted a short time to meet again for ever.

Oh, Miss Barnwell, said my father, if you and I and my dear child shall be so happy as to meet in the mansions of the blessed, we shall not engage in religious contention, which of all things I the most abhor. It is this which has influenced me to adhere to the good old way, in preference to novel opinions.

Pardon me, Sir, replied your niece, but I am confident neither you, nor Signior Albino, nor Miss Neville, knew any thing of Eusebia. She whom I had the honour to call my friend, was a humble follower of the Redeemer, so far as she understood his will; and I will venture to assert, that she held no novel opinion whatever.

Having said this, Miss Barnwell pulled out of her pocket the book which contained the correspondence between my sister and her friends, and gave it to my father. This, Sir, said she, belonged to your daughter; and it is the only thing that was saved from the wreck, except a small bundle, which is at Thomas Livingstone's. You may now con vince yourself that my invaluable friend, if she could not hold every sentiment you did, rejected them merely because they were new-fangled opinions, and confined her self to a few self-evident truths, none of which are less ancient than the time of the apostles. My father took the book very graciously, opened it, and seeing it was her hand-writing, put it in his bosom, the tears trickling down his cheeks.

The colour rose in father Albino's face. Sir, said he with an imperious tone, the friendship I owe to you and your family obliges me to protest against your having any thing to do with heretical books. The fire is the place for those accursed writings, as well as for their authors. While I

have a being I will not be awed into silence, where the cause of God, of his saints, and of his church, is concerned. I tell you, Sir, you show a weakness unworthy of a wise man, and much more so of a religious man, in the fondness which you manifest for one of God's most impla cable enemies. If I thought that I had a drop of heretical blood in me, though it were in my heart, I would let it

out.

My father is not given to wrath, except upon strong provocation. He looked sternly at the priest. Thou unfeel ing monster, said he, henceforth I desire thee to herd among thy fellow savages, that delight in murder and blood. Wretch that thou art! Thou hast robbed me of my peace for ever. O that I should hearken to thy inhuman counsels! Thou hast been the murderer of my child. It has been entirely owing to such blood-thirsty creatures, that catholics have stunk in the nostrils of protestants. My dear child's reading concerning their cruelties was the reason, and the only reason, of her forsaking the religion of her ancestors.

I could not help pitying the poor priest, who wept like a child; and we all besought my father to moderate his resentment. No one felt more for him than Miss Barnwell. The dear girl wept when she saw his distress. I earnestly beg, Mr. Neville, said she, that there may be no misunderstanding between you and father Albino. I am certain that he means well, and that he thinks the honour of God is injured by the tenderness which you express for my friend. In a word, Miss Barnwell laboured so effectually to reconcile these two friends, that they shook hands, and it was promised on both sides that all which had passed should be buried in oblivion. Thus things rest at present. I have no doubt, Madam, but you will draw a favourable conclusion from what has passed, that our parent will not be inexorable when he knows that we are protestants. I daily pray that this may be the case, and that he himself may not only become a protestant, but also a true servant of Jesus Christ.

My sister and Miss Barnwell desired me to give you a detail of what had passed since yesterday morning, when we received the afflictive news; to which I consented, as I

shall esteem it no small happiness to be admitted into the number of your correspondents. My father, after reading the postscript of your letter, said he took it very kindly that Mrs. Worthington interested herself in his happiness; but above all, that you and every one were dear to him who esteemed his dear child; and that he would repay the expense you had been at in purchasing the bundle saved from the wreck, and ever gratefully remember the favour. Your niece and my sister unite with me in the best wishes for your happiness.

Dear Madam, I am very respectfully,

Your obedient servant,

WILLIAM NEVILLE.

LETTER XLVI.

From Miss Barnwell to Mrs. Worthington]

DEAR MADAM,

THE loss of my excellent friend very much indisposes

me for writing; but as I know that my dear aunt will want to be informed how things are going on at the Abbey, I shall endeavour to give her all the satisfaction in my power. I have reason to bless God that all the respect is shown me here that I could wish for. Mr. William Neville is a modest, sensible, obliging man: he is indeed the very picture of Eusebia. There is in him, as there was in her, a sweet melancholy brooding upon his counte nance, as well as a remarkable diffidence in his behaviour: yet he is sufficiently free and communicative among his friends, but never arrogant or assuming. His father treats me with great affability and tenderness; and even father Albino shows me uncommon respect.

I was yesterday in the wilderness, a place sacred to the memory of Eusebia, and accidentally met father Albino. What a pity it is, cried he, that so amiable a lady as you should be out of the pale of the holy catholic church. I do not mean to offend you, Miss Barnwell: what better VOL. II.

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thing could I wish my most valuable friend? What a divine temper are you mistress of, to feel so compassionately, and even to find an excuse for one who you knew was your avowed enemy. Believe me, my dear young lady, I am your most sincere friend. You have bound me to you for ever; and I must and will esteem you while I have a being.

I am much obliged to you, Sir, replied I, and I am glad to find in you so ingenuous and grateful a temper. But why should you wish me to be a catholic? I would not take any trouble to make you a protestant. I wish you to be something infinitely better than that.

No! cried the father, full of surprise; would not you, who are so zealous a protestant, wish your friend to be a protestant, if you thought it the best religion?

I certainly do think it the best religion, answered I; yet I am ready to confess that many millions of protestants are not Christians. Why then should I endeavour to make you such a protestant? The truth is this; neither catholics nor protestants in general have the spirit of Christ.

Pray, Miss Barnwell, said he, do not you judge uncha ritably?

No, Sir, replied I, by no means; it would not be charity to tell a sick man that he is well.

That seems reasonable, said he, but pray tell me how you came to be so wise as to be able to distinguish those who are Christians from those who are not?

It is not difficult, Sir, replied I, to answer your question; but you will neither understand nor believe me when I do answer it. However, as you' are so candid as to hear me patiently, I will speak as intelligibly as I can. Our Lord told his disciples that all his children should be taught of God. He who is taught is so separated from the world, and a different spirit is given him: he is indeed a new man. Such a person can discern both those who are in his former state, and those who are in his present: and although there may be some few difficult cases wherein he may judge wrong, yet even in such cases, if he keep the rule in view which our Lord has given for that purpose, he will judge as he ought to judge. We can know men

only by their fruits. If therefore I were to see a thorn bring forth grapes, I ought to esteem it a vine, until time and experience convinced me that they were not its natu ral fruit.

I confess, Madam, said he, that you have answered very well. But as you lay claim to the gift of discerning spirits I have a favour to ask, which is, that you will as a friend sincerely and honestly tell me whether you think me to be a believer or an unbeliever? I give you my word that nothing you may say shall offend me.

The children of God, replied I, know that they are passed from death unto life, because they love his character, and love his saints. You therefore, Sir, ought to conclude that you are yet in the gall of bitterness, and in the bond of iniquity, because you have persecuted one of his children, and occasioned her death; one who truly esteemed you, and offered many prayers mixed with tears for your happiness, as well as for the happiness of the rest of her friends.

The poor gentleman was greatly moved. He cried out, with hands lifted up, and with tears in his eyes, I have done my patron's child much injury, beside being the indirect cause of her death. I have not been actuated by the spirit of Christ. Like Saul, I have persecuted Christ. God be merciful to me. I beseech you to pray for me.

I hope, Sir, replied I, that God has given you repentance unto life.

Alas, cried he, my sins are of infinite magnitude.

Suppose that were really the case, said I, there would be no necessity for despair. The price paid by the Redeemer was an infinite price; so that notwithstanding sin has abounded, grace has much more abounded. If you think that you are the greatest of sinners, you only think as other sinners have thought. But, Sir, have you not had some thoughts concerning these things before today?

Yes, Miss Barnwell, answered he, very many, I assure you. My conscience frequently smote me when that excellent lady, whose death I have occasioned, conversed with me. I was, however, so exasperated against all those whom I then thought to be heretics, that I stifled