that his answer did not go to shake my belief in Moses' story of the creation. And when, on another occasion, fresh from my mother's lesson on the almighty and all-pervading power of the christian Creator, who made the sun to shine and the trees to grow, and every thing to live and move-I enquired of my father whether God went under the roots of the trees and pushed them up; I remember that he smiled, but only said, he did not know how it was done.

I

Thus was I left to form my own conclusions regarding my mother's religion; and she soon found me an apt scholar. entered with zeal and earnestness into her doctrines; thought much of heaven; and prayed regularly that I might go thither when I died; read a portion of the Bible daily; and amused myself on Sundays as little as my restless spirits would permit.

When I look back on my state of mind at that period, it surprises me not so much that my reason was deceived, as that it ever escaped the deception. I was made to believe that all good, kind, benevolent, and amiable men and women, were orthodox christians. The very word good, I had learnt to receive as meaning pious. I had never, that I knew of, met with a sceptic and imagined that one might spend a life-time, without witnessing so extraordinary and shocking a phenomenon. I lived in a religious atmosphere, and I imagined that it extended over the whole earth. I had just heard of heathens and pagans; but I thought of them only as a handful of blinded wretches, to be found shut up in some small remote quarter of a world that bowed to Christ alone as its God and Saviour. To set up my own opinion against that of all good, honest, respectable men—and indeed almost against that of the whole world-was a degree of presumption which it had not even entered into my ideas to conceive.

I recollect, that when I was told of the earth's rotundity, and of our antipodes walking with their heads turned away from ours, I held out long and stoutly against the possibility of such an arrangement; and abandoned my scepticism most cautiously and unwillingly. But, for religion, I had heard it spoken of so early, and so often, and so confidently, that it did not even occur to me that it could possibly be doubted, except from wilful wickedness or hardened depravity. Of unbelief from honest motives I had no conception; for I had never heard or thought of such a thing. Religion I knew not as a

matter to be questioned, but only as a thing to be believed; for I had never been instructed to examine, but only to receive, its lessons.

I know not if I have succeeded in conveying to you an accurate idea of the state of mind in which, as a child brought up on the lap of orthodoxy, I found myself. No one, I believe, but he who has been similarly situated, can accurately conceive the situation. It is to have eyes, yet not to see; to have ears, yet not to hear; to have judgment without exercising it; and to have reasoning powers, without daring to use them.

I have often, since the time my eyes were first opened on the delusions of my infancy, reflected on that strange, unnatural state of mind. And these reflections have been thus far at least useful to me, that I have learnt never to express, nor even to feel, anger-nay, scarcely impatience, towards those whom I see similarly deluded.

I believe my logical powers were naturally respectable, if not strong. My curiosity, on every subject, was great. But neither natural powers of reasoning, nor a natural spirit of enquiry proved of the least avail, for many years in shaking my belief. Those very absurdities which have since appeared to me so bare-faced, that a simple statement of their meaning might well suffice as a refutation, I then received almost without doubt or question. If any rational friend had but reminded me, that a creed may be false however popular, the charm might have been broken; but there was none, who even hinted at error or deception.

One day, at length, it chanced that a discussion arose between my father and a gentleman who was then a visiter at our house, and that I was present. In the course of the debate, my father expressed very heterodox opinions, and I was not slow to discover their heterodoxy. I was then not more than ten or eleven years of age; but my father had always encouraged me to speak freely before him; so that I scrupled not, during a pause in the conversation, to reply in a convincing manner, as I thought, to some of my father's heresies. I recollect that our visiter was delighted; and encouraged me by word and gesture to proceed; to the no small increase of my vanity and self-importance. My father did not check me, but replied very patiently to my arguments; his replies left me much to think upon.

The next day I had a lecture from my mother on the danger

of self-sufficiency, and was told that little boys must listen, but not mix in serious conversation. However, this did not satisfy me. I began to question my mother very closely regarding my father's opinions; and at last I learnt from her, with surprise almost amounting to horror, that she doubted whether my father firmly believed that Jesus Christ was the son of God!

Here was a confounding of all my pre-conceived ideas. My father was universally respected as a man of talent; and I loved him as an affectionate and indulgent parent. My mother, too, swayed as well by her affection for my father, as by her fear that the disclosure of his heterodoxy might weaken the paternal authority, softened the enormity of his religious heresies by repeating to me again and again, that, but for these, my father was every thing that was amiable and estimable. "Were he but a christian," said she mournfully, "he would be all that my heart could desire; but, alas! in spite of his warm affections, and noble qualities, and great talents, he is but lost and undone. Pray to God, my child," she continued, that he will turn your dear father's heart from the error of his ways; that he will teach him those holy truths, which worldly wisdom and prudence cannot teach; and make him at last a partaker in those joys, which the world can neither give nor take away." And my mother wept as she said it.

I was deeply affected and exceedingly perplexed. My father, good, kind, respected as he was, an infidel! It was very strange. All my ideas of good and evil were, for a time, turned topsyturvy. I had heard of savages with their tomahawks and their painted faces and their cloaks of skins. And I had occasionally seen, through the iron bars, as I passed our county jail, some dark, suspicious-looking, ragged offenders, such as I thought I would have shuddered to meet in a lonely lane on a dark night. And these I could have imagined infidels. But a good infidel; a kind infidel; a respectable infidel! It had never entered into my imagination to conceive such a thing; any more than to conceive of a quiet storm, or cold heat, or transparent darkness, or any other similar absurdity. It was some time before I could convince myself of the possibility of such a phenoAt first, it was rather by passive belief, than positive conviction. I looked often at my father. But he talked and smiled as usual; and there was no cloven foot to be seen; nor any sinister inference to be drawn from his quiet, pleasant demeanor.

menon.

I was completely at fault. At length, after many sage reflections and wise conjectures, I arrived at the conclusion, that my father's ignorance and blindness could not be wilful. "He is too good a man,” thought I, “to sin on purpose. I dare say no one ever took the trouble to explain holy things to him, as my mother did to me." This I settled very conclusively with myself; and then I began to consider, if there was no remedy for this sad misfortune. I mused long and often on the matter; and the more I mused, the more plainly I saw the vast importance of saving my father's soul. At last, warmed with the idea of the great good I should 'effect, "I will myself," cried I, "become the instrument of my father's conversion. I will talk to him of religion, and convince him-I know I can-of its truth; and then he will not be sent to hell when he dies."

I was mightily pleased with myself after I had come to this notable resolution. I summoned to my recollection all my mother's strongest arguments-arranged them in the order I intended to bring them forward, imagined my father's replies, and already anticipated my own triumph and my mother's joy, when I should have brought my father to confess his errors and to repent of his heresies.

I told you, that I had resolved to convince and convert my father. I say, resolved to convert him, rather than resolve to attempt his conversion; for so I put it to myself; being too young, and too ignorant, and too zealous, to experience either doubts or diffidence. A man usually learns a good deal, before he learns modesty.

And then, I had very specious grounds to support my undoubting presumption of success. Never was young neophyte more confident in the strength of a good cause. I was convinced that God was exceedingly interested in this matter; and I felt assured that, as my pious undertaking was good and praiseworthy in his sight, he would assist me in its execution, and at last crown it with success. I did not forget that I was young, and I had some confused idea that grown up people were wiser and more knowing than I : But what of that ?" I said to myself; "those holy things which God has hidden from the wise and prudent, he himself tells us, he reveals unto babes." And I was not slow to believe, that I must be among the favored number.

Then too-for the sake of truth let me confess it-to my disinterested care for my father's soul came the more selfish de

sire to ensure the safety of my own. I had heard a hundred times from my mother, that I was a miserable sinner; and at last I had begun to believe it: the more readily, that I felt a great inclination to break the Lord's sabbath, by trundling a hoop, or playing at foot-ball, or engaging in some other favorite game; and that I frequently yawned during our Sunday evening lectures, and sometimes even fell asleep during the family prayer with which these were wont to conclude-all which wicked inclinations, my mother had assured me, were convincing proofs of the innate depravity which I had inherited from my forefather Adam, and should carry with me to my grave. Now, thoughtless though I was in many things, I was yet greatly concerned to find some good deed that might secure me a place among God's angels, notwithstanding the grievous nature of my Sunday sins.

Such a good deed I conceived my father's conversion to be. I had read from the Bible: "He that converteth a sinner from the error of his way, shall save a soul from death, and shall hide a multitude of sins." I had, I believe, too, a lurking idea that, on the strength of this latter clause, "it shall hide a multitude of sins," I might venture an occasional infringement on the monotony of Sunday, without any great risk of the consequences at the day of judgment. If I recollect aright, this latter idea had considerable weight with me; for, as I told you, my spirits were of the most restless order, and could very ill brook the grave restraints and long sermons of a presbyterian sabbath; so that a breach of the fourth commandment was, in truth, my besetting sin.

Actuated and encouraged by these various considerations, I prepared to commence my task. One fine summer evening, my ́ father took me to walk with him, as was his custom; and I deemed this a fit opportunity for my purpose. Every circumstance of the conversation that ensued is yet stampt on my mind. I recollect the very spot where I first began it. 'Twas in a little wood that skirted the lawn before our house, and extended thence over a sloping bank close down to a small but romantic stream. I could yet point to the very tree by which we passed, as I turned to my father, and asked him, with infinite earnestness of manner, and with no little trepidation of heart, "whether he disbelieved that Jesus Christ was the Son of God ?"

My father was doubtless not a little surprised; but he did not