TO MISS L. OF N. Y.

Killingworth, July 23, 1808,

YOUR letter, my ever dear M. has just been handed me, and has afforded me great pleasure. It convinced me that I was not forgotten by one whom I tenderly love; and, at the same time that it assured me of your friendship, conveyed to my heart a degree of consolation which I greatly needed, and which the divine truths it contained are so well calculated to inspire.

We are subject to a thousand weaknesses, the natural attendants of frail humanity; it is not strange, therefore, that we should sometimes feel oppressed with doubts and fears. Indeed a certain religious author says, "The soul that never doubted, hath never yet believed: for while flesh remains in the believer, it is unbelieving flesh; and it is the office of faith to subdue this unbelief in all its activities." There are, it appears to me, two kinds of doubt respecting our spiritual state, to which we are subject. One is a distrust of God's omnipotence, mercy, willingness to save, &c. something like that which we should suppose the apostles felt, when they exclaimed with astonishment, "Who then can be saved?" The other proceeds from a consciousness of weakness, sin, want of faith, &c. in ourselves. I do not think that my doubts are occasioned by any distrust of the blessed God. Oh no! Oh no! God takes pleasure in the death of the wicked; else why did he give his Son to be a ransom for sinners? why does he run to meet the returning prodigal, while

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yet a great way off? why does he continue to hold out to us the sceptre of his mercy, when we are practically saying to him, "We desire not the knowledge of thy ways?" That God is love, is evinced by every thing around us, as well as by the declarations of his word. He is able and willing to save, to the uttermost, all who come unto him with faith in the merits of his Son. The difficulty seems to be entirely in myself. I am so cold and lifeless, so faithless and unbelieving, that it seems to be almost impossible that I should be allied to any thing good. Do not infer from this last remark that I am very humble. I ought to be humbled in the very dust; but I am far less abased before God than I feel that I should be. How far am I from that fervour of spirit in serving the Lord, and that deadness to the world, that watchfulness and zeal which I ought to have, and which I long to possess! My dear M. it is a great thing to be a Christian at any time, especially in these last days, when iniquity abounds, and the love of many waxes cold; when "the declensions of Christianity" may be produced as "a sad argument of its truth." But it is God that worketh in us to will and to do of his good pleasure; and to him the work is as easy now as at any other period. Were the whole world around us faithful disciples of Christ, there would still be a law in our members, over which God alone could give us the victory, through Jesus Christ our Lord. In such circumstances, however, there would be fewer temptations, and it would be easier to maintain a close walk with God. Nothing short of omnipotence can, indeed, cause light to shine out of darkness. But the greatness of the work

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should not cause our hearts to sink in despondency. No work is too great for God to perform'; and he has promised to help those who trust in him, and to give them all that they ask agreeably to his Despondency must then arise from want of This it was was in Peter, which impelled him to exclaim," Lord, save me, I perish!" He did not fully trust in the power of his divine Master, but yielded to fear, excited by the rough appearance of the waves on which he stood; forgetting that He whom the winds and the sea obey was at his side. This it is in us-the want of faith, that leads us to doubt whether we can ever be saved. The Lord increase our faith, and give us unwavering confidence in his faithfulness and mercy.

TO THE SAME.

Killingworth, Sept. 21, 1808.

IN writing to you, my dear M. I shall, with a confidence which our friendship justifies, throw away all unnecessary reserve, and use the freedom of a friend and sister. In communicating every incident which is interesting to me, and seeking in you, when I am in trouble, that sympathy and consolation which I hope to find in one whose mind is so congenial with my own, I shall enjoy your society, though I am separated from you. And in such correspondence which it is my wish may be maintained between us while life shall last-we shall find much pleasure, and, I hope, some profit. When I go to Boston, I do not expect to have any regular corre

spondent but you; as other necessary and unavoidable engagements will, probably, prevent my retaining more than one. I shall therefore wish you to

write me frequently, that we may not cease to think of and love each other.

I do not question the correctness of Mr. S.'s explanation of Christian humility, nor of the remarks he connected with it respecting doubts, &c. But do you think, that continual doubts in a regenerate person are as conducive to God's glory as a stronger faith would be? I know that, as long as sin remains, there will probably be seasons of comparative darkness; and therefore, some degree of doubt is consistent with the Christian character. Yet I believe that, could we always have faith to say with the apostle, "I know in whom I have believed," we should glorify God much more than we do now.

I received a letter last week from Gen. Huntington. He informs me of the melancholy death of his daughter-in-law, at N. of whom you have heard me speak in terms of affection and admiration. She was one of the excellent of the earth; an ornament to her sex, and to the religion of Christ. Her usefulness here is now at an end. God hath prepared her for glory, and he has taken her to himself. the midst of life we are in death. Oh! that we, my dear M. would learn to consider ourselves as pilgrims and strangers on the earth, and to live with a constant reference to eternity; that when the solemn hour of death shall come, we may

Look back on every sorrow past,

And meet life's peaceful evening with a smile.

In

Killingworth, November 22, 1808.

THE friendship which you feel for us all, and which we all feel for you, rendered any apology, in regard to your commencing a correspondence with me, needless. I hope ever to consider you as one of my friends; and, as such, your letter could excite no other sensations than those of pleasure.

The silence which you preserved while here, upon the subject of our beloved Eliza's death, I did not impute either to indifference or insensibility. You knew her too well, to suffer the remembrance of her virtues to depart from your mind, as she departed from the theatre of life. And you are not possessed of that stoicism of feeling, which would preclude your being interested in the afflictions of your friends.

I rather imputed it to a reluctance to open afresh those wounds, in the bosoms of the members of this family, which can never be entirely healed, by recalling to our memories the recollection of one of our number whom God has taken from us. She was all that was amiable and lovely; and none can realize our loss, but those who knew her as we did. Could I not feel that there is indeed a God that judgeth in the earth, and that though clouds and darkness are often round about him, yet righteousness and judgment are the habitation of his throne; and did I not believe that he orders every

* The person whose death is here referred to was her sister, Mrs. Eliza Olcott of Killingworth.