delity, their dictatorial puffing, united with ignorance visible to the unlearned, I could not help making secret and severe remarks upon them, for it was my day of haughty wickedness. I have said to myself in language yet more ungentle, that of which the following is the import: "Self-admiring worm, an expert man could frame in half an hour a more ingenious lie against any narrative that ever was written, than any which you are capable of repeating after the last one you heard talk."

Strange to tell, these discoveries, these facts, and even these feelings, had no further influence upon me than to strengthen my resolve to read further, and examine my old doubts with more accuracy.

CHAPTER LII.

MEANS OF RESCUE-VOLNEY'S RUINS.

AFTER I had gone through all the writings of the renowned Voltaire, I could not find one argument or position which was unmixed truth. Since then I have seen letters of certain Jews to Voltaire. I could not discover in them any evidence of a solitary misrepresentation. This proves to me that those who feel right do not wilfully, and of course do not often mistake. These Israelites, in writing to this great man, tell him that he took his thoughts from Bolingbroke, Morgan, Tindal, etc., who in their turn had copied them from others. It really did seem to me as though it was not on account of their weight or superior excellence, that we need suspect any one of originality who copies them. My disappointment was great, and my astonishment indescribable, to find writings which had revolutionized provinces or perhaps nations in their religious creed, destitute of truth and full of falsehood. Pure, lovely truth, art thou discarded? Is falsehood, black, ungainly falsehood, loved in place of truth? Only in matters of religion. The carnal mind loves darkness there, but in other things men prefer light.

I resolved to read the works of others of the renowned and of the talented; for perhaps it was in these books that I might find united in one lovely circle, strength, mildness, truth, candor, and philan

thropy. I took hold of Volney's Ruin of Empires, most commonly and familiarly called Volney's Ruins. I had heard this work extolled long and loud, and I read it attentively. The style was excellent and the manner captivating; but that which was more pleasing still, was this-the profusion of bitter misstatement, that constant stream of malignant untruth in which I had been wading, was wanting here. The most of his text was truth, real truth. The impression made on my mind by this volume, I shall not be able to make the reader fairly comprehend without his passing through some previous course of explanation.

I think this can be made plain by relating the substance of an interview which took place between a minister of the gospel and an infidel. They held a long conversation on a point which cannot be overlooked or misunderstood, if one would understand Volney or his doctrines. This dialogue between the deist and the preacher cannot be given verbally, but only substantially. I can give very correctly the sentiment expressed on that occasion, but accuracy of words I cannot attempt, nor is it necessary. The substance of their conversation was as follows:

DEIST. Another, and the strongest reason why I can never receive the religion you profess is, that it speaks of visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children unto the third and fourth generation. I have too much respect for my Creator to believe he will ever do this in any case.

PREACHER. Perhaps you did not notice that the verse does not speak of visiting the punishment due

to the father upon the children. It is the iniquity of the fathers which God speaks of visiting upon the children unto the third and fourth generation.

DEIST. I do not believe that he would visit any thing of the father's upon the child, in any way or in any shape. I have a higher esteem for my Maker than this would amount to. I do not believe it, and I will not believe it.

PREACHER. You do believe it, for you see it all around you every day and every hour, and you consent to it, and you approve of it.

DEIST. I do not understand you, sir.

This

PREACHER. You may understand if you will, for nothing is plainer in matter of fact. I knew a man, Mr. S, who had one son, his only child. man would not work. He would not humble himself to honest labor. He seemed to have an invincible aversion to bodily toil. Here his iniquity began, for the God of the Bible had ordered him to work. He must have food and raiment, and he frequented horseraces, and frequently made a considerable sum by betting. He would attend card-parties, and frequently filled his pockets from the losses of those less skilful than himself. In this way I knew him to spend nearly twenty years. His little son was very lively and healthful, and promisingly intellectual. As this active little boy grew up, he did not work any more than his father did, and no one expected he would. He loved best to go with his father from place to place, and from village to village. He mingled in different kinds of company, saw new faces continually, and all childish embarrassments wore away. He be

came skilful in riding fleet horses and in different games. His father's character became his. No one expected it to be otherwise. It was easier to teach him a love for loose amusements than for toil. The tavern-house revel was more attractive for the youth of sixteen, than was the corn-field employment. But mark you, the father was not happy. Indolence opens the door to other vices. He lost the respect of his fellow-citizens. He loved intoxicating drinks; he became otherwise abandoned, and was miserable. His iniquity was punished much here in this life. But his son was unhappy too. His father's charac ter descended to him. God has declared in the hearing of all parents, that it is not his plan to prevent it. He became a practiser of the same sins which his father had loved. He became unhappy in proportion to his guilt. The iniquity of the father descended to the son. He followed the same course of idleness and profligacy as closely as his features followed those of his father in expression. If this, sir, had been the only case where the character and the iniquity of the father had become the son's over again, it would overturn your attempt to be wiser or more amiable than Omnipotence. But you know of cases all around you, and they are all over the earth, where children take after their fathers in their vices, and of course suffer as their fathers suffered, in proportion to their guilt.

We will consider this case, when I have placed before you one of an opposite character. Mr. T— whom you knew, was not poor; he possessed a valuable tract of land, and did not refuse to plough it