Worthy. The culprit, I think, has hitherto pleaded guilty to the evidence brought against him. The tenth commandment, however, goes to the root and principle of evil, it dives to the bottom of things; this command checks the first rising of sin in the heart; teaches us to strangle it in the birth, as it were, before it breaks out in those acts which are forbidden: as, for instance, every man covets, before he proceeds to steal; nay, many covet knowing they can do it with impunity, who dare not steal, lest they should suffer for it.

Bragwell. Why, look'ee, Mr. Worthy, I don't understand these newfashioned explanations; one should not have a grain of sheer goodness left, if everything one does is to be frittered away at this rate. I am not, I own, quite so good as I thought; but if what you say were true, I should be so miserable, I should not know what to do with myself. Why, I tell you, all the world may be said to break the commandments at this rate. {

Worthy. Very true. All the world, and I myself also, are but too apt to break them, if not in the letter, at least in the spirit of them. Why, then, all the world are (as the Scripture expresses it) "guilty before God." And if guilty, they should own they are guilty, and not stand up, and justify themselves, as you do, Mr. Bragwell.

Bragwell. Well, according to my notion, I am a very honest man; and honesty is the sum and substance of all religion, say I.

Worthy. All truth, honesty, justice, order, and obedience grow out of the Christian religion. The true Christian acts, at all times and on all occasions, from the pure and spiritual principle of love to God and Christ. On this principle, he is upright in his dealings, true to his word, kind to the poor, helpful to the oppressed. In short, if he truly loves God, he must do justice, and can't help loving mercy. Christianity is a uniform consistent thing. It does not allow us to make up for the breach of one part of God's law, by our strictness in observing another. There is no sponge in one duty, that can wipe out the spot of another sin.

Bragwell. Well, but at this rate, I should be always puzzling and blundering, and should never know for certain whether I was right or not; whereas I am now quite satisfied with myself, and have no doubts to torment me.

Worthy. One way of knowing whether we really desire to obey the whole law of God is this-when we find we have as great a regard to that part of it, the breach of which does not touch our own interest, as to that part which does. For instance, a man robs me; I am in a violent passion with him, and when it is said to me, Doest thou well to be angry? I answer, I do well. Thou shalt not steal is a law of God, and this fellow has broken that law. Ay, but says conscience, 'tis thy own property which is in question. He has broken thy hedge-he has stolen thy sheep-he has taken thy purse. Art thou therefore sure whether it is his violation of thy property, or of God's law, which provokes thee? I will put a second case-I hear another swear most grievously; or I meet him coming drunk out of an ale-house; or I find him singing a loose, profane song. If I am not as much grieved for this blasphemer, or this drunkard, as I was for the robber; if I do not take the same pains to bring him to a sense of his sin, which I did to bring the robber to justice, "how dwelleth the love of God in me?" Is it not clear that I value my own

sheep more than God's commandments? that I prize my purse more than I love my Maker? In short, whenever I find out that I am more jealous for my own property than for God's law; more careful about my own reputation than his honour, I always suspect I am got upon wrong ground. and that even my right actions are not proceeding from a right principle. Bragwell. Why, what in the world would you have me do? It would distract me, if I must run up every little action to its spring in this manner. Worthy. You must confess that your sins are sins. You must not merely call them sins, while you see no guilt in them; but you must confess them so as to hate and detest them; so as to be habitually humbled under the sense of them; so as to trust for salvation, not in your freedom from them, but in the mercy of a Saviour; and so as to make it the chief business of your life to contend against them, and in the main to forsake them. And remember, that if you seek for a deceitful gaiety, rather than a well-grounded cheerfulness, if you prefer a false security to final safety, and now go away to your cattle and your farm, and dismiss the subject from your thoughts, lest it should make you uneasy, I am not sure that this simple discourse may not appear against you at the day of account, as a fresh proof that you "loved darkness rather than light," and so increase your condemnation.

Mr. Bragwell was more affected than he cared to own. He went to bed with less spirits and more humility than usual. He did not, however, care to let Mr. Worthy see the impression which it had made upon him; but at parting next morning, he shook him by the hand more cordially than usual, and made him promise to return his visit in a short time.

What befell Mr. Bragwell and his family on his going home may, perhaps, make the subject of a future part of this history.

PART III.-THE VISIT RETURNED.

MR. BRAGWELL, when he returned home from his visit to Mr. Worthy, as recorded in the Second Part of this history, found that he was not quite so happy as he had formerly been. The discourses of Mr. Worthy had broken in not a little on his comfort; and he began to suspect that he was not so completely in the right as his vanity had led him to believe. He seemed also to feel less satisfaction in the idle gentility of his own daughters, since he had been witness to the simplicity, modesty, and usefulness of those of Mr. Worthy. And he could not help seeing that the vulgar violence of his wife did not produce so much family happiness at home, as the humble piety and quiet diligence of Mrs. Worthy produced in the house of his friend.

Happy would it have been for Mr. Bragwell, if he had followed up those new convictions of his own mind, which would have led him to struggle against the power of evil principles in himself, and to have controlled the force of evil habits in his family. But his convictions were just strong enough to make him uneasy under his errors, without driving him to reform them. The slight impression soon wore off, and he fell back into his old practices. Still his esteem for Mr. Worthy was not at all

abated by the plain dealing of that honest friend. It is true, he dreaded his piercing eye he felt that his example held out a constant reproof to himself. Yet such is the force of early affection and rooted reverence, that he longed to see him at his house. This desire, indeed, as is commonly the case, was made up of mixed motives. He wished for the pleasure of his friend's company; he longed for that favourite triumph of a vulgar mind, an opportunity of showing him his riches; and he thought it would raise his credit in the world, to have a man of Mr. Worthy's character at his house.

Mr. Bragwell, it is true, still went on with the same eagerness in gaining money, and the same ostentation in spending it. But though he was as covetous as ever, he was not quite so sure that it was right to be so. While he was actually engaged abroad, indeed, in transactions with his dealers, he was not very scrupulous about the means by which he got his money; and while he was indulging in festivity with his friends at home, he was easy enough as to the manner in which he spent it. But a man can neither be making bargains nor making feasts always; there must be some intervals between these two great objects, for which worldly men may be said to live; and in some of these intervals the most worldly form, perhaps, some random plans of amendment. And though many a one may say in the fulness of enjoyment, "Soul, take thine ease, eat, drink, and be merry;" yet hardly any man, perhaps, allows himself to say, even in the most secret moments, I will never retire from business-I will never repent-I will never think of death-eternity shall never come into my thoughts. The most that such a one probably ventures to say is, I need not repent yet; I will continue such a sin a little longer; it will be time enough to think on the next world when I am no longer fit for the business or the pleasures of this.

Such was the case with Bragwell. He set up in his own mind a general distant sort of resolution, that some years hence, when he should be a few years older, and a few thousands richer, when a few more of his present schemes should be completed, he would then think of altering his course of life. He would then certainly set about spending a religious old age; he would reform some practices in his dealings, or, perhaps, quit business entirely; he would think about reading good books; and when he had completed such and such a purchase, he would even begin to give something to the poor, but at present he really had little to spare for charity. The very reason why he should have given more, was just the cause he assigned for not giving at all, namely, the hardness of the times. The true grand source of charity; self-denial, never came into his head. Spend less that you may save more, he would have thought a shrewd maxim enough. But spend less that you may spare more, never entered into his book of proverbs.

At length the time came when Mr. Worthy had promised to return his visit. It was indeed a little hastened by notice that Mr. Bragwell would have, in the course of the week, a piece of land to sell by auction; and though Mr. Worthy believed the price was likely to be above his pocket, yet he knew it was an occasion which would be likely to bring the principal farmers of that neighbourhood together, some of whom he wanted to meet.

And it was on this occasion that Mr Bragwell prided himself,

that he should show his neighbours so sensible a man as his dear friend Mr. Worthy.

Worthy arrived at his friend's house, on the Saturday, time enough to see the house, and garden, and grounds of Mr. Bragwell by day-light. He saw with pleasure (for he had a warm and generous heart) those evident signs of his friend's prosperity; but as he was a man of a sober mind, and was a most exact dealer in truth, he never allowed his tongue the license of immodest commendation, which, he used to say, either savoured of flattery or envy. Indeed, he never rated mere worldly things so highly as to bestow upon them undue praise. His calm approbation somewhat disappointed the vanity of Mr. Bragwell, who could not help secretly suspecting that his friend, as good a man as he was, was not quite free from envy. He felt, however, very much inclined to forgive this jealousy, which he feared the sight of his ample property, and handsome habitation, must naturally awaken in the mind of a man whose own possessions were so inferior. He practised the usual trick of ordinary and vulgar minds, that of pretending himself to find some fault with those things which were particularly deserving praise, when he found Worthy disposed to pass them over in silence.

When they came in to supper, he affected to talk of the comforts of Mr. Worthy's little parlour, by way of calling his attention to his own large one. He repeated the word snug, as applied to everything at Mr. Worthy's, with the plain design to make comparisons favourable to his own more ample domains. He contrived, as he passed by to his chair, by a seeming accident, to push open the door of a large beaufet in the parlour, in which all the finery was most ostentatiously set out to view. He protested, with a look of satisfaction which belied his words, that for his part he did not care a farthing for all this trumpery; and then, smiling and rubbing his hands, added, with an air of no small importance, What a good thing it is, though, for people of substance, that the tax on plate is taken off! You are a happy man, Mr. Worthy, you do not feel these things; tax or no tax, it is all the same to you. He took care during this speech, by a cast of his eye, to direct Mr. Worthy's attention to a great profusion of the brightest cups, salvers, and tankards, and other shining ornaments, which crowded the beaufet. Mr. Worthy gravely answered: Mr. Bragwell, it was, indeed, a tax which could not affect so plain a man as myself; but as it fell on a mere luxury, and therefore could not hurt the poor, I was always sorry that it could not be made productive enough to be continued. A man in my middling situation, who is contented with a good glass of beer, poured from a handsome earthen mug-the glass, the mug, and the beer, all of English manufacture-will be but little disturbed at taxes on plate or on wine; but he will regret, as I do, that many of these taxes are so much evaded, that new taxes are continually brought on to make up the deficiencies of the old.

During supper the young ladies sat in disdainful silence, not deigning to bestow the smallest civility on so plain a man as Mr. Worthy. They left the room with their mama as soon as possible; being impatient to get away, to ridicule their father's old-fashioned friend at full liberty.

The Dance; or, the Christmas Merry-making: exemplifying the Effects of modern Education in a Farm-house.

As soon as they were gone, Mr. Worthy asked Bragwell how his family comforts stood, and how his daughters, who, he said, were really fine young women, went on. Oh, as to that, replied Bragwell, pretty much like other men's handsome daughters, I suppose; that is, worse and worse. I really begin to apprehend that their fantastical notions have gained such a head, that, after all the money I have scraped together, I shall never get them well married.

Betsy has just lost as good an offer as any girl could desire-young Wilson, an honest, substantial grazier as any in the country. He not only knows every thing proper for his station, but is pleasing in his behaviour, and a pretty scholar into the bargain; he reads history books and voyages, of a winter's evening, to his infirm father, instead of going to the card-assembly in our town; he neither likes drinking nor sporting, and is a sort of favourite with our parson, because he takes in the weekly numbers of a fine Bible with cuts, and subscribes to the Sunday-school, and makes a fuss about helping the poor, and sets up soupshops, and sells bacon at an under-price, and gives odd bits of ground to his labourers to help them in these dear times, as they call them; but I think they are good times for us, Mr. Worthy.

No,

. Well, for all this Betsy only despised him, and laughed at him; but as he is both handsome and rich, I thought she might come round at last ; and so I invited him to come and stay a day or two at Christmas, when we have always a little sort of merry-making here. But it would not do. He scorned to talk that palavering stuff which she has been used to in the marble-covered books I told you of. He told her, indeed, that it would be the happiness of his heart to live with her; which I own I thought was as much as could be expected of any man. But Miss had no notion of marrying one who was only desirous of living with her. no, forsooth, her lover must declare himself ready to die for her, which honest Wilson was not such a fool as to offer to do. In the afternoon, however, he got a little into her favour by making out a rebus or two in the Lady's Diary; and she condescended to say, she did not think Mr. Wilson had been so good a scholar: but he soon spoilt all again. We had a little dance in the evening. The young man, though he had not much taste for those sort of gambols, yet thought he could foot it a little in the old-fashioned way. So he asked Betsy to be his partner. But when he asked what dance they should call, Miss drew up her head, and, in a strange gibberish, said, she should dance nothing but a Minuet de la Cour, and ordered him to call it. Wilson stared, and honestly told her she must call it herself; for he could neither spell nor pronounce such outlandish words, nor assist in such an outlandish performance. I burst out a laughing, and told him, I supposed it was something like questions and commands; and if so, that was much merrier than dancing. Seeing her Fartner standing stock-still, and not knowing how to get out of the scrape, the girl began by herself, and fell to swimming, and sinking, and capering, and flourishing, and posturing, for all the world just like the man on the slack-rope at our fair. But seeing Wilson standing like a stuck pig, and we all laughing at her, she resolved to wreak her malice upon him; so