mind that museth on many things." You see life shut in by four walls, each wall having its own peculiar pictures belonging to it. Do not expect those to see them whose eyes have never painted them,-neither the pictures, nor their black frames will be visible to their eyes; do not expect it, it is unreasonable. The bright lights of nature will perhaps never brighten those pictures to you; but there is a brighter light that can illuminate them all, and change them all into "pleasant pictures." Neither count your friends selfish if they cannot understand your deep and irrepressible longing to look once more on all the things in which you have so intensely delighted. You may be burning with a wasting desire just to see a field, a แ deep wood," or even a few trees, a wheat-field, a meadow with cattle grazing, a river, or flowers growing. You may repress it entirely to all appearance; you may never express it, there may be even a mournful submission; a sense that it is all right, and yet at times the pain may be intense. It may suddenly seize you, and seem as if you had no strength to grapple with it; you must go, happen what may. You think you can settle to nothing, until your desire is granted. You mention it to a friend; it is treated first perhaps as mere nonsense, and you are counted very foolish for wishing

Wisd. ix. 15.

for impossibilities-very unsubdued, for desiring any thing that you cannot have. You say in your heart (thank God if you do not say any reproachful words aloud), "How selfish it is of those who have all these enjoyments not in the least to enter into my desire, and only to throw it back on me!" You shrink into yourself, and speak the wish no more. But there it is; there it burns, and well-nigh consumes you. No one who has not experienced it can tell the trial of these desires, or the sudden way in which they will seize hold of a sick person. One moment he may think that he is quite used to his lot; the next, a desire may shoot across his heart, which may show how far this is from being attained. Yet be not discouraged; these are but temptations; if rightly treated, they may never pass into sin, but rather, by degrees, strengthen submission. Only do not expect those who have never experienced such a trial to understand it. People generally fancy that if a person is confined for years to their bed, all these trials must be overcome, and belong to an early stage of illness; but it is not so. After ten years

or more of such confinement; after even the sufferer himself has looked on such conflicts as ended, the flame may burst out suddenly, and cause great distress.

These longings come in various ways: each

season brings its own peculiar temptations. Perhaps the greatest time of trial is the Spring; and as each Spring returns, the same fight seems to need to be fought again. The trees begin to bud, the almond-tree blossoms, and to some sick people brings more of hope and pleasure than any other blossom of the year. The trees are bursting, and here am I still in my bed; no change in me, except that of increased suffering, and weakness, and weariness. The air is getting fresher and more free, "the time of the singing of birds is come;"a and their voices are very joyous; yet I can scarcely think them joyous; they seem to tell how free and blithe they are, and can fly whither they will, but I am "a prisoner and a captive." Others go into the fresh air, and they only come in and say how tired they are; they rarely speak of enjoyment. Oh! how intensely I should enjoy every thing, if I might, once more. The trees put forth their leaves, and "we know that summer is nigh." Then each day the poor sick one grows, at first more and more eager, at last more and more desponding. It is this season Autumn will come go then; it will be trees will be losing "Have pity upon

in which I must go out.

soon;
I shall not care to
chill and damp, and the
their summer brightness.

* Cant. ii. 12.

b Matt. xxiv. 32.

me, have pity upon me, O my friends!" and let me go out now. There are few who have not known the sufferings of such desires.

66

Does it seem to you that it is in the power of your friends to grant your desires? that however it might harm your body, it would refresh your spirit, and enable you to go on your weary way rejoicing. Perhaps it might be so: and these thoughts are bitter drops in your cup of sorrow. There is no harm in your saying, Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me. He can take it away; He will if He sees that it will be good for you; but if you find that the cup is still held to your lips, then drink it, and learn to say, "Thy will be done." Without this you never can be contented. Do not think, however, that because this spring you have been but little tempted, that it is a sure sign of such increased submission, that you will never be tempted any more. The first snowdrop, the first bud, may tempt you again. Or you may pass safely through spring and summer, and an earnest longing to see the harvest may possess you. There may be no field within reach; you may feel each day that a desire is unsatisfied, the fulfilment of which would have given you a start into life, and health. Or you may feel at any season of the year, that if you could only be taken to the sea

a Job xix. 21.

b Matt. xxvi. 39.

side, you should get well. It may be impossible; circumstances may make it so, or medical men may forbid. Lie still then, and remember that there is a friend to whom "the secrets of all hearts are opened, and from Him no desire is hid." He sees therefore your desire. "He will fulfil" it, if it be for your real good; "for He is the ruler and governor." His "never-failing providence ordereth all things, both in heaven and earth." Ask Him to "put away from you all hurtful things," whether they be thoughts, or desires, or impulses, and to "give you those things which be profitable." He will surely do this for you; for He is the "Lord of all power and might." Only do not expect Him to fulfil your desires always in the way you think would be best. Leave it all to Him, who says, "Be still, and know that I am God."a

VI.

CIRCUMSTANCES.

Do not seek to choose or to change your circumstances they are the best, the very best for you. "The only wise God" has chosen them for you, and that in true love; for "the Lord is very pitiful, and of tender mercy."

* Ps. xlvi. 10.

b 1 Tim. i. 17.

• James v. 11.