Boston, March 9, 1821. My dear S. I have been reading, a letter of yours, this afternoon, with which I was much interested; and, although I do not expect to suggest to your mind any new truths in reference to your present circumstances, I feel a strong desire to write a few lines to you this evening. This desire results, if I know my own heart, from an earnest wish for your welfare, and the humble hope of saying something which the great Searcher of hearts may be pleased to bless to you.

"

I have many reasons, my dear S., for being interested in you. I love you for your parents' sake; and I love you, as being one of the lambs of that flock of which my dear husband was so recently the overseer; and I cannot but rejoice when any of these "little ones are gathered into that spiritual kingdom which is dearer than any, than every thing else to all the members of it. Your situation at present, my dear girl, is a critical God has been calling you in many ways of late, and I do hope that he is now himself preparing your heart to answer the call, "Wilt thou not, from this time, cry unto me, My Father, thou art the guide of my youth?"

one.

Let me entreat you to be earnest in religion. Remember that no great object is likely to be obtained without persevering diligence, and a courageous determination not to be defeated by difficulties. If this is the case in reference to temporal objects, the attainment of which is opposed only by natural hindrances, surely it is the case with spiritual things. If the acquisition of human science can be accomplished only by labour and diligence, when the object of pursuit is often pleasant and agreeable to the natural taste, oh, with

what earnestness and strength of effort must that spiritual knowledge be sought and laboured after, which is eternal life, and the acquisition of which is rendered so inexpressibly difficult, by all the moral hindrances which result from a nature wholly averse and opposed to it! Difficult indeed, impossible would it be for us to obtain this best of all knowledge, the knowledge of ourselves and of the Lord Jesus Christ, were not the grace and strength of Him who is able to save to the uttermost, promised to all who really seek them. "It is God which worketh in us, both to will and to do of his good pleasure ;" and, on this account, we are exhorted to "work out our own salvation with fear and trem bling."

But remember, my dear S., you have a part to perform in this great work. Strive to understand what that part is. In reading the blessed word of God, carefully distinguish between what he has engaged to do, and what he requires you to do. Do your part faithfully, and he will certainly perform his. When I say you have something to do, I do not mean that you can do any thing which will serve you as a ground of justification, any thing to lay the Most High under any obligation to bestow his mercy upon you. What the precise connexion is which God has established between those means and duties which he prescribes to his creatures, and the attainment of his blessing, we do not know. Nor is it necessary we should. One thing we do know that it is the duty of every subject of God's moral government to observe all the statutes of the Lord, to do them. You are called upon to seek first the kingdom of God, to strive to enter in at the strait gate, to ask that you may receive, to repent, and believe in the Gospel, to enrol yourself on the Lord's side, to renounce the world, and take up your cross, and follow the Saviour. Do you say, "I cannot do this?" I

answer, has not God commanded you to do it? And does he command us to do what we are unable to do, what we cannot do if we will? Is there unrighteousness with God?

Do not encourage, on slight grounds, the hope that you are a Christian. Remember, my dear S., you are now laying your foundation for eternity. Solemn thought! Soon every man's work must be tried, what sort it is. Do not rest satisfied so long as the all-important question, "Am I a Christian or not ?" is undecided. Dread nothing so much as putting your hand to the plough and looking back; as beginning to run well, and being hindered by a tempting world, or a subtle enemy, or a treacherous heart. Determine, in the strength of the Lord, that you will persevere unto the end, that you may be saved. The time is short. Heaven is worth labouring for. And in due time you shall reap if you faint not.

Boston, March 14, 1821. I WISH I could tell you of our spiritual prosperity. Some of our good people are much engaged in religion, but the number of such is small. The followers of the Lord Jesus must be driven away from all their carnal resting-places, before we, as a church, shall look forth, fair as the moon, clear as the sun, and terrible as an army with banners. We are a little band, and we are in the enemy's country. We must be more watchful and spiritual than ordinary Christians, or we shall be in great danger of being carried away by the dissimulation of the enemies of the cross.

The Christian church is a distinct community from the rest of the world; united by different bonds, governed by different principles, and controlled by diffe

rent obligations, from all other communities; and the more closely it adheres to its distinctive principles, the more entirely it is, in the spirit and conduct of its members, separate from the world, the better for its true prosperity. We must be brought to declare plainly, by our lives and conversation, that we are supremely devoted to Christ, before we can expect a blessing.

I have purchased a house in a healthy and respectable part of the town. I had the advice of judicious friends on the subject, who unanimously recommended the measure. I shall, if providence permit, remove as soon as the necessary repairs shall have been made.

March 19. With a settled purpose, and determination and choice, I now give myself, and all that I have, wholly up to my Saviour. Oh for my children! None of them have yet chosen the one thing needful. My anxiety for them increases. And sometimes I hope, and sometimes I lose courage. Perhaps I could not bear to see the spiritual prosperity of my children. They may not stand up openly on the Lord's side till I am removed out of the way of being proud of it. But, O my God! give me a token for good, lest my heart fail me.

TO A FRIEND AT B.

Boston, March 25, 1821. You wish to know how I get along in my new situation. I am happy in being able to answer, very comfortably and pleasantly. My feelings have been much less tried than I expected. God is very good to me. His strong arm restrains and prevents the outbreakings of those corruptions which would destroy all my peace of mind; though he shows me enough of them to make me sensible that I ought to go in the dust all the days

of my life. I think I never sighed after that cardinal grace, humility, so much as now.

When your note first came, and I read in it the question, "What are you doing?" I intended to have answered, "Striving to bring my evil heart to feel that the place God assigns me is best; that nothing is to be desired, comparatively, but grace to glorify him; that no creature should set up any interests in opposition to his; and that the happiness of every individual Christian is most effectually promoted by his exertions for the general welfare of the whole body of Christ. I want to love the chosen of my blessed Lord and Master a thousand times more than the promotion of my own private interest; to find my happiness in being made the humble instrument of edifying his body, the church, in the way his infinite wisdom may prescribe, though may be in a way "hard to flesh and blood." I said. I intended to have given you the answer above, for I then thought it was what I was doing. But to-day I have been so stupid, I could hardly say I desired any thing. The soul cannot thrive, it appears to me, without a great deal more time for secret prayer than I have had for some days past. Oh, this want of spirituality, this want of heart-religion, is a sad evidence of the low state of our graces, if we are Christians.

it

As to what I am "anticipating " with respect to this world, I can hardly tell what, excepting that I know that, in every place, sins and sorrows and conflicts abide me. Oh, to add, none of these things move me from my stable hold on the Rock of ages; neither count life dear unto myself, so that I my may finish course with joy.

my

I

April 22. I find the world is still a snare to me. once thought its lustre all put out, its illusive fascinations broken. It was, comparatively laid at my feet;