renewed my pleasure in vifiting the rectory. Soon after his departure, Urania became indeed my Urania, and as far as the circumflances of this imperfect ftate will permit, we have fucceeded in our mutual endeavours to promote each other's happiness. Among other bleflings, we have had fix children; but the laft was taken away from us: that, and the death of my father-in-law, are the only afflictions heaven has fent us fince our marriage. We loft him almoft four years ago; and a grievous lofs it was!

Calliftus. I fear you have done, Sir. Be fo good then to reach me that paper. This is my will: I have left your chil dren a thousand pounds apiece, and you a mark of my perfect confidence in your goodness, by naming you fole executor.— Not a word, I beseech you-it is perfectly, needless-I know your heart.

But before I begin the remainder of my ftory, I will tell you what paffed in my mind after you left me last night.

You found me in defpair. I durft not think of repentance, which supposes a poffibility of forgiveness. I could not think of praying. I spent my time in recollecting my fins, for which I pronounced fentence againft my own foul. Ghofts and fiends feemed to stalk about my chamber, and terrified me almost to madnefs! The little fleep I had was disturbed with horrid dreams; but, in the night before I fent for you, I dreamed that I was on the brink of a frightful precipice, pushed forward by an irrefiftible power; when, in the inftant that I was going to plunge, I felt myself fnatched back fome paces! I turned to look for my deliverer, when I beheld my Sophronius. The vast surprise awaked me! I found myself in a cold sweat, and my heart beating with the utmoft violence. It was long before I could recollect, with fome degree of calmness, this ftriking dream, Happily did it frike me; for, without fuch an impulfe, I fhould hardly have hoped for the comfort you have brought me. When I rofe, I wrote the letter you received, and difpatched a carriage to fetch you

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When you came, your prefence brought me back to life. O how you have foftened my obdurate heart! I have have prayed; I have looked up to heaven, and seen a Creator happy in communicating happiness to his creatures: a Judge of boundless mercy, and a Redeemer of unfpeakable good. nefs, who would not that any fhould perish everlaflingly. I have conceived a hope, that even I, wretched fraggler as I have been, may yet be received again into the fold.

After your kind converfation last night, I went to bed with a mind more compofed than I had felt for fome months: as foon as I was left alone, I prayed in an agony of penitential forrow. O what a dreadful thing it is to repent of fuch flns as mine! My eyes and face were fcalded with floods of tears! My corporal powers, unable long to sustain the agitation of my mind, plunged me into a deep fleep for fome hours: I waked calm, and wonderfully refreshed; and had only time to figh out my acknowledgments for the bleffing, when I dropped afleep again; but not in fuch deep oblivion.. I waked again to the fad thoughts of dying; but not with the fame hopeles horror. I addreffed myfelf with confidence, to the throne of mercy; but not without deep humiliation, and ftreams of repentant forrow. I arofe with more compofure than I had felt for fome months. I refolved immediately to perform the last business I had to do on earth; and to leave fome teftimony of my acknowledgments to you, Sir, for all your goodness to me. I then recollefted the fad task I had to finish, which plunged me into new terrors, from which your prefence again relieved me.

Sophronius. Dearest Calliftus, what obliges you to pursue this talk which you seem so much to dread? and fo indeed do I, for I fear it will hurt you. If it must be done, ftay till you are ftronger, and then you shall do what you please.

On GOODNESS of HEART.

[Extracted from a late Author.]

[Concluded from page 560.]

Y a life fpent in abject fervility, in courting a capricious

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world, in deceiving the credulous, in contriving schemes of advantage or pleasure, and in hardening his confcience, he has at laft in his fiftieth year, obtained fome promotion, and accumulated a handsome sum of money. But he cannot enjoy it. The fame greedy felfifhnefs, which taught him to debafe his foul in purfuing intereft and private gratification, fill operates on his conduct, and renders him a complete mifer. Though he has long enjoyed a competency, he never had spirit enough to marry. He was afraid of the expence. He hates his relations, because he thinks they expect his fortune at his deceafc. He has made no real friends, though he has deceived thoufands by profeffing friendship for the eafier accomplishment of his dirty defigns. All the neigh bours deteft him; and he envies every one of them who appears to be happier than himself, which indeed they all are: for his heart is torn with malignity, with fears, anxieties and covetouf nefs. He bears, however, the character of a fhrewd and fenfible man, one who knows the world, and learned at an early age to make it his bubble. His advice is confidered as an oracle in all pecuniary bufinefs, and no Attorney would be half fo much confulted, if he did not render himfelf almoft inacceffible by the morofenefs of his temper. As in his youth he was all fubmiffion and gentleness, and perfectly skilled in the celebrated art of pleafing; fo now, when the mask is no longer neceffary, his natural difpofition breaks out in all its deformity. But the mifery which he occafions to all around him, falls upon himself by the juft retribution of Providence,

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The heart, which has been the receptacle of every vice, and every meanness, is always the feat of uneafy fenfation. The ftupid infenfibility with refpect to the finer feelings, which ufually characterizes that fort of fhrewd men, who are celebrated in the world as men who know things fo well, may indeed guard them from pungent affliction, but it is itself a curfe moft devoutly to be deprecated,

Simplicius was the fon of parents remarkable for the piety and regularity of their lives. He received a liberal education in its most comprehensive form, and found every moral inftruction, which he derived from books and from his preceptor, confirmed by example at home. All his delicate fenfibilities were gradually nurfed to a state of perfection by the innocence and temperance of his life; by the piety and virtue of his family, in which fuch refpeft was paid to him while a boy, that not a word that could convey a loofe or improper idea was ever uttered in his prefence. He married carly, and obeyed the dictates of his heart in felecting a most amiable woman, of beauty, fenfe, and temper; but of little or no fortune. The fhrewd and wife men of the world, laughed and pitied him. Simplicius, however, had never any reafon to repent. His children are his chief delight; but he loves his friends with fincere and unalterable affection; and there is no fpecies of. diftrefs which he does not pity, and relieve to the best of his power. The amiablenefs of his manners, and the regularity of his conduct, gave him the advantage of character, the want of which can feldom be fupplied by any worldly policy. With this powerful recommendation he has made his way to eminence, and enjoys his fuccefs with the true't relifh. It is indeed unimbittered by any reflections of finifter modes of fecuring it. He always proceeded in the flrait road of common fenfe and common honefty. He knew of no obliquities: for indeed he formed the art of life very plain and eafy, and by no means fuch as required the precepts of a Machiavel. His heart and understanding are both excellent, and co-operating

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with each other have conducted him to happiness through the flowery paths of innocence. His heart has been a perpetual fpring of agreeable fenfations to himself and to all who are fo fortunate as to be allied to him by kindred, by acquaintance, or in the course of his negociations. A good confcience will cause the evening of life to close in the sweetest ferenity, as the day has been diftinguished by unclouded sunshine.

Whatever the fhort-fighted votaries of avarice and ambition may affert, there is no doubt but that real goodness of heart is the nobleft ornament of human nature, and the leaft fallible fource of permanent fatisfaction. I have often therefore la mented, that in the course of what is called a liberal education, very little attention has been paid at our beft fchools to the culture of the heart. While good feeds have been fown in the understanding, the heart has been fuffered to over-run with weeds and briars. In truth, learning and abilities, without goodness of heart, conftitute that kind of wildom which is foolishness in the fight of Reason and of God. Without goodnefs of heart, man, however accomplished, is so far from being but a little lower than the angels, that he is scarcely above the accurfed fpirits, and by no means equal to many of the brutes, who often exhibit moft amiable inftances of a good heart in the virtues of gratitude, fincere affection, and fidelity.

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A proper RETURN for an INJURY.

HEN the great Conde commanded the Spanish army, and laid fiege to one of the French towns in Flanders, foldier being ill-treated by a General Officer, for some difrefpectful words he had let fall, anfwered very cooly, That, he fhould foon make him repent of it. Fifteen days after, the fame General ordered the Colonel of the Trenches to find a bold and intrepid fellow to execute an important enterprise, for which he promised a reward of a hundred piftoles. The foldier

we