pray. O God, hear them not, for I will not be saved.' His words were accompanied with the strongest marks of rage and inveterate malice, and he cried out, 'I hate everything that God has made; only I have no hatred to the devil; I wish to be with him.' He seemed to be in his element while speaking of the devil as a sovereign lord, that might shortly reign supreme! These things greatly distressed us, and we were afraid that he was given up to a reprobate mind."

On the 21st, Mr. Rhodes, having returned from the country, went again to see William Pope, and gives the following account of his visit :—

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"I found him in the most deplorable condition. He charged me with telling him a lie, in my last visit, by saying that I believed there was salvation for him. I replied that I had not told a lie, but verily believed there was salvation if he would accept of it. He was now in a tempest of rage and despair: his looks, his agonies, and dreadful words, are not to be expressed. Speaking to him of mercy or a Saviour, seemed to increase the horrors of his mind. When I mentioned the power of the Almighty to save; 'God,' said he, 'is almighty to damn me! He hath already sealed my damnation, and I long to be in hell!' While two or three of us were praying for him, he threw at us anything on which he could lay his hands. His state appeared an awful confirmation of the truth, justice, and being of God; of an immortal soul in man; and of the evil of sin. Who but a righteous God could inflict such punishments? What but sin could deserve them? What but an intelligent immortal soul could bear them ?"

Next day, Mr. Rhodes called again to see William Pope. The dreadful tempest of rage and defiance seemed to have ceased. He now appeared full of timidity and fear; in perpetual dread of the powers of darkness, and apprehensive of their coming to drag him away to the

regions of misery. But no marks of penitent contrition appeared about him. He said he was full of blasphemy; he often laid his hand upon his mouth lest it should force its way forth. He complained that it had done so, and that more would force its way.

In the afternoon of the 24th, Mr. Barraclough again called upon him. For some time he would not speak; but after being repeatedly asked how he felt his mind, he replied, "Bad, bad." Mr. Barraclough said, "God can make it better."

What, make me better! I tell you, no; I have done the horrible deed, and it cannot be undone again. I feel I must declare to you what it is for which I am suffering. The Holy and Just One! I have crucified the Son of God afresh, and counted the blood of the covenant an unholy thing! O that wicked and horrible deed of blasphemy against the Holy Ghost which I know I have committed! It is for this I am suffering the torture and horrors of guilt, and a sense of the wrath of God.”

He then suddenly looked upwards towards the chamber floor, and started back; he trembled, gnashed his teeth, and cried out, "Do you not see? Do you not see him? He is coming for me! The devil will fetch me, I know he will! Come, O devil, and take me." At this time Mr. Eskrick came into the room, to whom William said, "George, I am lost." Mr. Eskrick replied, "Do not say so, but pray earnestly to God to give you true repentance; and who can tell but the Lord may deliver you this day from the power of sin and Satan." He answered, "I cannot pray, no! no! I will not pray. Do not I tell you there is no salvation for me? I want nothing but hell." Some time after he said, "Undone forever! Doomed to eternal pain! to the burning flame!" Afterward on a sudden he sprung up from his seat, and cried out, "Your prayers will avail nothing. God will not hear you." A friend prayed; but during prayer,

when any petition was offered for him, he sullenly said, "I will not have any favour at his hands," uttering also other expressions too dreadful to be repeated.

"On the 25th," says Mr. Rhodes, "I called to see William Pope, and asked him how he was: he answered, 'Very bad in body and soul, there is nothing good about me.' I said to him, 'William, if God were willing to save you for Christ's sake, and if you knew that he were so, would you not be willing to be saved?'

"No,' he answered, 'I have no willingness nor any desire to be saved. You will not believe me when I tell you it is all over. If I had a million of worlds I would give them all to undo what I have done.'

"I told him I was glad to hear that confession from him, and hoped, that through the violence of his terrors he had mistaken his case, and imagined against himself what was not true. 'I tell you,' he replied, 'I know hell burns within me now; and the moment my soul quits the body, I shall be in such torments as none can conceive! I have denied the Saviour! I have blasphemed the Most High! and have said, O that I were stronger than God.' He was quite unwilling that I should attempt to pray for him. I visited him the next morning, when he appeared to be hardened beyond all feeling of remorse or fear. His violent agitations, dread, and horror, had ceased their rage. His infidel principles returned upon him, and he gave full place to them, and gloried in them.

"On my next visit, after a little conversation, he spoke with the greatest contempt of the Lord Jesus Christ; and derided his merits and the virtue of his atoning blood. The words he used were too detestable to be repeated. The day following he appeared much in the same state of mind, full of a diabolical spirit. Hell and perdition were his principal theme, and apparently without terror."

At a visit which a pious young man made him on the first of May, he said, "I have denied the Lord Jesus Christ, and the word of God; this is my hell." After some other shocking expressions, he added, "My pain is all within-if this were removed I should be better! O what a terrible thing it is! Once I might, and would not; now I would, and must not." He sat a little while and then (says the narrator) cast his eyes upon me with the most affecting look I ever saw, and shook his head. At this sight I could not refrain from tears. At another time he said, "I attempted to pray, but when I had said a word or two, I was so confounded I could say no more.” At this time one of his old companions in sin coming to see him, William said to him, "I desire you will go away; for I have ruined myself by being too much in such company as yours." The man was unwilling to depart, but he insisted on his going.

Sometime after, the same young man, and some other friends, sat up with him again, and would have prayed with him, but he would not suffer them; he said it did him hurt, and added, "I am best content when I am cursing; I curse frequently to myself, and it gives me ease. God has made a public example of me, for a warning to others; and if they will not take it, everlasting misery will be their portion."

Mr. Rhodes made him several other visits; and in all his visits, found him perfectly averse to prayer, and to everything that is good. Not the least mark of contrition; not the most distant desire for salvation. "When," says he, "on one occasion I attempted to pray, he said, 'Do not pray to Jesus Christ for me, he can do me no good; nor is there any being that can.' When I began to pray, he blasphemed in a most horrible manner, and dared the Almighty to do his worst, and to send him to hell!"

"On the 24th, his state was not to be described. His

eyes darted hate and distraction. He grinned at me, and told me how he despised and hated my prayers; at the same time he exclaimed, Curse on you all.'

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On the 26th, I visited him for the last time. I saw his dissolution was at hand. My soul pitied him. My painful feelings on his account cannot be expressed. I spoke to him with tenderness and plainness about the state of his soul, and of another world; but he answered me with a high degree of displeasure; his countenance at the same time was horrible beyond expression; and with great vehemence he commanded me to cease speaking to him. I then told him, it would be the last time that ever I should see him in this world; and asked if he were willing for me to put up another prayer for him? He then with great strength, considering his weakness, cried out, 'No.' This was the last word which I heard him speak. I left him, and he died in the evening."

2. THE MOTHER OF DAVID HUME.

"Insidious Death! should his strong hand arrest,
No composition sets the prisoner free;

Eternity's inexorable chain

Fast binds, and vengeance claims the full arrear."-YOUNG.

HUME, the historian, received a religious education from his mother, and early in life was the subject of strong and hopeful religious impressions; but as he approached manhood they were effaced, and confirmed infidelity succeeded.

Maternal partiality, however alarmed at first, came at length to look with less and less pain on this delusion, and filial love and reverence seemed to have been absorbed in the pride of philosophical scepticism; for Hume applied himself with unwearied, and, unhappily, with successful, efforts to sap the foundation of his