through Brading to Shanklin Chine. At the head of it, is a pretty little waterfall. The scenery is romantic. We then proceeded, by the beautifully-situated village of BonChurch, to Ventnor." This warm and sheltered village stands about the middle of what is called Undercliff, a tract of land extending about seven miles in length, by the sea-side, and a quarter to half a mile in breadth. It is thought to be a shoot, or land-slip from the hills behind, produced by the water penetrating through the chalk, dissolving the blue clay below it; which, having run off in a fluid state into the sea, the chasm thus produced allowed extensive portions of the chalky hills to sink down, in some places with little disturbance of the surface, but in others it is tumbled into heaps in an extraordinary manner. An extensive slip of this kind took place about thirty years ago, displacing many acres of land. The hills behind, being from 600 to 700 feet high, afford a complete protection from the north winds to the village of Ventnor, which is built upon this terrace-like spot, and stands at an elevation of 100 feet from the level of the sea. Being thus sheltered from the north, east, and west winds, and open to the south; having the genial influence of the sun's rays, tempered by its contiguity to the sea, it is said to be the warmest spot in England, during the winter months, and, on this account, is much resorted to by invalids.

The Journal proceeds: -" Ventnor and its neighbourhood afford some fine views. After having seen these, and Steephill Castle, I walked back to Shanklin. It is about three miles, but I thought them long ones, being up and down hill nearly the whole way. This affected my breathing, so as greatly to take away the pleasure of the walk. After taking coffee at the inn, I found myself so feverish, that my pulse rose to 115. This fact, and the proof afforded, in the few miles I had walked to-day, of my loss

of strength, when compared with the comparative ease with which I walked sixteen miles at one time, when in France, are considerations which seem a fresh call upon me to stand prepared, not knowing the day nor the hour when I shall be called hence.

"Ninth Month 29th. Slept at a neat little inn, near Shanklin, and next morning (First day) walked on to Arreton, expecting to meet I. and M. Y., who are on a religious visit to this island; but found no meeting had been appointed. Visited the grave and cottage of Eliza Wallbridge, the Dairyman's Daughter, who is the subject of one of those interesting little tracts, written by Legh Richmond. In the afternoon, went on to Newport, and joined our Friends at their meeting in the evening. I believe I may safely say we were graciously owned in our little gathering. The Friends in the south of France, formed a subject of mutual interest in conversation.

"I have now nearly completed the tour of the island. Suffice it to say, that it is a most lovely and interesting spot, and comprehending such a variety of beauties, that it is truly wonderful how so much, and so many different, and even opposite, objects of interest, can be crowded together in the small space of twenty miles by thirteen. Here are hill and dale, wood and water, in abundance; elegant parks, and genteel cottages; pretty towns, and pleasing country; beautiful rivers, and salt water creeks; high mountains, and sheep downs; smiling cultivated valleys, and snow white cliffs, containing fossils of great variety; others ornamented with bright tints, of almost every colour of the rainbow; pretty villages, and secluded hamlets; modern castles, and fine ancient ruins; sea view for twenty leagues, and forest scenery for as many miles; pleasure boats, and yachts, from a cutter to a frigate; with a climate so productive and so mild, that it has been

styled the garden of England, and British Madeira. I repeat, it is really surprising, how so much can be found. to gratify and interest, within so small a compass.

"Tenth Month 1st. This has been quite like a summer's day. The weather has been beautiful ever since I arrived on the island. Returned to Cowes this morning, and took a walk by the Medina river, meditating upon my state of health. The language seemed impressed upon my mind, as from my heavenly Father, 'Prepare to come unto me, for I will that thou be where I am.' Oh! may the spontaneous response of my soul be, 'My whole heart, O Lord, I offer unto thee; make it clean, I pray thee, that it may be accepted through the blood of thy dear Son. Amen.' And oh! to be where He is! Whilst running over this lovely island, and seeing that the impress of his finger, upon this portion of his footstool, is thus clothed with beauty; what must be the glory which surrounds his throne? Must it not be such, that unless our capacities are greatly enlarged, it would be too great for us to look upon ?"

He returned home by way of Southampton and London, and remained at home about four months, without any material change in his complaint. In a letter to a friend who had shewn him much kindness, when in the neighbourhood of Congenies, he thus writes, under date, Eleventh Month 17th:-"My complaint having rather increased upon me, has been the means of causing me to think deeply on these solemn subjects, (preparation for death, &c.); and though I feel myself very unfit for heaven, I have a hope which I trust is well grounded, that He who redeemed the heavenly host, and who washed them in his own blood, and clothed them in white raiment; and put palms into their hands, and a new song into their mouths, will also prepare even me; and sanctify my soul, and make me fit to join this company which no man can number, in ascribing

unto the Lord God who sitteth upon the Throne, and to the Lamb; glory, and honour, and blessing, and wisdom, and might, both now and for ever. Amen." During this period, when the weather was favourable, he enjoyed a little horseback exercise. His mind seemed much weaned from the things of this world, and he nearly relinquished the cares of business. Whilst he remained at home, a letter, written to one of his sisters, in the First Month, 1840, a little before he set out on his last journey, gives so graphic a description of his state and feelings at this time, that we apprehend it will be perused with interest by many invalids.

"Seated in the parlour quietly by myself, I have taken pen and ink to see if any thing will arise worth communicating. I have no tact for letter-writing, and after I have begun, will frequently sit poring over a half-filled sheet. After musing a while, I dip my pen, and then muse 'for another minute, dip again, but still the ideas do not come. If a few dull ones do fish up, still the words are wanting in which to clothe them. "I sometimes think I have a succession of changes. At one time my blood seems to flow fast, I feel strong and light hearted, and seem to wonder that I should ever think that any thing was the matter with me. My ideas flow quickly, and I talk playfully with E. and M., and can hardly settle to read, or even listen to any thing lengthy or abstruse. But this is a feverish state: my pulse beats high, 100 to 120, and, after a little while, there comes a re-action. I begin to feel I am not quite well: wonder that I should ever think of getting well. My ideas flow sluggish and turbid; and I am content to sit in a corner, a quiet spectator of what is passing around. These changes, like the waves of the sea, seem to follow in constant succession. When thou wast here, I was generally in the hollow of the

wave; and in our walk, which we took, thy remarks, on the most interesting of subjects, only slightly moved me."

He then describes his symptoms more minutely, in reference to his recovery or otherwise, and then proceeds:

"But I have always desired to leave the event entirely in the hands of Him who alone knows what is for our good. Truly, although the nearer we seem to leaving this world, the more hold it appears to have on our hearts; yet could we but look with the eye of faith, there would be little here to tempt our stay, compared with the enjoyments of heaven. It is true, we know little of what those enjoyments consist; and perhaps our carnal and unharmonious minds, may not admire one continuous song. But we must remember, that even the Prophets and Apostles were not fully informed in this matter, but had to rest satisfied with the general information, 'That eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither hath it entered into the heart of man; what glories shall be revealed to those who love God.' We are assured that we shall for ever be with Him, and if we sufficiently value the enjoyment of Divine communion, this alone might satisfy us. We are told that there shall be no more death, nor weariness, nor sorrow, nor hunger, nor thirst; but that all shall be love, joy, and praise. Surely these assurances ought to satisfy us.

"But, after all, we understand so much better what our present enjoyments are, so that with all our sorrows intermingled, these bright promises which I have alluded to, being seen in the distance, or when declared of, sometimes sound in our ears like a tale that is told.' Undoubtedly it would do us good to think more often, and more deeply upon these things; to seek more often then we do for a foretaste of them, by communion with the Holy Spirit; and to have our carnal propensities mortified, and our affections set upon things above. Then, if our treasure was in