The folly of this idea may be seen, if we but attend to its mean, low, and worthless nature. It has something gloomy and merciless in it; something of hatred and unyielding ignorance, which betokens a narrow mind, that can only look at one part of a question, and which only looks at the outside even of that part, and never considers the mental and spiritual causes from which even these, their own opinions, spring. There is something in it, which, wanting vital piety, is so different from the gentle, mild, persuasive spirit of Christianity, that I wonder any one should be found who takes it as an equivalent for that spirit. It holds the rotten fruit, to the rejection of the sound, and busies and prides itself in its own rotten

ness.

Nearly allied to this character, and but little if any thing better, is that of the man who possesses theoretic instead of practical religion. The difference between the two is this: If the former (as has been before observed) takes the rotten fruit to the rejection of the sound, the latter takes the shell to the rejection of the kernel. He can defend Christianity against the Deist, and descant most eloquently on the superiority and merit of the gospel. But he goes no farther: and thus, if religion be a cure for a wound, he is like a wounded man who can praise a salve as efficacious to his recovery, and yet is fool enough not to apply it; if the gospel be meant to produce warmth, he, when chilled with frost, chuses to warm himself rather by the moon than the sun; or if he be blind, he wishes rather to hear tell of, or to speculate upon, the blessings of sight, than to feel them.

There are numberless other religious characters equally foolish and various. I need not advert to more of them. Those here introduced are sufficient to shew that piety consists not in outward professions, or any thing of the kind, and that those who take the shadow for the substance cheat 73.-VOL, VII.

(To be continued.)

ENGLISH LAW-MALICIOUS MISCHIEF. MR. EDITOR.

SIR,-" Let not the sun go down upon your wrath," is one of the many positive injunctions which are clothed in that beautiful and expressive language, with which the sacred book of GOD abounds. I knew a person who was once very powerfully affected by the above exhortation of the holy apostle: he had taken umbrage at a near relative, for what he conceived to be an insufferable injury. He left off speaking to the offender; and for a few days manifested the most sullen reserve. One evening, however, when walking in some fields, whilst the austral breezes were playing amongst the foliage, which softly murmured as though conscious that the day was closing, he was particularly struck at the blaze of splendour which shone along the western skies: every cloud was tinged with the refulgent die; the windows of the distant cottage, and of the village church, alike shared in the grand illumination! The sun was going down,—my friend sighed-for it was going down upon his wrath. At this moment, the words of the apostle rushed remarkably upon his mind: Sol seemed to check the gilded wheels of his chariot, as if lingering to witness the offended pardon the offender: Satan strove for the mastership; but grace, almighty grace, outsped the wily fiend; my friend vowed, that the sun should not again go down upon his wrath! He kept his vow.

When a person is under the influence of malice, he is an enemy both to GOD and his fellow-creatures; his machinations are the offspring of hatred's prolific womb, and his works are the works of Satan, whose willing slave he becomes: he not unfrequently finds his own ruin and misery in endeavouring to injure others. He forgets his own dignity, and ignominiously stoops to actions both of cruelty and cowardice; for it very often happens that persons, when offended at

D

full stream of copious abundance. The love of lucre took fast hold upon him, and gold became the beloved idol of his soul. Avaricious and penurious to an hateful degree, he possessed no friends; for his relations disliked, his neighbours avoided, and his dependents detested him. Among other prominent features of his avaricious character, was one for which he was particularly remarkable, that of exacting the utmost exertion of his servants' strength. When the revolving year had covered his fields with a plenteous harvest, when the reapers were gathering in the golden grain, often would our farmer ride up to the field, alight from his horse, tie it to the gate, and (stripping off his coat) set to work with the reapers; there he would work most laboriously for halfan-hour or an hour, constantly urging his men both by precept and example to do the like. Then he suddenly departed, but, as though about to return in a few minutes, left his coat and horse behind him at the gate; while his labourers, expecting him shortly to appear, either to praise their diligence or reprove their sloth, still continued to work as when he was present with them; and in this way farmer Harris exultingly exclaimed," My horse and coat will do ten men's work, while I am fifteen or twenty miles off doing business at some neighbouring market."

But, notwithstanding his avarice, farmer Harris once exhibited a remarkable instance of generosity. He sent an invitation to many of the surrounding farmers and wealthy men to come and dine with him at a certain hour upon an appointed day. All wondered what this could mean; but none of the invited were absent at the appointed time, for they all concluded that as he was never before known to invite such a company, they certainly should be most splendidly entertained. Eager with curiosity, and anxious with expectation, they were ushered into the dining-room. But, to their utter amazement and chagrin, they found only a very plain dinner provided. With discontented minds and fallen countenances, they seated themselves round the table. Mutton, potatoes, and table-beer composed the dinner, and the drinking cups were so arranged, that one served for two persons. With the hopes of a

good dinner their appetites had fled. They ate very sparingly, and dispersed immediately after, for neither their host nor their own wills pressed a longer stay; and, whilst riding homewards, they severely reflected upon themselves for accepting the invitation of a miser, from whom they had no reason to expect a better entertainment.

Not long after, farmer H. sent them a second invitation to dine; they spurned it with indignation, protesting they would never enter his doors again. Thus rudely repulsed, the farmer turned to his poorer neighbours; he invited twenty of the small farmers of the vicinity, that were in narrow circumstances, and of whom many had large families. Now, though they had heard of the treatment of his former guests, yet they consented to give him their company. They were not too proud to partake of the humble provision which they fully expected. They assembled at his house, and were received by him with a hearty welcome and a cordial shake of the hand; and being speedily introduced into the dining-room, they seated themselves at the table. But the dinner was concealed from their view; every dish was covered, the very plates set opposite each man were covered. They were confounded with the singularity of the scene. But their astonishment was yet more increased, when their host thus spoke:

My worthy friends, be good enough to remove the covers, and make free with the contents of your plates. I hope there is no man here present who will not make a hearty meal." It was accordingly done; each man uncovered his plate, when, instead of finding the expected employment for knife and fork, he found an agreeable substitute in the presence of a £50 bank-note. This was the first, and certainly the most substantial course. It excited a pleasing gratitude towards their entertainer, and thanks, sincere thanks, from all sides sounded upon the ear of the pleased farmer, and he doubtless felt for once that delightful consciousness of having poured joy into the bosom of the needy, which thrills alone in his heart who has performed a generous action.

But now the first course being cleared, which was of so rich a composition as to increase rather than

decrease the appetites of his guests; the covers were removed which had hitherto concealed the dishes, and a dinner, consisting of the most delicious viands that luxury could desire, appeared full in view. Such delicacies had never before promised them | gratification; they were now in excellent humour; and, in high glee, they satisfied their appetites with the various luxuries of the table.

Unlike the treatment of his former company, his guests were now invited and easily prevailed upon to stay with him, and regale themselves upon the best which his house afforded during the remainder of the day. They were most munificently treated, and dispersed in the evening to their homes, relating their good fortune, and the praises of him whom they had hitherto considered a sordid miser. Next day, the news of this extraordinary | event was rumoured over the neighbouring country, and they who so insolently spurned at his invitation, now secretly bewailed their folly, which had caused them the loss of a handsome present and a noble entertainment. It is to be regretted that this is the only generous action farmer Harris was ever known to perform. He relapsed after this into his old penurious habits, and continued a miser to the day of his death. When the time approached that he must close this mortal life, and he found that he must relinquish the fruits of all his labour, he informed those who surrounded his death-bed, where they would find his riches deposited. He particularly directed them to one spot, a corner of his stable, where, buried in the earth, were found 20,000 guineas. His whole property was valued at more than 40,000 pounds.

J. D.

STRANGE ACCOUNT OF NINON DE
L'ENCLOS.

MR. EDITOR. SIR,-The following story, translated from the French original, was seriously believed by many hundreds of people at Paris. If you think it can any how contribute to the entertainment of your readers, it is most heartily at your service.

In the year 1633, as the famous Mademoiselle de l'Enclos one day sat alone in her chamber, her servant an

nounced the arrival of a stranger, who desired to speak with her, but refused to tell his name. The young lady sent back answer, that she was engaged with company, and could not see him. "No, no," replied the stranger to the lacquey; "I know very well that the young lady is now alone, and it is for that reason I call upon her at present. Go tell her I have secrets of the greatest moment to impart, and cannot take a refusal, by any means."

This extraordinary message, by exciting her female curiosity, procured the stranger instant admittance. He was of low stature, of ungracious aspect, and his gray hairs betrayed his age. He was dressed in black, without a sword, wore a calotte-a small leather cape which covers the tonsure, and a large patch upon his forehead; in his left hand he held a very slender cane; his features were very expressive, and his eyes sparkled with vivacity. "Madam," said he, on entering the apartment, "please to let your attendant retire; my words are not to be heard by a third person." The young lady was a good deal startled at this singular preamble, but reflecting that he was only a decrepit old man, she mustered resolution enough to dismiss her chambermaid.

"Come," he continued, "let not my visit alarm you, madam; it is true, I do not honour all indiscriminately with my presence; yet, be assured you have nothing to fear. All I would intreat is, that you would listen to me with confidence and attention. You see before you a man whom the secrets of the earth obey, and whom nature has invested with a power of dispensing her gifts. I presided at your birth; the lot of some mortals depends upon my nod; and I have condescended to ask what lot you would wish for yourself;—the present is but the dawn of your brilliant days. Soon you shall arrive at that period, when the gates of the world shall fly open to receive you; for it depends wholly upon yourself to become the most illustrious and the most prosperous lady of your age. I submit to your choice,-whether supreme honours, immense riches, or eternal beauty. Take which you choose, and depend upon it there exists not a mortal who can make you the same ample offers." "That I ve