animating nature; but has He condescended to reveal Himself to us?
Freind.—Yes, by His works.
Birton.—Has He revealed His laws, or spoken to us?
Freind.—Yes, by the voice of conscience. Is it true, that, if you killed your father and mother, your conscience would be a prey to a remorse as terrible as it would be involuntary? Is not this truth avowed and felt throughout the world? To come down to lesser crimes—do they not all revolt us at the first glance—make us turn pale when we commit them for the first time—and leave in our hearts the stings of repentance?
Birton.—I must confess it.
Freind.—God, in thus speaking to your heart, has commanded you to abstain from crime. As for equivocal actions, which some condemn and others approve, what can we do better than follow the grand rule of Zoroaster—"When you are not sure whether the action you are about to commit is good or bad, abstain from it."
Birton.—An admirable maxim, and doubtless the most beautiful ever advanced in morals. I admit that, from time to time, God has raised up men to teach virtue to their degraded fellows. I apologize to you for speaking lightly of virtue.
Freind.—Rather apologize to the Supreme Being, who can reward and punish eternally.
