vellously sustained; unknowing whence we came, or whither we are destined; ignorant with all our capacities for knowledge, and miserable with all our powers of enjoyment. The mind which sees these things must be base and sluggish indeed, if it feels no anxiety to escape from a prison where it is so "strait kept without iron bars;" and to ascertain the reality, or at least to take a closer view of the mighty vision which is sweeping by us. The philosopher, therefore, (I use the word in its proper sense) looks round for direction to his inquiries. Christianity boldly presents herself, offering a solution of every doubt, so far as knowledge is profitable, and promising present safety with future illumination. Surely it is not miraculous that a wise man should think such proposals worth examining; nor, if he examines, is it strange he should be convinced. The rest follows in order: " he becomes first regular, then devout." It may be expected then, that a contemplative man will be an earnest Christian; nor can it seem wonderful, if, being a Christian, he still continues to be contemplative. Gravity, however, with the gay and thoughtless passes for gloom. They are guilty of two errors. They mistake seriousness for melancholy; and they impute that seriousness so miscalled, to religion, instead of constitution. Even good men of a different temper, who have never studied human nature, often adopt the same misconception. Sophron possesses a very profound understanding. Happily for him he was irregularly educated, or his powerful mind might have been lost in dialects and prosody. Being left, however, to discover truth for himself, he became early accustomed to reflection, and few reflect seriously without being religious. He is so in an eminent degree. His spirits are easy and

regular, for his heart rests in hope: he can review the past without remorse, and anticipate the future with humble but joyful assurance. Sophron's manners are rather distant, and to those who know but little of him, seem ungracious: his habits of thoughtfulness too, have given him the appearance of gravity and abstraction. Thus it happens that some who are slightly acquainted with him, or only hear of him by report, fancy he wants cheerfulness; and as he is known to be very religious, Christianity as usual bears the burthen.

There is yet a third class of men, of whom it may be said to be antecedently probable, that they will at some period of their youth become zealously attached to Christianity. These are they who possess by nature great quickness of sensibility, joined with ardent imaginations. Such men have strong and delicate perceptions of the sublime and beautiful. The grandeur of the rewards which revelation promises, and the awfulness of the punishments it denounces, naturally arrest their attention. The holiness and lovely simplicity of the character of Jesus, his dignity, his tenderness, and his sufferings, have charms to awake their best affections. Such men too are early disgusted or satiated with the coarse pleasures of the world. Their fancy sketches almost intuitively an image of perfection, of which Christianity alone presents the perfect draught. Besides which they have generally very unequal spirits: the same heart which, during the hours of social festivity, overflows with gaiety, is weighed down in solitude by comfortless dejection. Their disappointments are greater than those of other men; for they over-calculate the value of every object they pursue, as well as their chances of obtaining it; and thus, whether they succeed or fail, they are

still deceived. All these circumstances concur to invite them to become the children of God, to "cast their cares on him," forgetting and despising the baubles they have too long pursued. But the change which is wrought in them respects, rather the direction, than the nature of their affections. Christianity indeed will gradually teach them to control their ardour, to regulate their emotions, and resist all excess of feeling, whether rapturous or mournful; and perhaps at last infuse into their bosoms that placid cheerfulness, which seems to be the kind and degree of happiness best suited to our feeble constitutions. But this must be the work of time. Till then, much of their ardour or their sanguineness will remain; they will be at one moment elevated into rapture, and at another depressed with melancholy. Even good men of a more equable temperament, not comprehending the causes of their occasional dejection, may probably suspect that religion, which so evidently influences their hearts, affects also their cheerfulness: while their less serious acquaintance will undoubtedly lament (according to the mummery of worldly lamentation) that such noble spirits should be ruined by methodism. Eugenes is one of those beings I have described, who, from delicacy of organization, feels more quickly than the common race of mortals; and though he has been visited by no grievous afflictions, a variety of circumstances have hitherto made him better acquainted with sorrow than delight. Eugenes was early instructed in the best principles of Christianity, and the merciful visitations of Providence have gradually taught him their real value. He has made no great progress in religion, yet I believe he is sincere, and dreads sin more than suffering; but he has delicate health and very unequal spirits. It can

not be denied that religion is to him occasionally a source of pain as well as pleasure. His heart at times seems to overflow with gladness, but in other moments I have seen him dreadfully agitated. His friends perceive this, and express their fears of his being too religious. But in truth religion has no connection with his complaint; it is only the field in which his natural temper displays itself. If Eugenes had fixed his affections on any other object, his spirits would have been liable to the same fluctuation: we should still have witnessed in him the same returns of rapture and regret, of exultation and dejection.

I think it has appeared, that of the three descriptions of persons, who, in the common course of providence, are most likely to be earnestly religious, the first and the last will at the utmost only retain the same degree of melancholy as Christians, which they must have suffered as men; while the gloom imputed to the second class, exists only in the ignorance or misconception of the spectators. At the same time it appears, that a certain quantity of real or apparent melancholy among Christians is far from being a just subject of surprize. On the contrary, if we consider the situation or tempers of those who are most likely to be affected with the offers of Gospel grace, the absence of what we so justly lament would be a much stranger phe

nomenon.

So much for the causes which account for dejection of spirits among the religious, independent of religion. These it will be observed apply to persons of all ages. They act, however, most powerfully in the young; for Christianity has such influence in softening every sorrow, that these "natural tears" are gradually wiped away, and

sometimes even the furrows they had worn in our cheeks almost wholly disappear.

Let us now inquire, what there is peculiar to the situation of Christians, which may account for some further portion of those distressing anxieties, which yet remain unaccounted for.

It seems allowed that religious melancholy is principally found in young persons, and I have before stated my apprehension, that it prevails particularly among young men. My reasons for that opinion are these. Women possess by nature a larger share of animal vivacity than men. The same kind Providence which plants antidotes by the side of poisons, while it subjects the softer sex to so many sorrows arising from physical and moral causes, has furnished them with a proportionate buoyancy of spirits to sustain the weight of their afflictions. This prevents in a great degree their falling within two of the three descriptions of persons above noticed, and qualifies indeed the dejection to which they would be subject from any of the numberless sources of human woe; for constitution has a mighty influence either in aiding or repelling melancholy, even when the immediate cause is wholly external. Besides which, women are in general much more innocent than men; and of the distress which can in any sense be imputed to religion, I have no doubt a very large portion is occasioned by the remembrance of past or the dread of future crimes. This conviction induced me to state, that gloom is particularly visible in that class of young religionists whom I termed converts. I call those converts, by way of distinction, who, after a certain course of vicious indulgences, or habitual indifference to the concerns of religion, learn to feel the périls to which they stand ex