ETAT. 21] THE PECULIAR SYMPATHY OF WOMAN.

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quainted with all the deep mysteries of woman's heart, but I think they are worth learning. I am much affected with the sympathy you manifest, and could almost wish it were not so deep. It has been painful to me of late to think, that instead of increasing your happiness I have added to your trouble. I fear my last letter would have no tendency to relieve you of the burden. I have promised to tell you the truth, and you may still rest assured that I will not deceive you relative to my health. When I last wrote I was under apprehensions that my indisposition was incipient consumption, and I wished to prepare you for the consequences. I have now reason to hope those apprehensions were groundless. The bleeding was considerable-I should think not less than a quart-but my medical man tells me that this is a far more favourable symptom than slight and continued expectoration of blood. It has now ceased.

"I quite agree with your opinion respecting the formation of a lasting union where there is indication of fatal disease on either side. No thought is more painful to my mind than that of leaving you a helpless widow. You may deem it strange, but I think I would almost sooner lose than leave you. But I think your conjectures are too melancholy. I have great reason to hope that I shall once more enjoy good health.

"I have lately been reading John's Gospel. It gives by far the most complete exhibition of our Saviour's character. There was evidently a personal friendship between John and the Redeemer-he was 'the disciple whom Jesus loved.' And for this reason, no doubt, he has been selected to write the most important parts of Revelation. The other evangelists wrote the actions of our Lord; John described His mind and heart. There is more of pure revelation in his writings than in all the rest put together: more propositions that are beyond the reach of reason. I often think he must have felt very peculiar emotions when he met his

Lord in the isle of Patmos. At the last supper he leaned upon Jesus' breast; but there he fell before Him as one that was dead.' What a glorious change had passed upon his friend! so great that his imperfect nature could not bear to look on it. There is a sublime and ravishing mystery in these things which sometimes almost overwhelms me. O what a contrast between these objects and the materials for contemplation which the world affords. Here the spirit has free scope: its very noblest powers have ample room for exercise. The sentiments of admiration and the emotions of love find an object commensurate with their capacity. Christ is indeed "the bread of life," and with Him the hungry soul is satisfied. May you and I learn more of His character! The more we are acquainted with this common friend the more shall we love each other.

ence.

"I am glad you so much admire Mrs. Judson. She was a most devoted woman. You cannot afford my heart a more exquisite gratification than by imitating her high example. One of the most powerful agents in the formation of character is admiration. We cannot intensely admire the great and good without becoming in some measure assimilated to them. Hence the importance of always keeping models of excellence before our eye. They are the patterns from which we shall weave the web of our exist'He that walketh with wise men shall be wise.' No observant reader will believe that the portrait here introduced is drawn by fancy's pencil. Many will be able to refer to persons who might have sat for it. It will be more profitable however to inquire "Lord is it I?" 3rd. "There is a class of persons whose religion consists in talking about the religion of other people. They substitute the admiration of what is excellent in others for the possession of excellence in themselves. They are amazingly prompt in deciding respecting the characters of their fellow-men. Their favourite topic is the sins and imperfections of profes

ÆTAT. 21]

THE LIFE OF SIR JAMES MACKINTOSH.

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sors of religion. You will sometimes find them taking delight in the idolatrous exaltation of some favourite minister to the depreciation of almost every other. If you converse with them on the great truths of religion you will soon discover a sad deficiency. The repetition of a few common-place sentiments, without the least sensibility, is all you can procure. If you wish to dwell upon any given subject they will soon flinch, and with wonderful facility start away from things to persons. They are remarkably insensible to 'the beauty of holiness.' They evidently see in Christ no beauty that they should desire Him. Were He again to appear upon earth He would be the last person in whose company they would mingle. His light would reveal their darkness; His beauty expose their deformity, and their pride would be sorely wounded. They would discover some fault in Him, and, like the Jews of old, despise and reject Him. This is one of the most awful states into which our nature can fall."

4th. "Christ did not enter upon His ministry till He was thirty years of age. During that time, no doubt His mind was in a course of preparation. We have every reason to conclude that it went through all those processes of advancement by which great and good men have attained wisdom, only He had the advantages of superior enlightenment from above. Methinks there could not have been a more interesting sight in the universe than to have observed those silent workings of the spirit by which, during His residence beneath His reputed father's roof, He prepared Himself for His great and arduous work."

5th. "The life of Mackintosh is very interesting. His mind is of a very high order. It has a beautiful symmetry which cannot fail to charm the eye of the discriminating observer. Everything he wrote bore the mark of geniusnot genius wild, luxuriant, and unrestrained, but under a

G

state of severe cultivation. He was emphatically a philosopher. His understanding was not only strong but fine and delicate. His mind did not take its character from the associations into which he happened to be thrown, but sought out congenial objects, and selected from the multifarious elements of thought, those adapted to its purpose. It did not exert itself merely for the sake of exertion. It drew its inspiration from the objects of beauty which it loved to contemplate."

The following extract will be read with special interest by the preacher of the Gospel. The reader who was in the habit of hearing Mr. Hessel towards the close of his life, will think that there was no faint resemblance between the delineation here given of what a minister should be, and what he himself was. "I imagine myself in the pulpit, and I look around on the congregation. It presents a varied appearance-human nature is exhibited under many forms. There are young and old, rich and poor, learned and illiterate. I inquire what are these beings? For what are they come ? And what must I say to them? If I glance into futurity, I see at the distance of a century, every one of them in a state of unspeakable happiness or misery. Long before that time I shall be in another world, where, in all probability, I shall see some of them. The truth I utter must have an influence upon their future destiny. I am placed here to distribute the elements of life. To some perhaps they will become the means of death; for such fearful transmutations oft take place. Since then I sustain such a relationship to these spirits, does it not become a momentous inquiry: how shall I fulfil the responsibilities of that relation?

"I have stationed myself where the destinies of immortal souls hang upon my conduct. I might have occupied one of those seats. But since I have voluntarily taken this position, should it not create a deep seriousness of spirit, a thrilling anxiety as to the result of my efforts, a yearning

ÆTAT. 21] THE FAITHFUL PREACHER DEPICTED.

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desire that they may have a happy issue-a desire that shall be absorbing, shall make me feel as if I had no interest apart from that of these immortal spirits?

"I feel a tendency to treat the whole affair with indifference, to pass it over as one among a series of acts which form the routine of human existence. I come here to preach a sermon; they are come to hear one; and that is all. But instantly I check the indulgence of such reflections. A multitude of spirit-stirring inquiries present themselves. Are eternity, and heaven, and hell, objects to be viewed with indifference? Does not the fearful doom of perhaps a majority of those now before me affect me? Can I think of the miseries of a lost soul (and, O terrible thought, there is reason to fear that some of those who hear me this night will be lost) and feel no emotions of pity? Do not the bowels of common humanity yearn over the unconverted, exposed as they are to evils too appalling to contemplate? My soul feels the awful justice of these sentiments; and I am convinced that to dismiss them would be a profanation of the place in which I stand, and a violation of the character I sustain. But what is the character of that preaching whose tone shall be in harmony with these sentiments?

His

"I endeavour to place myself out of myself, and to picture the man I should be this night. In imagination I leave the pulpit and seat myself among the audience. I observe the preacher enter the sacred place, and watch every step, and mark every movement of his countenance. He moves as if he were upon some great business. There is a seriousness about his demeanour which the spectators feel. entrance produces a change in their emotions. If emotions and thoughts could take a visible form, those of a worldly character would be seen to vanish, and deep solemnity to take their place. I see him seated in the pulpit. He does not look like an ordinary man. There is a solemn, unearthly anxiety in his look. All the powers of his mind appear