Harrogate, favoured me with the following reflections, accompanied by an illustrative anecdote.

"Perhaps," my friend remarks, "there is much "more frequently, and early than we are aware "of, a portion of this sort of manœuvre in the "minds of children. My wife's father, Mr. Willets, "used to relate a circumstance of himself which "exemplifies this remark. His father was an "eminent dissenting minister at Dudley, but "died comparatively young, about the year 1702. "He was then about four years old. Shortly "before he died, he called his child, who happen❝ed to be alone with him, to his bed-side, and " told him that he was going to die, but that God "would be his father. A few days after his "father's death, some persons were lamenting the "condition of the widow, and of this

"who had now no father. poor child Yes,' said the child, "but I have, God is my Father.' The people "were struck with this 'extraordinary' answer, "and it was much talked of in the neighbour

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hood, and great things were expected from such "a child of four years old. I knew all the while,' "Mr. W. used to say, that it was nothing but "what my father had said; but I was cunning enough to keep my own counsel, and enjoy my reputation.'" My friend proceeds; "he would "not perhaps have been led into this disinge"nuousness, if it had not been for the extravagant

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praise of his remark, which was made, no doubt, " in great simplicity; and if he had been simply "asked, how he came to know this? he would "have said, without hesitation, from his father:

"but corrupted by undue praise, he assumed the "credit of it to himself. Reflecting upon this "early incident, it was probably afterwards bene"ficial to him. But he always made this applica❝tion of it: never extravagantly to praise children himself, nor to give them implicit credit for all "the fine things that are told of them, with extra"vagant praise, by others."

But to return to my own history. The following effect of the same temperament operating on the fear of shame, although not so easily discoverable, I well remember.

I was on a visit for a few days, when not more than five or six years old, to the children of the late Archdeacon Blackburne, who was exceedingly exact in catechising his own children, as well as those of the town of Richmond, at church on the Sunday. I was extremely happy there until the Saturday, when I was to be sent for home; but the morning proving very rainy, no servant appeared. I knew that I was not perfect in my catechism, and the fear of the disgrace which I apprehended would await me the following day, was insupportable. In vain did my young companions and their worthy mother endeavour to divert or console me; as they knew not the cause of the affliction, they could not supply a remedy, and I could not reveal my secret without immediately, as I thought, incurring the very disgrace I so exceedingly dreaded. At length, however, the clouds dispersed, the day became fine, the servant arrived, and the tear of sorrow ceased to flow. But still the circumstance appeared to

me as most unfortunate; I knew I should be considered as being discontented, childish, and fretful, and it was not until some years after, that I could recollect that visit without extreme pain. It is obvious to remark, that a temperament like this, depends wholly for its future character, upon the objects to which its ambition is directed. If to obtain the favour of the good and virtuous, and much more, if to gain the approbation of God himself, it will lead to the greatest purity of heart and mind, and to conduct the most exemplary; but if, led captive by specious appearances and false glory, it supply, on the contrary, a temtation to folly, vanity, and dissipation, it may be productive of conduct the most reprehensible, nay, eventually lead even to crimes of the deepest die.

Of the effect produced by what may be called accidental circumstances, I shall give the following instances. My father had an old man-servant, who had lived with him twenty years. He had a good voice, was an adept in psalm singing, and particularly excellent in the following anthem, taken from the 12th chapter of Isaiah: "Behold, "the Lord is my salvation! in him will I trust, "for the Lord is my strength and my song, and "he is become my salvation. Cry aloud and sing, "for great is the Holy One of Israel. Alleluia." When I was very young, he frequently took me upon his knee, and sung this anthem; probably he hardly understood the import of the terms himself, most unquestionably I did not. I used to listen to him, however, with extreme pleasure;

something of pious sentiment was insensibly generated, and the early association of great delight with this song of praise and humble triumph, has given it an efficacy with me, to sooth the mind in many an hour of subsequent sorrow, which it would never perhaps have otherwise possessed. May we not hence conclude, that there is something erroneous in that mode of reasoning, which would defer all attempts to make religious impressions, until the principles on which they are founded can be completely understood? Alas! were this principle pursued to its full extent, where is the human being that might presume at any time, or in any manner, to address his Creator? Can a creature of yesterday, who has scarcely had time to get a small glimpse of one little corner of his mighty works, be able to frame a language, or even to conceive a thought, which shall be at all commensurate with his infinite power and boundless perfection?

Again: one of our maid-servants used to tell me a story about a good little girl whose parents were dead, and who was cruelly treated by her relations that one day, as she was praying, an angel appeared to her, and gave her a very good book to read, and that soon after she died and went to heaven. Most certainly I would not thus mislead the imagination of a child; but the impression made in this instance was not unsalutary, as the inherent desire of praise was here a stimulative to the wish of attaining real excellence; and although the impression had been more rational and more lasting, as being founded

in perfect truth, had it been made by the judicious association of the idea of the continual presence of God, as manifested in the works of creation, as explicitly taught in the Scriptures, and as connected with human responsibility, yet was I really benefited by it; and I do not see much danger of permanent mischief from these fanciful delusions, so long as the example held up, has a powerful tendency to purify and elevate the mind.

Of the effects produced by incidental conversations, I shall produce the following instance. A gentleman nearly related to my mother, came to make a visit at Catterick, when I was about six years old. He frequently amused himself with shooting, and one day brought home an owl of most beautiful plumage, which the whole company where busied in admiring. "Ah," said he, my heart smote me when I came away, for "there was another poor owl, unconscious of its "fate, that was incessantly calling for its lost

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companion!" For the dead owl I had felt no great sorrow, but this little anecdote was most overwhelming. I instantly left the room to bemoan the sufferings of the surviving owl, with my friend Mrs. Maurice, whom I affected by my tears, and wearied by my interrogatories, whether it could know what was become of its friend; and if it would ever be happy any more? The impression was too strong and vivid to be transient; and from that day to the present, I have never heard the detail of shooting exploits, without very painful emotions.