I cannot say that I am sorry that our dear Johnny finds the pulpit door shut against him at present. He is young, and can afford to wait another year; neither is it to be regretted, that his time of preparation for an office of so much importance as that of a minister of God's word, should have been a little protracted. It is easier to direct the movements of a great army, than to guide a few souls to Heaven; the way is narrow, and full of snares, and the guide himself has the most difficulties to encounter. But I trust he will do well. He is single in his views, honesthearted, and desirous by prayer and study of the scripture, to qualify himself for the service of his great Master, who will suffer no such man to fail for want of his aid and protection.

LETTER CLXVIII.

TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, Esqr.

W. C.

Weston, June 4, 1792.

ALL'S WELL.

Which words I place as conspicu

ously as possibly, and prefix them to my Letter, to

save you the pain, my friend and brother, of a moments, anxious speculation. Poor Mary proceeds in her amendment still, and improves, I think, even at a swifter rate than when you left her. The stronger she grows, the faster she gathers strength, which is perhaps the natural course of recovery. She walked so well this morning, that she told me at my first visit, she had entirely forgot her illness, and she spoke so dinstinctly, and had so much of her usual countenance, that had it been possible, she would have made me forget it too.

Returned from my walk, blown to tattersfound two dear things in the study, your Letter, and my Mary! She is bravely well, and your beloved epistle does us both good. I found your kind pencil note in my song-book, as soon as I came down on the morning of your departure, and Mary was vexed to the heart, that the simpletons who watched her, supposed her asleep, when she was not, for she learned soon after you were gone, that you would have peeped at her, had you known her to have been awake: I perhaps might have had a peep too, and was as vexed as she: but if it please God, we shall make ourselves large amends for all lost peeps by and by at Eartham. W. C.

LETTER CLXIX.

TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, Esqr

Weston, June 5, 1792.

Yesterday was a noble day

with us-speech almost perfeet-eyes open almost the whole day, without any effort to keep them so ; and the step wonderfully improved. But the night has been almost a sleepless one, owing partly I believe to her having had as much sleep again as usual the night before; for even when she is in tolerable health she hardly ever sleeps well two nights together. I found her accordingly a little out of spirits this morning, but still insisting on it that she is better. Indeed she always tells me so, and will probably die with those very words upon her lips. They will be true then at least, for then she will be best of all. She is now (the clock has just struck eleven) endeavouring, I believe, to get a little sleep, for which reason I do not yet let her know that I have received your Letter.

Can I ever honour you enough for you enough for your zeal to serve me? Truly I think not: I am however so

sensible of the love I owe you on this account, that I every day regret the acuteness of your feelings for me, convinced that they expose you to much trouble, mortification, and disappointment. I have in short a poor opinion of my destiny, as I told you when you were here, and though I believe that if any man living can do me good, you will, I cannot yet persuade myself, that even you will be successful in attempting it. But it is no matter; you are yourself a good, which I can never value enough, and whether rich or poor in other respects, I shall always account myself better provided for than I deserve, with such a friend at my back as you. Let it please God to continue to me my William and Mary, and I will be more reasonable than to grumble.

I rose this morning wrapt round with a cloud of melancholy, and with a heart full of fears, but if I see Mary's amendment a little advanced, when she rises, I shall be better.

I have just been with her again. Except that she is fatigued for want of sleep, she seems as well as yesterday. The post brings me a Letter from Hurdis, who is broken-hearted for a dying Sister. Had we eyes sharp enough, we should see the arrows of

Death flying in all directions, and account it a wonder that we, and our friends, escape them but a single

day.

LETTER CLXX.

W. C.

To WILLIAM HAYLEY, Esqr.

Weston, June 7, 1792.

Of what materials can you sup

pose me made, if after all the rapid proofs that you have given me of your friendship, I do not love you with all my heart, and regret your absence continually? But you must permit me to be melancholy now and then; or if you will not, I must be so without your permission; for that sable thread is so intermixed with the very thread of my existence as to be inseparable from it, at least while I exist in the body. Be content, therefore; let me sigh and groan, but always be sure that I love you! You will be well assured that I should not have indulged myself in this rhapsody about myself, and my melancholy,