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ship and that inheritance, as our highest and only portion; and tbat, for the sake of it, we relinquish every other possession and enjoyment, so far at least, as it shall interfere with that superior interest and choice. Can we do this while we confide not entirely and firmly in the powers and promises of God? We cannot: The enjoyments of sense and the world are, in this case, too fascinating and precious; and as such, they are not to be foregone, without what we may deem an equivalent here, or for nothing at all, as we may suspect hereafter. Such is not the case with the man of real piety and goodness: "His heart is fixed," as saith the psalmist, "trusting in the Lord."

It was on this principle, so constituted and informed, that "Moses refused to be called the son of Pharaoh's daughter; choosing rather to suffer affliction with the people of God, than enjoy the pleasures of sin for a season." It was on this principle, that the apostle Paul endured so great persecutions, even to "the loss of all things." "Nevertheless," said he, " I am not ashamed, for I know whom I have believed; and I am persuaded, that he is able to keep that which I have committed to him unto that day." It was on this principle, that the saints, those worthies of old, recorded in the 11th of the Hebrews, in view of " the prize of their high-calling;"" set their faces like flint" against all the corrupt opinions and oppositions of the world; that they suffered the most "cruel mockings and scourgings, bonds and imprisonments; and that oftentimes "they wandered about in sheep-skins and goat-skins; being destitute, afflicted, tormented:" For they knew that "God had better things in store for them;" things, infinitely better than all the wealth and pleasures and glories of the world.

So essential indeed to religious life is this principle, that independently of it, we cannot perform any one act of acceptable obedience, by whatever name, whether of holiness or virtue we may call it. The obedience of a christian is the obedience of faith; and to the faith of a christian, confidence in God, by the constitution of its nature, is inseparably attached; it is of the nature of faith; and at the same time an essential expression of it. As the one is requisite to christian obedience, so must also be the other. And if the whole of our duty be so connected, so must every part and particular act of it. It is, in short, in virtue of this united power, that, according to the established order of grace by Jesus Christ, we are encouraged, and strengthened, and prompted, and emboldened to every duty.

Dark and partial must be their conceptions of the depravity of

their nature, of the impotence of their powers, and of the extent and spirituality of their Maker's law, who disapprove of the habit of referring every thing, as they express it, to christian faith, and its associate graces; or who, yet more regardless of christian principle and of the christian name, presume on the simple energies of their natural reason, or their moral sense, of which they boast so much, for the practice of all that virtue which is requisite to the duties of life, or to their final acceptation with their Maker and Judge. It is much to be suspected, say rather, it is not at all to be doubted, that were it required of them, as of the youth of old in the gospel, to go and sell all that they have and give to the poor, they would, like him, instead of complying, go their way sorrowful, if not vexed. For what, with their crude, jejune, and incongruous conceptions of God and Christ, of the import of their obligations, and of the nature of spiritual and eternal benefits, what I say, could they count upon or expect, as equivalent to a sacrifice, in their view, so immense? I do not mean, however, that our natural, improved perceptions of the propriety and beauty of virtue are of no use in religious life; but I do aver, and that on the best authority, the word of infallible truth, that no man, with the aid of these perceptions alone, how highly soever enlightened and improved, has ever become a truly pious and virtuous man.

How vigilant, under this view, ought we to be, lest, like too many others, weak and self-sufficient, as we naturally are, we be "spoiled through philosophy and vain deceit, after the rudiments of the world, and not after Christ!" By thus affecting to be wise, we shall not only become fools; and fools, in that scriptural sense, which is connected with, and which, without seasonable penitence, will issue in eventual perdition.

On the whole, sir, may I not presume to close this communication with a word of interesting advice to those of your readers, who may have some serious thoughts of commencing a life of real christian religion; namely, that they consider well, what that religion imports; and what it requires of its subjects? That they mark well its essential characters and terms; and that they fairly count the cost? I say, count the cost; lest, in the words of our Saviour, having "set their hand to the plough, they" at length, through weariness, or impatience, or disappointed expectation, or increasing dislike, “look back;" return to their former course; and eventually to that ruin, they may have hoped to escape. It is folly to attempt what we mean not to perform. It is greater folly to leave unaccomplished what we ought both to attempt and to perform; and greater still is the folly to relinquish the

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attempt under the premature idea of having already succeeded, and having already become entitled to the benefits of success. The archer, in a contest of skill, who hits not the mark, will lose his prize, though his arrow should approach it ever so near.

THE DEATH-BED OF A MODERN FREE-THINKER.

Exemplified in the last hours of the Hon. Francis Newport, son to the late Lord Newport.*

[From the Christian Observer.]

Ar sixteen the honourable Francis Newport was sent to the University, perfectly acquainted with the Latin and Greek languages; where he continued five years, and behaved so agreeably to his religious education, that he was looked upon as a blessing and ornament to his family.

At twenty-one he came to London, and entered himself at

to study the law. His new acquaintance began to rally him for his religion: to whom he would say, " Gentlemen, you, who pretend to reason, cannot 'count laughter a conclusive argument; if religion be so absurd, as you would have me believe, why you do not give some fair reasons against it?" This, some of them would attempt; and though their arguments at first were as unsuccessful as their raillery, yet the poison sunk by degrees, and at last tainted him as deeply as themselves. He was adopted into their society, which met to lay down rules for being so critically wicked, that the law should not be able to take hold of them. He had too much prudence to lay himself open: he still kept a fair correspondence with his friends, and in strange places was sober and reserved; but in secret, and among his acquaintance, he was as wicked as good parts, abundance of temptations, and a fair estate, enabled him to be.

On November 30, 1692,† he was ill; and found, notwithstanding all his precautions, that he had not shook off the expectations of another life.

When I first thought of sending you the affecting history, which I now enclose, it was my intention to have omitted the name of the unhappy person, who forms the subject of it. But happening lately to look into Simpson's Plea for Religion, a book, which has been extensively circulat ed, I found the name of that person at full length, accompanied by a few of the circumstances of his miserable end. I can no longer, therefore, have a motive for concealment.

+ This date corresponds to the account given of this person in the English peerage.

This made him throw himself upon a bed, and break out into these expressions: "Whence this war in my breast? What argument is there now to assist me against matter of fact? Do I assert that there is no hell, while I feel one in my bosom? Am I certain there is no after retribution, when I feel a present judgment? Do I affirm my soul to be as mortal as my body, when this languishes, and that is vigorous as ever? O! that any could restore me to my ancient guard of piety and innocence! Wretch that I am! whither shall I fly from this breast? what will become of me?"

One of his old companions coming in, said, "How now, brother! why this? why this melancholy posture? what is the matter?" He replied, "It is you and your companions, who have instilled your principles into me, which now, when I have most need of them, leave me in confusion and despair. What advice or comfort have you now to fortify me with, against the fearful expectations of another life? Are you sure that the soul is material and mortal, and that it will dissolve with the body?" "So certain," replied the other, " that I venture my whole upon it."

Here I interrupted them by coming into the room; and, applying myself to the sick person, told him, I was a stranger to him, but hearing he was ill, I thought it my duty to offer him what service I was capable of. "I thank you," says he; "I desire you to engage that gentleman that sits here, and prove to him that the soul is not matter nor mortal." This I endeavoured to do by several arguments; to which the sick gentleman answered only with a sigh, whilst his friend made haste out of the room. I was surprised at such an effect, and desired to know the reason. "Alas! sir," said he, " you have undeceived me too late; I was afraid of nothing so much as the immortality of the soul: now you have assured me of that, you have ascertained me of a hell, and a portion among those, who have apostatized from their religion. You have now sealed my damnation, by giving me an earnest of it; I mean an awakened conscience, that brings my sins into remembrance, by reckoning up the numerous catalogue, for which I must go and give an account. O! apostate wretch, from what hopes art thou fallen? O that I had never known what religion was; then I had never denied my Saviour, nor been so black an heir of perdition!"

I stood speechless some time at the strange expressions; but as soon as I could recollect myself, said, “ Sir, I would have you take care how you violate the mercy of God, and think so lightly of the sufferings of Christ, as if they were not sufficient for the

redemption of the greatest sinners. This may be a delusion of the devil: if you are convinced the soul is immortal, I hope it is to a good end; if you had died ignorant of it, you had been miserably undeceived in another world; now you have some time to prepare for your welfare.”

To which he replied, " As to the mercies of God in Christ, I once knew and tasted what they were; which is now part of my curse, in that I am now sensible of my loss: they are, I grant you, sufficient for those that have any share in them; but what is that to me who have denied Christ? I have daily crucified him afresh, and put him to an open shame. The devil has nothing to do with the torture I undergo; it is no delusion of his, but the just judgment of God; and it is also a part of my heavy judg ment, that you have given me a sensible horror of my sin, by proving my soul is immortal. Had I gone straight to hell in my old opinion, I had endured but one hell, whereas I now feel two; I mean not only an inexpressible torture, which I carry in my own breast, but an expectation of I know not what change. O that I were in hell, that I might feel the worst! and yet I fear to die, because the worst will never have an end." All this he spoke with an air of eagerness, and such horror as is scarce to be imagined.

He was got to bed, refusing all sustenance, and had an exceeding sweating through the extremity of his torments.

Before I took my leave of him, I desired to pray by him; which with much reluctance he consented to. In the midst of prayer, he groaned extremely, tossing himself as if he was in the agonies of death. When prayer was over, I asked him the reason of it.

He answered, “As the damned in hell who lift up their eyes in torments, and behold afar off the saints in Abraham's bosom, have thereby their torments doubled, first, by reflecting on the misery they are in; and, secondly, by observing the happiness they have lost: so I, knowing myself to be hardened and sealed to damnation, hearing the prayers of the righteous, to which God's ears are ever open; this increases my torment, to think how I am excluded from such a privilege, and have no other portion left me than blaspheming, weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth forever."

"Pray, sir," said I, "consider there is a vast difference be tween you and them in hell; they are lost irrecoverably for ever. more, without any opportunity of a reprieve, or hope of pardon; you are yet alive, and have the promises in common with other

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