THE REFUGE.

LETTER I.

Come then-a still small whisper in your ear,
He has no hope who never had a fear;
And he that never doubted of his state,
He may perhaps-perhaps he may-too late.

COWPER.

ANXIETY like yours, Lavinia, interests all the feelings of humanity. The severity of your trial strikes me with peculiar force: it resembles, in many respects, what I have formerly experienced; and if the recital of similar distress could excite encouragement, I might relate how your affectionate correspondent, and others have been exercised in the same circumstances. For among the various methods of consolation to which the miseries inseparable from our present state have given occasion, one of the first comforts which one neighbour administers to

another, is a relation of the like infelicity, combined with circumstances of greater bitterness.'

But alas! what can the repetition of distress avail her whose troubles are considered as too personal, and too great to be lessened by comparison! What! must I then be silent? No; humanity forbids the thought: the distress that I cannot remove, let me endeavour to alleviate ; or rather, let me attempt to direct my amiable friend to that God who is a very present help in trouble, and who never said to the seed of Jacob-Seek ye me in vain.

Those depressions of guilt which agitate the mind, are the natural consequences of sin. The soul alarmed by the stings of conscience, now perceives how detestable it is in the sight of him who cannot look on iniquity but with abhorrence. A sense of deserved wrath generates despair, and leaves the soul without the least apparent prospect of forgiveness. Permit me however to remind you of those days in which the commission of sin was never followed by compunction; in which conscience, now replete with

charges of guilt, suffered you to enjoy the pleasures of tranquillity without hinderance, though subject to the same condemnation which is now the sole ground of inquietude. The remembrance of this tranquillity may indeed add pungency to grief already great: you will, nevertheless, lose nothing by the comparison; but find, on the contrary, that it will lead to the discovery of something adapted to relieve the mind from perplexity and sorrow.

The Almighty, who worketh all things after the counsel of his own will, generally brings the soul into a state of deep contrition on account of sin, previous to the manifestation of pardoning mercy. 'He killeth and maketh alive: he woundeth that he may heal-he bindeth up the broken in heart-Though he cause grief, yet will he have compassion according to the multitude of his mercies-weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.'

There are undoubtedly many exceptions to this rule. Some persons are drawn with lovingkindness, by a, discovery of divine benevolence

to man in the astonishing work of redemption: others experience the same goodness in a way that cannot be described, because the work of the Holy Spirit has been so gradual as to leave no traces of his first operations on the mind. In each case, however, the Lord acts as a sovereign, distributing his favours when, and to whom he pleaseth; and though we cannot account for this difference in the divine conduct, we may rest assured that all are led to see the want of something to procure acceptance with God, distinct from what is either natural or acquired, before a Saviour can be desirable: and if, to this end, it be your lot to feel much of the agony of guilt, it is nevertheless your duty to be thankful; as the mercy hereafter to be enjoyed will not be lessened by the pain that precedes it.

Your imagining that no permanent good can arise from the incident which first led you to contemplate your conduct and your character, merely because unimportant in itself, and no way connected with the glory of God or the happiness of man, is a conclusion derogatory to infinite wisdom, and implicitly limits the Holy One