ve him, and with the utmost resignation relinquished even
the smallest hope of her recovery. When, therefore, his people came soon
afterwards to tell him that his ship had safely come to port, he did not
show the signs of self-gratulation which his friends expected to see. He
was devoutly thankful for the preservation of the lives of so many
seamen; but as for the vessel and her cargo, they were no longer his--he
had resigned them--he could not in conscience take them back. He looked
upon all as the gift of Providence to the poor; and, as such, he sold
the ship and merchandize--and most valuable they were--and, praying for
a right guidance, distributed the proceeds among the poor. How beautiful
is such charity! Here is no false lustre thrown upon the riches and
goods of this world, that, reflected, blind the eyes that they see not
aright. The conscience of such a man as Colston was an arbiter even
against himself, sat within him in judgment to put aside his worldly
interest, and made a steady light for itself to see by, where naturally
was either a glare or an obscurity, that alike might bewilder less
honest vision.

Some such idea is gloriously thus expressed by Sir Thomas Browne in his
admirable _Religio Medici_.{A} "Conscience only, that can see without
light, sits in the areopagy and dark tribunal of our hearts, surveys our
thoughts, and condemns our obliquities. Happy is that state of vision
that can see without light, though all should look as before the
creation, when there was not an eye to see, or light to actuate a
vision--wherein, notwithstanding, obscurity is only imaginable
respectively unto eyes. For unto God there was none. Eternal light was
for ever--created light was for the creation, not himself; and as He saw
before the sun, He may still also see without it."

A case of conscience came to be discussed not long since, in which I
took a part. We had been speaking of the beauty of truth, and that
nothing could justify the slightest deviation from the plain letter of
it. This was doubted; and the case supposed was, that of a ruffian or a
madman pursuing an innocent person with intent to murder. You see the
flight and pursuit; the pursuer is at fault, and questions you as to the
way taken by the fugitive. Are you justified in deceiving the pursuer by
a false direction of the way his intended victim had taken? Are you to
say the person went to the right, when the way taken was the left? The
advocate for th