"His words affected me strangely, and yet I felt that they were distasteful. Sorrow had not taught me the knowledge of self. I had yet to learn that religion alone can do that. My soul was grovelling in the dust; my thoughts wholly engrossed by the world. Religion was to me a well-invented fable, skillfully constructed, and admirably told, being beautiful and artistic in a literary point of view, but altogether too shallow to satisfy the reason of a clever fellow like me. Oh! how repugnant are its pure precepts to those whose hearts are blinded by vanity; who live but for the pleasures of the day, and never heed the to-morrow in the skies. "I sat down at a table near my friend, and began hastily to turn over the pages of a volume which lay before me. It contained the admirable writings of the Rev. Robert Hall. I pettishly closed the book, and pushed it from me. "As I raised my head, our eyes met. He evidently read my thoughts. "'I do not wish to lecture you, Philip, nor do I condemn you. Your mind, in its present unawakened state, cannot understand the sublime truths you affect to despise. The blind see not; they cannot comprehend the light, and we are not surprised that they stumble and fall. But I love you too well, Philip, to wish you to remain in this state of mental darkness. Read the Bible with the eyes of faith; think and pray, and the true light will dawn upon your soul, as it has on mine. Let not the ravings of fanaticism, nor the vulgarity of low cant, frighten you from the enjoyment of the highest and noblest privilege granted to man--the capacity of holding converse with his God. And, now, farewell, my dear friend. I shall see you again in the morning; think over twice what I have said to you before you go to sleep.' "I retired to my chamber, but not to rest. I sat before the fire, musing over, and trying to feel an interest in, the advice of my friend; I knew it was good; I felt it was right and very natural, for Cornelius, in his diseased state, to regard it as a subject of vital importance, to cherish it as the last hope which could beguile his mind, and reconcile him, to the awful and mysterious change which awaited him. 'Poor Cornelius,' said I, 'dying men catch at straws! Will your straw float you safely across the waves of the dark river? I fear not.' And in this mood I went to bed, dreamt of Charlotte, and awoke in the morning to regret the long years which must intervene before she could be mine." END OF VOL. I. LONDON: Printed by Shulze and Co., 13, Poland Street. End of Project Gutenberg's The Monctons: A Novel, Volume I, by Susanna Moodie