heavy stroke with that resignation to his will, which none but himself can give, and which he gives to none but his own children. How blessed and happy is your lot, my dear friend, beyond the common lot of the greater part of mankind; that you know what it is to draw near to God in prayer, and are acquainted with a throne of Grace! You have resources in the infinite love of a Redeemer, which are withheld from millions: and the promises of God, are sufficient to answer all your necessities, and to sweeten the bitterest cup, which your heavenly Father will ever put into your hand. May He now give you liberty to drink at these wells of salvation, till you are filled with consolation and peace, in the midst of trouble! He has said; "When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee: when thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon thee." You have need of such a Word as this; and he knows your need of it: and it is in the time of necessity, that he will be sure to appear in behalf of those, who trust in him.

I bear you and yours upon my heart before him, night and day; for I never expect to hear of distress, which shall call upon me with a louder voice, to pray for the sufferer. I know that the Lord hears me for myself, vile and sinful as I am; and I believe, and I am sure, that he will hear me for you also. He is the Friend of the widow, and the Father of the fatherless, even God in his holy habitation: in all our afflictions he is afflicted; and he chastens us in mercy. Surely, he will sanctify this dispensation to you; do you great and everlasting good by it; make the world appear like dust and vanity, in your sight, as it truly is; and

open to your view the glories of a better country, where there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor pain, but God shall wipe away all tears from your eyes for ever. O that comfortable word! "I have chosen thee in the furnace of affliction:" so that our very sorrows are evidences of our calling; and he chastens us, because we are his children.

My dear cousin, I commit you to the Word of his grace, and to the comforts of his holy Spirit. Your life is needful for your family: may God, in mercy to them, prolong it; and may he preserve you from the dangerous effects which a stroke like this, might have upon a frame so tender as yours! I grieve with you; I pray for you; could I do more, I would; but God must comfort

you.

I have heard nothing more from Mr Newton, on the subject you mention; but, I dare say, that, having been given to expect the benefit of your nomination, on behalf of his nephew, he still depends upon it. His obligations to Mr., have been so numerous, and so weighty, that, though he has, in a few instances, prevailed upon himself to recommend an object now and then to his patronage, he has very sparingly, if at all, exerted his interest with him in behalf of his own relations.

With respect to the advice, you are required to give to a young lady, that she may be properly in

structed in the manner of keeping the sabbath, I just subjoin a few hints, that have occurred to me on the occasion; not because I think you want them, but because it would seem unkind to withhold them. The sabbath then, I think, may be considered, first, as a commandment, not less binding on modern Christians than on ancient Jews. The spiritual people amongst the latter, did not think it enough to abstain from manual occupations on that day; but, entering more deeply into the meaning of the precept, allotted those hours they took from the world, to the cultivation of holiness in their own souls: which ever was, and ever will be, a duty incumbent on all, who ever heard of a sabbath; and is of perpetual obligation both on Jews and Christians. The com mandment enjoins it; the prophets have also enforced it: and, in many instances, both scriptural and modern, the breach of it has been punished with a providential and judicial severity, that may make by-standers tremble. Secondly, the sabbath may be considered as a pri vilege, which you well know how to dilate upon, better than I can tell you; thirdly, as a sign of that covenant, by which believers are entitled to a rest, that yet remaineth; fourthly, as the sine-qua-non of the Christian character. And on the last head, I should guard against being understood to mean no more than two attendances on public worship; which is a form, complied with by thousands, who never kept a sabbath in their lives. Consistence is necessary, to give substance and solidity to the whole. To sanctify the day at church, and to trifle it away out of church, is profanation, and vitiates all.-I would ask my catechumen one short question. Do you love the day, or do you not? If you love it, you will never inquire, how far

you may safely deprive yourself of the enjoyment of it. If you find yourself obliged in conscience to acknowledge, that you do not love it, this is an alarming symptom; and it ought to make you tremble. If you do not love it, then it is a weariness to you, and you wish it were over. The ideas of labour, and rest, are not more opposite to each other, than the idea of a sabbath, and that dislike and disgust, with which it fills the souls of thousands, to be obliged to keep it. Yours, &c.

William Cowper.

LETTER XVIII.

To the rev. John Newton.

Dear sir,

May 3, 1780.

You indulge in such a variety of subjects, and allow me so much latitude of excursion in this scribbling employment, that I have no excuse for silence. I deal much in ink indeed, but not such ink as is employed by poets, and writers of essays. Mine is a harmless fluid, and guilty of no deceptions, but such as may prevail, without the least injury. I draw mountains, valleys, woods, streams, &c. I admire them myself, and Mrs. Unwin admires them; and her praise, and my praise put together, are fame enough for me.

I delight in bawbles, and I know them to be such; for rested in, and viewed, without a reference to their Author, what is the earth, what are the planets, what is the sun itself, but a bawble? Better is it for a man never to have seen them, or to see them with the eyes of a brute, stupid and unconscious of what he beholds, than not to be able to say: "The Maker of all these wonders is my friend!" Some men think a fine estate, a large conservatory, a hot-house rich as a West-Indian

garden, things of consequence; visit them with plea sure; and muse upon them with ten times more. I am pleased with a frame of four lights, doubtful whether the few pines which it contains, will ever be worth a farthing; amuse myself with a green-house, which lord Bute's gardener could take upon his back, and walk away with; and when I have paid it the accustomed visit, and watered it, and given it air, I say to myself: "This is not mine; it is a plaything lent me for the present; I must leave it soon."

I am obliged to you for your long letter, which did not seem so; and for your short one, which was more than I had any reason to expect. Short as it was, it conveyed to me two interesting articles of intelligence. An account of your recovering from a fever, and of Lady Cowper's death. The latter was, I suppose, to be expected; for by what remembrance I have of her ladyship, she had reached those years, that are always found upon the borders of another world. As for you, your time of life is com paratively of a youthful date. You may think of death as much as you please; (you can scarcely think of it too much;) but I hope you will live to think of it many years.

It costs me not much difficulty to suppose, that my friends who were already grown old, when I saw them last, are old still; but it costs me a good deal sometimes, to think of those, who were at that time young,