01.06. Progress in 1842-43

Progress in 1842-43

THOUGH all the true features of the new man came out at once, under the Spirit’s hand, yet their development into prominence, and order, and expressiveness, was a thing of more gradual growth.

It is true that, in receiving the Lord Jesus as "our life," we pass at once "from death to life." We were crucified with him ; we died with him; we were buried with him; we rose again with him; we went up with him, and are seated with him in heavenly places. It is not merely that we oughtto die to sin, and live unto righteousness; but we have diedto sin, and have been made "alive unto God" (Romans 6:2-11); old things have passed away, all things are become new (2 Corinthians 5:17). Such is the new legal standing into which we are brought. In believing on Him who died and rose again, we become so identified with him in his dying and rising, that, in God’s sight, and in the eye of law, we are counted and treated as having actually ourselves died and risen.

Thus far our condition is not a gradual one ; our standing in the sight of God is, from the moment we believed, complete, as to acceptance, for our identification with the Accepted One is complete. But progress in repentance, progress in holiness, progress in likeness to the Lord, is not a thing to be overlooked or swallowed up in the privilege of acceptance. Some, indeed, have so magnified a saint’s standing and relationship to God, as to slight the importance of the inward work upon his soul. They have spoken of forgiveness, till they have actually trifled with sin. In their prayers they so give thanks for acceptance, as to make others suspect that they have ceased to feel themselves sinners, or that they think it unnecessary to confess sin before God.

Very different were the feelings of her whose life we are recording. Progress— progress—PROGRESS—this was her watchword. Forgetting the things behind, she reached forward to those before. Pervaded with a sense of the forgiving love of God, she bemoaned, night and day, the body of death which she carried about with her. An ever-deepening consciousness of sin was one of her characteristics. But it is not for the purpose of marking one feature in her character that we have drawn together the following letters, written in 1842-43. Our object is to shew her progress in the various points in which we are to seek conformity to the image of the Perfect One. In aiming at this progress, she felt the necessity of being rooted and grounded in love. Thus she writes in August 1842:— "I wish you could write us a letter once a month, telling us of the love of Jesus. It is strange how difficult we find it to believe that love. I wish I could do as Jesus bids us, ’continue ye in my love;’ but when I see myself so very full of sin, it seems impossible that God could love me; and hard thoughts of God come in to my mind at times, in spite of myself. I had been very unhappy before your litter came, struggling against sin, and unbelief, and coldness, and distance from God. But your letter has done me good, for I have been so full of joy, and have had a very sweet feeling of nearness to God lately. I liked much what you said about the gentleness and forgiving love of Jesus, and going to him in our coldest hours. What I want is to realise God’s presence at all times, to live as seeing Him who is invisible. Oh! I wish you were here, that you might speak to me of Jesus...I hope you will come soon. We have no one to speak to us as you do. How much we owe to you! You were the first who spoke to us of Jesus, the first who cared for our souls. How well I remember the first time you spoke to me! It was at the class. You said, Have you found peace?—are you happy? I said ’no,’ then; but, oh! I can say ’yes,’ now. I have a happiness which the world can neither give nor take away. It is strange what a difference I find in all my feelings;—one short year ago, all my happiness was confined to this world; now, this world is a wilderness, a place of sorrow and sin, hateful sin; and my happiness is all above, for Jesus is there. But I wish I loved him more, and lived more to his glory, and I wish I knew more of him. I seem to know less than I did at first." In January of this year she thus expresses herself:—"I much wish that I were humble. I sometimes think it ought to make me humble to see how much pride I have, and then to reflect who is the creature that dares to say, I am proud,—I a poor, wretched, very sinful creature. I proud, and Jesus meek and lowly! I wish I could hate myself!…I really think I love him most when he is afflicting me. I sometimes have felt as if he were beating me, and that I was astonished that God should do it; then restive, and inclined to rebel; then got more and more resigned and subdued, till at last I felt convinced that it was the hand of love, and then I could rejoice...I think that Christ has been teaching me that I am all self! I have felt three sins to be very grievous lately, and these are, pride, selfishness, and unbelief. You will say, ’only three!’ I know I have many more, but these I have seen most lately. I have been so convinced of unbelief, that I got quite frightened, and began to think I had no faith at all. Oh! how I have been trusting to my own strength! I tremble to think of it. No wonder that I have been burdened, when I have not been casting myself on Jesus, getting my strength from him. But he has promised to give me all things, if I ask in his name, and I know that he will increase my faith. Oh! I cling to that with such joy! But there is one thing that I must ask you about, for I don’t understand it; it is, that though at first I felt great distress at the conviction of my terrible unbelief, yet, after a while, I felt quite glad that I had seen it. It must be because I can now pray so earnestly, for more faith, whereas, when I thought I had it, I felt NO such need. All my prayer now is for faith; and I feel so very happy to think my prayer will be heard. I have much to say to you. Tell me when you are tired of complaints, and then I won’t write any more. I always remember you and your people, and dear Kelso."

Without further introduction or comment, we now give extracts from the letters of these two years; they will be the best indications of progress. One or two are from Kelso, where she came on a second visit in the spring of 1842.

" Kelso, March, 2, 1842.—My own dear B____, here I am once again in this sweet town. Oh that you were with me! My happiness is imperfect when I remember that you are not here to share it with me; yet our happiness will always be imperfect here below; when in the bright realms above, it will be perfect. To think that you and I shall stand together and see Jesus face to face! Only think of seeing HIM, the Beloved One! Does it not seem too glorious to be true? and yet it is true. The more glorious it is, it is the more like God."

" Kelso, March 10, 1842.—My own R____,how glad I was to learn that you are happier! Jesus longs to make you happy. I think that you are likely to be much happier in your soul than I, because when we are surrounded by outward trials Jesus is far sweeter."

"March 11, 1842.—…Last night Mr. B. was speaking of the storms of this life, making us rejoice the more in the security of our Ark. How I wished for you!Let us praise Him, my beloved, that you and I are safe in this ark. How often I have rejoiced on your account, more even than on my own, I think! I am so happy to know that Jesus loves you, that He has washed you in His own blood, covered you with His own perfect righteousness, that He is sanctifying you by His Spirit—the Spirit that dwells in Himself—and that He will at last receive you to Himself, to dwell for ever with Him in His Father’s house. If we oftener realised our glorious inheritance, how easily would all our light afflictions here be borne, nay, rejoiced in!—for ’we know, that if we suffer with him, we shall also reign with him.’ Do not let us wound our beloved Saviour by doubting his love. About Mr. Hay, J____ says you should not meet him since ____ is so much against it. I am grieved about this, yet I think too it is a proof of the love of Jesus; for He seems, in thus removing every earthly prop, to wish to have you all to Himself, that you may find your all in Him. Still, my earthly heart is grieved that you should lose such a dear Christian guide, but I hope it may be only for a little time. Let us pray that, if it be for the glory of God, you may be permitted to meet him again. J____ bids me ask if you are like the man in the parable who sold all and bought the pearl of great price. I am most grieved that you are not to write to Mrs. ____ again. What can be the reason for wishing you not to write to such a Christian? She will be very sorry about it. Does it not really seem as if God were taking away everything from us to give us Himself alone? And is not He enough?"

" Saturday…Pray much for me, dearest, that all my motives, in whatever I do, may be pure and holy. I have been praying, ever since I came here, that God would make me an instrument in his hands for promoting his glory whilst I am here, that I may be made useful, by his blessing, in bringing souls to Christ, that the worthless life which he has redeemed, may be spent in his service. Oh! join with me in this prayer!"

"April 1, 1842…"MY DARLING E____,—I received your note this morning, and am grieved to hear that dear ____ is vexed about our letters; yet, after all, it may perhaps do good instead of harm, for she will see how anxious I am about their souls, and she cannot be angry at that. I asked our reconciled Father this morning, that it may work for good, that He would bless it to the souls of our beloved ones, and I feel persuaded He will hear my prayer. ’This is the confidence we have in him, if we know that he heareth us, we know that we have the petitions we desired of Him.’ Let us copy the faith of Abraham, and, though our way seem dark, let us still trust in the naked word of a faithful God. Our loving Father may not seem to be answering our prayers, but they are all treasured up. Let us leave our prayers at his feet, and wait till he answer them, and, oh! I know that in his good time he will answer us. Let us, therefore, plead with him, my own beloved, that all our troubles may work together for our good and the glory of his own great name, knowing that our present light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory. Let us trust in the word of Him who cannot lie; and do not say you are not His…Abraham went out, ’not knowing whither he went;’ let us do the same. We have left the world and its vanities; we seek a letter country, that is, an heavenly; but we, like Abraham, must trust in God, though our way be so full of troubles, so dark that we do not know where we are going. That we do not see the way, makes no difference in God’s faithful promise, ’they shall never perish.’ God knows the way, and He has promised to lead us and guide us continually. The way was all dark to Abraham, but he went on as patiently as if it had been all light, trusting simply on the pledged word of Him who is the God of truth."

"J____ sends this message to you: ’Best your whole soul on the arm of the Beloved, and you can never be lost. You have the promise of Him who cannot lie. Lay your head on the bosom of Jesus when it is aching with the sorrows and reproaches of this valley of Baca. It is a peaceful bosom, and will impart to you its own peace.’"

" P____, April 20, 1842…"MY BELOVED J____, I arrived here quite safely last night. I got very sick and faint after we had gone a few miles, but it went off again, and I was quite well all the rest of the way. God was careful of his child, though so undeserving of any of his love. Oh! what a God we have! I wish I could dive deeper into the ocean of his love. Oh! praise the Lord with me, my beloved! let us exalt his name together! feel in a strange way to-day. I feel as if God were so near, and yet I cannot come to Him. I cannot lay hold on Him. What a blessed life it must be to live very near to God, if one moment of communion with Him, one felt feeling of his glorious presence, is so full of the joy that is unspeakable and full of glory! I wish I lived nearer Him; but I am so cold, and so unbelieving, that if I don’t get the answer to my prayer soon, I have not faith to plead and plead again till I prevail. It is now nearly four o’clock, and dear A____ will be setting off to the class. Tell her I shall remember her, and that I hope she will think of me when she is walking up to it solitary. I had an aching heart yesterday when I looked at you for the last time—oh how desolate I felt! But, J____, we shall never take a lastlook when we get to our eternal home. We shall meet in heaven, my beloved, and Jesus will be with us, and will wipe away all tears from our eyes. We shall then be both perfectly holy, we shall love each other with a holy love. O to be holy, to be emptied of self, hateful self!"

"Dearest R____ was at the coach waiting for me; it was very sweet to meet her again; she, too, is precious in the sight of Jesus, for she is washed in his blood…It makes me sick to speak of my vile self—let us rather speak of Jesus, of our Beloved; yet what can I say? I have no words, glowing, burning enough, in which to speak to you of Him who is fairer than the sons of men. Oh for a beam from the Sun of Righteousness to enlighten and warm into life my dark, cold soul! Do you remember the two chapters we read together on Monday? I think He was with us that day. Do not forget next Monday at half-past two. We are then to read together again. Let us ask Jesus to be with us both, and the loving Spirit to take of the things of Christ, and shew them to our souls. I shall remember you and your scholars to-night at five."

"R. was telling me this morning about her district. I wish I were better, that I might go about with her, and try to do some good in this place; but I am in God’s hands ; He will make me well in His own time. Pray for me, that sickness may make me cling closer to Jesus. O that I felt His absence more, and that my heart were as sorrowful on account of sin as it is because I cannot see you! Tell me when you write if you are rejoicing. I think you were when I left you. You seemed to feel Jesus near. Tell me if He still gladdens your heart with His presence."

" 27th.—Ask God to forgive my sinful fears, and to give me more submission to His will. I am grieved and ashamed when I think how unwilling I am to suffer illness when it is He who sends it; and how little He sends! How gently He deals with me, ungrateful worm that I am! I am still in a weak state; but I think I shall get strength soon. Did you meet me at half-past two? I was at ____’s that day, and was afraid I should not be able to meet you; but I did, for it was curious that he and M____ went out to walk at the very hour, and left me alone! I read our two chapters, and passed a very sweet half-hour."

"We had not time in Kelso to fix what we are to read together every Monday; I think, if you like, it would be nice to read Acts together, for I have not read it much, and I remember you saying there was a great deal of the gospel in it. Tell me if you would like it, or else fix any other part of our precious volume you like better, and let us read a chapter next Monday, at the same hour, and we can speak about it in our letters. I think we should have a short prayer before we begin to read, and ask that Jesus may be with us both. I wish, my beloved, you would ask for me a prayerful spirit, for I feel as if my heart could not pray—as if my prayers were shut out. I wonder when I shall get out of this dark, troubled state! Dear R. and I had a meeting on Sabbath. We remembered the school, and particularly you and your girls. Often the only happy time I have at prayer is, when praying for Kelso, and in asking Jesus to bless my beloved friend. E. and I were at her district on Saturday, and we spoke to all the people; but, oh! they seem very indifferent! One woman is just like your Grizzy, she assents to all you say, but it has not reached the heart yet, I fear."

" April 30.—R. has just come in from visiting her families; I____ C____ was with her. She told us all about her father, whom she seems to think much changed. He told her that his illness had been blest to him; is not that delightful? She reads a great deal to him, and he seems to like it very much. We must remember him in our prayers. Does it not seem strange that, when all my prayers of late have been that I might be enabled to be of use, God has laid me entirely aside, so that I can do nothing to promote His glory? Will you pray for me that He would sanctify all my troubles to me? I have a great deal to say to you, and a great longing to talk to you about Jesus, that name that sounds so sweet in a believer’s ear; but I have already written too much, for I feel my back painful."

" May 9th…I remembered you yesterday, dearest, at your Communion, as you told me, and I hope my prayers were answered, and that you were happy, leaning on the bosom of your Beloved. It is a wonderful restingplace for a sinner, the bosom of the holy Jesus. Did you say, ’My Lord and my God’? My own beloved Lord!—oh! if seeing Him through a glass darkly is so infinitely blessed, so sweet, so very, very sweet, how shall we feel when we see Him face to face! The man Christ Jesus, the Man of Sorrows! O that I could love Him even a little!—but I would not be satisfied even with that; I want to love Him much, to love Him as He ought to be loved; that we shall not be able to do till we are like Him, when we see Him as He is. How we should long to bring others to this precious Saviour! I wish I could pray more earnestly and more believingly for others; but I have a cold, hard heart. I am sometimes tempted to doubt if even Christ can melt it. Pray for me, that I may have more love for the souls of others, and that I may continue to plead and pray for them, though I seem to get no answer to my petitions. I seldom feel as if there were any reality in spiritual things, unless I am alone in prayer to God. I feel exactly the opposite of what I did in Kelso; there I felt more in the Spirit in church, or with others, than when alone; whilst here, I come home hungering and thirsting for heavenly food, and never get better till I am alone with my long-suffering God. I am sure He is wonderfully forbearing with me! How I resist and grieve His Holy Spirit, and return all His love with ingratitude and sin!"

"P____, May 23, 1842…I have just been meeting you at the throne of grace, where I had much delight in pleading for great blessings for you and all in my native town. It is very sweet to pray for Kelso, to ask God to bring souls there to Himself, and to bless His own sheep. Tell dear Mrs. H____, with my warm love, that I never forget her. I wish I could meet with you at her house to-morrow."

"I have had another attack of illness since I wrote to you. I am now, however, quite well, which I am almost sorry for—I was so very happy during my illness. Pray that I may come out of the furnace purified seven times. I am in great fear that my frequent illnesses are not sanctified to me."

"I have been very happy lately by seeing the freeness, the fulness of Christ to every one. I put in my claim as a guilty sinner, and I know He will not cast me out. How sweet He is! He is altogether lovely; and He is mine! Wonderful! Well may I say, Why me, Lord? why me? But we are always reminded that this is but the wilderness after all: there is no perfect bliss here."

" Edinburgh, May 27, 1842…I have so many things to speak to you about, that I hardly know where to begin; indeed I don’t think I should write at all to-night; for I am so cold and lifeless, that I am afraid I shall infect you. When I found that I could not get to town to meet them all, I went and asked Jesus to be with them, and I think I never had so much sweetness in pleading for His presence before. I felt so sure that He was listening to me, and that He would answer my prayer; and I think He did, for I think K. got a blessing. How completely I enter into your feelings, in longing to have more substantia l, more tangible views of Christ! I feel as if I had just a littlebitof Him,and that little makes me long to know more of Him; to see more of His glory, His sinless beauty. Our holy Jesus! our lovely, lovely Saviour, why is my heart so narrow, so cold, that I can see or feel nothing of His preciousness! I remembered your petition, my beloved, and shall continue to plead it for you; but I often feel, in praying for you, that my views of heavenly things are so low and earthly, that I do not know what to ask for you, so that I tell Jesus that, and ask Him to give you all the blessings that are treasured up in Him, to fill you with His own fulness."

"Do you expect to go soon to London? I wish we might travel through the wilderness together, leaning on our Beloved, and ever speaking of Him. Oh! how much I cling to my own will yet, even when I know that His will is that alone which can make me happy! He sees what is best for me, and how, and in what situation, I can best promote His glory; and should not that be enough for me? I want now to speak to you about that part of your dear letter where you say you are afraid lest you should hinder the blessing to any of your pupils by pride or negligence. Now, my beloved J____, if youfeel afraid, how much more reason have I to tremble! My unfaithfulness is fearful; but, J____, do you really think that will hinder God blessing any soul? Is there the least chance that I may come between any loved soul and salvation? Tell me about this in your next letter, for it has made me very unhappy."

" Edinburgh, June 4, 1842…I am confined to the house to-day with a cold, and I want to have a talk with my sister about Jesus, our beloved Lord. O that I could speak of Him! I have been a great backslider of late, I think; I have not lived near God or to His glory ; the world seems creeping into my heart again. Is it not sad to think that any idol should fill a heart that has known Jesus, that has tasted that the Lord is gracious? I wish that, in every letter, you would tell me if you are happy in the love of Him who is altogether lovely, or if you are like Mary, who wept because they had taken away her Lord, and she knew not where they had laid Him."

"This morning, at ten, I had a strangely mixed time. At first I could do nothing but grope in the dark; my heart was sad and heavy, for God hid his face; but in one moment the veil seemed to be taken away, and my God smiled upon me, and I could feel that he was near. Oh, the bliss of that moment! I felt such delight in asking Him to look on me in Jesus, not to look at me at all, except in his beloved Son; for then, and only then, he can say, ’Thou art all fair, my love, there is no spot in thee.’ It is blessed, when you feel very vile, to hide in Jesus, and though still as vile as ever in yourself, to say, ’Abba, Father!’ Don’t you often feel disposed, when you have got hold of Jesus again, to say with the Bride in the Song, ’I hold thee, and will not let thee go’? In reading our chapter, the only part I could dwell on at the time was, ’this same Jesus.’ It seemed so sweet to think that it is the same Jesus who was so lovely, so loving, so gentle, so full of sympathy on earth, who is now in heaven, ’the Friend of sinners,’ pleading for them at God’s right hand; that it is the same sweet voice that on earth said to the troubled sea, ’Peace, be still,’ that now in heaven says, ’Come unto me, and I will give you rest.’"

"If you like, you may fix another day besides Monday, and we can read two chapters a week; the oftener we meet the better. I wish I were always ’in the Spirit.’ Dear E. is to write you very soon. She is not strong at present; but I hope Summer will revive her. I wish she had more joy in believing. She never gets quite rid of her doubts, which is strange, for I, should have thought she would be so confiding. I had a long walk with Mr. Hay on Monday.[8] It is refreshing to meet a Christian like him. We were at tea at Miss R____ ; I like her exceedingly; but how can one help liking one who is washed in the blood of the Lamb, and sanctified by the loving Spirit? It is now nearly five o’clock, so I must go and plead with you at our Father’s footstool. Oh for a spirit of prayer! My precious friend, farewell for a little! May Jesus be with you now and ever.—Your own "M____."

" P____, Wednesday, June 4, 1842…One would think we could never forget Jesus, yet how continually we do! At least I know I do. I have been thinking a great deal lately of being able to realise his presence at all times. I feel that I should be such a different being if I were to remember that his holy eye is ever upon me. How it would banish worldly, vain thoughts! I don’t know if you feel this, but I find it so much easier to recognise God’s presence in prayer, or in reading the Bible, than at other times throughout the day. I have been praying much lately for this continual dwelling, as it were, in Jesus’ presence, and I want you, my beloved, to ask this for me at our ten o’clock meeting…"

"I am expecting my dear R. every minute. I wish she would come, for it is very lonely for me to be without her. How I love her! More than ever, now that she is a follower of the Lamb. She and I have many a sweet talk together, and at such times we always long to be at home. When are wethree to have a meeting again, I wonder? To-morrow is my birthday, the first I have had since I knew the Lord, the meek and lowly Jesus. I should like it to be a day of much prayer and humiliation. Oh, to think that I have turned a deaf ear for so many years to the sweet voice of my Saviour! I am the very chief of sinners. I shall never cease wondering why vile I was chosen, and others, O how much more worthy, left! You must remember me to-morrow, and pray that I may be truly humbled."

"P ____, June 15, 1842…I cannot tell you with what delight I received your dear letter this morning. The moment I had read it, I longed to go and answer it, to tell you all my heart; but I went first to plead for a blessing upon you, at the throne of grace. Do write again immediately, and tell me if you have again found joy and peace in believing. I am sure you have, for I had such delight in praying for every blessing upon you this morning, that I know God heard me, and will answer my prayer. wish I could tell you that I am still in the happy frame I was in when I wrote to you last; for I have had such a week of distance from God! Is it not a comfort to think that God’s love does not change as we do? He is the same. He looks on His sinful children in the face of His beloved Son, and we are all fair in His eyes. Wonderful love! God loves with an untiring love ; but I wish that the contemplation of this love would melt my hard stone of a heart, and make me cease from wounding Him by sin. I have seen myself very vile this last week; I have often groaned under the load of corruption in my truly desperately wicked heart. How this should make us prize Jesus, whose blood washes all this vile sin away! Would that we could always praise! I am very glad that the texts I sent were blessed to you. O that Jesus would give me every word I ever write to you! I asked Him this morning that He would teach me to write, and would bless His own words to you."

"I hope you meet me at five? It is a beloved hour. I wish I prized it more. It is curious that E____ and I should have felt so much the same lately with regard to P____ and M____. We often think the Spirit is striving with ____. O that He would enable her to drive out His enemy and her own sin and let Jesus into her heart! I often think of how much she would love Him. I think love would dwell much in her heart. She is so like a follower of the Lamb now; what would she be if she knew Jesus, and loved Him from her heart? K. and I read a chapter to her and aunt every night before going to bed ; and when aunt goes up-stairs, my darling M____, with a kind of anxious, sweet look that she often has, says, ’I think we had better read a Psalm now.’ How I love her when she says that! Don’t you think it is a good sign if she is hungering for the Word! She is very fond of the Psalms, she thinks them so earnest. I have more hope in pleading for her than for ____ at present, for she seems as if she had been in some degree awakened; at least she seems to have a feeling, as if it were in spite of herself, thatall is not right.Now, I don’t think my darling ____ feels that at all; but with God nothing is impossible, and I am trying to hope against hope. We can but lay our prayers at the feet of Jesus, and we know, that ’whatsoever we ask in prayer, believing, we shall receive.’ I was struck with what you said about going to God downcast, expecting and feeling that you deserved his frown, and yet getting his smile: it is what I have often felt, and I think nothing ever humbles me so much; yet it is strange, that notwithstanding all the cause I have to be humble, I am still proud! I am sometimes ashamed to confess my pride to God, it is so hateful; but, my own J____, I must be thinking now of concluding, and yet I have so much to say to you. What a letter to send! I wanted to make it all about Jesus; but I can’t speak of Him. I have lived far from Him lately, yet not too far for His arm to bring me back, or for His voice to say, ’Return unto me, for I have redeemed thee.’ Don’t you often wonder to think what the voice of Jesus must be? On earth they wondered at the gracious words that proceeded out of His mouth—what must it be in heaven! Fancy that voice saying to you (and how I rejoice to know that it will!), ’Come unto me.’

I wish I could live more amid these unseen joys, that this earth might fade from my heart. Will you pray for me, dearest, that I may live nearer God than I have ever done? — for I feel the world creeping into my heart; yet I trust I am grateful for this, that I find its pleasures very poor, after having tasted the joy that is unspeakable and full of glory."

"July 6, 1842…I wonder if we are ever to meet again to have a talk about Him who loved us, and washed us from our sins in His own blood. O that I loved Him more! or even a little, for I sometimes fear I have no love to Him at all. I have been longing to get a beloved letter from you lately, to help and quicken my lifeless soul, for I think I have been declining in the life of God. I wish I could live alwaysnear God. It has been my prayer for a long time that I might continually feel that He was near to me, that I might live as seeing ’Him who is invisible.’ It is strange the difficulty I feel in doing this. I sometimes think that I am an infidel half the day. If I really believed that a holy God was ever watching over me, what a different being I should be! O for the perfect love which casteth out fear! I feel it difficult to believe that God can love me, I am so desperately wicked, so awfully unholy; but then, the thought of my Surety, the Lord my righteousness,makes me rejoice, though often with trembling; for my faith is weak; but He says, ’to them that have no might, he increaseth strength.’ What might we not get if our faith was strong! I was very wretched the other morning at prayer. I had gone with great reluctance, for I felt so utterly dead, that it seemed impossible I could ever be quickened. Well, the thought came into my mind, that although I was so cold, yet it was not for my sake, but for the sake of Jesus, His beloved Son, that God heard me. But oh! J____, in place of that filling me with joy and confidence in pleading this all-prevailing name, I felt actually unwilling to be indebted for all to Jesus! My heart is worse than I ever conceived it possible that any heart could be! To think that after all the love of Jesus to such a vile worm, I should rebel at being nothing that He might be all! Pray for me, that my proud heart may be humbled. It were enough, one would think, to make me humble, to know that I am proud."

" Thursday.—I have very little, if any, life in me at present; but Jesus is my life; yet though I know that He is so, how little do I feel upon it! find it is so difficult to cling to Jesus, when I see myself so entirely empty; but that is the very reason I should cling to him the closer. You say, ’Is it not sweet to be nothing, that he may be all in all? ’ I trust I am beginning to feel more sweetness in that now. It is strange you should have said that when I had just been writing to you how differently I had been feeling on that very subject; but I hope that I wish to feel as you do, and that Jesus will enable me. He will bend and bring low my proud heart. When I think of Jesus, my own precious Saviour, I am willing, oh! more than willing,—I am rejoiced that He should be all, and I less than nothing. I cannot tell you the litter feeling I have, when I think that even for one moment I should so dishonour Him. I am grieved, my beloved, that you still complain of languor and deadness. I cannot bear to think that you are ever anything but rejoicing; but, you say, it makes Jesus the more precious, and I think if you feel that, you will soon be happy.

All our happiness must come from Him. I am always happiest when I see and feel that He is lovely. I always remember you in my prayers, and seldom kneel at any time without mentioning your beloved name; but I fear I often do it very coldly. I have a very unloving heart; but then I comfort myself by remembering that it is for the sake of his beloved Son that God hears my prayers, and that, pleading Hisname, He will hear me, though I am ever so cold."

"July 12, 1842…Are you not wearying of the wilderness, where you cannot love Jesus as you would long to do? I am so sorrowful when I think that it is always a struggle, a fight to keep my heart in the love of my God, to get my whole affections and thoughts fixed on Him who is so worthy, so infinitely worthy of our love. It is painful to be so earthly—so carnal. I feel so completely that earth is my native atmosphere; it is another nature to me to be spiritual. O for the time when the atmosphere of heaven will be my native air!—when this vile body of sin will be a glorious body, when I shall love Jesus without effort, without sin! Is it really true? But perhaps I have a long life in the wilderness before me ere I stand faultless before the presence of His glory with exceeding joy; and O that I could spend that life, that life which He has redeemed, to His glory! What can I do to glorify Jesus? I am so terribly useless! Do you think Jesus will not use me as an instrument in promoting His glory? I sometimes fear it, and it grieves me very much; yet, my beloved friend, Jesus knows that the glory would be His. It would indeed be an unspeakable honour to be the means, under Him, of bringing even one sinner to Him; but I would still be only the instrument. Oh that I were a more willing one! Will you ask this for me, for there are many whom I long to be brought? I have been alone here all day, and I have been trying to be all day with Jesus; but still my soul cleaves to the dust; I need the loving Spirit to quicken me. Do you ever pray to the Spirit? I generally ask God to send Him upon me; but to-day I prayed to the Spirit himself, and I felt it so sweet to ask Him to tell me about Jesus, all about Jesus; to reveal Him to me, to shew me His sweetness, His beauty, the freeness and the fulness of His work. How ignorant I feel myself to be at prayer! I never know what to ask for; but the Spirit has promised to help our infirmities, and Jesus tells us He can have compassion on the ignorant." "My greatest difficulty, and a great sorrow I feel it to be, is what I have often complained to you about, namely, the different persons in the Godhead. You will perhaps tell me not to be troubled about that; but I can’thelpit; and I am the more troubled that I cannot quite explain to any one what I mean. I wonder if any one ever felt so strangely as I do. I feel, when praying to Jesus, as if I wronged the Father, and did not care for His love; and then, when all my delight (as it often is) is to say, ’Abba, Father,’ I am miserable by thinking that I don’t love Jesus! What should I do ?[9] I try to tell God, but I scarcely know how; but this thought often gives me comfort, God knows all about it. Still, I have had it a long time now. I shall remember you all at your approaching communion; I hope you will find Jesus sweet on that day. May you lean upon His bosom, as the beloved disciple did. What a happy resting-place! There are not horns there. O that I knew more of its bliss! When there, you have the peace which passeth all understanding; to be there is joy unspeakable, and full of glory. How lightly should all the sorrows of this life fall upon one who has found this sure, this sweet resting-place! Does it not seem as if nothing should ever make us sorrowful again, save the thought of piercing this bosomon which we lean? How continually I do that! If it depended on my thinking one holy thought, speaking one holy word, or doing one holy act, I could never see that face that was marred more than any man’s, or lean for one moment on that bosom of love; but I rejoice to know that it does not depend on me; it is all free love, and for sinners. I want to love Jesus, and I cannot! what shall I do? O that I were holy, that even here I could love Him a little! I fear, my beloved, that I have written a very egotistical letter, and yet I meant it to be all about Jesus; but I can never speak of His love without telling you that I long to love Him."

" July 28, 1842…"I don’t think I ought to write to you to-day, for I am so cold; I am sure to freeze you. I don’t think any one ever had such a hard heart, or such a dead soul as I have. Nothing ever seems to melt me: a sight of Jesus would; a single glance of Him who hung on the cross for vile sinners like me, would melt the ice; but I cannot see him; I cannot feel his love. Oh! if I could only lie at his feet, and weep tears like those shed by Mary Magdalene, how blessed, how happy should I be! But I cannot shed a tear; I feel as I could never weep again. I wonder what is the matter with me, for I was so very happy lately, and had such delight in prayer, and now I have none. O that you were here to pray with me! We have often rejoiced in God, in the smiles of our Father’s face together; and now, I wish you were here, that you might speak to me of Jesus, till my whole soul melted. I am very unhappy, for I feel as if I did not care for Him, and as if He did not care for me, and yet I have been telling Him all this morning that I cannot be happy without Him, that I will not let Him go except he bless me; but I cannot find Him ; my soul is quite dead. Surely Satan must be tempting me, and making me think hard thoughts of God! I hope you are happy? I remembered your petition yesterday, and hope you could wash the feet of Jesus with your tears. I think I would rather have Mary’s place than John’s to-day; anywhere near Jesus would be ecstasy. O that I could find Him! I would not let him go. What a hateful thing sin is! It is a bitter thing, for it makes God hide his face; it pierces the loving bosom on which we lean. O to be holy! It is, indeed, blessed, my beloved, to think that we have a holy home awaiting us. I wish I were there, for there is so little of God here, so little Holiness." "May you be much blest at this Communion. May you weep with Mary Magdalene, whilst you lean with the beloved disciple on the gentle, loving, holy bosom of your own Jesus; may you say, with Thomas, ’My Lord and my God.’ How I envy you going to a communion table! I long very much to go again, for it is long since I have been; perhaps I should find Jesus there."

"My loving Father, you see, never forgets me, though I am so often forgetting Him. I wish I never forgot Him, that I were always full of love to Him, alwaysdelighting in Him, always lived to His glory, always felt Him near. I wish it were always summer! I don’t like when it is winter in the soul. Yet this serves to remind us that this is not our home; it is indeed ’polluted.’ We must ’come up from the wilderness, leaning upon our Beloved.’ Don’t you wish you always felt that you are really a pilgrim? When shall pilgrim days be over, and all Zion’s travellers be home? You ask me what you are to plead for me ; plead for forgiveness for a cold, icy heart; plead for a heart broken for sin,and FULL of love to Jesus, and to those for whom He died. Plead that I may always realise His presence, that I may live as seeing Him who is invisible ; plead that everything, whatever it is, that comes between my soul and God may be removed; plead for holiness, plead for the Spirit, plead for gratitude for a ’love which passeth knowledge;’ plead for more love to poor sinners who know not God; plead for more love to God’s dear children, and that I may be more like them. Will you remember all these petitions? How many wants we have! We are very poor beggars ; but Jesus is rich, and loves to give. I feel that He is far more willing to give than I am to receive. How strange it is that I am not willing to be blest!" "I want you to remember M ____ and me at eleven in the morning; for after I have met you at ten, I pray and read with her for half an hour. Pray for me that God would teach me to teach her. —Your own attached M____."

"August 1842…MY BELOVED FBIEND, —O that you were here to speak to me of Jesus! I read your precious letters, which are so full of Him, over and over again; but I can only weep, because He is not to me what He is to you. I wish that I felt Him as near and loved Him as you do. Does it not make you long to be with Him, done with sin and sorrow, and distance from Him, and to see Him as He is? Here, the moment you get hold of Him, almost before you feel that He is near, you lose sight of Him again; but there He will never be hidden."

"I am so glad that you were happy at your Communion; you could not help being happy, for you got near Jesus. I don’t know what has come over me, but I cannot write to you today. I think it is because I have so much to say, that I cannot say anything. I am in a strange state at present. I am sometimes so joyful and happy, that the very thought of Jesus makes my heart swell; and then, again, nothing seems ever to move me. What distresses me is my worldlymindedness, that I cannot always realise heavenly things, or always feel God near. Everything on this earth is so dull, so tasteless, after tasting spiritual joys; and yet my heart cleaves to it in spite of me; and then, all I do is so polluted by sin. Oh! J____, to think that a holy God sees my evil heart, and yet He does not hate me! I wish I knew something about God. I seem to know less every day. Is it not strange? Do you find that you grow in the knowledge of God? Is it not wonderful to think, that although He is so glorious in holiness, so perfect, so pure, so spotless, yet a vile sinner, laden with iniquity, may go to Him, to this glorious being, and call Him ’Abba, Father!’ O the unutterable sweetness of that name!"

"May Jesus bless you and make you joyful in Himself. May you rejoice in the Lord always! I am so happy and joyful when I think that you are His—that my own beloved is safe in the fold of the Good Shepherd, hidden in the clefts of the Rock, so that no storm can ever come near her! Oh to think that you shall never now be separated from Jesus! ’Lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world;’ and even then He will be with you: ’when thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee;’ but I trust, my beloved, I shall pass the waters first.

" Am I ever to be done? I grieve to send you such a letter, with so little of Jesus in it; but you must forgive me: I cannot speak of Him, for I have an earthly tongue. Write soon to your unworthy but attached M____."

"P____, September 5, 1842…"MY OWN BELOVED ONE,—It was curious that you should have been thinking of that verse with me; but I was much struck with the different ways in which we had looked on it. In thinking of ’holiness to the Lord,’ all your thoughts went to Jesus, while mine, as usual, went to my own vile self. For nearly a fortnight I could not realise the presence of God, or feel Him near, though I often cried to Him with very bitter tears. He seemed as far away as ever ; but this morning I found Him again. I felt Him near, and my tears were sweet! Praise Him for it, dearest, with me; and ask that I may not again lose sight of Him. It is strange, when I cannot realise that God is near, I cannot pray for you;but whenever He blesses my own soul, then my heart hastens to ask blessings for my beloved friend, and I find it very sweet to plead for you. I want you to pray just now for a dying young man, the brother of our neighbour’s servant. He is dying, and, I much fear, unchanged. How calmly we can talk of these things! How little have I of the faith which is the evidence of things not seen! I cannot realise or feel his awful situation as I ought. B. and I have been praying for him, and sending him some tracts ; O that they may be blest!…I have seen our Queen several times. She has much to draw her heart away from God. I fear I do pray too formally for her. Let us agree to plead together more with our hearts for her and for all dear to her."

"September 20, 1842… I long to be free from sin ; oh! it is loathsome, and yet I do not see it at all as I ought. But I must not trouble you with speaking of my sinful self; I want to speak to you of God, of our own sinless Saviour, but I cannot do it. O that I had you here to speak to! I long very much for you now; it will be so very sweet to speak with you of Jesus as we have so often done, and tell you all my sorrows. I sometimes wonder when I am to get right again, and get one sweet glimpse of Jesus. My soul has been so dark, and sorrowful, and heavy, for so long a time now. There seems a weight on my heart, and a veil over my eyes. I was happier a little while ago; but now I am as much cast down as ever. I long to begin the school; surely I shall find Jesus when speaking to little children of Him. In heaven He will never be away, or hid even for one moment. What if I should never get there? I am so very unbelieving, so unlike a child of God. You told me, in your dear letter, to go and weep with Mary at His sepulchre; it is strange that I had just been reading that very chapter! I could find no relief in any way, and at last I thought of the sweet chapter we have so often read together; but I could only weep, because I could not find Him. Yet you say He is always near. Do you know Satan sometimes tempts me to disbelieve His existence altogether! Is it not fearful? Oh! it is great agony! Do you think a child of God could ever have such a dreadful temptation? R. and I are quite solitary just now, and we have a great many very sweet meetings and readings together, and at such times we always remember our most beloved J____, and my sweet native town. And now farewell. May your own precious Saviour bless you now and always. Your own loving M."

"P ____ , October 6, 1842…I must tell you about our school, for that is certainly a great deal in my thoughts at present; and I know how much you will love to hear how we are getting on. Well, Tuesday was the first day, and B. and I opened it ourselves, as we did not like to ask any one in Mr. B____’s place. I had fourteen little ones, and E. five big ones. We sung ’The Lord’s my Shepherd’—as we had not got the other tune,—and then we prayed, and then divided our classes, and in about an hour we again assembled, and read a little bit of ’ Glory,’ then a prayer, and they went away—and so ended our first day of school. E. and I sat down together at the fire after they were all away, for a long time, neither of us quite sure whether we ought to be pleased or disappointed. But, on the whole, we settled that we ought to be pleased, for, though they did not listen to us when we told them of Jesus the Good Shepherd with as much interest as we at first expected they would, still, they behaved very well, and were not at all noisy. We went a good while before the hour to get the forms placed, and the books in order; and when the first girl entered the room, and took her place, you would have been amused at the look, half sheepish, half triumphant, which E. and I gave to each other. To-day we were so amused;—one big girl came with the others, whom we had never seen before, and sat down very quietly beside E.’s class—and two little ones to T____’s, and one to mine—and when we asked them who they were, and who sent them, they told their names, and said their mothers sent them!"

"This is rather encouraging. One of mine is called Jeanie Deans! There is one of my class a perfect delight; I never saw such a sweet child in my life: she is lame, poor little thing! and she sits on a chair beside me as quiet as a little mouse. She is only five, and she can already say all the letters! Oh! I love to talk to her of Jesus; she is just like one of His lambs. I am so grieved that she is only to be with us for a few weeks. She lives in Edinburgh. I want you to remember her particularly in your prayers, dearest, and O pray that I may get words to speak to her!…"

"I am very, very sad and sorrowful; and yet, for all the terror I often feel at prayer, I am restless till I can get alone, and to my knees. Is not that strange, when very often I can do nothing but weep? I wish, my beloved, you would tell me what to do, for you have no idea of the misery I suffer. I think it is Satan tempting me to doubt if there is a God at all! Surely I am not believing him! Will you ask God to search my heart, and shew me my sins? for it must be my sins that make Him hide His face. ’He does not afflict willingly.’ Oh, no; it is all my own vile self; but I want to know more of my own heart, that I may humble myself under His hand. O pray also that Jesus may reveal Himself to me as a Saviour, to save me from my sins, and that His chastenings may make me more holy, more humble, and more loving. It is getting late, so I must finish this letter; and, long as it is, I grieve to think that there is so little of Jesus in it. But I can’t write of Him now, for I am quite cold and dead; and yet ’He is white and ruddy, the chiefest among ten thousand.’ He is our own precious and altogether lovely Saviour. Why do I alone see no beauty in Him, that I should desire Him? I want to say, with Peter, ’Lord, thou knowest all things; thou knowest that I love Thee.’ I sometimes think I do love Him a little. Surely Satan must be trying to pull me away from Him. Do you think so? If it is he— oh! he takes a desperate pull; but Jesus is stronger. I must trust myself to Him, and try not to fear."

"November 4, 1842…What a sweet season this has been at St Luke’s!

I think many of God’s children must have feasted on Sabbath. All I felt was a hard, unbelieving heart, and a body of sin. At the table we had a very beautiful address from Mr. Andrew Bonar from Revelation, ’Him that overcometh, I will make a pillar in the temple of my God,’ &c. He said, ’It is sweet to have a father and an elder brother; we like to have a father and an elder brother; but nothing gives us such perfect bliss as to be able to say, My God.’ On Monday I got most. Our own Mr. Bonar preached from this verse, ’As my Father hath loved me, so have I loved you; continue ye in my love.’ My whole heart was melted, in spite of sin and my cruel enemy Satan. What delighted me was the unchangeableness of Christ’s love; and that, though our love gets cold, His never does; and though we are so unworthy, He still loves us;—and we are to ’continue in this love.’ When we leave the table, we are not to go from His love; His parting address to His people, is to continue in His love. I liked when he said that, for I so often feel as if I did really leave Jesus in the church;—it is so difficult to feel His presence in the midst of a cold world that hates Him. My beloved J____, to think that we shall dwell in this love during the long ages of eternity! I wonder we don’t sooner weary of this wilderness. We had a very solemn meeting on the Sabbath evening. Mr Burns preached one of his awakening sermons, and then said that he would remain to pray with any who wished it, after the rest went away. He did so, and O how he prayed and spoke! His whole soul seemed to be yearning over sinners. He could not let us away, and again he said he would remain a little longer. We remained to the end, and I am very glad we did; it was just like Jacob wrestling with God. There were several awakened that night, I believe. When are you coming in? How I weary to see you! I have such a longing desire to kneel once more together at our Father’s throne. We have often been blest when there together. But I feel that I must not long too much for any earthly blessing. I have too much self-will."

" P____ , November 23, 1842…"MY OWN BELOVED J____,—I have often felt what you mention about telling God to look on His beloved Son. I sometimes feel so ashamed of myself, that it is a great delight to say, ’See God my shield.’ Don’t you often feel ashamed of doubting God’s love? It is unmerited, entirely undeserved by us, and yet it is still so true that God does love us with such a wonderful love, that often I can only weep when I think of it. O for a heart to praise Him, and never to grieve Him by doubting such a heart of infinite love!"

"I can feel with you, my beloved sister, when you complain of a hard, unbelieving heart. I think I never felt my heart so hard as it has been lately. I am often astonished that nothing ever melts it. What I feel most just now is want of love to souls. I loved them far more at first. Is not that strange? Surely I am living very, very far away from God, otherwise I must by this time have got a little of His love even into my heart. What a sin this is! To see souls living around me without Christ, and not to feel for them! I am very much grieved about this. Will you ask that Jesus would make me in this respect more like himself? O that I could weep over perishing souls! There are many here to weep over. It is an ungodly place this. The worldseems so stamped upon every thing here, that it is very difficult to live in it constantly, or even occasionally, realising the unseen world, where Jesus is loved by unsinning hearts. I was thinking last night of what a sweet expression that is, ’walking with God.’ Should not you like to go through this wilderness walking with God?— feeling Him near? There is such a holy kind of feeling in being near God. But I need not speak so to you, for I know but little of this blessedness compared to you. I wonder if any one ever made such slow progress as I do. Do you remember that sweet part in The Two Sisters?— ’She seemed to be always lying on the bosom of Jesus, and now and then lifted up her head to smile on or to comfort those around her.’ I am reading the book just now, and certainly never read anything to be compared with it. It often makes me sad to read it, it is such a rebuke to my selfish, worldly heart. We had Mr. Hay at the school last Monday. He spoke very sweetly to the children. I hope he will often come and cheer us on. Whom do you think he introduced me to? Mr. M’Cheyne! What a sweet countenance he has! He is exactly what I fancied every Christian to be."

"I went to hear Dr. Chalmers at St George’s. It was a very fine sermon, but too learned for me. What an interesting time this is in Edinburgh!"

"P____ December 1, 1842…"MY OWN BELOVED J____, I have taken a longing of late to write to you, I scarcely know why, unless it be that I like to tell you all that our loving Father has been shewing his poor sinful children. How I do weary to talk with you face to face, and to hear you speak of Jesus, our own precious, altogether lovely Saviour,and to pray to Him together once more! May He bless you with His felt presence! I sometimes feel much sweetness in praying for you; but it is not often that my cold selfish heart can pray aright for any one."

"M____ has just taken the pen out of my hand to write you a few lines. She is a very sweet creature; I wish she loved Jesus. She is very kind to poor R. and me in all our troubles. None of them ever come from her. I wish you would write to her, and tell her that she should come to Jesus. I often think they are all far more like God’s children than I am: indeed, I know they are; but this is my comfort, that Jesus died for the ungodly,and such am I. I have had much delight lately, in thinking about the faithfulness of God, perhaps because I have had only that to rest upon, being so utterly destitute of all feeling. Isn’t it sweet to think of the ’Thus saith the Lord,’ and to know that He will do as He has said? Oh! J____, He is a wonderful God! I sometimes sit and think of everything till my head gets giddy, and it just ends in this: I am the chief of sinners, and know nothing, absolutely nothing of God. O for the simple confiding trust of a little child! "

" I have just returned from our school; they are all as careless as ever. I tremble lest my unbelief should hinder the blessing. I get more unbelieving, more heartless, about their souls every day. They could not have had a more hard-hearted, sinful, helpless teacher, than I ; and yet God has placed me there; at least I trust He has. You must pray much for us both, particularly for me, for I am the most unbelieving. They are often a burden on my mind, but oftener I seem quite as careless as themselves, I cannot describe to you what I have endured, and still do endure, from infidel thoughts. I cannot realise or believe anything: it is very dreadful; it seems strange to speak to them about their souls! Surely it can only be the "everlasting arms that are supporting me at this time. I would give much to have you for even one short hour to tell me that itis all true. What can it be? His precious promise, ’Ye shall not be tempted above what ye are able to bear,’ sometimes comforts me; and, then, God knows it all. I don’t feel that He does, but I try to believe it."

"I am glad that you meet me at the throne so regularly. I almost always get at five now; but it is long, long since I have had a sweet time; it is all fighting with unbelief, coldness, want of desire, and sin, hateful sin, which at times seems to reign in me."

"No wonder that we mourn, when we lose sight of these glorious realities, so that to speak or write of them seems strange! It is a sweet fountain, the fountain of living waters. Why do I live so far from God, and therefore drink so seldom of these sweet streams! May you, my beloved, be hidden deeper in the clefs of the Rock that was smitten for you. Tell me, when you write, if you are happy; if all is light; it is horrible when all is dark. God is light; let us live near, very near Him, and then we shall not walk in darkness. What sweet meetings we shall have when you come! Oh, to think that, if God will, we shall meet so soon! I hope always to send you the money for the Jews, at least as long as I have any to send. All I have is God’s; should it not be used for promoting His glory?"

"I often lament that I do so little in that way, but I have often not a penny to bestow."

" P____, December 10, 1842…MY OWN BELOVED J____, I was trying to thank Jesus to-night for His love to you at His table; but my heart was cold. I have a hateful heart. I am very I much rejoiced to know that you are so happy; what a day you must have had! There is no blessedness compared to the joy that is unspeakable and full of glory; and then ’the joy of the Lord is your strength.’ You will be strengthened now, my beloved, to work for Jesus, and you will find it a sweet labour to go and tell sinners of the love of Him who is filling your own soul with such a sense of its blessedness.[10] I daresay you have at this time been longing to see Him as He is. These tastes of glory make one long for that sweet home where we shall for ever drink of the water of life, of which a few drops fill us with such blessedness."

"I heard Mr. Islay Burns, for the first time on Thursday night, and this was his text: ’But now they desire a better country, that is, an heavenly.’ It was a very sweet sermon, but very short, as he had to read a letter afterwards. I could do nothing but cry all the time, I had such a longing to be in a better country with Jesus. It is strange, whenever I feel the love of Jesus to one so awfully unworthy as I, it always makes me weep. Oh, J____, what a being Jesus must be! But I know nothing of Him. I cannot feel, or see, or believe anything at present. I cannot tell you how I feel, I scarcely know myself; but I am so dreadfully unbelieving, I cannot realise anything; and then I have such a hard heart. My greatest comfort is in telling God to look on His beloved Son, and to look on me through Him. I want to be contented to be in darkness or light, in sorrow or joy, just as He pleases, so that I have Himself; if I could say, ’My Beloved is mine, and I am His,’ I would wait His own time to get all I need; but do you know that when I spoke about this to Mr. ____ when he was here, he said, ’And yet the joy of the Lord is your strength?’ and I have been troubled about it ever since. Does it not seem as if he meant to say, that I was wrong in saying I would try to be contented to be in darkness if that were God’s will?[11] Mr. Hay came to see our children, and we had a conversation about the sad state of this place, and we agreed to unite in praying for a revival here, and wish you to join us. We have not fixed any particular hour, as perhaps it will be better to plead far it when we feel drawn to pray. Our English minister is fixed here for seven years. E. and I felt so very miserable there last Sabbath, that we have determined not to go again, if we can help it. It was the Communion Sabbath too—what a different one from the one you spent! But soon this passing world will be done, and then eternity begins—oh! may it be to all ’Whom we love, an eternity with Jesus!"

"I have been thinking much of this verse—’God is love;’ and I see I have never believed it. If I really believed that, could I have all the sinful, hateful doubts that my soul is filled with? How I pant for the blessed nearness to God, which you, my beloved, have been enjoying! I care for nothing when God hides His face; all is dreary and unsatisfactory. Last night I think I got a little nearness to Him, when E. and I had our meeting together, and it has made me to-day more impatient than ever at my distance from Him, and at my utter want of desire. E. and I have a meeting every night. We enjoy them very much. We ask for all the others, and for more grace to ourselves;—for you, and for all God’s dear children. You must pray much for us both at this time—that we may be consistent and decided in following God, especially at this time, for ____ and all her family are to be here the end of this month. What will they say to our school? Both E. and I are rather in dread about their coming, we have so many troubles already; and we fear their arrival will increase them. But we must be strong in the Lord, and then we need not fear. Perhaps it will drive us closer to Jesus; and, if that be the case, then, welcome all the trials this poor world can inflict. Perhaps God will give us a word to speak to them. You must ask this."

"P____, December 27, 1842…"MY OWN BELOVED ONE,— …How curious that He should have laid you on a sick-bed just after giving you such sweet discoveries of Himself at His table! Perhaps it was that you might not lose what you had got there, by mixing again in the concerns of this cold, Godhating world;—that on your sick-bed you might feast over again the blessedness you then enjoyed. I trust He has been very near to you all this time; but I long to hear that you are better."

"I wish I could write to you as you would like. I long to speak to you of Jesus, as I might speak if I were not the coldest, deadest being, who ever ventured to call herself a child of His. I often doubt if I am one. I cannot feel His love, and I cannot speak of it. It is still the same, although a poor worm like me— a bottle in the smoke—cannot speak of it. I shall give you His own words,—’My Beloved is white and ruddy, the chiefest among ten thousand; His mouth is most sweet; yea, He is altogether lovely.’"

"Mr. Hay was down at the school yesterday, and spoke to the children; and little Robert P____, whom I mentioned to you, seemed to be struck, for he began to cry; and when I asked him what was the matter, he said he was afraid of hell. I spoke to him about Jesus, and His love to little children ; but he still continued weeping, so I sent him home to his mother. Ah, Jesus loves him with a tenderer love than even she does! I went to-day to his house, and had a chat with his mother about him, and read the third chapter of John to them. She is not a pious woman, but is a very pleasant person. Robert, poor little fellow! had got over his terror. We must ask that he may become one of the lambs of Christ’s flock." "P____, December 30, 1842…O that the Spirit would come and breathe on my dead soul! I feel, like you, that it is not easy to be contented when the light of His countenance is withdrawn. It is impossible to live to His glory when in darkness and heaviness. We cannot shew forth His praises when at a distance from Him; at least I feel it to be so. I often weary now for the time when we three shall stand faultless before the throne, with exceeding joy; and when God shall wipe away all tears from our eyes, and when the veil shall be taken away; when no sin shall separate between us and ourGod; when we shall no longer weep because we cannot find Him, and because we so continually dishonour Him; when He will no more hide His face, and when we shall no more wander from Him; when we shall see Him as He is, and be likeHim. Like Jesus! Can you believe it? When you see such evil filling every part of your heart, can you believe that that heart will really be one day pure and holy? O for that time! It will be a wonderful change for mine, for it is the vilest of the vile. How happy they all are in heaven, because they see Jesus face to face, and because they never sin! Even here, when Jesus shines upon us, and enables us to feel Him near, and when sin seems a little subdued, even here we enjoy a little of the bliss of heaven. Are not you glad that it is the same kind of joy we at times feel here, that we shall have there, though in a wonderfully different degree?"

"Do you read our chapter in Acts now? It is sweet to be reading together, as well as praying together. I sometimes think I should have more peace if I read more; but I am generally more inclined to pray. Are you to have any meetings in the North Church this last week of the year?

R. and Mr. Hay and I have agreed to read together the same chapter when it is striking twelve on Saturday night, and I want you, my beloved one, to join us. Will you? We have fixed on the twentieth of John. Are you and I ever to fix on another, I wonder? And let us plead for each other, that we may live more to God’s glory during the year that is so soon to come, than we have done this year. Oh, plead that He would bruise Satan under our feet shortly, and would take away all infidel thoughts. Let us plead that the joy of the Lord may be our strength, to work for Him throughout the year."

"My beloved sister in Jesus, I must finish this now, as I want to write a few lines to ____ about her soul. Farewell, dearest; may Jesus watch between thee and me, when we are absent one from another. Your M____ —."

Thus closes the year 1842. She has now been a year and a half upon her pilgrimage. How eager her steps, how rapid her advance! Truly she hastens onward, as if she knew that her time was short! These eighteen months have done more for her than eighteen years do for many. The year 1843 opens with the following glimpse of her pilgrim experience. In the beginning of January, she thus wrote to me:—"Your letter was most welcome, because it directed us to look for comfort out of ourselves. I, at least, find nothing but darkness and sin within…I so long to feel Him near and to be happy in Him, but I often feel as if he were frowning upon me and I am so miserable, for I now can have no happiness when far from God…I should be far on the road now, and yet I always seem either at the very commencement or else going back. I am afraid I am not earnest enough, I do not pray enough, nor do anything as I ought, and yet I call myself an heir of glory. I am afraid of myself. Oh! suppose I am not ’found in Him’ at last! I cannot bear the thought. could not spend an eternity without Jesus. Ah, that should make me feel more for those who are living without Him in the world, and who, if they seek Him not here, must live for ever without Him. There are no more of us returning to God yet. Perhaps many might have been changed, if I had been more faithful and prayerful…We hear that we are to have Mr. M’Cheyne and Mr. Milne at the Communion. What a treat it will be to hear Mr. M’Cheyne again![12]…We often speak to ____, but we do not get on well; for we feel she needs to be roused, and then she gets angry, and says—How do we know that she is not right? We often long to win her to Christ, in place of alarming her to flee to Him; but when we speak in that way, she always assents to all we say, and says, ’Of course, there is nothing else worth but Christ;’ but when we see she does not care for Him at all, we cannot help telling her, and then we get all wrong again. I think ____ does not mind us so much as she used; she cares more for parties than for Jesus. "I was much obliged to you for the tract about the second coming of Christ. I must study the subject from the Bible. Mr. Watson sent me your address about the Church. I want so much to know all about our dear Church. I am so glad that you are going out without being forced to go, for then you will shew that you are willing to part with everything for Christ. I longed to be a minister when I read it, that I might be privileged to suffer for His sake." The remaining letters of this year we give without comment. They exhibit the same stranger-spirit, the same urgency of haste in passing on to the kingdom.

" P____, January 1, 1843…MY DEAREST J____, What a wonderful being God is! That is all I can say. I cannot speak of God now. But when could I speak of him—poor earthworm that I am? I had a strange time at prayer today. I felt such a satisfaction (I cannot say sweetness, for I seldom have a sweet time now), just in the thought that He existed,that I could not pray. I tried to praise and thank Him for His lovingkindness, but my words were poor, and my heart was cold. I think Satan is very busy with me just now. He always finds drumly water to work amidst. I think I have seen a little of the monstrous depravity of my heart lately, but I greatly grieve that this does not make Christ precious. I long to get near God again. I cannot bear to have His face hidden so long from me. I should like to lay my sorrowful soul on His bosom, and call Him my Father, my God, my Saviour. How I do long for you to come, that we may together plead, and say, ’We will not let Thee go except Thou bless us!’ I think I must not write more to-day. I shall finish this on Monday, if the Lord will. Is it not sweet to be in His hands? Let us both say tonight, ’Doubtless, Thou art our Father.’ Are we not accepted in the Beloved? O that He were more beloved! May Jesus bless my very dear friend."

"P____, January 23, 1843…MY DEAREST J____, What distresses me most is that I cannot pray. I cannot realise God’s presence, nor any spiritual thing at all. I feel as if I did not need anything, and I have not so much desire as I used to have. The throne of grace is now to me a place of great conflict and sorrow. I can seldom get my thoughts fixed one moment. They are continually wandering; and I have so little spiritual life or feeling, that the soul, and heaven, and hell, and God, seem strange sounds to me; that is exactly the word, they seem strange; when I think of people’s danger, my own danger, the necessity of fleeing from the wrath to come,—it seems all strange, as if the words had no meaning attached to them, so that, when I go to pray, I repeat all these things as if it were mechanically, and often I can only groan in agony. Sometimes I am praying for an hour, and all the time can say little more than, ’Oh! have compassion upon me; Lord, hear me! Lord, help me!’ And I have been so long this way, that I am getting almost to despair; but I feel that nothing can ever drive me from a throne of grace, though I were to do nothing but weep at it all my life. ’To whom can I go but unto Thee?’ Dear J____, He has the words of eternal life, and I must go and plead with Him. But oh! ’I am weary with my groaning.’ Will you tell all this to God? That is why I am so selfish as to grieve you by telling you how sad I am. Oh! the infidel thoughts I have! I cannot describe them to you. It is miserable to live so far from God. It is dishonouring to Him, and ruinous to my own soul. I have been thinking of not going to the Communion this time. What do you think? I can hardly bear the thought of not going, for I pant for near communion with Jesus; but I must not partake unworthily. You must ask that I may be guided, and that, if I am not His, I may be ere long; for I long to be His, His only, His wholly, and His for ever! We are to have Mr. M’Cheyne and Mr. Milne at St Luke’s this time. Only fancy what a couple! It is to be on the 12th of next month. Do you think our dear minister will be in Edinburgh? If he does not, will Mr. M’Cheyne give E. and me the tokens? But I must speak to him first, for I am afraid to go in my present state…"

"It must be sweet to suffer for His name; but I don’t think I have felt that sweetness, for it always seems my own sins that bring me suffering. I must shew you ____’s letter when you come. Do you know I feel as if I shall be all rightagain then? We must ask that our souls may be greatly blest, and that God may get glory by us. I long to read the Word together. I think I know the chapter our Bibles will open at! She wept, ’because they have taken away my Lord, and I know not where they have laid Him.’ Do you think Jesus will come and say, ’Sinners!’ and we will say, ’Our Saviour’? I want you to pray, especially at this time, for a dear child of God who is in great darkness, ____, whom I wrote to you about. He is not going to the Communion; and I feel so much for him. It must be deep agony to stay away…I have never yet told you of our seasonable supply; well, it was this: E. and I are often sorrowing that we have so little to give to the poor people here; and one day we were sitting at our school fire, after our flock had gone away, speaking about many things, when a lady was announced, who said she had come to be a short while in P____, and that she was very anxious to do something for the poor. She said she had heard that we taught some poor children, and that she thought we might direct her whom to assist! Well, we told her that we knew many in want, and, as she was afraid of her little boy getting disease from any of the houses, she asked us to give what she wished to bestow, as we thought best. She gave me eight shillings,—in the meantime, she said,—and then talked about the school, and seemed to take a great interest in it, and said she should like to give the children some clothes. Well, in two or three days she came back, and said she had bought twenty yards of tartan for frocks, and twenty yards of flannel, and six little shawls. We are now busy getting them all made. Wasn’t this a very pleasing adventure? R. and I often wonder if she is a Christian; I think she must be; she is very quiet, and does not say much, but her actions speak for her, I think. She is very young, and a very sweet person. It is wonderful how God has raised up friends for us since we began our school. Do you think that a sign that it is for His glory? Well, getting all this assistance for our poor has enabled us to give the basket-money to missions; but I am disappointed, after all, that I have so little for the Jews, for many things have greatly reduced my little stock; but after this, I don’t think I need distrust Him from whom every good comes. The ____s have been here some time now, and I am glad to say they have not discovered our school. They are very sweet girls, but, I don’t know how it is, I always feel so melancholy whenever I am with them. Oh! they are full of the world, this poor, vain world! It seems as if it would be impossibleto speak of Jesus to them. I want to ask your advice about one thing. They are to have a small party on Monday, and I daresay they will be having more; do you think we should refuse to go? If it were a large dance, we would refuse at once; but they speak sometimes of having one or two, and making a dance among themselves.[13] They would laugh at us if we called this a party! and yet they will be waltzing, and dancing, and how can we go? ____ says we should go rather than offend them, and refuse to dance; but I don’t like that way, for I don’t think that it is the mere act of dancing that is wrong, but the whole spirit of the thing. I should like to be decided at once for Christ in everything. I wish I were with you, where you now are, at the Monday meeting. I asked that you might get a great blessing to-night. generally meet you at five now, but what an hour it is to me! Oh! where shall I find Him! Farewell, my beloved friend, may Jesus bless you this night."

"Edinburgh, January 28, 1843…"MY BELOVED FRIEND,—How shall I answer your most precious and sympathising letter? It was a perfect cordial to my poor unbelieving heart; it was so full of the love of HIM whose whole being,—whose very name is Love. I think God has blest it to my soul. After I read it, I went to the throne (that sweet Bethel for poor, weary, sinand-Satan-tossed souls), and I cast my burden upon the Lord, and He sustained me. I went to God, not as a child or a believer, but as a guilty, polluted, hell-deserving sinner (though I do not, alas! feel myself this just now), and cast myself, and all my heavy burdens, upon His mercy, His love in Jesus; and I felt happier and lighter than I have done for many a day; but, oh! I cannot get rid of these awful thoughts;—it seems as if everything future were a blank—a strange dream! My comfort is, that it is all true, and I pray and speak as if I felt it; but Satan must be very powerful, for I think he can make me believe anything. I shall not grieve you any more by telling about my trials; I shall rather tell you of my blessings, of the free, rich mercies that are so constantly showered down upon such a guilty rebel as I. We can always praise; we can praise Him that ever He taught our dead souls to seek Him; that ever He put one feeble desire towards Him in our cold hearts; we can praise Him for shewing us the vanity of everything but Himself.[14] Ah! and we can praise Him for the unspeakable gift! —’the new and the living way to the Father;’ we can praise Him for Jesus—the altogether lovely—the Father’s holy Child—the Man of Sorrows—our sympathising High Priest; and we can praise Him for the loving Spirit—the glorifier of Jesus: but where are we to end? No, we cannot end; eternity will be too short to shew forth all His praise. Oh! if ever I enter heaven, I shall be the greatest monument of free love there. I think I mustsing the loudest song. Ah! why cannot I sing that song now? Since I cannot pray, I think I ought to do nothing but praise; perhaps this would open my heart to pray too. Won’t it be sweet when we once more kneel together at the throne of grace? I long much for that time now,—and to read the Word too! O that I loved both more! What you said about the Communion was very sweet. You say, ’Go where you know He is ;’ that is what I long to do; but I am so unworthy; you don’t know how vile, how unholy I am; yet Jesus knows, and does He not say even to me, ’This do in remembrance of me’? I have a curious feeling about going. I long and pantto go; my heart bounds when I think of it; but a fear comes over me when I think what I am. I am afraid that I shall be a Judas—a disciple outwardly, but not in reality. But Jesus still says—’Come.’ He is willing, and I think I am too; at least I know that I desire nothing but Him. None but Christ, none but Christ; yet how constantly I distrust His love, and how constantly my heart wanders from the Fountain to earthly cisterns! I am so glad that you are to have Mr. M’Cheyne at the Communion; may you be muchblest.[15] You must tell me the Sabbath, that I may plead for you. Ours is on the 12th. You don’t say if Mr. Bonar is to be in. I should like, if he does not come in, to speak a little to Mr. M’Cheyne when he gives us the tokens. We should be so glad if we could get him to speak to the children of our school ; they could not helplistening to Mr. M’Cheyne. He would tell them of Jesus in such a sweet way, that they would surely listen. But ah! Jesus himself must speak, or not a stony heart will be moved. His children’s voices are often very sweet, but they are not like His; yet how often we let Him stand at the door of our hearts, and do not hear His voice! We are getting on very well with our school at present; that is to say, they attend regularly, and are sometimes attentive; but there is no moving of the dry bones yet; they are very careless when I am speaking to them sometimes about the love of Jesus; and when I hope they are listening, some one of them is sure to say something quite foreign to what I am saying. They often interrupt me by saying, ’Ma’am, the glass is ran out,’ or something like that; but then I remember what God has to bear from me, and that makes me try to be patient with them. I have got much interested in my class now, which I am glad of. O to see them begin to seek after God!"

"P____, February 14, 1843…I can think of nothing but the glad prospect of seeing you so soon. I cannot realise it at all; but I wish I could get over thinking of the parting again. It was cruel of you to mention that. I sometimes think that I would rather not meet than have another parting; but no, I would rather see you for half an hour than not at all; but Jesus orders all and so all is right. What a dreadful time I have had lately! Satan seemed to have got hold of me; I could do nothing but groan; I could not even weep; but I am better now, not because I have said, ’I will not let Thee go,’ but because Jesus said, ’I will not let thee go.’ I cannot say I was very happy on the Communion Sabbath; I could only weep and long after an absent Lord. The ministers assisting were not very spiritual, except Mr. Milne, and we had not him at our table, so that it was quite different from our former seasons; but perhaps it was better that it was so, for both R. and I felt that we were more entirely shut in to Christ. Yet ah! my dear J____, I had none of the blessed feelings you speak of. I prayed all the time for Jesus to come and make me FEEL His presence, but I only felt a hard wicked heart. Yet it is strange I could scarcely get myself to leave the table. I felt as if I had left Jesus there, and I wanted to get to them all, and beseech Him to come and fill my longing soul with Himself; but the longings I had for him were sweet. Oh! He is a glorious being, and yet He is also a loving, gentle, lowly being. Why don’t we love Him more? and why do we so continually grieve him by sin? I wish I had more desires for holiness; I have often nothing but a longing desire for Jesus,—to be able to believe, and to feel His love, to live to His glory at all times and in every way. Mine is such a selfish love! On the Thursday we had a very precious sermon from Mr. Somerville of Glasgow. The text was, ’Who is this that cometh up from the wilderness, leaning upon her Beloved? ’ I wished for you all the time; I could do nothing but sit and weep, Jesus seemed so lovely, so loving. could gladly have left the body to be present with the Lord; it was almost too much. E. was beside me, and you know, beloved, how pleasant it is to have one with you who feels as you do. He was speaking of Jonathan, and he said, ’he thought that he was one of the sweetest lilies that grew in the garden of Jesus.’ I thought it such a sweet expression, the garden of Jesus; and, in speaking to the unconverted, he said, ’Oh! will ye not come to this willing, living, loving Saviour?’ I wondered they did not all cry, ’Yes, oh yes, I’ll go to Him!’ I felt so sorry for those who did not know Him. Ah! how little I feel that! I am often alarmed when I think how little I care for souls; I fear that I have not His spirit who wept over them. Will you ask that I may get more love to souls? On Friday we had another beautiful sermon from Mr. Davidson, about Jesus calling Zaccheus; and on Saturday we had Mr. Manson. It was a pity we had none of them at the Communion; but Mr. Milne was very fine; he seems full of the Spirit…I am glad you have heard from dear J____; she is a very sweet, simple Christian: it is the grace I have least of. I feel it is the enemy within that troubles me most. I had a very precious season of prayer on Monday morning at ten; but oh! it was often a sore battle; but Jesus came at last, and all was light, all was peace. ’I sought the Lord, and He heard me, and delivered me from all my fears.’ Praise Him for this with me, my beloved friend. But we cannot praise here, it will take eternity to do that. Farewell; may your own gentle, holy Saviour Jesus, your Saviour God, be with you and bless you, my precious friend! M____."

"P____, February 23, 1843…You will soon be here now: I can scarcely believe it, but I suppose it is true for all that; many a thing is true that my hard unbelieving heart finds it hard to believe. It is true that Jesus loves even me, the chief of sinners, and yet how many severe lessons it requires before I can believe that blessed, that wonderful truth, that the holy, sin-hating God, loves unholy, sin-loving sinners! ’While we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.’ ’Herein is love, not that we loved God, but that He loved us.’ Yet I find it very difficult, when I feel nothing but sin continually filling my heart, and mingling with all I say or do, to realise and rejoice in the unchangeable love of Jesus. But then He is God, not man; and it does not seem so wonderful when we think, not who is loved, but who it is that loves; and then He looks upon us in the Beloved;He looks upon His beloved Son, and then we are ’all fair.’ We shall soon speak together of this Christlike love, and pray that it may be shed abroad in our cold hearts (mine is VERY cold), and then we shall love Him who first loved us. E. and I were at a very sweet meeting at our kind friend Mrs. ____’s. It was a meeting of all the Sabbathschool teachers of two schools. Mr. D____ was there, and conducted everything. There were more than thirty altogether. We first sung a hymn, ’O God of Bethel,’ and then Mr. D____ gave us a short address upon this verse, ’Search me, 0 Lord, and know my heart.’ It was very beautiful and very striking. He said we should all ask ourselves, could we look up to a heart-searching God, and ask Him to search us?—he said, out of Christ no one could ; but that, hidden in Him, we could come to a holy God, and say, ’Search me.’ He then spoke of our motives in teaching. Was our single aim the glory of God? Did no other motives influence us? ’ Ah!’ he said, ’I am sure there is not a soul in this room that does not quail when I put that question.’ Mine did; I could hardly look up for shame ; I felt confounded when I looked at my motives ; there seemed every motive in my heart but the only one that should be there;—the glory of God. Is it not sad to think that low, unworthy, selfish, vain motives, should all fill the heart that should only burn with one desire—the glory of Jesus in the salvation of sinners? But He bears the iniquities of our holy things. ’His blood cleanseth from all sin.’ O that it may cleanse mine! He then said, that making God’s glory our sole aim, gave us steadiness in our work, for the motive would be always the same; he said we were so changeable, that one day we might go eagerly to our work, and the next we might be quite careless; but that, by continually desiring His glory in it, we persevered, and that it also gave us strength for our work, because we cast the whole burden of it upon Him; that when we felt we were the mere instruments, that all our strength must come from Him ; and at the end, he spoke so sweetly about Jesus; he said we should always take the Master with us, that, when surrounded with our scholars, we should realise the presence of our Master, who is looking on with satisfaction and delight. We then had a very sweet prayer, and separated…K. had a long chat with ____ about her soul. She gave her Mr. Bonar’s Way ofLifeto read. You must pray for her and for us, that God would guide us in speaking, and that He would draw our dear ____ to himself. She is the only one of her family we have spoken to yet, and she takes it very sweetly. We have given her this sweet text: ’I love them that love me, and they that seek me early shall find me.’ How differently some take your speaking to them from others! ____ is a great grief to us; she gets so angry, and we cannot help feeling anxious about her, she is so very delicate. Oh that she would come to Jesus! How happy she might be, if she had Him to make all her bed in her sickness! ____ is another burden to us; she says Mr. ____ wishes her to be confirmed, and yet she is quite ignorant about spiritual things. She has no thought about what she is called upon to vow in such a solemn way, and then she has no right to go to the Lord’s table; for, alas! she is not His; her heart has not been given to Jesus."

"P____, March 22, 1843…MY VERY DEAR MRS. H.,—...It must be a peculiarly sweet kind of love that binds one to a Christian. Think of heaven, where all are Christians! I sometimes long to be there! I am weary of this sinful, ungodly world, and still more weary of my own ungodly heart. I see nothing but sin and unbelief now; I cannot get near Jesus; I want to sit at His feet, like happy Mary, but I cannot get near him. I cannot believe that He will look with love upon such a vile wretch as I am. I cannot believe anything. I often think I don’t believe in anything beyond this poor world. I cannot see that they are realities, and yet they are,— are they not? Dear friend, do not be grieved with me for asking such a question, for my soul is in a dark, dark state. I often long to say to some one, ’ Say tome thatitis all true!—that Jesus lives, and lives in our nature; that He does hear my feeble prayers.’ Oh that feeling of strangeness,—that it would go away! I long for the simple faith of a little child. I got great comfort from the rainbow yesterday; there was a very lovely one seen here after a great shower of rain, and when I looked at it, I thought of God’s faithfulness, and I could not but rejoice that though I do not believe, still He is faithful; He will do as He has said."

"P____, April 4, 1843…We had a very nice day at Mr. Robertson’s on Sabbath. We all went to the table, and to me it was the sweetest hour, I think, I ever passed. I found Jesus, and I was happy, unutterably happy. I thought I was in heaven; I almost saw Him! You must praise Him for this. I was cold at first, and could not get near, but I told Him I would not let Him go except He blessed me; and He did bless me, and then I could not let Him go. Don’t you feel afraid when you have found Him, that He will go away again? I thought yesterday morning, on going up to my room, what should I do if I had not God? Fancy living without God in the world! but ah! how often I do that! I do so continually grieve Him away.

" Saturday, April 8.—I must tell you about our school. We have never been able to get another room yet, to our great sorrow; but we heard of one yesterday, which, I think, we shall get soon. I shall be very glad when we begin it again, but I tremble to think how very unfit I am for such a task; but Jesus says, ’My grace is sufficient for thee;’ and if I could only get out of myself into Christ, then all would be well. O to be able to say, ’I live, yet not I, but Christ liveth in me!’ If I only really felt myself to be weak, then I could say, ’ I am strong;’ but I only say I am weak; I feel and act as if I were strong. Will you ask for me, dear friend, that Jesus would shew me my own weakness, and lead me to lean entirely upon Him? Ask that I may ’come up from the wilderness, leaning upon the Beloved.’"

" P____, April 24, 1843…MY BELOVED FRIEND,—I had your note this morning, and am very happy to know you are safe with dear ____. I had much sweetness in praying for you several times on Thursday. I long to hear again from you, if you were enabled to speak for Jesus on board, and what you have been doing since you arrived. I am so happy in thinking of the liberty you have at ____ in reading the Word at any time. I hope you will have a Peniel season all the time you are in London. May you live in the sunshine of His countenance! ’In His favour is life.’ I am sure you feel that to be true. If we have not His presence, life is only a misery, a dreary void. I feel a kind of persuasion that you will be greatly blessed in London, that your Father will give you much, of His holy, blessed presence. May it indeed be so, my own dear J____...It makes us very sad that our ____ should have turned from us, but it is probably for our good. Poor K. is in great distress about it; but I have a far more severe sorrow, the hiding of my Heavenly Father’s countenance, and my heart seems hardened to everything else. In your prayers for me, will you ask this for me, that God would shew me what it is that keeps me so far from Him, and that He would make me willing to part with it, whatever it is?...Have you written to ____ yet? I should like to write to her; but, as you will perceive, I cannot write at present. Oh to get near to Jesus, that my cold heart might be melted and warmed!—there is no happiness, no joy, no warmth, but near the Cross. How our hearts freeze when away from Him! We went yesterday to Lady Glenorchy’s, and heard Mr. Davidson. I like him very much. He preached on a favourite text of mine, Isaiah 41:17. I am sure there was one poor and needy soul there. I felt thirsty for the water of life. I have been thinking of this verse. ’Unto you which believe He is precious,’ and asking myself if I find Jesus precious, and why? Is it not your poverty that makes Jesus precious to you? Then He should be very precious to me now, for I am entirely poor, entirely empty, and yet I fear He is not. I feel Him more precious when He is near; now I should feel Him more precious from his having everything I need. Should I not? I am afraid often that it is only a lovely picture, not a real Christ, that I love."

" P____ ,May 11, 1843…MY VERY DEAR MRS. H____, I have often attempted to write to you, and failed, but this morning I asked Jesus to give me every word that I should write, so perhaps I shall be able. I should, if I trusted simply as a little child would do, to His help; but, alas! though I feel my weakness, I still trust to myself. Is it not strange? I wonder Jesus is not weary of teaching me, I am so backward and so unwilling to learn. Isn’t it sweet to have such a teacher? I should like always to sit at His feet, like Mary, and hear His words: we should say to Him, ’Let me see Thy countenance, let me hear Thy voice; for sweet is Thy voice, and Thy countenance is comely.’ How little I know of Jesus! Oh! if I knew more of Him, and knew Him better, I could not remain here any longer; but I am so earthly, I lie crawling on the earth, in place of mounting up as an eagle to His very seat. K. and I have been again feasted at the Lord’s table. I can’t tell you what I felt. I felt that I would not go away from Jesus if the whole universe told me. ’To whom should I go but unto Him? He has the words of eternal life.’ I felt all the time that I knew nothing of Him, and that I was the very chief of sinners; but I could not but trust Him; He was so lovely, so gentle, so kind, so winning, so gracious, so full of compassion even to me, so touched with a feeling of our infirmities.

Only think, our school-room is let for a year, and we are not sure if we can get another; and, besides, we can scarcely get any of them to come just now, for they say their parents are out working, and they must stay at home. Is it not very vexing? We are thinking of giving them up for two or three months during the summer, and not taking a room till the season here is over. What do you think about it? We are averse to give them up, but if we can only get two or three, and not even sure of them, it would be perhaps better to keep our money till the autumn and winter, when we could collect many more...I can scarcely get myself to believe that Mr. M’Cheyne is no longer a pilgrim on this earth—that he has reached home. We should not mourn for him indeed. Is he not seeing Jesus face to face? Is he not like Jesus altogether? But yet it is sad to think we shall never more hear him speak of Him whom his soul so greatly loved. I shook hands with him only once, and I shall never forget the sweetness of his look and smile. How I do pity his poor people!"

"May 20, 1843…I had a long letter from ____ the other day. I answered his letter yesterday, and had much comfort in writing to him. As I cannot give comfort to any one except from the Bible, I wrote all the sweet truths I could think of, and Jesus seemed to apply them to my own heart. I was so cold when I began, I could hardly write a word; but very soon such sweet texts came into my mind, that I could hardly stop. What an important time this is in Edinburgh at present!" "Of course you know all about our dear ministers. Only think, E. was in the Assembly on the Thursday and saw them all go out! So we are no longer of the Established Church! Does it not seem strange? I almost envy the ministers being allowed to suffer for His name. I went to the Assembly at Canonmills on Friday, and, it was curious, it was the London deputation who spoke that day. I heard your minister, Mr. Hamilton, and liked him much. When I heard his name, I looked at him, and listened to him with peculiar interest, for I remembered he is your minister for the present."

" Saturday.—I could not get my letter finished yesterday, and I am not sure of being able to finish it even to-day; I am so often interrupted. We had Mr. E____ to our meeting at Miss A____’s on Tuesday. He is, I think, one of the most spiritual and lowliest of Christ’s ministers. He prayed twice, and his prayers were very fine; but I cannot say I enjoyed the meeting, for I could not get near God all the time. I think I never felt so much my need of the Spirit as that evening. They seemed all in the Spirit but me,—and I was like a stone. Does not that shew how utterly vain the very best means are without the life-giving Spirit breathing upon the dead soul? Let us pray earnestly for the Spirit, dearest; and let us also remember yesterday’s text; ’Quench not the Spirit.’ How often I grieve away the Spirit by my sins! He is God, and not man, else He could not have borne so long with me. We are to have a Free Church here, I believe. What a blessing it will be for this place if we get a really godly man! You must ask on our behalf, dearest, that they may send us a true servant of God. ____ was telling me yesterday that the praying people here have been much stirred up to plead for this. I was thinking this morning that the best means for getting a revival here is to have a revival among God’s own people. I think they must be made to feel more the misery of those who are living without God in the world. They must have more love to souls, more yearning over them, and, above all, more desire that Jesus may be glorified by their conversion ; and then they will be more in prayer for them, that the blessing may come. How little I feel for poor, poor souls! for are they not poor when they have not Jesus? I want you to ask especially for me, that I may have muchlove for souls, even though I should be made miserable about them. That would be infinitely better than being at ease when souls are perishing. And oh! earnestly ask that I may be delivered from Satan’s temptations, for he puts such horrid infidel thoughts into my mind at prayer sometimes, that I can scarcely utter a word. Won’t it be sweet when we have entered into our rest? when we shall have done with Satan, sin, the world, wandering thoughts, &c.; and when, in place of a heart filled with selfishness, and everything earthly and vile, our hearts shall be for ever filled with Jesus, and none else? Sometimes, when I can get no rest nor peace, and when I cannot even pray, I think, Well, it will soon be all at an end. I shall at last see Him whom my soul loveth, face to fece, and never more, even for one moment, cease to love Him. But I cannot always get comfort from that, for I often fear I shall never get to heaven at all, I am so unlike Jesus here. It is near three o’clock, so I shall finish this after we have read our chapter together. May He ’open our eyes, that we may see wondrous things out of His law.’ What a nice chapter to-day’s is! particularly the 22d verse. Does it not mean the Word of God? that it shall continually be with us; or does it mean God himself? How sweet it would be if we could thus constantly realise His presence with us; that wherever we went, He went with us; that when we slept, He kept us; and when we awaked, He talked with us. I think we should never be unhappy, even in the wilderness, if we always felt Jesus near. It is not trials themselves that make us unhappy; it is He not being in them. The hardest trials and severest sufferings would scarcely be felt by us, if we always felt the everlasting arms underneath us; if we heard Jesus saying, ’Fear not, for I am with thee.’ There is no sorrow like the sorrow of living at a distance from Him; of not being perfectly reconciled to Him; at complete peace with Him. Oh! to think how often we grieve Him by our abominable hearts!"

" P____, June 23, 1843…MY DEARLY BELOVED J____, Are you not astonished at my long silence? I have been again laid by my loving and faithful God upon a sick-bed, and am only able to-day to write once more to you, myown friend.What a blessed time the season of sickness is for being humbled in the sight of God! And He knows how much I need to be humbled; but oh! I greatly fear I have come out of the furnace unpurified. Is it not grievous, that I, by my own desperate wickedness, lose all the benefit intended by my merciful God? I have not glorified Jesus at all in this illness; I have been impatient, proud, unwilling to be humbled, filled with unbelief and hard thoughts of God, prayerless and thankless. What I am most grieved at is, the dishonour I have brought upon Christ’s name by my unholy un-Christ-like behaviour during this illness. Oh! J____, my darling M____ will not be led, by seeing my good works, ’to glorify my Father who is in heaven;’ she will rather be led to think that there is nothing in religion, when its professed disciples are no better (nay, even worse) during a time of trial than those who do not profess anything. Pray, dearest, that it may not be so; pray that I may not be a stumbling block before my dear M____, or any of my dear family. I am almost ashamed of myself; I say almost, because I feel it takes a great deal to make me ashamed of myself; I am so proud. Will you remember me at a throne of grace, for I am sad and sorrowful? I can get no sweet sense of God’s presence, or of His forgiveness; pray for me, that ’ though my iniquities testify against me,’ that yet, for His dear Son’s sake, he would ’receive me graciously, and love me FREELY.’ I feel as if I could suffer years of pain, if I could get but one smile, one forgiving word, one compassionate look, from my God, my greatly insulted, but precious, blessed God. Oh! is it not AGONY to feel unreconciled to Him! But you never feel that, I trust. I remember you saying at Miss R____’s that you never could fancy Jesus angry, but only grieved for your own sin and folly. And does He not say, ’Mine anger is taken away’? Jesus bore it, for it is written, ’Thy wrath lieth hard upon me;’ and then, ’The Lord hath laid on Him the iniquity of us all.’ These are sweet words for poor sinners; may the Holy Spirit apply them with saving and healing power to both our hearts!…Let us ask our God to give us a more realising sense of spiritual and unseen realities, and also more of the love of souls that Jesus has. It makes me ashamed when I think of myself compared to the very coldest and weakest of God’s dear children. I do not seem to care for a single soul;—well, I must just lie lower before Him, and ask Him to put His own Spirit within me. I think this illness has been a very humbling time to me; it has shewed me how little, if any, grace I have. can see nothing but sin covering me all over. O for the blood that can cover even that! I read our chapter in Proverbs with you to-day; it is the 10th, is it not? I like the third verse, and also the twenty-second, but I have not time to write about it to-day, as it is time this was off. Now, do not be a very long time of answering this."

"I must tell you of a misfortune that happened to ourbasket. We had filled it with beautiful things, and gave it to a little girl to sell, and to our dismay she returned in a few days to say that she had sold nearly everything, and lost the money on the road! We are greatly afraid it is all false, and that she and her mother have kept the money. If this is true, it is worse for the girl than for us; but still it is hard to lose all our little earnings, when we have so much to do with it."[16]

"P____ July 14, 1843…Here is a verse for you that I have been thinking of to-day: ’Thou art all fair, my love.’ It is difficult to believe that Jesus could say that of such sinners; but when it is His own beauty that covers us, we must indeed be ’all fair.’Isn’t it very sweet to think that Jesus gets all the glory? that we are nothing, and less than nothing, and that He is all in all? I think the happiness of heaven will be to see us all in our proper place, the dust, and, with willing hearts, to give Him all the glory. How sweet it will be to be free from all sin, especially selfishness, and with ’ unsinning hearts’ to sing ’Worthy is the Lamb’ throughout all eternity! Oh think, dear friend, that one day you will see Jesus, and be for ever with Him, never, never more to be separated!"

"P____, July 20, 1843…MY BELOVED J____, I remembered your request at the throne of grace, that you might have more of the presence of Jesus in private, and I trust that He has heard me, and that you are continually rejoicing in the light of His countenance who is the light of the world. ’Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed upon Thee, because he trusteth in Thee.’ Let us only trust Him, and He will prove that He is the faithful God. I wonder we ever distrust the love of Jesus; it is different from every other love; for it is love to the unworthy. His love is poured out upon those who seldom return it but with coldness, ingratitude, and suspicion. He is a kind Master, ever ready to forgive, and ’who upbraideth not.’ We are to celebrate His love on Sabbath at St. Luke’s; you must ask that ’He may manifest himself to His people then, in another way than He doth unto the world.’ I am more afraid to go this time than I have ever been—I feel so very unworthy; but then I think that should not keep me away, for, however worthy I might be, that would give me no title to go; but still I am afraid of deceiving myself, by thinking that I am trusting to His merits, when, perhaps, I am secretly trusting to something in myself. I have much need to cry, ’Search me, 0 Lord, and try me.’ Perhaps God is shewing me my sins, to prove to me that there is nothing in me in which I could trust. R. and I should be up at St. Luke’s at this moment, but it is pouring such torrents that we dare not go; it is very vexing, I must say, and I am rather inclined to murmur at the disappointment; but I have two things to console me;—one is, that it is not man who prevents us, but God, and therefore it must be ’ well,’ for you know ’He doeth all things well;’ and the other is that it gives me an opportunity of having a chat with you. I want you to get this before Sabbath, that you may remember us then. I do not know whom we are to have; I believe it is likely to be Mr. Milne. Have you got any work to do for Christ yet? O that I had more love to souls! Mr. Robertson said a very sweet thing about that verse in the Song, ’Draw me, we will run after Thee;’ he said it was not, ’Draw me, I will run after Thee,’ but ’ we will,’ &c. ; as much as if to shew that we could not go to Jesus alone, that if He draw us, we must bring others with us. Did you ever think of it? B. and I continue to go to hear Mr. R., and every time with greater pleasure. I think we are very fortunate to be so near such a true servant of Jesus. I wish we had one like him here."

" Edinburgh, September 15, 1843…I have been thinking yesterday and to-day about that expression, ’the unsearchable riches of Christ.’ I don’t think I know anything at all about the love of Christ. I am so carnal; I have little relish for the things of heaven. I should be ashamed if youknew how earthly I am, and yet God knows it all; but still He does not abhor me; He does not cast me away from His presence. ’I am the Lord, I change not.’ My own friend, here is a sweet word for you, ’Jesus Christ the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever.’ Do write soon, and tell me something about Jesus, for my heart is so veryearthly; tell me how lovely, and how precious, how satisfying you find Him; describe Him as the Bride does in ’the Song;’ and then I shall be constrained to say, ’Where is thy Beloved gone, that I may seek Him with thee?’ I want to get a sin-crucifying view, a world-crucifying view, of Jesus; I want to get nearer Him than I have ever done yet, for I feel more earthly than I ever felt before. Will you ask this for me? You might also remember my dear, dear P____, particularly; for do you know, I sometimes can hardly pray for any one else. I have had great wrestlings in prayer for him for several days. O that the blessing would come! but I pray so unbelievingly, I sometimes pant to speak to him, but I never have courage. I did speak a few words to him about the necessity of being prepared for death, when we were speaking about poor Mr. D____’s death. Oh! to think of Mr. D____ being carried off in two days! We heard of this a few days ago, and I have been asking that it may make my dear P____ think. It is surely a good sign, that God has made me so anxious about his soul; don’t you think so? I have sometimes felt God, our loving God, listening when I have been praying for him, and felt such humble confidence that I was asking according to His will. I am so afraid that I shall grieve away the Spirit, and then I shall not be able to pray for him, or have any desire for his soul. Oh! why is he not converted, when God is so willing and so able? Will you tell me, when you write, what you think may be the hindrance? And ask that God would shew me if it is anything in me that hinders this blessing."

" P____, September 25, 1843…So, you are so fond of London! Well, I can’t say I liked it. But you have had much of God’s presence there, and that must make you like it. What should we do without God? I have not been able to realise His presence, or rejoice in the light of His blessed countenance, for a long dreary time. I know He is near me, and guiding my feeble steps; but I do not feel it. If it is such misery to be away from Him, even for a little while, what would it be to be separated from Him for ever! I sometimes think that there is some idol in my heart, that makes Jesus hide His face from me; or perhaps my earthliness and unholy walk has grieved the Spirit. It must be my own sin, in some way or other, that makes me lose sight of Him ’in whose favour is life.’ Will you ask, my beloved friend, that He would search my heart, and shew me what causes me to go mourning all the day, in place of ’rejoicing in the Lord alway’? Your dear letter was blest to me, for it made me long more after Jesus. I was thinking of that verse lately, it seems so full, the last part especially—I wish I were doing it every hour,—’increasing in the knowledge of God.’ It is in Colossians 1:10. I know so little about God. What blessed holy knowledge! There is no knowledge to be compared to that,— ’To know Him is life eternal.’ Now, ’we see through a glass darkly ;’but when we are WITH HIM, ’we shall know even as also we are known.’ We’ll never have an unkind thought of Him. We shall, indeed, beloved one, ’stand faultless before Him with exceeding joy.’ I think one of my happiest sights will be to see YOU there, and B. too,—dear E. I was thanking Him this morning for all he has done for my own B. It is sometimes very sweet to plead for one another at our Father’s throne. Do you always remember five? I almost always get now, and I hope you will meet me. There is a nice verse in our chapter for last Saturday,— ’Cease from thine own wisdom.’ It seemed to me such a sweet thought, that I was not to have any wisdom of my own, but to lie like a little child (who, you know, has no wisdom of its own), and leave everything to the infinite wisdom as well as tender love of my Father. But how far removed am I from such a childlike spirit! I think that is one cause of my dark, unhappy state, that I will always reason, in place of believe. But He has given the command, and He will give the power to perform it.—Your ever attached friend and sister in Jesus."

" P____, October 11, 1843…MY BELOVED J____,—Everybody is out of the house but myself, and I think the sweetest, and I hope, also, the most profitable, way in which I can spend my quiet time is in writing to you about the things which free grace has taught us both to love. I have not had an answer to my last letter; but I don’t stand on ceremony with my own beloved one. How I do weary to see you, and to kneel again with you at the feet of Jesus! That is our happiest and safest place. I wish I loved more to be there; but my soul gets more earthly every day. How continually I abuse His lovingkindness! I wonder my heart is so desperately hard, as continually to pierce the bosom on which I lean. am greatly tempted to doubt my being a child of God at all. But I have been trying this morning to look away from my vile self to the Holy One, and to; trust in His infinite merits, even with the consciousness; of my utter worthlessness, which I feel very much just now. I like to see my sins, for I don’t think I ever saw sin as I ought; but I must not add to their guilt by doubting the merits of the precious blood of the Lamb. He says, ’the blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from all sin,’ and I dare not doubt after that. But oh, it is difficult, as I daresay you well know, to come to God with confidence, when you feel that there never was such a sinner as you living. And then Satan tries hard to keep me away, and to make me think hard thoughts of God; but ’greater is He that is in me than he that is in the world.’ I feel that if God did not continually draw me back to Himself, I should never even have a wish to return. This text has been much on my mind lately—’It is of the Lord’s mercies we are not consumed, because His compassions fail not.’ His compassions fail not! Isn’t that fine? We soon weary of Him; but He never has, and never will weary of us. Is it not a very sweet text for to-day? I hope you have heard Jesus’ own sweet voice saying to you, ’Fear not; only believe.’ How are you getting on? You will be far beyond me on the road; earth keeps me back. I sometimes feel unwilling to forsake all and to follow Christ; but He will make me willing. You must ask that He may;—that I may ’count all things but loss for the excellency of the knowledge of Christ Jesus my Lord.’ It is a sore struggle at times with such a carnal heart as mine. But He has promised that neither ’things present, nor things to come, shall ever be able to separate me from His love;’ and that I shall come off ’more than conqueror through Him that loved me.’ Oh! J____, when shall I ever forget myself? Never till that wonderful time when I shall cast my crown at His feet, and confess, with unutterable and unselfish joy, that Christ is all in all. Then we shall love Him and one another, with unsinning hearts." "P____, November 14, 1843…MY DEAREST MRS. H.,—I am so unlike a child of God, that I often doubt my being one; but when I think of His free invitation, and of such a blessed verse as this, ’It is a faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners,’ I can’t help feeling as poor Joseph did; if Christ came to save sinners, why not me? I wonder if any one ever was so full of earthliness as I? It has been a great burden to me lately. When I long to be spiritual and holy, I cannot; I have such a vile body of sin and death, which is opposed to all that is holy. ’I find a law in my members, warring against the law of my mind.’ Don’t you often feel inclined to cry with Paul, ’O wretched man that I am! who shall deliver me from the body of this death?’ What a wonderful love the Spirit must have that dwells in such unholy hearts as ours, at least mine! I think God is shewing me that there is really nothing in me in which I can glory. I always want to see something good in myself. I am afraid, when I feel that I am altogether unworthy; but then I have all the more need of Jesus. ’He came to save sinners;’ that is my only plea. I was wishing this morning that I might be entirely devoted to His service. I long to forget myself, and to have no other wish on earth but ’to shew forth the praise of Him who hath called me out of darkness into his marvellous light.’ Will you ask, dear friend, for E. and me, that we may do this? that we may shine as lights in this dark world? that everything we do may be done from a single eye to the glory of God? How holy and happy would this life be! The very wish I feel to be happiness, such as I never felt in anything in this world. Don’t you feel, when you can sincerely wish to live but for Jesus, that the very wish is happiness? There is something very sweet in holiness; it is very painful to have such an unholy heart; but Jesus is able and willing to make it holy ; and then, even though I were holy, it is not on that account that I am accepted, but ’ in the Beloved.’ Don’t you think that our unholiness should make us prize Christ more? I wish I were beside you an hour just now, that I might ask you about this subject, for I am so ignorant about everything, that I am afraid of trusting to myself; but you will tell me I have a Teacher who will never let me go wrong, if I trust in Him; but I am very unteachable. How much dear E. and I have to be grateful for! I feel this when I see all the beloved souls about us feeding on the husks of this world, while we feed on ’the finest of the wheat.’ Oh, let us praise Him, and pray that His love may kindle ours, and may constrain us to walk so that others may be led to Him. I blush when I think how I dishonour Jesus by every look, and word, and action. I am glad when I think that you pray for us. Ask this, and ask it constantly, that we ’may shew forth His praise;’ not our own, but His. I am always wanting others to praise me.O to have no wish but that He may be glorified! I find it difficult to be contented, nay, happy to be nothing, that He may be all. Ask that Jesus would make use of us, that He would use us as instruments in His service in any way, only that He would do it."

"P____, December 16, 1843…Your letter was blest to me, for it made me more desirous of being near Him, and like Him; and it also sent me to the throne of grace to plead for you. How ashamed I should be if you knew how cold and feeble my prayers for you are! You must ask that I may live nearer the Cross, and then I shall have my cold heart warmed. I have been reading the account of the deaths of several eminent Christians to-day, and I feel such a strange kind of longing, anxious desire for something, I know not what. I want to die like them, and to go to Jesus; but I am afraid I am not prepared to die. The other world is sometimes so near, that it is very solemn. Don’t you sometimes feel your heart swell when you think of Jesus? I have felt His presence to-day, I think, but I don’t feel peaceful or happy; I feel dissatisfied with myself; I long to do something for Christ, but I don’t know what to do. I am afraid I am like the barren figtree; when I feel in this way, I generally go to pray, but something always tells me that I should not be praying, but working for Christ, and that it is of no use praying when I don’t do any thing; this often makes me unhappy at prayer. Did you ever feel this? Perhaps it is a temptation of Satan to keep me from prayer.[17] There is one part of your letter I want to speak to you about. In speaking of God’s love to you, you say it is ’ in the Beloved.’ I wish I could tell you all I feel, dearest, but it is so difficult in writing. I want to know how God looks uponme. You know I am all fall of sin. Now, if I am in Christ, does He look upon Christ, and not on me at all? Should I forget myself, and think only of what Christ is? Is it a different thing, or is it the same thing,—trusting in what Christ has done, and in what He is?[18] I wish you would write me what you feel about these things, for I feel more dark and ignorantjust now than ever I did. Is it right to say, I am sinful, but Christ is holy; I am unrighteous, but Christ is righteous; I am weak, but Christ is strong? I am in great fear that I have not right views of Christ, and I am afraid, if I die, that I may find I have been deceiving myself. You must pray for me, that God would enlighten my eyes in the knowledge of Christ; and if you are able, I hope you will not be long of answering this part of my letter, as I am in an anxious unsettled state. Remember I expect my usual Christmas letter. The first Sabbath after the New Year is our Communion, and I am anxious to get clear views before going...I see your birthday and mine are both on the Sabbath, so that, if we are spared, and in health, we shall spend them in God’s house. Perhaps, J____, it will be in the courts above; He alone knows. Let us leave the time to Him. But let us be prepared for the call; may the call to each of us be, ’Friend, come up higher.’ Or perhaps we may spend these days together in God’s courts below. Isn’t it curious that R.’s text [19] (8th July) is a prayer, to which mine is the answer? I think it is very sweet. About our reading, let us fix Leviticus. I think it will be very sweet, and very profitable. R. thought of it too, and besides, it is your choice, and that is enough for me.

O that it may be much blest to us all! May our souls feed on Christ! I rejoice with you, beloved one, in the sweet glimpse you had of our glorious three-one God. May you often ’draw water with joy out of the wells of salvation.’ I can a little understand what you say about praising Him for what He is in Himself. I think it is the finest, holiest feeling we ever have, just to praise and thank Him that there is such a glorious, holy being as Himself. I am very happy when I can feel this ; but ah! it is seldom; it is a fine thing to be able to praise; it is like heaven, even than prayer; if we praised more, we should not so often have to complain that we cannot pray. Mr. R. says, ’Praise clears the breast for prayer.’"

"May the everlasting arms be underneath you this night, my precious friend, and may the everlasting love of Jesus fill your whole soul. O to be able to tear every other idol away from our hearts, and to receive Him as our all in all, our satisfying portion!"

"Monday ,18th.—I must finish this letter, but I have not much heart for it ; I feel completely burdened with a load of sin, and I can’t see Jesus bearing them all away. I sometimes weary very much for that time when I shall be free from sin, and when God, our own tender, loving Father, will ’wipe away all tears from our eyes.’"

"How differently God treats us from man! R . and I have a hard time of it often. But how grateful should we be that we are counted worthy to suffer shame for His name! I trust it is in His cause that we suffer. But I am afraid that I too often cause His name to be evil spoken of. What a dreadful thing to bring reproach upon the name of Christ, to wound Him in the house of His friends! What a long-suffering God we have! I was rejoicing this morning that the gospel of Christ humbles the sinner, and brings all the glory to Him. I am glad it humbles us, for the dust is the fittest place for us. ’God be merciful to us, sinners!’ It is fine that we can say that. Should not you like to have Mary’s place, sitting at the Master’s feet? Oh! it is sweet, when the heart is wounded by the unkindness and harsh words of man, to think of the tender, holy love of Jesus to us, unholy sinners. When we ask wisdom, He gives it us liberally, and ’ upbraideth not.’ O that, being forgiven much, we loved much! Will you pray for my beloved R. and me, that we may be enabled to ’walk wisely towards them that are without;’ and that we may not dishonour Christ in any way, but may ’let our light shine before men, that they, seeing our good works, may glorify our Father who is in heaven’? We have many troubles, and our sins bring us into many more (at least mine do); but He has said that He will deliver us out of them all. How selfish of me, to be thinking so much of my own sorrows, in place of feeling for those who have not Jesus to comfort them at all times! But my selfishness is intense!…I don’t quite like one part of your letter—where you say that every sin lessens our weight of glory; for then I don’t think I shall have any left when I reach heaven; for I never do anything but sin. There is no good thing in meat all. However, if I can get to heaven, I shall see Jesus, and be like Him, and oh, I trust, be near Him; and what can I need more?"

"P____, December 23, 1843…MY VERY DEAR FRIEND,—I have entirely lost sight of Christ, and I am sorely tempted to give it all up together. I am often, for hours, in agony at the throne of grace, and come away as miserable as I went. And I do not feel sorrowful, as I used to do, at the sight of my sins; but I feel angry, angry with myself, even with God. I can see nothing but sin, and Jesus frowning upon me; and then my heart is unwilling to be humble. I want to be humbled, but still my heart will rise against it. And then, when I pray so earnestly, and Christ seems never to mind me, I am tempted to have unkind and angry thoughts about Him. What am I to do? You will say, if I am not a child of God, go to Him as a sinner. But I cannot go; I do not know how. I do not know what believing in Jesus means. I am quite dark; and oh! I am afraid, unwilling to learn. Our Communion is to be soon, and I dare not go in my present state; and I am afraid to stay away. I am utterly cast down, cannot see, or feel, or believe anything. I wish very much you would write me a letter, telling me about Christ, and about the way of salvation, for I am as ignorant as a heathen. I know nothing. Oh, dear friend, tell me about your precious Lord, and how I may come to Him; and I will pray that He, who knows my case, may give you a word in season to my weary, guilty, sad soul. I sometimes think I shall be in hell after all, and see you and J. W. in heaven beside Jesus. But no, I could not stand that. I must be there too. But oh! I am so full of sin; you don’t know my heart at all. When you pray for me, will you praise Him too on my behalf? for surely, though my unbelief prevents me seeing it, I have much for which to praise. Why has He ever looked upon me at all? I have no claim upon Him. I never sought Him. Yes; I can still praise. Even as I write, my heart seems to soften a little. Tell me how I can get to Him. I long to have her place who sat at His feet, bathing His feet with her tears; but I do not know how to go, and I am afraid. I am so vile. Are you to have any additional prayer-meetings at this season? I am glad our weekly meeting is on Christmasday, for I find that the worldly doings going on at this time have a very hurtful effect upon my soul. I sometimes find that half an hour’s worldliness drives every spiritual feeling from my heart. We have a prayer-meeting in the Free Church here every Wednesday evening. I hope you will sometimes remember us on these evenings at the footstool."

Such are some specimens of her first two years’ correspondence after her conversion. We find in it striking progress. It shews us the resolute "pressing forward." Her hope has anchored upon the kingdom to come, and her eye is on Jesus. In spite of the flesh, the evil one, the heart of unbelief, the taunting world, she struggles forward. In much loneliness, and weariness, and grief, yet with strange joy, and quiet rest, and heavenly fellowship between, she walks with God. The way is not smooth; nor is the sunshine always on it. But she faints not, nor tarries. Nothing can daunt her, or turn her back. She has counted the cost, and she is willing to pay it when demanded.