01.11. Progress in 1846-47

Progress in 1846-47 IN M____’s course there was no lingering. Her face was Zionward, and she tarried not by the way. She might feel weary, she might stumble, she might be torn with the briers of the wilderness, but she did not turn aside. Jerusalem was in view, and so she pressed on. In her experience as a saint, there is a manifest advancement. There are still fluctuations in it; but, on the whole, it is steadier; the flow is longer than the ebb. She is evidently gaining ground, though she grieves over the slowness of her progress. The cross brightens on her view, and sheds its radiance more steadily upon her path, with less of distance or of cloud between. The feelings which that experience unfolds are maturer and less impulsive, though still as warm and fresh. Her fellowship with the Lord is more constant and unbroken.

There is also a greater vividness in her anticipations of the eternal kingdom. She speaks more than ever as a stranger; and there is at times the expression of a home-sickness in her letters, which seems almost like the presentiment of her nearness to the country she so desired to enter. And, with these home-longings, she breathes out the feeling of quiet loneliness, as if she were becoming more and more acutely alive to the un-congenialities of earth—more and more lovingly sensible of the affinities between her and heaven. Thus, for instance, she wrote, towards the end of 1845,— "How sweet it will be to speak together again about ’the King in his beauty, and the land that is very far off!’ Don’t you often long to be at home, free from sin , sorrow, pain, and everything that makes earth the wilderness that it is? Mr. M____ spoke so sweetly on Sabbath, about this verse,—’The wayfaring man, though a fool, shall not err therein.’ It exactly suited me. He said the world erred in this way, for they were not wayfaring men, but the believer was; he was journeying on to his home, and the way was so plain, that, even though he were a fool, he could not err in it...I need not tell you the great delight it is to me to have my beloved ____ with me once more. It was very sweet to meet in the wilderness. How much sweeter still it will be to meet in glory! It will then be with ’exceeding joy,’ for we shall be ’without fault,’ and we shall see Him who is ’fairer than the children of men,’ and we shall all meet then at our Father’s house— His and in Him our Father. O to be ’made meet for the inheritance of the saints in light,’—to be holy, as Christ is holy, and ’perfect, as our Father in heaven is perfect!’…O for an open mouth,—to be always at the Rock, that there might be in me a well of water springing up into everlasting life, and flowing as rivers of living water, giving life to all around me! How much grace Jesus is able and willing to give me! I am not straitened in Him, but in my poor wretched self. O to be done with self— with a vile body of sin and death! Don’t you long for the unsinning heart, for the glorious body like unto His glorious body, and to know even as we are known? I know nothing of Jesus at all; and yet how glorious He is, how worthy of being known, and loved, and praised, through all eternity! He is allglorious—all-powerful—all-loving. His power is boundless, His love as boundless; audit is all for poor sinners like you." But we shall leave our readers to gather from the letters in full the state of her feeling and experience. We give them, as before, according to dates:—

" P____, January 10, 1846…How you humbled me, my darling friend! If you only knew this desperately wicked heart of mine, you would not think I had any real desires for poor sinners! I have seen a little at prayer this morning of what I am; and I am ashamed and confounded when I see how almost entirely I desire my own glory in all that I do; and I earnestly want you to ask this for me—that I may see the sin of it, and that it may be rooted out of me. I think I never long for my sinless home so much as when I see, that even in working for Jesus I am putting forward myself. I get alarmed when I think how I may win souls by holding forth ME in place of Jesus. I wish I were holy ; I wish I had pure motives—that self were forgotten, and Jesus everything! But I never find it thus with me, and I am very, very sad about it. Don’t you weary to have a single eye?...I sometimes feel when I really begin to pray, as if I should need to pray all my life, and do nothing else, there is so much, and so many, to pray for. To-day was for all God’s dear saints. Surely there will be a great blessing after so much prayer, and united prayer, too. We have had three prayer-meetings this week, I am happy to say. One was our meeting at M.____: it was very sweet. Then we had our usual meeting at Mrs. J____’s on Tuesday, and another at her house on Thursday...I am often comforted in seeing the love of God, even when I cannot see my own interest in it. It is unutterably sweet and refreshing to think there is such a being as Jesus. This verse has often given me great joy—’I am He that liveth and was dead; and behold, I am alive for evermore;’ but yet, as James Laing said, ’I should like a taste myself.’ have not time in this letter to tell you about my district people. I shall write again about them. I shall only say, pray for them; and oh! pray for me ! I am very anxious about a woman and a young girl whom I had a long talk with. I am longing for some of them to come to Jesus…May God, even your own God, bless you, and make you a blessing."

" Monday.—I have been giving myself anew very solemnly to the Lord this morning. O to be His alone His entirely, His
now, and His for ever! Seek for me, for I am utterly weak. I am going to my district now. Pray for me and it: it weighs heavy on my heart. Pray that I may feel more and more that it is His work, His cause, and that He alone must have all the glory ; and pray for conversions, for I feel as if I could not bear any longer to go among so many dead souls, hurrying to ruin, and a Saviour all ready to save them. Do write soon, and say something to encourage me, for my hands hang down, and my knees are feeble, and my faith is very weak. Let us plead for one another, that we may draw many to Jesus.— Believe me, ever your own sister in our sweet Lord Jesus."

"P____, January 31, 1846…Ah! my beloved one, these trials often give me a sight into the dark caverns of my heart, and shew me how much I have been seeking self, and my own glory, in place of the glory of Jesus. I often think if I were more intent upon the glory of my beloved Lord, I should care less about whether unworthy I were treated well or not. I am weary of myself at times. I do wish I had a single eye to the glory of Jesus. How often, too, in feeling envious at others having so much more grace than I, do I shew that I am not aiming at His glory; else I should rejoice at His being glorified by the holy walk of any one. How these things should lay me in the dust, and keep me there; and how precious should it make ’ the only holy One,’ ’the fairer than the children of men, ’ and how it should make me long for the time when I shall be like Him, when I shall stand faultless before the throne, dressed in beauty not my own! and yet, with all the sins that cleave to us, is it not a sweet service, the service of Immanuel? O that I had more faith to trust Him entirely, however dark things appear!—and they are often dark: they are dark at home, dark around me, and dark in my own soul ; but the night is far spent, the day is at hand, even a morning without clouds. O to be ready for that day!…The pain in my side is never away. I had to put leeches on again. Will you seek that I may get patience to bear it? for it is very trying to be so long in this state. What vexes me most is, that it comes on worst when I am at prayer; and then it prevents me doing as much as I should like, going to the House of Refuge, and to my people here; but it must be good for me, else I should not have it. Perhaps it is a thorn in the flesh which I am always to bear...I fear I have no new cases to tell you of in my district. Pray for it and me, and ask that God would shew me why He does not bless the means. Perhaps He honours me so little because I honour Him so little. I should like to leave this dry land altogether, and go abroad as a missionary. I want to go to Africa, and tell the poor negroes there is One who loves them, degraded though they be. But how am I to get? R and I are very anxious to be missionaries, and we often pray that, if it be His will, the way may be opened up; but ah! fear I am not fit."

"P____, February 12, 1846…How many proofs of love my loving God is still giving me, in laying His hand so often on me! He is determined to make me holy, and, oh! I do love and bless Him for it. I want you to join me in praying that all my pains may be sanctified, for they have not been so yet; and oh! I am anxious that God may get His own way, and not give me mine. I have many a sore heart for sin, but I am glad, glad that I do feel sin a burden. We should be glad that we are in the fight, terrible though it often be. You speak of sin getting the mastery—ah! dearest, you cannot, I think, know the struggle I have with it, I am so very vile. Oh! pray for me, that I may hear the rod, and Him who appoints it."

"P____, February 19, 1846…I don’t want you to be alarmed about ____, for she is not materially worse, only she does not get any better, and she complains more constantly than she used to do; and the reason why I tell you about her is, that you may join R and me in praying, yea, in wrestling more anxiously than ever, for her precious, precious soul. I think I could almost part with her, if it were to Jesus. There is much that is encouraging about her; and oh! how much to be grateful for! She reads a great many of the good books we put in her way, and you know how much she knows in many ways: I mean she sees in a measure the necessity of thinking of the soul; but oh! she is dark, dark, I fear, about the way of salvation. She does not see how it is entirely grace; and I feel how utterly weak we are to help her ; but He can, and He will, if we ask Him, for He tells us to pray for one another, and He knows wemust pray for one so dear; yet we are not to seek it for her sake, but for His glory; that is what I feel so difficult. Will you ask for E. and me, that we may have a single eye to His glory in this thing? I know the great love you have to ____, and I feel it a great relief to tell you all our sorrows, knowing that you will hear them before our Father’s throne. Yes, and there is One on that throne who bears them all on His heart; and I often thank Him for even these sore trials, though grievous, most grievous, at present. Your letter has been matter of comfort to R. and me,—specially as it shewed us that, without knowing our increasing anxiety about ____ —, you have been feeling, as we do, the necessity for double exertion on their behalf. We are most glad to join with you in setting apart a day for special prayer for ____; and let us ask for praying hearts and a single eye. We have fixed Friday first; and if that day will suit you, you may either write a line to say so, or, if you have not time, we shall understand that that day will do. We shall try and get as much of the day as we can, and will remember them particularly at ten in the morning, and at five. I often am almost in despair about them ; prayer is so long of being answered; but we must wait on in faith, for, as you say, God is almighty, and He is much more willing that they should be saved than we are, and it is He who has given us all our anxiety about them. I often think the cause why our prayers have not yet been answered may be in, me. I wish you would pray for me, that I may walk more consistently before them— that I may win them to Jesus. Oh! J____, I wish I were not a daily dishonour to Jesus I cannot tell you the sorrow I feel, that, in place of growing and adorning the gospel, I am backsliding fearfully. I know I am. I am not half so anxious, or zealous, or prayerful, as I was at first. The world is coming into my heart again. Ah! it is this makes me long often to be at rest ; done with sin; done with a sorrowful, God-dishonouring heart, and a Goddishonouring world. But I don’t think I’ll be ready for a long time. O to be made meet for the undefiled inheritance! to be done with deadness, and coldness, and selfishness, and distance from Jesus! to see Him as He is, to sit at His feet, and say to Him, ’Jesus, my redeeming God, I shall never more grieve thy heart by sin again!’ We shall say that in heaven; we cannot say it here; and it is this that makes life often so bitter. But how little of my sinfulness I see! I feel its bitterness a good deal, but I do not see its guilt enough. Ask this for me too. I will tell you a dream I had the night before last. I dreamed that I was in India, and I thought I was so enchanted to be there, for I thought, now I will go and speak to multitudes of poor heathen, and win them to Jesus; but, to my dismay, I found we were to leave next day, and I cannot tell you the agony I suffered when I found I could not remain to work amongst them. I said to E., ’Oh! think of Dr. Duff and all the missionaries being up the country there, and all the poor Indians, and we cannot get to them!’ And we never did get to them, for I awoke in all my misery about it. I often think I should like to go abroad, but for leaving ____; oh that I saw her in Christ, and ____ too! I could leave them then. I wish I saw the way opened up for us to go somewhere; there is so much done at home, and they need people more abroad; only I have two strong obstacles in the way,—first, these dear souls in ____ , and then I fear, indeed I know, I am not fit to be a missionary. Well, we are all in His hands; let Him do as seemeth Him good; let Him choose our inheritance for us."

"P____, March 10, 1846…I am strong in body just now, but my poor soul seems famishing and faint. I wish you would ask for me that I may be greatly quickened, for I need it. I sometimes get alarmed at the dead, unprofitable state I am in; and I am grateful that I have life enough to feel that I am dead, and light enough to see that I am very dark. It is a great mercy, and one I ought to be very grateful for, but I want to press on to higher and higher heights; I want to be an eminent Christian, that is, one that glorifies Jesus much, and I am often much discouraged in seeing how far behind I am. O for a single eye! self does so pollute all I do. Will you pray for me, my dearest friend?"

"P____, March 23, 1846…I am very much tried and tempted in my soul just now. I sometimes feel as if sin and Satan were just I raging against me; but, praise, eternal praise to Jehovah Jesus, I shall one day be, through Him, more than conqueror. He is teaching me my own weakness, and it is a painful lesson for a proud heart to learn; but I humbly trust He will teach me also where my strength really lies, that in Him I have strength, for is it not written, and it is a wonderful verse, ’In Him are hid the treasures of wisdom and knowledge’? and ’In Him dwelleth all the fulness of the Godhead bodily.’ Oh! that word bodily! To think that He wears our nature; yes, our Redeemer was ’made in the likeness of men.’ I talk to you of these things like a poor babe, as I am; but in glory, I shall know even as I am known."

"P____, April 14, 1846…I have been confined almost entirely to bed since last Monday week, with a severe attack of rheumatism over my whole body, and pain in my side, which has ended in sciatica, so that at present I cannot walk across the room but with difficulty; it is very painful at times, but I am very thankful that I am not always in pain, as I might be. How kind and gracious, God, my own wonderful, loving God, is to me! Oh! ask that I may see love in all His dealings with me, for I am very apt to doubt His loving heart! It takes a great deal to subdue me, but ’He is able to subdue all things unto Himself.’ My heart bounds at the thought of meeting you once more; but I do not know what to say about it; the time is drawing very near, and the doctor says he cannot say I shall be able to walk in a fortnight. It is a sore disappointment, when Mr. A. Bonar is to be there. I must go to the Fountain, now that the streams are dried up. God’s dealings seem strange just now! I had settled all I had to do—go regularly to the Refuge, give away tracts, get a Sabbath class, &c.—when, all at once, I am shut out from them all, and, instead of doing my Master’s work, here am I laid up, fit for nothing! Oh! pray for me that, since I cannot do His will, I may glorify Him by suffering it. Ask that I may not come out of this furnace till His time come. Ask for a humble submissive spirit, and especially that I may have the spirit of prayer given me, both for myself and others, that I may be enabled to pray for those to whom I cannot speak. "

"Kelso, April 1846…MY BELOVED R., Although I have just come here, yet I sometimes think I cannot stay away from you any longer! I often think of the few bitter moments we had in yon little room before I left. And yet there was sweetness in them too, for I knew you had Jesus, and that He loved you, and would take care of you. Cleave to Him in all your griefs, and you will find Him sweet. He wishes you to find yourall in Him. I like the verses you sent me very much, particularly the last one— ’Think what Father’s smiles are thine, Think that Jesus died to win thee— Child of heaven, canst thou repine?’

It is wonderful that He should love sinners so much!"

"Last night we were at ____’s. I learnt the last verse, and repeated it to myself all the evening, that, though my body was there, my heart might be above with Him who is holy, harmless, undefiled, and separate from sinners. I wish my heart were more there. How my soul cleaves to the dust! I may well cry, ’Quicken me, O Lord!’ I have not felt God’s presence lately; and this morning, when I was thanking Him for all His temporal blessings, I burst into tears as I thought, ’What is it all, if my Father hides His face?’ I long to live near God, to hide deeper in the clefts of the smitten Rock. O to delight myself in God! that would be heaven upon earth. I wonder when our Father will call us home! O to be for ever with Him, with the meek and lowly Jesus, with Him who once wore a crown of thorns, but who now wears a crown of glory! Don’t you long to cast yours at His feet? I have sometimes great longings to be away; but often Satan makes me not so anxious, by telling me that I am not a child, and that I shall never get to Jesus; but Satan is a liar, and we must not believe what he tells us. We must rather believe what Jesus himself says, and He says, ’Ye shall never perish.’ "

"P.S.—Pray that I may win old Lizzy to Jesus. Oh! when will glorydawn?"

"Kelso, April 18th… I cannot tell you the grief your letter, telling me you are not to come here, gave me. My only consolation is, that it is not His will that you should come at present. You would not find it an Him if you came without being sent. Oh, no! I feel that very much, even though I am here, that it is the wilderness still, and, sweet though the Lord’s hidden ones here are, He is the sweetest of all himself. There are many fair lilies in His garden, but He is the fairest of them all. ’He is fairer than the children of men.’ The Rose of Sharon is the sweetest flower in all the garden of God. I hope I shall see much of its beauty here, and bring back with me a sweet fragrance of the Plant of Renown. Will you pray that it may be so? Now that you are not coming, I must be doubly anxious to bring home the ’fragments’ to you. O that Jesus would fill me while in this place, that I may return to you and all with a blessing! To glorify Jesus, that is everything."

"Little W____ is dying; Mrs H. told me such a sweet anecdote of him. She was sitting beside him, and he said, ’You have a great many rings.’ She replied, ’They are all presents—I never buy jewels.’ He then said, ’There is one jewel you have which you got for nothing.’ ’Is that your mamma’s ring?’ she asked. ’No,’ he said, ’it is Christ I mean, the pearl of great price.’"

"I had such a conversation with my dear old Lizzy to-day! Oh, pray for her, and for a blessing on my visits to her. I think my heart will break if she does not come to Jesus before I leave. How full and free He seems when I speak to her! Blessed Saviour, and blessed work! To think that weare called to it! I must stop now. Pray that I may win souls to Christ here— especially old Lizzy. Your own M____."

"Kelso,____ ,1846…To-morrow is Sabbath, the day of peaceful rest. Oh, think of the time when there shall be nothing but Sabbaths, one endless Sabbath of blessedness and holy joy! I wish you had Mr ____ to-morrow ; but you have Jesus, and that is far better than any on this earth. Though you have not the channels for the living water to pour into your soul, you have the fountain itself, and that is ever free and open to every sinner. Only go empty,and Jesus will fill you with His own fulness; the less you have the better, you will be better able to contain the treasures that are hid in Him."

"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 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! I am often unhappy when I think that I am of no use in this world. When I think that all God’s children are working for Him except me, I think that I am the barren fig-tree, and that Jesus will say, ’Cut it down, why cumbereth it the ground?’ I do not know yet in what way I can work for Christ; but I have laid my prayers at the foot of Christ’s cross, and I know that God will answer them in His own good time and way, not for my sake, or on account of my prayers and earnestness, but for the sake of Him who died on that cross for such vile sinners. I feel so happy at the thought of living for Jesus. I do not know what has given me such an ardent desire to do something for Him. I wish I were a missionary…That the Lord may be your Shepherd, and that you may never want, is the prayer of your own affectionate M____."

"Kelso, May 6, 1846…I gave what you sent me to a poor child who is dying. Oh! R, if you only saw her! she is a real child of God. I must tell you all about her, for I am greatly occupied about her."

"We used to say that we had never seen a pious child, but I have seen one at last. The first day I saw her I wanted to take an angel’s office, and carry her in my arms to Jesus! J____ and I heard that she was ill, and Mr. Bonar said he thought there was real grace in her, and off we set to see her. She is about eight years old, and is dying of water in the head. She suffers a great deal, but her mother says she is very patient. She sometimes cries out when we are there, ’Oh! mother, my head!’ Poor thing, I am so sorry for her! She has turned quite blind, too! One day she said, ’I am blind, mem, but I can see Jesus with my heart.’ Wasn’t that sweet? I asked her what she saw in Jesus, and she replied, ’Love.’ M____ said to her, ’There will be no sorrow, no pain in heaven;’ and her answer was, ’No, mem, all love.’ I wish you could see her. But you never will, till you meet in glory. But I won’t tell you anything more about her at present, for I have a plan about her. I have written down all the sweet things she said, and I want Mr. Fordyce and Mrs. H. to write some nice remarks about her, and to make a little book of it; it would be so useful for children."

"Kelso, May 1846…I wish I had as ardent a desire for communion with Jesus, our Beloved, as I often have for fellowship with His dear people! Pray that it may be so, and that I may have far more desire for Him, and His love ’which passeth knowledge.’ I took a longing to see you just now; but, as I could not, I went to tell Jesus I wanted more of Him; and oh! He is sweet! I fear I know Him very little, if at all. I am so unwilling to submit to His will, not to say in all things, but in anything! O to be able to say, ’My soul is as a weaned child!’ When I think how soon we are to part—to say that bitter word, farewell’—I fear I am not like a weaned child; but He says, ’Be careful for nothing.’ It is sweet to tell Him all our heart, and to ask Him to comfort and sanctify us! He is a blessed God! How He bears with His poor, silly children! Our God is very pitiful, and of tender mercy. He never turns a deaf ear to any of our complaints, though they are often very foolish. He notices when His people are sad, and He draws near to comfort them, saying, ’Why weepest thou?’ He knows why we weep, but He wants us to tell Him; He knows what a relief the very telling Him of our griefs will be. It is best to speak of Himself when we meet, and not outward things. O to know Him as a living Saviour, living in me, the hope of glory! O for a joyful hope of coming glory! Do you remember the home-feeling about heaven? But I must stop, or I shall think I am at P____ already."

"E____,June 11, 1846…I feel now that we are absent the one from the other, when I have to write instead of speaking to you face to face; but this is His will whose meat and drink it was to do the Father’s will, and it must be our will too...I felt I was meeting you in spirit very often during the journey yesterday, especially about five. Jesus was very tender of His poor, sinful, sorrowful child, for He drew near to comfort me many a time after I had left you. I thought my heart would break! How I longed for our holy home where I never should say farewell—when we should be with theLord together for ever ! I must now get the closer to Jesus...I feel so drawn just now to all who love Jesus. It is a strong tie, the tie of grace that binds believers to each other; it can never be broken."

"P____, June 15, 1846…May we both lean our weary souls on the bosom of Jesus, and may we find it a very sweet resting-place! Yesterday was our communion at Musselburgh. I felt for a short time at the table, as if alone with Jesus. It is almost too much to think about the love of Jesus! I cannot stand it at all, if I feel it even a little. We shall need glorified bodies to hold the fulness of His love. It is sweet to get away from the world for a little, and sit under the shade of the ’Plant of Renown’ with great delight. I could not help groaning when I heard man’s voice again, and thought, oh! I am in the wilderness still! We shall never say farewell when we meet in glory."

"P____, June 17, 1846…It is a week to-day since we said earth’s bitterest word, farewell, and it seems like ten years. I wonder how much I have done for Jesus in that week now gone; with all its sins and opportunities of glorifying Him— sadly and sinfully lost—gone never to return. I am often afraid to write to you—I am afraid I write you lies! Do you remember what Mr. W____ said about that? I hope you will send me sometimes the Thursday night’s notes. How often we have feasted on them together! how often we have walked into the house of God in company! Shall we walk the golden streets of the New Jerusalem together? I am sometimes afraid;—yet this is sinful; Jesus surely is able to carry me all the way. I wish I knew Him better; His name is ’ Love,’ and His name is ’ Wonderful;’ but my name is unbelief, and I cannot—no, I should say, I will not, trust Him. I could trust you—I could trust you with anything ; and can I not trust Jesus ? What a heart is mine! He gave a proof (another among the multitudes He is for ever giving) of His love to this family, for He sent our dear minister with a sweet message of love to dear ____ to-day. He spoke of this verse,—’We have known and believed the love which God hath to us.’ He said that made all the difference between a converted and an unconverted man—the simple belief of the love of God; and yet, to make that difference, it required the mighty power of God. He would have given much to convert that soul, but he was powerless; yet God works by means, and we must plead, my beloved, that His message may be blessed. He seemed to be blessed in speaking of the love of God—his whole soul seemed to be in it; and you know where he got the love—he got it where the beloved disciple got his; and if He can fill a human heart so full, what must His own infinite heart contain!…Do you think I should print my little book? I think our dear little Mary’s love to Jesus, and, above all, the exhibition of His love to her in the perfect peace He gave her, may draw some young heart to Him…Tell me if your den is a Bethel to you, if Jesus draws near and says, ’Peace be unto thee.’ I am so glad when I think you are quiet there alone; yet not alone, because your Father is with you. My only drawback is, that I cannot come gently to the door, slip in, and join you at His throne, to bless Him for all His mercies to us, His poor silly sheep. We must be content that we excel in spirit for the present. My frequent prayer is, that our separation may lead us nearer to Himself. You must ask for me that I may often,— always have Mary’s place, as I have a good deal of Martha’s work to do. Oh to be at home! or to have more of a home-feeling about heaven even on earth!…You have One who never wearies in caring for you, who watches over you at all times with an intensity of interest and love such as never dwelt in a human bosom till the ’Word became flesh.’ How deep, how pure, how holy, how unwearied, how unselfish, how God-like, is the love God bears you! I am glad you are loved thus by One so glorious, so lovely. Do you remember the sweet chapter we read together at our last five o’clock meeting? It was all about the altogether lovely One. O that I could trust both you and myself with Him without a fear, a doubt, a murmur, or a suspicion!"

" P____, June 26, 1846…Our minister was inducted yesterday at two o’clock. What a solemn service it was![33] Do you know I cannot understand my feelings about him. I feel so drawn to him, and yet I have never heard him preach. I felt so much all the time of the service, my heart was quite melted; and I felt, surely this man is a giftfrom Christto us, and I mustlove him. Do you think Christ gave me these feelings towards him. R. did not feel as I did, for she said she had never heard him; but neither have I, and yet I felt as if I loved him so much. I felt as if it were to be the beginning of good days to poor P____. O that it may be so! The Master was very near to us yesterday, I think; surely He has sent this man…Tell me what you feel about going to London; I hope you won’t go; and yet, if it be for your good, we must, as you say, seek what our Father’s will is. How difficult I find it to bend my stubborn will to His! but there is nothing too hard for the Lord. What a comfort it is to think that! How my heart went with you when you wrote that you want to be stirred up to start anew! It is indeed a weary thing to be a half Christian. For the honour of our Master, we should indeed seek to be a ’peculiar people.’ We have just been reading Psalms 24:1-10 Jesus has such a beautiful name in it— the King of Glory: What a title! The followers of such a glorious King should not be like the world, who are His enemies. My precious friend, when you are pleading for yourself to be stirred up, remember your poor friend—pray for your blind child, that she may really see. I have sometimes great longings to get on, but they have never been answered yet. I should like to be a ’song’ Christian, but I am not one yet, I fear. You ask me if I have been learning anything lately, the question humbled me greatly, but I am so glad you put it, for I trust it will make me search and see what state I really am in. You must often put questions to me; I like so when you tell me what you feel, and ask me how I am getting on, for it alarms me out of my too easy state; you must always tell me what the Lord is teaching you, and it will encourage me more and more to follow on to know the Lord. I feel, like you, a good deal of what I am, but I do not see Jesus as I ought; I should like to be intimately acquainted with Him. He is too much as a stranger to me; and yet, I feel that none but He can satisfy my soul; none but the living God can satisfy a living soul. But is mine a living soul? Yet surely a dead soul could not long for Jesus as mine often does. I will try, my own friend, to lay all your wants before Him, who can and will supply them all. I sometimes greatly love to pray for you, especially at our own hour; but I should blush if you knew how little and how feebly I pray for you. I am so glad you want to have an additional hour for prayer. Oh! beloved, let us besiegethe throne; we have great need—I have, at least; and we have many to pray for. The hour R. and I have thought of, is from three to four on Fridays; tell me if you like that hour, or fix any other you like; perhaps you may think an evening hour will be less interrupted; and don’t you think we should make our own families, Kelso, and P____, the chief things to pray for? Let us seek grace for ourselves and one another, that we may glorify God in the midst of them; let us plead for them, and let us plead for the places we dwell m, that Jesus may dwell in them, and revive His work in the midst of them."

"P____, June 29, 1846…How unlike the love of man is God’s love! No earthly friend would have pained you all at this time, but we have a kinder Friend above. He wounds that He may heal; He lays low, that He may raise up again; He smites in love—mysterious, wonderful love! ’Whom the Lord loveth He chasteneth, and scourgeth every son whom He receiveth.’ A weight of glory will make amends for all the trials of the wilderness. God will not let any of you forget that it is the wilderness. Oh! what a weeping world this is! but faint not, beloved friends, all tears will be wiped away in glory."

"P____, Ju ne 11 , 1846…I sometimes feel solemn when I think how the Lord is dealing with us in both our families. There is such love in His taking to Himself those who are ready to go. I dread the king of terrors coming here, for so few are ready to meet him as a friend sent to bring them home...I need all your sympathy at present, for this is a very tried house. Dear ____ has been very ill, again; I had little hope of finding her alive on our return; and oh! the agony about her soul! I could think of nothing but that; yet, thanks to our wonderful and merciful God, we found her a little better...I cannot tell you what a solemn feeling I have about all this. How unspeakably important the soul seemed last night! I feel as if anything could be borne, if the soul were only safe. The Lord is speaking very loudly to us all, particularly to dear ____; and I write to ask you to join us more earnestly than ever, that it may be sanctified. Did you join us at three yesterday? I was with____; I read her the whole of ’Mary standing at the feet of Jesus.’ It was very sweet to myself, and dear ____ seemed quiet and solemn. How I yearn at times over them all! but there is One who yearns far, far more. O to see them all at His feet, in His arms—yea, in His very heart! ’The advancing footstep of a sinner to the Altar, is a sweet sound in our Aaron’s ears.’ Do you remember that, beloved?…We are so cheered about ____. O that my old Lizzy and the old man at W. H. were gathered in too! Jesus has a large heart; it can hold all who come. I am glad youare in that infinite heart. Farewell for a little. And now, may you know more of that lovely One who makes all heaven glad, and who cheers even earth’s dull mansion with His bright beams. That these beams may shine into your heart more and more, is the earnest prayer of your own loving and attached sister in the Beloved."

"P____, July 17, 1846…I cannot tell you what or how I feel, when I hear our loving God has laid His rod on my precious friend. You tell me not to grieve, but I cannot help it. ’No affliction for the present is joyous, but grievous,’ so I may grieve, but oh! not sinfully; and I fear I do that. How much I may have to suffer before my stubborn will is subdued, and ’every thought brought into subjection to the obedience of Christ!’ But I can trust Him, my own beloved Lord. I wish we were all ’safe in the promised land.’ I feel my distance from Jesus here; it is so painful, that I feel at times as if I could wait no longer, but mustgo to Him. ’Oh that I had the wings of a dove! for then would I fly away, and be at rest. ’How sweet it would be to go to glory together! Oh! my beloved, what a wilderness this is! and the dreariest part of it is the evil heart within. Let us plead that our afflictions may not pass away without the effect God intends by them. I dread that more than the suffering. I am thinking I shall be the next laid up, for my side is bad again; but don’t you grieve, for I feel I need it all, and I am sometimes so happy when I feel the pain, for I think this is Christ’s hand on me, and it is inlove, and I am so glad He loves me, that anything from Him is sweet. But I fear, if I were more tried, and tried in any very tender part, by bereavement for instance, I should not feel it sweet any longer. ’I am a beast before Thee.’ I often say that—it seems just to suit me…And now, what message shall I send to yourself? I shall not send one from me, but from your beloved Lord. I have opened the Bible at Psalms 40, verses 1-3. May the sweet Spirit of Jesus write them on your heart."

" E____, August 17, 1846…You will get this on your birthday. If it be for the Lord’s glory, may you, my precious friend, see many, many happy returns of this day; and may you every day see new beauties in your ’altogether lovely Saviour; and may every birthday find you liker and liker Him who is the spotless One— our all-perfect God. I cannot at all tell you my feelings when I received your dear and welcome letter this morning. It was one of those green spots in the wilderness one sometimes meets with. I had wearied for it during the last, to me, painful month; but I trust I have felt that this has been a needful trial, and that it has been blest to me. I lean too much on you when I am with you, and I lean on your dear letters when I get them; and you must ask that God would enable you to write to me only when He wills that I should hear, and then your letters will be blest to me. And soon, beloved, we shall not need to write with pen and ink; we shall speak face to face ere long, I trust, in ’Jerusalem above.’ I often weary to be away! What a God we have! Truly He is God and not man, or He would have cast me off long ago…I am too weak to write much at a time, and my side is very painful today. Will you pray that all this may be sanctified? I should be humbled indeed, when I think how sinful I must be to need so much pruning. But it is all well,all right; and I shall see that clearly in the sweet light of eternity. O to be at home! I feel a kind of persuasion that I may be away soon. I feel little interest in anything here, and I think perhaps this pain is the messenger sent to bring down the frail body; but He knows the best time to take me. O that I were quite sure that I am prepared! But I feel as if I were cruel in saying all this to you.You would miss M____; you would be saying, ’I am distressed for thee, my sister.’ It is curious I CANNOT STAND you speaking of going home, and yet I speak of it to you; but then I forget I am not J____, but only M____. I was at church yesterday for the first time for a month; and how lovely and pleasant His courts were! We heard Mr. Gumming of Dumbarney at St Luke’s, and I never heard such an exquisite sermon. I thought of you constantly. How you would have enjoyed it! I must try and remember some of it to tell you, in spite of my poor side."

"E____, September 3, 1846…E____ says you have promised to return in spring, so mind you are to come by ____. But ah! how little do we know what may happen before then! We may have met, beloved one, in glory; we may be by that time, ’absent from the body, and present with the Lord.’ Do you know I sometimes lately have felt eternal things so near! Perhaps my being so poorly puts me more in mind that I am mortal, and that my days on earth are as a shadow. I am in wise and loving hands; and it is a wonder to me that He takes such pains with me as to afflict me so often; there is really nothing but love in it at all. I cannot see any severity; it is so gentle, so loving, and, oh! so infinitely less than I deserve. I am a wonder to myself, that my heart is not quite melted and won by such love; but it is not. I need not conceal either from myself or you that my heart cleaves as much to the dust, and is as cold as if the bright Sun of Righteousness had almost never shone upon it. I say almost, for it would be sinful to deny that He has shone even on my hard heart, but it is hard still; my only comfort is that it will not always be so. No! blessed be His holy and loving name, I shall one day begin (and never end) to praise Him with a warm and unsinning heart. But it is sweet even now to stammer His praise. I thought this morning it was such a mercy in God to allow us to praise Him. Is it not, dearest? And when we begin to praise, although the moment before, perhaps, we thought we had so much to complain of and so little to praise, soon we find that we would need an eternity to bless Him for all our mercies; and then all our complaints vanish. I often find I have nothing to complain of, when I thought I had a great deal. One thing I do bless Him for—we are all still alive; we can still pray for our beloved ones who are yet out of Christ. I wonder how long they are to be out of Christ. O that but one would come in!"

"September 14, 1846…It rejoices me when I hear that there is no cloud between you and the bright Sun of Righteousness, and that He is shining upon your soul. What a wonderful difference it makes when the Lord draws near! then are the disciples glad; but, ah! it is sad when He is away; nothing can make up for His absence…Everything is so changeable and uncertain here, that I often feel we must just live by the day. God could, in ways we never should think of, arrange everything for us as we could wish, at least, as would glorify Him; and His people should desire nothing that would not glorify Him."

Frequently, during the past two or three years, has M____ given utterance to her desires to labour for the Lord. She has sought, in many ways, to carry these desires into effect; and in no small measure she has succeeded. She has already ’done what she could,’ as we have seen. But now her desires take a more decided shape. She wishes to be more directly and undividedly a labourer in the field. Anywhere— anywhere, at home or abroad—she is willing to labour. Only let it be work for Christ, and she will undertake it, at any cost of suffering, or toil, or sacrifice. But now her eye turns more definitely to the foreign field. She sees that the labourers are few, and she would fain step forward to offer her services, though most painfully burdened with a feeling of weakness and unfitness. It is this feeling that troubles her most. The hardships and the sacrifices do not weigh with her half so much as this. Her humility is at all times great; here it shews itself excessive. The purpose of her heart she is not allowed to carry out. Medical judgment decides against the scheme; at least, in the case of her sister, without whom she cannot go. Several hindrances come up, and ultimately the plan is abandoned. But her devotedness and consecration of spirit have been fully proved.

These statements will explain the contents of the following letters:—

"P____, September 14, 1846…I must now tell you what B. and I are very much occupied with. We greatly wish to go out as missionaries— that is to say, as teachers. We have thought of it almost ever since we first sought the Lord,—I should say, since He sought us; and lately we have felt more and more as if God were calling us to it by His providence. O that it were so! What an honour and privilege to go to tell poor heathen children of Jesus, the friend of children! to take them to Him too, that He may take them up in His arms and bless them! There are many obstacles: first, we are afraid of running before we are sent, and I fear my motives are not pure at all; but then if I wait till my motives are right, I may wait all my life, for I have a desperately wicked heart. What do you think about our wishes? We think God seems to be pointing us to it in many ways: in the first place, it was He, not ourselves, who gave us these desires; then we had nothing to do in the writing of the letter about us to this lady; and her letter and the account of this society have come to us just at the time when our family are talking of many different plans for the future; and we want them (if they can) to settle them without calculating upon us, as we think we can do more for Christ amongst hundreds of children abroad, than with two or three at home. We spoke to mamma about it today for the first time, and she is very averse to it. Ah! that would be the terrible part of it—the differing with her, and the parting from her. That would be the plucking out of the right eye, the cutting off of the right hand; but Jesus says we must not love father or mother more than Him. But, oh! darling, we are anxious about this matter. I can pray about nothing else almost; and, oh! join us, for we are very anxious to do nothing rashly; we want to see God leading us every step, and our way is but dark to us yet. M____ will not hear of India, so we are thinking rather of applying to the Free Church. It would be nice, too, to go out, sent by our own Church; and Pesth or Jassy is not so formidable as India or Africa. Will you pray earnestly and much for us, that God would lead us every step of the way, and shew us Hiswill in this solemn matter? What a terrible thing it would be if we were refused! but we will tell them we are so anxious and willing to learn. Will you not be long of answering this letter, as I am very anxious to know what you think? I am afraid of two things: of being put back from it by any sacrifice Christ may shew us we must make, or by the ridicule of worldly friends; and I am afraid, on the other hand, of undertaking a thing I am not called to, or fit for. Oh, how sweet it would be, setting off together on our Master’s work! We should really be Christ’s servants then!"

" P____, September 19, 1846…Does it not seem as if God had come into the midst of us and our arrangements, saying, ’Ye are not your own, I have work for you to do’? What a brightness and a glory is there around the very thought that this may be the case! But then come in my two other objections: first, my health—I am certainly not strong, the pain in my side never leaves me, and it must weaken me; and, lastly, I am not fit for such a work m any way. I had such a sight of this this morning, while praying about it, that I could do nothing but weep bitterly, thinking that Jesus could not send me. How unsubmissive I am to His blessed will! I feel that it would be hard to say, ’Thy will be done,’ when, that will was to say farewell to my beloved father and mother, and my precious and most beloved friend on earth, your own dear self. I cannot dwell on the thought at all, so I won’t attempt to speak of it. Yet, I feel it would be far, far more difficult to say, ’Thy will be done,’ if Jesus said, ’You are not to go, you are not to go to tell sinners, far away, of my love;’ and I greatly fear He may say that to me, my motives are so unworthy. I feel, dearest, that all this has been much blessed to my poor soul. It has often, since I got that letter about it, drawn me very near to my wonderful God. O that I had a holy heart to love such a holy God! O that I had a loving heart to love such a loving God! I feel my need of Him more, I think. I feel that I cannot stand or go alone. Hemustlead me; and is it not a sweet necessity laid upon us, that we must come and lean all our weight upon God—upon Jehovah-Jesus? Oh! J____, you and I will sing a loud hallelujah in glory! But I don’t want to go to heaven yet; I want to go to His ancient people, and try to bring some of their little ones to Him who has already shed His blood for them. I was saying to dear ____, the other day, that I felt as if I were just beginning to feel that I need a Saviour. I have been professing for four years now that I am His, and yet this is all the length I am— that I need Him. Yes, I do indeed need Him, for I am a guilty worm of the dust, and can do nothing for myself; but He is everything, and has done everything, and all He wants now is, that we should consent that He should be our Substitute— that we should consent to be nothing, that He may be ’all in all!’ This is humbling, but, oh! it is sweet too. Don’t you feel that you would not like any other way of being saved but this way, ’the new and living way’? There is nothing on this sad earth so sweet as to weep for sin at the feet of Jesus; but it is a terrible thought, that we are never done sinning. It should make us lie very low, and make our High Priest all the more precious to us."

" P____, September 23, 1846…I wonder how my two old people are, Lizzy and the man ____. O that I could go once more, and tell them of ’Him who loved us, and gave Himself for us!’ Could He give more? Could He give anything half so precious, half so lovely? and, having given Himself, can He deny us anything we can ask Him? No: let us trust Him, dear sister, and we are sure to come off more than conquerors through Him that loved us, and gave Himself for us. I love to repeat this verse, it is so sweet! Don’t you often feel you don’t so much, as it were, love Him for His gifts, as for Himself? If He had given us all His possessions, but not Himself, what would that have done for us? That is the misery of the worldling, that he is ’ without Christ.’ Can you conceive a more miserable, solitary state? What would heaven be without Christ? No heaven at all. I am often afraid Jesus will say these awful words to me at the judgmentseat, ’Depart from me?’— and then I should be without Christ. Oh! I think if I am to go to hell, I will sit in a corner and thinkofChrist,if I cannot be with Him. But He will not leave our soul in hell if we commit it to Him."

" P____, November 21, 1846…I shall be glad to see your face, for it is a rough world this, and Christ’s poor silly sheep get many a hard blow on their road to glory; but itis a road that leads to glory, and that should make amends for troubles by the way…We are often dark and troubled about many things; but what a comfort it is to know that, though our way be dark to us, it is all light to Jesus! He knoweth the way that we take, and He will lead us by a right way to his own joy above; and He seems often to say to me, ’O thou of little faith, wherefore didst thou doubt?’ and, though it is a rebuke, it is such a gentle one, as if He said, ’Have ye any reason why ye doubt me?’ making me feel I have indeed no reason to doubt my gracious Master. I envy you your hunger. I wish I had a hungrysoul, for I should be sure to be fed. I fear you will starve here; but you must go more to the Fountain, and you will get the water clearer and purer there. I am sometimes so glad God is pure and holy, it makes my very heart rejoice to give thanks at the remembrance of His holiness.’ Think of the time when we shall be as pure as our glorious Master— when we shall partake of His holiness, not only in a degree, but altogether. I cannot imagine me without sin!"

" P____, October 6, 1846…I am so glad it is beloved Israel we are to go to, if we do go;but, oh! I am terribly afraid, especially since I have seen this dear sister in the Lord. I can hardly tell how I feel about it—I am ashamed and afraidby turns. I could scarcely look at Mr. M____ when we were telling him—it seemed such presumption in me to think of it; yet, it is not I who am to work, but God—’the grace of God in me;’ and, if He call me to it, He will surely give me the necessary strength."

" Oct. 7…—’The Lord your God is holy.’ This is a sweet, and yet solemn verse for to-day. It would be a terrible thing if our God were not holy—infinitely holy. It is so blessed to think we may so surely, so safely trust our everlasting all to Him; yet I sometimes think it strange how we, at least 7, can trust Him for eternity, and that I am so unbelieving above the things of time. Oh! if we could only obey that precious command, ’Be careful for nothing,’ we should find the promise fulfilled in our blessed experience, ’that the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, would keep our hearts and minds through Jesus Christ.’ Truly it is a peace which passeth all understanding. I wish I knew more of it ; it is my own sin that I do not. I am in great trouble about the mission business, I am so afraid of turning before I am sent. I would not go anywhere without Him for thousands of worlds. Any amount of agony with Him would be infinitely sweeter than any joy without Him. I sometimes wish I were ’safe in the promised land,’ I get so little of Him here, and I live so far from Him."

" P____ October 23, 1846…I think, too, we should not speak of it to any one; for, if I did not go after all (and I will not go if He go not with me), it may do harm to the cause. As for poor me, it does not matter what any one says and thinks of me—they cannot think too badly of me; but I must be very careful not to give occasion to any to speak against my Master. But I am really taxing your patience very unmercifully, and I fear you will say, when you read my letters, ‘Ah! poor M____ is too full of doubts and fears ever to be a missionary.’ I sometimes think any mission in Europe is too civilised for me. I think I should do better out in the wilds of Africa, where I should have to teach only poor savages, and not so many eyes on me. It is a wonderful thing that Jesus has put it into my head at all, to think that I, ’a beast before Him,’ should venture to say, ’Here am I, Lord, send me.’"

"P____, December 3, 1846…MY VERY DEAR MRS. H____, R. received your kind letter this afternoon, and I now sit down to have a talk with you on this, to us, most deeply interesting subject. We were much delighted to receive your faithful letter. I thank our loving Father that He has given us faithful friends, for I am always afraid lest your love should blind you to us, so that you would not see us as we really are—at least in as far as we can know of one another. Dear friend, we have not taken up this matter lightly . I think God has been teaching us from the very beginning to dread nothing so much as following our own way in this matter, and I feel (as far as I know my deceitful and desperately wicked heart) that the language of our heart is, ’If Thy presence go not with us, carry us not up hence;’ and I think, if you knew all the providences, you would feel, with us, that the Lord has been at least calling our attention to a missionary life very decidedly, although, at the same time, we feel that He has not as yet made our way so clear as that we can say we think it is His will that we are really to go. He has given us the strong wish to be employed abroad in His service. He has inclined the hearts of our dear family in a most wonderful way to be agreeable to our wishes. And another thing is very encouraging to us, our health has greatly improved lately, although we have at the Normal School had a great deal of very unusual fatigue. You say you ’do not think we can infer, from present appearances, that He will ultimately send us abroad.’ Perhaps He may not ; but I think, at present, we should be turning from His way if we were not much taken up with the thought that He is dealing with us very peculiarly in the matter. His will regarding us is not clear yet; but it is sweet, as you say, to rest in His present will, leaving the case of the future to Him. I almost dread to speak upon the subject of my fitness, I should rather say unfitness, for such a work ; I feel ashamed, and deeply humbled, to speak of it to you or any other friend I have; I feel so unworthy, so unfit, in every way, especially with regard to my knowledge of Divine things. I am not fit for any work at home or abroad; I am the merest worm that ever tried to speak a word for Jesus ; and if I looked at my own qualifications, I should at once give up all thought of going; but Jesus will not send me a warfare on my own charges; if I go, my Master will go with me, the everlasting arms will be underneath me. He will put His own words into my stammering lips."

" P____, January 4, 1847…O to be done with sin! I weary of the struggle often, and yet this is wrong, for I should have my mouth filled with praise that I am in the struggle; but the more I am loved, the more insensible my heart seems to get."

"P____,April 10, 1847…So your sweet Lord (as Rutherford would say) has not been forgetful of you any more than of us! Don’t you find it a blessed thing to be afflicted? I think I agree best with trials, and I have not a few of them at present. You ill—E. ill, and away from home—and so many at home ill—and, worse than all, seeing so many I love, without Christ, still out of the ark, in spite of the many calls they have had to enter in. I should greatly like to hear from you; and oh! tell me that you are better, for my foolish heart can scarcely bear to hear you say you are ill. That shews how selfish my love to you is compared to Christ’s: He makes you ill though He loves you so much; yes, and just because He loves you so well...I read to ____ in the morning now, as well as at night! Oh! seek a blessing on His own Word. How sweet it is to tell him how freeto him the Saviour is!...It is strange to me how much I am taken up about that soul. I sometimes feel as if I had no one else to care for. Surely He who has given this concern to such a cold heart as mine will answer, in His own time, the pleadings of His own Spirit within me? Oh! pray for that soul, that the entrance of His word may give light to it. I have asked ____ to remember us, and she says she will; it will be a great comfort to me to think that prayer for a blessing is ascending from some of God’s dear children while I read to him...I wish I could tell you of some loved one ’born again;’ well, let us not weary, and ’in due season we shall reap, if we faint not.’"

"P____, Ap ril 28, 1847…MY OWN BELOVED FRIEND,—I shrink from writing even to you just now, for I am in deep waters, and I can scarcely bear to speak of it, but I long to write a few lines to you at times. My beloved — ____ is now very ill; he has had three more of these dreadful attacks, each only one week after the other, and he cannot stand it long. My own friend, the furnace is very hot.O that it may purify the precious gold, cleansing all the dross away! It is very terrible; but it is all love, deep, God-like love—I cannot doubt it...I fear you will never see ____ more on this sad earth—oh! pray that you may meet in the Jerusalem above, and be together ’for ever with the Lord.’ Now, my beloved, I can say no more; I must go to my Refuge, the throne of grace, to plead for him."

" P____, June 7, 1847…The Lord hath laid His hand very heavily on this house, but it is the Lord who has done it, and He will give us grace to say, ’He hath done even this well.’ I cannot tell you that my heart has been brought to anything like submission yet. Oh! this is bitter, bitter sorrow! It is a hot furnace indeed, so hot that my faith often fails altogether; but Jesus’ love never fails, and even in the midst of my agony I have felt that there was ’One like to the Son of man’ with me in the furnace, keeping the flames from kindling upon me. I have had moments of deep peace that could only come from Him. Seek, dearest, that we may get all the benefit God intends by this sore bereavement. His love to us is, indeed, wonderful; love shines out in every little circumstance concerning us, even to the most minute. As He has had all the pain of so deeply afflicting us, I cannot bear to think that He should not get glory to Himself from it all. May it be said of this stricken family, ’Now they desire a better country, that is an heavenly.’ Pray for us all. What sore hearts we have! but Jesus says He heals as well as wounds. What a wilderness this is! I know now what the word means. Do write again; and believe me, yours most affectionately, in the love of Jesus."

" P____, June 22, 1847…Many a time, and in various, ways, has the Lord spoken to this family; but, oh! what were all these to this! I feel as if we never felt a pang before. He has now spoken to us by death; and that has gone to the very innermost corners of our hearts, causing them to bleed as they never did before. My precious father,—are we never to see his sweet, kind face on earth again? I think my heart will break; I thought time would make it lighter to me, but it gets worse every day. I get comfort but in one thing, that it is sent for good to our precious souls. Oh! if beloved ones are led to Jesus by this heavy stroke, surely we may well suffer this agony. Yes, dearest; this may be God’s way of answering our many prayers for their conversion; and though it is a terrible way, still, if it be for such an end, we may well praise Him for it...I feel that nothing short of God getting glory from this tribulation will comfort me under it; and what will bring Him so much glory as to see us all sitting at the feet of Him who has so sorely wounded us! I must live to God now—this world can never be my rest. How I long to be at rest up yonder! I long to go, to be ’for ever with the Lord.’…There is something striking in the time God has been pleased to take to remove our beloved from us, when he and we together were looking for, and talking about, little else but the return of dear ____, after an absence of six years; and now that he has come, three weeks after our sore loss, we all look upon him, thinking, ’Oh! how he would have gazed upon him!’ How I feel that God thus intends to make us see His hand in it very evidently!...I have great comfort at times in pleading that God himself would come and fill, and far more than fill, his place in our family. We have a promise to plead which we had not before; and I doget blessed comfort at times, in praying that He would fulfil it. Oh to have God to be our Father, to come, like David of old, to ’bless His household!’ I long to see more love in this trial, but it almost overwhelms my wicked heart. He tells us that it is through muchtribulation we are to enter the kingdom; and yet how bowed down we are when the tribulation comes, ’as though some strange thing happened to us!’ I was not present at the last, and that is to me one of the most dreadful parts of this trial. It was very sudden. I had gone to E____ that morning, and you may be sure he did not seem to be worse, when I could leave him, for I seldom left him even for an hour; when I returned, God had taken him. And now I can tell you no more, for I cannot speak of this at all."

" P____, July , 1847…Many thanks for your most welcome and very precious letter. One thing in it gave me especial comfort; indeed, it is the only thing that can comfort me now, your saying that, without this trial, the glory of ourblessed God would be incomplete. It seems to me very wonderful that it should be so, that anything about a poor worm like me should glorify Him in any way; but it must be true, as you say, my beloved, that all things are working for His glory, and so must this amongst the rest. Does it not shew what a desperately wicked creature I must be, when I could wish not to pass through any furnace, if He would be glorified thereby? Yes, dearest; God is shewing me, at this time of unutterable anguish, that I am a great deal worse than I ever thought I was. If any one had told me before this took place, what thoughts I should have of God, and what unbelief, and murmurings, and repinings, and rebellings I should give way to, I should have said, ’Am I a dog, that I should do this?’ but, oh, I havedone it! Did you but see my heart, from day to day, you would mourn for me indeed; but God sees it all, and yet He has patience with me, and has even passed His word— and He cannot lie—that He will have patience with me to the end. Why can’t I see love even in this fiery trial? I cannot understand my feelings at all. I feel as if it were impossible that I could ever be comforted, and yet God says, ’With me nothing is impossible.’ What a wilderness this world is now! and every day it gets worse. I take such a yearning of heart to see my darling father again; and when I remember that I shall never see him again on earth, the thought is so full of agony, I can scarcely bear it, and the very sweetest word in all the Book of books seems unavailing to give me one ray, one drop of comfort. I cannot believe that it is true; I don’t think I have ever believed it yet, and yet I don’t see him. Yes, yes, it is true indeed; and my very heart is breaking within me. Surely I cannot be a child of God, to feel in this way! I don’t think His people ever have such a rebellious heart, at any time, as I have; I fear I am refusing to be comforted. But why do I speak of my wicked self, and grieve my own friend? "

" There is one thing I must say,—remember all the blame is mine, that I am so miserable. I cannot bear that any one should think the loving God is dealing too severely with His rebellious child. You will not think that, for you know God better; and I am a little happy when I think and know that: it would be terrible indeed, if I made any one think ill of my heavenly Father, as I fear I do."

"E____, August 7, 1847…I always feel sorry, my beloved J____, that my letters to you are so full of sorrow, for I know they will grieve you; but oh! how can it be otherwise? ’The cup which my Father hath given me’ is a very bitter cup indeed; and although there are times when the deep wound does not bleed so much, still these times are rare. Oh! there is a depth and a reality of bitterness in this sore bereavement I never felt before! I never thought I could have felt as I now do. It has changed the whole aspect of this world to me; and often I have but one wish—to lay my aching head and heart beside my beloved father’s, and neither sin nor sorrow more. But I feel that this is very wrong: my Father knows best when to take His poor sorrow fill child home,and I know that I should rather wish to live more to Him now than ever. Earth has but one attraction for me now, and that is to be enabled to bring souls to Jesus. If it were not that even I can thus glorify Him in a way that angels cannot do, I could not stay here any longer...It will be sad to leave that house and that beloved room, where we watched night and day our precious invalid, and where, often and often, God has enabled me to pour out my whole soul before Him for his precious soul. How I have sat by him, weeping my very heart out, and repeating to him, verse after verse, the sweetest I could find; and I see now, as if it were reality, his dear eyes fill with tears, and looking at me so kindly. O my father, my beloved father! no wonder this world is a desert to me. "

" P.S.—I have been taking this opportunity of again visiting at the prison. Seek a blessing on my poor efforts. I am often greatly helped in speaking to them of the sinner’s Friend. What a wonderful thing, that God employs one sinner to direct another to the blood that can cleanse us both! They are often melted; but I long to see the blessing really come; there is nothing I find such comfort in as in seeking to win some of these poor wanderers back to the fold. Pray for a word of power."

" Blairgowrie, September 17, 1847…MY OWN DARLING FRIEND,—You will be surprised to see me address from Blairgowrie. I came here to nurse poor ____; she has been ill again. O that now she may cry from the heart, ’My Father, thou art the guide of my youth!’ And will you ask for me, that I may be enabled to walk wisely towards her, and may have a word given me to speak to her precious soul?"

"Blairgowrie, September 1847…I shall say nothing till we meet, about the prospect of a minister to P____, except this— ’He hath been mindful of us, and He will bless us still.’ Oh, yea He is a prayer hearing God, and He will give us a godly minister yet, for He says, ’Ask, and ye shall receive.’ I am glad you are to meet ____ on Friday. I love real, spiritual Christians! Love to all, from Your own M____."

" P____, October 27, 1847…Since my visit to Blairgowrie, there has been a song of praise put into my mouth, and every new trial just seems to me a new cause for a louder and sweeter song of praise. I sometimes see such unutterable love to this family in all our trials, that I can hardly feel anything but thanksgiving to the God of love. I don’t mean that I don’t feel our sore trials; oh, no;—my wicked heart is far more inclined to faint under His rebukes than to despise them; but God is shewing me that He is afflicting us for our eternal profit, and making me feel that it is worth suffering anything, if the soul is only saved; and should not that make me praise Him!" In the month of September, as will be seen from some of the previous letters, she was called to attend a sick sister near Blairgowrie. Of this brief visit she has left a record which is entitled, "Diary during a short visit to Blairgowrie." As this is fuller than her other diaries, and as it brings her history down to the time of her marriage, we give it pretty fully. It is a sort of episode or parenthesis—the record of her experiences and activities when placed alone among strangers, with few, save the Christ whom she loved, to resort to.

" Sept. 8, 1847, Wednesday.—Left Edinburgh at half-past seven morning, and sailed in the steamboat to Dundee. Felt Jesus very near me almost all the time; read Mr. Hamilton’s Olive ;—felt it very precious to my soul; felt especially sweet what he says of faith, that it has no virtue in itself; but that Jesus, to whom it unites the soul, is everything. How sweetly one learns when the holy loving Spirit is the teacher! I felt I could look beyond my faith to Him who is the object of it. Yes, my Jesus is all in all. O that He were all in all to me! I felt very sick soon after, and could not speak to any but one little boy, to whom I gave a tract. The Lord brought us safe to land, and after seeing about the railway, I took a walk to the churchyard;—met a servant girl there, to whom the Lord gave me a word. It was very solemn to talk about eternity, surrounded by those whose souls had already begun their eternal state. I wondered how many in these graves would rise to glory. Gave her one or two tracts."

"Left Dundee at half-past two, and arrived at New-tyle at halfpast three. Found I had to wait there three hours before the train arrived again, as the omnibus to Blairgowrie does not leave till then; this was very provoking, as I was tired, and had no place to go to but a dirty inn. But I thought I might get some work for my Master to do, and so the time would not be lost. I spoke to three girls about the love of Jesus, and gave them tracts. I then walked about for an hour or more, and gave tracts to nearly all I met. Got away at last, and arrived at Blairgowrie safely, but very tired, a little after nine. Found M____ very poorly. The Lord only knows how this illness is to end. May it be for His glory either way! Went very soon to bed. My own beloved Lord has been very tender of me this day; He has been very loving to His wayward child. I often think God delights in shewing remarkable forbearance and love to me. Why me, Lord? why me?"

" 9th.—Went down to see dear old ____ after dinner, and felt it sweet to hear her talk of Jesus. It greatly delights me when I hear others speak well of Him, and see them trusting in His love. My faith is very feeble; I can trust Him when all goes well, but when He gives me a bitter cup to drink, as He has lately, how I misdoubt and misjudge Him!—and yet He is love still. Yes, I would not have it otherwise. It is all well, because He did it...Felt the burden greatly away. I said on leaving, ’The Lord be with you!’—’And go with you,’ she added. It came very sweetly to my heart. I think I need double grace when I am away from home, I feel so lonely. Oh, I shall be glad when I am for ever with the Lord; I shall never feel lonely then! He is ever with me even now, it is true; but it is a different thing to see the loved One by faith, and face to face."

" 10th.—Felt very near God, and very peaceful and happy today. What a change when the Comforter comes! All clouds, all burdens roll away, and the Sun of Righteousness shines into the soul. Strange that I am not always thus! Jesus is ever the same, and so my peace need never waver. But, ah! I have a body of ‘em to carry about with me, and that is a sad hindrance."

"A bright cheery day. Went down to see ____ ; was with her an hour. It is very sweet to sit beside her, and witness her cheerful submission to her painful earthly lot. I feel when with her, how ungrateful I am for my many mercies. Why am I not lying like her? I do not deserve the health I have. O that I could spend it in His service, and glorify Him as much as she does in her sickness!"

" llth.—I trust it will be the Lord’s will that M____ will recover, for I fear that she has not yet experienced a real change, not passed from death to life. I can do little except pray for her, as she is not able to converse...A letter has come to ____, telling her that her father is gone. Oh, I know their sorrow: it is a very bitter one. May He who often at that time comforted me, comfort that family. I feel my own grief coming back afresh when I think of theirs. No letter from home to-day. Felt vexed about this. How little trouble makes me sin, and grieve away the Holy Spirit! Felt greatly troubled at prayer about this sin, of being so easily vexed. It hid God’s face, as every sin must do till it is washed in the cleansing blood, and subdued by the kingly power, of Jesus. Strange, how sweet it is to weep for sin![34] And yet there is bitterness in it too; and the more it is forgiven, the bitterer my tears get. O that I should sin against such a God! I wish I could, like Job, abhor myself. I have two besetting sins: I am soon angry, and I am very selfish; and often do I plead with God, that I need double grace to subdue these sins, and that, if He do not hold me up, I must fall, for I have no strength. Oh! it is blessed to be able to plead my utter weakness, that I may lay claim to His strength."

"Monday, 13th.— Heard Mr. Macdonald preach twice yesterday. In the morning it was from 1 Corinthians 3:15. It was all about the difference of grace in Christians making different degrees of glory in heaven. It is a subject that always makes me very sad, as I feel that I come so very far short now, that I shall likely have a very low place in glory. What an undeserved mercy if I am there at all! But I should like to have a large cup of joy, and a bright crown of glory; for the brighter the crown, the fitter is it to cast at His feet; and the larger the cup, the sweeter is it, for it is just filled with Himself. This subject should make me very anxious to press on, that I may get more grace." The following extract wears a peculiar tinge of solemn sadness. She does not elsewhere express herself thus, but always rejoices in creation’s loveliness, knowing that he who joys in God ought to joy in His works. For may not a Christian say, with one of the world’s poets— "Oh my heart joys to gaze upon the sky, Gleaming athwart green leaves like happiness, Above the gloom and shadow of the world O summer sunshine! floating round all things— Meadow, and hill, and leafy coverture— Steeping all nature in most sweet delight, Till upward from the bosom of the earth, Before so cold, and blank, and unadorn’d, Spring fairest flowers, to gladden and adorn." But yet one does not wonder at the deep sadness of heart thus expressed, when it was the sadness arising from the uncongenial air of earth. She felt herself a stranger here. She looked around, and saw the world lying in wickedness. Creation was beautiful; but sin had tinged it, and shadows hung over it, and Satan reigned in it, and its dwellers were not walking with God. Then, too, there were other sights, to the believing eye fairer and more wonderful—other scenes, which partook more of heaven, and which drew the renewed soul upwards irresistibly by their superior attractions, making that which was beautiful in creation to have no beauty at all, by reason of the beauty that excelleth. It was evidently in such a frame of spirit that the following passage was written:— "I took a lovely walk to-day; but it is strange how little pleasure I have in beautiful scenery or walks now. My heart is far too sad to care for anything of that kind, even though they are God’s works. I like better, far better, to sit beside His dear people, and see His works and wonders of grace. I have no heart now for anything but spiritual things."

" Wednesday, 15th.— M____ much better to-day. O that this affliction, sent by God in love to her precious soul, may be sanctified! was so struck this morning!—I had been away for an hour, and had been praying earnestly that God would not let this trial pass away without bringing her to Jesus; and when I returned to her room, I found a dear Christian speaking to her with such solemnity and affection, beseeching her really to seek the Lord. He said. God had sent her two heavy trials, and that if she did not improve these, He would send a third; and that, if all failed, how sad her state would be!"

"Have been feeling much lately how very little I see God in everything. O for faith to see His hand in everything! Have had great desires, too, to have a thankful heart. Oh! if I thought more of my mercies, I should think less of my trials, for I should see that my mercies are far the more numerous of the two, and so my joy would be greater than my sorrow. But I have little of a grateful heart. I take things as if I had a right to them— forgetting that the least thing I possess, temporal or spiritual, I do not in the least deserve; that all is a free gift of God to a rebel."

"Went to see Mrs. E____. Had a very sweet visit. She is indeed a living epistle. She said, ’How sweet it is to think of the tree of life being so richly laden with fruit, that it bends down its branches, so that even I, lying here, can pluck and eat!’ I asked her if she had prayed for me that I might kiss the rod. She said, ’I tried to do so: I had one of the sweetest nights I have had for some time, and it began with praying for you. It was returned sevenfold into my own bosom, for I lay down under His own sweet smile. I asked for you, that Jesus would say to you what he said to Mary, Woman, why weepest thou? Oh! I felt it a sweet word!’ She said again, ’The Lord has a bottle for His people’s tears, and if we never were made to weep here, we should have no tears to be bottled.’ I gave her some flowers. She smelt them, and said, with such a peculiar smile that I saw her meaning at once, ’Ah! the cold takes away some of the smell.’ ’Yes,’ I said, ’the cold of this wilderness takes away some of the fragrance of Christ’s lilies; but their fragrance will be very sweet up yonder, when the Sun of Righteousness is shining full upon them.’ Her answer was, ’Oh that I had the wings of a dove!’"

" 16th.—Went to see my dear old friend, and was refreshed as usual. Speaking of E____, she said, ’O that she may often have a walk round the Cross of Calvary, and in the evening, through the streets of the New Jerusalem, whose streets are of pure gold, leaning on her Beloved!’ Again she said, ’O that she may often visit the believer’s five hallowed spots—the Manger, Gethsemane, Calvary, the Tomb, and the Mount of Olives!’—Went to Mr. Macdonald’s meeting in the evening. It was very solemn—on the Signs of the Times, as they shew that Christ’s second coming is very near."

" Monday, 20th.—Was much drawn this morning to pray for more faith, strong faith, so that, however dark things may look, I may never distrust God. Perhaps He is to send me some trial that will need strong faith, for He never gives faith without trying it; but the trying of it is precious. But I must not be anticipating trial. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof. I was also much led to pray for grace to glorify Him in the place where I now am; not to put it off, as I am so apt to do. What grace is this, that puts such desires within such an ungodly heart as mine!"

" 22d.—Went to see Mrs. E____. How sad to see her tried about outward things, when she has such a sore trial in her body! But she has her Lord’s promise, that all these things are working together for her good. She was a rebuke to me. For, when her children may make what the world would call good marriages, her heart seems breaking at the thought that, by these outward temptations, their hearts may be drawn away from God. How different I am! How ready my wicked, worldly heart is to be glad, if at any time God seems to be sending my family any worldly good, instead of, like her, desiring first and chiefly for them the true riches! We had a very sweet though sorrowful meeting to-day. In trying to speak a word of comfort and encouragement to this beloved saint, I felt my own faith strengthened. And this night, in praying for her at our Father’s throne, I felt, more than I remember ever doing, the sweetness of the privilege of being permitted to pray for the Lord’s people."

" Thursday,23d.—My Lord bruised Satan under my feet a little, this morning, and gave me great confidence in drawing near to Him. What a God he is! O to be a better servant! Am reading Mr. A. Bonar’s book, RedemptionDrawing Nigh. Felt, in reading it, how strange that I have thought so little of the second coming of Christ, when the Bible is full of it!"

" Monday, 27th.—My mouth has been filled with praise; O that my heart, too, were full this morning! I could do nothing but praise, as the Lord brought before me all His loving dealings with myself and my dear family. I felt that all that He had done was well, and that I could trust all our concerns with Him for time and for eternity."
Such are a few specimens of her experience at this time, which, along with the letters, will shew the advances she had been making. It was progress of a very decided kind. Little more than six years before, she was wholly of the world, with hardly a thought of the eternal kingdom. Now, she is far on in her course, making steadier progress during these few years than many in a lifetime. For, alas! in this, the mighty business of life, we seem to do little else than dream! Ten, twenty, forty years pass on, and we can scarcely discern our progress! We have hardly started from the goal! Sin uneradicated, unbelief still vigorous, evil tempers unsoftened, rebelliousness unsubdued, worldliness unconquered, slothfulness still oppressing us, selfishness still in its strength! Is this all the progress of men who profess to be followers of a holy Master, partakers of a heavenly calling, and heirs of an undefiled inheritance?

Ought we not to be "making haste"? Is it wise, is it safe, to loiter or allow sloth to steal upon us, so that we neither "endure hardness," nor "run," nor "fight," nor "strive," nor "wrestle," nor "keep under our body," nor "bring it unto subjection" at all? Crowns are not won by sluggards, nor are battles fought upon beds of down.