upon no better, upon no other. And when low as that obnoxious, despised creature, we are upon the very same ground with the most exalted saints. They all appear before the Majesty of heaven, in the same attitude of unfeigned humiliation, and with the same acknowledgments of utter unworthiness. For it is a certain truth, and admits of no exception, that to justify sinners is not the privilege of human obedience, but the sole prerogative of the Lord our righteous ness.' Ther. Is not the practice of Hezekiah an exception to your rule? These, if I recollect aright, are the words of that holy king; I beseech thee, O Lord, remember how I have walked before thee in truth, and with a perfect heart, and have done that which is good in thy sight." You see, he puts the issue of his trial before the everlasting God, upon his own integrity and his own obedience. Asp. These are his words, but they are not used with this view. He humbly represents before the great So. vereign of the world, how beneficial his former life had been, and how serviceable his prolonged life might be, to the best interests of the Jewish nation. He recurs to his obedience, not that he may establish his hope of eternal happiness in heaven; but that he may obtain a reprieve from the grave, and a lengthening of his tranquillity on earth. Neither is this obedience gloried in by way of merit, but only pleaded by way of argument; as though he had said, Remember, gracious God, how I have exerted my royal authority to suppress idolatry, to extirpate vice, and to promote thy true religion. Consider how greatly thy people stand in need of such a vigilant and zealous governor; and to what a miserable condition both church and state may be reduced, if thou takest away thy servant by this threatened but untimely stroke. And for the welfare of Judah, for the honour of thy name, for the support of thy own worship, "O spare me a little!"" Aspasio paused, expecting a reply. As Theron continued silent and musing, Aspasio, with a smile of * 2 Kings xx. 3. benevolence proceeded. Come, my Theron, why so deep in thought? Have you any objection to the evidences I have produced? They are some of the most dignified characters, and illustrious personages that could be selected from all ages; kings, princes, and patriots; priests, saints, and martyrs. Should these be deemed insufficient, I can exhibit a larger and nobler cloud of witnesses; larger, for they are a great multitude, which no man can number, of all nations, and kindreds, and people, and tongues; nobler, for they stand before the throne, and before the Lamb, clothed with white robes, and palms in their hands. Ask those shining armies, who they are, and whence they came? Their answer is comprised in one of my favourite portions of Scripture; one of those delightful texts, from which I hope to derive consolation even in my last moments. For which reason, you will allow me to repeat it, though it may perhaps be mentioned in a former conversation. We are they, who came out of great tribulation; and have washed our robes, and made them white in the blood of the Lamb: therefore are we before the throne.'* Some of them laid down their lives for the sake of Christ; many of them were eminent for works of righteousness; all of them were endued with real holiness; yet none of these qualifications constituted their passport into the regions of endless felicity. They had 'washed their robes,' had fled to the atonement, and pleaded the merits of Jesus their Saviour-hereby they had made them white;' this was the cause of their acquittance from guilt, and their complete justification. And therefore, on this account, their persons were ac. cepted; they were presented without spot before the throne, and admitted to that fulness of joy, which is at God's right hand for evermore. Ther. I have no objection to your witnesses; but, methinks, your doctrine is strangely debasing to human nature. Asp. A sign, Theron, that it is agreeable to the genius of the gospel; which is calculated, as the eloquent Rev. vil. 14, 15. Isaiah foretold, to humble the sinner and exalt the Saviour; The loftiness of man shall be bowed down, and the haughtiness of men shall be made low, and the Lord alone shall be exalted in that day;' Man, though naturally vain, shall be made sensible of his numberless offences; shall see the defects which attend his highest attainments; shall confess the impossibility of being justified by the deeds of the law; and place all his hope upon the propitiatory death and meritori. ous obedience of the Lord Jesus Christ.' DIALOGUE IX. Curious Summer-house-No Relaxation of the Divine Law, as to the Precept or the Penalty-Its inflexible Strictness, and principal Ends. THERON, impressed with the last conversation, was very desirous to resume the subject, and renew the important debate. With this view, he conducted his friend into a retirement commodious for the purpose. They enter a spacious lawn, which lay opposite to the house, and stretched itself in the form of an expanded fan. The mounds, on either side, were dressed in verdure; and ran out in a slanting direction. The whole, to an eye placed at a distance, bore the resemblance of a magnificent vista; contracting by slow degrees its dimensions; and lessening, at last, into a point; which the regular. and graceful seat, with all imaginable dignity, supplied. Nature had sunk the lawn into a gentle decline; on whose ample sides were oxen browzing, and lambs This corresponds with a very valuable maxim, which an eminent divine once recommended to his people, as a touchstone to distinguish evangelical truth.-That doctrine, he said, which tends To humble the sinner; that doctrine which tends to accomplish all these designs, you may embrace as sound. That which is defective in its influence on any one of them, you should reject as corrupt. VOL. I. Isa. ii. 11. frisking. The lusty droves lowed as they passed, and the thriving flocks bleated welcome music in their master's ear. Along the midst of this verdant slope ran a spacious and extensive walk, which, coated with gravel, and fenced with pallisadoes, looked like a plain stripe of brown, intersecting a carpet of the brightest green. At the bottom two handsome canals, copiously stocked with fish, floated to the breeze; whose waters, beheld from every front room in the house, had a fine effect upon the sight; not without a refreshing influence on the imagination. At the extremity of one, stood a stately colonnade; the roof was elevated on pillars of the Ionic order, and the area slabbed with stones, neatly ranged in the diamond fashion. Several forest-chairs accommodated the anglers with a seat, while the bending dome supplied them with a shade. Corresponding, and on the margin of the other canal, was erected a summer-house, of a very singular kind; the lower part had an opening towards the north. It was cool; it was gloomy; and had never seen the sun. It carried the romantic air of a grotto, or rather the pensive appearance of a hermit's cell. The outside was coarse and rugged with protuberant stones partly overspread with ivy, partly covered with moss, it seemed to be the work of ancient years. You descend, by steps of turf, through a low and narrow door: a scanty iron grate, instead of a large sweeping sash, transmits a glimmering light, just sufficient to discover the inner structure, which appeared like one continued piece of rock-work; a cavern cut, you would imagine, from the surrounding quarry. Above, hung an irregular arch, with an aspect rather threatening than inviting. Below, lay a paving of homely pebbles, in some places a little furrowed, as though it had been worn by the frequent tread of solitary feet. All around were rusticity and solemnity; solemnity, never more visibly seen than through a gloom. The furniture of the same grotesque fashion with the apartment; a bench hewed, you would suspect, by nature's chisel, out of the solid stone; a sort of couch, composed of swelling moss, and small fibrous roots. From one corner. trickled a pure spring, which crept, with a bubbling moan, along the channelled floor; till its healthy. current was collected into a basin, rudely scooped from the ground. On the edge of this little receptacle lay chained a rusty bowl; and over it stood an antique worm-eaten table. On the least obscure part of the wall you discern, dimly discern, a parchment scroll, inscribed with that sage, but mortifying admonition, 'Vanity of vanities! all is vanity." Over this recess, so pleasingly horrid, and adapted to solemn musings, arose an open and airy Belvidere. You ascend by winding stairs, and, coming from the uncouth abode below, are sweetly surprised with an elegant hexagon; the ceiling lofty, and decorated with the softest, richest, almost flowing fret-work. The wainscot, in large pannels of oak, retained its native auburn; so beautifully plain, that, like an amiable countenance, it would have been disfigured, rather than improved, by the most costly paint. On this were disposed, in gilded frames, and to great advantage, a variety of entertaining landscapes. But none surpassed, none equalled, all were a foil to the noble lovely views which the windows commanded. chimney-piece, of white shining marble, streaked with veins of vivid red; over it was carved a fine festoon of artificial, in it was ranged a choice collection of natural, flowers. On a table of glossy walnut lay a portable telescope, attended with Thomson's Seasons, and Vanierii Prædium Rusticum, The The whole was fitted up in the highest taste, and furnished with every pleasurable ornament; on purpose to harmonize with that lavish gaiety which seemed to smile over all the face of nature; on purpose to correspond with that verual delight which came Vanierii Prædium Rusticum-a most elegant Latin poem, which treats of every remarkable peculiarity relating to the bu siness of a country life, or the furniture of a country seat. It entertains us with a description of the most agreeable objects, in an easy flow of the purest language and most musical numbers. It is, I think, one continued beauty; superior to every thing of the kind I have met with among the moderns, and scarcely If at all, unworthy the first genius of the Augustan age. Uni Virgilio secundus, et pæne par. |