and all the power and all the blessing is from Him, God works in us, and by us, and gives us the blessing, in His own appointed way. Although this is a very obvious, and, in a word, a generally-acknowledged truth, yet among very many in the world, many, too, who hold what is termed a high code of doctrine,―it seems acknowledged only in word. How frequently do we hear from such the bitterest lamentations of their own want of spirituality of mind, when, in truth, the lamentation ought to retrograde one step more, namely, to their own neglect of God's mode of spiritual husbandry. Their mode of conversation seems to leave it a problem yet to be solved, whether they that wait upon the Lord shall or shall not renew their strengthwhether they shall or shall not mount upwards as on eagle's wings-whether they shall or shall not run and not be weary, walk and not faint. This has been, I confess, of late, deeply impressed on my mind,—I suppose by the evident perception of the evil. It is so much easier to lament, confess, mourn over the evil, and even feel it, than use those means which are appointed for its correction, that it can excite but little wonder that it should take deep root in the carnality of our hearts. May we not as fully depend, be as fully assured, and ought we not to act in the full confidence of that assurance, that if we are diligent in the use of the means we shall be most certainly made fat, that if we keep His words the Lord will most certainly dwell with us and abide with us, that if we in everything, by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, make our requests known unto God, careful for nothing, the peace which passeth all understanding shall be our most blessed portion? Is it not just as true that all this shall be; as that he that believeth shall be saved?

In

December 12.-I have been prevented till now finishing my letter. How much do I wish to see you, and to assure you that the bond which ties us together is for eternity. that point of view how little do all the narrow boundaries which man has formed appear to the eye! One is lifted up above the lines which stand between Churchmanship and Dissent, and seems to view the congregated family-the assembled people of the living God-the Church of the first-born, whose names are

written in heaven,--all born of a new and heavenly birth, and loved with an unchanging, everlasting love. In this point, knowing, my beloved brother, your election of God, how utterly impossible it is that any change in things external can damp the regard which I bear, the affection which I feel! We are all, with the exception of little F, quite well,-my two other children just mercifully recovered from the scarlet fever. With regard to spiritual prosperity, things go on, I trust and believe, more under the Divine blessing than they have done. Sinners, I have reason to think, are converted, and I feel quite persuaded that believers in the congregation are more athirst for God than they were. The congregation is small, if we consider the size of the chapel, but not if we consider the size of the preacher, and the proximity to St. John's,-400 to 500. There is a general spirit of kindness towards me, for which I ought to be thankful. Have you received my sermon on Lot? The subject is of vast importance, to my apprehension. A worldly profession is the worm that seems to devour many a promising gourd. I have seen, I fear, many such instances in a little night.

Our beloved friend, L. G-, is a shade better, but, I fear, in a very precarious state. I see her frequently, and behold no mean display of sanctification by the truth through the power of the Spirit of God. I see her holy, meek, resigned, and happy. There is a most evident spiritual growth, and never, I am persuaded, was she so conformed to the image of her Lord. Give our united kind love to Mrs. S. May every spiritual and temporal mercy abound towards you both!-Ever believe me, dearest S.,

Your affectionate Brother,

TO THE REV. R. D——.

J. H. EVANS.

-SALVATION FOR THE VILEST.

West Cowes, Isle of Wight, October, 1823.

MY DEAR FRIEND, I have for some time been desirous of writing to you, if it were only to assure you of the Christian regard and affection which I bear towards you. The suddenness

of my departure from Hampstead, occasioned by a variety of circumstances, prevented me from calling on you as I had intended, and I fear lest my leaving home without having done so may have had a look of unkindness in it. If so, forgive me in this. A Christian is so often wounded by the world around him, that he may well be spared in the house of his brethren. And yet how often, through our own hurry and confusion of mind, and, it is to be feared, too little consideration of others, do we occasion needless pain. Since my departure from home I often recur to Hampstead in thought, and I must add, no little regret mingles itself with the retrospect. If it be true,—and who can doubt its truth?-that he whose heart has been graciously opened to receive the grace of the Gospel is himself a blessing, communicating out of that fulness which he has received, what cause for sorrow and humiliation do I feel in the reflection how little the place in which I have been living for now nearly six years, has been benefited by myself. Humble and insignificant an individual as I am, yet how much has been accomplished in the hands of God by the most insignificant, when they have been men of prayer, and faith, and Christian love. Oh! for a deeper sense of the value, of the real, the inestimable valuc, of one immortal soul. Were this the case, the means of exhibiting that sense of its worth would soon present themselves, and the blessing soon attend the use of them. At this moment Brewhouse-lane is lying deep and dead in sin; its inhabitants are, with very few exceptions, it is to be feared, rushing headlong to their destruction, in spite of all the invitations of mercy, and all the declarations of grace. Mr. M- a man of talent and

piety, preaches in the Establishment, but they never hear him. Mr. C――, a man of piety and zeal, preaches out of the Establishment, but how few have ever attended him! The tide of ruin runs deep and swift, and the only one to stem it is a Mr. F———, whom nobody knows but the God of his salvation, and a few of His despised people, and he can only get a few hearers in the winter; in the summer he meets with no attention. And yet Hampstead is a Christian place, and there are many of the excellent of the earth there, who desire good to it, and do it good.

But notwithstanding this, we are all verily guilty with regard to our brother. These poor, ruining, self-destroying people have a deep and awful claim upon us, upon us all, upon you and upon me, my Christian brother. Do you take the lead, and I will be your servant and your helper in this most blessed, most honourable, most important work. Let us keep to Brewhouse-lane, till, through God's rich and abundant mercy, there be men of prayer, in answer to our prayers, our tears, and our strong cries in their behalf. For my own part, I will most gladly beg for them among my friends, preach to them, and talk with them. We could have a school there, give them tracts, give them advice, and not unfrequently pecuniary assistance. Do, my dear friend, lay this upon your heart in your prayers before the throne of grace, and beg for wisdom, and give me advice and counsel.

I think, if God so will it, of returning to dear Hampstead in the course of the middle of next month. I call it dear, for it is so to my heart, not from the beauty of its lovely scenery, but from the many, many mercies which I have experienced there. My throat-I have reason to be thankful for it is much reduced, and I consequently speak with much less difficulty. My temporary retirement from more active employ has not, I would hope, been without its blessings. It has seemed like a solemn pause in my life, and I trust has led to serious consideration. Pray for me that I may return to my work, contemplating it as the most blessed employment on earth to serve the Lord.

Mrs. Evans sends her kindest Christian regard and affection. Ever believe me, my dear friend and brother in tribulation, and hope of the Gospel, to be yours most truly,

TO HIS SON, A BOY OF ELEVEN.

J. H. EVANS.

Milford, 1824.

MY BELOVED CHILD,-How dearly I love you you little know, indeed I may not be aware myself of all the affection which I bear towards you. I often think of you, and pray for you. My earnest desire towards God is for your real good and happiness. But, my dearest boy, you need not to be assured of this, for you

I

know it well, that I have you in my heart and in my prayers. trust that you, too, have been led to pray for me. Go, my dear child, often to a throne of grace, and while you lift up your little heart for yourself, for the forgiveness of your sins through Jesus Christ, for the Holy Spirit to convert and make you holy, for "without holiness no man shall see the Lord" (Heb. xii. 14), do not forget your dear father and mother, who need the same blessings for themselves. I have often answered inquiries about you since I have been here. The poor people love me very dearly, and because they love me they love those who are dear to me. If you were here, you would say to me, "Papa, you preach too much." But to this I should reply, "I would not, if I knew it, injure my own health; but while I stop short of this, I must desire to preach the Gospel as far and as often as I can." By the time that I return, if I am graciously spared, I shall have preached nineteen sermons in eleven days; and in all of them, my beloved child, I have, in my imperfect way, endeavoured to lift up the only Hope for my soul, and for your own soul.

Give my best love to dearest C――, and most affectionate regards to dear Mr. and Mrs. D. I hope that you are respectful, obedient, and kind to them, grateful for their extreme kindness, and showing your sense of it by your obliging behaviour. I am, my dearest boy,

Your attached Father,

J. H. E.

TO HIS AUNT.-ON THE TEMPORARY LOSS OF HIS CHILD.

Hampstead, July 16, 1824.

MY DEAREST AUNT,-If my affection were to be estimated by the length and frequency of my letters, it would appear in a point of view but little to its favour. I must, however, appeal against such a tribunal, and assert, that experience declares that real affection can be as little tried by such a standard as air can be weighed in a balance. Still, however, I am not guiltless in this matter. I could write oftener, either if I had less to do, or did what I did more methodically. One half of our life is spent in making resolutions, and too much of the other half is employed