01.10. Features of a Saint

Features of a Saint

LIKENESS to her Lord in all things was what M ____ ever sought. Over her unlikeness to Him she mourned. Becoming less and less satisfied with herself, and more and more satisfied with Him, she could not rest with anything save conformity to His image. Daily she looked to Him, not only that she might draw fresh peace, and healing, and strength out of His fulness, but that she might become like Him in all things. "Beholding as in a glass the glory of the Lord, she was changed (transfigured) into the same image from glory to glory" (2 Corinthians 3:18). She walked in the light of His countenance, and she found holiness as well as gladness. Fellowship with Jesus she proved to be as purifying as it was comforting. Losing her resemblance to the children of this present evil world, she grew in conformity to the children of the kingdom. She had taken the family name, and she could not be content without the family likeness. The lineaments of the Elder Brother were traced more and more legibly upon her day by day.

Some of these features we will now draw together, not grouping them after any special order, but bringing them out with sufficient distinctness to make them perceptible, and illustrating them by extracts from her diaries and letters. We make no attempt at an artificial exhibition; we do not try to colour, or soften down, or flatter; we give her own words— words written in most cases in the closet, under the eye of God alone, and evidently expressive of her genuine feeling in its various moods— shady or sunny, hopeful or depressed, buoyant with victory or broken down with conflict.

Sense of Helplessness.— Her impulsive fervour of character and resolute energy of action did not lead to self-dependence, or, as it is the fashion to call it now, to "self-reliance." Her strength, like her life, was "hid with Christ in God." It was not strength acquired by self-exertion, or deposited in her by God. It was strength for the occasion, or the day, or the trial— strength drawn out of another by faith, she herself remaining helpless as before. It was strength in weakness—strength corresponding to her infirmities, and which led her to glory in these infirmities that the power of Christ might rest on her. As it was to another’s righteousness that she was indebted for her acceptance, so it was of another’s strength that she availed herself in all that she did for God.

"I have had," she writes, "I think, but one feeling this morning—a feeling of utter helplessness. I went to prayer this morning with no desires, no faith, no power, no strength at all; and I felt very miserable at first; but I was enabled to cast myself upon the almighty strength and the unchanging love of my own compassionate Saviour, and there I found rest. I think God is answering my prayer, that Jesus may be made precious to me, by making me first feel my own weakness. I must first be emptied of myself before I can be filled with Jesus. It is a painful way; but if it makes me prize Him,it is worth bearing (and a thousand times more) all the sore trials I have ever suffered. How blessed it would be if I could see myself entirely helpless, that I might trust altogether to Jesus! How sweet it would be to come up from the wilderness LEANING upon the Beloved! O Jesus, wean me from self, from self-will and selfishness in every form, from sin, from earth, from every earthly idol, and fill my whole soul with Thyself. Amen, Lord Jesus!"
It was thus that God led her on—making her feel that selfreliance is as incompatible with the work of the Spirit as selfrighteousness is with the work of Jesus. Again she writes—"I feel my utter weakness and helplessness more than anything else just now, I think. Oh! may it make me prize His strength the more, and lead me to trust entirely to Him who is the mighty God!" Lowliness of Spirit.—One was sometimes led to think that she undervalued herself too much, as it led her to lay undue stress on the opinions of others, and to distrust her own judgment entirely. An extreme like this is not without its danger; for it sets aside personal; responsibility before God, produces vacillation of opinion and action, and hinders that manliness of decisions which holds fast that which it has received. Though occasionally, however, deferring to others who ought rather to have been taught by her, and thereby involving herself in perplexity, M____ held fast her faith and hope. Yet while doing so she speaks thus of herself:—"Make me willing to be esteemed as vile, and worthless, and mean (and what am I but that?) among all who know me, if only Thou art glorified. What a wretch I am, to feel so unwilling to let others despise me, if that would bring glory to Jesus! Oh, if I could only be willing to lie down and let others walk over me to Jesus, if it be only by that means they can come to Him! If He is glorified, what does it signify if I am despised? I had a letter from S____ which hurt my vile pride. O Jesus, give me grace to win this soul to Thee!"

"I hope God will hear my prayers for her" (a friend for whom she often prayed), "for the sake of His dear Son, though I think my prayers are more full of sin than anything else I do. Do you find that?"

Decision and Earnestness.— She had left the world at once. She never looked behind her, but fled precipitately from it, as if fearing that it might pursue her, or that she might be tempted back again. Like Christian, with his fingers in his ears, running from the City of Destruction, so did she run. She never stayed to calculate the consequences, nor give an opportunity to the seducer to overtake or ensnare her ere she left the region of vanity.

Thus she threw herself beyond the reach of many a subtle snare, and saved herself from the pain of many a trial that might have arisen from attempts to lure her once more into the net. Her decision at the outset made every one feel that such efforts were hopeless. No friends, however dear, could entertain the hope of inducing her to set foot again within the circle of vanity. They might go to her; but she would never again rejoin them. And though, doubtless, some of her trials did arise from her decision, yet how many were thus warded off, and how much of her spiritual progress may be ascribed to this calm firmness of purpose! Vacillation at the outset, if it does not quite drag the soul back into its former worldliness, most sadly retards progress in after life, and is the unconfessed cause of many a wretched stumble. As she had left the world with an energy quite her own, so she threw herself with her whole soul into the embrace of her Lord. She was in earnest. Yet her earnestness was not of that false, sentimental, or self righteous kind, so much in fashion. The word "earnestness," so common amongst us, deceives many, both those who think that they possess the quality, and those who admire it in others. It forms one of Satan’s most cunning traps for the unwary. By means of it, he is cheating thousands out of their divine inheritance, making them think that they are religious, and that their earnestness is such a goodly thing before man, and such an acceptable thing in the sight of God, that they are really entitled to claim heaven, whatever their opinions— nay, whatever their life may be. Earnestness, with many, covers every fault, and beautifies sin, error, folly, Popery— nay, even infidelity itself. But the earnestness of which we speak was that of one whose whole soul had become engrossed with the mighty things of an eternal heaven and an endless hell, who had sought and found forgiveness, and acceptance, and joy, and heirship through the great propitiation, and whose heart had gone up to Him in whom centred all created and all uncreated beauty. It was the earnestness of a justified soul—the earnestness of one who had got a glimpse of the unsearchable riches of Christ. Of this earnestness we need give no particular specimens; it is transfused through all she wrote and did.

Longings to be Holy.— To be holy, was the burden of her prayers. "Oh, when shall I be holy?" is a frequent interjection in her letters. To use Christ, not merely for pardon, but for getting rid of sin, was what she sought to do. To anticipate a holy heaven was one of her dearest joys.

"I have been very unhappy," she writes; "I have seen my sins so much, without seeing my Saviour, that I am often terrified, and cannot pray. My heart seems quite frozen; and oh, at times, the grief I am in, at the bare possibility of not getting to heaven at last! It is not so much the being for ever happy that I long for, as the being for ever holy, and with those who are holy. I long sometimes to beseech God not to send me to hell, for there are none holy there, none who love Jesus. Oh, if it be misery to live with worldly people on earth, what must it be there! I wish I were holy! Don’t you long for it also? But then you are not like me; you are not so perfectly sinful. Dearest, will you pray much for me, and pray that my hard heart may be melted?"

" October 12, 1842.—When you remember me in your prayers, will you plead for holiness? for, oh, I am ’sick of sin! Don’t you sometimes feel as if everything around and within you, as if the very air you breathe, were all full of sin? I often long to feel one holy thought or wish; but I long in vain." And in these longings to be holy, how strongly did the new nature manifest itself! There was something about them so fervent, so intense, so irrepressible, that we are made to feel that the spring within, out of which they poured themselves, must have been of no common depth. Is the average of the age’s piety at all like this? A correct religious deportment is one thing, and holiness is quite another. There may be a fear of acting inconsistently, and yet no desires to be holy as God is holy. There may be the dread of a woeful hell, and yet no longings for a holy heaven. Such extracts as the above may lead some to re-examine the nature of their piety, and to requestion their claims to discipleship. Their religion may pass just now unquestioned, nay, honoured, for this is man’s day; but God’s day is at hand;—will it stand the sifting then? In these warrings against sin and desires after holiness there was evidently a deep and solemn joy, though the strife was desperate, and, in the course of it, anguish not seldom poured in upon the soul. The consciousness of not being wholly in conformity with God himself was bitterness; yet the longing to be so was in itself joy. The feeling that she was at one with God, in her desires to be like him, drew her into a nearness of fellowship with Him, which lighted up each cloud through which she passed.[29]

Tenderness of Conscience.— Through the blood of sprinkling her conscience had been pacified. The sight of the great sacrifice had removed her guilty terrors. What the knowledge of God’s free love had done for her heart, that the knowledge of the cleansing blood had done for the conscience. For the "purging of the conscience" cannot be effected by the knowledge of Divine love alone. Nothing but the sight of the blo od can do that. In the blood we see the life of another taken for our life; and recognising this substitution, we get the benefit of it in our consciences; for thus that which troubled them is taken away. We see the wrath that should have smitten us passing over to another, and exhausting itself on him. But that very process by which her conscience was pacified gave it a sensitiveness which no mere dread of wrath, no threatenings of the fiery law, could have done. Her natural conscience had been sensitive, but her renewed conscience was still more tender—tender in small things as well as in great things—tender as to a straying thought no less than a froward step. It is the tender conscience that is speaking in the following passages:— "29th.—Spent a day of sin and worldliness in Edinburgh. Alas! how often do I spend such days! And yet, when I came home and went to prayer, ashamed and afraid, I had such a wonderful, such a melting season as I have not been blest with for a long time. O the wonderful forbearance and forgiveness of God to such a vile wretch as I am! I could not think of my sins; I could do nothing but praise Him for His love. When I thought of the sinful day I had passed, I tried to confess my sins, but could do nothing but praise. O that I could cease sinning against such love! O that I could cease piercing the bosom on which I lean! but when I would do good, evil is present with me."

"16 th.—Last night I dishonoured Jesus by yielding to an unholy temper. How sinful I am! To think that I, who call myself the friend of Jesus, should behave as one of His enemies! This occurrence has, I trust, been sanctified to me. It has shewn me how keenly the unconverted watch every action of the Christian. It shews me how prayerfully and how holily I must walk. It has led me more to the throne of grace."

"9 th.—This morning I had a painful yet sweet season at prayer. I had committed sin, the night before, by giving way to angry feelings—a sin, alas! I often commit; and this morning my whole soul was melted with grief at my desperate wickedness in sinning against so much love. My heart felt breaking as I wept before Jesus. I think He has forgiven me; but I cannot forgive myself. My sins seem all the more vile, the more they are pardoned."

" November 22.—M.C. came to spend the day with us. I grieve to say we were full of levity and folly all day, and in the evening we went together to the throne of grace and confessed our iniquities to our injured God and Father, and I trust were forgiven. It was a solemn meeting. We had never all prayed together before, but none of us seemed to mind the presence of the others. We were so ashamed before our God, of the way in which we had dishonoured Him, and brought reproach on the name of Jesus. I thought my heart would break as I thought of how much I had grieved the heart of Jesus, and been a stumbling-block in the way of others coming to Him."

Separation from the World.— In M____’s case there was no looking back on Sodom, no thought of returning whence she had come out. There was no coming and going between Egypt and Canaan, as if there were some neutral region which she might occupy, or as if God had not defined the boundaries between the realm of darkness and the kingdom of His dear Son. Her coming out from the world, as we have seen, was complete. She did not hanker after it. She did not sit down to calculate how many of its gaieties were harmless, and how many were harmful, that she might still indulge the former while keeping aloof from the latter; she did not try to persuade herself that the world was not wholly evil, and that worldly people might be Christians after all. She saw that if the Bible wore true, there were just two classes of men— those that are of God, and those that are of the world; those that are from beneath, and those that are from above. There was no third party, half-earthly and half-heavenly. She might yearn over the world, but that would not make it less "the world;" that would not lessen its danger, nor alter God’s condemnation of it.

She not only "came out," but she was "separate;" she "touched not the unclean thing" (2 Corinthians 6:17). She "hated even the garments spotted by the flesh" (Jude 1:23). She saw that it was an unholy world; a world that sought its own pleasures and honours; a world in whose gay haunts God was not; a world with which her new nature could have no sympathy; a world whose society no holy soul could enjoy; a world whose tastes and habits were totally uncongenial with hers: she saw these things, and she quietly but resolutely withdrew from all its vanities. Nay, more, she sought to win others to the same separation, for she could not understand how it was possible for a man to be a Christian, and yet join with the world in its dance, and song, and sport. Hence she never hesitated to warn or to counsel those who walked in worldliness, and yet named the name of Christ; and she sought, by all means in her power, to draw the poor worldling out of the deadly snare. She knew what the world was, and she shunned it as a fatal fascination. She remembered how it had once stood between her and God, how it had done its utmost to shut out the glory from her eye; and she sought (if one may so speak) to be avenged on it for its enchantments.

Thus she writes to her friend, not long after her conversion:— "I went to Mrs. ____, but had not an opportunity of speaking to either of them. I doubted the propriety of remaining, for I was very unhappy. I could not pray, nor do anything. Oh! it is terrible to live with those who do not seem to care for God at all! Pray much for my dear ____ who lives with them! I shall tell ____ what you say about ’the line between the world and Christ.’ I sent my letter to dear ____. He wrote me a very kind answer. He was not angry at my writing, and says he hopes it will have the effect of bringing us both nearer to God. He says he may perhaps write again on the subject: he has not yet, so I am thinking of writing to him again, and speaking to him about the love of Jesus, and the happiness of having found Him. Do you think I ought? But I hope to have opportunities of speaking to him, which would be much better. But O how Satan tempts me at these times to think that there is time enough! I always seem to realise the things of eternity at these times less than at any other: do you feel that? I am very glad you are to write to ____. told her about being wholly on one side or the other. I also told her your dream. She did not say anything. I wish she knew Jesus; she would make a very sweet follower of the Lamb. Dear friend, shall your dream really come to pass? Yes, I trust it will. Oh! shall you and I reallybe amongst the green pastures, by the still waters, with Christ, seeing Him as He is, and being like Him? It is more like a dream than a reality. You, I have no doubt of; oh! I hope I shall meet you in heaven! It seems too glorious for me. I hope I shall welcome you to heaven, for I MUST go first; and I hope I shall die in Kelso, with you beside me, saying, ’Come, Lord Jesus, come quickly; take her to Thyself!’"

High Aims .—She sought not "great things" for herself, and yet she was ever aiming high. She "coveted the best gifts." She was not content to stand upon the low level or to live at the low rate with which most are satisfied. She was ambitious of an honourable place among the children of the King. Thus she tells her aims:—

"Have just finished the Life of.J.B.Taylor.What a wonderful Christian he was! And it has stirred me up to be what he pressed upon everybody—to be ’an uncommon Christian.’ But oh! I have an evil heart of unbelief, and great earthliness and corruptions to struggle with!"

" Dec. 30,1844.—I should like very, very much to be a very spiritual Christian. But it is written, ’The diligent soul shall be made fat,’ and I am far too slothful. I wish I were in heaven. I cannot stay here any longer. It is so miserable to be a halfand-half Christian, a lukewarm believer, if there can be such a thing. Don’t you long for the rest in Immanuel’s land? —for its golden streets, its pearly gates, its eternal sunshine, its green pastures, its still waters, and its sea of glass, and, above all, the unveiled face of Him who alone makes our heaven below! I often wonder that we can remain so contentedly here, absent from the Lord."

Love to theScriptures.— It was intense. "Every word of God" she set above all price. Her reading of it was thorough, not superficial ; systematic, not desultory ; continuous, not fitful. Though she had her chapters or her verses that she seemed to joy in above others, yet it was the whole Word that she searched and fed upon, delighting to link all with "the Beloved One," and feeling that of each part He was the centre. She eagerly laid hold of any text that might come from the lip or pen of a friend, and treasured it up. If you had lighted up a new star before her eye, you could not have given her half the gladness which seemed to kindle within her, when some new ray fell upon a passage and gave her a fresh glimpse of the things within the veil. She generally placed a text at the head of every letter, that those to whom she wrote might have a message from God ere they read a word of hers. In a similar spirit she thus wrote to a friend:—I cannot tell you how delighted I am that my letter was so much blest to you; it is the only letter I ever sent off to you with any satisfaction, because there were none of my words in it, and I felt so happy at the time in thinking that my beloved one would get one letter from me that might be blest to her." Elsewhere she thus writes:— "The text that the blessed Spirit sent home with power to my heart this morning, was this—and oh, it is a very precious one—’The blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from all sin." In her diary of June 1843, there is the following entry:—"I have had a long time of reading to-day ; I don’t know how it is, I can do nothing but read His holy Word. I have no heart for anything else…R. and I saw Mr. B. the other day in Edinburgh. He gave me this text at parting—’The night is far spent, the day is at hand.’ I felt as if he could not have given me a sweeter. O how sweet eternal day will be after such a long dark night!" In a letter to a friend, she writes—"Have you thought of what part of the Word we shall read together on Saturdays? Shall we read the 21st of Revelation next Saturday? and by the Saturday after, I hope to have heard from you. I was glad that you settled that we should devote last Saturday to confession, for oh, I feel I have been VERY guilty in the little profit I have got from such a sweet portion of God’s sweet Word; how prayerlessly I have read it! how little I have meditated upon it! how little I have fed upon it! how little I have praised God for it! Let us agree, dearest, to read this in a very different manner. I have thought of a plan that might make it, by God’s blessing, very profitable to us; I want us each to write down, after we have read the chapter, what particular verses have struck us, and what we think about them, and what has been most blest to us, and then, WHEN WE MEET, we can compare notes, and see who has most to praise Jesus for. Do you like this plan, and will you agree to it?"

Thirsting for God.—" I prayed this morning," she records on July 31, 1843, "that God would in mercy remove everything that comes between Jesus and my soul, and that He would shew me what prevents the light of His countenance shining upon my soul. Perhaps it will be painful to flesh and blood to have this prayer answered; but I am in the hands of One who doth not ’willingly afflict,’ and I have no fear. All I want is to be weaned from this sinful, sorrowful world, and to have Jesus for my all in all."

"A remarkable feature of her Christian character," writes her friend, "was her misery when she could not realise the presence of God. Life seemed a burden to her if she had not the light of His countenance continually. One day she came to me in an agony of mind, begging me to pray with her, for she had been long praying alone, but could not find God, and she could not live without Him." In a similar strain she thus wrote to her friend on recovering from a sharp illness:—"It is strange that I have not felt my Father’s presence so much during this illness as I did the last; the first day it was the sweet Sabbath-day. I could only repeat to myself the name of Jesus, and I felt it very sweet to lie and think about Him. But I was soon too ill even to do that. At one time I almost forgot God. Oh, I have been very wicked! Will you pray for me, dearest, that God would forgive the sins of the last week?" In August 1841, little more than a month after her conversion, she thus wrote to her friend:—"I should like to have God always in my thoughts, dwelling in my very heart. I cannot bear to pass a day, nay, not an hour, without some token of His presence. I cannot live a stranger to my God."

Fellowship with the Saints.— Whatever there might be of natural selfishness in her character, as she often complains, it did not check the outflowing of her sympathies towards others, nor her desire to receive sympathy in return. In the days of her vanity this had been the case, and afterwards it came out still more fully. Her new nature went forth in quest of congenial fellowship. It was not merely that she wanted some to love; she wanted some into whose bosoms she might pour her griefs and joys. Hence she sought with such eagerness the company of saints. In every one who knew the Saviour whom she loved, she found not only a friend, but a relative. Nor did she hesitate to claim kindred in such cases. Poor or rich, it mattered not to her. They were members of the one household, and that was enough. She could speak to them of her beloved Lord; she could join with them in the hope of the inheritance; she could respond to them in their feelings as to the loneliness of exile here; she could try to bear their burdens, and ask them to bear hers in return. The reader may get an insight into this feature of her character from such a passage as the following:—"How glad I was to get your dear letter! you make me wait too long for them. Don’t think you can’t give me comfort. The very sight of your handwriting is enough to cheer me. I am sorry to write to you just now, because I feel so sad. I am afraid I infect you. Many outward things vex me, and then I have not much comfort within; but I have more than I deserve; and this encourages me—Jesus is the same. Though I change every moment, He is the same yesterday, today, and for ever. I don’t think I shall be right again till I am with you. You cannot imagine how I long to see you, and tell you all my griefs. You will say, Go to Jesus, and tell Him all. Yes, but Jesus himself went to His disciples in His distress; and I am sure, when we are together, Jesus will be with us to bless us. How slow the time goes! It seems to creep. And yet, how it will fly when we meet!" Her intercourse was truly Christian fellowship. She had no relish for anything else. Narrating, in a letter, the circumstances of a walk with a friend, she sums up simply and touchingly thus—"We spoke about Jesus till we longed to be with Him." The Appreciation of the Blood of Christ.— However much the love of Christ might cheer and gladden, it WAS the blood alone that could give peace. The love might touch the heart; but the conscience needed the blood, for it required something to tell it that the awful penalty had been exhausted—"The soul that sinneth, it shall die." To know that there is a substitute; that he has met the law’s inexorable demands, by giving it a veritable life; and that, by so doing, he has made the removal of our guilt a righteous transaction, never to be reversed, nay, irreversible: this is what the conscience needs, and without this it cannot have peace, for the thing which caused its trouble—namely, its sense of guilt—would remain untaken away. It is the blood alone that can "purge the conscience from dead works to serve the living God." M____ felt this deeply, for her conscience (as we have seen) was tender in the extreme. The mere incarnation of the Son of God was not enough; there must be suffering and death. "Not without blood" is a verse to which every awakened conscience responds. Hers did most cordially respond to it, as, for instance, when she thus breathes forth her desires,—"O to be ever washed in this blood! It both cleanses and destroys the power of sin. I asked God to cover me all over with this precious blood, and He did it. And oh, what a wonderful tide of unmerited love He poured in upon my glad soul! It was almost too much. Oh, if the drops are so sweet, what must the ocean be!"

Trust in Christ.— She leaned on Christ himself, for she saw in Him one who was entirely worthy of her fullest confidence; and her soul was satisfied with His work, for she saw it to he altogether complete and suitable. It was enough for her. Her conscience needed nothing more to pacify it than the knowledge that "He had finished transgression, and made an end of sin, and brought in everlasting righteousness." "I am trying," she writes in January 1842, "to trust Christ for everything, for I have nothing myself at all; at times not even a desire; yet He will not be weary even of me, for He is longsuffering and abundant in mercy." Again she wrote on September 4—"Yesterday was the communion at Mr. Robertson’s. I had less joy than ever I had at any communion before, I think; but I felt I could trust Christ...I did not feel Him near, but I trust I felt Him precious, as the Saviour of sinners, even the chief. I could trust my soul to Him for time and for eternity. ’It is finished’ was all my plea, and I felt it enough. God is satisfied with the work of His beloved Son— why should not I be satisfied too?" Again, in August 1842, she wrote to me—"I have never forgotten one thing you wrote to me some time ago; you told me to go more to God with my difficulties, and less to man. I daresay I should not have done so, if I had had man to go to; but lately I have had no one but Jesus to speak to, and I have found it often very blessed to tell Him all my troubles. But still it is sweet to meet with a child of God; so you must not be angry with me for wishing it so much ; but you must pray for me that I may not trust too much to man’s words, but that I may live more upon the Word of God." In another letter to a friend in Kelso, she speaks more at length:—

"September 23, 1844…MY DEAREST B____, I often find it difficult to believe that Jesus forgives freely. I am always wanting to bring something as a price—either my repentance, or my tears, or my prayers, or something else—anything but free grace. I suppose one reason is, it is so humbling to human pride to be freely forgiven; and another, because we do not know God, we do not know how immense His love is, and how it glorifies Him to forgive ’without money and without price.’ Dear friend, you and I ’have nothing to pay.’ Let us allow Jesus ’frankly to forgive us both!’ In the chapter I was reading this morning, Paul says, ’I am nothing:’ surely we may say that too. Nay, he gloried in his infirmities, that the power of Christ might rest upon him. Christ’s strength is made perfect in our weakness—the weaker we are, the more Christ is glorified in holding us up; the more sinful we are, the more He is glorified in cleansing us from all sin, and in delivering us from its power; for He says, ’Sin shall not have dominion over you;’ so that, though sin may rage, it cannot reign; and the more ignorant we are, the more He is glorified in teaching us (O how slow He finds me in learning!); so that, whatever we are, however low we may have sunk, if we only put ourselves in his hands, He will get glory to himself by us. How glad that thought makes me, that He gets glory from me! Paul says, ’When I am weak, thenam I strong.’ Don’t you often find how true that is? When you are weakest in yourself, then you find that you get on best, because you lean more on His strength. If we would trust Him entirely, how fast we should move! He tells us to ’trust in Him at all times’—it is easier to do this sometimes than at others. What low thoughts of the Mighty God’ that shews us to have! as if He could not help us in the greatest difficulty, as well as in the least! How we shall wonder at our unbelief, when we reach that blessed place where we shall never, never doubt Him again!"

"I secretly rested," says an old minister, "after I believed, in the act of faith, rather than in the object of faith, and drew comfort from this more than from the object, Christ holden out in the gospel." Though perhaps this might occasionally be a snare into which M____ was led, yet it will be evident that this was not her tendency. The object of faith had, in her eye, assumed such a place, that she seldom turned in to think about her own act of seeing. Engrossed with the Lord himself, she had no time to scrutinise or analyse the mental process through which she had thus become absorbed in the vision of His glory; or when at times He seemed absent or hidden, she was so bent upon regaining the sight of His excellency, by thinking about HIMSELF, that her own actings of faith and love quite fell put of sight. Engrossment with the person of her Lord kept her from thinking about herself, save as one that infinitely needed Him. She knew that to look at Christ was to have peace with God; but that to look at her act of looking, was to look away from Christ, and that to continue thus looking at her own act of looking, would inevitably be to fall from grace (Galatians 5:4). Nor would it avail her to have "begun in the Spirit," if afterwards she should seek to be "made perfect by the flesh" (Galatians 3:3).

Desires after Christ, and Attachment to His Person.— Letters and diary are alike full of these. They are the sun light of every page. With Him, all was noonday; without Him, all was midnight. At one time, when feeling that her soul was dried up, she writes—"O for John’s place, leaning upon the breast of Jesus! I was telling Mr. Robertson that I could not praise Him for anything, and he said, ’Praise Him that you are miserable without Him.’ This is, indeed, matter of praise. O how much worse should I be, if I were happy without Him? But I must seek to be happy with Him, and in Him. I read a chapter from Matthew to dear J— ____ to-night, and then prayed. I was much helped in prayer. I did not feel happy, but I felt softened and peaceful, and a sweet feeling that Jesus was listening."

"I miss ____ greatly, but I must go the more to Jesus. Ah! He must be my all in all. All I need is treasured up in Him; all I want for time and for eternity; and He himself is my blessed portion. O for a single eye to God’s glory! that is what I want. O Jesus, mine own God, give me this! How precious Jesus seems to-day! I long to bring the whole world to Him…Make me instrumental in leading many souls to Thee, blessed Jesus!…I was a little happier this morning at prayer, while giving myself entirely to Jesus. It seems so very sweet, the idea of being Christ’s servant. It was a very holy, happy feeling; and I could not help praising Him for it. It is sweeter to praise than to pray."

" Oct. 28.—E. and I had a wonderfully sweet meeting tonight. Jesus was evidently with us, causing our hearts to sing for joy. We were so happy that we could not help singing, and we sang together Psalms 23:1-6."

" Oct. 31.—Had a very sweet season in prayer this morning. It was all praise. I could do nothing but praise. I felt as if I were really standing before the throne, singing the new song. Jesus was very near, and unutterably precious...O for many such seasons! and O for a heart to praise! I felt each person of the blessed Godhead precious. The Father’s love seemed so full in giving Jesus; and Jesus seemed so precious; His love passeth knowledge; and the Spirit seemed so full of love, in lovingly dwelling in such a heart as mine. It was a melting season. O that I could shew forth His praise—that I had a heart and a tongue to tell to all around what a dear Saviour I have found!"

"Tuesday, Jan. 2, 1844.—Had a sweet season at prayer this morning, in thinking of the Father’s well-pleasedness with His beloved Son. It is very sweet to think that Jesus is glorified in our salvation, that He gets all the glory."

"Saturday, 17th.— Had a few minutes of very great sweetness this morning at prayer. I never feel such solid joy or peace as when asking the Father to reveal to me the Son, and to enable me to make Him a whole Saviour, not a half Saviour. It would be so very sweet if I could only get my wicked heart to trust allto Jesus, and to rest my weary soul on the precious Scripture, ’It is finished.’ I got a sight of that truth for a moment the other night, and it was unutterably sweet."

"I wish you were with me to-day, that we might speak together of the love of Christ, ’which passeth knowledge." I had a very wonderful taste of it this morning; it was all praise together. What a wonderful Saviour we have! isn’t He very precious? I could hardly stand His love this morning, it was so very, very sweet, and so undeserved by me. I never had such a foretaste of the blessedness of heaven before; I felt as if I were really standing faultless before the throne, singing the new song. How my heart longed to praise Him as he ought to be praised! but I could praise Him for the glad hope, that perhaps very soon I should really praise Him even as He deserves to praised. It will be sweet to cast our crowns at His feet, and give Him all the glory. O to be rid of this body of sin and death,—’to see Him as He is!’ for then ’we shall be like Him. I am very unlike Him now, but yet he loves me; I know He does! and He will teach me, even me, to love Him; to say with Peter, ’Lord, thou knowest all things, thou knowest that I love Thee;’ but oh, what a poor love mine is!— I am ashamed of it. I wish you would plead this precious promise for me— ’This people have I formed for myself; they shall shew forth my praise.’ I wish I could forget myself and think only of Jesus. O that I longed more to bring sinners to Him! When He drew so near to me this morning, I tried to pray that you might drink deeper and deeper into His filling love; you know more of it than I do. You are not so full of self or unbelief as I am; but all the glory is His; He is more glorified in some than in others; isn’t it sweet to think that He gets all the glory, and you and I none? Every feeling of love we have He gave us; all our natural feelings are enmity; isn’t it wonderful? Are you happy in His love?"

Prizing the Mercy-Seat.— It was the "seat of mercy," the "throne of grace" to her. She prized it because she felt she needed it, and because the grace that was dispensed there was just the grace which suited her case as a sinner. And it was what she saw of grace in that throne that emboldened her to come, with every sin and burden, at any moment, in the assurance that from such a place no one that was willing to be indebted to grace alone would be sent empty away. Of it she speaks thus:—"This morning had a cross, which again led me to the mercy-seat. Oh, what a place it is! How grateful should dear R. and I. be, that we have been led to feel its preciousness!" To this mercy-seat she carried every burden, as well as every sin; every perplexity, as well as every fear. Most implicitly did she trust her God and Father, and with most childlike openness did she unbosom her heart to Him:—"I asked that He would lead us to choose a residence where He would bless our souls. I asked nothing for us all but that they might be born again. I asked that wherever we went He would go with us. I pleaded the precious command, ’Be careful for nothing." I have committed my way to Him, and I know that He will be faithful to His word and direct our steps. I asked Him also to guide B. and me with regard to the church we should go to, and I know He will lead us in a right path with regard to this also. Oh, what should we do without Him! ’Hold thou us up, and we shall be safe.’ I think I was made willing with regard to this matter to say, whatever way we are led in, ’ Thy will be done, not ours.’ I asked with regard to this, and with regard to where we may go to live, that He would not grant us our wishes if they were not according to His will. All my prayers, O Lord, are before Thee; oh! grant me a gracious answer, for Jesus’ sake. I thought of this verse to-day— ’Continue in prayer, and watch in the same, with thanksgiving.’ I must watch for the answer to these petitions."

" Thursday, November2.—Had a letter from ____, fixing every Thursday between eight and nine for herself, D____, T____, E____, and me, to meet at the throne of grace. I went to meet them this evening, and found it very sweet to plead for each other."

" Saturday, December 2.—The first day of the Prayer Union. It is a sweet thing to think that so many of God’s children are pleading together at the same hour. O that there may be a great blessing!"

" 26th.—Have just had a very solemn and very, very sweet season at the throne of grace. I had not so much joy as a sweet, sweet kind of holy fellowship and communion with Jesus. Oh! it was blessed; I cannot tell how blessed! I felt I was so wonderfully happier than the worldling. I longed to tell all what a happy, happy life the Christian’s is. I had much pleasure in praying for my beloved sister M____, and I felt I was heard. He will answer my prayer in His own time."

" Oct. 18, 1845.—I have been trying to learn to pray anywhere, even not on my knees, as I cannot go to a cold room. O for a praying heart! Am in great trouble generally about getting a room to myself for prayer, and was thinking how God could bring much good out of this evil both to me and to others. Was thinking that my dear friends, from the very fact that there is so much trouble and work about getting a room for E. and me, might be led to think, Do we as earnestly feel the need of a room for prayer?"[30] In a letter to me, August 1842, I find her writing: "There is one thing I want you to pray for E. and me; it is, that we may not be interrupted or hindered in our hours for reading and prayer. Will you ask this for us? I think they are sometimes vexed with us for being by ourselves so long, and yet I feel that I do not take enough time. I have often so much to ask for, that I could remain all day. But there are so many worldly things for us to do! I wonder how Christians can find so much time for all these worldly duties, and yet be so much in prayer. I am afraid we do not redeem the time as we ought. Will you tell us about this when you write? but especially pray that our Father in heaven may shew us where we have gone wrong, and enable us to amend it."

There is something touching in the above extract. What longings for fellowship with God, and yet what a desire to discharge all needful duties! What desire to be alone—to have hours, nay, days of prayer! And yet what unwillingness to do anything that might annoy others! The worldly or the formal see nothing but selfishness in this love of being alone; and they are often more roused to anger against the religion that shews itself in this solemn way, than against that which is ever working and bustling. The reason is evident. The man that is much with God in secret is, by the very fact of his going alone to meet with his God, a far more unambiguous witness for God than the man who merely says or does religious things. And, besides, the impress of God is more legibly stamped upon him, by the closeness of his contact with Him whom he goes alone to meet.

Let us hear her again, as she refers to this her place of glad resort:— "What should you and I do if we had not the mercyseat to go to at all times? It is the sunniest spot on this dark earth. I have felt very happy in the love of Jesus these last two days. This morning I could hardly leave the happy spot where I may tell Him all I feel, and ask for all I need. We shall not find even eternity too long to praise Him. I do not forget you there. I was so hurried, that I forgot to tell you in my last letter how much I have been helped in pleading for you since you went away; asking that you may be enabled to speak for Jesus where you are. We must pray much for each other just now, that we may be brought nearer to Himself, and have no desire, no wish, but to be enabled to live to His glory. How far short of this do I live! I think there never was such an unChr ist-likeChristian as I am. I was asking much this morning that I might realise more the things that are unseen. Oh, if we could always remember that we are only strangers and pilgrims here, we should think more of our home in heaven, and care less for the things of earth. We must not live like those who ’mind earthly things.’"

"How little worldly people know what they lose by not caring for eternal things! I think, if a worldly person tasted for one hour the unutterable joy and the sweet peace that Jesus gives His people, they would never care for earthly things again, at least they would not make them their all as they do. I sometimes long to tell people how happy they would be if they would come to Jesus, and how Jesus longs for them to come. I have had great delight for several days in praying for my dear, dear ____. I think God must have special thoughts of mercy towards him just now. He cannot have given me these desires for him without intending to grant the prayers He himself has put into my heart to pray for him. Let us plead for him together, and for our sweet ____ also. How I love them both! and I delight to think that God loves them far more. Perhaps some day before very long we may all be kneeling round the throne of grace. What a happy, what a wonderfully happy time that would be! We must give Him no rest till He has made this family a praise on the earth."

" January 10, 1846…I have not much time to write to you today, but I am anxious to write during the Prayer Union week. How soon it passes away! I think that you and E. and I should keep it another week. It would be very sweet, and Mrs. H____ and B____ would join us, I hope you have enjoyed this Prayer Union.[31] I have not had much enjoyment myself, but I have at times been very happy to know that so many of God’s dear children were uniting together to ask great glory to be given to Jesus, by the conversion of many sinners to Himself, and by the increased sanctification of His own elect."

Enjoyment of Communion Seasons.— With her eye not upon herself, but upon her Lord and His cross, she went to His table. There she found Him whom her soul loved ; or, if she did not find Him always as she desired, she rested on His promise. Thus she tells her experience:—

"Sabbath, Oct. 29.—Had a very sweet sermon from Mr.

Moody Stuart. I think I never before had such a clear idea of believing as I had while he spoke. It sometimes seems so simple, and Jesus seems so worthy to be trusted, that I wonder I ever can doubt. But all my happy feelings left me at the table. I could not find Jesus, yet I knew He was there. Perhaps I was seeking feeling, and not Jesus. In the evening, Mr. Burns preached the sweetest sermon I ever heard him preach—all about Jesus; and, oh, He seemed lovely—yea, He is all together lovely!"

" October 1844.—E. and I. have just come down from the communion at St Luke’s. It was the most blessed one I ever had; the fragrance of it is with me yet. I never had such a view of Jesus before. God shewed me that the work was finished—that He is well pleased with His beloved Son—that He is satisfied. And, oh, the joy that this light gave me! I never felt anything like it before." In the anticipation of a communion season, she thus writes to a friend, in February 1842:—"It ought to be a delightful Sabbath, with Mr. M’Cheyne and Mr. ____; but what is all that, if Christ be not there? What is the Sabbath without the Sabbath’s Lord? Blessed Jesus! Pray for me, that I may find my Beloved at His own table. Pray that, if I may not have the place of the disciple whom Jesus loved, I may be permitted to bathe His feet with my tears, to sit at His feet and feed on the crumbs that fall from His table. Oh, how justly might He spurn me! But He will not, for He came to save sinners; therefore, He must be my friend." Of this season, she afterwards wrote thus:—"I should have been at this moment hearing Mr. ____, but I am so very tired with a long walk, that I think the next best thing I can do is to write to you, my dearest friend on this earth, this dreary wilderness, where we are still present in the body, but absent from the Lord. And what a Lord! the Lord of Glory! Jesus, in short—that is the sweetest name."

"I have so much to tell you about yesterday, that I scarcely know where to begin. What a day we had! How I longed for you!…The sermon in the morning was by Mr. M’Cheyne, from John 4:10—Christ and the woman of Samaria. He said this verse shewed three things— 1st, That Christ cares for individual souls. He spoke a great deal of His love in thus caring for each soul; but it would require Mr. M’Cheyne himself to tell you all he said about that. The only bit I remember is the last sentence, when he said—’This is wonderful, but it is like Christ—the more incomprehensible the love, it is all the more like Jesus.’ 2dly, Jesus saves the worst. When He plucks brands from the burning, He generally chooses the worst. 3 dly, Jesus can bear long with stupidity and ignorance. Again and again this woman shewed her ignorance, and yet Jesus did not turn away. And, oh, the way he spoke of this! ’If thou Icnewest the gift of God!’ If thou knewest the beauty that is in it, the peace, the joy! I wish you had heard him. I did not write that down; I could not for listening. But his table-service was the finest of all—I never did hear anything like it. Oh, how he spoke of Jesus! He told us to make use of a sacrament time to ask Him for everything. He said—’Tell Him all your wants—tell Him frankly. Ask Him for yourself,for your friends. Lean upon Him entirely. Those are happiest who lean most upon Jesus. Be like Jacob, go halting through the wilderness, leaning upon your Beloved. Doubting believer! ask Him for perfect peace, perfect love, which casteth out fear.’ He spoke also of there being times when Jesus is peculiarly near, at communion seasons especially, and also at times of revival. He said— ’When you see many fall down at His feet, you may be sure the ’King of Glory’ has come in. It is the voice of the Beloved, the step of Jesus. "

"I did not feel near to Christ; and what was it all without that? I felt a degree of peace in going forward to the table, which I have not felt for some time, but I did not feel joy. When I took the wine, I asked Jesus to wash me in the blood of which it is a type; and I think He heard my prayer. It is curious that I so often feel such peace at the thought of going to the table—a sort of feeling as if Jesus was there, and that I must be safe there; but, when seated, I generally feel only a kind of restless longing after something that eludes my grasp; and sometimes all I feel is a total want of gratitude for the love which is there so evidently set forth. One thing I must tell you, that Mr. M’Cheyne said in his prayer—’Give us to mourn the sin of piercing the bosom on which we lean ’ None ever did that as I have done! He said also—’Give us to know Him as we have never known Him yet; to love Him as we have never loved Him before; to hide in Him as we have never yet done! We thank Thee for giving us only Thyself. We shall praise Thee better at the table above.’He spoke of Christ being our peace—that He would be our peace even in eternity. He then said—’If your eyes have seen Him, if your hearts have loved Him, this world will be a wilderness to you. You are looking on a brighter world.’ Either he or Mr. ____ (I don’t remember which) spoke of the believer longing to be with Jesus, his faith to be lost in sight.He said— ’Think of your own pastor. It is sweet to think that he, though absent, remembers you, and bears you on his heart; but you are not satisfied with that. You would not be contented with a letter from him; you want him to return to you. So it is with the believer. He knows that his Lord never forgets him, that He continually intercedes for him; but still he cannot be happy until he sees Him face to face, till he knows as he is known.’ Oh, don’t you feel that?"

"I was interrupted last night when I had got thus far, and have not been able to get a word written today till now; but I have been with you in spirit at our Father’s throne, and asked for you all you wished in your dear letter this morning. I am beginning to feel as Mr. ____ said on Monday. I am not contented with a letter, I want to see yourself. The longings I take to be with you are quite painful. I wish I could be a comfort to you; but we shall speak together about Jesus, and that will comfort you. It is strange, we really seem to read together, as well as think together; for the chapter you mention in your letter about Jesus stilling the tempest on the lake, and being asleep when the storm arose, is the very one I was reading last night, which gave me such comfort that I said, ’I must speak about this to J____ when I write to her again.’ He said—’Peace, be still! and the wind ceased, and there was a great calm.’ Is it not beautiful? Don’t you think you see His holy, calm, sweet countenance as He said simply, ’Peace, be still’? And there was peace, all was immediately still. On Sunday evening Mr. ____ preached on Psalms 69:20. It was about the sufferings and sorrows of the blessed Jesus. He spoke about what Jesus must have suffered, at the contrast between the holy home He had wittingly left, compared to the sinful, miserable world He came to. He said—’How He must have longed to be back to the holy, blessed society of heaven! And then, when He came only to bless and to love, He found nothing but hatred. He longed for friendship, and yet He said—"When I looked for comforters, I found none.’" I felt very miserable when he was speaking—it is so terrible to think that Jesus suffered all that, and for such hard-hearted wretches, too! but I felt glad when I thought it is all over now; He will never be sorrowful again ; the Father’s Holy Child is now in His Father’s bosom, and never, never will His blessed head feel a thorn. Yes, it is now finished. He is now seeing of the travail of His soul, and perhaps the day is near when He shall be satisfied. What a day that will be! Shall you, and I see Jesus face to face? Is it not like a dream? But, oh, it is true!" On the 1st of May 1843, she gives her friend the following sketch of a communion season in Edinburgh:—

"The feast is all over now ; and it truly was a feast.What a day Sabbath was! It was ’the house of God, the very gate of heaven.’ What a pity a communion Sabbath is not as long again as an ordinary Sabbath! We had Mr. Somerville at our table, and I never experienced anything like it. The first words he said were, ’I feel certain that Jesus is looking upon this table. I feel He is in the midst of us,’ and I am sure He was. B. and I were at the fourth table, and he served the third also; and what, think you, was the subject?—’ Woman, why weepest thou?’ How sweetly he spoke about that! He said, ’What a wonderful sight was this!—a poor trembling woman and two bright glorious angels on the one side, and Jesus himself on the other, saying, "Woman, why weepest thou?"’ He said, ’Perhaps there are some here to-day, weeping because they cannot find Jesus. Ah! He is not far away. He is often nearest when you do not know it.’ I was sorry R. and I were not at that table, particularly as it was my text. But ours was even finer. The text was, ’My dove, that art in the clefts of the rocks.’ What a Saviour we have! He is so tender, so loving; He is truly ’touched with a feeling of our infirmities.’…Then, at the end of the service, he spoke about this:—’When he putteth forth His own sheep, He goeth before them.’ He said, ’I am loath to tell you to go from the table. I daresay many of you are saying, "I should like to stay a little longer." You have been in the sheepfold, dear souls, and you do not like to go back again to the wilderness ; but it is Jesus who puts you forth, and He goes before you. He puts you into the wilderness again, that you may learn your own helplessness, and His strength. But He does not drive His sheep. No; He leads them, and He always goes first. The world thinks that God’s people are in bondage. But no; they are free. They are not driven; they are led. They follow the Lamb, because they love the Lamb, and would be miserable if they did not follow Him.’ Oh! I did feel loath to leave the table; but Jesus went with me, and He is ’the same yesterday, today, and for ever.’ When we left the church, and walked along the street for a little, I felt almost in heaven; and my dear E. enjoyed it so much too. O for a heart to praise! When the bread and wine went round, I am sure Satan was near, for I got such a fright when I found myself so cold and dead; but I asked Jesus to lead me away from my dark heart, and to enable me to look out upon Himself, and He did it; but how polluted all I did, and thought, and felt, was! Yet, if we are in the clefts of the Rock, all our vileness is hidden, and only the perfect beauty of Jesus seen; and then we know that ’He bears the iniquities of our holy things.’ I often longed for you to share our feast, and remembered you at the table. I wrote down some sweet bits for you when I could; but I could do nothing almost but weep; it seemed to me so wonderful, that such a Saviour should think of us at all; and He seemed so winning, so gentle, so full of compassion; it was almost too much. I felt that I knew nothing of Him; but I hope he will teach me, for He has compassion on the ignorant."

Views of the Way of Acceptance.— Her resting-place was the work of the Son of God, complete in all its parts; needing nothing in the sinner to make it more sufficient or more suitable. Thus she went at first to the Father through the Son, and thus she continued to go to the last. But, like others, she sometimes got into perplexity on this point; and forgetting to hold the beginning of her confidence steadfast, she lost her consciousness of reconciliation.

"21st Sept. 1843.—Went to Mr. Robertson’s to-day, and had a long and, I think, blessed conversation with him. God enabled him to shew me that I have been making the Spirit’s work within me my ground of confidence in place of the work of Christ. I see I have been trying to come to God as a Christian in place of as a sinner.Mr. R. said I should put it down as a settled point, that I am always to come to God as a sinner, with no good thing about me at all, and plead that Jesus died for sinners. What a happy, peaceful, God-glorifying state I should be in if I always went to God in this character! I will do as Mr. R. says—in God’s strength. I am determined always to go to Him as a sinner, and I know that ’He receiveth sinners.’ This, then, is a settled point."

Spiritual -mindedness.—To follow Christ, to be like Christ, was what she sought with the whole vehement energy of her soul. To mind "heavenly things" was her aim. To be unlike the children of this world, and to be like the heirs of the world to come, was the thing which she saw to be so infinitely desirable, and which formed the burden of her pleadings with God. Thus she writes:—"R. and I went to Miss R____’s, where we had a meeting. I think God was with us. I had a great longing to be spiritual—to have God in me. At prayer I was enabled to cast myself upon Him, and felt as if a load had been taken from my heart. I did not feel so much joy, as a sweet peace filling my heart, and taking away all my angry, unholy feelings. Had a great desire to live to God’s glory. Asked this for us all. I think our kind God and Father led us there to-day. My soul was much refreshed. Oh! to think that, when I see spiritual to be so infinitely preferable to earthly things, I am so eager in the pursuit of these trifles!"

"22d—I asked this morning for spiritual-minded-ness, by whatever means. O that this prayer were answered! I am weighed down by sin, and earthliness, and selfishness. O to be holy! I do long to be holy! I hate sin. It is indeed an evil and a bitter thing to sin against God! But I am afraid that I think more of its bitterness than of its evil; but this only shews how entirely destitute of good I am."

Views of Sin.— Conviction of sin is not a pre-requisite or a preliminary to salvation; it is part of the salvation itself. The possession of it does not qualify us for coming to the Sin bearer; nor does the want of it disqualify us or make us less welcome to Him, or warrant us in standing aloof. To say, I must repent before I come, is to say, I must begin salvation, and then come to Him to carry it on and consummate it. If my sense of sin is not deep enough, instead of making this a reason for standing aloof from the Son of God, I am to make it an additional reason for going straight to Him, as one who needs Him more than others. Thus M____ acted, and in so doing her sense of sin deepened and grew more intense. Thus she writes:—

"June 9, 1843.—This is my birthday. Have I grown in grace since last year?…What a precious day this has been! At prayer this morning, I had such views of my exceeding sinfulness, that I was almost in despair. I thought God could never pardon such a being. But soon He led me to the Cross of Jesus, and there I saw all—even my sins—borne by Him ’who His own self bare our sins in His own body on the tree.’ Oh how precious it was to feel that God could love me in spite of all my sins! I am always trying to come to God with a price in my hand; but Jesus shews me I must come as an empty beggar."

" Oct. 24, 1843.—E. and I came to town for a week to attend the Communion at St Luke’s. Went in the evening and heard Mr. W. Burns. I think I never heard him so searching before. I felt as if he spoke every word to me. My heart seemed as if it would break with sorrow at the remembrance of all my sins. I think I never saw myself such a sinner before…He spoke about holiness and purity of heart, and said that the next best thing to being perfectly holy, was to be perfectly ashamed of our unholiness." In September 1844, she wrote to a friend thus:—"My dearest B____, I am very, very unlike one who calls herself by such a glorious name as a child of God. How precious should Jesus be to such sinners as we are! I am ashamed when I think that Jesus sees all that is in me. I cannot get rid of sin at all. It pollutes all I do, and think, and say. And then I am not humbled under a sense of my utter unworthiness." In her conflicts with the evil within, thus she speaks:—" Aug. 30.—Had a severe time of wrestling this morning against my corruption and deadness. I have such painful longings to get near Jesus, but He seems so far away!"

Reality in Divine Fellowship.—" I was an hour upon my knees before I could utter one sentence in prayer," was her expression one day in conversation with a friend.[32] And why this strange silence—this want of utterance? Because she knew too well what prayer consisted in, to speak words without meaning, and preferred to be dumb before Jehovah rather than mock Him with unfelt utterances. Prayer was not prayer to her, unless it brought her into conscious contact with the living God. If it was not the interchange of feeling between her and the Christ to whom she had given her heart, it was nothing. Brought up amid "forms" of prayer, and accustomed, in so far as she prayed at all, to pray by book, she, from the time of her conversion, laid aside all such helps. Of the arguments for or against set forms, she knew nothing, nor ever thought of knowing. She felt that she must tell God what she wanted; that no other could tell her wants, or sins, or fears, or griefs, or trials; and hence she laid aside these forms simply as one who felt that she needed them not, and that they did but straiten and impede the outpouring of her soul to God. Her letters in almost every page reveal her longings for or enjoyment of Divine fellowship. The following extract, though not exclusively on this point, will illustrate this:—"I have been reading over one of your letters, and there is something in it I must ask you about. You say—’When you see you need any grace, ask God to give it you, and to forgive you for not havi ng it.’ Now, is it our fault if we have not grace? If I could think that, then I should indeed see my sinfulness; for I seem never to have anything I ought to have. Will you tell me about this when you write again? for it has often troubled me. I have thought sometimes when praying for such and such things, I wonder if I am sinful in not having them already; but I think of so many things that continually puzzle me, that it would be endless to write them all. I want to ask you about one thing, however, that I can never do—and that is to search my heart! I don’t know how you set about it, and perhaps that is the reason I see so little of my sinfulness. Don’t your thoughts either wander away to this world and vanity, or else to Jesus? and then, oh! how can you think of yourself? Do tell me about these two things in your next letter, which I wish I had. I had a curious kind of feeling on the last day of the year; I must tell it you. It was after dinner; I had gone to meet you at our Father’s throne, and I had not much delight in prayer; but when I came into the room again, I could not remain. I felt an almost intolerable longing after something, I knew not what; I could settle to nothing; so at last I went to my own room; but I could not pray, for I felt as if God had called me to speak to me, in place of me praying to Him! I was wretched, yet happy,till I thought of what Samuel said, and I knelt down and said, ’Speak, Lord, for Thy servant heareth.’ And, oh! I felt so tremblingly happy, I thought God was actually in the room, and yet I had no fear. I did not feel my need of Him, but I felt that He had a message to my soul, so that I could not rest till I knew what it was. Oh! if it was to tell me to speak to my darling ____; and you know it was that night I spoke to him. I have been thinking of what Mr. B. said about glorifying God; it was indeed very humbling to me.O that I could glorify Him! But what I feel most at present is want of desire to do or feel anything. I prayed this morning a great deal for sincerity. feel convicted of sin in that respect; for if I reallywere anxious for spiritual blessings, surely I should pray more earnestly for them. But I am sometimes frightened to pray; and just now a feeling of depression seems to weigh down my heart, and at times I cannot speak to God for weeping...O the glorious time when we shall never be separated, in another and happier world, when we shall be for ever with Jesus! I wonder if we shall remember the time when we wrote and spoke together about Him on earth. I wish I were more like Him, holy as He is holy. Will you pray that I may have longing desires to be holy, and that I may feel more my load of sin?"

Thus it was that she shewed, not only "whose she was not," but "whose she was." Neither in the positive nor in the negative features of her character was there any ambiguity. That she "was not of the world" was evident; but equally plain was it that her "citizenship was in heaven." The family likeness was too plain to be mistaken. Her unhesitating mode of action in everything that might discredit the name of Christian, or compromise her own character as the bearer of that name, might offend. It would be imputed to the proud assumption of a claim to higher spirituality; and the lukewarm, the half-hearted, would feel as if reproached. Yet there was nothing of assumption about her, no selfcomplacency, no love of singularity, no wish to cast reproach upon one human being. Unconscious of doing anything but simply following the Master, and bearing His cross, she could not but be surprised that her conduct should draw attention, or seem strange to any who bore His name.

There was nothing artificial about her piety, save as it was manifestly the workmanship of a Divine Artist. In this sense it was truly artificial;but, in every other, natural,—natural in its air and tone and complexion—natural in what it did and what it left undone. Her religion was not that of imitation. It was the unbidden growth of the new nature within,—not the result of outward appliances, or skilful efforts to do as others did, or to feel as others felt. That new nature, fostered, as it had been imparted from above, shot up into vigorous growth, and shewed itself in the fruits of the Spirit. She was healthful in her piety, for she was "rooted and grounded IN LOVE" (Ephesians 3:17), and the growth of such a soil was not likely to be stunted or sickly. Her intercourse with the world, though uncompromising, was ever gentle and affectionate; for she felt that as she differed on so many vital points, there was the greater necessity for not differing on smaller ones. Her intercourse with Christians was that of one who realised the oneness of the brotherhood, and to whom the "fellowship of the saints" was no unmeaning term of courtesy.

It may also be noticed here that her thoughts went often up to the angels. She used to speak of them, and to express her gratitude towards them for their acts of condescending love to the "redeemed from among men." She remembered that they were "ministering spirits," who, as Baxter says, "have charge of us, and pitch their tents about us, who bear us up, who rejoice at our repentance, who are the witnesses of our behaviour, who behold the face of our heavenly Father, who convey our souls to heaven, who will come with Christ in glorious attendance at the great and joyful day."[33] To "the whole family in heaven and earth" (Ephesians 3:15) her soul went out, realising her kinsmanship with all;—with the redeemed in virtue of a common brotherhood in Christ, and with the angels in virtue of a common fatherhood in God. Thus, taking in the whole circle in heaven and earth, she was brought under the moulding influence of those manifold objects on all sides, the contact with, or contemplation of which, is designed, so specially by God to promote our holiness, by assimilating us to what we behold. Each part of the new nature thus got hold of something congenial, and was expanded or elevated or purified. She longed to be holy, for all with whom she was to spend eternity were holy. Her "faith grew exceedingly," and her "love abounded." The fruits of the Spirit hung ripely on her branches.