But I am no more satisfied that it was contemptible and mean, than that it was contemptible and mean in God to make toads and spiders.

D. What end could the prohibition of an apple answer?

C. Just the same as any other command. It was a test of homage and cbedience, and was, on the part of man, an acknowledgement of the obligations which he was under to God. D. This introduces to our view the idea of a compact.

Thus then

C. I have no objection to consider it in that light. Know then that when God created man, he manifested his goodness towards him; and this goodness or benevolence on the part of God, demanded gratitude on the part of man. Man, therefore, by his obedience manifested his gratitude in return. the original compact stood. But in the instant in which man disobeyed, he violated the compact, by withholding that gratitude which the benevolence of God demanded, and thus forfeited his title to that protection which he had hitherto enjoyed. An exposure to punishment for this violation of compact, and transgression of a rule of right, became the necessary consequence; and this false assumption of independence, conducted immediately to degradation and woe. Now, Sir, I do not think that this account is more ridiculous than that which supposes the first man to have acquired moral evil by bad example. D. Pray what time is it?

C. I do not exactly know, but we have several miles farther yet to ride. Do you not think, Sin, that the condition of man from the statement which I have given, was considerably changed after his ungrateful action, from what it was before? D. Certainly it was.

C. Then this being the case, the next question is whether man should be left to perish in that lapsed condition, which you have admitted, or be rescued from impending woe?

D. Ah, ah, I now perceive what you are driving at; you mean to conduct me to the precipice of redemption.

C. I do, and to continue your own metaphor, I intend to throw you over it.

D. But I will not admit your propositions.

C. Then you shall oppose them, or I will interpret your silence into an approbation and acknowledgement. You know, Sir, that you have procured this for yourself, by commencing the attack. D. I acknowledge it, and subinit.

C. You allow then that the case and condition of man were altered by the introduction of moral evil.

D. I do. But I cannot see any necessity that Christ should die; for certainly God might have rescued man without such a

process.

C. Do you admit the attributes of God to be essential to his nature? D. 1 do:

C. Then God must be necessarily just. D. Yes.

C. Can then, I would ask, a being necessarily just, suspend his justice? If he can, he must, during that suspension. be destitute of justice; and this will prove that justice is not essential to his nature, which is contrary to what you have granted. But if God cannot suspend his justice, you must admit the necessity of that very atonement, for which you can see no occasion. If mercy can overcome justice, what is become of that Omnipotence by which justice is supported? And if it cannot, how can man be rescued from impending woe without an atonement? Will you answer these questions?

D. I think I am compelled to admit the conclusions to which they lead. I beg you will urge nothing more on this head. C. Will you then fairly allow me those things for which I have been contending? D. I must.

C. Have you any other arguments or topics of arguments wh ch you wish to bring forth from Volney?

D. No; and if I had I would not bring them; but I recollect an argument by which Pame controverts the doctrine of the Resurrection as taught by St. Paul.

C. Will you be kind enough to state it?

D. Upon my honour the argument has escaped me, but I remember it is something about grain, and he proves St. Paul a fool.

C. Perhaps, Sir, it is this St. Paul says, thou fool, that which thou sowest is not quickened except it die: upon which Paine makes this comment, Thou fool Paul, that which thou sowest, is not quickened except it die not.

D.

this?

Yes, Sir, that is what I meant: What can you object to

C. To investigate this illustrative argument with accuracy, it is necessary that we should deine our terms. But, however, to avoid a waste of time, we will enter at once upon the nature of identity and diversity; for to this doctrine, I think you will concur with me in admitting, that our subject must soon carry

us.

D. Excuse me, Sir, I am not accustomed to the terms.
C. What terms?

D. Identity and Diversity.

C. Then I have my doubts whether you ever properly investigated the question on which you have decided.

D. I never attempted to enter into it so minutely, but you will oblige me by defining the terms.

C. Identity means perfect sameness; and Diversity means something that is not the same, but that is essentially and specifi

cally different. Identity may be taken in various acceptations. Sometimes it applies to numerical particles, sometimes to the modification of them, and at other times to relative situation. The Identity of which St. Paul speaks, when he applies this observation to a grain, is evidently, in the first place, that of composition of modification. A grain is a certain combination of particles, arranged in that particular manner which we behold, from which we obtain a complete idea of it. Now when thi grain is sowed in the earth, a decomposition of its parts immediately takes place, and that very instant in which any of its particles is destroyed, and consequently when the identity of modification and of numerical particles is destroyed, the grain dies. Still, however, some radical statement remains, which is quickened into future life; and in this view, all that is thrown off is but a mere excrescence, sufficient to destroy the original identity which consisted in the union of all the parts, but insufficient to prevent returning life.

D. But can the future grain be said to be the same grain which was sown?

C. In one sense, it is not, in another, it is. It is not the same in all its numerical particles, neither is it the same in the modification of them but as this stamen of life, was actually included in the parent grain, and formed a part of it, it is really the same that was sown, though quickened into another life, through the separation of the particles of the parent grain of which it formed an essential part.

D. I believe here is another Parson coming. Curse the Parsons, it is all their fault that I have thus exposed myself. I beg will say no more.

you

C. Permit me then to give you this wholesome piece of advice. Whenever you get into company with strangers, be careful how you attack them, unless you get better qualified to defend what you advance.

D. I certainly shall take your advice. But I am determined when I get to London, to read Volney with attention, and to fortify myself with arguments.

.

C. If f you are resolved to espouse the ca: of infidelity, you have certainly formed a very prudent resolution. Permit me, Sir, to ask you plainly, did you ever read either Volney or Paine? D. That is a close question, but I will answer frankly, I have

not.

C. Well really I admire your candour, but prey how came you by their names?

D. I belong to a club in London, in which these books are read, and their principles discussed.

C. But what could induce you, sensible as you must have

been of your own deficiency, to commence an attack upon me as soon as we mounted the coach?

D. I thought you were a country farmer, and I wanted to

have a little fun.

C.

Did you not suspect when you began that you were committing yourself?

D. I had my suspicions after a little while, but I had gone too far to retreat.

C.

It was a conviction of this fact which induced me to accept your challenge. But pray how do you like the fun you have had?

D. Just as you may suspect. I would not have had any of my acquaintances in company for fifty guineas.

C. Well, Sir, you have left me in possession of all my arguments; you have, assented to the leading features of christianity? and have not had one word to oppose to what I have delivered. I do not conceive that all I have advanced is conclusive. I only spoke from the impulse of the occasion and the moment; but I am confident that the ground on which I have stood is perfectly tenable; and the event has proved, that what I have advanced, has imposed silence on you. I claim no merit in conquering you, for this even a child might have done; my only merit consists in attacking you when you held out such a terrific front

D. I beg you will drop the discourse; we are getting into town, and I fear the people will hear us.

C. Sir, I will say no more. I thank you for preserving your temper, and recomme": o your notice that Bible which you have been taught to despise.

A PRISONER AMONG THE INDIANS.

Narrative of John Slover, who was taken prisoner by the Miamese tribe of Indians, and f his escape from them.

[Meth. Mag. Eng.]

THE following account of the wonderful deliverance of John Slover, an American soldier, from the Indians, who had condemned him, with many other prisoners, to be burnt, is extracted from his narrative, inserted in Richard Parkinson's Tour in America, published at London in 1806. Richard Parkinson, late of Orange Hill, near Baltimore, wrote the "Experienced

Farmer," and has been considered as an author of undoubted credit.

"I was taken," says John Slover, "from New River, in Virginia, by the Miamese, a nation of the Indians, by us called the Picts, amongst whom I lived six years. Afterwards being sold to a Delaware, and by him put into the hand of a trader, I was carried amongst the Shawanese, with whom I continued six years; so that my whole time amongst these nations was twelve years; that is, from the eight to the twentieth year of my age. At the treaty of Fort Pitt, in the fall preceding what is called Dunmore's war, (which, if I am right, was in the year 177 ) I came in with the Shawanese nation to the treaty; and meeting with some of my relations at that place, was by them solicited to relinquish the life of a savage, which I did with some reluctance, this manner of life having become natural to me, inasmuch as I had scarcely known any other. I enlisted as a soldier in the continenta army at the commencement of the present war, (the American war) and served fifteen months. Having been properly discharged, I have since married, have a family, and am in communion with the church.

Having been a prisoner among the Indians many years, and so being well acquainted with the country west of the Ohio, I was employed as a guide in the expedition under Colonel William Crawford, against the Indian towns on or near the river Sandusky, in the year 1782. On Tuesday, June 4, we fought the enemy near Sandusky, and lay that night in our camp.The next day we fired on each other at the distance of 300 yards, doing little or no execution.

In the evening of that day, it was proposed by Colonel Crawford, as I have been since informed, to draw off with order; but at the moment of our retreat, the Indians (who had probably perceived that we were about to retire) firing alarm guns, our men broke and rode off in confusion, treading down those who were on foot, and leaving the wounded men, who supplicated to be taken with them.

I was with some others, on the rear of our troops, feeding our horses in the glade, when our men began to break. The main body of our people had passed by me a considerable distance before I was ready to set out. I overtook them before they crossed the glade, and was advanced almost in front. The company of five or six men, with which I had been immediately connected, and who were at some distance to the right of the main body, had separated from me, and endeavoured to pass a morass; for, coming up, I found their horses had stuck fast in the morass, and endeavouring to pass, mine also, in a short time, stuck fast. I tried for a long time to disengage my horse,