the grave, it is only in devotional exercises that there can be any similarity between our employments and the blest in heaven; and it is faith only can realize the time when an indissoluble union shall take place unaffected by change. Though our ears are no more delighted with the sweet sound of their voice, yet there is a time when union of soul shall arrive at that perfection and bliss, that is in our present state beyond our powers of imagination.

Jesus said, "Suffer little children to come unto me, for of such is the kingdom of heaven;" and they that believe he is able to save to the uttermost all that come unto him, likewise have this faith; "that out of the mouths of babes and sucklings he hath perfected praise." He who cheers the heart of the mourner even unto old age, passes not over the feeble cry of the infant, nor turns from the prayer of the parents in behalf of their children. If the prayers of the righteous avail much, the cry of parents for their infant offspring will surely be heard in the ears of the Lord of Sabbaoth,powerful inducement for parents to pray for their children!

God's ways of providence are ways of love; the child frequently is taken, that the souls of the parents may be safe in the day of the Lord Jesus; by his dealings in providence he loosens our affections for a time, that they may be fixed on that

which shall last for ever! He carries away what would absorb the love that belongs to himself. The soul of man he hath formed, and he requires its unreserved confidence; all other love should be subordinate to the love of Him, "who loves with an everlasting love." He died that we might live, that those whom we so fondly love might be saved, and that our love, like his own, might be eternal. His taking away that which perhaps might mar our future peace should make us bow with submission to his overruling providence. To give us the most powerful witness of his never-ceasing love, he declares," the mother may forsake her sucking child, but I shall never leave you, nor forsake you," the force of that language a mother best can tell! May his consolation be yours, and that of your family.

LETTER XI.

Mark on the right, how amiable a grace,
Their Maker's image fresh in every face;
What purple bloom my ravish'd soul admires,
And their eyes sparkling with immortal fires;
Triumphant beauty, charms that rise above
This world, and in blest angels kindle love.
Are these the forms that mouldered in the dust?
Oh the transcendent glory of the just!

YOUNG'S LAST DAY.

Edinburgh, 13th March, 1821.

TWENTY years have rolled away since our family was plunged in grief by the death of our excellent mother. Powerful are early impressions, particularly the rending of filial bands. That day so distant appears to me even now but as yesterday. If twenty years cannot erase from the soul filial love, and obliterate in the memory a scene so touching, is it not an evidence of the lasting ties of affection, and that those whom we have loved, if we be so blessed as to meet them in heaven, we shall love to all eternity? Time dries the tears of grief, and makes us become resigned to the dispensations of

Providence, and to wait with patience the development of the decrees of Heaven.

The soul often dwells on past scenes that return no more, and looks to the future when death shall triumph over the body, to make way for its flight to a higher sphere. When we look back from our progressive march in time, the most advanced period appears no greater than at the time when reflection first dawned on our souls; and I believe our father's lengthened life appears as short to him as the review of ours does to us. So incapable is the mind of man to measure time, that when time is rolled into oblivion, and eternity has unrolled the longest measurement of time, I believe it will then appear to us as short as the present period of our being. When we are engaged in any employment or train of thought that arrests the whole attention of the soul, time glides away, and we perceive it not; so that by turning to the monitor of time, we are astonished so much of it is fled without perception. So in heaven. When our souls attain perfection in the full enjoyment of bliss, time, with its evolving periods fleeting as the passing breeze, will no more be remembered, and the unchangeable day of eternity will be an eternity of blissful enjoyment.

The sun rises with as much splendour as it did at the day of our birth; the moon and stars have not diminished in their lustre, nor altered in their

course, since we were capable of admiring the unbounded greatness of the works of the all-creating God. The seasons in succession regularly return; after the rough blast of winter, spring sends forth her verdure and foliage. Summer next spreads the fields with flowers of every hue, and fragrance is thrown from every bower. Autumn then crowns the year with gladness in the full harvest, ripe with food for all that lives. But though all vegetative nature dies and revives again with all its former beauty, yet man, after the prime of life, hastens fast to decay; no returning spring renovates his youth; no change brings back the years he has lost; he descends quick to the grave, and all his little joys and sorrows pass away.

To make the most of time, and turn the little that we have to great account, should be our daily study. The soul's eternal peace is not once to be hazarded for the sake of our present welfare. We may be industrious in procuring comforts for the body, in acquiring the esteem of our neighbourhood, and performing all that men require of us, still our souls may be lost. We may have fed the poor with our bread, smoothed their pillow in affliction, and still our souls may be lost. All that is not done in the spirit of love is vain.

To improve time we must have a true estimate of the value of life. The peasant, whose pleasure is in turning over the clods of the valley, falsely