placed him under. He may, like you, noble Abdalla, be a sincerely virtuous, honest, sober, kind, good, and benevolent man.

"But still I want to know, (the royal Moor replied) why the common Father of his creatures should make some happier by revelation than it is possible for others to be by nature. Tell me, Mrs. Benlow, do not the same reasons which shew it to be necessary for the people of Europe, shew it to be necessary for the people of Africa.-Why should the Europeans be blessed with an aid so extraordinary, that none of them can miss the realms of glory, unless they wilfully wink hard against the light of the gospel, and are determined to sink to hell, rather than renounce the tumultuous pleasures of this world; and the poor Africans have reason only to trust to, which is but very weak in many of them? Should not the common Parent let all his children know what was for their common good?

"To this I answered, that there may be reasons of providence unknown to us, which make a different method more fit and proper, and we must resolve the revealed favour, as well as many others, into the determination of infinite wisdom. We have no knowledge of the whole scheme, order, and state of things; and, beside, though the happiness of man is one end of all the dispensations of divine providence, yet we must not suppose, that mere happiness is the end; but happiness under some certain posture, order, and situation of being. I think for myself, that this is evident from the different order of beings that are in the world, and the different degrees of happiness allotted to creatures of the same species. We see even in respect of the law of nature, that some understand much more of it than others (considering the circumstances in which they are placed) can know. The goodness of the Deity, as I imagine, inclines him to communicate some degree of happiness to all his children, and prevents him from making any of them miserable without their own fault. But the divine goodness may give being to a variety of creatures, and make some more, others less perfect in knowledge; and that, according to the different degrees of their understandings, they shall be more or less perfect in their wills. I see no inconsistency in this. Supreme wisdom best knows what measure of natural capacity for happiness, or what number of additional advantages, every particular creature should enjoy. In creating, God dealt out happiness gradually and unequally to his creatures. In restoring we must allow him, if he pleases, to pursue the same measures. He is the undoubted master of his own favours; yet he cannot act in an arbitrary manner. In his own infinite mind he has most certainly reasons for this different conduct.

"But nevertheless, there is no cause to complain. A heathen, in any part of the world, may be an accepted believer in the sight of God. He may by his reason, rightly and duly used, believe that God is, and that he is the rewarder of them that diligently seek him. The whole difference between us is what the apostle Paul tells us. The living God is the Saviour of all men, especially of those that believe.

The observations of Miss West, on sudden death and deathbed repentance, are not only forcible but beautiful.

"My dear, (Miss West replied) you have understanding enough, young as you are, to answer this question yourself, and therefore Í shall only say, to oblige you with my notion upon this article, that we cannot here see the reasons why the oppressor and destroyer are often suffered to enjoy an envied power and glory to extreme old age :-and the benevolent and pious frequently live in misery, and often perish in a sad manner, like good John Crump, the gardener; yet hereafter we shall be satisfied it was for the wisest reasons; and we are now sure, that a day of judgement is a sufficient apology for providence. We shall then discern betwixt the righteous and the wicked. And as to John Crump's sudden death, after doing us such friendly offices, if he passed that way in an instant to the lightsome fields of Hades, or the boundless realms of glory, which I suppose was his case, then he had no cause to complain of the misfortune. And it is farther my opinion, that terrible as his death may seem to sense, yet it is preferable to the way many good people expire on beds of down, in the finest houses. I have known several of my acquaintance in the most excruciating torments for several days before they could die: torments beyond any thing an inquisition could lay on them. And what signifies accidental, speedy death of any kind, by sea or land, in respect of such continued grievous misery in dying. The thing is, we must all die, and God knows best which is the fittest way for his servants. Our business is to say, thy kingdom come, thy will be done, and we are sure of being for ever happy, in whatever way the passage is opened for us to immortality. No way or manner of dying can be joyous to human nature. It is a cup that all would desire might pass from them; but since it is the great law of nature, and that all must taste it, though the ingredients are not to all equally bitter and offensive, I am sure for myself, that I had rather perish at sea, or be swallowed up at once, as John Crump was, than lie for many days, as an excellent lady of my acquaintance lately did, in the excruciating torments of that most dreadful distemper, a miserere. And I knew a young gentleman of very good morals, who was seized with so intolerable a headache, that after men had stood for eight-and-forty hours squeezing his burning head with wet napkins, and he could find no ease by any means, he snatched up a pistol, and shot himself. Considering these things, and various other almost unbearable disorders, what we call a violent or unnatural death is not so great an evil as it is generally supposed. Sudden death, in an easy way at least, I think we ought to desire, and how people came to think of praying to be delivered from such a good manner of dying, is to me very surprising. May it my fate to look through an easy sudden death to a glorious eternity: Nay, let it be a little rough, rather than not sudden.

be

"I know, my dear, (continued Miss West, speaking to little Miss Howel,) it is said, that Christianity makes repentance necessary to salvation, and a sudden death, soft or hard, interrupts it. It does so in the case of evil people: but the good can never need that repentance in order to salvation, which it is in the power of sudden death to intercept. For true repentance consists not in single acts, upon particular occasions, but in an habitual change of mind, and heart,

and frame, and life. This must be the character of the righteous, and such a character needs no such repentance as a sudden death can intercept; whether it happens by slipping the breath in a moment, with ease, or by a fall, or in a salt wave.

"In truth, Miss, a' death-bed repentance is good for nothing. We must so live as to have all things ready for the great journey; if we expect a comfortable passage, and a welcome reception. The true Christian's case is a continued operation; there must be nothing to seek any minute of our lives. We must hasten as for life and soul to obtain that holiness without which no one shall see the Lord; and when this is done, we are always ready, with a heavenly easiness, with support, courage, and resignation, to pass through the gate of any sudden death, to the regions of eternity and day. What you say, Miss West, (the young creature replied), is just and beautiful, and I shall hereafter for ever pray, while I am in this world, that I may never be worn away like a stone by a continual dropping; but may, in the twinkling of an eye, depart; smoothly, I would choose, or let it be a rough way, as I design to comply with the whole method of salvation, and am sensible it consists in a change of heart and life, true faith in Christ, firm resolutions, and persevering obedience. But what then, madam, must become of the bulk of mankind, who live, I am told, so as to want a late repentance? Will this avail them nothing? You seem to think the late repentance of a sinner is of no moment at all.

"I do so, my dear, (Miss West answered,) a death-bed repentance, the Bible, I am sure, declares worthless: and reason, so far as I know, can say nothing for it. Nor is this so severe a maxim as some may imagine, but a doctrine that excites the good to duty. It ought to awaken the sinner, and warn him to flee from the wrath to come. Since this is the case, the virtuous will make their whole lives one constant endeavour after further improvements, and strain every nerve to reach that perfection of holiness, which is the foundation of perfect happiness. And if the vicious will not take counsel, and betimes reform, it is madness to think of retrieving the misery of an ill-spent life by a few late lamentations, as the nature and design of religion must exclude any such hope."

The shortest accounts of one of our author's adventures will not, we think, be unamusing. It is extracted from the dedication, and is a very animated little narrative.

"As I travelled once in the month of September, over a wild part of Yorkshire, and fancied in the afternoon that I was near the place I intended to rest at, it appeared, from a great water we came to, that we had for half a day being going wrong, and were many a mile from any village. This was vexatious; but what was worse, the winds began to blow outrageously, the clouds gathered, and, as the evening advanced, the rain came down like water-spouts from the heavens. All the good that offered was the ruins of a nunnery, within a few yards of the water, and among the walls, once sacred to devo

tion, a part of an arch that was enough to shelter us and our beasts from the floods and tempest. Into this we entered, the horses, and Moses, and his master, and for some hours were right glad to be so lodged. But, at last, the storm and rain were quite over, we saw the fair rising moon hang up her ready lamp, and with mild lustre drive back the hovering shades. Out then I came from the cavern, and as I walked for a while on the banks of the fine lake, I saw a handsome little boat, with two oars, in a creek; and concluded very justly, that there must be some habitation not far from one side or other of the water. Into the boat therefore we went, having secured our horses, and began to row round, the better to discover. Two hours we were at it as hard as we could labour, and then came to the bottom of a garden, which had a flight of stairs leading up to it. These I ascended. I walked on, and, at the farther end of the fine improved spot, came to a mansion. I immediately knocked at a door, sent in my story to the lady of the house, as there was no master, and in a few minutes was shewn into a parlour. I continued alone about a quarter of an hour, and then entered a lady, who struck me into amazement. She was a beauty, of whom I had been passionately fond when she was fourteen and I sixteen years of age. I saw her first in a French family of distinction, where my father had lodged me for the same reason as her parents had placed her there; that is, for the sake of the purity of the French tongue; and as she had a rational generosity of heart, and an understanding that was surprisingly luminous for her years; could construe an Ode of Horace in a manner the most delightful, and read a chapter in the Greek Testament with great ease every morning; she soon became my heart's fond idol; she appeared in my eyes as something more than mortal. I thought her a divinity. Books furnished us with an occasion of being often together, and we fancied the time was happily spent. But at once she disappeared. As she had a vast fortune, and as there was a suspicion of an amour, she was snatched away in a moment, and for twenty years from the afternoon she vanished, I could not see her or hear of her: whether living or dead, I knew not till the night I am speaking of, that I saw come into the room, the lovely Julia Desborough transformed into Mrs. Mort. Our mutual surprize was vastly great. We could not speak for some time. We knew each other as well as if it had been but an hour ago we parted, so strong was the impression made. She was still divinely fair; but I wondered she could remember me so well, as time and many shaking rubs had altered me very greatly for the worse. See how strangely things are brought about! Miss Desborough was removed all the way to Italy, kept many years abroad that she might never see me more, and in the character of Mrs. Mort, by accident, I found her in solitude in the same country I lived in, and still my friend. This lady told me, she had buried an admirable husband a few years ago, and, as she never had any liking to the world, she devoted her time to books, her old favorites, the education of her daughter, and the salvation of her soul. Miss Mort and she lived like two friends. They read and spun some hours of their time every day away. They had a few agreeable neighbours, and from the lake and cultivation of

their gardens derived a variety of successive pleasures. They had no relish for the tumultuous pleasures of the town; but in the charms of letters and religion, the philosophy of flowers, the converse of their neighbours, a linen manufactory, and their rural situation, were as happy as their wishes could rise to in this hemisphere. All this to me was like a vision. I wondered, I admired. Is this Miss Desborough with whom I was wont to pass so many hours in reading Milton to her, or Telemaque, or L'Avare de Moliere? What a fleeting scene is life! But a little while, and we go on to another world. Fortunate are they who are fit for the remove, who have a clear conception of the precariousness and vanity of all human things, and by virtue and piety so strive to act what is fairest and most laudable, and so pass becomingly through this life, that they may in the next obtain the blessed and immortal abodes prepared for those who can give up their account with joy."

We have now, we think, given sufficient extracts from these Memoirs, to enable the reader to judge of the soundness both of the author's head and heart. With some of his peculiarities we cannot become perfectly acquainted, without a reference to the work itself; the most remarkable of which is the skilful combination of theological disquisition with the most lively sallies of a playful imagination: a little history or a romantic adventure blossoms in the midst of a Discussion on the Origin of Evil, or a Question in Fluxions. He controverts the dogmas of differing sects-describes the tones of a flute or a violin--with the same ardour and the same vivacity. And all this in the most agreeable and easy manner. Even in the vehemence of controversy, in which he sometimes oversteps the bounds of temperate language, we cannot help observing the kindness of his heart and the sodality of his disposition. But notwithstanding the facility with which he passes on from grave reasoning to gay description, he never loses sight of his great object, which he only quits to return to it with increased earnestness, and which seems to have lighted up in his breast a flame, glowing with an intense heat, which death alone could extinguish.

The accomplished females, to whom our lively author introduces us, are not of a common description, and they are still less common in acquirements than in talents. He has estimated the former, not according to the general standard of female qualifications, but according to one or two instances of rarely gifted women. It is not, for instance, a usual thing to find ladies solving problems in fluxions to prove Bishop Berkley wrong and Sir Isaac Newton right; or pointing out the errors of such writers as Chubb; but yet there is nothing either impossible or ridiculous in it. He has, however, adorned them with more feminine, more delightful, and more useful ac