owing
what kind of society I am in. Is John a good man, father?"

"Why, boy, he is but so so. A morally good man John is, but very little
of the leaven of true righteousness, which is faith, within. I am
afraid old Barnet, with all his stock of morality, will be a castaway."

My heart was greatly cheered by this remark; and I sighed very deeply,
and hung my head to one side. The worthy father observed me, and
inquired the cause, when I answered as follows: "How dreadful the
thought, that I have been going daily in company and fellowship with
one whose name is written on the red-letter side of the book of life;
whose body and soul have been, from all eternity, consigned over to
everlasting destruction, and to whom the blood of the atonement can
never, never reach! Father, this is an awful thing, and beyond my
comprehension."

"While we are in the world, we must mix with the inhabitants thereof,"
said he; "and the stains which adhere to us by reason of this mixture,
which is unavoidable, shall all be washed away. It is our duty,
however, to shun the society of wicked men as much as possible, lest we
partake of their sins, and become sharers with them in punishment.
John, however, is morally a good man, and may yet get a cast of grace."

"I always thought him a good man till to-day," said I, "when he threw
out some reflections on your character, so horrible that I quake to
think of the wickedness and malevolence of his heart. He was rating me
very impertinently for some supposed fault, which had no being save in
his own jealous brain, when I attempted to reason him out of his belief
in the spirit of calm Christian argument. But how do you think he
answered me? He did so, sir, by twisting his mouth at me, and remarking
that such sublime and ridiculous sophistry never came out of another
mouth but one (meaning yours) and that no oath before a kirk session
was necessary to prove who was my dad, for that he had never seen a son
so like a father as I was like mine."

"He durst not for his soul's salvation, and for his daily bread, which
he values much more, say such a word, boy; therefore, take care what
you assert," said my reverend father.

"He said these very words, and will not deny them, sir," said I.

My reverend father turned about in great wrath and indignation, and
went away in search of John, but I kept out of the way, and listened at
a back window; for John was dressing the plot of ground behind the
house; an