to an untimely end, presents her faded form before him, and upbraids his guilty soul: or some companion of his vices, some abettor and partner of his crimes, cut off in the prime of life, rises in the ghastly form of death, and tells him there is a God and a judgment to coine. He wakes appalled with fear, his hair bristling with horror: and it is well if he suffer the visionary reproof to correct his vicious life, and turn not again to his follies. Thus God speaks, in a dream, in a vision of the night; though, often, man regardeth it not.

The covetous person, whose sin is idolatry, and whose life is spent im anxious care, he feels at times the pleasure and the pain of dreams. He lays his plans with caution, and executes them with alacrity and dispatch. He heaps up riches; but forgets God who gives him power to get them. He sacrificeth to his own net, and burneth incense to his own drag, and saith, The power of my own hand hath gotten me this. He enlargeth his desire as hell, and is as death that cannot be satisfied. He encreaseth that which is not his own, and ladeth himself with thick clay. Yet he hath not the power to use his wealth: it rusteth in his coffers, or accumulates by usury: it is as useless to mankind as though it was hidden in an hole in the midst of his tent, as Achan hid his ill-gotten treasures of old. The widow and the fatherless cry in vain for help, and modest merit dies in his presence unpitied; and every poor man is in his view a rascal; while he soalces his foolish heart with the thought of his wealth. With this he retires to his couch, and closes his eyes with self-complacence. He dreams, and all his riches rise to view, and the bent of his soul discovers itself by a fancied augmentation of his pelf. While he is contemplating the pleasing theme, the scene changes; he dreams of the devastations of fire, the destruction of floods, the violence of thieves, or the prodigality of an heir; his anxious soul groans with pain, and he wakes in an agony of care.

The awakened sinner, whose conscience is alarmed by the word of truth, and now acts the part of a faithful monitor, dreams of past transgression, and his perturbed mind is filled with alarming images of death, judgment, and hell. Sins long forgotten are brought to remembrance, and, with all their aggravations, are caused to pass in order before him he sees and acknowledges them for his own: stricken with their guilt, his spirit sinks within him; he imagines himself upon the brink of the great gulph, and just ready to take his part with the damned. He cries mightily for mercy; the hand of love and power is stretched out, and he is plucked as a brand from the burning: he wakes with mixed but indescribable emotion of joy and fear.

He that has tasted that the Lord is gracious, and whose heart is reconciled by the blood of sprinkling, lives under a sense of the Divine favour. He has joy by day, and peace by night; or, if he dreams, he has an anticipation of future blessedness. He lifts up his eyes, and has a view of the coming of his master and his friend. The heavens unfold, and he beholds him whom his soul loveth, crowned with majesty and honour, attended with the innumerable company of angels, and with the ten thousands of his saints. The trumpet sounds, the dead are raised, the nations are gathered together; the hearts of thousands fail

them, weeping and wailing are heard on every side, and conscious guilt covers the faces of sinners; but the saint is invigorated with holy strength, for he has walked with God. He hears the awful judge bid him welcome, his soul is ravished wih the sound, and he wakes with joy unutterable, and cries, “Even so, Lord Jesus, come quickly.”

In general, the imaginary transactions of the dreamer bear some relation to his particular character in the world, his habits of action, and the circumstances of his life. The veteran soldier dreams of war and. blood; the philosopher renews his researches in sleep, often with the same pain and fatigue as when awake; and the merchant, at times, returns to balance his books, and compute the profits of an adventure, when slumbering on his pillow.

Having briefly described different characters, we will now enquire into the cause of dreaming. This part of the subject has engaged the attention of the philosophers, both of ancient and modern days: yet, perhaps, it will be found that we must rest without certainty upon this question. Indeed this is not the only question in which probability only can be attained. Human knowledge is, as yet, greatly confined; but this is no reason why we should not continue to enquire; rather, it ought to quicken our attention. The most inquisitive mind, and the strongest understanding, must, perhaps, in every state, be surrounded with appearances and facts, which its utmost efforts will never demonstrably account for.

The action of the body upon the soul, has been thought by some to: be the cause of dreams. But what power can there be in the body to perform this action? We know that the body is composed of matter, and, however finely it may be modified, in whatever way it be compounded or decompounded, it is matter still. It is universally, allowed, that matter, in all its possible forms, is passive, inactive, and dead. It is entirely, destitute of all power of motion Who, therefore, that considers this, can say, that the action of the body upon the soul is adequate to the production of dreams? We not only have a great variety of sensible objects represented in our dreams, but also, sometimes, whole scenes of discourse and action. We sometimes see persons and things which we never thought of before, or such, perhaps, as never existed; we have the most lively pictures painted upon the imagination; nor do we always dream of what is past; we often dream of what is future, and now and then with such clearness and impression that we do not forget the ideas, though they are not realized till many years afterwards. If dreams were owing to the mechanism of the body, it should seem reasonable to expect they would be like other mechanical effects, constant and regular.

But the inconstancy and irregularity observable in dreams, should, of itself, in my opinion, be sufficient to refute the idea that they can be accounted for mechanically, according to the laws of matter and motion. If they were occasioned by the traces of ideas left in the sensory, surely they would present us with nothing but what we had seen or thought of before. But this, as before observed, is not the case.

Mr. Locke, has, indeed, somewhere in his Essay on the Human Understanding, granted the possibility of matter being so finely modified as to think: but this he only mentions as capable of being performed by the power of God Now, not to observe that this idea is unphilosophical, as being utterly contrary to the known properties of matter, we only observe, that the possible actions of divine power are out of the question. We must not confound the properties of matter and spirit together, in order to account for the action of one upon the

other.

"In dreaming we do not consider ourselves as witnessing or bearing a part in a fictitious scene: we seem not to be in a similar situation with the actors in a dramatic performance, or the spectators before whom they exhibit, but engaged in the business of real life. All the varieties of thought that pass through our minds when awake, may also occur in dreams; all the images which imagination presents in the former state, she is able also to call up in the latter; all the same emotions may be excited, and we are often actuated by equal violence of passion; none of the transactions in which we are capable of engaging while awake are impossible in dreams: in short, our range of action and observation is equally wide in the one state as in the other; while dreaming we are not sensible of any distinction, between our dreams and the events and transactions in which we are actually concerned in our intercourse with the world."

Let any man think of this, and then ask himself if any possible action of the body upon the soul be capable of producing these things. We dismiss this idea, therefore, as totally inadequate to the effect.

TO BE CONTINUED.

AM always glad so see question of impoetance candily discussed, and difference of opinion operating as an incitement to impartial investigation. I cannot, however, but regret that persons evidently of a disposition hostile to the reception of truth, should engage in a controversy merely to defend opinions, which have little but deep rooted prejudice to support them; and in vindicating their own sentiments should display such a spirit of arrogance and self-sufficiency, and so little sense of decorum in the treatment of their opponents, as are discoverable in the letter of Mr. Andrew Fuller inserted in your last Miscellany,

When people have been long attached to a particular system, and accustomed to consider it as coming from God, and that it is impious to attack it, or even to doubt of its truth, however erroneous it may be, there is little reason to expect that they will ever be convinced of their mistake. But their confidence is not a sufficient ground for our assent to their doctrines, because we want the proofs of their infallibility!

I am so thoroughly convinced that the best and the wisest of men are liable to mistakes, that so many causes concur to the formation of our opinions, and that few can entirely surmount the prejudices of education, and judge for themselves with perfect impartiality, that I would be very cautious of censuring any one for maintaining what I consider as erroneous. And though I am persuaded that Calvinism, as a system, is utterly destitute of Scriptural foundation, and dishonourable to God in the highest degree; that it tends to spread a gloom over the mind that entertains it; to excite an unsocial and an illiberal disposition; that it has driven some to distraction, and induced others to lay violent hands upon themselves; I should nevertheless consider the sincere advocate for its truth, as entitled to compassion, rather than severity.

But whatever systein a writer may have adopted, he should certainly treat those who are of a different persuasion, as he, with reason, expects to be treated himself. In observing this rule Mr. Fuller is notoriously deficient, and to this circumstance I shall chiefly confine my remarks.

Throughout Mr. Fuller's letter appears that resentment and animosity which nothing can excuse, unless he could be certain that he was contending with the enemies of God. The spirit with which his letter is dictated, leaves no room to doubt but that this was his persuasion; but should it prove otherwise, his conduct must be acknowledged extremely reprehensible: and this might possibly be the case, though the truth of his system were more clearly evinced.

It is certainly true, though it may not be evident to Mr. Fuller, that some are as sincere in rejecting his doctrines, as he can be in embracing and defending them. They are, by many, considered as contrary to reason, to Scripture, and the moral perfections of God. Ought not they who are thus persuaded to propose their objections, and to vindicate what they consider as the truth? If Mr. Fuller thinks them confirmed in a dangerous error, he would act more like a Christian by lamenting their misfortune, than in loading them with reproaches.

He will not admit it to be any proof of impartiality, that his letters are permitted to appear in the Universalist's Miscellany. But what would he have said, had his letters been refused? He would, doubtless, then have exclaimed loudly against the partiality of the editor. And yet, from the general spirit of his letters, many would have thought themselves perfectly justified in denying them insertion.

Mr. Fuller's object in writing is not the discovery of truth, but the vindication of sentiments which he has long ago adopted. He seems not to have suspected that it is possible for him to be wrong, nor to think that his opponents are to be treated with civility. Universalists and Socinians, he classes with deists and libertines; and insinuates that they are engaged in the same cominon cause. By such arts he may gain credit with his party, and impose upon the minds of unthinking people ; and this I presume is all that he will be able to effect.

Mrs. Barbauld, it seems, has incurred Mr. Fuller's displeasure by a passage in her Defence of Public Worship, in answer to Mr. Wakefield. But be it remembered she is not accustomed to adopt tenets upon trust, nor to reject opinions, without careful examination. When Mr. Fuller can bring himself to exercise equal impartiality, and to divest his mind as entirely of prejudice, it is probable that he also will give up a great part of his system.

It is not my intention to consider the arguments which Mr. Fuller has advanced, but to offer some remarks on the impropriety of the manner in which he has conducted the controversy. It should be the aim of polemical writers either to discover truth themselves or to convince their opponents. Mr. Fuller's manner is not suited to convince, because he is destitute of candour, and we therefore justly suspect a deficiency of evidence; nor can he be convinced himself, because he is persuaded that he cannot be wrong. If therefore he should now be mistaken, he must remain so as long as he lives!

Mr. Fuller maintains that the doctrine of Universal Restoration "affords encouragement to a sinner going on still in his trespasses, and furnishes ground for hope and joy, even supposing him to persevere in sin till death;" and imagines this to have been “ a self-evident truth." But what can be more evident, than that the assurance of future misery to impenitent sinners, which much more than counterbalances the present pleasures of sin, is sufficient, if believed, to deter from their pursuit? If the doctrine of eternal punishment be not believed it cannot influence the mind; and if a sinner be assured that he shall be miserable for a time, in consequence of his wickedness; that both the degree and duration of VOL. IV.

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