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much, till I feared I should never see you any more in the present world. If I loved you thus affectionately when you were lost, I do not love you less now that you are found; and if this was the case when I was Miranda Barnwell, it is not less so now that I am the wife of your dear brother, and can in a new sense call you my sister.
We all feel the most lively gratitude to our heavenly father for his kind preservation of you, when we had every reason to suppose that you had long since made your
bed in the mighty waters.
We have read your eleven letters to my aunt, with great pleasure, and that from the good Mr. Bethune with equal satisfaction. The excellent Mr. Levi, too, and his amiable wife and daughter, are the objects of our admiration and es. teem. Benevolence and brotherly love are the balm of life, the cement of society. He who practises them most
, is best acquainted with the rare art of rendering happy both himself and all with whom he is connected. on the other hand, promises great things to deluded mortals, but performs nothing. From this source arise disagreements between masters and servants, parents and children, husbands and wives, kings and subjects, and kingdom and kingdom.
My dearest Eusebia, you will not find Mr. Charles Clifford the same person he was when he conversed with you at Barnwell, but the meek, the humble Christian, sitting at the feet of Jesus, and hearing those words of eternal life which proceeded out of his mouth. His father also has been brought to abhor himself in dust and ashes, been with Signior Albino and Thomas Livingstone to Barnwell meeting, to hear the good Mr. Lowe. greatly affected during the whole time, and appeared to be much edified and comforted.
I am the zealous advocate of this gentleman. He mer rits my
Eusebia's esteem. I have not the least doubt that he will be a good husband.
My letter is wanted. Present my love to all your friends, and accept the same from,
My dear sister,
NEVER could I have expected that a time would ar
is sound vis, pareese bjects and the
rive when I should address you with fear and trembling ;much less that, while you were living, I should be an orphan, and compelled to wander far from those pleasing scenes which first made an impression on my tender years. The consideration that I have no interest in your affections, nor in the esteem of those whom I held, and still hold most dear to me, is very grievous; and this calamity is not lessened but increased, by the thought that I have never, hope, once offended you, except in those things wherein my everlasting salvation is concerned : and there, I dare call no one father or master on earth, nor subject my conscience to the direction of any fallible teacher. Rather than do this, I have chosen to cast myself upon divine providence, and to trust to the
mercy of strangers. O my dear father, what a consolation would it be to me to think, that you had been guiltless of these
trials. Had I suffered by the hand of an enemy, it had been comparatively a light affliction. I continually pray for you, for my beloved but unkind sister, and for the well-meaning but misinformed father Albino, that you may be convinced that the Christian religion does not authorize one person to force the conscience of another. O that you did but know the value of that religion! As it exists in the sacred oracles, it is a well-spring of life : polluted by human interpretations,
teman. He de least der
and mixed with spurious traditions, it is a fountain of death.
With respect to the place of my present residence, suffice it to say, that a vast ocean separates me from my dear and honoured parent. I do not intend to recross it. My wants, which are few, I can supply by means of my industry. There is no prospect of my being married at present. I have had many suitors; but all of them have been destitute of the most important qualification, the fear of God. O my dear friends, what darkness has covered the earth, in consequence of the attempts of worldly men to make Christianity the road to wealth, honour, and sensual gratifications. How is it that you cannot perceive that Christianity, as it is taught in the New Testament, countenances none of those corruptions of it which have taken place among worldly-minded priests, and their deluded followers, who suppose that gain is godliness?
The country in which providence has placed me, has this excellence above most, if not all the countries of the earth, -there is no national religion in it. What a blessing is this to the inhabitants. As I probably shall never see you again in this world, I pray that my dear parent and sister may learn their religion from the Holy Scriptures. Then I may hope to see them where the wicked cease from troubling, and where the weary are at rest.
If I have not mentioned my dear brother till now, he will easily believe that it proceeds not from want of affection. The reason is, I know not where Providence has placed hiin. Permit me, Sir, to assure you, that he was ignorant of my intention to escape from St. Omer's.
I live in a family where I am useful, and where I meet with respect. Besides working with my needle, I teach a boy of ten years of age Latin, and am perfecting a young lady in English. I thank you, my dear parent, for my
education. My thanks are also due to Signior Albino, whose care and tenderness I shall ever remember with gratitude, while I shall endeavour to forget his unkindness.
It was my intention, when I began this letter; to conceal
the place of my residence. You cannot, however, but discover that I am in the United States. I dare not tell you where I am to be found. Yet, alas, what reason have I to suppose that you
will be anxious about it? I shall continue to pray
dear brother and sister, and Signior Albino, and am, what I trust I have ever been,
My dear Father,
From Mr. William Neville to Mrs. Worthington,
Y terday from my father's estate in Northumberland.
On Monday last Mr. Barnwell went to dine with Major Ford of Monkwell, Mrs. Barnwell, pretending to be ill did not accompany him. Mr. Barnwell returned late in the evening, and inquiring for his wife, was informed by the servants, that soon after he left home, Captain Dulverton came in a postchaise, and that their mistress told them, as she was poorly, she would take an airing with the Captain. They wondered, they said, at her taking several bundles with her, but thought they had no right to interfere. She did not forget to take the money in the house, which amounted to more than five hundred pounds. The groom was ordered by his master to pursue them, and, if he could gain intelligence of them, to write to him immediately, as he was determined, he said, to make an example of them. I hear he is not returned. Mr. Barnwell did not know of the loss of his money till the next morning.
Mr. Clifford dined with us today. He has seen Mr. Barnwell, who, he says, is more afflicted at the loss of his money than of his wife
It was on the part of Dulverton a fagrant breach of hospitality, as well as of all laws, human and diyine. He was upon the most friendly terms with
Mr. Barnwell, and dined at his house once or twice a week, He recommended himself to his notice by being what is termed an excellent shot, as well as a great miinic, which properties are a poor foundation for friendship.
Yesterday morning Mr. Barnwell found a letter in the bed which appeared to have been put under the pillow. The contents were nearly as follow :
“ I thought it proper on leaving you, to give you this “ bill of divorcement. Know then that I am gone forever. “ I have made free with a little of your cash. Think your“ self well off: I once had an opportunity, which I am sor
ry I did not embrace, of taking twice the sum. I would " rather go a begging with a man of my choice, than live « in affluence with one I never loved.”
I cannot leave this unpleasing subject without remarking that a great proportion of human misery fows from the want of religion, and in particular, that without the fear of God there can be no true social bliss.
Mr. Clifford tells me that he has never omitted going to Barnwell meeting since he was there with Signior Albino and Thomas Livingstone. I never knew, said he, till now, what real happiness is. The mercy of God through Jesus Christ is a fountain of felicity which cannot be exhausted.
Mrs. Neville is well, and unites in best respects to you with,
MY DEAR AUNT,
Y dear Mr. Neville has desired me to write to you, that I may have the pleasure of sending you good tidings.
My father dined with us to-day. As he rode by the window I saw that he was pleased. He smiled as he cane into the parlour. Mr. Neville asked him if Mrs. Barnwell