interrupted course of worldly prosperity. He has had all that he wished for, and if the world could have made a man happy it would have made him happy. But I would ask himself, What was it all to him when he thought himself upon his death-bed? It gave him no pleasure, because he was well convinced that it could do him no good before that bar at which every soul must appear; nay, he even seriously and solemnly resolved before God to be weaned from it and to follow it no more. Oh, then, my dear father, what is the world to you? How little has it done for you! How does it give you up in moments of danger and difficulty! And, I must add, how little are such men as Mr. S- your true friends, who, when seeing you but slowly recovering from the most alarming sickness you ever experienced, could say, that he was glad to see you thinking of money once again. However, I am ready to allow Mr. S.'s regard for you; yet I must ever consider all such to be in fact my father's worst

enemies.

Besides, when men of his way of thinking are delivering their sentiments so freely on the absurdity of serious preparation for eternity, I would for a moment inquire, are these men children of God? Is there any fear, any love of God in them? If not, and such, to all appearance, is the case, who would follow a blind guide? My ideas of religion are the farthest in the world from being gloomy, and I trust not enthusiastic; but if preparation for eternity be the one grand object of life, what earnestness should we use in the work! I do not mean to say that the Gospel puts an end to the business of life, far from it; but I do mean to say, that reconciliation with God, through Jesus Christ, and a fitness for heaven, should be in any situation the main employ, and that all that the world can give, compared with this, is as the toys of children. The great question is, am I a child of God, and do I walk as a child of God? For sure it is none but God's children reach the mansions of blessedness; are my sins washed away in the blood of Christ, do I feel what sin is, how hateful, how offensive? I need scarcely say that these questions are of the highest importance, and such as we cannot too frequently be asking ourselves. Happy will be the day,

my dear father, happy will be the hour-may God send it to us quickly, when we all shall be as united in religious sentiment, as we are in affection. Then, should we be spared to see that afflictive hour when we shall take a farewell in this world of our dear parent, no fear will add to our distress, but we shall be comforted amid our tears, with the hope, the strong hope, we part to meet again.

Believe me, no one prays more fervently for your present and eternal welfare than your ever affectionate Son,

J. H. EVANS.

TO HIS FATHER.-ON THE REVERENCE DUE TO THE NAME

OF GOD.

Milford Vicarage, January 11, 1815.

MY EVER DEAREST AND BELOVED FATHER,-The time that I spent with you when I was at Salisbury was so short, that it seems almost as if I had not seen you at all. Indeed our intercourse during the year is very little, seldom indeed do we behold each other in our earthly pilgrimage, and yet the end of our journey draweth nigh, and father and son must be torn asunder. Why is it so? Why is it that my heart does not bound at the name of Salisbury? Why is it that the gig is not oftener at the door, and the intervening ground rapidly passed over till I once more behold a face ever dear, the face of my surviving parent? Shall I say why it is? Yes, I must say it; truth bids me say it; love bids me say it. It is because my visit gives me pain, because it sends me home again with a sad and aching heart. Do not, my dear beloved father, be displeased at what I say. I love you dearly, tenderly; how dearly, how tenderly these tears may bear evidence. It pains me more to give you pain, than it does you to receive it. I know that I must be charged with vanity, conceit, spiritual pride, and yet I must speak the truth. A sad return should I make to the kindest and tenderest of fathers, were I silent when eternal happiness or eternal misery is at stake. You will say, then do you think me in danger of the latter? What shall I reply? The evidences of salvation are not such as to fill my soul with

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certainty and peace. Bear with me, my dearest father, in the painful task a son has taken upon him. In the first place, in our conversations there does appear, I will confess, a strong leaning to self-righteousness. I am not unaware that this is positively disclaimed, but oftentimes the actuating principle lies concealed in the heart, while the heart is scarcely sensible of it. The reasons that lead to this conclusion are the great unwillingness to self-abasement and self-renunciation. There seems a strong aversion to the acknowledging that "all our righteousnesses are filthy rags," a powerful inclination to take comfort from duties, and an evident dislike to receive salvation on the same terms as the thief upon the cross. Say, my dear father, is it not so? When I have talked about Paul's experience, “the good I would I do not, the evil I would not that I do," " of sinners I am chief," there does not appear cordial assent. In a word, if self-righteousness be that principle that leads man to recommend himself to God by his duties, rather than simply to depend on Christ's blood and righteousness for comfort and salvation, then is there not a leaning that way? Again, my beloved father seems to have a great inclination to the world, a great desire of its commendation, a great fear of its reproach. I am sure that his heart will allow how much of its joys and its sorrows are drawn from this source. There appears no dislike of worldly society, society in which everything but the one thing is talked of. Witness the conversation of even a small card party. The amusements of the world are amusements from which my dear father derives enjoyment, cards, plays, concerts, races, I do not mean to say in an excessive way, but in moderation as he thinks, he likes them. Nay, may it not be said that, although farmers can spend hour after hour at the ordinary, talking of their pursuits, tradesmen can spend evenings, and long evenings too, in the travellers'-room talking of business, men of the world can think the time short spent in conversation over the bottle, and politicians can dribble out half their existence in coffee-rooms on subjects the most solemnly puerile, yet my dear father would rather spend an evening with over a quadrille pool than even to be with his own son talking over the concerns of the soul. To this must be added, my dear father must pardon me

if I say so, an indifference, perhaps rather more than that, towards the despised people of God. "By this shall we know that we have passed from death unto life if we love the brethren," says St. John. But does my dear father really love those who love Christ? Is there not even rather a greater liking towards those who, to all appearance, hate Him? I could just allude to Mr. W. I have often grieved to observe the marks of even alienation from believers, the thinking meanly, contemptibly of them. Nor will my ardent love for my father permit me to pass over one thing more, and that is, the thinking sin somewhat of a trifle, making allowances for others, thereby dishonouring the Gospel of Christ. My dear father, I am sure, is not sensible how often the name of God passes his lips in common conversation. Being in the habit of constantly rebuking it whenever I hear it among my people, as a violation of the third commandment, I cannot describe how painful it is to me to hear. I am within the mark if I should say that that high and awful name is uttered many times within the hour. My ever dearest and beloved father will make every allowance for me in what I have written. It is because I love him so ardently that I write so plainly.

I feel great comfort in the mortifying situation in which I have placed myself, by reflecting that, when this wilderness world shall be passed, and we meet, as I fervently pray and hope, through Christ, we shall, in another and a happier, my dearest parent will love me the better in heaven for the sincerity of my affection to him on earth. God, in His love and mercy, bless, preserve, and save you, prays your dutiful Son,

J. H. E.

TO THE MISSES B-S.-ON GROWTH IN GRACE.

Walford, April 20, 1816.

MY DEAR FRIENDS,-Agreeably to your request, I have sent you a few of my sermons, and trust that God the Spirit may so apply whatever truth there is in them to your souls, that you may, through His mercy, recover that peace which I grieve to see you have in some degree lost since your residence in Bristol.

Indeed, my dear friends, you do but dishonour Christ, instead of honouring Him, by not taking up your entire rest in Him: "We which have believed do enter into rest;" and that by ceasing from our own works, as God, on the seventh day, ceased from His. I beseech you, observe with prayer the fourth chapter of Heb., ver. 10; you shall find rest by no other way. What, and is it true, that because I run slowly on the race-course, I shall conclude that I do not run at all? What an advantage has Satan gained over you,—as long as he finds this fly catch the thoughtless fish, will he change it? He is too cunning. Prepare for the same bait, till with the hand of faith, you are enabled to snatch it out of his hand. You forget, indeed, my dear friends, you do, the warfare of the wilderness. You do not know the trials which others undergo; perhaps you observe some who, to all appearance, go on more smoothly than yourselves, and therefore you conclude unfavourably of yourselves. Excuse me if I say this is a poor way of judging. Some believers are tempted one way and some another; some to live carelessly, others self-righteously. The first is the most painful; the last the most dangerous; that is, on its final effects on our peace. But be assured that however much you and I do abuse the doctrines of free grace, free grace has no inherent tendency to promote that abuse-just the reverse. Filial obedience is the fruit of filial love, and filial love is the fruit of parental love,— "We love Him because He first loved us." Whatever, therefore, is calculated to display the covenant love of God towards His children, is, in that degree, calculated to promote filial obedience, because it endears God to the soul. Free grace is therefore the great teacher of good works, as Crisp has, I think, undeniably proved. "Yes," but you say, "I do not find it so." Pardon me for contradicting you. Yes, you do. It is very easy to say, "I have no doubt;" but perhaps it may, without fear of contradiction, be said, we never cease to love God but when we doubt His love to us. I am inclined to think that we often deceive ourselves here. Oftentimes we fancy that we have no sort of uncertainty on the point, when, in fact, it is no such thing. At such times, instead of judging unfavourably of myself because I