the consequences. Despair and anguish shall be the portion of impenitent sinners through the revolutions of eternal ages. Eternity! Let us study the import of that amazing word. Millions of ages hence our souls will exist in unutterable felicity or misery; and when millions more have run their rounds, we shall be no nearer the termination of our existence. O that we may be prepared to spend this cternity in immortal glory and bliss in the presence of Jehovah. Remember me to your brother and sister, and do not delay writing. Yours affectionately, FANNY WOODBURY.

JOURNAL, 1811.

On

Aug. Having supplicated the throne of the Almighty, I now desire to investigate my heart and life, and see whether I have evidence of being renewed, and am in a proper frame to approach the table of the Lord." a review, I find much to deplore. I have lived an unholy and an unprofitable life. I have too often omitted private meditation and prayer, and contented myself with a few ejaculations, which, tho good in their place, ought not to supersede constat devotion morning. and evening in secret. By this neglect I have not only lost many happy hours, which I might have enjoyed in the exercise itself, but have brought darkness and leanness into my soul. I have used too much freedom in speaking of the failings of others; have not palliated, where I might, and where I could not vind.cate, have not always been silent; not duly considering this injunction of our Lord, "Whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them." I have been, and am

still, too much addicted to impatience and momentary fretfulness on account of trivial disappointments and petty accidents. This I am convinced is unbecoming and sinful. But alas, tho I repent, I sin again. These are the signs of my being destitute of saving faith. Many more I might enumerate. Their name is Legion; for they are many.

I shall now advert to a few evidences of grace, which I humbly hope I possess. I de, hope I hate and detest, not only what I have mentioned above, but all my sins, my most latent failings; and desire to implore pardoning mercy of him who said, "Him that cometh unto me I will in no wise cast out." I think I do try to deny myself, and mortify my sins and Justs, tho I ought to be more strict and resoJute. I think I love God, and am disposed to acknowledge him just and righteous in all his ways, and his character infinitely perfect and glorious, tho I too often an discontented, especially under one poignant and peculiar trial. Yet generally I acquiesce in his allotments; and O that I might find reason to say through eternity, "It is good for me, that I have been afflicted." The Savior appears amiable. think, if I know any thing of my own heart, I love him, and esteem him the chief among ten thousand and altogether lovely. I long to be assimilated to his likeness, and transformed into his image; and I do wish to serve and glorify him, and to be useful to the church and the world. O that I may not be deceived in a matter of infinite importance.

I

Sept. 12. I have been to see Mrs. Francis today, who is very weak, troubled with an in

cessant cough, and acute pain. But it is mere than counterbalanced by the serenity and composure of her mind. She wishes to be entirely resigned to the will of God, whether it be life or death, and hopes she is not deceived. "O what a comfort," said she, "to have a God to go to, and pour out our souls to him. O the forJorn state of him, who has no such refuge in trouble. This world is less than nothing and vanity. My own righteousness is filthy rags. I hope I depend entirely upon Christ." She longs to have all see the reality and beauty of religion, and come to the knowledge of the truth. She observed, she had been delighted with some chapters in Isaiah, and with a number of the Lyric Poems, particularly that entitled "A Sight of Heaven in sickness." O could the skeptical David Hume have experienced what she does, it might deserve the name of happiness.

Letter to Miss S. W. of Winchendon.

My dear Sally,

Beverly, Sept. 20, 1811.

THE sudden death of Mr. Emery has frustrated our sanguine expectation of visiting your rural retreat, your hospitable mansion. I suppose Lydia informed you of our plan. But to me the disappointment is not severc, as I have long endeavored to place but little dependence on terrestrial things; knowing that every thing below the sun is stamped with mutability. When one in the bloom of youth and vigor of health is arrested by the cold hand of death, and suddenly precipitated into the ocean of eternity, we are forcibly struck with

the vanity of the world; the brevity and uncertainty of life, and with the importance of being habitually ready to meet our God. With the most profound awe, we witness the ravages death has made; we behold with the most acute sensibility his recent victory, and for a while keenly feel, that we also must submit to this universal conquerer. Solemn consideration! To quit this mortal scene, to bid adieu to every earthly friend, to consign our bodies to the grave, to enter an immeasurable, a retributive eternity, are awful thoughts, which extort the exclamation, "O death, thou king of terrors." But religion, my cousin, the blessed religion of the Bible, is an effectual antidote to the sting of death, which is sin, that baneful poison, that procuring cause of all our wo. This holy religion can support us under the pressure of intense afflictions, can impart heavenly peace and comfort on a dying pillow, can dispel the gloomy terrors of death, can illumine the dreary grave, and procure our admission into the celestial world. This is a consummation devoutly to be wished. O that this religion, my dear friend, may be ours. May it renovate and sanctify our hearts, elevate our affections "beyond this little scene of things," regulate our conversation, and influence and adorn our deportment. May its heavenly spirit be abundantly infused into our bosoms, calm and felicitate our minds, and give a zest to every other enjoyment. O could these wishes be realized, what different persons should we be; what extensive good might we do, what calm serenity, what refined happiness, might we enjoy, while passing

through this vale of tears. O what a misery it is to think of living useless, when there is so much to be done for the glory of God, and the benefit of our fellow creatures, and so much that we might do.

We have a near neighbor,* whose pallid countenance and emaciated frame indicate to the grief of many, that her existence on earth must soon be terminated. Her disorder is a consumption, which long ago effectually undermined her health, and which she has borne with Christian fortitude and resignation. She is a person of very extensive reading, intimately acquainted with the best authors, and communicates her ideas with facility and accuracy. But the most excellent trait in her character is exemplary piety. I had an interview with her a few days ago, and found her conversation, as usual, cheerful and improving. She said she was entirely resigned to the will of God, felt no terror at the thought of dying, and hoped she was not deceived. She wondered she had lived so long, while others were cut off, who might have been much more useful in the world, and done more good than she had. With an elevated voice and smiling aspect, "O what a comfort," said she, "that the Lord God omnipotent reigneth, and will do all his pleasure."

Some time ago I read "The happy death” of the skeptical David Hume. His Biographer, Dr. Smith, has eulogized his character, and related with triumph his happy death. But in my opinion, it falls far beneath that dignified appellation. It was affected insensibility, a

Mrs. Francis.