the major part of the night with free-thinking companions at a tavern. Two or three years after he commenced moral philosopher, he was not able to resist the charms of his servant maid, although he was possessed of an amiable wife, with whom, to all appearance, he lived very happy, and who both loved and esteemed her husband.

"Lust, though to a radiant angel link'd, Will satiate itself in a celestial bed,

And prey on garbage."

"But virtue never will be moved,

"Though lewdness court it in the shape of heaven."

In novels we often read of men's planning deeply, and taking incredible pains in order to seduce wives: in real life even the most profligate part of our sex do not commonly attack a fort that appears to be impregnable, nor are they fond of going on a forlorn hope. Those married women who at all times behave themselves as the delicacy of the female character requires, have seldom complaints of this nature to make. Cæsar would not have his wife suspected; no doubt but he had the same ideas just hinted at. The late pious Bishop Wilson says, in his 55th sermon: “Let but women so behave themselves, as that the men may think them chaste; and they may be confident, nobody will attempt them but in an honest way." He adds, But this is the real occasion o of so many miscarriages-people discover, either by their very Vain dress, or looks, or words, or behaviour, they discover that they do not fear God, that they only want to be temfited; and this encourages

those that are as naught as themselves to tempt and to gain their wicked ends of them."

Although Dick was not quite so abandoned by honour and conscience as to be capable of violating the ties of friendship; yet I have reason to believe that some of his infidel companions would not have scrupled, for a moment's gratification, to have sacrificed the peace and happiness of their dearest friends.

I have been more particular in describing my friend Dick's infidelity and vice, as in so doing I have, in some particulars, described my own case and that of others.

It seem'd as though his conscience would permit
A momentary pause, for one short gleam
Of hope to visit his benighted soul.

DEAR FRIEND,

I THINK you will be glad to peruse the following letters, as they will help to convince you of my being quite in earnest in renouncing infidel principles and practices. They were wrote to some of my old sceptical companions. The first you will perceive was wrote when I only began to see the effects of infidel principles on the morals of mankind, before I was convinced of the truths of revealed religion. It was scat to Jack Jolly, in March, 1799.

"Dear Jack,

"I am uncertain whether you are dead or alive in this world or in a better; in a worse you cannot be. Could I meet with Mercury when I have finished this, I would transcribe a copy of it and to send it by him, directed to Jack Jolly, the philosopher, in the Elysian Fields-inquire among the votaries of Bacchus.

"As far as it regards yourself only, I do not think it of much consequence whether you are still alternately oppressed, and overwhelmed with sickness and pain, or making merry with your jovial companions over a bottle: now moralizing and reasoning on moral and physical evil; then finding fault with administration; one while believing in a great first cause, and then asserting that the universe has existed from all eternity. In short, whether you are still going on in the old dull round of a little pleasure and much pain; or, whether you have quitted this insignificant motley scene, for the chance of losing the happiness and misery of existence, or of existing in a happier state of things. But while I live in hopes of the pleasure of hearing from you, (although but seldom) and of again seeing you by my fire-side, I must confess, that I am so selfish as to wish you may not have had the start of me. I have sent you two letters since I received one from you. If you really are in a state of mortality, and should read this, do assure me ofit, and let me know how your excellent wife is, and your children. I am also concerned to know how the philosopher your brother is.

"Tell me also what you now think of French philosophy and philosophers. The world is now

more enigmatical than ever. Plutarch says that superstition is worse than atheism; several other philosophers have repeated it after him, and you and I have believed it; but now I have my doubts about it. On the other hand, I know not how to believe that ignorance and error can promote virtue: I really am much perplexed. One thing seems certain, the breaking down of the old superstitious dykes has brought on us an universa deluge of vice and immorality, the effects of which we must own are alarming in the highest degree. "I have observed, that for a year or two past, a shyness has taken place in me towards my freethinking authors: I have seldom any thing to do with them. Those late great favourites and constant companions of mine are now neglected and covered with dust; for at times I can scarce help thinking them chargeable with some of the dreadful evils that are now inundating Europe.

"A few years since you and I thought it would be charming to live in a state composed entirely of free thinkers. I now shudder at the very idea. No doubt there are some speculative infidels who, like you, your brother, and myself, would gladly act their part in society by endeavouring to promote the happiness of all their fellow creatures, and even that of the animal world; but we now find that the bulk of mankind are only to be restrained by their hopes and fears.

"I am now grown more indifferent than ever as to what others do, how they live, &c. or even as to what they think of me, or my way of life. I know that I am thought to be a strange sort of a fellow, as I neither hunt, shoot, drink, or play at cards.

and

I read until I am tired. I then walk or work in my garden, and in bad weather I cleave wood, &c. Once a week I dine with Mrs. L.'s father, who, although a lawyer, is a very honest, peaceable gentleman. He is also good to his poor neighbours, goes to church once a week, except I happen to be there on Sunday when the service is in the afternoon, when I keep him awake by relating all the droll adventures that I can recollect. In my turn I patiently listen to his old stories, although I have heard them twenty times before; long may he live in his peaceable and quiet mansion.

I am,
Dear Jack,

Alveston, March 10th, 1799.

Your old friend,

J. L.

I have since learned that Jack Jolly's brother died about this time, and that Jack survived him only about a year, but his health was so impaired as to render him unable to write. What were his dying sentiments I have endeavoured to learn, but without success; I fear they were not what I now could wish them to be, as I wrote to an old infidel relation of his to know what state his mind was in when dying, but I never received any answer. As You will have more particulars relating to Jack, I will now add no more, but that,

I am, dear friend, your's.