with fear and trembling, for it is God that worketh in us.' Mr. G. gave us two very excellent sermons on Sunday. In the morning he preached from Rom. viii. 23,-words which I have partly quoted above. He told us that our salvation was not complete till the resurrection, when the body shall be reunited to the soul, and fashioned like unto the glorious body of our Lord Jesus Christ. How earnestly should the christian desire this complete salvation, how diligently should he press forward! How often does he now cry out, 'O wretched man that I am,' constrained to dwell so far from my Saviour, my risen and glorified Redeemer. But it is only for a moment. O my sister! sometimes I think it a long moment, and fear my patience will not hold out. I am weary with my groaning. Yet 'He that shall come will come, and will not tarry. He that keepeth our souls, neither slumbereth nor sleepeth.' He soon will take us home to the habitation his love has prepared for us. Oh, my friend, to meet thee there!' There we shall together, perfectly, and for ever, love our lovely Jesus, who hath loved us and given himself for us. I intended to say something of our blessed privileges on Good Friday and Easter Sunday; but I have no room. You know I have not so frequent opportunities as you enjoy, of receiving the sacrament of the body and blood of our Lord Jesus Christ, and the next time I partake of it, I shall be, I trust, with my own dear friends. * *

"You will find many mistakes and much confusion, I fear, in this hurried letter; but may it assure you of my love, and especially may it quicken your affections towards God; and then it will abundantly answer the end for which I wrote, and wrote indeed when my senses almost refused to think. May I hear from you soon. "Your very affectionate

"LYDIA."

"What must my dear C ** think of her silent sister; and what shall she say for herself? I have many engagements; and you will, I know, excuse my neglect, and not think I am become quite so cold as to forget you, my own beloved sister. I thought of you much at Easter, when I suppose you visited our dear spot. Seven short (though they sometimes seem long) weeks, and I hope we shall all

meet there.

I cannot but desire we were together; yet

our God appoints our daily lot, and we only want stronger faith to trust him, and more simple reliance on his word, which shall never fail.

"I feel, as days and years are added, more and more of their vanity. Often am I cast down with a sense of my indolence and unprofitableness; the difficulties that daily encompass my path, my unfitness to live, and the vast work that must be accomplished in me before I die, if indeed I am a child of God; and oh, I cannot cast from me this hope! Well might the apostle say, 'We that are in this tabernacle do groan, being burdened; and are willing rather to be absent from the body, and present with the Lord.'

Every day appears a little world to me; I would rather say the time, the short space of our continuance in it. As night draws on, and the hour of sleep approaches, every thing becomes burdensome; employment dwindles away, devotion sinks and dies. I could fancy night the approach of death. We may sometimes feel not quite willing to put off these clothes of mortality, yet long to be at rest. Do we fear the place of repose? Our Jesus is watching our sleeping dust, and will bid us arise in the glorious morning of his appearing. Oh, my sister, what poor worms are we! What weakness, what depravity, still lodge within us. Shall we indeed sit down with Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob, in the kingdom of our God? When I think of Moses, of Joshua, of David, Paul, and others (yes, others now living, whose burning light I have seen and do see shining before me), I wonder at myself. Oh, for true circumcision of heart and sanctification of the affections!

"You have no doubt been watching the opening beauties of the spring. How wonderful a resurrection! Perhaps I may perceive it even more than you, from the numberless beauties of this place, and our daily dreary winter walks now changed into so pleasant ones.

* I hope you will write soon, though this deserves not an answer. The hope of seeing you ere long, comforts me; still, dearest C**, comfort in another way the heart of your affectionate

"LYDIA."

This letter, received early in May, with the excep

tion of a few lines to her father, to inform him of her indisposition, was the last she ever penned. Her earnest desires for complete holiness, and the unclouded presence of her Saviour, were about to be realized. Her treasure and her heart were in heaven, and thither she herself was hastening. A disease of fatal tendency was insensibly, but rapidly, reducing her strength. As though unconscious of her danger, and sustained by the energy of mind for which she had always been remarkable, she continued to fulfil her accustomed duties, till a mere accident discovered to the friends with whom she resided, the precarious state of her health. She was then compelled to relinquish her employments, and received every attention which friendship and affection could devise; but still unwilling to distress her relatives, she entreated that they might not be informed of her illness, until she had tried the effect of change of air, rest, and medical assistance. She accordingly accepted the invitation of some friends in the neighbourhood, to spend a short time with them; but at the close of a week, finding herself still decline, she wrote a few lines to her father, which, though strongly guarded by her affectionate apprehension of the pain her communication would give, was sufficient to awaken the deepest anxiety on her account. To this he replied in the following letter, dated

"I have just received your letter of Saturday, and am filled with anxiety on account of your indisposition. I beg, my dear child, that you will return home immediately, if you are well enough to bear

the journey, as I cannot rest satisfied with any other plan, unless the execution of this should be prevented by the interposition of Providence. Perhaps, by the blessing of God, the change of air will be of essential service to you. I am sorry, my dear Lydia, that you did not write immediately on the return of your cough.

"I pray God, my dear child, to sanctify your affliction, and if it be his blessed will, to restore you to health and strength. May he graciously preserve your life to glorify him, and serve your generation according to his will. At all events he will do well for you, as I believe that through his grace you have chosen that good part, which shall not be taken away from you.'

"That God may bless, preserve, comfort, and restore you, is the prayer of

"Your most affectionate father."

This brief narrative cannot be more appropriately continued, than by extracting from my father's correspondence with an absent daughter, the relation of some circumstances immediately succeeding; together with the feelings they excited in his own mind.

66 May 26, 1824.

* I have now intelligence of a more painful nature to communicate. I much fear that dear Lydia is very unwell. I received a letter from her on Monday, in which she informs me that she has had a return of her cough, attended with much weakness; and that she had been spending the last week at for change of air. I wrote to her and to** by return of post, to desire that an arrangement might immediately be made for her return; and that if she cannot travel by coach, a person may be sent with her in post-chaises. Miss has not written; and I would willingly hope from this circumstance, that she may not be so ill as my fears forebode. I am, however, filled with anxiety. I will write again as soon as I receive any farther intelligence; and as this letter cannot go till tomorrow, I shall leave it open to add a postscript if any letter should arrive. I pray God, if it be his will, to spare her life; but it is an unspeakable consolation to reflect that he has adopted her as his

own, and will do all things well for her. you, my dear**, and be assured that I am

God bless and preserve

66 Your most affectionate father."

Thursday.--I have this morning received a letter from * *, with unfavourable intelligence. Lydia was to leave M. this morning, accompanied by one of her kind friends, in the hope of reaching Leicester this evening. I have sent C. and H. to meet her there. I will write to you as soon as she arrives. Pray for her, and for all of us. Be patient, my dear child, and hope. I trust that her affliction will be sanctified; and if God should see good to remove her, he will take her to heaven, the abode of everlasting peace. Our loss will be her gain."

"MY BELOVED CHILD,

If dear Lydia is spared,

"Our gracious God is afflicting us; but we must not complain.

may he lay no more on us than he will enable us to bear with submission to his will! Our dearest Lydia is very, very ill indeed. But compose your mind, pray to God for patience and resignation, and I will tell you the whole without concealment. Concealment alas! though exercised from the best motives, has been the occasion of the stroke falling on myself with accumulated weight. On the last sabbath I had no idea that dear Lydia was at all indisposed; though on that day the news incidentally arrived at Olney. It appears now that she has been sinking for some time past. But she concealed her indisposition till she could conceal it no longer ;-till she was perfectly overcome by hectic fever.* She then went to M. B. for change of air; and I was still kept in ignorance, I believe through her own request, in the hope of soon getting better, and that we might not be alarmed. But I will not complain. Rather let us view it as a part of the divine dispensation towards her and ourselves. On Thursday she left M. accompanied by ** ; and she arrived at Leicester as well as could be expected. On Friday she proceeded with C. and H. to Northamption, but Dr. R., who was immediately consulted, did not think it right for her to continue her journey.

• Concealment is perhaps too strong a word for Lydia's silence respecting her indisposition. It evidently appears from her last letters to her sisters, that she was not herself aware of the real state of her health.