not make you truly religious, nor can you make yourself so. It is the Lord's work, and I am daily praying him to bless you indeed. But he has a time; till then, I hope you will wait upon him according to your light, in the use of his appointed means, that you will make conscience of praying to him, and reading his word, and hearing when you have opportunity. I hope he will enable you to behave obediently and affectionately to your governess, and in an obliging manner to all around you, so as to gain their love and esteem. I hope you will likewise carefully abstain from whatever you know to be wrong. Thus far I may hope you can go at present; but I do not wish you to affect more of religion in your appearance, than you are really conscious of. There is some danger of this in a family where a religious profession is befriended. Young people are apt to imitate those about them, and sometimes (which is abominable) to put on a show of religion in order to please, though their hearts have no concern it. I have a good hope that the Lord will teach you, and guide you, and that the many prayers and praises I have offered on your behalf will not be lost.

When I began my letter, I did not mean to

write half so gravely, I rather thought to find something to divert you; but you are very near my heart, and this makes me serious. I long to come and see you; but it cannot be yet, nor can I say when: but I shall bounce in upon you some day when perhaps you are not thinking of me.

I am, my dear,

Your very affectionate.

LETTER VIII.

November 10, 1781.

My dear Child,

WHEN your mamma and I come to see you, it must be on a Monday, for more reasons than one; which it is not necessary for you to know and as there is but one Monday in a week, something or other may prevent oftener than I wish. However, I promise to think of you when I cannot see you, and sometimes we talk of you. "Christmas will soon be here; then we shall have her at home, and then who knows but she will be so improved, and behave so nicely, that we shall be sorry to part with her again." When we talk thus, I hope you will make good what we say.

Lately, for about a week, I was attacked by a company of pains. Some seized my face and teeth, some took possession of my back, and some got into my sides; but they are all gone now, and they did me no harm. You know little about pains and cares yet. You are now at the time of life when you are especially called upon to remember your Creator and Redeemer, and have the greatest advantages for

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doing it. But, if your life is spared, to you likewise the days will come when you will say, "I have no pleasure in them." But I hope long before they come, you will have some experience of pleasures which do not at all depend upon youth or health, or any thing that this world can either give or take away. Seek the Lord, and you shall live; and you have not far to seek for him he is very near you; he is all around you; about your bed by night, and your path by day. He sees, he notices all you say and do. But I do not wish you to conceive of him so as to make the thought of him uneasy to you. Think of him according to the account the evangelists give of him when he was upon earth; how gracious, compassionate, and kind, he was. If he were upon earth now, would you not wish that I should lead you to him, that he might lay his hands upon you and bless you, as he did the children which were brought to him? If he were here, and I could go with you and say, "Lord bless my child likewise!" I am sure he would not frown at you, and say, "Take her away, I will have nothing to do with her!" No, my dear child, he has promised, them that come to him he will in no wise cast out. Go to him yourself; though

you cannot see him, it is sufficient that he sees and hears you. Tell him, that you hear and believe he is a Saviour to many, and beg him to be your Saviour too. Tell him it was not your own choice, but his providence that removed you from C, and put you under my care, which gave you an opportunity of knowing more of his goodness, than you would otherwise have done; and beg of him to give you his grace, that the advantages you have had may not aggravate your sins, but lead you to his salvation; and do not let a day pass without thinking on his sufferings in Gethsemane and on Mount Golgotha. Surely his love to poor sinners, in bleeding and dying for them, will constrain you to love him again; and if once you love him, then every thing will be easy, and you will account it your greatest pleasure to please him.

I thank you for your letter. I conceive a hope from it, that you will improve in your writing. I wish you not only to write a good hand, but a good letter; and the whole art is to write with freedom and ease. When you take your pen in hand, pop things down just sa they come to your mind; just as you would