delightful thought! It will never decay. May a lively and increasing hope in these exalted realities, enable us to bear every trial with patience and fortitude. He who is a rock, and whose work is perfect, will accomplish whatever concerns those who put their trust in him.- I could not withhold news which has caused such a gleam of joy as I have not experienced for a long time, from my dear friend, who has taken so large a share of my gloom. Farewell!

To Miss S. Written from Nottingham, whither she went on account of the Illness of her eldest Son, William.

Sept. 1803.

My dear boy has a fever, the symptoms of which are alarming. The physician assures me, his lungs are not at present affected; but I much fear it will so terminate. Mr. and Mrs. N. are unbounded in their tenderness and attention. I know not what is before me. Futurity is wisely hidden from me. God is a sovereign, and has a right to do with me and mine as seemeth good to him. I have long ago in words acknowledged his right; nor will I now retract, should he remove the delight of my eyes from me. No, though he slay me, yet will I trust in him. I feel an unbounded confidence in him. He will, I am persuaded, do all things well. He has been very gracious to me. My dear William is a very desirable child. I feel all the mother yearning over him; yet I have not had the least disposition to think hard of God; but have viewed it as the rod in the hand of a father, who knows the end from the beginning, and who doth not afflict willingly, nor grieve the children of men. Pray for me, my dear friend, that it may be sanctified. My love to our friends. I hope they will not forget us when they bow before the great Physician; for as our dear boy says, "It is of no use to apply to

earthly physicians, without the help of the Great One."

Early in the month of May, 1804, Mrs. Pearce was considered by her friends as unwell: for eight or nine days, however, no apprehensions of danger seem to have been entertained either on their part or her own. But, about the 20th, the fever increased to such a degree, as to bring on a delirium, which continued till the 25th, when she breathed her last.

MRS. ARABELLA DAVIES.

As

MRS. ARABELLA DAVIES was the second daughter of Richard Jenkinson, Esq., of Hoxton, near London. She was born in the year 1753. It appears from many letters, written by her between the years 1771 and 1776, that her concern about spiritual things began very early. From many causes, it was subject to much fluctuation in her juvenile years. religion, however, more fully engaged her heart, her mind seems to have been intensely employed on its most interesting topics. Being naturally of an inquisitive and rather sceptical turn of mind, her own reflections furnished her with the most popular objections on many subjects of revealed religion. These were pretty largely discussed in a series of letters to a friend, in which the doctrines commonly called the Five Points were candidly examined. The consequence of this correspondence was, that, on mature consideration, she adopted those sentiments, in general, which are called Calvinistical. The following letter is dated July, 1771, when she was in her nineteenth year.

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Believing you to be a pious and a devout person, and knowing you think cheerfulness and Christianity are not incompatible with each other, but are an advocate for the union, has encouraged me to impart to you my present situation, which is rather particular.

"A religious education from my earliest infancy, occasioned a serious disposition when very young; till the folly and inexperience of centering felicity in dress and general attention, weaned my mind from the most peaceful serenity. This infatuation might still have possessed me, had I immediately

been separated from an observing and religious parent; but her repeated instruction, and constantly attending the gospel, alarmed me, and made me anxious to secure a more lasting pleasure. I was unhappy, and thought to have atoned for my late behaviour by a sincere repentance and reformation; but the not disclosing my real uneasiness to any friend, nor asking the advice I so much wished and required, and the wavering resolution of a girl of fifteen, occasioned my deviating again: for I seemed to make a tacit agreement with the Almighty, to repent hereafter. My mind thus enlightened, I frequently heard this text, or those that are similar, 'Light hath come into the world; but ye have loved darkness rather than light, because your deeds are evil.' This rendered me again uneasy, and great was the conflict between duty and inclination. The knowledge of acting wrong was the source of frequent distress, till the world again offered its amusements, and the thoughts of passing so solitary a life as religion required, urged me to part with the hope of glory, or rather to put off present thoughts about it. Thus, my mind being rather more calm and easy, I dwelt on future happy days and pleasure, to dissipate a still lingering gloominess; but I found that nothing could entirely dispel it, when I began to reflect, because I applied to a faithful monitor within.' I then flew to books, my still favourite amusement, as an immediate relief; and by them I was in some measure reconciled to my unhappy situation. My pleasure for reading increasing, I became a professed admirer of satires: these soon convinced me that sense and merit were superior to any other attractions, and that happiness oftener dwelt with retirement, than public life, and that pleasing reflection was absolutely necessary for the presence of felicity. I gradually felt a disgust to mixed companies, and soon found that that peace was but imaginary which did not result

from a good conscience. These thoughts, and the hearing of pathetic discourses, have often made me wish to be a Christian; but the desire has as frequently been dissipated, when I reflected on the sorrow and tears it would occasion, believing that heaven could never be gained but through great anguish and distress. As I am naturally lively, I dreaded sorrow; so, resolved to defer religion till I was more advanced in life. Thus fluctuating, and really never happy, have I passed these four years, resisting the friendly admonitions of conscience. The thoughts of eternity I could never indulge without disagreeable ideas, and sometimes without the greatest inquietude; therefore, I could never derive any real satisfaction from contemplation. When I read the pleasing works of Hervey, Young, &c., how sorry I have been that I have been that I felt not an equal adoration of my God! Now, as the Scriptures inform me, that my tears and sighs will not secure me the favour and forgiveness of my great Creator, but assure me that faith in the Redeemer's blood, with an observance of his commandments, are alone sufficient; yet, still I feel not entirely satisfied, as I am not sensible of an anxious sorrow for the rebellious state in which I have so long remained. The prayer I frequently offer to my offended God is this: That I may be more sensible of my late ingratitude, and that my soul may melt when I reflect on his infinite goodness for still entreating me to accept of mercy, after repeated refusals; that my reason may never be so enslaved as to form wrong conjectures of religion, or to injure the cause by a settled gloom or unnecessary severities; but that I may adore my God with zeal, pure and sincere; that the insinuations of Satan may not again prevail, by representing my Maker's ways as thorny and disagreeable, or his favour difficult to be attained; and that the present resolution, like the flourishing plant, may gain strength every day.' Though a person be a