be thankful that I was able to preach twice yesterday, and after so excellent a specific, for such Newton esteemed it to be, I feel myself nearly recovered to-day.

Now that I am upon the subject I would give my testimony to that of thousands of others as to the healthfulness of preaching. I have often and often been so ill the night before, and even on the Sunday morning, that it seemed next to an impossibility that I could get through, yet was it, through the Divine blessing, not only practicable but easy. At the end of the day I was better than in the morning, and the next day quite well. Without preaching I feel as if I should cease to live. Wherever I am if I cease, I cease to be well. So much for my pulpit encomium.

When I was twenty-three, I had much pain in my chest, at fifty-seven I have none. Then I frequently used to spit blood, now never. Go on, my dearest J. But I stop, for I fancy that a smile is beginning to show itself.

Your letter deeply interested me, I seem in a sense to behold myself in my son, and in your difficulties to remember my

own.

The solitude of some part of your day is, I confess, a trial; so I ever found it. No one more readily subscribes to the principle that two are better than one than myself. But at the present moment, training as you are for service, drilling for the army of the great Captain, the mind, as much as may be, kept to the point, the aim steadily fixed on the mark, seems the most wise and advisable. There are few things, next to your being a devoted minister of Christ, that would more delight me than to see you well and happily married, and in God's good time I trust that it will be.

Nov. 15.

In looking over my note I perceive that it has much of Monday in it; however, just as it is I send it. May He condescend to guide who has pledged Himself to the office even to death. (Ps. xlviii. 14.) Would "Bishop Hopkins," 4 vols. ; "Biddulph on the Liturgy," 3 vols. ; " Prideaux's Connexions," 3 vols.; "Wells's Geography," 4 vols.; "Blackwall's Sacred

Classics," 2 vols.; "Burke on the Sublime;

""Knox's Essays,"

3 vols.; be of any service? if so I would send them down. Your mother sends her affectionate regards, and ever believe me, my dearest J

Your attached father and friend,

J. H. EVANS.

TO HIS DAUGHTER IN INDIA.

Hampstead, Nov. 15, 1842.

MY BELOVED CHILD,-Your letter, received yesterday, has deeply tried your poor father.

When the usual heading "all is

well" was wanting I began to suspect that some dark cloud was overhanging our hitherto bright horizon; this was fully borne out by the contents. Yes, my own precious C, you were at the time of your writing in deep waters. Oh! how I longed to be at your side, and to join my tears and prayers with those of you both. How keenly did I feel the distance that separates us, and the length of time that must elapse before the sight of your handwriting could relieve our uncertainty. But all this was sad forgetfulness of the eye that never slumbers, of the ear that is never weary, of the hand that never hangs down, of the heart that never grows cold. I failed to remember that the very necessities of the child endeared it to a Father's pity and love, that your hanging over the bedside of your poor suffering child was but a picture, and a very feeble one, of Him who says, "She may forget, but never will I forget thee." Four, nay, five months must elapse since the writing of your's and your receipt of this, notwithstanding all our facilities of communication. Long before you receive this, therefore, I trust J— will have been restored to you. If not he will have a better portion, a better home, better friends, and will have exchanged dying parents for the eternal embrace of an ever-living, ever-loving Father. Who then could wish him back? But he is, I trust, long ere this, recovered. How earnestly do I pray that it may be so, if for the good of the dear child and for the glory of Him whose he is.

There is one thing to which I wish your attention, my dear child. It regards a feeling you express in your letter. You seem tried in spirit with regard to prayer; I do not much wonder at it, painful as it was. But do not you see that this is one of Satan's devices to deter you from prayer? Yet I would not forget, neither would I have you to do it, that there may be a sort of reaction in the soul from the grieving the Holy Spirit. That you were too anxious may easily be supposed, and that there was in consequence, or might have been, a secret dictating to God and a consequent secret rebellion against His will, when that will opposed your's, may also be suspected. Now if all this really existed, and it is possible, what wonder is it that in the recoil which always takes place when there has been anything like opposition to the will of God, the soul should experience a darkness, a confusion, a bewilderment, if there be such a word? God may yet grant to your prayers the desire of your heart. But, my love, He is not bound to one time, and to suppose that delay is denial, or that even denial itself would be an act of unkindness, is in itself such an unkindness as must be touching to the kind and fatherly heart of such a Father. Oh! be not discouraged, but deeply humbled, and take it where your poor father has so many thousand times gone, to Him who has said, "If any man sin we have," &c. The great secret which I find for happy walking is to be met with in Phil. iv. 4-9.

Ever your affectionate father and friend,

J. H. EVANS.

TO A. S

ESQ., AT THE CAPE.

Hampstead, Nov. 15, 1842.

MY VERY DEAR FRIEND,-A leisure day gives me an opportunity, which I have long desired, of sending you my affectionate thanks for the many tokens of your love and Christian regard, and of assuring you how tender a remembrance we bear of you and your's, and how much we long, when we see it to be His will whose name and nature is Love, for your return.

Your letters have long demanded a reply, but you well know the large draughts upon my time and thought, the many things

which I have constantly and even daily to exercise my mind, my spirit, my affections, to try every grace that is in me and every corruption with it. And you also know, at least you shrewdly guess at, my natural unwillingness to write, for which, however, I make no excuse nor defence in the least degree whatever. If these things make no real apology, they at least assign the true cause of my silence, and I hope that you have not really supposed that there existed any other. How time rushes on ! It is now more than three years since we last beheld each other's face in the flesh, since we last took our leave of each other. How many things have served to remind us since then of the fleeting character of all earthly good, and of the imperishable nature of the love that knows no change. What marvellous displays have we had in our own case of the forbearance which has never tired, of the patience which has never been exhausted! What gentle warnings, what tender rebukes, what wholesome corrections, what relentings, if one may so write (Jer. xxxi. 20), what plain and evident tokens of wise, fatherly, unchanging love! Would it not be true, dear and beloved friend, that if there had been only these three last years, they would suffice to erect a monument, high as heaven and wide as eternity, to the praise and honour and glory of our covenant God and Father? What need have we found in them of the infinitely precious blood of Christ! What discoveries have we made of the deficiencies in our own righteousness and of the infinite value of His! What value have we discovered in the inexhaustible treasury of His grace! What need have we had of His sanctifying, comforting, restoring Spirit, as the Spirit of grace and supplication, the Spirit that illuminates, convicts, reproves, and consoles, lays low and lifts up, wounds and heals, kills and makes alive! Nor have we been without some inner walkings with our Heavenly Father, some sips of the heavenly fountain, some commencements of bliss, some foretaste of heaven, and all this in the way of mere sovereign, unmerited grace and mercy and love. Such have been the last three years, and our whole spiritual life has been but as they. How loud will be then our song above! How loud should be our song

below, not of our lips only, but of our lives also-of our lives especially and above all.

You are aware, I doubt not, of some of our trials as a Church in the midst of our many mercies. The death of dear Whitmore, and our being obliged to withdraw from, are both of them deep dispensations. The first brought us pungent sorrow, but mixed with lively joy at his joyful and most blessed translation to the upper streets of the celestial city. His consistent life and happy death brought one song to our hearts, even thanksgiving to our God. But the last is unmingled sorrow throughout. The death of dear B was one of great blessedness; tranquil, substantial, solid peace in Jesus marked the closing scene with a peculiar grandeur; indeed, I can call it by no other name. The calm serenity that animated all that he said and did seemed, so to say, The Lord is here.

You recollect dear sister Bland; her departure too was very glorious; so was that of Laura Lade, and C. Simonds, and of our sister Wright. Do you recollect all or any of these? In all these the Eternal Spirit put forth His Almighty power in a very peculiar degree. They are gone to Jesus, and their memory is blessed, and when we go may our latter end be like their's!

We have had family trials since we met. My dear wife's aged father is gone to his rest in Jesus, and we still have some to remind us this is not our rest. My precious daughter is in trouble at this time, her eldest child being very seriously ill when she closed her letter, and she being in expectation of her husband's being summoned to join the army, of which we thought there was no danger, as he was in the civil service. But it is the Lord, and what is there not in that word when the Eternal Spirit applies it to the heart? My heart felt for the trial of dear Mrs. R-'s daughter. How deep, how mysterious a dispensation! Oh, that she may be enabled to have all the blessing of the heavy stroke! Remember me very affectionately to both mother and daughter. Give our very kind love to your dear wife, and kiss your dear children for me. May a good and gracious God ever bless you and your's! You are very dear

to me, and as the best proof of it, I pray that He would fill you