beneath my own eye. What a religion is our's! How great!-and yet how plain! It is so sublime, that it rises beyond the comprehension of the most enlarged mind; and so simple, that it brings home its lessons to the bosom of a little child! The elements of the gospel, like the elements of our nourishment, are adapted to the endless varieties of age, and character, and circumstance, throughout all the human race."

"And this appears," said Lefevre, "to be a feature in our religion which distinguishes it from all false religions. As far as I am acquainted with the subject, no one of the Pagan systems could have been rendered universal. They all received their character from national prejudice, national policy, and predominant national vices."

"Yes," rejoined Douglas; "and as, in their own nature, they were not adapted for the benefit of mankind as such, so their great teachers discovered an indifference to the bulk of the human race, incompatible with every thing which deserves the name either of religion or mo

rality. With haughty pride, they exulted: in their own supposed wisdom; and looked down with scorn or ridicule on the folly of those, who were not initiated into their false philosophy, Man scarcely deserved their notice, but as he claimed the proud titles of rich, or wise, or noble; and women and children were utterly abandoned to ignorance and wretchedness. Jesus, our blessed Saviour, was the first Master in religion, who opened the door of knowledge to all-who carried his instructions and his tears to the cottage of the poor! This appears to me to involve a powerful evidence of the truth of Chris-, tianity, that may well perplex and confound the hosts of infidelity. I have more than once thought that the Psalmist must have referred to this use of the subject, when he said, 'Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings hast thou ordained strength, because of thine enemies; that thou mightest' still the enemy and the avenger?—I am sure my friend will forgive me in saying so much and so earnestly; it has filled my thoughts since we left the cottage; and I

must be allowed a little extra feeling in favour of the afflicted child.”

"I should be surprised," said Lefevre, "if you did not feel deeply on such an occasion. It has powerfully affected me; and how must you be affected, when there is reason to think that you were employed as the instrument in producing so happy a change on the child. Don't you remember the line of Beattie

'If I one soul have saved, I have not lived in vain!'"

"I do I do remember it!" said Douglas; " and I feel the force of the sentiment. The very supposition of being greeted, at a future day, by this dear child, as the instrument of its salvation, is almost too exhilarating. O, next to our own salvation, there is nothing so important, so interesting, as the salvation of others! We will pursue knowledge; we will admire nature; we will discharge the common duties of life; but let us henceforth resolve, principally to pursue the salvation of those who are ready to perish!"

CHAPTER III.

LEFEVRE, from the first, had formed a favorable idea of Douglas. This sentiment had become strong and permanent in their subsequent intercourse; and, as he had great transparency in his character, it did not fail to discover itself in a decided manner. There was something too in his circumstances which cherished this attachment. He had not long possessed any relish for a religious friend; and, since he had entertained the desire, he had not met with one to whom he could freely unbosom himself. He found he was the subject of new and uncertain fears, hopes, and convictions; and he panted like “the bart after the water brook," for a friend to whom he might entrust the perplexities of his experience, and the secrets of his soul. It will not, therefore, be deemed strange, if at this time, the expressions of his attachment were eager and somewhat exclusive.

Douglas was by no means insensible to the overtures of Lefevre. He had been pleased to mark some of the excellencies of his character, and he loved him with sincerity and ardor. Yet, it is certain, that there was something more temperate in the expression of his feelings. This, perhaps, might be referred, partly, to a more deliberative turn of mind, which required to know the ground it was to occupy, before it occupied it; partly, to the wreck of a former friendship which was present to his thoughts; and principally, to a fear, lest his friend, in the ardor of his affection, might give him credit for excellencies which he did not possess, and eventually reap disappointment.

Scenes of suffering are often the birthplace or cradle of friendship. It has been found that persons previously indifferent, not to say hostile to each other, have at the sick or death bed, of a common friend, formed a mutual affection. Their sympathies were warmed and melted; they insensibly flowed into each other, and settled in an abiding attachment. Thus it is that