What shall I say more to obtain my Theron's approbation? Shall I point out and plead the most illustrious precedents?-God the Father is well pleased with this righteousness of our Redeemer. He expresses his complacency by the most emphatical words: “Behold my servant whom I uphold; mine elect, in whom my soul delighteth," Isa. xlii. 1. In Christ and his righteousness, God is not only pleased, but "delighted;" his "very soul," every perfection of the Godhead, with ineffable satisfaction, rests and acquiesces in them.—I said ineffable; for he has declared this, in a manner superior to all the energy of language, by raising our crucified Surety from the dead, by exalting him to the heaven of heavens, and placing him at his own right hand in glory.

Our Lord Jesus Christ is well pleased. He esteems it his honour to shine forth as the everlasting righteousness of his people: it is the brightest jewel of his mediatorial crown. In this he sees of the travail of his soul, and is satisfied" accounting himself fully recompensed for all the labours of his life, and all the sorrows of his death, when sinners are washed from their guilt in his blood, and presented faultless by his obedience.

The Holy Spirit is equally pleased with this great transaction, and its noble effects. It is his peculiar office, and favourite employ, to convince the world of their Saviour's righteousness: not only that his nature was spotlessly pure, and his conversation perfectly holy; but that from both results a righteousness of infinite dignity and everlasting efficacy; sufficient, throughout all ages sufficient, for the acceptance and salvation of the most unworthy

creatures.

Since then this method of acceptance and salvation is excellent and glorious in the eyes of the adorable Trinity; since it magnifies the law, and yields the most exalted honour to its divine Author; since it makes ample provision for the holiness of a corrupt, and the happiness of a ruined world; why should my friend any longer dislike it, oppose it, or treat it with a cold indifference? Surely, all these grand recommendations are enough to overrule any little objections which may arise from the suspicions of timidity, or may be started by the artifices of sophistry.

Ther. I know not how it is, Aspasio; but I cannot reconcile myself to this doctrine of imputed righteousness, notwithstanding all the pains you have taken to make me a convert.

Asp. The disappointment is mine, but the loss is yours, Theron. However, let me entreat you not to reject my sentiments absolutely, nor to condemn them prematurely. Suppose it possible, at least, that they may be true, and weigh them in an even balance. Learn wisdom from your Aspasio's folly. I was once exactly in your situation; saw things in your light, and through your medium.

Conversing, I well remember, with a devout, but plain person, our discourse happened to turn upon that solemn admonition, "If any man will come after me, let him deny himself," Matth. xvi. 24. I was haranguing upon the import and extent of the duty; shewing, that merely to forbear the infamous action, is little. We must deny admittance, deny entertainment at least, to the evil imagination; and quench even the enkindling spark of irregular desire. When I had shot a random bolt, my honest friend replied, "There is another instance of self-denial to which this injunction extends, and which is of very great moment in the Christian religion: I mean the instance of

renouncing our own strength, and our own righteousness; not leaning on that for holiness, nor relying on this for justification." I thought the old man, I must confess, little better than a superstitious dotard; and wondered at (what I then fancied) the motley mixture of piety and oddity in his notions. But now I discern sense, solidity, and truth in his observation : Now I perceive, that we ourselves are often the dreamers, when we imagine others to be fast asleep.

Ther. I shall not forget your caution, and will endeavour to avoid the rock on which my Aspasio struck, but happily, it seems, escaped shipwreck. You may likewise assure yourself, that, upon a subject of exceeding great and eternal consequence, I shall not fail to use the most attentive and impartial consideration. An indolent supineness or a bigoted obstinacy in this great crisis of affairs, would be of all errors the most inexcusable, and must prove of all miscarriages the most fatal.

Asp. But still you cannot reconcile yourself. And no wonder. For this way of salvation runs directly counter to the stream of corrupt nature. It puzzles our reason, and offends our pride. What? shall we not work, but "believe unto righteousness?" Rom. x. 10. Shall we receive all freely, and reckon ourselves no better than unprofitable servants? This is a method to which we should never submit; this is a proposal which we should always spurn, were not our sentiments rectified and our hearts new-moulded by Sovereign grace.

Let me remind you of a little incident which you must have read in the Grecian history. A certain stranger came one day to dine with some Lacedemonians. They, you know, always sat down at a public table, and were content with the plainest food. The gentleman, accustomed to higher eating, could not forbear expressing his disgust at the homely provision. Sir, said the cook, you do not make use of the sauce. What do you mean? replied the guest. You do not use hard exercise, nor habituate yourself to long abstinence, nor bring a sharpened appetite to the meal.-And you, my dear friend, I am apprehensive, have not the sauce; have not the proper preparative for this salutary doctrine, which is indeed the bread of life, and the very marrow of the gospel.

Ther. What preparative?

Asp. A sense of your great depravity, your extreme guilt, and your utterly undone condition.-While destitute of these convictions, our souls will be like the full stomach, that loathes even the honeycomb. So long as these convictions are slight, and hover only in the imagination, we shall be like Gallio,* listless, indifferent, and "caring for none of these things." But when they are deep and penetrate the heart, then the righteousness of a Redeemer will be sweet, tasteful, and inviting; as myrrh and frankincense to the smell, as milk and honey to the palate, as gold and treasures to the ruined bankrupt.

Acts xviii. 17. A late commentator, of distinguished eminence, has attempted to vindicate Gallio's conduct, and would represent it as an amiable instance of prudence and moderation.

According to my apprehension, this Roman governor acted a part both irreligious unjust: Irreligious, because he refused to hear the apostle's defence, which was the likely means of his conversion and salvation. Unjust, because he permitted Sostl then an innocent person, afterwards a disciple of Christ, (1 Cor. i. 1.) to be so il treated, and outrageously abused, without interposing for his rescue.

Ther. What method would you advise me to use, in order to get these convictions impressed on my heart?

Consider how pure,

Asp. Endeavour to understand God's holy law. how extensive, how sublimely perfect it is. Then judge of your spiritual state, not from the flattering suggestions of self-love, nor from the defective examples of your fellow-creatures, but by this unerring standard of the sanctuary. Above all, beseech the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ to send his enlightening Spirit into your soul. For, indeed, without the enlightening influences of the Spirit, we may have the divine law in our hand, we may comprehend its grammatical meaning, yet be like blind Bartimeus under the meridian sun. It is the blessed Spirit alone who can rend the veil of ignorance from our minds, and shew us either "the wonderful things of God's law," or the glorious mysteries of his gospel. In this sense, our polite poet speaks a truth as singularly important as it is elegantly expressed:

He from thick films shall purge the visual ray,
And on the sightless eye-ball pour the day.

POPE'S Messiah.

Will you give me leave to propose another expedient, which I believe may be considerably serviceable in this particular case,-which I am assured will be greatly advantageous in many other respects?

Ther. Backward as I am to adopt your doctrine, I am no enemy to my own interest; therefore shall not only give you leave to propose, but give you thanks for communicating so valuable an advice.

Asp. It is, in reality, none of mine. It was long ago recommended by your old acquaintance Horace.* It consists in keeping a diary.

Compile a secret history of your heart and conduct. Take notice of the manner in which your time is spent, and of the strain which runs through your discourse; how often the former is lost in trifles, how often the latter evaporates in vanity. Attend to the principle from which your actions flow; whether from the steady habitual love of God, or from some rambling impulse, and a customary propensity to please yourself. Minute down your sins of omission; how frequently you neglect to glorify your Creator, to edify your fellow-creatures, and to improve yourself in knowledge and holiObserve the frame of your spirit in religious duties—with what reluc tance they are undertaken, and with what indevotion performed; with how many wanderings of thought, and how much dulness of desire; how often, in the common affairs of life, you feel the inordinate sallies of passion, the workings of evil concupiscence, or the intrusion of foolish imaginations.

ness.

Register those secret faults, to which none but your own conscience is privy, and which none but the all-seeing eye discerns. Often review these interesting memoirs. Frequently contemplate yourself in this faithful mirror. An artist some time ago took a survey of your estate, drew the form and measured the dimensions of each enclosure, pictured out every hedge, and scarce omitted a single tree that grew upon the premises. Act thus with

"Ille velut fidis arcana sodalibus olim

Credebat libris; neque si male cesserat usquam
Decurrens alio, neque si bene: quo sit, ut omnis
Votiva pateat veluti descripta tabella

Vita senis."

HORAT. Sat.

your will, your understanding, your affections. These are your noble internal demesne, of which none but yourself can be a competent surveyor.

Ther. It is unreasonable and preposterous, I must acknowledge, to be minutely exact in meaner matters, and use no accuracy of inspection in the most momentous affairs; to have a correct draught of our lands, which are a transient inheritance, and no map of that everlasting possession-the soul.

Asp. Gratify me then, my dear Theron, in this particular. As I purpose to set out very early in the morning, I shall insist upon it that you do not rise before your usual time to compliment my departure. But I now make it my last wish, and my parting request, that you will for some months at least keep a diary.

You have wondered at my opinion concerning the corruption of our nature, and the insufficiency of our own righteousness. This may seem strange, this may appear shocking, to a mind unacquainted with itself. But when you have searched your heart by this probe-when you have felt the pulse of your soul by self-examination-then you will be better able to judge of my sentiments, and enter into the reasons of my faith.

By this means we shall also discover the sins that most easily beset us, which most frequently elude our vigilance, and baffle our resolution. We shall learn how to post our guard, when to exercise the strictest watch, and where to direct the artillery of prayer. In a word, we shall learn, better than from ten thousand volumes, to know ourselves: a knowledge which was supposed by the ancient philosophers to descend from heaven, and which, I believe, our Christian divines will allow, has a happy tendency to lead people thither; because, of all other preparatives, it best disposes them for that blessed Redeemer, who is the way, the only way, to those blissful mansions. Now I have mentioned a way, let me suppose you travelling through an unknown country. You come to a place where the road divides itself into two equally inviting parts. You are at a loss which track to pursue. Whose direction will you chuse to follow? That man's who has passed through neither of them; that man's who has passed through one of them only; or that man's who has passed and repassed them both? To wait for an answer, would be an affront to your judgment. Only let me observe, that the last is your Aspasio's case. He has travelled long, and proceeded far, even in your path. All that circumspection and assiduity, all that prayer and self-denial, all that fasting and alms, and every other means of grace could do, in order to establish a righteousness of his own, has been done: but to no purpose. He has also trod every step in the way which he recommends to his beloved friend. He has made the trial; can set his probatum est to whatever he advises; and may very truly say, with his divine Master, "We speak that we do know," John iii. 11. and testify that we have experienced.

Ther. I am sorry to observe, that the night is coming on, and our conversation almost at an end. My regret is increased, by the consideration of your intended journey. Though business obliges you to depart, it will, I hope, afford you leisure to write. This will be some compensation for the want your company.

Yonder sun is sinking below the horizon, and just taking his leave of earth. To retard the departing radiance, at least to alleviate the approachi loss, those western clouds catch the rays, and reflect them to our view in

most amusing diversity of colours. By this means we enjoy the great luminary in his beams, even when his orb is withdrawn from our sight.—An epistolary correspondence has something of the same nature. Letters may be called the talk of absent friends. By this expedient, they communicate their thoughts, even though countries, kingdoms, or seas intercept their speech. You must therefore promise me this satisfaction; and let me converse with my Aspasio by the pen, when I can no longer have an intercourse with him in person.

Asp. You have anticipated me, Theron. promise, would have been my request.

Otherwise what is now my

I cannot but take notice of another particularity in that magnificent assemblage of clouds. How they varied their appearance, as the lamp of day changed its situation! A little while ago, these curtains of the sky were streaked with orange, or tinged with amber. Presently, they borrowed the blush of the rose, or the softened red of the pink. Ere long, they glow with vermilion, or deepen into crimson. Soon succeeds the purple tinctured robe of majesty; and as soon (thus transient is all sublunary grandeur!) gives place to the sable veil of evening, or the gloomy pall of night. Such, I trust, will be the issue of my Theron's present apprehensions. All his splendid ideas of human excellency and self-righteousness will become faint, will lose their imaginary lustre, till at length they fade away, and darken into absolute self-abasement. Then the Sun of Righteousness will be amiable, will be desirable, as the beauties of the dawn breaking upon the shades of night.

LETTERS.

LETTER I.-ASPASIO TO THERON.

DEAR THERON,-I am now at the seat of my worthy friend Camillus, where business and inclination will fix me for some weeks. This evening we had a most pleasant ramble. I have met with nothing so agreeable since I left your house, and lost your company.

The time was just arrived, and the scene was fully opened, which furnished our great poet with his fine description:

Now was the sun in western cadence low,

From noon; and gentle airs, due at their hour,

To fan the earth now waked, and usher in
The evening cool.

At this juncture, Camillus invited me to take the air. We walked several times along a close shady alley, arched with the foilage of filberts. Here, hid from every eye, and the whole world withdrawn from our view, we seemed like monks strolling in their cloisters. Turning short at the end, we enter a parallel range of majestic and uniformly spreading walnut-trecs. This transition was somewhat like advancing, through a low porch, into the aisles of a magnificent cathedral. The broad leaf and large trunk of those lordly trees, their very diffusive spread, added to their prodigious height, give them an air of uncommon dignity. It swells the imagination with vast ideas, and entertains us with a romantic kind of delight, to expatiate amidst such huge columns, and under such superb elevations of living architecture.