Dialogue I.

Paternus, Filiolus.

Filiolus.
Good morrow, papa.

Patern. Good morrow, my love,—What is
the matter? your eyes look red.

Filio. Oh, papa!—that story you were telling
me, out of the Bible, last night, made me
so melancholy!—I could not help crying to think
what a pity it was of Adam and Eve, to grow
so naughty, after God had made them so good!
—I was thinking of it all night.—But, papa,
why did God let them be so naughty, and do
themselves them, if he pleased, from eating that
nasty tree!

Pat. He could.

Fil. And why didn’t he, then?

Pat. Because he created them with a free
will, my dear.

A3 Fil. A3v 6

Fil. What’s that, papa?

Pat. Why, he put it in their power to think
of what they pleased, and have a mind to whatever
they pleased.

Fil. But why did he, then?—Why didn’t
he hinder them from having a mind to be naughty?

Pat. If God had given them no choice, they
could not have chosen good, any more than bad,
and could no more have loved or served God, or
been capable of happiness, than this stupid
stick.—Tell me, do you love this stick?

Fil. Oh!—papa,—you make me laugh;—is it
love a stick?—

Pat. And why not?

Fil. Why sure, because the stick can’t love
me.

Pat. Do you love your dog?

Fil. O yes, very much indeed.

Pat. And why?

Fil. Because he loves me in his heart, papa.

Pat. Have you any other reason, besides this,
for loving him?

Fil. O yes, for he diverts me, and comes
when I call him, and carries me about, and does
every thing that I bid him.

Pat. And are you not you as obliged to
your stick?—You have it whenever you please,
and you play with it, and ride upon it, as well
as you do upon Pompey.

Fil. A4r 7

Fil. Aye, but no thanks to the stick, though:
the stick does not care a pin for me: it won’t
come when I call it, like Pompey; I must go
and fetch it, when I want it, papa: sure it is
not out of good nature it carries me about, like
Pompey! the stick can’t help itself, or hinder
me, but Pompey could hinder me, if he had a
mind, and for all that, he does every thing that
I bid him, out of his own good will, and because
he loves me.

Pat. Very well, and so, you will love the
dog, and you won’t love the stick, although the
stick should divert you as much as the dog.

Fil. Yes, that’s what I say, papa.

Pat. And for this reason, because Pompey
has a will of his own, and makes use of it to
love you, and leaves every one else, to follow
you, and does every thing you bid him, of his
own good will, although he may let it alone, if
he pleases.—But the stick has no feeling, no
will, or choice of its own, and therefore can’t
chuse to love you, but what you make it do,
and you are not a bit obliged to it for that.—Is
not this the case?

Fil. Yes, papa.

Pat. Well, you don’t love the stick, and you
do love Pompey.—Is there any one you love
better than Pompey?

Fil. O yes, indeed.—I love you a hundred
and a hundred times better.

Pat. A4v 8

Pat. And why?

Fil. Because sure, no dog can love me as you can.

Pat. Why so?

Fil Because a dog can’t have sense to know any thing like you, papa.

Pat. You answer very right: but remember,
now, what you have said: the reason why the
stick cannot make itself agreeable to you, is because
it has not power or will at all:—the reason
the dog can make himself agreeable to you, is,
because he is not powerless, like the stick, but
has some degree of will and choice, which enables
him to chuse to love you: and the reason
that I can be more agreeable to you than either,
is, because I have a great deal more power and
will, and therefore can serve you more, and love
you better than any dog in the world. Now tell
me, do you want to be more loved, and better
served than God?

Fil. Oh! papa! sure I did not say such a
naughty thing as that.

Pat. But you said the same thing, when you
wanted Adam and Eve to have been made without
any will of their own; for then, they would
have been worse than the dog, and as stupid and
senseless as the stick.

Fil. Oh! now I see what you mean, papa.
Sure enough, its very true, I wanted God to
make a stick of poor Adam;—I wanted a stick to A5r 9
to serve God, although a dog, that is so much
better than a stick, would not serve me. But,
you know, I am only a poor silly child, papa;
so, I hope God will forgive me, and make me
wiser.—May I ask any more questions, papa?
Pat. You may indeed, my love: I am ready
to answer them.

Fil. I’ll say no more about our thoughts papa;
but, could not God make us do whatever he
pleased?

Pat. He could.

Fil. And why doesn’t he always make us do
good then?

Pat. Suppose Pompey, here, was to take it
in his head to hate, instead of loving you; and
that he would not come, as he does now, when
you call him, nor do any thing you bid him, nor
carry you about, as he used to do.

Fil. O, I would be sorry for that.

Pat. But then you could make him do a
great deal: you could beat him, and drag him
along.

Fil. Aye, but I would not do that; I would
rather not have him at all, than do that, for it
would only make him hate me more: besides,
I love to see him merry, and happy: I could not
bear to have him always dismal and surly, and to
be beating and making him howl. Oh, aye,
and then he’d be worse than the stick, because
he’d do nothing but what he was forced to do, and A5v 10
and it would be harder to make him do things
than the stick: besides, if he didn’t do it of his
own good will, I wouldn’t give a pin for it.

Pat. And why then, do you wish God to
force the service of his creatures, when you
would not like to force the service of your dog?
or why should you think that God could be
pleased with service done against will, when
you would not care a pin, as you say, for Pompey’s
service, if it was done against his will?

Fil. My gracious!—its very true indeed!— what a fool I was, not to think of that before! Sure I am verry happy to have such a dear good papa, who is so wife, and so ready to tell me every thing that I want to know.

Dialogue II.

Filiolus.
Papa, I was thinking since, of all that you
said last: but still there is one thing that I forgot
to ask you about. Pray, when God knew that
Adam and Eve might do themselves a mischief,
by eating that terrible tree, why did he leave it
in their way? why didn’t he root it up, and
throw it out of Paradise? Though God should
not force them to do even what was good, sure he A6r 11
he might have saved them from doing what was
bad;—mightn’t he, papa!

Pat. Suppose you were going to tell a lie,
and that I was to tie up your tongue, or stop
your mouth: I should then save you from telling
the lie, but I could not save you from wickedness,
because you would have told it, only
that you were forced to hold your tongue.

Fil. Very true indeed, I see very well that
God did everything right; Adam and Eve, to
be sure, were a sad naughty couple, but still—
poor creatures! papa.

Pat. Aye, poor creatures! indeed! but it
was all their own faults.

Fil. I know that, but,—suppose now—O
papa! If God had contrived it some other
way!

Pat. And how would you have had him contrive
it!

Fil. I don’t know, indeed, papa.—But now,
after all, if Adam and Eve had had no free will,
they could not have made a bad use of it; and
since they did make a bad use of it, would not
they have been better off without it?—would not
they have been better off, to be stupid, than
miserable, papa?

Pat. Let me ask you one question:—are you
sorry you were born with legs and feet?

Fil. No sure, papa.

Pat. O but, since you make a bad use of them, would A6v 12
would it not have been better if you had been
born without them? You got a sad fall, the
other day by leaping, contrary to my desire, and
hurt your leg very much: if you had had no
legs, you would not have gotten that fall.

Fil. Yes, but then, papa, I should not be
able to stand, or walk, without legs and feet,
and that would be a great deal worse than the
fall:—besides, you know, I may walk, and leap
too, without getting falls, if I take care, and
don’t go into dangerous places, where you forbid
me to go. It was not my feet, but my
foolishness, that made me get that fall.

Pat. Just so, it was the foolishness of Adam
and Eve, and not their free will, which made
them get their fall: they need not have fallen, any
more than you, if they had followed advice, and
taken care.—Do you remember the pain you
felt, when the dust got into your eyes?

Fil. O yes, very well.

Pat. Did that make you wish you had been
born without eyes?

Fil. No indeed, far from it, papa.

Pat. You cut your finger, last week, by
handling a knife carelessly: are not you sorry
you were not born without hands? If you had
had no hands, you would not have cut your
finger.—In short you meet with so many accidents
of late, that, according to your plan, I
had better serve your body something in the same B1r 13
same way as you wanted God to serve the minds
of Adam and Eve: Shut you up in a room, set
you sitting down, and tie up your feet, that you
may get no more falls, and your hands, that you
may not handle knives, to cut your fingers, and
your tongue, that you may not tell a lie; and last
of all, put a hankerchief over your eyes, that no
more dust may get into them.—Then you will
be quite safe and happy,—won’t you?

Fil. O no, no, papa dear! don’t do that!

Pat. What then, you would rather have
your feet at liberty, though you did get a fall by
using them foolishly.

Fil. O yes indeed, a great deal.

Pat. By the same rule then, it was better for
Adam and Eve to have their will at liberty,
though they got their fall by using that foolishly.

Fil. O but stay papa!—did Adam and Eve
ever get back into Paradise?

Pat. No.

Fil. Then sure their fall was a great deal
worse than mine; for the hurt that I got did
not last long, and so, did not signify much; but
the mischief their fall did then, lasted all their
lives.

Pat. Well, suppose then, that the mischief
of your fall, as well as that of theirs, was to last
as long as life,—suppose that instead of only
hurting your leg, you had broken it, in such
a manner, as never to be cured, and that you B could B1v 14
could expect nothing better than to go limping
while you lived.

Fil. Oh, that would be very sad indeed!

Pat. It would be an uncomfortable situation,
I allow; but let us also, for a while, suppose,
that it was the same with your legs, as with
Adam’s free will, and that it was impossible for
you to go to heaven without them.

Fil. O, if that were the case, papa, I’d be
sorry to be without them indeed. I’d rather go
limping, or any way, to heaven, than not to go
there at all.

Pat. Then, for the same reason, it would
surely be better for Adam and Eve to bear, all
their lives, with the mischief of their fall, than
to be born without free will, and to lose heaven
for the want of it.

Fil. O, now I see it all quite plain, papa:—
Sure enough, one might as well not be born at
all, as not to have their will at liberty.

Pat. Certainly, for we should be born to no
purpose, without it.

Fil. None indeed, if we could not go to
heaven, because I see now that even in this
world we could have no comfort, if we had no
choice.

Pat. No, nor in the world to come either.
You could neither love me here, nor God hereafter.
If you had no choice, you could not chuse
the good from the bad, nor prefer the company of B2r 15
of angels, to the company of stocks and stones;
and it would be impossible for you to expect
any happiness from heaven, as for a man who
had neither fight, or smell, to expect any pleasure
from a garden of the sweetest flowers.

Dialogue III.

Filiolus.
Papa, I want greatly to know why we are
not all born good, and pretty, and happy, just
such as you told me Adam and Eve were, before
they grew naughty? You told me they never
would have felt sickness, or pain, if they had
not list’ned to the devil. Now sure, one can’t
listen to the devil before they are born. They
say I was very sick and had like to die, when I
was only a week old. Sure I was too young
then to be naughty, papa:—why then was not
I born pretty and happy, and free from all pain
and sickness, like good Adam and Eve, when I
did nothing that I deserved to be punished for?

Pat. I will explain that matter to you, my
dear. As we are all children of Adam and
Eve, so we must be born like them. Now
Adam had no children, till after he was naughty
and lost his first nature; and for that reason, we
must all be born like poor naughty Adam: for a B2 child B2v 16
child cannot but be the same sort of creature as
its parent; just as every tree must have fruit of
its own kind; and you might as well expect to
see peaches growing on a crab-tree, as that we
should be born more perfect creatures than
Adam and Eve were, when they became our
parents.

Fil. O aye, papa, and that puts me in mind
of poor Arthriticus, when we went to see him,
the time he had the gout so bad, and sent for the
doctor.—You know he was very impatient, and
said how it was very hard to be tormented in
such a way, and that he did nothing in the
world to deserve it, and wondered that God Almighty
would plague him so: but the doctor, I
thought, made him a mighty good answer,
papa.

Pat. What was that? do you recollect it?

Fil. I forget the very words, papa; but I
know, he told him how his father and grandfather
were too fond of eating and drinking what
was not good for them, and that they made
themselves sick, and got the gout; and he said
how the gentleman might very well see, that he
got his gout from them, because it ran in the
blood; and that he should not be blaming
Heaven for it, but strive to keep from doing the
things that brought the disorder into his family.

Pat. Well, and did he say nothing else to
the gentleman?

Fil. B3r 17

Fil. O yes; he said how he would give him
physic, which would cure him, for that time;
and that he would lay down rules for him to live
by; and he told him how all the doctors in the
world would not signify a pin, without he minded
the rules, and resolved to keep from doing
anything that could make the disorder grow bad
again.

Pat. Very well remembered, indeed; and
just so it is with every human creature. It is
the business of us all to do our best, by living according
to the rules which God, (our heavenly
Physician) has given us, to try and get rid of
those bad passions of anger, hatred, pride, self-
will, and the rest, which the fall of our first parents
has caused to run in our bloods. and in our
hearts.

Fil. But, papa, the Bible says that God told
Adam he should die, if he eats the forbidden
fruit. Sure he didn’t die that time, papa; did
he?

Pat. The law tells us that if we are found
out in murder, or theft, we shall die for it.
Now, though a man is not put to death, on the
very instant he is found out, yet still the law
tells truth; because in the end, and when a certain
time is elapsed, the sentence is executed
against him. If Adam had never sinned, he
would never have died. Sin made him mortal, B3 or B3v 18
or subject to death, and therefore God told him
the truth.

But, besides this, our first parents did really
die, (though not the same kind of death which
we die,) on the very day, the very instant in
which they sinned. They were created by God
in the nature of immortals, and clothes with
bodies that were not subject to death, but calculated
to live for ever: therefore, when sin introduced
mortality into their frames, it was surely
death, for their pure and heavenly nature died
within them; the immortal nature of their bodies
died, and left them nothing, in its stead,
but poor perishable bodies of imperfection, infirmity,
and pain. But they suffered another
death, that was still worse than this; for goodness
died in their hearts, and all happiness went
with it.

When they were first created, they were happy,
because they were good; they knew nothing
but innocence and virtue; they blessed God, as
their maker, and thanked him as the giver of
all which they possessed. But the devil envied
them their happiness; he tempted them to disobey
their maker, and put it into their heads
that he had dealt unkindly by them, and only
wanted to keep the tree of knowledge from them,
for fear it would make them as great as himself.
So, they believed the devil, rather than God;
and they no longer took a pleasure in thanking their B4r 19
their Creator for his goodness, but they grew
conceited, and proud, and ungrateful; and they
wanted to live without God in the world, and
to set themselves up to be as wise, and as great
as he was. they were not satisfied to remain
as he made them, but quarrelled with his command
for keeping them even from what he told
them would be death. So, they took their desire;
they broke the command of God; they eat
the forbidden fruit, and then they found, when
it was too late, how much better it has been for
them, if they had believed, and obeyed their
Maker: for the change that they felt in their
bodies soon made them know that, instead of
glorious creatures who were formed to live forever,
they were become poor wretched mortals,
subject to pain, sickness, and death; and instead
of finding themselves lords of the world, they
were become the slaves of almost every thing in,
and belonging to it; for the fire had power to
burn, and the water to drown them; the sun
was permitted to scorch, and the cold blast to
freeze them; in short, those things which, before,
had been their servants, were then become
their lords.

But their minds suffered a change infinitely
worse than that which happened to their bodies;
for then it was that goodness died in their hearts,
and the devil entered into them, and filled them
with all his own frightful passions of wrath, and hatred, B4v 20
hatred, strife, envy, and despair:—by taking the
advice of the devil, they put themselves under
his command, and into his power; and they
had, then, no prospect, but to live with
him in everlasting burnings, in the hell to which
he wanted to carry them.

Fil. O papa! papa! That’s very terrible indeed!
Oh, why did God punish them so terribly?
—You told me that God loved every body,
as well as you love me;—now, sure, if I was to
commit a fault, you would not punish me for
it, all my life, papa: you would only whip me,
and make me ask pardon.

Pat. Well, to pursue your own argument
now.—Suppose that something poisonous lay in
your way, and that the poison was so pretty to
look at, and so sweet to the taste, that I had
reason to be afraid of your eating it. In that
case, I should certainly warn you of it, as God
warned Adam of the forbidden fruit: I would
tell you that it was my positive desire, you should
not so much as touch it, for that if you did, it
would poison you, and make you die before
your time. Suppose then,—after all the reason
you have to depend on my word, that I would
not tell you a lie; and on my affection for you,
which must ever make me wish for your happiness;
—suppose, after all this, that you were
tempted, by the beauty of the poison, to draw
near, and then to touch, and lastly, to taste it; and B5r 21
and that, in consequence of doing so, you grew
very sick, and got pains all over your body, and
grew so altered in your looks, that no one would
know you again;—besides being certain that the
disorder would last while you lived, and would
soon bring you to a very painful death.—This
would be a sad punishment, you will allow;
but, after all, who would be to blame for it?—
which would you lay the fault on yourself, or
on me?

Fil. On myself, to be sure, papa.

Pat. And if, besides this, your temper was
as much changed as your constitution;—if the
nature of the poison was such as to infect your
mind with fretfulness, and wickedness, with
hatred, and anger, and envy, and every bad passion;
you would then be completely miserable
indeed; but still, you could not say it was I
who made you so:—on the contrary, every person
of common sense must own that you alone
would be in fault, and no one would be silly
enough to say of me, as you said of God, just
now—“Oh why did this father punish his
child so terribly?”

Fil. Indeed papa, it was very foolish of me
to say so, but I was so sorry for poor Adam and
Eve. Oh, what a pity it was that they list’ned
to the devil! sure, they might have trusted the
word of God, after all the good things that he
gave them!

Pat. B5v 22

Pat. They might, and ought, indeed, my
love: but their children should take warning by
their punishment, and strive to avoid their
crimes.

Fil. Why sure, papa, we don’t eat the forbidden
fruit?

Pat. But we do the same thing whenever we
disobey any command of God. The reasons
why Adam and Eve were disobedient, are these;
first, because the fruit was tempting in itself.—
Now, we are guilty of the very same fault,
whenever we indulge our appetites, at the expence
of either health, or duty.—The second
reason was, pride, and conceit; they wanted to
be independent of God, and to be able to do
without him:—Just the same crime every man
is guilty of, when he conceits he can do without
God’s assistance, or thinks that any thing can
make him happy, which is not pleasing to God;
—and the third reason of their trespass, was ingratitude,
which made them forget all the benefits
of their good and merciful Creator, while
they disobeyed his commands, and wanted to get
away from his authority, and power.—This is
justly considered as the worst part of their fault;
for ingratitude shews a badness of heart, that is
very shocking, indeed.—Shocking as it is, how
ever, too many in this world are guilty of it,
themselves, while they blame their first parents
for it.—If we remembered, and loved, as we ought B6r 23
ought to do, that God who gave us life, and
keeps us in health, and provides us with every
good thing we possess,—we should not then be
weary of his authority, or ever forget his commandments.

Dialogue IV.

Filiolus.
Papa, I want sadly to know what became of
Adam and Eve, after their fall?

Pat. What could you expect to become of
them, naughty creatures as they were? Suppose
now, that you took up a poor beggar boy, out
of the street, and fed and clothed him, and
taught him his prayers and catechism, and did
every thing in your power to make him both
good and happy:—you would, then, very naturally,
expect that this little boy should be sensible
of your kindness, and shew his gratitude,
by loving you with all his heart, and serving
you as well as he was able.—But suppose that,
instead of doing so, you found out that he grew
ungrateful for all your benefits, careless in your
service, and neglectful of your advice; and that,
at last, he even went so far as to join with your
enemies against you, and strive to plunder you of B6v 24
of all your property:—what would you think of
him then?

Fil. Oh, papa, why I would think him a
wicked, nasty, ill-natured creature, and it would
be impossible that ever I could care for him any
more.

Pat. How then should you expect that God
could care for Adam and Eve, any more?—All
the benefits that you could confer, are nothing
in comparison of what they received from God;
yet, after all this, they rebelled against him;
they slighted his goodness, scorned his service,
joined with his enemy, the devil, and wanted
to strip their Creator of his prerogative, and become
his rival in power.

Fil. And did God never forgive then, papa?
Did he send them to hell, for being so naughty?

Pat. God never sends any one to hell, my
dear: God is all love, and he does every thing
that a wife, good and power Being can do,
to hinder his creatures from going there. But,
if they will go, in spight of all this, what is
then to be done?—Such, you see, was the case
of Adam and Eve; they gave up, and forsook
their God, and chose to follow the devil:―
Now, the devil always leads to hell: we all
know that:—The Bible assures us of it, over
and over again; so we chuse to follow a guide,
who, we know, will lead us to destruction.

Adam C1r 25

Adam and Eve, when they were good, might
have kept themselves so, if they pleased, by refusing
to listen to the devil, or to let him into
their hearts: but, when once they did let him
in, they were not able to turn him out again:
there was no Being, either in heaven, or in earth,
who was able to do this for them, but one, and
that was God,—the God whom they had forsaken,
despised, and disobeyed;—what then
could they hope for?—How could they expect
that he should any longer continue to care for
wretches who had been so base and ungrateful
for all his mercies?

Fil. Indeed it is very true, papa; it would
be too much to hope for, and they were too
wicked to deserve forgiveness.

Pat. I am glad you are sensible of that, at
last; because you will now hear with the greater
wonder and admiration, of an escape so unexpected,
and mercy so unmerited as our first parents
then experienced.

Fil. Oh, papa!—and did they escape?—
Oh, I am so glad!—tell me all about it, dear,
dear papa!

Pat. God, who loves his creatures, with a
love far greater than that of any earthly parents
for their children;—God looked upon Adam and
Eve in their distress;—he saw they had no power
to help themselves; he saw that the devil had
fast hold of them, and was dragging them to C his C1v 26
his own place of torment, and that there was
none who could deliver them out of his hands:—
he saw all this, and he pitied their misery; and
instead of adding to it, by his anger, he determined
to save them from the effects of their folly;
and, not only forgive them what was past,
but put it in their power, besides, to become
good, and happy, once more.

Fil. Oh papa! that was a good God!—
Oh, how could God be so good, when Adam
and Eve were so naughty?—but, in what manner
did he save them, that time?—What did he
say, what did he do to them, papa?

Pat. After they had transgressed, and began
to perceive the effects of what they had
done, God saw the misery of their situation, and
he had compassion on them; and he called them
out, from among the trees of the garden, where
they were striving to hide themselves, foolishly
forgetting that nothing can be hidden from the
eyes of heaven; so, they came out from behind
the trees, trembling, and confused (as you will
find in the Bible here) and alledged, in their excuse,
that they found themselves naked, and not
fit to appear in the presence of God:—they
found themselves stripped of their pure and immortal
bodies, and left in all the nakedness of a
body of shame, and corruption. Now, God
knew, as well as they did, every thing that had
befallen them; but he wanted to convict them, out C2r 27
out of their own mouths; and he, therefore,
asked them, who had told them that they were
naked, or what was the sudden alteration which
made them unfit to appear!—They then confessed
what they had done, but still strove to
throw the blame from themselves;—Adam laid
the fault upon Eve’s advice, and Eve laid the
fault upon the serpent’s advice;—but they were
soon made sensible of the crime of minding the
advice of any creature, more than the command
of God:—God shewed them the guilt of their
disobedience, and pointed out all the terrible
consequences which that guilt would bring upon
them, and upon all their children.—However,
when he had convinced them of their crime, and
saw them silenced in his presence, and overwhelmed
with shame and despair; he then began
to comfort, and talk kindly to them.

Suppose yourself, now, in the same situation
of Adam and Eve, at that time, and think how
much you would have been affected with gratitude,
wonder, and joy, if—in the moment when
you despaired of all relief, and saw hell opening
to receive you—if, in that moment, the God,
whom you offended, began to speak graciously
to you, and said, “Never fear, my poor
Adam! though you were so naughty, I love
you still!—You are now sensible that I told
you truth, and that the devil deceived you:—
that I loved, and wanted you to be happy, C2 “and C2v 28
and that he hated, and wanted you to be
miserable.—You would not believe this, in
time, poor foolish Adam! and now the devil
has hold of you, and is dragging you to his
own place, and you can’t help yourself, for
he is stronger than you. But I will help you,
my poor Adam! I will help you to fight
against the Devil; and all the children you
shall have, I will help them too, as much
as ever they chuse.”—What would you
think, if such discourse, and such merciful promises
were made to you, by that God whom
you had offended, and justly expected to heap
indignation and punishments on your head?

Fil. O papa! I would fall down on my
knees, and thank such a dear good God, with
all my heart and soul!—and then, papa—I
would get up again, so stout and strong, with
the thoughts of so great a help, that I am sure,
I never would let the devil have power over
me, any more.—But, papa, did God say all this
to Adam?

Pat. We are not told that he made use of
the very words I have used; but the Bible informs
us, that he promised the same thing, nay,
and much more, when he said that the “seed of
the woman should bruise the serpent’s head.”

Fil. But how did that mean the same thing
as what you said, papa?

Pat C3r 29

Pat. I will explain it all to you, bye and
bye;—at present, it is better to go on in course,
and shew you how he began the performance of
his promise, even on the instant when he made
it.—In that instant, he put his own strong and
holy spirit into their hearts, and commissioned
him to stay with them, as long as ever they
pleased; and he told them that while ever they
list’ned to his good advice, accepted his help,
and had confidence in his love and power, the
devil would be affraid to come near, and quite
unable to hurt them: but, on the contrary, if
they once neglected this good spirit’s advice,
then the devil, who is always on the watch,
would instantly approach, and deceive them
again, to their destruction. He further told
them, that, if they always did as the good
spirit directed, he would carry them to heaven,
when they died; but if they list’ned to the devil,
he would certainly drag them along with himself
to hell.

Fil. Well, and they always minded to listen
to the good spirit—did’nt they?

Pat. I hope so, my dear; but their children
are not always so wise.—We are all born into
this world, just the same creatures as Adam and
Eve were, at that time. We have, all of us,
two strong spirits contending for the dominion
of our hearts: one is the Holy Spirit of God,
and the other is the frightful and malicious spirit C3 of C3v 30
of the devil: they are both perpetually busy, in
striving to persuade us to what they would have
us do, and we are at liberty to listen to which
we please; but, whenever we are naughty, we
then are helping the devil to destroy us;—and,
whenever we are good, we are then helping the
good Spirit to make us happy, and carry us to
heaven when we die.

Dialogue V.

Filiolus.
Papa, I was thinking a great deal of what
you told me last; and I am determined, I never
will be naughty again, as long as ever I live.

Pat. A very good resolution, my love; but
how will you be able to keep it?

Fil. Why—papa!—Sure I may do as I
please?—Is not that what you call my free will?

Pat. No, no; your free will only enables
you to think and desire what you please.

Fil. Well, I will desire to be good, then.

Pat. And that is going a great way towards
it, I assure you; but not all the way.

Fil. How is that, papa?—I don’t understand
you.

Pat. Suppose that Adam, before his fall,
had had power to quench the light of the fun;
and that the devil had told him, he might, by so doing, C4r 31
doing, become wiser and greater than he was,
and have a much better light of his own, than
that of the luminary which God had given him.
—Suppose him foolish and vain enough to try
the experiment, expecting, from the extinction
of the sun, the same independent greatness,
which he expected from eating the tree of knowledge
of good and evil; and finding in the end
his expectations all baffled, and himself left to
the darkness of nature, unenlightened by God.
—He would then, to be sure, be very sorry for
what was done; he would be as glad to have the
light back again, as you would to grow good;
but both you and he might wish, and wish forever,
without having the power to procure the
object of your wishes.—Adam, in spight of all
his wishes, might, for any thing he could do,
remain in darkness, while he lived; and his children
would, of course, be in equal darkness,
though of equal inclination to remove it: because,
that God who alone had power, at first, to
kindle up the light of the fun, he alone could
have the power of restoring it again, after the
folly of his creature had quenched it. Now,
though Adam and Eve did not put out the light
of the fun; yet they put out a light which was
of much greater consequence to them. In
search of their fancied knowledge and greatness,
they extinguished the light of goodness in their
hearts; and God who gave, and alone could give, that C4v 32
that light, was alone able to rekindle it. Thus
it is, you see, that all your will, and wishes to
become good, can be of no avail to make you so,
without the assistance of God.—We have no
goodness but what you receive from him.—Still
however, our desire of being good, is a great
help to our being so:—first, because we could
not be made either perfect or happy, against
our will; and secondly, because that God never
yet refused his grace to any one who sincerely
desired, and strove to obtain it.—Since God
alone, then, is able to make you good, you
ought to pray to him often, and earnestly, that
he would strengthen his Holy Spirit within you;
for if he was to see you wicked, careless, and
neglectful, and that he was to grow tired of
helping you, and to leave you, once, to yourself,
you would then be lost forever; and neither
your own strength, nor the strength of all
the world could save you.

Fil. But sure, he would not grow tired of
helping me!

Pat. Not if he saw you willing to help yourself,
and at the same time, humble enough to
see that your strength was not sufficient.

For example, now,—here, I pay masters, to
instruct you in several branches of knowledge:
—your free will, as you say, may make you
wish to learn;—but you know that wishing alone
won’t do, without you also strive to learn. Your masters C5r 33
masters are all very ready to help you, but all
won’t do, if you refuse or neglect to add your
own endeavours to their instruction:—this is
absolutely necessary, though not all that is necessary;
for something more would still be wanting,
to make you learn cleverly, and that is, humility.
If you once took it into your head that
you were able to do everything by yourself, you
would then neglect your masters; they, of
course, would grow tired of teaching a conceited
fool, and leave you to yourself; and then,
you would find, too late, that neither your
wishes nor endeavors would signify any thing,
without the help that my fondness was willing
to procure for you.

In like manner, you must not only wish to
obey the commands of God, but you must also
strive. You must not be weary of resisting the
temptations of the devil, and of helping the
good Spirit to get the better of him:—and you
must, also, take care not to grow conceited, nor
depend upon your own strength, for fear God
should serve you, as I supposed your masters
to do, and leave you to your own weakness
and folly.

Fil. All that is very plain, now, papa, and
I understand it mighty well;—but I want to
know, why must we pray?—God, you say,
knows everything; sure, then, he sees when I
have a mind to be good; he knows all that I want C5v 34
want and wish for, and when he does, why
should I ask him?

Pat. Suppose that I, also, knew all your
worldly wants, and was very willing to bestow
upon you every thing, in reason, which you
wished for:—would that be any excuse for your
coming, and rudely taking your choice, without
so much as the compliment of asking my leave?
—No, surely,—But, when you come, with modesty,
and humility, and say “Papa, I want
such a thing; you know best whether it be proper
to give it to me, or not;—if it be, I would
be very much obliged to you for it.”—This manner
of asking, would be an acknowledgement
of your dependance on my power, my judgement,
and my love; and would make me the
readier to grant you every indulgence that I
could.—But Prayer is not only good to ask blessings
from God, but also, to thank him for those
we have already received; and it would be hard
to expect that benefits should be bestowed upon
an unthankful heart. Prayer us also useful for
another purpose; as it makes us better acquainted
with God, by introducing us frequently into
his presence, and reminding us of his power
and goodness; besides, that it recommends us to
his love, by proving that he is often in our
thoughts; and endears him to our hearts, by
constantly keeping in our minds a sense of his
mercies towards us.

Fil. C6r 35

Fil. Papa, I once heard a little boy say, that
it was impossible for him to love God, for that
one could not love a person they never saw.—
Now, papa, I was thinking, since, that the boy
was greatly mistaken, there; because, I remember,
when we were reading the story of poor
Saint Stephen, the other day; how he was so
good, and bore everything so patiently, and even
prayed for the wicked creatures who killed him;
—oh, then, I felt that I loved him with all my
heart!—but indeed, I was not so patient as he
was, for I was very very angry with the people
who stoned him:—indeed I’m sure, I could have
sought for him, papa; and you know, if I did
not love him, I would not do that.

Pat. It is all very natural, my dear; and it
is by no means necessary that we should see either
God, or good people, in order to love
them.—It is natural, to a good mind, to love
goodness, wherever it is, or has been, as in the
case of yourself and Saint Stephen: but it is
still more natural to love that goodness, if we
ourselves have been beloved and benefited by it.

For example.—Suppose there was a great
man living in some distant part of the world,
who was equally good with Saint Stephen; and
had also been, of a long time, my particular
friend and benefactor, and, of his own free
bounty, had presented me with every good thing
that I possess.—Suppose you had never seen this great C6v 36
great man; but that he loved you so well for
my sake, and as being my child, that he sent
you large presents, by every ship, and wrote
you letters, assuring you of his everlasting friendship,
and giving you advice how to direct your
conduct in such a manner, as would secure your
happiness. Don’t you think you would love this
man very much?

Fil. Indeed I would, papa; if I was never
to see himself, sure I should see his benefits; I
should see and feel all the kindness he did to me,
and I could not help loving him for it.—Besides,
I think his letter would make me love him more
than all the rest: it would be so good, you
know, in such a great man, to write to a silly
child like me.

Pat. It is very true, and you reason very
rightly.—But, what if he was, also, to invite
you to answer his letters?

Fil. Oh, papa, that would be delightful!—
Oh, then I would be half the day writing.

Pat. And what would you put in your
letters?—what do you think you would say to
him?

Fil. Why, I’d never be tired thanking him
for all his goodness to me, and I’d beg of him to
let me know what I could do, to shew my gratitude.

Pat. You have settled the matter very right:
—but, suppose now, in addition to all his other benefits, D1r 37
benefits, this great man was to write you word
that, if you followed his advice, in every thing,
till after a certain time, he would then send a
ship for us both, and take us to himself, to enjoy
his presence and conversation, and make us
happy while we lived.

Fil. Then, papa, that would make me ten
times more eager to do every thing he advised
me to; I would think nothing too much to do,
for the sake of being so happy, as for you and
me to live always with one who loved us so
well, and was so good to us.

Pat. Very well; you would be quite right.
—Now, you know that God has done a great
deal more for us, than I have supposed this
great man to do;—much more, indeed, than it
would be possible for all the creatures in the
world to do for us: it is true, you have never
seen his person, but you see his benefits every
day. He gave you life; he gives you health,
and friends; it is he who clothes and feeds you,
and it is to him alone you owe all things. He
also has written to advise you:—here are his
own kind and gracious words, in this precious
book we have been reading, for the Bible is the
word of God himself.—Here, then, he has
written to you, and laid down such rules for
your conduct, as, if you follow them, cannot
fail of making you happy, even in this world,
and afterwards, they will bring you to another, D and D1v 38
and a better world, where this good God invites
you to live with himself, forever and ever.—
You say you would delight to answer the letters
of the great man, we have been talking of:—
answer then, the letters of your greater God;—
not by writing, for there is no occasion for it:—
answer him by prayer, just in the same way as
you would have answered your earthly benefactor;
beg of him to shew you how to be grateful,
and to merit a continuance of his favour;
and never be weary if thanking him for his benefits,
or of doing your utmost in his service.

Dialogue VI.

Filiolus.
O, Papa! the servants have been telling me
the saddest story of Judge Severus;—he is a
nasty, ill-natured, cruel creature, papa.

Pat. Don’t be so hasty in your censures, my
dear.—Judge Severus has the character of being
a good, and a conscientious man;—but come,
what has he done, to make you think him so
ill-natured?

Fil. Why, papa, there was a poor man,
who did, to be sure, a very naughty thing, and
deserved very well to be punished, if he had not
repented of his fault: he stole a purse of money to D2r 39
to buy bread for his family.—So, he was found
out, and put in prison:—and then he began to
think of himself, and to be sorry that he did not
let himself and his family starve and die, for
want of bread, rather than be guilty of such a
terrible fault.—So, when he was brought before
the Judge, he owned his crime, and cried so
bitterly, that every one pitied him in their hearts,
and wished, of all things, that he might be pardoned;
but the Judge said how he must be
hanged for it; and so, the poor man fainted,
and every one was in tears for him; and now,
would you think, after all this, that the Judge
would have the heart to condemn him?

Pat. But he did condemn him, I suppose;
did he not?

Fil. Yes, papa, he did; the nasty, cruel
creature!

Pat. Cruel!—he could not avoid it; it was
the law, and not the Judge that condemned
him; he knew very well what the law required;
he knew he deserved the punishment, at the
time when he committed the crime.

Fil. Well but, when he repented, papa!

Pat. His repentance might make the Judge
pity him, but could not entitle him to pardon.—
The Judge who should pardon a criminal, in
such a case, would be guilty of a falsehood, in
the first place, to make people believe they
should die for such offences, and then contradict D2 his D2v 40
his own words, by forgiving them.—And, in
the next place, he would surely be a very great
fool, to think that any one would be frightened
from wickedness by laws whose truth was
not to be depended on.—It would, also, be a
means of bringing the law into reproach and
contempt. Innocent people would say that it
was unjust, for suffering the guilty to go free;—
and the wicked would be encouraged in their
crimes, if they found there was a possibility of
escaping from the punishment they deserved.

Fil. Then, papa, if that’s the case, how can
God ever pardon any of us? there is no one in
the world always good, I believe; we all want to
be forgiven, sometimes; and then—my gracious!
—what will become of us, papa!—If it
would be unjust and improper in the Judge, to
forgive the poor man, when he repented, wouldn’t
it be the fame in God to forgive us, if we repented?

Pat Your question is very reasonable; as
the matter appears to you, we should all be in a
terrible situation, indeed;—for God never will
give his creatures room to tax him with untruth
or injustice, and therefore, all those who live
under the strictness of his law must be judged
by it, and suffer accordingly.

Fil. Oh, papa dear!—and what shall we all
do then?—what shall I do? for I have been naughty D3r 41
naughty very often!—and must I be punished
for ever, papa?

Pat It is true, we all merit the sentence of
the divine law; and therefore you, and I, and
all must perish, everlastingly, if it was not for
the goodness of our God, that has mercifully
provided a remedy.

Fil. Oh, what remedy, papa!—tell me, tell
me, for you have fright’ned me sadly!

Pat. One that is sufficient for the sins of the
whole world:—one that is such a miracle of
kindness and love, that it would be hard to us
to believe so much happiness, if God himself
had not told and shewed it to us.—I will explain
the nature of it, bye and bye; meantime, let
me tell you a story, and do you listen very attentively,
and remember all I say.

Once upon a time, there was a certain great
and powerful king, who was possessed of very
large dominions: he had also a son, a prince of
such engaging qualities, that it was impossible
to know, without loving him; and this prince
was commissioned by him to assume the government
of a part of his dominions, where the inhabitants
were very turbulent, and rebellious;
for the king said, “Surely when once they get
my son to reign over them, his mildness and
goodness cannot fail of bringing them back to
their duty.”

D3 Well; D3v 42

Well;—the prince got possession of his government,
and though he did not yet leave the
presence of his subjects; yet he took care to
proclaim his laws amongst them, and he sent the
very best and wisest ministers to rule them, in
his absence;—nay more, he wrote to them, with
his own hand, and begged of them, with the
greatest earnestness, that they would not transgress
against the laws, nor drag down punishments
on their heads, by disobedience. Also,
that he might succeed in persuading them to be
good, he promised, out of his own purse, to reward
those who continued in their duty; and,
as an earnest of his promises, he sent rich and
valuable presents among them, of almost every
thing that reasonable creatures could have need
of.—But, all that ever he could say, or do, the
greater part of them continued wicked, and refractory;
they paid so little respect to the laws,
that it was hard for the few who were good, to
live among them; for they did nothing but rob
and insult their neighbors; and they spent all
their plunder in rioting, and rebellion; and
they laughed at the goodness of their prince,
and thought he had no power to punish, because
he did not immediately execute judgment against
them, but strove, buy mildness and rewards, to
win them over to duty. The presents that he
sent them were abused to the purposes of wickednessedness D4r 43
and folly, or given to bribe foreigners to
fight against him; and they strove, all that ever
they could, to chase away the few good people
out of the land.

The prince grieved greatly to see them so obstinate;
he threatened them with punishments,
at last, and sent prophets among them, who
foretold the miseries they would bring upon
themselves, by their wickedness.—But all was of
no effect; they laughed at some of the prophets,
and put others to death, and, in short, nothing
could prevail with them to cease from their accustomed
sins.

At length, the voice of justice cried so loud
against them, that it was absolutely necessary for
something decisive to be done.—Kings, you
know, should act according to the laws, or else
the laws would become useless, and all the world
would grow wicked, for want of rule or restraint.

Fil. O yes, papa, I know, by what you have told
me about the judge, that it was necessary for
the king to punish these people: besides, they
were such shocking creatures, that I do not pity
them at all.

Pat. Nay, now, you are wrong again:—
awhile ago, you would have mercy shewn to a
robber, in spight of justice and the laws; and
now you will not afford, to guilty creatures,
that pity which the severest justice would allow; for D4v 44
for justice may, and often does pity, even where
the laws oblige it to punish.

Fil. Yes but, papa, you know the poor man
who committed the robbery was very penitent
for his crime; but the people you are telling me
of, were not penitent at all, but wicked hardened
ungrateful creatures.

Pat. But a person who thinks as he ought
to do, cannot refrain from pitying the most
wicked the most hardened of human creatures:
he will pity them for being so foolish and mad
as to give themselves up to the devil, and suffer
him to lead them to destruction. Thus it was
that the good and kind prince of this wretched
people acted.—He pitied the folly of their guilt,
and wished to save them from the ruin it had incurred.
—So, when the king and all the court
were assembled, to pronounce upon their fate,
the prince rose up, in the presence of them all,
and thus addressed his father.

“I know, O my father” (said he,) “that these
people have sinned, and at the same time that
it is not now in their power to make satisfaction;
—their lives and properties are forfeited
to the law, and they have nothing wherewithal
to discharge their debts, or to make
atonement for their crimes, it is therefore
just that the law should condemn them.

You remember, my father, that before I
took upon me the government of this people, “we D5r 45
we both foresaw that numbers of them would
prove rebellious;—nevertheless, we also knew
that many more would continue dutiful, and
that others, even among the refractory, would,
by good management and advice, repent,
and return to their obedience.—It was for
their sakes alone, and not for any glory of
mine, that ever I assumed the government;
I wished to rule them, in order that I might
save as many of them from destruction, as I
could, because I knew that nobody else was
either abler or willing to do as much for them,
as I was.

Your subjects are always in your presence,
my father, and have your person, power,
justice, and goodness so constantly in view,
that it is no wonder they should continue obedient:
and these poor people have never seen
you, and are scarcely able even to guess what
sort of person so great a king can be.—I myself,
as yet, have been seen, only by a few of
them; but the time is now arrived when my
presence would be most useful, and my compassion
most necessary to them.—You know,
that, from the beginning, it was my firm resolution
to spare no pains or cost, to save my
unhappy subjects:—my purpose, now, shall
be manifest;—the debts of my people shall be
paid;—atonement shall be made for their
crimes;—and your justice, my father, shall
be vindicated to all the world.”

All D5v 46

All the assembled chiefs and nobles then
fell prostrate before the son of their king: and
they said, “Alas! must we lose our prince? is
he going to absent himself from us?—going
into a country of ingratitude and rebellion,
where, perhaps, his precious life may fall a
sacrifice! but how, oh how will he make atonement
for the numerous crimes of this
people?—how will he ever be able to discharge
the mighty debts they owe?”

“I will shew you how,” (replied the prince,)
“I have, long since, obtained permission from
my father to do whatever I pleased, both
with, and for my people, which could be
done, consistent with justice and the law.—
Now no subject is rich enough to pay all their
debts; and no subject’s life is valuable enough
to stand in the stead of all their lives.—
I alone am able to do all this for them, and
I am also willing to do it: I will give up my
whole estate to redeem them; and my life itself,
as a sacrifice for every life among them,
that shall be found forfeit to the law.

Many of them, I know, are deeply penitent
for their fault, and many more will repent,
in consequence of my efforts to save them:—
I will now go, and live among them, and keep
them company in the poverty to which they
have reduced themselves, that I may have the
better opportunity of teaching them how to
become rich again.—While I am with them “on D6r 47
on earth, I will teach them how to live; and
I will lay down my life among them, for their
sakes, that I may at once atone for their
transgressions, and instruct them how to die;
that so, when I meet you in heaven, my father,
I may meet them, also.”

“I consent, my beloved son,” replied the
King,) “I consent, and am well pleased with
your offer of mercy:—I am willing to part
with you, for a while, for the sake of our
unhappy people; since no other but yourself
possesses the power to redeem them, by
paying the penalty of their crimes. Take
them then, my son; henceforth they shall
no longer be called my subjects, but, yours,
for you have purchased them very dearly.—
The price you are willing to pay, is sufficient
for the purchase of them all; and therefore
all of them who chuse it are now at liberty
to accept of your grace.”

Fil. O papa! sure it is impossible that such
a thing ever could happen! what!—for a great
prince to give away his dignity and fortune,
and even to lay down his life for a set of creatures
who had been so ungrateful to him!

Pat. It is indeed very wonderful, my dear;
yet still, not impossible, because, such a thing
really did happen.—But, what would you say,
if some of the subjects of the prince were so
stupidly foolish, as to refuse he offers of his mercy, mercy, D6v 48
mercy, and say, “This man was always telling
us of our faults, and pestering us with his
rules, and his advice.—We scorn to accept
of his grace;—we will be tried by the king’s
law, and will not have this man to reign over
us.—We are good enough, and well enough,
without him, I’ll warrant ye:—the king gave
us the law, only to frighten us;—he will
never condemn us by it,—there’s no fear.”

Fil. Oh, the wicked creatures! papa!—sure
they had no hearts, or they could not be so ungrateful!

Pat. So, one would think, indeed; but they
went still greater lengths than these.

The prince, (out of love to his penitent subjects,
and in hopes that the rest would also in
time grow penitent, by his good example and
advice,) left the palace of his father; left his
fortune, his dignity, his crown, and scepter behind
him, and went on foot, and clothed like
a poor man, to his government: but, because
he did not bring his crown and royal robes, and
all his pomp and grandeur along with him, his
wicked subjects would not believe that it was
for their sakes he had laid them down, but they
made a mock of him, and would not acknowledge
him for their prince; for they said he was
poor and mean, and they would not have such
a man to reign over them.

So, E1r 49

So, he was obligated to live among the lowest
of the people; and often to wander about in
desarts, and submit to want, and distress of every
kind, so that he, sometimes, had not where to
lay his head.—However, though he had parted
with all his outward wealth and pomp, he retained
the riches of his wisdom, and the glory
of his knowledge still: so, he went about doing
good, even to his enemies; and he restored
sight to the blind, and limbs to the lame: made
the deaf to hear, and the dumb to speak; comforted
the afflicted, and preached to the foolish,
and strove to make the wicked turn from the
error of their ways, and repent.

And many of the people did repent, and followed
his advice, and grew good: but those who
still remained wicked were so enraged to find
that any one gave heed to him; and so mad at
his attempting to tell them of their faults; that
they determined, at last, they would have their
revenge: so, they laid hold on him, and dragged
him away: and he would not suffer any of
his followers to defend him, or make the least
resistance; for he had foreseen, all along, every
thing that should happen: and he determined
to go through it all, for the sake of his subjects;
that the example of his meekness, and patience,
in suffering for a good cause, might lead them
to imitate, and come as near his perfection as
they could.

E So, E1v 50

So, his wicked subjects bound him, and
scourged, and spit upon, and insulted him; and
last of all, they put him to a cruel and ignominious
death.―But I see, you are too much affected,
and indeed, it is no wonder; for any
one who is capable of either goodness, or pity,
must be moved at such a story.

Fil. O, papa!—did such a thing happen?—
could such a thing happen?

Pat. It did, my child:—it happened in a
manner much more wonderful than what I have
related to you; and you and I, and all of us
have the deepest interest in the story; for it was
our king, who gave up his only beloved Son,
for our sakes,—it was our dear and precious
Prince, who made himself a sacrifice, to save us.

Fil. What, our king! our prince, papa!

Pat. Yes, the King of the world;—the Lord
of heaven and earth: it was God himself, my
love, who gave his only Son, to redeem us; and
it was that dear son, whose miracle of mercy
made him descend from the glory of his father,
in heaven; made him lay by his majesty, and
conceal his Godhead under the form of a poor
and humble mortal; and subject himself to poverty,
and anguish, and bonds, and death, for
our sakes.—Here, in this Bible, the whole story
is related, and you will here find all the circumstances
I have told you, and many more, to the
encrease of your wonder, and your gratitude.

This E2r 51

This is the remedy which God has provided,
to satisfy the justice of the law: the Son of God
has paid, for us, all the debts and penalties it
required; and, if we are willing to become his
subjects, and be thankful for his grace, through
his merits, we shall obtain forgiveness; and
every sin, of which we repent, shall be pardoned,
for his sake.—But if, like the rebellious subjects,
we reject his mercy, and, say, “We will
not have this man to reign over us;—we will
be tried by the king’s law, and not by his
grace;”—then, we shall find, when it is too
late, that, by the law, we never could be saved;
because, as you rightly observed, we have all,
even the best of us, offended against the law,
and therefore, in strict justice, we all deserve to
suffer.—But, the Son of God, by the sacrifice
he made for us, has paid all our penalties, and
purchased us from under the stictness of the law,
to make us the subjects of his grace:—purchased
our pardon for every fault, and every folly, of
which we sincerely repent, provided we prove
that repentance, by a constant endeavour to obey
all his commandments.

Dialogue VII.

Filiolus.
Papa,I was reading, in the Bible, ever since,
about our Saviour; oh, how terrible it is to
think of all that he suffered!—to think that the
Son of God should suffer death, for our sins!—
sure, might not something else have been done?
some other sacrifice?—something less than
him!—Oh, what signified all the world, in comparison
of him, papa!

Pat. You have now partly answered your
own question. It is, because his life was, indeed,
of more value than the lives of the whole
world, that it was found a sufficient sacrifice,
and atonement for them; and, as this could
not be the cause with any other life,—so, no
other could suffice.

Fil. Oh, but why, papa?—Sure if God
pleased, he might have accepted a sacrifice of
less value!

Pat. And how, then, would justice have
been satisfied?—Would you have God to be
unjust, and untrue, in order that he might be
merciful?

Suppose, now, that twenty of the poorest of
my tenantry owed, each of them a guinea, in
taxes, which they had not wherewithal to pay;
and that the matter was laid before me, and justice E3r 53
justice demanded on them.—Well—the poor
people come crying to me, and tell me, they are
in the greatest distress:—I represent this to the
tax—gatherer, but he replies that, however he
may pity them, justice must be done, and the
laws kept up;—first, because the laws should not
tell a lie, and next because they should not encourage
knaves to take advantage.

In this cafe, now, what is to be determined
on?—Suppose I say to the tax-gatherer, “Here,
honest man, here are the five guineas for you,
out of my own purse:—take it, and forgive
these poor people the debt.”—“Is that your
justice,” says he, “a part, instead of the
whole!—No, no;—if you have a mind, indeed,
to redeem these men, pay the whole
debt for them.”

Would not he say right?—surely.—And it
would be very foolish, and unjust, in me, to offer
a part, instead of the whole.—What I ought
to do, in this case, (if I had a mind to keep my
tenantry out of the power of the law,) would
be, to say to the man, “Here, take this banknote,
for twenty guineas;—this one note will
pay the entire debt;—take it, and let these
poor creatures go free.”

Now, upon this very same principle of justice,
it was necessary that the sacrifice offered for the
lives of the whole world, should be richly worth
all their lives out together; and thus it was, E3 that E3v 54
that the sufferings of our Saviour redeemed
them; because, by his death, be paid the whole
of their debt, and did not stop at a part, or leave
any thing for justice to murmur at.

You will perceive that I do not mean to lessen
the greatness of the subject, by comparing it
with smaller matters:—it is in order to make
you understand me, the readier, that I make
comparisons with things which are familiar to
you knowledge.

Fil. I thank you greatly, papa! indeed you
make every thing very plain and easy to me.
Oh, what a good God was out God! papa.
Sure, we can never do enough, to shew our gratitude to him!

Pat. You say what is very true, my love;—
and our gratitude rises still higher, when we
think of the innumerable benefits we derive from
the sufferings of our Saviour; for, besides the
necessity of atonement, or satisfaction, to the
law; there were also other reasons why his love
to fallen man made him submit to be born and
die on earth, for our redemption; and one of
them is, because none but himself could have
done so much for us, in many other instances,
both in life and death, as he did.

If any human creature, any thing, in short,
less than God, had been in his place,—we could
never have had so perfect a rule of conduct,
and example of life, as those which our Saviour left E4r 55
left us.—Besides, the world would, then, have
had some excuse to cavil, and say, that they had
no right to follow the example of one who was
a man, like themselves, and therefore subject
to a possibility of erring, and leading them into
error.—But, here, we have no such excuse to
plead.—It was the Son of God, himself, who
walked before us in the path of righteousness
and salvation;—whose instructions call us to
wisdom,—whose patience reconciles us to suffering,
—whose meekness invites us to humility,
—and whose truth and mercy assure us of reward:
—whose whole life was a lesson of virtue,
and his death an example of fortitude.—A
guide, who cannot err, leads the way,
in order that we may have confidence to follow
him, without either doubt of fear.

Fil. Papa, don’t you remember, you promised
to explain to me, what was meant by
saying, that the seed of woman should bruise the
serpent’s head.

Pat. I did; and I will do it now.

We are all, you know, of the feed, or offspring
of Eve, the common mother of mankind.
—The manhood, or mortal body of our Saviour,
was born of a woman, the descendant of Eve,
and therefore was properly called the seed of the
woman. He it was whom God then ordained,
and promised, to bruise the head of the serpent,
or devil, who betrayed our first parents; and it was, E4v 56
was, also, said that the serpent should bruise his
heel; by which is meant, that Christ should so
far break his power as is expressed, by bruising
his head, or noblest part,) that he should not be
able to do any thing more than bruise the heel of
Christianity.

Thus, you see that our dear Redeemer presented
himself a sacrifice for sin, in the moment
when sin was first committed; and satisfied the
demands of justice, as soon as the penalty was
incurred.——So that he is not merely the Saviour
of those who came into the world, since the
time of his death, upon the cross; he is equally
the Saviour of all the children of Adam, who
will accept of his salvation: because his atonement
was ordained from the beginning; promised
to the first pair who sinned, and, in them,
to all his offspring; and this is the reason why
he is called in scripture, “the Lamb, who was
slain from the foundation of the world.”

But, besides all that I have already told you,
there are, doubtless, many other advantages,
which we derive from this instance of the
wonderful love of our Redeemer;—as also,
many other reasons why no sacrifice but that of
his death could save us.

Fil. And can’t you tell me them all, papa?

Pat. Indeed, my love, I cannot; because I
don’t know them myself. Many of them, no doubt, E5r 57
doubt, are such, as human creatures, like us,
would be quite unable to comprehend.

Fil. But why should we be unable, papa?

Pat. Because, our nature is imperfect, my
dear; and, while we are in this life, we never
can rightly conceive all the wonderful ways of
God.

Fil. I could not understand rightly, may
be;—but sure, you could, papa.

Pat. Observe now that you have owned your
knowledge, wisdom, and judgment to be inferior
to mine.—Why are you of this opinion?

Fil. O, papa, sure, because you are learned,
and a man; and I am only a silly child, that
must wait a great many years, and be taught
a great deal, before I can know as much as you
do.

Pat. Very well; if you acknowledge me,
for this reason, to be wiser than you are, don’t
you think it also likely that God is wiser than
either of us?—Surely, if it would be foolish to
compare your judgment with mine, it would
be a hundred times more foolish to compare
my judgment with that of the God who made
me.

Fil. But could not God tell us, and teach
us to know every thing, papa?

Pat. If ever we become blessed angels, he
may, and probably will teach us all the wonders of E5v 58
of his love; but while we are human creatures,
we are incapable of such exalted knowledge.

You requested me to instruct you in Sir Isaac
Newton’s philosophy, the other day: do you remember
the answer I made you?

Fil. Yes, papa; you made me sensible how
I was too young and ignorant yet, to be instructed
in that great book; and that I must
learn less things first, before I could be able to
understand it; because, children’s knowledge
must grow up, by degrees, along with their
years; they must learn their letters, before they
can spell, and spell before they can read, and so
on, from one thing to another.

Pat. Very well remembered.—You are then
sensible that it is only as children advance in
years, they become capable of advancing in
knowledge.—A child of four years old, would
not be capable of learning what might be
taught to a child of ten; and one of ten years
old, though he might be very clever, of his
age, yet could not be made to understand every
kind of instruction, like a man.—Now, as you
allow a great difference, in this respect, between
a child and a man; you must allow, for
the same reason, a much greater difference between
a man and an angel.

You have often asked me questions, upon a
variety of subjects; and I answered as many of
them, as I could make you comprehend: but there E6r 59
there were many more, unanswered, which I
knew you were too young to comprehend; and
therefore I promised to inform you in them,
when you arrived at a riper age.—You believed
me;—did you not?

Fil. O, yes sure, papa.

Pat. And why did you so?—why did nothing
tempt you to suppose that those questions
could not be answered, and that I was only
putting you off?

Fil. O papa, sure I could not suppose that;
because you never told me a lie, in any thing.
Besides, I know very well, there are a great
many subjects which I cannot understand, ’till I
grow up, and get wisdom and years, like yours.

Pat. Just in the same manner we should
think in regard to God: we are all less than the
silliest children, in comparison with our heavenly
Father; he has instructed us, in all we are
capable of knowing, in this our human state;
when we become angels he may explain to us
the rest; and in the mean time, we may very
well take his word, whose word is truth itself.

Fil. So we may, indeed; and so I will too.
—But, I want to know, who is the Holy Ghost,
papa!

Pat. The third person in the Trinity, my
dear;—the Holy Spirit of God, whom he sends
to strengthen his creatures; to put good thoughts
and desires into their hearts, and enable them to fight E6v 60
fight with, and subdue their great enemy, the
devil.

Fil. And is he God, too, as well as our Saviour?

Pat. He is. Nothing less than God could
create us, as our heavenly Father did.—Nothing
less than God could redeem us, as our blessed
Saviour did;—and nothing less than God could
sanctify or make us good, as the Holy Ghost
does, whenever we are willing to accept of his
assisting grace.

Fil. But, how can that be, papa?—Sure
there is but one God: how can one God be
divided into three?—If you divide one into
three, sure then, it is not one any more.

Pat. Even in this world, there are many
objects in which we find three united in one:—
for instance:—observe that fun, which shines
upon us, so brightly: you see his light;—you
feel his heat;—you are also sensible that there is
a body which produces this light and heat, and
you perceive that they both act with very agreeable,
but very different effects.—Still, however,
you know, there is but one sun.

Fil. And is it in the same manner that the
Trinity are joined, papa?

Pat. We know not in what manner the Trinity
are united, my dear. Such knowledge is
above our comprehension; it is sufficient for us
to be told, and to know, that they all three do really F1r 61
really exist, in this wonderful union, without
being also informed of the manner of that union.
God the Father created us,—that we know, because
in, and by him, we live, and move, and
have our being.—God the Son redeemed us;—
that we also know, because, otherwise, Almighty
Justice could not have permitted us to hope
for pardon.—And that God the Holy Ghost
sanctifies us, is equally evident, since, without
him, we should not be able so much as to think
a good thought.

Dialogue VIII.

Paternus.
What was that, you and your school-fellow
were disputing about?—You seemed to be high
in argument.

Fil. Why, papa, I was talking to him of all
that you told me, and I could not get him to
listen, or mind me, at all.—Besides, I am afraid
he is a bad boy, for he said things that put
me quite out of patience with him.

Pat. Tell me, were you ever naughty in your
life?

Fil. O, yes, indeed, papa; and I was very
sorry for it.

Pat. Aye, but, if God had been out of patienceF tience F1v 62
with you, you would not have lived to be
sorry for it.—He would have given you up, and
left you in anger, as you left you school-fellow,
just now; and then, then the devil would
have taken you, and punished your forever, in
hell.

Fil. Papa, I did not think it was any harm
to be angry at wickedness.

Pat. Anger, in every instance, is bad, my
dear: no good every did, or ever can come of
it.—We may, and ought to dislike and hate sin,
but we must not have the sinner.

Fil. But, how can we hate the sin, without
hating the sinner, papa?

Pat. Suppose your school-fellow, instead of
being a bad boy, was only ill of some painful
and loathsome disease,—would you hate him
then?

Fil. O no, papa, I would pity him then,
greatly.

Pat. He is much more an object of your pity,
now; for we are easier to be cured of our sickness,
than of our sins.—But, though you would
not hate him for being sick, you would hate his
disorder, for making him sick,—would you
not?

Fil. Yes, indeed I would.

Pat. Well, in that cafe, you could contrive
to hate the disease, without hating in any degreegree F2r 63
the person who was ill of it.—Why then
could you not, for the same reason, have a
hearty abhorrence of sin, without feeling any
aversion to the unhappy creature who was under
the influence of it?—It is only in this manner
we are permitted to hate sin; and, in this
manner we may do it, you see, even out of love
to the sinner.

Fil. But, papa, are we, then, to be as much
friends with bad people, as with good?

Pat. By no means.—At least, not the kind
of friendship you mean. We should wish them
extremely well, and do them all the good in our
power; but we ought not to associate with them,
for fear we should be corrupted by their example:
just as we ought not, unnecessarily, to
keep company with a man in a mortal fever, for
fear of catching the disease.

It is certainly our duty and our interest to seek
the society of the good, in order that we may
benefit by their wise and pious example:—but,
at the same time that we shun the company of
the wicked, we ought not to allow ourselves in
any aversion towards them.

We are all sinners, in some degree, or other;
and yet God, you see, bears with us, and continues
his goodness towards us, in hopes that we
may at last repent. Now, if God bears with
our faults, we ought, surely, to bear with the
faults of our fellow creatures.

F2 Besides, F2v 64

Besides, when we consider the great love that
our Saviour has shewn to the whole world,
sinners, and all:—how he died to redeem them,
and still leaves no means of mercy untried for
their reformation:—when we consider all this,—
how shall we dare to hate, or be angry with
creatures, who are so dear to our God?

But come, what was it your school-fellow
said, that made you so out of humour with
him?

Fil. Why, papa, in the first place, he would
not mind one word of all the good things you
were telling me, for I was striving to make
him as happy as I was by hearing them:—
but that was not all, for he talked very
naughty.

Pat. Well, I don’t want you to make complaints,
or tell tales; but if he said any thing
that raised the smallest doubt in your mind, I
wish to be informed of it, that I may clear up
the matter to you.

Fil. Then, papa, I only want you to tell
me, does not God know our thought?—because
he said that God could not be acquainted
with our thoughts.

Pat. He should rather have said that it was
impossible for God to be ignorant of them.—
Surely, he who gives us thought, must know
what thought is about.—He who made us, must be F3r 65
be perfectly acquainted with every part of his
own workmanship.

For this reason, we ought to watch carefully
over our hearts, that no evil inclinations may
enter therein: since the eye of God is for ever
upon us,—sees us through and through,—and
will perceive that we are naughty, in having a
mind to be so, though it should not be in our
power to be guilty of the action.—God is the
constant witness of our thoughts, as well as our
actions, and will judge us, as certainly for the
one, as for the other.

Fil. But, if a bad thought comes in our
head, sure it is the devil who puts it there, and
then the fault is his, not ours:—if we don’t do
what the thought bids us, sure, then we are not
to blame!

Pat. If we don’t indulge the thought, we
are not to blame, indeed, neither are we in
much danger from it. The devil has not power
to do any thing more than introduce bad
thoughts into our hearts: it is in our power to
make them welcome, or not, just as we please.
If,—as enemies to our Lord, and Saviour,—
we turn from them with disgust, and strive to
banish them from our minds, the spirit of God
will help us in this good work.—But if, on the
contrary, we make them welcome, cherish, and
harbour them, we then give convincing proof F3 that F3v 66
that we love the wicked enemies of God, and of
our own souls.

Fil. But papa, indeed now; I often wished
in my heart to get rid of a naughty thought,
and could not, it stuck to me so.

Pat. Well—when you find the same difficulty
again, go directly to your room or any private
place, and fall on your knees,—or if you
can’t do that, raise your heart, on the instant,
to God; and pray to him earnestly, that he
would grant you his help, and make his spirit
strong within you.—Then, call to mind your
danger; call to mind that it is the devil who is,
at that moment, endeavouring to make you as
great a devil as he is himself,—and that, if he
succeeds to gain you over, even for an instant,
you don’t know but, in that very instant, you
may die, and so be lost for ever.—These reflections
will rouse you to such exertion, that,
with God’s grace to help, your enemy will be
driven away, and your heart restored to peace.

Fil. Aye, but would the enemy come back
again, papa?

Pat. Alas, my love! he will indeed!—often,
often will he return, and often must we
renew the fight;—but then, it is ourselves, our
souls, that we fight for! If we throw down our
arms, and suffer ourselves to be made prisoners
to the devil, eternal, never-ending misery and
torment must be our portion. But if we fight manfully, F4r 67
manfully, and come off victorious, a crown of
glory will be our reward, and we shall be lifted
up to the society of angels, and the presence of
our dear Redeemer, there to dwell for ever and
ever; free from all the vexations and infirmities
of this perishable world, and blessed with
the enjoyment of more than every desire that
our hearts would be able to form.

Fil. O then, papa, I wish I was to die now,
while I am good, for fear I should ever grow
naughty again.

Pat. But are you sure that you are now
good, and fit to die?

Fil. Yes indeed, papa, for I feel, this minute,
that I love God, more than all the world,
and that I would not for all the world offend
him.

Pat. So Saint Peter thought, at the time
when he said to our Saviour, that, though he
should die with him, yet he would not deny
him; you know, however, that he did deny
him, notwithstanding. We are poor weak
creatures, my love, and are not acquainted with
ourselves. We may compare our minds to the
diseased bodies of those who go to Bath and
Bristol for their health.—Suppose a man, there,
under the care of a good and skilful physician,
who thus addresses him:―“Sir, your disorder
is such as cannot be removed in a day or two; F4v 68
two;—your cure will take time, and you must
wait with patience.—You must not grow tired
of the rules I lay down for your recovery, nor
desire to leave this place, before your cure is
perfected.—It is very possible you may sometimes
feel a little flash of health, which, to
your inexperience, will have the appearance of
cure:—but your disorder, nevertheless, will return
again: therefore, take care how you suffer
yourself to mistake the nature of your case,
or attempt to remove from a situation which
alone can establish your recovery. Leave it all
to me;—I will engage, if you take my advice,
to restore you to perfect health; and, when
that is done, I will send you home, happy and
rejoicing.”

Now, we all come into the world, with our
minds full of weakness and disease; this world
is our place of cure, and God is our physician.
—God alone knows when we are sufficiently
well to leave it, and go home:—we must observe
his rules; we must wait his time, and depend
upon his wisdom; and not mistake little
starts of goodness, for the perfect recovery of
our minds, nor wish to leave the world till he
sees us fit to leave it.

Fil. Papa, I want to ask you about repentance.
That little boy said, “awhile ago, that it
was foolish to talk of repenting and being good, so F5r 69
so young; and that it was time enough to repent,
when we grew old, and were tired of the
world.” I told him, “that none of us could foresee
whether we should live to be old, and that
it was dangerous to run the venture.”—But, I
believe, there is another reason, too, why we
should not delay repentance, but encourage it,
whenever it comes into our minds, for fear it
should not come again:—because, you told me
that it was only the Spirit of God who could
send such good thoughts into our hearts; and
then, you know, if he sends his good thoughts
over and over again, and that we turn them
away; he may grow angry at last, and never
send them any more.

Pat. Kiss me for that, my darling! Now, I
see that you mind, and lay instruction to heart.
You have argued extremely right; and your argument
proves more than the truth of what you
say, for it proves that the good Spirit of God is
growing very fond of you; and you ought to
encrease your gratitude to him, for enabling you
to understand so well, and think so justly.

But, besides what you have said, in favour of
speedy repentance,—there is, still another argument
to be urged.—When a man delays this
good work, it is of course, because he wishes
to go on in his sins. Now, such a man may be
justly compared to one going on a journey;—directedrected F5v 70
right on his road, but deserting it, because
he sees another path that is smoother, and
more flowery than that which leads to his journey’s
end.—When this man steps but a little out
of his road, he would have but a little way to go
back again: then would be the time for him to
consider the folly of turning his back upon the
place he wants to go to;—then would be the
time for him to repent, before he loses his way
entirely.—But if, on the contrary, he goes on,
wandering without a guide; he gets, at last, to
such a great distance from his only right road,
that he despairs of ever being able to travel such
a length of way back again.

Thus does it fare, with many a sinner.―
When repentance is delayed too long, there are
so many sins to be repented of, that few have
the resolution to set about it.

But, there is this material difference between
the traveller, and the sinner;—the one loses only
the object of worldly pursuit;—but, the other
loses heaven!—loses an eternity of happiness,
and in its stead finds an eternity of torment prepared
for him.—Death overtakes him, in the
midst of his wandering through the paths of sin,
and then there is no return.

Fil. Papa, that foolish boy said, “how there
was no fear of him to die, for he was stout and
strong; and so young, too, that he would certainly
live a great while:—but he may die, for all F6r 71
all that, poor creature!—he may take the smallpox,
or a fever, you know;—or, his little horse
may throw him;—or a hundred things might
happen, that would be able to put an end to
him.”

Pat. Nay, how many, in perfect health,
have suddenly dropt down dead! how many
have gone to bed, in perfect security, and waked
only to eternity.—Besides, death is not all that
the sinner had to fear. Even though death
should be delayed, yet judgment—the last judgment
may overtake him:—that great and terrible
day of the Lord, of which he himself has
told us, that we know not the hour when it may
come, suddenly, upon us.

Oh, then, my child! let us make haste to be
good, in time!—now,—this instant, let us call
upon God!—now, and every future hour of our
lives, let us dedicate to his service, that so we
may entitle ourselves, through the merits of our
Redeemer, to live with him in glory.