authority of man. Disappointed and displeased with the picture which his own bosom exhibits of himself, he is naturally led to inquire into the causes of this involuntary deformity. Some writers have endeavoured to solve all difficulties by affirming, that the creation of such a strange compound as man was necessary, to preserve a a due scale and gradation of beings. Others ascribe all our errors and defects to the fall, and thereby impute to the first parents of mankind the moral evil discoverable in the species. But, without entering upon a discussion of these subjects, I would observe that the human mind, in its present state, wears the appearance of an ancient superb structure, which hath formerly been injured and defaced by hostile fury. There still remain strong marks of its primitive grandeur, although several of its noblest apartments are so miserably maimed and neglected, that they are now become, as it were, an heritage for the dragons of the wilderness.

It is a common observation, that neither the best of men are exempt from faults and follies, nor the worst altogether destitute of worth and virtue. But, sometimes, there is such a mixture of good and bad qualities, so great a contrariety both of sentiment and conduct, in the same individual, that when we ourselves sit upon the

trial of such a character, we are even constrained to suspend our sentence; and our judgment is not only embarrassed by the interspersion of slighter crimes, but it is also frequently perplexed and obstructed in its decisions, when actions of the blackest turpitude have been perpetrated by men, whose general behaviour hath corresponded with the strictest rules of virtue and benevolence. History, sacred and profane, furnishes us with striking instances of the brightest excellences, and the foulest blemishes, concentred in the same person. Oftentimes that predominant passion, which consti tutes the very heroism of goodness, shall aggra vate every feature of vice, if once it be enlisted under the banner of wickedness. That natural warmth of St. Peter's temper, which rendered his zeal for his injured master so conspicuous, betrayed him into the most horrid oaths and execrations. But there is no necessity of a recourse to such distant examples; we shall find sufficient scope for reflection upon topics of this nature, amidst the occurrences of our own times. Nor will the subsequent story be a bad comment upon the hints already advanced; or too faint an illustration of the deplorable consequences which now and then follow upon an

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unlimited indulgence even of the best of human passions.

An innkeeper, at a town in Normandy, had eight children. His wife, whom he loved with the utmost tenderness, died of a fever, after fourteen years' cohabitation. He was inconsolable for a while; but at length he emerged from his grief, and transferred all his affections to the fruits of his marriage-bed. The income arising from the profits of his business was an incompetent maintenance for the family. Hence, several of his sons and daughters, when they had attained to a proper age, quitted their fa ther's house, and entered into servitude. So strong was the innholder's attachment to his children, that he regarded their departure in the light of a temporary banishment. However, there yet remained at home his eldest and his youngest son, who practised every filial duty to supply the deficiency of his absent comforts. Prior to this period, commenced the last war between France and Great Britain: in the pro. gress whereof the French compelled into the service a multitude of young fellows, who were averse to the profession of arms. It unhappily fell out, that the innkeeper's youngest boy, a lad about sixteen years of age, was seized upon

by a recruiting party, and hurried into Flanders. The distress of the poor father, at this melancholy incident, would probably have been insupportable, if his brother, who was the minister of the parish, had not used every argument, which reason and religion suggested, to alleviate the pangs of the bereaved parent. But, although a course of time had assuaged the severity of his sufferings, yet his sorrows were occasionally quickened by the piteous tales the youth transmitted to him, of the many hardships he underwent abroad, by repeated applications of this necessitous son for money, and by the inability of the father to gratify the pressing requests of a starving child.

After some years were elapsed, there rode an officer into the yard of the inn; who, alighting from his horse, called aloud for the landlord. The master of the house, observing that his guest, by his apparel, was a man of rank, approached with deference. At which time the officer, fixing his eyes stedfastly upon his host, acquainted him, that he was just arrived from Tournay, and had been desired to inform him of his son's health. The landlord's fond heart bounded at the mention of the person so exceedingly dear to him, and he was urgent with the gentleman to perpetuate his conversation

upon this engaging theme. But the soldier replied, that he was necessitated to pay a few visits in the town, and would take a more favourable opportunity to satisfy every inquiry of his host.

About ten o'clock at night the gentleman returned to his inn, and told the landlord, that he had invited several friends to dinner the next day: wherefore he directed a plentiful and elegant entertainment to be provided. At this protracted stay of his guest, the innholder secretly rejoiced, hoping thereby to hear many particulars about his boy in the Netherlands. The officer complaining of fatigue, and desiring to be conducted to his bed-chamber, the man of the house catched up a candle, and lighted him to his apartment. No sooner were they both entered, but the gentleman drew a purse of gold from his pocket, and gave it to the landlord, with a charge to take care of so valuable a deposit. Then, wishing him a good night, and reminding him of the morrow's engagements, he shut the door and hastened into bed.

VISITOR, No. 39.