are thrown in a degree upon what you are and what you have acquired. But the God of your mother, will, I seem at times to have no doubt, be your Guide, your Pilot, your Father, and your Friend; He will watch over you when he who is now writing can do so no more. The day when your eye will meet these lines you will be twenty-two. It seems but yesterday since I saw you on the pillow of one now in heaven. I picture to myself the expression of her dear face as I looked at the mother and the child, so full of tenderness, and thankfulness and love. When twenty-two years more shall have rolled on, in all probability the hand which is now writing this, shall have been long since mouldered into dust; but remember, my dear, my beloved J——, your father's testimony, you may almost consider it his dying testimony, happiness I never knew, I sought it in vain and found it not, till I sought it in God Himself, and there I have most certainly found it. I speak not of happiness, unalloyed, unbroken in upon at intervals, but I do speak of happiness, solid, substantial, real; I can have no interest in deceiving you, and I would not deceive you if I had. No, I love you too ardently not to place the matter fairly and honestly before my child. I feel too deeply interested in all that concerns him, not to make this avowal explicitly. But I conclude, commending you to that gracious God who can alone be your effectual Guide, and who can alone bless you and give you success in that which lies before you. I remain, with the tenderest love, J. H. EVANS. TO A MEDICAL MAN.-ON DISSEMINATING ERROR. 1836. MY DEAR SIR,-Our last interview was of a deeply painful nature. Such, I doubt not, we both found it to be. I cannot, however, take my last sad leave of you, without attempting to soothe your mind, if I should have given it any unnecessary anguish, and expressing my sorrow that a sense of duty should lay me under the solemn obligation of taking a step which I perceive has so wounded your spirit. The most distant approach to anything like persecution is so abhorrent to my principles, as a man and as a Christian, that I feel deeply concerned to remove any impression of my having acted under its influence from your mind. But this much would I venture to assert, in no instance as it regards yourself have I acted under its influence. Had you been my own medical friend, and had become a, should I merely on that account have dispensed with your attendance on my family? I should have considered such an act of intolerance to have been in direct opposition to the Gospel. So far I am from acting on this principle, the physician whom I employ for my family is a strong ; as long as he acts as a physician, administering his medical skill to my family, I feel obliged to him. To dissolve the tie because of religious differences would seem to me the height of intolerance. I think him in great error; but it is as a physician I employ him, and while I mourn over his errors, this is all I can do. But if, taking advantage of that influence which, as a medical man, he cannot but have, he employs that influence on the mind of my wife, or daughter, or servants, in attempting to unsettle their religious creed, as a physician I should employ him no more. Some may call this bigotry, persecution; I call it common honesty. If my Roman Catholic baker, or Unitarian butcher-had I such tradesmen, which I have not-serve me well, I do not turn my back on them because of their woful errors; but if with the loaf and the joint of meat come insidious tracts, full of mischief, our connexion ceases. I act as I would be acted unto, or rather, as I should see no injustice in being thus acted unto. In warning those whom I love against so obvious a danger, I acted under the stern obligation of painful duty. I can truly say it was to me most painful. I respect your character; I think you deeply, awfully mistaken; but this conviction diminishes in no degree my respect and esteem, nor does my personal regard alter the nature of that obligation which leads me, as openly as I can, to warn the unwary against impending danger. Although in this world we may seldom, if ever meet, yet I shall often think of you, I trust often pray for you. One feeling of unkindness lurks not in my heart towards you; of this be assured. If, as a medical man, you act strictly in that capacity, never shall I exert any influence which I may possess, to your injury; but when you outstep that line, and try, as I know you have often done, to instil that which I am quite sure is deadly poison, I should be untrue to my Master, and faithless to my flock, did I not add that I must use every means in my power to caution those whom I love against so serious an evil. Believe me, my dear Sir, with feelings of deep concern, as it regards your own state as before God, but with sincere regard, J. H. EVANS. Your's truly, TO MRS. F Taplow, Sept. 9, 1836. BELIEVE me, dear sister in our beloved Lord, it is no mere matter of pleasure which hinders me from seeing you. My heart is indeed with you, and could I, consistently with what appears to be the path of duty, go to town to-morrow and see you, it would be to me most pleasant-but I submit to the will of Him who determines all in love and in wisdom. You are in the hands of One who loves you infinitely more than I or any creature can love you. He who died for you has you in His arms and in His heart. To Him I must commit you. My prayers are for you and your dear children. May He shine into your heart by His own blessed Spirit yet more and more, keep you in perfect peace, fill you with His love, give you entire submission. to His will, and cheer you with bright gleams of the happy home to which you are travelling fast. God in heaven bless sanctify you, and make you happy in Himself. Ever your's affectionately, you, J. H. EVANS. TO MISS F -ON THE LOSS OF HER MOTHER. Taplow, Sept. 27, 1836. My dear friend in the tribulation of the world and partaker of your the consolation that is in Jesus, the Brother born for adversity, dear mother is now at home and in rest, in peace, in perfect purity of holiness in the bosom of her Lord. I mourn with you and rejoice with you. Our's is a mingled cup, her's has only one ingredient. She is blessed for ever; unchangeably, infinitely blessed. Let us then look forward; it is but a moment, the mere twinkling of the eye, and you will be where she is. I shall often think of you all. On Saturday it will be a trying day. I shall hope to be with you, and there and then Jesus will be, to support you, to comfort, to point your eyes to His cross, and bid you be of good cheer, because He dieth no more. May the Holy Spirit sanctify you, body, soul, and spirit in and by this heavy trial, for such it is, and such it was designed in the tender love of your God to be, that you may be as gold tried in the fire, prays your affectionate Friend, J. H. EVANS. TO HIS WIFE. Hampstead, Monday, Sept. 25, 1837. THE morning has been so occupied that I have scarcely a moment's time to write, as I am by engagement to be in the City by half-past one, and it is now past eleven. I am going to see our dear old sister G, whom I visited yesterday. She is about to take her departure soon, and to be where our dear Mrs. M—— has been for nearly a fortnight, in the bosom of Jesus. The state of Mrs. G's mind is most delightful, perfect peace with God through Jesus Christ. I hope to see her again on Wednesday, and if nothing unforeseen occur, to be with you by dinner (D.v.). Yesterday was a blessed day to my soul, especially in the evening. As far as I think I never preached so before, so quietly, so powerfully. Blessed be God for all His tender mercies to me, the vilest of sinners and the least of His saints. I feel as if my soul has had a lift by the way, as if I saw things otherwise than as I before saw them—as with a new brightness and sense of their vast importance. Have you not a similar consciousness? Oh, how earnestly should we watch and pray and wait upon the Lord for the anointing which teacheth all things, that we may not lose the good, but may keep ourselves in the love of God, although indeed without Jesus we can do nothing. The time is short; our span of life is rapidly hurrying away; there may be but an inch remaining. Oh, let us watch more over each other's souls; advance through Divine grace the life of God in one another, and study and labour, and, above all, fervently pray, that we become more spiritually minded, for truly that is life and peace. Oh, may Jesus reign alone in our hearts. His cross has conquered for us, one thing more do I want from it, that it may conquer our hearts-all of them, and that we may be wholly His. Give my kind love to all around you, and ever consider me, &c., J. H. EVANS. TO HIS DAUGHTER. Hampstead, May 10th, 1838. MY DEAREST AND PRECIOUS C---So driven have I been during the last month, that I must content myself with this little scrap for this time. The May Meetings, as you recollect, and what is connected with them, cannot but occupy London ministers. Instead of attending any of these, you are at this moment perhaps rounding the Cape; but you are where the Guide of your steps hath appointed you, and this gives a precious balm to the mind, when the Holy Spirit applies this truth to my poor heart. But when I forget this, and this passeth away, oh how pungently do I feel the distance which separates us! And shall we ever meet again in this wilderness? Lord! Thou knowest, my heart replies, and only Thou, and so would I have it to be. And yet it may be so. Oh, may the God of all grace fill you with all grace, and comfort your heart when it droops, and sanctify you wholly. This is the one thing to be desired and to be sought after, and even the sight and enjoyment of those whom we love is as nothing compared with it. I have taken to walk before breakfast, as I used to do. This morning was a lovely one. I rose at half-past five, and walked three miles, from six to seven. I found the time not only pleasant, but it was profitable; also I read Matt. iii., and was |