thrown herself down upon a couch in her chamber, but had ordered her servants not to fail to call her as soon as their master came in.

As soon as he came in, which was later than his usual time, and, upon inquiring for his wife, was told by the servants, that she was very ill, he ran directly up stairs into her chamber, before any body could give her notice of his being come; but she, who listened too attentively to want a messenger, heard him coming up stairs; and rising hastily off the couch, she ran to the top of the stairs to him, and taking him violently in her arms-" My dear," says she, forgive me, that I have ungratefully insulted, and basely provoked the tenderest husband, and the best temper in the world. Tears choked her words, and she could say no more; and having risen up, and run across the room too hastily, the violence of that motion, and her own passions, overcame her, and she fainted.

He called out for help; and the servants immediately running in, she was carried back to her chamber, and in some short time she came to herself again, but finding her husband sitting by her, and very anxious for her, it renewed her grief, and made her for some time unable to express herself freely.

When she was entirely recovered, and fit to converse, she ordered the servants to withdraw; and then, with abundance of tears, she acknowledged to him how sensible she was that she had used him ill;—and that she had not behaved herself as became her, in any of her carriage to him;-how afflicted she had been at his absence so long, believing that she had exasperated him, and grieved him ;and, in short, assured him she would endeavour to make him amends by a quite different behaviour to him all her life after.

The grief he had conceived at her swooning away, and the surprise of it, together with the extreme joy he felt within himself, at her declaring her resolutions of altering her conduct, caused him to speak little to her, except what

he thought proper to comfort her, till she pressed him, by often repeating such questions as these:-My dear, do you forgive me? Are you not angry? Were you not very angry? and the like; which made him, after some pause, answer thus:

Husb. My dear, I am not angry, nay, I was not angry; I never knew what it was to be angry with but I canyou; not say I was not grieved, and heartily afflicted; but you have abundantly made me amends, and much more than ever I desired of you; for I can allow of no submissions and subjections between you and I, but those of love: but you will add, to my satisfaction, more than you are aware of, or that I can express, if you will give me leave to ask you one question.

Wife. What is that, my dear? I'll answer you any question you can ask, as well as I can.

work

Husb. How long, my dear, after I left you, was it before your affections prevailed over your passion, to this blessed change upon your mind?

Wife. My dear, you were not gone a quarter of an hour, before my heart struck me, that I had been unkind to you; and I acknowledge that you have not deserved it at my hands.

Husb. My dear, I am satisfied, fully satisfied. The work is of God, to him shall be the glory; and I will take it for a blessed token, that it shall not end here, for his works are all perfect.

the

The wife had no guess at what he meant by this, and therefore made no reply; but his joy at her answer proceeded from this, that he knew the change was wrought in her that very time, nay, as near as he could guess, very moment that he, as is noted before, was earnestly praying to God, not only to give him patience to bear the affliction; but in his own time to open her eyes to her duty, convince her of sin, and bring her to a sincere repentance; (vide p. 315) and this was an unspeakable coinfort to him.

This affected him so much, that as soon as he could possibly leave his wife, he retired to his closet, and with great thankfulness and joy gave praises to the Divine goodness for his beginning of mercy; not forgetting earnestly to pray that God would be pleased to carry on this work to a tho rough awakening the consciènce of his wife, and bringing her to a sense of her duty to God, and to a sincere repentance for her former errors; in which how he was heard, and how effectually he was answered, will appear in the following part of this work.

The father of this young lady having, as is said above, been discoursing with her husband some time; when they parted, he went home, where he found a letter directed to his daughter, and which had come inclosed in one to him from his son, who had gone abroad into the army, as is noted already. This letter he immediately sent away by a servant to his daughter, and it was brought to her just at that time when her husband was withdrawn, as above; so that when he came back, he found his wife all in tears again. He began to comfort her, thinking it was the effect of the same thing which had affected her before; but she undeceived him, by showing him the letter from her brother, which was to this purpose.

"DEAR SISTER,

While I had a hand to write to you, I too seldom paid you the respect which my affection and duty to you required; and now I have neither an hand to write, or a heart to dictate. My last gave you an account of my being wounded at the siege of Douay; of which, after some time, I was cured, though I lay all the winter sick at Lisle. Now I am the most miserable object in the world. I was taken prisoner of war last week, and I am brought to this place, having my right arm broken by a musquet ball, and to-morrow it must be cut off. God is just, sister: I cut off my father's right arm, as to his family, when I broke from him by violence, and went abroad against his con

sent; now I lose my right arm as a just retaliation. I insulted my father upon my having an estate without him; now I must go a begging to my father for bread, or perish in misery; for my estate is gone, and I am out of commission. God is just, sister: he is very just. I hope you have begged my father's pardon, and obtained his blessing, though I may never live to do it. I have wrote my father for some assistance, but have little reason to expect it. Adieu.

66

Cambray,

Your dying brother. 1709."

The grief of this surprising letter, and the concern she nad been in before, upon her breach with her husband, put her into such an agony, that she spoke not a word, but incessantly grieved and wept, nor could the tenderest, most affectionate expressions of her husband, who never stirred from her, procure a word from her all that evening. She went to bed, indeed, but got no sleep that night; and by the next morning it had thrown her into a high fever, which brought her to death's door, as we call it: and as it pleased God, that, during the violence of her distemper, she retained the perfect use of her senses: so the sense of her danger awakened her to a sense of her duty, as will appear in the next dialogue,

THE FOURTH DIALOGUE.

The last dialogue gave an account of the accident which had thrown the young married lady into a dangerous fever, and left her in a very weak condition. Her husband, as he was a tender affectionate relation, was in the utmost concern and affliction for her, seeing a great deal of danger of

her life; so, as he was also a serious Christian, he could not be without inexpressible anxieties about her future state. He had been backward to speak to her of death, or of any of the perplexities which were upon him for her condition, lest the impression should be assistant to the disease, yet he thought it was his indispensable duty not to be wanting to make her sensible of her danger, as to her soul's condition; and especially as to the breach with her father, which he always acknowledged was unjustifiable, and a great sin in her, both against God and her father.

While he was sitting mournfully by her, and his heart oppressed with the struggle he had between his duty to tell her his thoughts, and his fear of injuring her health by it, she put an end to his troubles of that kind, by beginning with him thus:

Wife. My dear, you see I um dying; but I cannot go out of the world without repeating my acknowledgment to you, that I have not carried it to you as became me, or done either the duty of a wife or a Christian, as to you in particular, especially your kindness to me considered; ana therefore I repeat my asking you pardon-Forgive me, my dear, and let me be assured you do it freely, for this is no a time to compliment me.

Husb. My dear, I have been backward to speak, because I would not oppress and discourage thee; but I cannot deny, that I fear thy danger is great. As for what troubles thy mind about thy carriage to me, be as easy as if we were not yet come together. I have not the least regret, or resentment in my heart about it, it is all to me as if it had never been done.

Wife. Then say you forgive me: you must say so; say you forgive me, my dear.

Husb. If I did not say so plainly before, it was because I would not call it an offence; but since you will have me call it so, I do forgive all that can be thought an offence against me, with all the freedom and joy I am capable of. The Lord forgive all our offences against him.