grace given from above! We have heard with our ears, O Lord, and our fathers have told us, the mighty works that Thou didst in their days, and in the old time before them. Alas! I seem, for my own part, bound down in the merest trifles of the moment; not, indeed, knowingly and allowedly building up any schemes of worldly happiness, but taken up with the common things and occurrences of each day in its day. I feel a light and trifling mind, wandering away, on the most solemn occasions, to the most trivial things. Every heart knows its own bitterness.-I often think how very careful we should be in praising men. We may be setting them up for the very things in which they feel themselves to be, and in which they are, most deficient. Let us praise God, and meditate on His excellencies.

What we want, I am persuaded, is an asking and looking for blessings in Christ's name, and for His sake. Hitherto have ye asked nothing in my name. I really feel that I have not-with any earnestness, however, or full belief that, if we shall ask any thing in His name, He will do it. It is not merely, that we are to look at His sufferings, to warm our hearts or melt them; but to act faith upon Him, as a Friend in Heaven with all blessings in His hands: and, for us! His name, by faith in His name, cured man of his lameness; and why not us of our sins?

LETTER XIV.

TO A FRIEND: ON THE DEATH OF HIS SISTER.

hori

My Dear R-,

Peckham, May 11, 1822.

I write from a house of sorrow, in the midst of nine motherless children-my poor sister snatched away from them, after an illness of a very few days. By failure of intelligence, I did not arrive here till three days after her death. Oh! now one feels, if there be no hope beyond the grave, all men are indeed made in vain. But there is a hope beyond the grave a bright unfading hope-a hope full of immortality. There is a faith which looks sheer over a few intervening years-if years there be intervening into eternity; joins that great multitude which no man can number; and sits down with dear departed friends at the marriage-supper of the Lamb.

LETTER XV.

TO A RELATIVE: ON THE SAME OCCASION.

May 10, 1822.

* Ah, Cousin! these things fall not out

by chance. A human friend makes a mistake, or a momentary bitterness comes across his affection and tenderness; but Our Friend makes no mistake; and His tenderness, like all his other attributes,

changeth not for a moment. The Lord is my portion, saith my soul! Then, we cannot bargain for other things; not a wife, a sister, or a parent; the two portions may be quite imcompatible. Make me wise, but teach me no lessons," would bea strange request.

*

LETTER XVI.

TO THE SAME.

My dear Cousin, it pleases God, in His wisdom, to make one rich, and another poor, in worldly things; no doubt to try both in their love to Him; to see if the one will give cheerfully for His sake, and whether the other will be content to want for His sake. But, oh! the riches that are from above! There He would have no one to be poor: there it is the believer's own fault if he is poor.

"

*

LETTER XVII.

TO A FRIEND.

June 11, 1822. A

I do not see how they, who deny a particular providence, can acknowledge a general one for what is the order of things in the world, but a huge stream proceeding from a little source, and continually augmented in its course by the accession of little streams, and the bubbling up of little springs beneath? But this I am sure of-that he who takes away a particular providence, who

we shall

does not pay a great attention to it, takes away a large portion of the happiness of a Christian life, the delightful confidence exercised in committing our ways to God, and the delightful thankfulness of acknowledging God's goodness in the direction of them. And, obscure as many providences are to us, I am persuaded, if every one would look out for the hand of God, in the management of every day's events, he might see it much oftener than we are aware of. And what we know not now, know hereafter; perhaps in this world. The road may turn and wind, so that we may hardly know in what direction we are going; but when we can look back on the whole journey, as on a map, we shall see the direction clearly, and the reason of making an elbow and doubling in the way. But how shall we know in another world? Even as we are known. And what shall be the acknowledgment in such a retrospect, but that beautiful one (Joshua xxiii. 14), And ye know in all your hearts and in all your souls, that not one thing hath failed of all the good things which the Lord your God spake concerning you; all are come to pass unto you, and not one thing hath failed thereof.

LETTER XVIII.

TO THE SAME.

July 16, 1822.

* I am here but for a time, doing duty

in two churches by permission, and desiring now

especially to get some situation near London, in order to be near my poor sister's family. I do not find double-duty on a Sunday, with the occasional duty, at all too much. I think the congregation

here has certainly increased since I have been preaching; but whether any real good has been done, I have not the opportunity of knowing; as the preaching, with occasional reading prayers, is all that is given to me; and I am afraid of visiting in the parish, lest offence should be taken;-though perhaps I make this the excuse to myself. We are miserable creatures, mixing up sin and self with all we do.

LETTER XIX.

TO MRS. R.

Guestingthorpe, August 7, 1822.

I trust God will direct us: and this is surely one of the most delightful confidences of a Christian-that God, if sought to, will direct all his ways, as surely, though not so visibly, as he did the Israelites in the wilderness. I will guide thee with mine eye, as a mother does the child, that she trusts to go alone; watching every step. There is the promise. Methinks it is the great art which the believer has to obtain, to live upon the promises;-not to live in some general dependencies upon the goodness and loving-kindness of God, but in a particular dependence upon