ing 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; he can set his probatum est to whatever he advises, and may very truly say, with his divine Master, We speak that we do know, 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, t will, I hope, afford you leisure to write; this will be some compensation for the want of your company. Yonder sun is sinking below the horizon, and just taking his leave of our earth. To retard the departing radiance, at least to alleviate the approaching loss, those western clouds catch the rays, and reflect them to our view in a 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 By this means we enjoy the great luminary in his beams, even when his orb is withdrawn from our sight.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 he 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, otherwise, what is now my promise would have been my request. 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, those 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 suceeeds the purple tinctured robe of majesty, and as soon (thus transient is all sublunary grandeur!) gives place to the sable veil John iii. 11. 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 selfrighteousness will become faint, will lose their ima ginary 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 beau ties of the dawn breaking upon the shades of night. A SERIES OF LETTERS. LETTER I. Aspasto opens the correspondence with some important articles of duty, designed to facilitate Self-examination and promote conviction of Sin. DEAR THERON, Aspasio to Theron. I AM now at the seat of my worthy friend Camillus, where business and inclination will fix me for some weeks. This evening 1 had a most pleasing 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 asher in At this juncture, Camillus invited me to take the air, We walked several times along a close shady alley, arched with the foliage of filberts. Here, hid from every eye, and the whole world withdrawn from our view, we seemed like monks strolling in theis cloisters. Turning short at the end, we enter a parallel range of walnut trees. This transition was somewhat like advancing through a low porch into the aisles of a mag. nificent 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 de light, to expatiate amidst such huge columns, and under such superb elevations of living architecture. Quitting our cathedral, we turn once again, and pass into a grand colonnade of oaks, so regular in their situation, so similar in their size, and so remarkably correspondent in every circumstance, that they looked like the twins of nature; not only belonging to the same family, but produced at the same birth. Through these lay a walk, straight, spacious, and gracefully long; far exceeding the last in the extent of its area, though much inferior in the stateliness of its ceiling. It put me in mind of that divine benignity which has allowed us six days for the prosecution of our own comparatively low affairs, and set apart but one for the more immediate attendance on the sublime exercises of devotion, This walk was covered with the neatest gravel, and not a weed to be seen, nor one spire of grass through the whole extended surface. It stole into a continual ascent, yet so very gradually that the rise was scarce discernible, either by the searching eye, the toiling feet, or the panting breath. At the extremity, a handsome summer-house shewed a flight of steps and half a Venetian door; the rest of the building was hid by the clustering branches. As soon as we enter the apartment, Camillus throws open the left-hand sash, and with it a most enlarged and amusive prospect. The structure appeared situate on the brow of a considerable eminence, whose sides were partly confused and wild with broken rocks, partly shagged and perplexed with thorny shrubs. The spectator is agreeably surprised to find himself accommodated with so elegant a mansion on the sum. mit of so rude and ruinous a spot; but how greatly is his surprise and his satisfaction augmented, when he easts his eye forward, and beholds the beautiful meads which from the foot of this ragged hill stretch themselves into a space almost unmeasurable! Through the midst of this extensive vale, which was decked with the finest verdure, and replenished with the richest herbage, a river rolled its copious flood; rolled in a thousand serpentine meanders, as though it had lost its way in the flowery labyrinth, or made repeated efforts of flowing back to its source; till at last, having wandered more than twice the length of the meadows, having held a mirror to the aspiring poplars and bending willows, having paid a welcome salute to several ornamented villas, and passed through the arches of two or three curiously pendent bridges, it seemed to meet the sky and mingle with the horizon. Opposite to the front window, a cascade fell from the adjacent stream: it flashed and foamed along the broad slope, indented with small pits and jagged with protuberant stones. The current, vexed and embar rassed, seemed to rave at the intervening obstacles; and forcing its rapid, indignant, sonorous way, struck the ear with a peal of liquid thunder. These fretful waters let our angry passions observe the admoni tion and follow the example-soon were pacified, soon forgot to chide. Collected into a little rivulet, they ran off in calm and silent lapse, till they lost themselves amongst beds of osier and plantations of alder. The river, widening as it flowed, was parted here and there by several little islands; some tufted with reeds, and the resort of swans; some adorned with stately porticoes and splendid alcoves, the graceful retreats of rural pleasure; some furnished with green. embowering walks, fitted for studious retirement and sedate contemplation. On either side of the charming valley, towns and villages lay thick and looked gay, adding ornament and variety to the scene, and re ceiving innumerable advantages from the passing wave, The whole recalled to an attentive observer's mind, that amiable and august spectacle which the Syrian soothsayer could not behold without a rapture of detight from the top of the rocks I see the tribes of Jehovah, and from the hills I behold the habitations of his chosen people.' How goodly are thy tents, O Jacob! and thy tabernacles, O Israel! As the vallies Numb. xxili. 9. are they spread forth; as gardens by the river's side: as trees of exquisite fragrance, which the Lord hath planted as cedars of stateliest growth, flourishing beside the waters." We had but just looked about us when a messenger came for Camillus. As he was called to settle some private affairs, I chose to stay in this inviting retreat, and determined to make myself amends for the loss of Camillus's company by beginning a correspondence with my Theron. We have pen, ink, and paper, in all our rural retirements; that if any thing is started in discourse or occurs in meditation, worthy to be remem bered, it may immediately be committed to writing. I could not but observe to my friend, that, fine as the prospect appeared, there was one decoration wanting, if some grand deformity may be called a decora tion. The ridges of a bleak and barren mountain, or the skirts of a sun-burnt tawny heath, would give additional liveliness to the ornamented parts of the land. scape, and make their beauties strike with double vigour. This also, by shewing us what wretched abodes and inhospitable quarters might have fallen to our share, would awaken in our hearts a more fervent gratitude to the supreme Disposer of things, who has cast our 'lot in a fairer ground, and given us a more goodly heritage.' So a proper knowledge of the divine law, of its sublime perfections and rigorous sanction, joined with a conviction of our own extreme deficiency and manifold transgressions, all this would endear the blessed Jesus to our affections, and powerfully recommend his rightė. ousness to our desires. The remainder of this epistle, therefore, shall turn upon some instances of duty enjoined in that sacred system; by which it may be highly useful to examine our conduct and sift our hearts; in which, I believe, we have all fallen short, Numb. xxiv. 5, 6. It is well known that the word is used in the sacred writings, to denote either a delightful perfume,' Prov. vii. 17, or that aromatic plant,' which produces it, Cant. iv. 14; for which reason, I think it very justifiable to render the expression, treas of exquisite fragrance; and am persuaded it will be far more intelligible to the generality of readers than trees of lign-aloes.' |