it is a very dull and careless scrawl. I wish I could send you something better; but the fact is, I have been laboring under very uncommon mental depression, which renders me unfit for doing any thing as I could wish. I have had a drive in the carriage to Hamilton to-day, and feel rather better. I know you are never troubled with this sort of affliction, and may be disposed to laugh at it; but I can assure you, it is ten-fold more distressing than bodily disease. The latter, often adds to spiritual comfort; the former, generally destroys it. But I am ashamed of having said so much about my weaknesses; and assuredly I should not have adverted to the subject, were it not, as a plea for an early communication from you. Send me something to cheer and console me. Direct me to the great objects of eternity, and stir me up to do something in the cause of the Lord. Although I am sometimes thus depressed, it is not always so. The Lord has been very kind to me since I came here. I have been forced to seek all my enjoyments in communion with God. It is well, when we hasten after other lovers, that He, who will have our whole heart, should hedge up our way. And when he leads us into the wilderness, and dries up many a source of what seemed holy enjoyment, it is often not to punish, but to bless us, to "speak comfortably" to us. We do well, my friend, to examine whether the Lord alone be the object of our affections. When surrounded by pious friends, who are ready to praise, or at least, to esteem us for our zeal in furthering the interests of religion,-it is difficult to determine the nature of our motives. Those who went before our Sa &c. were probably afterwards found consenting to his death; and even the boldest and most devoted of his chosen few, "forsook him and fled." Are we ready to follow the Lord through bad as well as through good report? Have we ever yet been put to the trial? Have you read Samuel Rutherford's letters? I have been delighted and humbled by the perusal. How much of heaven may be enjoyed on earth, if we will but care to seek for it. I feel that I know nothing yet of Christ, or of fellowship with him. Write very soon to your affectionate brother. My dear Anne; Tennoch Side, July 22, 1826. Your verses pleased me much; and with what else I have seen of your first attempts at composition, lead me fondly to hope, that talents have been bestowed on you, which, with due culture, and persevering application, may render you, I will not say accomplished, for that is a vain thing, as the term is generally used; but to use an apparently humbler, yet, in reality, far more honorable term, talents that may render you useful. I say not this to make you proud, but to humble you, and to encourage you to persevere. You know very little yet, you have much to learn. I may just hint, that in your letter, I can observe a deficiency in one of the MOST REQUISITE of all literary acquisitions.-You know what I mean. But in the present case, the hurry in which your letter has evidently been written, is a sufficient excuse. I like your verses. The idea in the fourth verse, I think, is truly poetical. But I would not have you aim at being a poetess, my sister. Make it an amusement if you will,-or a means of acquiring correctness and facility of expression, but do not make it your AIM. The most brilliant acquirements are not the most useful. Let me remind you, my dear Anne, that you and I are born to fill humble stations in this world, (and God be thanked, it is so;-the humblest are the happiest.) Do not aim, then, at any thing above your station. Do not court the society of the rich and the gay; for, comparatively, I may apply these terms even to the little sphere in which you move; but choose your companions from those who have the true riches of knowledge, and (if I may add a qualification you may not easily find) sterling piety. The manners of your companions should not be overlooked; and, by this expression, I do not so much mean the knowledge, or ready repetition of a few kind-looking phrases, —which even the most unkind can learn,―as that amiable and obliging disposition, which is the politeness of the heart. In the present state of society, however, a person who wishes to be truly agreeable, will see the necessity of attending to a few of those forms of kindness which pass current in the world. I did not mean to write so many advices; but now that I have begun, I will plead the authority,-I will rather say, the affection of a brother, as an excuse for adding some more. Let me entreat you to cultivate domestic virtues. The Bible bids us not only love and obey, but also honor our parents. Be particularly careful to remember this, especially in regard to our dear mother, to whom your little services may now render considerable assistance. Above all, my very dear sister, let me entreat you to remember that we were not made merely to figure for a little on the stage of this passing world. This life is but the infancy of an eternal existence; and yet, here the choice must be made, that shall render all that is worth calling the life of an immortal creature, perfectly happy, or perfectly wretched. You think you know the truths of the gospel, my sister. Do you feel its influence? Do not be even too sure that you understand the message of glad tidings in the Bible. Many who now think they understand, will find hereafter that they have mistaken its meaning. But, O do remember!—it is not enough to understand. Examine whether Christ, and his atonement alone, be all your salvation. It is easy to mistake. We are never more apt to sleep the sleep of a security, from which eternal death alone will awake, than when guarded from gross temptations by protecting friends, and accustomed from infancy to correct,or at least, seemingly correct views of the gospel. My dear sister, as you value your happiness, beware of a misplaced hope of heaven. I do not cease to pray that the Lord would make you his own. I should think my prayers in part answered, did I know that you had been constrained to pray with earnestness for yourself. My very dear Brother; August 2, 1826. They say there is more pleasure in hope, than in actual enjoyment; and, perhaps, this is the reason why I have not written to you sooner. You know I used to have a great aversion to letter writing; but now that it is almost the only kind of christian intercourse that is left me, you may guess that I regard it with very different feelings. For a week past I have been cheering my solitary hours with the thought, that I was just about to unbosom freely all my feelings to my dear John Adam, (a luxury, which is not the least precious privilege of true friendship,) and day after day, some little trifle has seemed a sufficient reason for putting off; while I believe the true cause of the delay has been, the desire to indulge this pleasing expectation a little longer. And now that I have sat down to write, I frankly acknowledge that I have little or nothing to say,-at least, in the shape of news. I left Dysart too late to see you again in Edinburgh, whence I proceeded to this place of exile, where I have now counted five or six tardy weeks of unvaried sameness, excepting one or two visits to Glasgow and an occasional walk to Old Monkland Manse. You know me too well to require me to tell you how I feel, without a single christian friend near. The harp has been often out of tune; and sometimes, I have feared that its strings were about to break, when the Lord has again tuned it to his own praise. Yes, my dear friend, I have seen much of the deceitfulness of my own heart since I came here. I thought I could leave all, and live happy in a solitary desert, for the sake of Christ. But I find that much of my happiness was drawn from cisterns, and not from the life-giving fountain. And now that the Lord has, in mercy, broken these, to lead me to himself, I have been ready to weep as if my all were lost. I fear I have mistaken love to christians for love to Christ. I feel more reconciled to this banishment, when I think that it may be intended to wean me from earth, and to fit me more for the missionary life. I have hopes that I may be honored to be useful to my dear pupil. He is a most interesting boy;-in |