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PART IV.

ON FRIENDSHIP, &c.

LETTER XLVI.

From a Gentleman, whose Wife was lately dead, to a Clergyman in the Neighbourhood.

REV. SIR,

and

You have often, both in public and in private, enlarged on those comforts and consolations which Christianity affords to the afflicted; and if ever they were necessary to one under those circumstances, they must be to myself. About seven last night my wife died in child-bed, I am left the disconsolate parent of five young children. Had you seen the excruciating tortures under which she expired, it would have reminded you of the emphasis of that curse pronounced upon our first parents for their rebellion against God. When she saw the king of terrors approach, she was all resignation to the divine will, and left this lower world in the same manner, and with the same cheerful alacrity, as if she had been going to visit a friend, or attend the service of her Maker. Overwhelmed with grief, I entered her chamber, when she exerted the small remains of strength, and spoke to me as follows:

MY DEAR,

I am now going the way of all flesh, but God, the everlasting God, will be your comfort.

When I first became your's, I looked for all the happiness consistent with the state of nature in this vale of misery; and I must confess that my highest wishes have been gratified, and your tenderness has been ever more than I could expect. Yon may have seen faults in my conduct, but I do assure you (and this is not a time to dissemble) they were altogether involuntary. My principal study was to gain the favour of that God before whom I am soon to appear. My obedience to the commands of my God has been attended with many imperfections, but I trust for pardon and acceptance in the merits of my dear Redeemer. Here she fainted-looked wishfully at me, and shed a tear over her dear children who were crving by her bed. She attempted to speak, but in vain. At last fixing her eyes towards heaven, she repeated those beautiful words, "Into thy hands I commit my soul, for thou hast redeemed me O! thou God of my salvation," and then closed her eyes, never to be opened till the sound of the last trumpet. I was sunk in the greatest distress, looked on the dear departed remains of my beloved spouse, and endeavouring to silence, by persuasion, the cries of her orphan children. At last I recollected that I had still a friend left in you, to whom I might, with a view of consolation, lay open the inmost recesses of my heart. I am afraid your indisposition may hinder you from visiting me, and if so, let me beg that you will in the mean time favour me with a few lines. At present every sort of consolation will be acceptable, but whatever comes from you will be doubly so.

I know not what to write: excuse incoherence and impropriety, from him whom you have often honoured with the appellation of friend. I am,

LETTER XLVII.

The Clergyman's Answer.

MY DEAR FRIEND,

&c.

I sincerely commisserate your variegated ca lamity, and wish there was any thing in my power that could alleviate your distress. You well know that all affliction, of whatever kind it is, proceeds from God-" I create light and make darkness, I make war and make peace. I the Lord do all these things." This, sir, should be your first consideration, and this should regulate the whole of your conduct. It was this consideration that reconciled old Eli to the severest doom that perhaps was ever denounced. Though contrary to human nature, and much more so to natural affection, yet it is the Lord, let him do what shall seem good. This reconciled Job to all his unparalleled sufferings. "The Lord giveth, the Lord taketh away;" rapacious hands, and warring elements, were only instruments of his power, therefore I bless and adore his holy name. This consolation fortified the man Christ Jesus on the approach of his inconceivable bitter agony. But it is my Father's pleasure, and not the malice of mine enemies, therefore not my will, but his be done.

If your Father, dear sir, your heavenly Fa

ther, who loves you with an everlasting love, has thought proper to mix some gall with your portion of life, sensible of the beneficent hand from which your visitation comes, may you bow your head in awful silence, and say with the afflicted Hezekiah of old, "Good is the word of the Lord concerning me."

Afflictions are often accompanied with many valuable benefits: as David said, "It is good for me that I have been afflicted, for before that I went astray."

Afflictions serve to wean us from the world. When every thing goes smoothly on, and nothing interrupts the present enjoyments, we are apt to forget the God that made us, and say with unparalleled assurance, Who is the Almighty, that I should serve him?

Afflictions serve to lead us to value the blessings of Christianity, and to hold in the lowest estimation our own worthiness. When sorrows harrass our circumstances, and troubles oppress our minds, we are glad, we are earnest to find rest in Christ. The severe affliction under which I have so long laboured, hinders me from seeing you, although I shall take the first opportunity of doing so, when it pleases God to restore me again to health. In the mean time I have sent you a copy of Fleetwood's Life of Christ. A careful perusal of that valuable work will reconcile you to the various dispensations of Providence; especially when you consider the character of the Redeemer, who suffered so much for us. He bore our griefs and carried our sor、

rows. He was a man of sorrow and acquainted with grief.

From these considerations, my dear friend, endeavour to reconcile yourself to this awful dispensation of Providence. I am sensible of your loss, but you know not what God may yet have in store for you. Perhaps he has only deprived you of one mercy in order to bestow another. I doubt not, but the Almighty has thousands of mercies yet in store for you, both in time and in eternity, and that period is fast approaching when you yourself must put off this earthly tabernacle, and pay that debt to nature which your beloved spouse has already done. Let your care at present be, to attend the education of your children. Your duty is now doubly increased, and all that was incumbent on your beloved spouse, is now transferred to yourself; but the blessings of the Almighty will be bestowed in proportion to your cheerful obedience. It is a great comfort that your beloved spouse died in the faith and fear of the dear Redeemer, and it will be the greatest honour you ever can acquire, to instruct your children in those principles which made the prospect of death agreeable, and even welcome to their mother; so that when the great God shall appear to judge the world, you may be able to stand before him and say, here I am, and the children which thou hast given me. Thus, sir, I have said all that I can think on the present melancholy occasion. But how comfortable are those words of St. Paul, "Our light affliction, ›