great persons, that you should envy it those whom we may justly expect from so noble a race?

Whilst I had any hopes that your tears would ease you, or that your grief would consume itself by liberty and time, your ladyship knows very well I never accused it; nor ever increased it, by the common, formal ways of attempting to assuage it: and this, I am sure, is the first office of the kind I ever performed, otherwise than in the most ordinary forms. I was in hopes what was so violent, could not be long: but, when I observed it to grow stronger with age, and increase like a stream the further it ran; when I saw it draw out to such unhappy consequences, and threaten not less than your child, your health, and your life, I could no longer forbear this endeavour. Nor can I end it, without begging of your ladyship, for God's sake, for your own, for that of your children and your friends, your country and your family, that you would no longer abandon yourself to so disconsolate a passion: but that you would, at length, awaken your piety, give way to your prudence, or, at least, rouse up the invincible spirit of the Piercies, which never yet shrunk at any disaster; that you would sometimes remember the great honours and fortunes of your family, not always the losses; cherish those veins of good humour that are so natural to you, and sear up those of ill that would make you so unkind to your children, and to yourself; and, above all, that you would enter upon the cares of your health, and your life. For, my part, I know nothing that could be so great an honour and a satisfaction to me, as if your ladyship would own me to have contributed towards this cure; but, however, none can perhaps more justly pretend to your pardon for the attempt, since there

is none, I am sure, who has always had at heart a greater honour for your ladyship's family, nor can have more esteem for you, than, madam,

Permit me frankly to speak my mind to you on a subject, on which I fear to be silent, lest I should fail in a branch of duty and gratitude to a gentleman, tớ whom I think myself obliged, and whom I would gladly serve to the best of my little ability. Be not angry, when I tell you, I was heartily grieved at the liberties you took last night, in using the venerable name of the Ever Blessed God in so light a manner; and in the needless appeals which you made to him, as to things that would have been believed on much less evidence than the word of Sir J. I have not heard, for

some years, so much of that kind of language, except when passing by people of low education, in the streets; whether it be owing to the complaisance with which gentlemen commonly treat our profession, or, as I rather hope, to a sense of what is in itself reasonable and decent.

I am sure, sir, that your knowledge of men and things is capable of making conversation pleasant and improving, and of filling up your full share in it without these dreadful expletives; for dreadful I must call them, when considered with a view to that strict account which

must certainly, and quickly, be rendered up to God for all our words, as well as our actions.

I was the more solicitous, sir, to mention this affair to you, in consideration of your office as a magistrate ; the dignity of which must certainly be most effectually supported by avoiding whatever it requires you to punish in others. In this view, sir, permit me to entreat you to join your efforts with those of all other wise and good men, to discountenance, and, if possible, to drive out of the world, this unprofitable enormity of swearing in common conversation; concerning the evil of which, I am sure it is not necessary to enlarge, when addressing myself to a gentleman of your good understanding.

I conclude, sir, with my most affectionate wishes and prayers for you, that the whole of your conduct, in every circumstance of life, may be such as will yield the most pleasing reflections in the awful hour of death, and the most comfortable account before the Divine tribunal, to which we are hastening: and in the serious views of which, I have presumed to give you this trouble, hoping you, will esteem it, as it undoubtedly is, a proof that I am with great sincerity, sir,

Your most faithful, humble servant,

Philip Doddridge.

LETTER III.

Rev. James Hervey to Richard Nash, esq.*-On a life

This letter comes from your sincere friend, and one who has your best interest deeply at heart; it comes

Master of the ceremonies at Bath.-Mr. Hervey is supposed to have written this letter, when he was at Bath, in the year 1743. It was found among Mr. Nash's papers after his death.

on a design altogether important, and of no less consequence than your everlasting happiness: so that it may justly challenge your attentive regard. It is not to upbraid or reproach, much less to triumph and insult over, your misconduct ;-no!. it is pure benevolence which prompts me to write: and I hope I shall not raise your resentment. However, he the result what it may, I cannot bear to see you walk in the paths that lead to destruction, without warning you of your danger; without sounding in your ears the awful admonition: "Return and live; why will you die ?"I have long observed and pitied you; and a most melancholy spectacle which I lately beheld, made me resolve to caution you, lest you also come into the same condemnation.

I was not long since called to visit a gentleman, who, a short time before, was of the most robust body, and gayest temper, I ever knew. When I visited him, I found him no more that sprightly and vivacious son of joy which he used to be: but languishing, pining away, and withering, under the chastising hand of God! his limbs feeble and trembling; his countenance forlorn and ghastly; and the little breath which he had left, sobbed out in sorrowful sighs! his body hastening apace to the dust, to lodge in the silent grave, the land of darkness and desolation; his soul just going to God who gave it, and preparing itself to depart to its long home, to enter upon an unchangeable and eternal state. When I was come into his chamber, and had seated myself by his bed, he cast a most wishful look upon me; and then began, as well as he was able, to speak. "Oh! that I had been wise; that I had known this; that I had considered my latter end!-Death is knocking at my door: in a few hours more I shall draw my last gasp; and

then, judgment, tremendous judgment!-How shall I appear, unprepared as I am, before the all-knowing and omnipotent God? how shall I endure the day of his coming?"

When I mentioned, among many other things, that strict holiness, which he had formerly so slightly esteemed, he replied with a hasty eagerness: "Oh! that holiness is the only thing I now long for: I have not words to tell you how highly I value it. To obtain it, I would gladly part with all my estate, large as that is.--Now my benighted eyes are enlightened, I clearly discern the things that are excellent. What is there in the place whither I am going, but God? or, what is there to be desired on earth, but religion?"

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If God should restore you to health, said I, do you think that you would alter your former course? "I call Heaven and earth to witness," said he, "I would labour for holiness, as I shall soon labour for life. As for riches, and pleasures, and the applauses of men, I account them as dross; no more to my happiness than the feathers that lie on the floor.-Oh! if the righteous Judge would try me, once more ;-if he would but reprieve and spare me a little longer;-in what a spirit would I spend the remainder of my days! I would know no other business, aim at no other end, than perfecting myself in holiness: whatever contributed to that, every means of grace, every opportunity of spiritual improvement, should be dearer to me than thousands of gold and silver.-But alas! why do I amuse myself with fond imaginations? The best resolutions are now insignificant, because they are too late the day, in which I should have worked, is over and gone; and I see a sad, horrible night approaching, bringing with it the black

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