crease of faith! Of that faith which worketh by love!'

While CONWAY is reading the last Fragment, the sound of voices, singing a hymn, is heard from the windows below, which seem to be open. CONWAY rises and goes closer to the window, to listen. When the voices cease, he again reads, and when he has concluded, remains thoughtful for some time, then, sighing deeply, says aloud,

There must be something real in all

this!"

U 2

[Leaves the Room.]

THE LIBRARY.

HOWARD. CONWAY enters.

How. Welcome, my dear Conway! After having engaged you to meet me here, I have been thinking that you have perhaps had too many of my new opinions, as you call them, this morning; for you would perceive that Travers, Arthur, and I, are all of one mind?

Con. No, my dear Howard; I am still most anxious to hear your definition of that principle, the nature of which you say I misunderstand, but which produces such powerful effects. I am anxious, too, to hear more of this interesting Travers; and also, what effect your change of opinions, or rather, I should say, your change of character, has had on your other children. Emma,

I could almost say, is already your child

in soul.

How. She is. But how have you perceived this? I have scarcely heard her speak since you came.

Con. Nor I. Neither can I very. well tell what it is that makes me conclude she is so, but there is a quiet thoughtfulness in the expression of her lovely young countenance, and a sweet gravity in her manners, which convey an impression that her mind is occupied with more important subjects than is common at her age.

How. It is so. She has, I trust, begun her course of faith, and is a precious lamb in the great Shepherd's fold.

Con. 'Her course of faith!" Begin your definition of that mysterious word, my dear Howard. What is it? What do you mean, when you ascribe every thing to faith?

How. If you feel as I did, the last time we were together, Conway, the very

word, faith, will bring into your mind the recollection of a dull definition, in technical terms, of an abstruse dogma. I scarcely know how to express myself, without using expressions that would then have made me yawn. But do you yourself attach any idea to the term, faith? You know it is constantly used in the Bible.

Con. Why, I am not sure that I have attached any idea to the term, in a religious sense, but as what denotes a something which fanatics and enthusiasts put in the place of a virtuous life; and which, they suppose, absolves them from culti vating morality.

How. Your idea is, I believe, a very common one, and was my own. It arises partly, I imagine, from those innumerable and voluminous explanations, and definitions, and disputations, which have buried the meaning of this most simple term, out of the sight of those who do not take the trouble to look for it in its

own original plain signification. Were I, Conway, to tell you any thing respecting myself, which no one could know but myself, or were I to make you a promise which it was in my power to fulfil, would you not believe what I had told you, though others might try to persuade you that it could not be true: and would you not trust without hesitation to the fulfilment of my promise?

Con. Most assuredly, my dear Howard. There is not a man of your acquaintance who would not.

How. That is just putting faith in me, Conway; and what is meant by faith in God, is to believe what he has told us respecting himself, and which none could tell but himself; and to believe that he will fulfil whatever he has promised. Can any thing be more simple ?

Con. Nothing, certainly.

How. Faith, then, in a religious sense, my dear friend, is simply this,to believe God.