has often been with you. But now, reviewing the alarm, the shock, the agony of distress you must have suffered, the earthquake, the whirlwind, and the storm, that have torn up the cedar of your lot, you will be able, my friend, I hope, to indulge with me in calm reflection. Your mind will be composed, and your ear open, to listen to the still small voice of God's paternal mercy and love. Truly, you have borne the yoke of affliction from your youth. I trust it will be found to have been good for you. You had scarcely entered on the world, before you found it to be a wilderness: a cloud was drawn over your flattering prospects, and when, with eager desire, you tasted the first spring that promised delight, you found the water, Marah, bitter. Have you proved the efficacy of the cross of Christ? Have you cast that tree into the fountain of these waters? Can you proclaim the virtue of the blood of sprinkling to sanctify your sorrow, and cleanse your heart? Had I looked only, or chiefly, to things that are seen, I should ever have regarded yours as a hard lot: for peace, have had great bitterness: but God, whose ways are all judgment, chose your lot, and appointed you to much labour and sorrow. Perhaps, in love to your soul, he did this: he saw that an earthly paradise, with all the sensual ease and delight it would afford, would give the old serpent too much advantage over you: he saw that you needed restraining and preventing mercy, and he would not suffer you to be tempted above what you were able to bear. He saw, that if

you

earth presented little else to you but thorns and briers, you would then think of seeking a better country, and inquire, with a determined mind, the way to it. Therefore, he prepared for you a bitter cup: a wholesome medicine, I trust, it has proved. He who hears the sighing of the prisoners, perhaps has often witnessed the sorrows and prayers of your oppressed soul. Many times have I entertained a lively persuasion that God was preparing the way. for the manifestation of himself in your salvation. Shall I hope that your cries for deliverance are now louder than ever? Then hear what God the Lord will speak. He is nigh to them who are of a broken heart: he will, by his gracious and powerful word, revive the spirit of the humble. "Your soul shall live that seek God." You will seek him and find him. Thy Maker will be thy Husband, the Lord of Hosts is his Name: his arm will sustain you, his servants will serve you, his treasures will enrich you : Himself will be your exceeding joy, and the love of his heart will flow to you in a thousand channels; sweetening your creature-enjoyments, and sanctifying your sorrows. Make him your all in all: He will leave no want unsupplied, no care unrelieved: he will cast your sins behind his back, nay, even into the boundless bottomless sea of Jesus' blood: he will give you the spirit of adoption, the pledge of everlasting love. My dear friend, I long to know whether your soul be brought near to God; whether you deeply, and in every view, feel your need of

him, and love him, and seek him, and long to enjoy him, in his word and ordinances, in secret, and in social duties. Oh! this is the way of peace: it is the one thing needful; it is needful for yourself; it is needful for your tender charge. No Father so loving and so powerful, as our Father who is in heaven: he would be a sanctuary to your dear babes. No Shepherd so gracious, as the great Shepherd of souls: he would gather the lambs with his arm, and carry them in his bosom. Oh! seek him, and he will be found of you; seek him, until he shall have sweetly said to your soul, "I am thy salvation!" Then my heart shall rejoice with yours, and

your joy no one shall take from you. With tender affection, my dear young friend,

I am, &c. &c.

J. BOWDEN.

LETTER XLIV.

TO MRS. W

I HAVE had repeated hints, my dear friend, of your bodily indisposition, and though I am far removed from you, and have not the particular knowledge of your case that I could wish, I feel great solicitude, and would wish to minister something by which the God of consolation may be pleased to strengthen the hands that hang down. If there be any apparent uncertainty as to the issue of this

visitation, I know that you would feel the burden of care much increased by your tender anxiety as a parent. May the Lord, that healeth graciously, visit you with his salvation, and long continue to communicate the rich bestowments of his fatherly love to your dear children! However, his will is holy, just, and good: it depends not on second causes; the Lord of Hosts knows how to supply the failure of instruments. It is enough to have the eternal word of the eternal God, though every other support give way; especially to have that word received, embraced, and bound to our heart, as our choicest cordial, the pillar of our confidence and our joy. He hath said, in accents the most gracious, "I will be a God to thee, and to thy seed after thee." The promise is unto you, and unto your children. Have you not times of solemn devotion in remembrance, wherein you have, in a personal and parental regard, taken hold of the promise, and of the strength of the Lord in the promise? Have you not an inward testimony to the integrity of your heart, in walking before the Lord? And have you not known some seasons of special endearment, wherein you have been brought near to God, have been enabled to adopt the free address of a child, to plead the promise, to lean upon it, and have found rest to your soul? Though in a general review you have much infirmity, and darkness, and deadness to complain of, yet, perhaps, you can trace at some seasons such discoveries of light, and life, and love,

as prove the reality of the grace of Christ in you, though not in the sensible manner you could wish. That blessed Redeemer's time, I trust, is now come, or coming, for the brighter manifestations of his love. He hath not brought you into the wilderness without a gracious purpose. Look up to him, though with tears and penitent supplication; look up with faith and hope. With his promise in your heart, represent to him your frailty, your fear, and trembling; your insufficiency as a broken reed to sustain the burden you are called to bear. Cry to him, "Lord, help me! let thy promise revive my hope, confirm my faith, and distil in refreshing dews on my soul." My dear cousin, I trust there is a design of special mercy in this visitation. "The Lord is good; a strong hold in the time of trouble, and blessed are all they who trust in him." When he intends the most gracious visits, he often comes in clouds and darkness. "Though he cause grief, yet will he have compassion according to the multitude of his mercies." Oh! how great are his mercies! how sweet, how strong his consolations, when he reveals the light of his countenance! Amidst the night of affliction, the heaviest burden, then, no longer is oppressive; the mind becomes tranquil amidst stormy care. You, my dear, though a feeble reed, bruised by many sorrows, when he reveals himself, will want neither strength nor courage you will cast your burden upon the Lord, you will lean upon his arm, and rest upon