His Spirit, be so revealed constantly to you, if not by feeling yet by faith, as your never-setting sun, that you may never more be allowed to doubt His love, so vast, so precious, so costly, nor for one moment to suspect that because He may hide Himself beneath a cloud He forgets to shine. There are

peculiar trials and temptations in seasons of decay and longcontinued feebleness, and we are unwise not to expect them; yet so unwise are we, and that too often. But He that will not quench the smoking flax, gently supplies it with the secret oil that prevents its entire extinguishing. May you and I be more constantly found acting faith, through the Spirit, on that High Priest who tendeth His temple lamps constantly and unweariedly, and while we are more than ever diligent in the use of all means, act more simple trust and confidence on Him whose love is as unchanging as His nature.

With our united Christian love to yourself and daughter,

Ever believe me,

Your's faithfully and affectionately,

J. H. EVANS.

TO HIS DAUGHTER.

Hampstead, Nov. 19, 1846. MY OWN BELOVED C--,-How precious are your letters, the constant assurances of your love, and not forgetfulness of us all, although we doubt it not, and had no suspicion of its being otherwise. And yet, as it is our infirmity to require the renewed declaration of all this, so is it sweet to receive them, and a cause of thankfulness when God in His mercy sends them to us, I trust enabling us to rise above them by seeing Himself in them.

We want continued communications from God Himself to assure us of His love and tender remembrance of us, and though this be our infirmity as creatures, and fallen creatures, yet He condescends to us, and refreshes our souls by them from time to time, and so will it be where all sinful infirmity can no longer exist. It will be in the way of infinite communication, that the very bliss of heaven will be consummated.

On the prospect of soon seeing you I do not allow my mind to dwell. Sweet as the bare prospect and possibility of such an event may be, and when my spirit in any measure realizes it, is, yet I dare not dwell upon it. Convinced am I upon high and unselfish grounds that my precious child ought for her own sake, for her children's sake, and therefore for her husband's sake, dearly as she loves him, and ought to do so, to return home. I feel that I must for His sake who is infinitely dearer to me than all His creatures, leave the matter wholly with Himself, that in this I would have no will but His will,

Who never has a good withheld,

Nor will withhold from me.

The Lord Himself guide you! This is our prayer, and I doubt not that it is especially that of you both. Oh, how blessed it is to have such a God to go to in all our need. Whatever our need may be He is below it, "Underneath are the everlasting arms." Even should we err in judgment yet if we are upright in heart, He can turn the very error into a blessing, yea, the greatest blessing.

One thing we cannot lightly pass over, and that is your most providential deliverance in the extreme hour of danger. The tender interposing mercy of our gracious God was most conspicuous. Oh, that it may never be forgotten; actually so, it cannot be, but miserably undervalued it will be, except as we seek the especial anointing of the blessed Remembrancer, the Holy and Eternal Spirit Himself. Might it not be well if some especial time, in the day of the week, and in the time of the day, when the delivering hand of the merciful heart was put forth, were set apart for this? We are poor creatures, and like Paul's ship we want under-girdings. (Acts xxvii. 17.) Mercies slighted are dangerous things, as I, alas! have often found, though God has forgiven it all, as I dare to believe. (Rom. viii. 1.) I have been forced to break off.

With all tender love to dear James, and the bairns, three, blessed be God,

Always and for ever your's most affectionately,
J. H. EVANS.

TO HIS DAUGHTER.

Hampstead, Dec. 15, 1846.

As dear OW- preaches for me (D.V.) to-night, I have a good long morning, and shall write a letter this time to my own beloved C, for I know not what trouble she may be in, what depths she may be passing through in respect to her beloved children. God has been trying you as He has often done your poor father, who is now writing to you; but ever in tenderness, faithfulness, and with an infinite necessity, as sometimes one can distinctly see in this life, but shall altogether see in the clear, unclouded light of eternity. The base, contaminating nature of sin is far too deeply embedded in our natures to be got rid of by common ordinary means, however costly and precious those means may be, and indispensable as correctives. The drill-ground has its use, as your husband will tell you, but it is the battle-field that tries the regiment, and forms the soldier. We think ourselves wise till we know our own foolishness, strong till we feel our own weakness, overrate our faith till we try it; and then, in self-despair, we cast ourselves upon the strong for strength, and find Jesus precious. All this is what you may be going through at this moment-and how it is with your dear babe I know not; but this I know, "all is well," and one thing more is certain, soon, very soon, you shall say so too, even if you are scarcely able to say it, while your eye glances over these lines, through a mother's infirmity, and the feebleness of faith, which is the inheritance of most of God's family in these days. But you say to this, You do not know me. It is most true, and if all the men in the world were to tell me that I was safe, I honestly confess that I must give the same answer, and that all the assurance on the subject would altogether fail to give me assurance, if God the Spirit did not give it me Himself. But while there are some who talk much of an assured hope, and that assured hope seems always to give way under the ordinary troubles of ordinary life; there are others who talk

*

*

*

little of it, and think that they have little of it, who yet seem to see a Father in their trials, and kiss the hand that smites them. Hence, dear child, I am driven to the conclusion that there are some who have far more assurance than they think, and some inconceivably less; that a quiet, filial leaning upon God in trial, is assurance, real assurance, although it may not mount up to all the brightness of a cloudless sky.

Assurance is usually a flower of slow growth, lifts up its head most in the shade, and bends low; and where the last feature is not discernible, I confess that I stand in doubt of it, and suspect it to be a weed.

From a strong light which the Holy Spirit may cast upon the cross in one sermon, through one representation of Jesus, the soul may spring up at once into assured hope; but commonly, assurance of God's love to me, and its effect my love to Him is the result of increasing experimental acquaintance with Him As I know Him in the Son of His love, read by the teaching of His own blessed Spirit the history of His love in my life, notwithstanding all my sins and sinfulness, my innumerable backslidings and departures from Him, His restorings and rebukes, His hidings and revealings, His gentle and most undeserved smiles, His providential trials, and providential deliverances, it is in all this I seem to know Him, know Him in His Son, know Him as my God. With a broken heart, with many tears, with little joy, I may thus know Him. But I confess I would rather thus know Him than in some of the most rapturous expressions of many who are esteemed as most assured saints.

Grace is to be regarded rather by the weight which it enables a man to carry than by the swiftness of his pace. A young woman is not an old woman. A married woman with three children is not the same as one who has none. Two children running wild while she is unable to prevent it, are not the same as a little baby. Two children with the scarlet-fever, and one likely to have it, form no little subject for thought, care, and prayer. The grace that sustains and cheers and helps the soul to go on through this crowd might enable that same person to

run with great swiftness on a gravel walk and a smooth lawn. Yet God forbid that I should make excuse in you and myself for little faith. But it is one thing to encourage little faith, and quite another to encourage myself to be satisfied with little faith. I believe that you have more faith than you think, and, paradoxical as it may appear, that you have less. But that we have any is of mere grace, that there is so much unbelief may well make us ashamed. But if it end in two things, it shall be well; if it make us, through the Spirit, careful how we weaken what we have by any wilful sin; if it lead us in ceaseless prayer to say, "Increase my faith; Lord, I believe, help my unbelief."

My tender love to dear James, and many kisses to the bairns; and with all the affection of a fond but sinful father, saved, as he humbly hopes, in the Lord, ever think of me as your fellowtraveller to the land of everlasting rest.

JAMES H. EVANS.

TO MISS F

-.-ON THE ETERNITY OF PUNISHMENT.

Taplow, December 21, 1846.

MY DEAR SISTER in the precious hope of a peaceful and loving Gospel, whom I love for Christ's sake, and for whom I never felt more sincere regard than at this moment,-You did, indeed, little estimate the true state of things, and see them as they are, when you thought, as you expressed yourself last night, that I had little borne you on my heart to a throne of grace, when I preached the sermon of yesterday morning. Never, to my recollection, did I make more sacrifice of self in the delivery of any sermon than I did in that; and never did I take the matter which I had in hand,—in more helplessness,-as to myself, than I did in that instance. My last petition was, if I well remember, "Lord, may I ascend those pulpit-stairs with a deep recollection of the 'Dialogues on the Trinity;"" nor was this, dear young sister, without some especial remembrance of yourself. That I did not take you more directly and more personally to Him who loves to hear prayer, was from this cause,—that I did not think