The sermon alluded to was preached by the Rev. Dr. B., from the words, "Stand fast in the liberty wherewith Christ maketh you free." The train of thought which pervaded it, communicated to her mind great comfort: but in a passage where believers were exhorted, amid their trials, to lay hold of the divine promises, the declaration "your bread shall be given you, and your water shall be sure, came home with such power to her soul, that, from that moment, worldly cares never excited the most transient anxiety, or the want of visible means of support, dis. trust of the providence of God. Her state at this time cannot fail to be regarded as pecu. liarly interesting. Nothing is more certain than that she had not yet "received and rested upon Christ alone for salvation," in whom all the promises are 66 yea and amen." Yet, in a sermon addressed to believers, and from a promise quoted for the consolation of believers, she found what terminated, in one large field of temptation, all her disquietude. Sometime before, at the sale of her father's effects, when a relation was weeping and lamenting over the entire desolation of the household, she had said to her sister, "we would need to have a more durable portion than any thing this world can afford, if we would be happy," without appropriating, however, any of those promises which are intended, even in man's utmost need, to prevent dejection of spirit, or distrust of God. She now, in all uncertainty about her portion in another world, lays hold of a declaration which she considered as a sufficient pledge of her enjoying a portion in this. Her portion in another world indeed seemed further from her grasp than ever; for the services of that solemn season were no sooner at a close than new anxieties and sorrows possessed her soul. She now saw that she had laid her hands on the broken body and shed blood, in entire ignorance of her relationship to the crucified Redeemer. Wo's me, for I am undone! she was ready to cry, feeling as if with those wicked hands she had crucified the Lord afresh, and put him to an open shame. That blessed or. dinance, in which so many have experienced such consolation and joy, she felt she had presumptuously profaned; remorse for her rash boldness seemed to re-open all the fountains of her former agony, and her heart was bowed down with a most oppressive dejection. So many beautiful hopes had sprung up in her soul, in the prospect of the holy communion, now so quenched in utter despair, that she felt like Job when he cried, "Wherefore is light given to him that is in misery? or life unto him that is bitter in soul?" "O, that my grief were thoroughly weighed, and my calamity laid in the balance for ever! for now it would be heavier than the sand of the sea; therefore my words are swallowed up, for the arrows of the Almighty are within me, the poison whereof drinketh up my spirit-the terrors of God have set themselves in array against me." All her confidence seemed to have given way, and her righteousnesses she felt were indeed as filthy rags, too short a covering for her soul, beneath the eye of him who was making inquisition for holiness. I remember at this time, about two weeks after she had taken the sacrament, meeting her one morning very early, when on my way to Arrochar, wondering but not knowing the reason why she had been so soon abroad.—Her adpearance was that of desolateness and depression; but I was not aware till afterward, that during the whole of that night she had been wrestling in prayer, crying for relief from God; yet without any such answer as suited her great necessity. No words could more faithfully portray her condition, than those which the patriarch used as descriptive of his own:-"I am made to possess months of vanity; wearisome nights are appointed unto me. When I lie down, I say, when shall I arise, and the night be gone; and I am full of tossings to and fro, to the dawning of the day.”—Speaking in the anguish of her spirit, complaining in the bitterness of her soul, scared with dreams, and terrified through visions, there seemed reality only in eternal things, and they alone she could not but judge worthy of her pursuit, otherwise she must have chosen strangling and death, rather than life. Still, however, through some strange delusion, she did not yet find her way to the only sure consolation, though agonizingly restless in its pursuit. Isabella slept at this time with her mother, and the account she gives of her condition and practices is very affecting. Groaning and lamenting, night after night, she literally watered her couch with her tears-the house continually resounding throughout the silent watches with the voice of her weeping. Long would her mother lie sleepless, listening to expressions of grief, for which she had no remedy or comfort; or when awakening from slumbers, which, through weariness of nature, she could not avoid, finding Isabella absent, she would thus be filled with alarm, lest some new calamity should visit her beloved child. Thus, at dead of night, had she to rise and leave the house, and search for her in the fields, or where she often found her, and that during the depth of winter, careless of any of its storms, weeping and praying in her little garden. "O then it was pitiful to see her," she has said to me, "not like an earthly creature. I could give her no help, and she could find none where she was seeking it. She looked so pale and wo-begone, it was easily seen that her misery could not be told." What a contrast the mental anxieties of the same indi. vidual sometimes present! You have seen how Isabella, when the life of her brother was in hazard, prayed only for his deliverance and safety, without permitting, even for a moment, any necessity of her own to become the subject of her devotions: now, she was her own absorbing anxiety. Of kindred, or of friends, she thought not in her attempted communion with God. What she herself felt and desired, formed the exclusive burden of her prayers. She could not, however, but believe that peace was somewhere to be found, although hitherto it had been as far off, and conceal. ed from her view; for she felt as one not born for this world and its enjoyments; while, at the same time, the realities of eternity had not filled up the void in her soul. She looked upon all things under the sun, and such was the language of her feelings-" Ye are not for me; and although I have nothing besides, and as yet, lacking all I desire elsewhere, ye are not for me.”—In such a state, without interest in time, and without hope in eternity, she has said to me, that she seemed to know well what the feeling of the disciples had been, when the Saviour found them sleeping for sorrow. Repeatedly, however, texts of Scripture would convey to her mind a temporary relief, and raise up her soul, ready to bow down and die. Thus from time to time sustained, she would multiply her labours of righteousness and piety more sedulously than ever, in the hope of obtaining from God what she desired.-Not only in private, but in the presence of others, although without any pharisaical reference to their opinion, would she frequently engage in protracted devotional exercises. That this attracted attention is obvious, from the remark of a little boy, of sufficient simplicity indeed, but affording a very graphic description of her practice: "Isabella makes as long prayers as would save a kingdom.”—All, however, she found unavailing. In whatever way she exerted herself, whatever form of righteousness she attempted, howsoever eagerly her spirit strove to secure God's favour; still she remained in toils-only wearying herself with vain devices, each, in succession, attesting the more strongly, her utter helpessness to mitigate her own misery. The Hymn. Rock of ages, cleft for me, To that sacred cleansing flood While I live my fleeting day, |