letter sent June, 1809, to Miss C. Cecil, in which she writes ;

"I am sometimes ready utterly to faint under this painful dispensation: and to fear, that the weight of it upon my mind, in my present very nervous and feeble state, will reduce me to a condition nearly as bad. And this would certainly be the case, did not a voice seem to say, 'hope against hope;' wait; Enter into thy chamber, and shut thy doors about thee; '-this is the time not for despair but humiliation, and for wrestling, like Jacob, in prayer. Yes, my love, there is a hand that has hold upon your dear father, even an Almighty hand: nor can sin, or Satan, or death, or hell, force him out of that hand; for it is said, 'None shall pluck them out of my hand.' This Divine hand took hold of a ruined sinking world, just when the hellish powers began to triumph over their too successful plot for the destruction of our whole race: but their defeat was glorious. Your dear father cannot just now see this hand, any more than we can see the sun through a dark cloud; but, as he has himself often remarked,-- How should we mistake, if we said the sun were not there, because the cloud was before it.' And even should the sun never appear, (as it never does to the blind,) yet this makes no difference,-it shines still.

"This dreary vision cannot last long: keep constantly uppermost in your mind that this depression is the effect of disease; and should you see human weakness mixed with it, yet only remember the years and years that are past, when he went out and came in before you as an angel;-and when, year after year, he endured constant pain with a firmness and patience, that astonished all who saw him. But this very pain, to

gether with a variety of other things, has brought the poor machine to what it is. And now the force is upon the mind: but it will be well in the end, whatever may take place by the way.

"But why do I write these things to you, since you know them? However, there is one thing I would recommend to you, and it is what I am daily aiming at myself, namely, to improve this dispensation for the good of your own soul. Ah, my dear, this is a serious, a solemn work; and must be persevered in. Yet abundant help is promised; you are not to set about these things in your own strength;—if you were, you might indeed say, Who is sufficient for these things?' Help is laid upon one that is mighty;'-But what was it laid there for? Even for such poor sinners as you and I, whom a corrupt nature, and a cruel adversary, would otherwise totally overcome. He will not give any who cry to him for help, into the hands of his and their insulting foes; for it is said, He ever liveth to intercede for us.'

"You cannot have a just conception how much I am with you in spirit, nor how desirous I am to hear every particular about the dear sufferer, upon whom my anxious thoughts are unceasingly occupied."

To think it strange concerning the fiery trial which is to try either ourselves or others, is the propensity of human weakness and unbelief. How many assurances have we that "whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth; "that the trial of faith is precious, as well as the grace itself,—and that, to trust God in dark providences is to honour him. There is a blessing pronounced on not seeing, and yet believing. Perhaps much that appears mysterious in God's dealings with his creatures, might

be more easily comprehended by a clearer perception of that truth, "All flesh is grass, and all the goodliness thereof is as the flower of the field, the grass withereth, the flower fadeth; " (Isa. xl. 6.) and this withering teaches us, with more entire acquiescence, to seek repose in that divine "dwelling-place," which has been the refuge of the saints "in all generations." The best estate of man upon earth is described by the Psalmist "as a shadow that declineth;" but he adds, "Thou, O Lord, shalt endure for ever; and thy remembrance to all generations," Ps. cii. 11, 12. Our tender Father frequently prepares us for the loss of creature comforts, by some intervening circumstance, which shews us their weakness and their vanity; and thus He gradually weans us from earthly attachments, and loosens our grasp of every object, short of himself. Such appears to have been MRS. HAWKES'S experience, under the solemn event which took place in the year 1810; when, by a fit of apoplexy, the disorder under which Mr. Cecil had been languishing for two years, terminated in his death.

August 15, 1810.-" A day ever to be remembered! when the imprisoned spirit of my honored minister, and father in the gospel, was released from its painful and humiliating captivity, and winged its way to the land of liberty and rest! In past time, there was scarcely any event at which I could so little bear to look, as his death. But such an inroad, and havoc, had disease made on this extraordinary man, that I even longed for his release before it took place; and when the tidings reached me, a sad and solemn gladness overspread my mind; I could only contemplate the amazing change from pain, weakness, and depression, to glory unspeakable and never ending!

"A few more suffering days for myself, and then, I trust, his own words written to me in a letter will be verified: 'to-morrow morning, you and I shall walk in a garden where I shall hope to speak to you about every thing but sadness.'*

"He is gone! and take his character in the whole combination of it, and in its circumference, he surely has not left his like. He is gone! unknown, but to those who lived with him in the same house. I had that privilege for many years. I have had the favour to attend him in his sick chamber,-in his family retirements, -and in his most confidential habits;-in those unbended easy moments, when some, even great ones, have appeared little, and common:-but when he appeared most superior.

"It has been said, he was austere; and before I knew him intimately, I thought so too: but it was only because he was not known. He was sometimes austere in like manner as truth is austere,-for he was a lover of truth. If there was any one virtue he prized more than another, it was integrity,—a high and honourable principle; and he would mark the smallest deviation from it, in a moment. Severity might sometimes sit on his brow-dart from his eye-and be perceived in his decided manner of speech: but it never for a moment lodged in his heart,-which was too noble, too benevolent, too affectionate, to be the seat of any thing so unlovely as severity. And whenever he bore the aspect, it arose from the prevailing abstraction of his mind, which was always intensely pursuing rigid subjects; and from his most uncommon energy and decision of character. But his friendly and benevolent sympathies were awak

* See page 166.

ened in the moment they were called for. His heart, and his ear, were open to the cry of every sufferer, whether high, or low. He was, like his Divine master, peculiarly the friend of the friendless,-the comforter of the afflicted,-the gentle instructor of the ignorant. The rich he never sought; the poor he never neglected or shunned. But words would fail me; his worth can never be known. No matter;-he had, and so should I have, higher views than the honour which cometh from man,-even the honour which cometh from God. May every one of his children, and myself, (who was unto him as a daughter,) be careful to transplant his virtues and graces into our hearts and lives. We shall go to him, but he shall not return to us!"

In the following month of September, MRS. HAWKES went to stay a few weeks with Mrs. Cecil, at Belle-vueHouse, Hampstead. It was in this spot, that Mr. Cecil was residing when seized with that fit of apoplexy, by means of which, his mortal garments were quickly changed for those of immortality. During her stay in this house of mourning, where many circumstances conspired to draw forth her tenderest feelings, she wrote the following memorandum, of which the former part is in obscure short hand:

*

*

a voice.

*

Belle-vue, Hampstead. Sept. 1810.—" My father, my father, the chariot of Israel, and the horsemen thereof!" he is gone! But to me also a voice. I would follow him as my example, and devote every future moment to the great work of preparation for a dying hour. Death came here, and seized the captive in an instant: so may I expect him to come to me. Be ye also ready.' My