traction in public speaking. It is still an interesting problem with me, whether zealous animation be attainable when nature has not given it; but I am yet willing to persuade myself that it is. I hold it my business to make the experiment. This animation must prevail as far as devotion does; and who shall mark the limits beyond which devotion shall not prevail?

I often contemplate, and with the due amazement, the characters of Moses, and Elijah, and St. Paul, and St. John, with the rest who have

agonies! These once they would not believe; they refused to consider them; they could not allow that the career of crime and pleasure was to end. But now truth, like a blazing star, darts over the mind, and but shows the way to that darkness visible' which no light can cheer. Dying wretch! we say in imagination to each of these, Is religion true? Do you believe in a God, and another life, and a retribution? O yes!' he answers, and expires! But the righteous hath hope in his death.' Contemplate through the unnumbered saints that have died, the soul, the true and inextinguishable life of man, charmed away from this globe by celestial music, and already respiring the gales of eternity! If we could assemble in one view all the adoring addresses to the Deity, all the declarations of faith in Jesus, all the gratulations of conscience, all the admonitions and benedictions to weeping friends, and all the gleams of opening glory, our souls would burn with the sentiment which made the wicked Balaam devout for a moment, and exclaim, 'Let me die the death of the righteous, and let my last end be like his.' These revelations of death would be the most emphatic commentary on the revelation of God. What an affecting scene is a dying world! Who is that destroying angel whom the Eternal has employed to sacrifice all our devoted race? Advancing onward over the whole field of time, he hath smitten the successive crowds of our hosts with death; and to us he now approaches nigh. Some of our friends have trembled, and sickened, and expired, at the signals of his coming; already we hear the thunder of his wings: soon his eye of fire will throw mortal fainting on all our companies; his prodigious form will to us blot out the sun, and his sword sweep us all from the earth; for the living know that they shall die.'

"Such are my friend's reflections on death. I subjoin the following as the more affecting statement of his own feelings; hoping it may serve to correct that lawless elation, and that superiority to evangelical control, which in our ingenious youth we have so often reason to deplore.

“I know not, I wonder how I shall succeed in mental improvement, and especially in religion. Oh, it is a difficult thing to be a Christian! I feel the necessity of reform through all my soul. When I retire into thought, I find myself environed by a crowd of impressive and awful images; I fix an ardent gaze on Christianity, assuredly the last best gift of Heaven to men; on Jesus the agent and example of infinite love; on time as it passes away; on perfection as it shines beauteous as heaven, and alas! as remote; on my own beloved soul which I have injured, and on the unhappy multitude of souls around me; and I ask myself, Why do not my passions burn? Why does not zeal arise in mighty wrath, to dash my icy habits in pieces, to scourge me from indolence into fervid exertion, and to trample all mean sentiments in the dust? At intervals I feel devotion and benevolence and surpassing ardor; but when they are turned towards substantial, laborious operations, they fly and leave me spiritless amid the iron labor. Still, however, I confide in the efficacy of persistive prayer; and I do hope that the Spirit of the Lord will yet come mightily upon me, and carry me on through toils, and suffering, and death, to stand in Mount Zion among the followers of the Lamb!"

formed the first and noblest rank of mankind. I have wondered whether there is, in the nature of things, an impossibility of ever approaching them. But I have concluded with warmth that all things should be attempted, should be suffered, should be sacrificed, in the divine emulation of imitating them. I am happy to believe that great and unknown assistance is imparted by Heaven to the zealo's of such a cause. Oh that permanence could be given to the ardent feelings which these contemplations, at intervals, inspire!

If I ever, as to the speaking part, perform well in public, I shall have surmounted prodigious difficulty. Reading aloud is a perfect purgatory. My tongue rubs against my teeth like Balaam's ass against the wall, and will not, cannot, perform the movement which its master requires. Yet for the sake of improvement, I mean frequently to read to Mrs. Kingsford, if she will hear me. I have plenty of books at command.

Next to an improved and happy state of my own mind, what I most want, and here probably must not find, is a companion of originality and genius, with whom I might expatiate on the intellectual field, and interchange sentiments which the majority of men would not understand. I should be greatly happy to be within reach of Mr. Hughes. My life hitherto has been most inauspicious to the most interesting kinds of human attachment. . . . . I am tolerably social; partly from inclination; and partly from a consideration of propriety; yet solitude is my paradise. Besides, necessity will concur with disposition, if my literary projects are prosecuted into any success. I am sorry that the circumstances and very small number of young persons that are likely to come within my acquaintance here, give at present no encouragement to try my favorite plan of a lecture, or whatever else it might be called. I observe, too, that if I were to execute it, it must be very different from what it ought to be in a country place like Hebden-Bridge, on account of the very different circumstances and habits of the young people in a city. Folly has a much greater variety of modes than absolute vice can take. Here I must lecture against artificial manners, and insincerity, and affectation, and ceremony, and cards, and the whole routine of polished insipidity for which this place is remarkable.

The clergy here are for the most part, it seems, a very worthless clan, though all people seem to agree in marking one honorable exception, highly honorable for his talents, virtuous conduct, liberality, and zealous activity; his name is Walker. He was one of my hearers yesterday evening. I should not be sorry to become acquainted with him, but I am little inclined to court any man's acquaintance.

. . . . I and a young man of the family I was with last week, propose a week or two hence to make a forced march to Salisbury, between forty and fifty miles from here, principally to see the famous Stonehenge. I am endeavoring, wherever I am, to examine every object with the keenest investigation, conscious that this is the best of all methods for obtaining knowledge fresh and original. It was by this method that Dr

Johnson was empowered to display human characters in his Rambler, and Thomson to describe Nature in his Seasons. It is impossible to adapt many kinds of instruction with precision, without that minute and uncommon knowledge which observation alone can supply.

I frequently form conjectures about you and my friends in the neighborhood, all in vain. There are indeed no more young marriages left to be imagined (unless it be that of Thomas); "I alone am escaped." How different it is from the time when Greaves, Fawcett, Horsfall, and myself were all associate boys, touched with that kind of sentiment which hope alone gives ;-possession, I believe, has no sentiment so animated. Respecting them there seems nothing to imagine; nothing to inquire, nothing to learn. They have obtained what they wanted in life, and now are quiet, and wish to sit down free from further change. My feelings are almost infinitely different. And though it would be pleasing to see a kind of certainty of some happy circumstances in future, yet I am very far indeed from wishing to discern through the gloom, the wall, the limit, that is to bound my scope. I have long wished, as one of the sublimest means of enjoyment, to attain a habitual indifference to life itself, and am firmly of opinion that to a good man there can be nothing so happy in life as a noble occasion of throwing it away. Thomas is always remembered by me with affectionate regard. I constantly wish and pray for the happiness of you all, and shall be glad to learn how far you possess it.

XXI. TO HIS PARENTS.

Chichester, December 6, 1797.

HONORED PARENTS,-I have just been admiring the marvellous construction of the mind, in the circumstance of its enabling me, as I sit by my candle here, in a chamber at Chichester, to view almost as distinctly, as if before my eyes, your house, the barn, the adjacent fields, neighboring houses, and a multitude of other objects. I can go through each part of the house, and see the exact form of the looms, tables, maps, cakes of bread, and so on, down to my mother's thimble. Yet I still find myself almost three hundred miles off. At present I take no notice of the things about me; but perhaps at some future time, at a still greater distance, I may thus review in imagination the room in which I now write, and the objects it contains; and I find that few places where I have continued some time, can be thus recollected without some degree of regret; particularly the regret that I did not obtain and accomplish all the good that was possible at that place, and that time. Will it be so when hereafter I recollect this time, and this place? I have just been reading an author who maintains, with very great force of reasoning, that no man could, in any situation, have acted differently from what he has

done. Though I do not see how to refute his arguments, I feel as if I ought to differ from his opinion. He refers to Jonathan Edwards as a powerful advocate of the same doctrine. He says such an expression as "I will exert myself," is absurd. It is an expression which, notwithstanding, I am inclined to repeat, as I view the wide field of duty before me. My hope of success, however, with respect to some of the objects of exertion, is but small. I preach now three times on the Sunday; I study my sermons more than in any former season. They are, too, I believe, more than in any former season, what may be termed evangelical. For the most part I think them considerably good; but I do not form this judgment from their effect; that appears to be very small. Religion here seems to have been forced into an unnatural and accommodating mixture with the world, from which no representations can reclaim it. How far the prevailing spirit may have an influence on myself, I cannot exactly know, unless I were to pass into the sphere of an opposite influence. It must be great energy that can absolutely vanquish the influences of situation. I find, at least, that I have not lost the power of seeing what is wrong in others, and feeling what is wrong in myself. I told you that the "old people in the society were dying fast away." Two of them (women) are dead since I wrote so. One of them was a person of property, and what was called one of the principal people here. She had considerable sense, was a violent democrat, &c., &c.; but I remember her with but a very small degree of respect. She always treated me in a very friendly manner; but she was a bigot and a miser. I tell the people that I deem covetousness one of the very worst of vices. But those on whom particularly I wish to impress this truth never heed me," as the old fellow said about wasting the gunpowder. The other was a person of a very good, inoffensive kind of character. I made what is called a funeral sermon on her account. The object of it was to answer this simple question, “What is it to be prepared to die?" I attempted to show that a complete preparation for death must consist in three plain things; first, faith in Jesus Christ; second, a devout and pure state of mind; third, a truly Christian or virtuous conduct. I learnt that the sermon was one of the most popular I have made. The mortality in the society within the last two years, has been extraordinary. There are no substitutes in the same families, to fill the abdicated places. Instead of that, some of the surviving relatives have removed to distant situations, and left a melancholy and chilling show of vacant seats. I think the society is hastening to dissolution with a progress that no revival is likely to retard. Fate has fixed her seal. I was one Sunday, about a month since, at Portsmouth, and preached twice. I fell among two or three uncommonly agreeable and sensible families; but the society and congregation there are in the same frost-bitten state as here. I continue in health, meet with a continuance of friendly attention, live still in the same manner, have no want of books, and have a very decent wardrobe. I do not employ much time in visits, because

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generally I do not find that can employ it to any valuable purpose. I used to tell you when in Lanes, that I never lost time when in company; and this was true. But here company is generally of a kind to make me most sincerely regret that I cannot visit and talk at Carrs. For the most part I find conversation a mere chat about trifles, and the custom is so obstinate that I can seldom succeed to make it anything else. I believe I rarely fail to make an effort this way. Often I make a very vigorous one, not only for the sake of conscience, but because my mind, accustomed to interesting sentiments, needs them to gratify its taste, which nauseates insipidity. Often I have had occasion to look round on a company with mingled wonder and contempt, to observe the conversation for ever stealing away from the neighborhood of important subjects, to seek its element among the most insignificant ones. The fault is not mine; There are few articles in which I feel myself so clear of guilt. Probably I told you that the situation gave me no scope for executing my project of a course of addresses to young persons. Some time since, when thinking of one particular young person, it occurred to me that it might be of some use to arrange my reflections on some important subjects in a series of letters, and address them to that individual. The person is a young woman, the daughter of one of the poor members of the society, a person to whom such a service, if I can render it a service, will be very seasonable. If I continue here long enough to finish the series, and if it be tolerably satisfactory to myself, it may be possible to make a further use of it.*

I sometimes feel convictions, impressive even to violence, of the duty of doing all the good I possibly can. The single idea of philanthropy is inspiring and grand; but I perceive that the practical detail of toils and self-denials opens a view very different from the first flash of the subject. Certainly, however, I have no determination more fixed and animated than that of devoting myself to the service of mankind. My father's favorite sentence is cordially mine, “The noblest motive is the public good." I am willing to indulge a favorable conjecture respecting your health, your circumstances, and business; but I feel it would be absurd to be sanguine. What is the opinion about national matters among you now? Does any one persist to dissuade from thinking of them; and talk of leaving them to the management of those who are appointed to manage them, &c.? The crisis seems fast approaching that will compel to think and to feel, and perhaps to act too. The infatuation of thoughtless acquiescence has prevailed wretchedly too long. Fox has assured us that to talk any longer about parliament is idle; and that the nation must exert itself, or prepare to suffer the consequences of its opprobrious tameness. My reflections are sometimes very serious on the question of what would be my duty in the event of a French army appearing on our plains. In all events I commend you and myself to Heaven.

I Journal, Nos. 500 and 734