such children! (To Mr. Worthy.) What should you and I feel, Sir, if we were to be bereaved of our children in such an unmerciful manner?

(To

Wor. O it is too much to be thought of. Henry.) Indeed, Mr. Henry, I think you must discontinue your stories, for Mrs. Worthy seems more affected than myself, and my poor daughter is more overcome than either of us; and as to Mr. Lovegood, you see how much he feels on the subject, though as yet you have given us nothing of the history of poor Sancho, which you say, is as af fecting as any of the former. I think for the present we have heard as much as we can bear, and that the rest of it must be deferred till another opportunity.

Hen. It is not only very affecting, but equally as improving; for he told me a lovely story of his conversion to the knowledge and grace of the gospel by the Moravian Missionaries.

Mrs. Wor. What can be the excuse for such disgraceful and abominable crueities against our fellow creatures?

Hen. Why, madam we have been frequently told by some that they are scarcely to be esteemed as our fellow creatures, but a species of beings considerably below us.

Wor. (fired with holy indignation.) Is it possible to admit such a thought for a moment? Can they be worse bruits naturally than ourselves? What a dishonour in us to carry on such an abominable traffic, and for others to attempt to vindicate, or even to palliate it, when every principle belonging to it is founded upon incurable injustice! For it appears to me, admitting, their argument for the moment, if it can be proved that their natural understandings are in a small degree interior to our own, are we from thence to infer that we have a right to

set them at variance among themselves, that we may kidnap, rob, and murder, as we like best? and are we to set the example to all Europe, by being the first and principal transgressors, that we may avail ourselves annually of more than twenty thousand slaves for the sake of our luxuries; and destroy or enslave at least double that number of our fellow creatures, considering the multitudes we are obliged to murder by sham wars, in order that we may procure them, and consequently draw down by our infamous example the same evil on as many more besides? Will reason or conscience for a moment submit to it, when the only pretext which can be given is, that we suppose their understandings are inferior to ours? If so, why not pity and protect them till better instructed? But cowards alone take the advantage of fools, supposing the poor Africans to be such. What then shall we call ourselves, Christians or devils? and can a race of devils act worse against us than we do against them? And, as they have exactly the same right, if they had equal power, to plunder us as we have plundered them, how should we bear it, if a fleet of their ships should hover round our shores like a set of vultures after their prey? Would not every principle of self-interested indignation be roused in us? If then it be admitted that their understandings be weaker than ours, yet I am sure of this, that in art and wickedness, as it relates both to our principle and practice towards them, we abundantly exceed them.

Far. Well, I wish with all my heart, our 'squire was in the thickest of them, he would give it them roundly.

Mrs. Lit. Patty, my child, ring the bell.

Miss Polly. No, mother, Patty and Nancy are going out themselves to bring it in.

[Miss Patty and Miss Nancy went out immediately, and, by way of keeping up an old hospitable custom, speedily returned, Miss Nancy with a heaped plate-full of cake, cut in slices, and Miss Patty with a large waiter, with glasses of wine already poured out.

Mrs. Lit. (To Mr. and Mrs. Worthy) Madam, I hope you and the 'squire will be so kind as to drink a glass of wine, and eat a bit of cake, after your tea.

Mrs. Wor. No, I thank you, Mrs. Littleworth we seldom take any thing after tea till supper time.

Far. I hope your honour and madam will be free, and taste a little of the cake that my wife and daughters have been making, and drink a glass of wine. It is outlandish wine, the same as your honour drinks at the hall. My son went for it to Mr. Vinter's of the George.

Wor. Well, Mr. Littleworth, for once I shall have no objection to taste your wine; and as my wife and daughter have been so much affected at the stories Mr. Henry has been telling us, I hope they will follow my example.

[As the fashion of drinking health was not yet banished from Grace-hill farm, Mr. Worthy drank the family of the Littleworths, then sipped his glass again, and drank his Majesty's good health. On which the farmer observed, in his younger days how his father directed him to drink the Pretender's good health, but that now he could drink his Majesty's good health, with all his heart. The same glass served to drink success to farming, and the last sip served for another toast.-A speedy abolition of the Slave Trade. Mr. Worthy was the toast-master, in which Mr. Lovegood heartily joined him, and thus ended the ceremony of the cake and wine.]

Loveg. Well, but Mr. Henry, as it is agreed that

VOL. I.

all your stories will be too much for us at the present, and as we must hear about poor Sancho and his brethren, may I request the favour that the next time this company meet it may be at the vicarage, some Wednesday before the lecture; (to Mr. Worthy) but I am afraid, Sir, we shall not have that pleasure, for above a fortnight or three weeks, as I hear you are going to take Mrs. Worthy to see her relations in Lancashire.

Wor. Directly as we return, I am sure, we shall be all very happy to come and see you, when we shall hope, not only for some profitable conversation about poor Sancho, but a good sermon in the bar. gain. But shall we not interrupt you, Sir, in your meditations on that evening?

Loveg. O no, Sir; I hope I shall be prepared to talk to the poor people who attend our lecture before you come. Besides, such sort of conversation as we shall then have, I am sure will be no impediment to the sermon; and, by such a kind visit, you will confer a favour on Mrs. Lovegood, who from her attention to her family concerns, is so much confined at home.

Wor. (to Mr. Lovegood) Having now settled these matters, we can allow you sufficient scope of time for the Bible, a little singing and prayer.

Far. Aye, and what a mercy it is when God sends ministers that know how to pray. I well remember, when I was first awakened to a sense of my evil state, as how when our rector, Mr. Dolittle, came, as he thought, to set me right again, when I asked him if he would take the Bible and expound a chapter and go to prayer, poor gentleman, how he jumped about like a parched pea in a frying pan. What a pity it is when the neglectful and blind are sent by blind men to lead the blind..

[Miss Nancy directly took the hint-ran out im

mediately and brought in her father's large Bible out of the kitchen, placed it before Mr. Lovegood, and snuffed the candles.]

Far. Why, Nancy, my dear, you should not have brought in that Bible. (To Mr. Lovegood) Why, Sir, I should be quite ashamed if you were to see what marks and notes I have made in it while I sat reading in the kitchen by the fire side.

Loveg. Never mind that, my friend. I always love to see a marked Bible; it is, in my opinion, a good evidence that our Bibles do us good, if we can mark and note them while we read them: you know that we pray that we may "read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest" the blessed word of life.

Far. Amen, I pray God we may. But, with your leave, Sir, I had rather you would read out of another. (To his wife) Dame, will you send for that nice fine Bible, with the pictures in it, which your aunt left you as a legacy. It never can be made a better use of than on the present occasion.

[The fine best Bible was accordingly fetched down out of the curious old chest, or cabinet, in which it was imprisoned, while Mr. Lovegood said, that he wished it might be as much marked and noted as was the other; observing at the same time, that it was from the kitchen Bible the people got the most good. Mr. Lovegood, however, having been much affected, begged leave first to walk out for a few minutes into the garden, on which occasion, being a man of a very fruitful and a retentive mind, he composed a hymn, which afterwards was sung at the family service. And now Mr. Lovegood, “ like a workman that needeth not be ashamed," opened the precious word of life. The chapter he chose was the 12th of the Romans. He dropped some very pertinent observations while he read the chapter, but his attention seemed peculiarly arrested by the following