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commend myself to every man's conscience in the

sight of God.

I remain,

Your affectionate Friend and Brother,

Cambridge, July 23, 1791.

ROBERT HALL.

IV.

TO MISS WILKINS,

AFTERWARDS MRS. FYSH, OF CAMBERWELL.

Dear Madam,

I hope you will excuse the liberty that friendship dictates, of sending you these lines. The interest you possess in the affections of your friends, and their solicitude for your happiness, render it impossible they should hear of your affliction, without deeply sympathizing with you. Among these I beg leave to have the honour of classing myself; and though least, not last. I was the other day at Mr. W- 's, and was informed you still continued extremely indisposed. I immediately determined to take the liberty of writing, to express my esteem and sympathy. I upbraid myself heavily, for not having snatched an opportunity of seeing you before I left Bristol; and had I foreseen the prolongation of your illness, I certainly would not have omitted it. From me, who have suffered so much, it would be unpardonable, if distress of every kind did not extort a tear; much more, when the sufferer is a friend, whose virtues and talents

I respect and admire. This world is, indeed, a scene of suffering; and it ought, in some measure, to reconcile us to our lot, that, in feeling distress, we strike chords in unison with the whole universe. Adversity is capricious in its times and seasons; but its visitations, sooner or later, never fail. In some, it overwhelms the first hopes of life, so that they no sooner begin to taste felicity in prospect, than they are crossed with hopeless disappointment: others it permits to advance farther, waits till they spread the foundations of happiness deep and wide, that, just when they have nearly finished the superstructure, it may overwhelm them with a more extensive desolation. Some are racked with pains and agonies of body; and others are preys to disappointed passions and blasted hopes, wasted with devouring regrets, and sick at heart with melancholy retrospects; wishing in vain they could arrest the wings of time, and put the current of life back. Of all these classes, every individual thinks his misfortunes the greatest. For the same reason, we are never at a loss to hear our own voice, be it ever so slender: the cry of a pierced heart sounds shrill in the solitary ear of the sufferer. Since we cannot essentially meliorate, let us endeavour to allay, our anguish by moderating our expectations. I am persuaded, all we can reasonably hope for, on this side the grave, is tranquillity; not the insensibility of a statue, but the placidity of a well-informed mind, relying on the promises and the cheering prospects

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of immortality. But why do I thus address one who is as well acquainted with every subject of christian consolation as I can pretend to [be]? I am persuaded you will edify your friends as much by your patience in affliction, as you have enlivened them in better days by the exercise of your sprightlier powers. Virtue is always consistent; and, guided by its dictates, you will never fail to be an example. This scene of suffering will not always last; nor do we suffer" as those without hope." It is, indeed, the night of nature, a short night, and not utterly dark: it will soon pass away, and be succeeded by a bright and endless day. Æneas comforts his companions in the midst of distress, by telling them that the retrospect of their sufferings will hereafter be delightful to them. Whether we shall, in this world, be indulged with such a satisfaction, I know not; but surely it will be a source of the most pleasing reflection in a happier world.

Of Bishop Leighton, whose sermons I wish you to read, Bishop Burnet declares, that, during a strict intimacy of many years, he never saw him, for one moment, in any other temper than that in which he should wish to live and die: and if any human composition could form such a character, it must be his own. Full of the richest imagery, and breathing a spirit of the most sublime and unaffected devotion, the reading him is a truce to all human cares and human passions; and I can compare it to nothing but the beautiful

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representation in the twenty-third Psalm-it is like "lying down in green pastures, and by the side of still waters."

Cambridge, 1791.

√.

TO MRS. FYSH, OF CAMBERWELL,

ON THE DEATH OF HER SISTER, MRS. PARSONS.

My dear Friend,

Cambridge, August 14, 1796.

Permit me to express the deep interest I take in your distress, from the loss of the best of friends, and the best of sisters, in the loss of dear Mrs. Parsons. How many losses are united! She has left a husband to lament the most lovely of wives, you the most endeared of sisters, the church of Christ one of its brightest ornaments, and the world one of its fairest examples: all, all have fallen a victim in this most excellent woman. I have not met with any event, for many years, that has affected me at all equally. Had I been permitted to draw aside the mysterious veil that hides futurity; could I have had any presentiments I saw her at for the last time, how solemn would have been the moments, how awfully interesting my emotions! I pity her husband-I pity her sisters: this is a stroke which must be severely felt in the tenderest manner.

I

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know' the heart, when recently wounded, must be indulged in the luxury of grief; and, if there ever was an occasion which could justify the most poignant regret, it is the present, in which we lament the loss of so much excellence. But I hope you will, by degrees, inure your imagination to dwell less on your loss, and more on her happiness. What a glorious display of the power of christianity! what a triumphant departure! 0, that I may die the death of Mrs. Parsons, and that my last end may be like hers! Her life was an ornament to christianity-a pattern to her sex. Immortality dawned on her enraptured mind, even before it quitted its earthly abode; and her pure and elevated soul made an easy transit to the society of the blessed. Her career was short, but illustrious; and she crowded into her little sphere the virtues of a long life. Short as her continuance was upon earth, she was permitted to exemplify the duties of every character, and to imprint, in indelible characters, on the memories of all who were honoured with her acquaintance, the perfections of a friend, a sister, a mother, and a wife. It is true she has slept the sleep of death; but she sleeps in Jesus: she has gone before you into the holy of holies: she will meet you at the great rendezvous of being, the assembly of the just; and, in the mean time, instead of being an object of your pity, probably looks down upon you with ineffable tenderness and compassion. I have seen, besides your letter, one from Mrs. Gutteridge;

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