_Rusticus._ I HAVE brought again with me, gentlemen, my silent friend _Humanus_, and upon the same condition of being silent still. But tho’ his silence is the same, yet he is quite altered. For these twenty years I have known him to be of an even, chearful temper, full of good-nature, and even quite calm and dispassionate in his attacks upon Christianity; never provoked by what was said either against his infidelity, or in defence of the gospel. He used to boast of his being free from those four passions, which, he said, were so easy to be seen, in most defenders of the gospel-meekness. But now he is morose, peevish, and full of chagrin; and seems to be as uneasy with himself, as with every body else. I tell him, but he will not own it, that his case is this: the truth has touched him, but it is only so far, as to be his _tormentor_. It is only as welcome to him, as a thief that has taken from him all his riches, goods, and armour, wherein he trusted. The Christianity he used to oppose is vanished; and therefore all the weapons he had against it, are dropt out of his hands. It now appears to stand upon another ground, to have a better nature, than what he imagined; and therefore he, and his scheme of infidelity, are quite disconcerted. But tho’ his arguments have lost their strength, his heart is left in the state it was; it stands in the same opposition to Christianity as it did before, and yet without any ideas of his brain to support it. And this is the true ground of his present, uneasy, peevish state of mind. He has nothing now to subsist upon, but the resolute hardness of his heart, his pride and obstinacy. Tho’ it is with some reluctance, yet I have chosen thus to make my neighbour known both to himself, and to you, that you may speak of such matters as may give the best relief to the state he is in. _Theophilus._ His trial is the greatest and hardest that belongs to human nature: and yet it is absolutely necessary to be undergone.