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belief, such callousness, do I feel within, that I often fear all that I have felt and rejoiced in has not been a reality. If the apostle felt but half what I feel, he might well exclaim, "O wretched man that I am, who shall deliver me from this body of sin and death ?" The little hope that now and then springs up seems ready to sink into oblivion under doubts and fears. I used to despair almost altogether, because I thought if I were a Christian, I should feel the sweetness of the precious promises made to disconsolate sinners in the word of God; whereas, often did I read them, and as often had I to close them again, not being able to feel that they were for me: till a short time ago, as the poet sweetly expresses it,

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I heard my Saviour say,

Come hither, soul, I am the way,"

in the last verse of Isaiah liv.: "No weapon formed against thee shall prosper." O what a mighty support it was to my sinking soul. It raised me out of the horrible pit, and out of the miry clay. I could then say, "Enough, my gracious Lord!" O, sirs, it was such a weapon for me that I cannot in any way describe to you. Could I but have left this wilderness, and this vile body, and died with it on my tongue! Satan could not then bring me in guilty; but it was too sweet to last long; yet it has left a sweetness behind that now and then enables me to rejoice, though in the desert.

If, sirs, you think this may be felt and enjoyed by a carnal man, do tell me so, through your valuable work. Often do I tell a precious Saviour what hardness I feel within ; but almost as often does Satan break in, at some point or other, and mar my sweetest moments. Many a time do I groan, being burdened with guilt and misery. Dear sirs, I cannot describe it to you, but I think at times I could bear it a deal better were I assured that I belonged to that happy people, redeemed out of every nation, kingdom, people, and tongue; for I feel that if his precious Majesty should see fit to send me to hell, I could not but acknowledge he had done right. Bless his precious name, where shall I go? Without him I can do nothing. O that I could but enjoy him, and feel my union to him. I know he died for sinners, and where is there a greater sinner than I am? I can truly say there is nothing to compare to him-that my soul, when in her right mind, desires to have short of him; and whether these are the feelings of a hypocrite or not, they are my feelings; yet part with the little hope I have, I cannot, no, not for ten thousand worlds. He is precious to such a worthless wretch as I. I want to be found in Christ, to live in him, to die in him, and to stand in him

at the bar of God; and this is my petition, if I know how to pray at all. But often when I attempt to address him at a throne of grace, is my too prone heart wandering after some forbidden object. I cannot tell you of all the various ways and turns that Satan takes to rob me of my joys; for should my soul be warm in the wrestle with the God of Jacob, scarcely are the last words out of my mouth, ere pride says it is well done. O this cursed pride! This is one part of my bondage and grief. I must and can hope in nothing short of a whole Christ; for if my salvation were to be left to myself, my very feelings tell me I should perish eternally. But it is some consolation to me to know that it is through much tribulation the saints must enter the kingdom; not that I like the way, but that the dear Lord has marked it out for his family.

Another course that Satan takes to overcome me with is, he says that I have sinned against the Holy Ghost; and you know, sirs, as well as I do, that such a sin can never be forgiven, neither here nor hereafter. I cannot say that I know what kind of sin that is, and I often think I had better not know, lest, if I did, I should the more easily commit it, if I have not committed it already. Dear sirs, do tell me whether you think I had better know; for I often fear if I do not know, I shall be kept in bondage until death.

Being afraid of wearying you with my crooked ways, I must conclude. Yours, (I wish I could, without wavering, say, in the bonds of grace,)

Manchester, Aug. 12, 1835.

A SAINT INDEED.--No. II.

(Extracted from Letters.)

JOHN.

My dear Friend, for Jesus' sake,-I have this morning received your kind letter. I have no difficulty whatever in reading your letters, and shall consider your correspondence a favour, whenever your time will allow you to write to us.

Our dear brother is alive in every respect, but to the world, and to that he is as dead as a living man can be. 1 have never myself witnessed in any one such a settled peace as he is favoured with. At his particular wish, I spent the whole of last Wednesday with him, and never shall I forget the day. Jesus was indeed with us, and a sweet bedewing from the sacred Spirit, I believe, we mutually felt. Nothing but Christ and him crucified is his theme; nor do I think ten minutes, except while we took our meals, were spent through

the day but on the dear Redeemer, and his precious love made known by the Holy Spirit. Of the Holy Ghost's work, he is blessedly tenacious, and often said to me, "The reason I love your company so much is because I feel sure, while I am talking with you, that you have tasted, and felt, and handled, the good word of life;" and believe me, my dear friend, I feel it no small mercy to have so much regard as he expresses, from a dear saint of God, living so near the throne as he is. He has lost his eyesight, but nothing moves him. In speaking of the sweet manifestation of the love of God to his soul, he said, "I have been so favoured, not once, nor twice, but over, and over, and over again; and now the Lord has taken my sight; and I say, Amen, amen! If he will restore it, I shall rejoice, but if not, here am I, Lord; do with me as thou wilt." He farther said, "Jesus is my constant theme." I replied, “Yes, sir, that will do for your morning and evening song." He said, "Ah! it will: I wake with it in the morning, and when I lay down at night I say, Here I am, Lord, made willing to be disposed of as thou wilt for me to live is Christ, to die is gain-unspeakable gain, everlasting gain. You can't think how I anticipate the day when I shall see his face, and never, never sin; and I think the time is drawing near." I said, Have you any particular reason, my dear friend, for thinking so?" He replied, "Only my own feelings." I said, 66 'Do you feel as if you were on the very thresh lod of heaven ?" He replied, "I do, Mrs.; I really do! A few more setting suns, and we shall see him as he is; and then we'll try which of us can sing the loudest; won't we?" I said, "We will, sir." "Ah," he rejoined, "but I shall sing the loudest of all the choir-of all the choir!"

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His hands have been so paralyzed as to be quite useless; but now he can take a biscuit, and eat it, of himself. With the exception of such a trifle as that, Sally has to feed him like a child. I suppose his mind is in that sweet state, that his attention cannot be gained to any worldly affairs; but with this, I, of course, have no concern. On spiritual matters, he is quite collected, and I really do feel it a little heaven below to be in his room. His medical attendant says he is better in health. He can sit up a whole day, and take a little meat comfortably, eating what is given him; but would never, I think, ask for meat or drink, if it were not given him.

Now, my dear brother, I have filled my letter about our much-esteemed friend. He expressed his love to you in much warmth, last Wednesday; and added, "Perhaps I may yet see him again under my roof; but if not, I shall meet him in

glory." When he gave me your letter to him, I read it to him again. He wept, and I could scarcely read it to him for tears. O the union the dear saints of God feel to each other, for His sake in whom the union stands! Well; a little longer, and all the saints of God shall meet around the throne. Hail, happy day!

My dear husband joins in love to you, and thanks for your letter: hope to hear from you again soon. Dear Mr. will, I am sure, be glad to hear from you. After reading your kind letter to us this morning, I sent it to him, knowing it would rejoice him.

And now, my dear friend, farewell! The Lord bless you! Remember at the throne one who has long loved you for Jesus' sake.

H-, October, 1829.

CHRIST ALL.

(Concluded from Page 20.)

Remember all the patterns of grace that are in heaven. Thou thinkest, "Oh! what a monument of grace should I be!" There are many thousands as rich monuments as thou canst be. No guilt ever exceeded the merits of Christ's blood; no sin could ever conquer the invincible power of his grace. Do not despair; hope still, even when the clouds are blackest. Whatsoever Satan or conscience says, do not conclude against thyself. Christ will have the last word. He is Judge of quick and dead, and must pronounce the final sentence. His blood speaks reconciliation (Col. i. 20), cleansing (1 John, i. 7), purchase (Acts xx. 28), redemption (1 Pet. i. 18, 19), purging (Heb. ix. 13, 14), remission (Heb. ix. 22), liberty (Heb. x. 19), justification (Rom. v. 9), nearness to God. (Eph. ii. 13.) Stand and hearken what God will say, for he will speak peace to his people, and to his saints. (Psalm lxxxv. 8.) He speaks grace, mercy, and peace. (2 Tim. i. 2.) That is the language of the Father and of Christ. Wait for Christ's appearing as the morning star. (Rev. xxii. 16.) He shall come as certainly as the morning, as refreshing as the rain. (Hos. vi. 3.)

The sun may as well be hindered from rising, as Christ the Sun of Righteousness. (Mal. iv. 2.) Do not legalize the gospel, as if part remained for thee to do and to suffer, and Christ were but a half Mediator; as if thou must bear

part

of

thine own sin, and make some satisfaction. May sin break thy heart, but not thy hope in the gospel.

When we come to God, we must bring nothing but Christ with us. Any ingredients, or any previous qualifications of our own, will mar faith. He that builds upon duties, graces, &c., knows not the merits of Christ. This makes believing so hard, so far above nature: if thou believest, thou must renounce as dung and dross (Phil. iii. 7, 8) thy privileges, thine obedience, thy baptism, thy sanctification, thy duties, thy graces, thy tears, thy meltings, thy humblings, and nothing but Christ must be held up. Thy workings, thy self-sufficiency must be destroyed; thou must receive all at God's hand. Christ is the gift of God. (John iv. 10, and iii. 16.) Faith is the gift of God. (Eph. ii. 8.) Pardon is a free gift. (Rom. v. 16.) Ah! how nature storms, frets, rages at this, that all is gift, and it can purchase nothing with its works, and tears, and duties, that all works are excluded, and of no value in the justification of the soul. (Rom. iv. 5.)

If nature had been to contrive the way of salvation, it would rather have put it into the hands of saints and angels to sell it, than into the hands of Christ who gives freely, whom therefore it suspects. Nature would set up a way to purchase by doing; therefore it abominates the merits of Christ, as the most destructive thing to it. Nature would do anything to be saved, rather than go to Christ, or close with Christ, and owe all to him. Christ will have nothing; but the soul would thrust somewhat of its own upon Christ. Here is the great controversy. Consider;-didst thou ever yet see the merits of Christ, and the infinite satisfaction made by his death? didst thou see this when the burden of sin and the wrath of God lay heavy on thy conscience? That is grace! the greatness of Christ's merit is not known, but to a poor soul in deep distress. Slight convictions will have but a slight, low esteem of Christ's blood and merits.

Despairing sinner! thou lookest on thy right hand and on thy left, saying, "Who will show me any good?" thou art tumbling over all thy duties and professions to patch up a righteousness to save thee. But when the Holy Spirit enables thee to look at Christ, thou wilt say, He is a Saviour, and there is none besides him. (Isa. xlv. 21.) Look any where else, and thou art undone. God will look at nothing but Christ; and thou must look at nothing else. Christ is lifted up on high, as the brazen serpent in the wilderness, that sinners at the ends of the earth-the greatest distance-may see him and live. (John iii. 14, 15.) The least sight of him

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