have been giving myself again entirely to him, desireing to trust in him with a simple dependance, to stand ready to go where he shall appoint, to do, and to bes just what he pleases, to find my future pleasure in doing, with a holy courage, and humility, and energy, the work which he shall give me to do. How pleasant will even my widowed life be, if I can thus live? No matter where we are, or what we are, so long as we can find our happiness in glorifying God, and in doing and suffering his will. Oh, blessed, happy life! This was the happiness of the Apostles and primitive Christians, who suffered the loss of all things temporal, were persecuted, afflicted, tormented, and slain; and yet sang the song of victory, through Jesus Christ their Lord, on the rack and in the flames. This is the very essence of heavenly felicity. With a capacity to enjoy this happiness, we might well say, with the Psalmist, "Though the earth be removed, though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea, we will not fear." Oh my God! I am fully satisfied that here is the only resting-place. Help me, oh, help me, thus to stay myself only on thee! Then shall I be happy.

November 5. Nearly two months have elapsed since the hand of the Lord removed from me my earthly prop and comfort; and I can say, in the language of Mrs. Grant on a similar occasion, "Mine is a growing sorrow. Like other streams, it widens as it proceeds." It may seem strange, but I have felt a mournful pleasure that, if we must be separated, if these heart-rending agonies must be endured by one of us, I am the sufferer, and he is happy. It is sweet to me to know, and reflect, that God loved him better than I did. We both, 1 trust, loved our God supremely, and shall love him for ever. Oh the blessed truths of Christianity! These bear up my spirit, amidst the waves and billows of affliction. I am afflicted, but not in despair; cast

down, but not destroyed; sorrowful, yet sometimes rejoicing. Dear, blessed saint! we shall meet, I trust, where adieus and farewells are sounds unknown.

TO A SISTER-IN-LAW AT N.

Boston, November 7, 1819..

Few

So far as human sympathy can operate to heal a heart torn by a wound like mine, it has availed for me. ever had more affecting and soothing proofs of tender concern and affectionate commiseration, than myself. I number this among the many mercy-drops which my kind Father has mingled in my cup of sorrow. Few had so much to lose. But this would make my ingrati tude the deeper, were I to murmur at the removal of a mercy which I never deserved; especially when its removal has been accompanied with so many, so very many, mitigating circumstances. No: though God witnesses the tears of agony which daily force themselves from eyes long accustomed to weeping, I trust. he does not behold them tears of impatient repining, or impious rebellion. I think I can say, He hath done all things well. I think I feel, that he has a right to govern, and can comfort myself with the sure and certain conviction, that his plan of government will be most conducive to his own glory and to the happiness of his people. In this trying dispensation the question has arisen, Which shall govern, God or myself? And blessed be his name! I am not conscious that, for one moment, I have felt disposed to take the reigns of dominion into my own hands. 'God knows best.' This silences, and, prevailingly, satisfies, my troubled soul.

How does the world dwindle, when heaven comes near! And how cheerfully can difficulties be surmounted, and trials endured, and duties performed, and sacrifices made, while we look, not at the things.

which are seen, but at the things which are not seen! The great difficulty is, to keep a steady eye of faith on futurity, and the great example of the Author and Finisher of our faith in view; to remember that we were created "to glorify God and enjoy him for ever;" and that, therefore, the main object of our creation, and of course the main ground of our happiness, cannot be affected, materially, by the temporal changes through which we pass, while this object is pursued. Oh, this is the difficulty! Faith wavers. We want to find our happiness in earthly comforts; and when they are removed, we feel as if all was gone. Dear brother and sister, for pray have double grace, me, Pray that I as I have now double duty to perform.

may

Pray for the

children of him whom you loved. Let us pray

for each

other, that God will bless us in all things, and bring us at last to the inheritance of the saints in light.

November 9.

No more shall this bosom, when heaving with anguish,
In the kind breast of sympathy seek for relief,

While helpless I wander, or hopeless I languish ;

Ah, cold is the heart that would share all my grief!

Consuming thought! Who shall ever more wipe the tear of sorrow from these weeping eyes, or lend the ear of undissembled sympathy to the complainings of this broken heart? Who shall bend, with the smile of tenderness, over my bed of suffering, and cheer me with the voice of affection? Alas, alas, no change can ever restore him to these widowed arms! And I should go down to the grave in sorrow, were it not that God. is my helper.

Boston, November 14, 1819.

YOUR long and confidential letter gave me great pleasure. There is a sympathy in the feeling of persons who have been recently afflicted, which cannot be expected to be found in others; a mutual chord which, touched, vibrates with a kindred sound. We have not suffered exactly alike; but we have suffered; and that circumstance has made us love each other better than we did before.

But, my dear friend, in our recent trials, neither of us has been called (to suffer as those who have no hope. And how does the reflection, that our departed friends. have now reached the point which we must reach before we can be happy, sweeten and soothe the anguish of the separation! Let us contemplate them in every supposable view, and the prospect is full of consolation. We cannot think of them as what they were, or what they are, without pleasure. They are the highly favoured of the Lord, who, having finished all they had to do in this vale of tears, are admitted to the higher services of the upper temple. True, when we look at our loss, nature will feel. This is allowable, is becoming. When I view myself, riven asunder, root and branch, not the limbs torn away, but the very body of the tree sundered from top to bottom, nature must feel the parting agonies, must, at times, be ready to sink under the consciousness of her dissolution. All this must be, to those who have interests to be smitten, friendships to be broken, and hearts to feel.

Yes, dear E., our hearts have bled. The wound inflicted has been deep. We have felt that the stroke was full of anguish, that it went to our very souls. We will not deny that this is all true. We will not please

ourselves with the delusion that the deep, deep wound which the hand of God has inflicted can ever cease to bleed. But, O my friend! is there not balm in Gilead ? is there not a physician there? Is not that physician our Saviour; wise to discern, prudent to manage, strong to save? Has not the kind hand, which smote so deeply, accompanied the stroke with many softening, mitigating circumstances? O yes; I trust that we both feel that it is so. It is God who hath afflicted us, the infinitely wise, compassionate, and faithful Jehovah, the Lord our God. And does it not argue great want of confidence in him, if we sink into despondency when he chastises us? Does it not show, either that .we think we could manage things better than he can, or that there is something which we have not cordially submitted to his disposal?

And now, O God, thou art the potter, and we the clay. O how this quells the murmurings of self-will; how it settles the restlessness of the troubled spirit; how it plucks the sting from the rod of affliction! God knows best. Precious truth! It is as an anchor to the soul, sure and stedfast, which keeps it from shipwreck, amidst all the storms and tempests of the troubled sea of life. Oh for a firm, unwavering faith! This is all that is wanting. With this we may say,

Cheerful, I tread the desert through.

With this we may rejoice, when our beloved friends are taken from the stormy ocean to the peaceful port, from the weary wilderness to the happy home, from the field of conflict to the crown of victory; and trace, with holy courage, our way through the same difficulties to the same glorious recompense of reward. But ah! this, a firm unwavering faith, is too often wanting. We miss our temporal comforts. The heart which sympathized in all our pleasures and pains has ceased to beat;