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neglected to make every possible provision for her husband's bodily comforts ? Surely, the wife acts rightly, who proves, that, to her, the soul of that husband is most valuable. Don't be afraid, my kind William, that I am going to give you a great deal of my advice, after this long preamble. I am only going to tell you what I think, and what I can only think about ; for, in speaking of religion, I am very fearful to injure the divine cause I am pleading for : snow must be touched only by delicately clean fingers, if we would preserve its dazzling whiteness unsullied. It is the same with religion, but I must speak, and may God, who sees my intentions, give his blessing to them. You are going, my beloved husband, into countries, where the name of our Saviour is unknown or disregarded—where, perhaps, the only temple for his worship may be your own weak heart; guard then the issues of that heart : watch, and pray that it may be made pure and holy : and never forget God in a strange land. Be like Abdiel, whose simple, faithful character, we have so often admired :

“Ilis loyality he kept, his love, his zeal;
Nor number, nor example, with him wrought,
To swerve from truth, or change his constant mind;
Though single.'

“ Though single, yes, dearest, with every temptation around you; depending not on your own strength,-in what trials can that avail, if not divine

ly assisted ? How can one poor mortal oppose an invisible spirit, who is ever on the watch, to enter into the heart and corrupt it ?-one, who seduced the once pure Eve !-one, who presumed to tempt the Son of God? With such an enemy, man must fall : he is every way unprepared, by his own power, to resist his ghostly enemy.

But if “ God be for us, who can be against us?” “ The angel of the Lord tarrieth round about them that fear him, and delivereth them.” My best beloved, let religion possess the first place in your every thought and action, it will not consent to hold a second place. It must be no theory, but practice; it must be every thing, or nothing. Too many, alas ! act as if they thought that there are occasions, when the precepts of Scripture may be disregarded, there are none. I speak in decided terms—but I speak truth. I do not forget, dear husband, that I am a feeble woman; but I remember, that my soul loves you, and, feeling as I do, I cannot speak otherwise. Oh ! I don't wish to appear superior! I don't pretend to eloquence; but I would touch your heart with that pure and glorious truth-with that joyful hope which indeed, reckon the sufferings of the present time, as not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us.”—“ Hope, that is seen, is not hope ; but if we hope for that which we see not, then do we, with patience, wait for it.” How far we shall soon be separated ! you will be where every


6 makes me, thing around is different, in another quarter of this immense world ; but, with God, this immense world is but a little speck, and God will be with us both at the same time; we may both be kneeling to Him at the same hour, and, to Him, we shall appear very near to each other. Think how I shall feel repaid, by your return, for all my sorrows, and be careful of your health ; I promise you never to neglect mine, but, should we never meet again on earth, accept this faint expression of my gratitude, dearest, most affectionate husband. It is not wrong to speak thus, for who knows what may be the will of the Almighty: should this be our last parting, we must not

that I love you,



you, would only be repeating what you are assured of; to say how I love you, how earnestly I implore the blessings of our Heavenly Father for you, would be impossible. To his care I commit you. May he keep, and bless you for His dear Son's sake.

6. Your devoted wife,

“ Lucy MORTON.”


This paper was read with delight by Morton, who, felt that it made him more reconciled to his separation from Lucy ; it also relieved his mind from many fears on her account ; for it made him more confident in her affection, and in his reliance on the divine care to which he had left her. Unwilling to add to her father's expenses, Lucy declined his earnest request, that she would allow him to come for her, and take her back with him to Cornwall. He was growing old ; the journey was expensive ; besides, she had plans which would oblige her to return to London immediately after her confinement: she accepted, therefore, the repeated invitation of Miss Nugent, and became her guest. Having attended unremittingly to her health and spirits, it was in the calmest and most resigned state that Lucy felt the time approaching when her life would be in danger, and when, perhaps, her life might not be spared. She prepared as for her death; but she suffered little, and became the mother of a fine girl. In her gratitude to the Almighty, she could not even think a murmur that William was not gazing with her at his child ; and as she saw the little infant lie smiling on her bosom, and felt, for the first time, the pressure of its soft lips, her heart glowed with love and gratitude. Lucy soon recovered from her confinement; and, when she had weaned her child, she informed Miss Nugent of her determination to go out as a daily governess. Her kind friend pressed her repeatedly to remain with her ; but Lucy felt that it was necessary for her to depend on herself. She refused also the offer of Mr. Johnston to pay her a small annuity till her husband's return, declaring that his success in India, though probable, was not certain ; and that she could not accept, what she had no reasonable expectation of being able to return. She was perfectly well, and she possessed principles which urged her to make the best use of her own powers: she had also the good sense to begin her labours immediately. One request, however, she could not refuse ; Mary, the excellent servant who had been discharged when her mistress gave up her house, came to her, and entreated to be taken back. “ I know you better than a strange servant, ma'am,” said she, and

you know me: though I have often been cross, I believe I have been always honest. I love my master, and I love you, as if you were my own children; and I told my master that I would never forsake you. I'd come to you for as little wages as any young girl you could hire, and I'd rather come for nothing, if you'd let me.” Lucy hesitated; whilst she was doubting, the remembrance of Mary's hasty temper occurred to her, and involuntarily she looked earnestly at her child, who was sleeping in her arms: she feared that Mary had perceived what was passing in her mind, and she blushed deeply. Mary had perceived it, and she coloured too, and said, “ Ah ! ma'am, I know you are doubting about my shocking temper, and that sweet baby, you are afraid to leave her with me; but, ma'am, I'll promise you, and God will help me, to be very gentle with her. Only try me, and if you don't find that I am a very kind nurse, then turn me away, and that will punish me.” “My good Mary,” answered Lucy, “I will not treat you as I could not bear to be treated myself,

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