LETTER XV.

MY DEAREST

BEFORE I was aware you had

discovered for yourself that "earthliness is stamped upon emotion," I had determined to address you on the subject; suspecting, what I now find to be the truth, that you were under its influence-yes, its delicious but dangerous influence. If, however, your note gives me a correct estimate of your state of mind; if, as you assure me, you "keep a constant and vigilant watch over your feelings," and make it a subject of prayer that your attachment "may not prove a snare, but an incitement to the pursuit of all that is truly estimable and excellent," it is sufficient; I only trust, that the object who has rendered this watchfulness and these petitions

necessary, will not, for any gratification of a personal nature, throw hindrances in your way, but will rather strive with you, to subordinate what in itself need not be eradicated. It was utterly impossible that your whole moral existence should not have been stirred-shaken-thrown into confusion, by one who approached you through the medium of your understanding; who annihilated at once every barrier raised by disparity of age and circumstance, and placed you, as yet a girl, in full possession of the benefits and pleasures of equality. Though I know full well, that the character of your friend is invested with the sunny haze that fancy only can bestow, and though I believe you are at this moment on enchanted ground, yet, if you will not make an idol of one, and fall asleep on the other, I do not think you need be very uneasy at the change which has passed upon your heart. Yet is it a critical moment in your life; and sober and stedfast as your style of character is, you are in danger; not so much in the eyes of human observers, as in the sight of Him "who searcheth the heart." The quiet sur

face of your feelings has been disturbed, sweetly, brightly, imperceptibly, but still disturbed that repose of mind which “looked neither before nor after," and was satisfied with knowledge for its own sake; which loved without excitement, enjoyed without tumult, dreamed little of the world without, and still less of the busier world within ; that state which is most aptly called contented cheerfulness, has passed away. Another, and a stronger spirit has been evoked, and now rules you. Emotion is its name. As yet, it waves the wand, and wears the guise of perfect happiness, and you are loath to distrust its bright and many promises. As yet it has brought you little beyond the knowledge of good ;-but oh! beware, lest there follow the knowledge and experience of evil also! It need not be so-though there is only one power in earth or in heaven able to regulate its influence. That power is Holy Love. Now, at this instant, these two principles are struggling for dominion in your heart. The contemplation of God was, and in the main is now, your portion; but his territory has been invaded, and he is not so palpably,

singly, and simply, felt to be your satisfying portion. Formerly, your heart instinctively and naturally mounted upwards; God here, and God there, was emphatically the restingplace for your thoughts, whether sad or joyous; and even when your religious feelings were comparatively torpid, it was not from the intervention of any rival interest. In point of conduct, principle, habit, and sentiment, you are still unchanged; but a Christian will try himself by a more delicate test, and the "sword of the Spirit pierces even to the discerning of the thoughts of the heart."

Dearest

whither

thoughts first and oftenest?

wander those Alas, for the

frail and deceitful spirit of our nature! ever starting aside like a broken bow! ever making itself wings to fly away from God, its great and all-sufficient glory! defying dust and despising Deity! I speak from memory, alas! I speak from experience, when I tell you that there is a devotedness of affection inconsistent with the ascendency of religion in the soul. It can retain its hold and regulate the outward deportment, while

the fire may be decaying on the altar; we may continue to call Christ master, yet serve him with slackened zeal; the Holy Spirit our comforter, yet seek and find our comfort elsewhere; and God our father, yet approach him with abated love. What must be the consequence? God will put thorns in our pillow, lest we sleep the sleep of death; some worm (ask not whence it must come) will be sent to the root of the gourd; delight and comfort will vanish like "the hasty summer fruit," and that which we deemed our "crown of pride," shall prove to be a "fading flower." Those who never sought, who never professed to give their hearts to God, may perchance "join themselves to idols," and be "let alone;" it is otherwise with those who call themselves his children. Their hearts, supremely, undividedly, unwaveringly he will have, and as often as they are withdrawn and withheld, it matters not by what influence, however sweet, however enchanting, he says in anger, "Do ye provoke the Lord to jealousy? Are ye stronger than he?

I believe that emotion, innocent, nay,