Dec. 28.—Last night I read the chapter on selfdedication again, and with feelings which I cannot describe. I was tempted to think I was not sincere in wishing thus solemnly to give myself to the Lord; but with overflowing gratitude I may tell you, that these conflicts were overruled to make me more than ever willing to be entirely the Lord's."

"Dec. 29.-I tremble and rejoice! I have this night set my hand, that, from this time, I will be the Lord's. I know I need not say, pray for me; but let me beg you to pray, more earnestly than ever, that I may not openly and wilfully break my engagements! My mind, upon the whole, is calm."

CHAPTER V.

EXPANDING CHARACTER.

1810.

not look at the things which are seen and temporal, but at the things which are unseen and eternal. She had entered on the race; the unwithering laurels were before her. The clearness with which she saw the prize, and the frailties which shook her frame, made her judge herself to be near the goal; and she did not allow herself to be retarded by the thorns of needless controversy, or diverted by the impertinences of an indolent curiosity. Her eye was single, and her whole body was full of light. Hers was not merely the simplicity of nature and of youth, which is charming; it was "the simplicity of Christ," which is divine.

Religion also had shed over her mind its own sɛriousness. Her disposition had never been frivolous; now it was not gloomy; but it was truly serious-a temper of mind which is the invariable companion of wisdom, and the germ of all moral excellence. So soon as the mind is engaged by any great and interesting objects, it necessarily becomes serious. Martha's thoughts had dwelt intently on the value of the soul, the solemnities of eternity, the grandeur of Deity, and the magnitude of the Saviour's redemption, and they diffused something of their own greatness and solemnity on her character. Every thing in this life was allied to immortality; nothing therefore was trivial. She had a race to MARTHA, with every appearance of health, re-run and a conflict to sustain, whose consequences mained unwell through the early part of this year; would reach to eternity-she would win or lose for and the mere continuance of unpleasant symptoms ever-she could not be otherwise than serious. She gave her friends the more alarm. As, in the sum- had stood in the light of divine truth, and had commer, ministerial engagements called me to Bmuned with all that is great and glorious in the invisible world, and she could no more trifle than could Moses on descending from the mount of Divine habitation. This seriousness of mind rested on her whole deportment, rather than showed itself in particular instances; yet her correspondence with her friend, which I have already noticed, supplies one illustration worthy of remark. All her letters, at this time, commence with such mottoes as the following-"Eternity!" "Think of Eternity!" "Act for Eternity!" "Prepare for Eternity!" "Prepare to meet your God!"-a circumstance sufficient of itself to show how vivid were her conceptions, how deep her impressions of objects, above all others calculated to exalt and solemnize the thoughts.

I resolved to take her to the Hot Wells, hoping that the change of air, and the use of the waters might afford her permanent relief. In this expectation we left our home in a chaise, and became for some weeks each other's sole or principal companion.

In such circumstances there is something favorable to the formation of friendship and the promotion of intimacy. The absence of all other familiar countenances; the opportunity of uninterrupted communion; the invigorating power of the living air; the novelties of changing scenery; and the sense of fellowship in all that cheers and gratifies; have an imperceptible influence in opening the heart. Our hearts had never been closed to each other; but the channels of sympathy had been ob- Equally conspicuous was her strict conscientiousstructed by separation; and they now sought to ness. She had early been affected by the ideas of recompense themselves by the most free and unre- the Divine omnipresence. These were become served intercourse. I still have distinctly the im- clearer and stronger; and were coupled with cor pression made by my sister's character, at this time, rect perceptions of the Divine authority. She now on my mind; and as it is consistent with my pur-saw that the reason for every thing was to be found pose, I shall endeavor to copy it into this narrative. only in the will of God; and that this will was Nothing, at this period, was so immediately ap-revealed exclusively in the Holy Scriptures. Her parent as the lovely simplicity of her mind. This excellence had been always hers. With less sensibility, or a false education, it might have been alloyed by the debasing power of vanity. As it was, she had been rescued from this bindweed of the heart; and she was now presented, once for all, in the mirror of divine truth, with such a view of her character as furnished an effectual antidote to its influence. In her were no conceits so common to youthful inexperience; no affectation of qualities she did not possess; no confessions in which the heart did not sympathize; no hesitation of opinion and choice which perplexed and varied her steps.

Religion had placed one object, and one only, before her, as the one thing needful. Other things might be desirable; this alone was indispensable. She allowed nothing to stand in comparison with it; but pressed towards it with an undivided heart. Life was no longer in danger of being preyed upon by vacant listlessness, or frittered away by contrary and trivial claims. She had one single aim, one great pursuit before her, and it gave simplicity to her views, and steadiness to her course. She did

own partialities and desires, the opinions and examples of others, were not to regulate her. The word of God was to be her standard. She therefore sought to submit herself implicitly to it; desirous of believing all it revealed, of doing all it commanded, and of avoiding all it proscribed.

An authority thus recognized gave importance to every thing on which it rested. Nothing, however trifling in itself, could be insignificant which was accompanied by the command or prohibition of God. The Scriptures therefore were her habitual counsellor. They were not only the title to her inheritance, but the map which delineated her daily course. She tried by them, not merely her hopes and principles, but her thoughts and temper. Yea, in the allotment of her time, the use of her money, the mode of her dress, the nature of her recreations, and the selection of her friendships, their voice was earnestly solicited and obeyed. Frequently at this period, when discussing opinions or practices of the professing world, she would observe, with a conscientiousness softened by humility-"This is very strange!-How can they reconcile it ?—It seems dí

rectly opposite to Scripture-They should surely either reject the word of God or act upon it." Benevolence, which was so early indicated in my sister, may be supposed to take a prominent place in her present character. In her childhood, what had the appearance of benevolence, was very much the overflow of natural and instinctive feelings; but now these were moulded into an abiding and energetic principle. She had been taught to entertain the most lowly ideas of herself, which is an indispensable preparative to thinking kindly of others. She had sat at the feet of Him who is essential love, and His love constrained her to imitate his excellence. She had drunk into the spirit of that religion which breathes good-will to men, and peace over the face of the whole earth; and acting on a heart full of tender emotions, it produced the most humble devotedness to her Saviour, and enlightened anxiety for the welfare of all mankind.

The sincerity and strength of our benevolence are discovered, not by desiring great occasions for its exercise, but by diligently embracing those that offer. Martha had but small opportunities of doing good at present, but these she thankfully improved. She evinced a peculiar concern for the spiritual interests of her younger brother; she conversed freely with children and persons younger than herself, on the subject now nearest her thoughts; and she expended all her pocket-money in purposes of benevolence, principally in the purchase of religious tracts for distribution among the poor.

presented us with a garden, containing a splendid monument, in which it was supposed a murdered lover was enclosed; which lover, however, was concealed behind the monument, to discover himself in due time. The lady entered with her tears and lamentations; and, as if the painted marble had been moved by her noisy sorrows, it trembled and fell. A man was revealed crouching beside it, and looking incomparably silly, and the woman ceased her wailings, and reflected his confusion. The spectators were mostly, like ourselves, children; and we burst into a hearty fit of laughter. The performers made their retreat by dropping the curtain. Martha never lost the impression made by this mummery. A playhouse to her was always a puppet-show, only varied by the expense of its ornaments and the skill of its imitations. As she became aware of the moral character of our theatres, and of most who attend them, her indifference deepened into aversion. She thought that those who could be made better by the theatre must be something less, and that those who could not be injured must be something more than human.

While I knew that Martha's uniform simplicity and present seriousness, saved her from the pursuit of those factitious and turbulent pleasures which are so fascinating to youth, I was not prepared to find a relish created for those gratifications, which are as pure and exalted as they are beneficial. knew that she had a feeling heart, and that her Those who are seeking occasions of usefulness mind had been raised and enlarged by religion; shall not fail to find them. It happened, that soon but I was not expecting that already religion should after our arrival at the Wells, a lady with her extend its influence to objects beyond itself. Relidaughter engaged apartments in the same house.gion, however, is closely allied to all things good, We soon learned the mother's tale of wo. She had beautiful, and noble; and in the heart she inhabits come hither as to a forlorn hope, with her beloved, her she wakens sympathies towards them more effectonly daughter, who had the most fatal symptoms of ually, than can be done by any modes of moral or decline upon her, and she herself was a widow. mental refinement, independent of her assistance. Martha was deeply interested in the state of the Martha, though her attention had been confined sufferer; and by making herself of some use to chiefly to one object, though she had read but few the strangers, quickly opened a channel of inter-books, and those mostly of one class, now discover

course.

ed an attachment for whatever adorns the mind, or She found the daughter to be about twenty years enlarges the capacities for real happiness. She had of age, of very amiable mind and manners. She a taste, not indeed at present a cultivated one, for had but recently known her danger, and she was music, for painting, and for poetry, but especially for literally confounded at the idea of dying, while she nature; whence, as from an inexhaustible treasury, thought herself in the very midst of life. Presum- we borrow, poorly borrow, all that is harmonious in ing on this life, she had not thought of that which sound, all that is lovely in picture, and all that is elois to come; and the very sense of neglect made it quent in poesy. Every thing in nature suited the simdoubly unwelcome. Martha, however, by her kind- plicity of her mind and the piety of her thoughts. ness, made her way to her heart, and soon after- There she met with God; and all was interesting ward won her attention to the things which belong- to her which was the work of his hand. She aded to her peace. She died; but not, I trust, until mired the lily and the rose, since His hand adorned she had drunk of those medicated waters which them; she sympathized with the sparrow and the bring life and healing to the wounded spirit.-robin, since His hand protected them, as she had Martha's name was among the last words that never done before; and her ravished eye dwelt on quivered on her lips; and it was one of those events all things beautiful on earth, or bright in heaven, to which my sister was accustomed to recur with as formed by her Saviour's power, embellished by eminent gratitude. her Saviour's excellence, and continuing for her Saviour's glory.

Nor must I omit to observe, that religion had awakened tastes, and opened sources of enjoyment, to which she had hitherto been nearly, if not entirely, insensible. She had never any relish for the common pleasures of the world. The glitter of the ball-room, the excitement of the card-table, the mimicry of the theatre, formed no temptation to her; her mind was above them. The theatre, especially she was led to despise by a trivial and ludicrous occurrence.

When we were children at Mitcham, we stole out into the fair which is held at that place; and I, as the best expression of my love, resolved to treat my sister to the most respectable of all the exhibitions. We entered. I know not the subject of the play; but of course it was about love. A scene opened towards the middle of the acting, which

Tastes thus quickly formed by religion and the Scriptures, I was anxious to exercise and strengthen; and our daily walks and rides in the charming vicinity of C- and B afforded the most excellent opportunities. Martha had not been twenty miles from the metropolis before; and, what with the novelty of the scenes, the still-abiding freshness of religious enjoyment, and her first becoming fully conscious of extended capacities for happiness, her cup of joy was often full even to overflowing. I necessarily connect the finest points of scenery in that neighborhood with the thought of her, and the expressions of her countenance, varied as they were by wonder and delight; but there is one evening's walk stands out among the pictures of my imagination, as superior to the rest

in the interest it excited, and, I trust, in the good | press my fears; but I did not catch her attention, which it bestowed. and was unwilling to disturb it. She never appearAfter taking a quiet tea, and reading a portioned so interesting to me! The gentlest lights of the of some favorite volume, we went abroad to par- dying day dwelt on her countenance. That countake the coolness of the coming evening. I was tenance, originally so full of vivacity, had been secretly feeding on the pleasure of surprising Mar-subdued by pain, and raised by piety; and it now tha with the scenery on the banks of the ATo accomplish this, I led her down by the zigzag path at the back of the pump-room, that the view might break upon her at once. I had chosen the hour and the evening with a reference to the general good effect of the whole; and when we reached the point of observation, I was not a little gratified to find every thing around and above us looking as well as I could desire.

was expressive of elevated intelligence and pensive delight, beyond, any thing I had observed. Her glistening eye, directed to heaven, told me that her spirit had ascended by things visible to those which are invisible; and her speaking lips seemed to say that her conversation was in other worlds. Her eye fell on mine. "Brother!" she exclaimed, with a sweet and blushing face, while the tear of joy and affection started and fell. I embraced her, and rejoiced in her, not merely as a sister, but as a saint. We had always found happiness in each other, yet never such happiness as now. In childhood, our joys, though complete in their kind, were animal and sensitive; now, I trust, they could claim kindred, however humbly, with those which are not only intellectual but spiritual. We bent our steps towards home reluctantly, sometimes listening to the solemn stillness, and sometimes giving utterance to the prevalent emotion. I quoted part of Cowper's beautiful hymn on retirement, and Martha_repeated some of the pastoral psalms of David. Before we quitted the spot, the young moon had risen, like a crescent, over the bold forehead of rock-work, illuminating our path, printing its own bright image on the sleeping waters, and casting its light on the opposite hills, so as to make them appear through the mist, which hung over them like a gauzy transparent veil. That was a blessed evening! And it was the more so, because we felt it derived all its blessedness from Him who is a well-spring of living joy to those who fear his name!

The river, which flows in the lap of hills that seem to have been separated by some great convulsion in nature, was rising with a strong and rapid tide, and bearing on its bosom, in the distance, some vessels, which, with their sails dancing in the wind, were hastening to their port. The rock-work on one hand sprang so directly and abruptly from the path as to have an elevation to the eye, which the lofty mountain sometimes fails to possess. On the opposing side, with considerable boldness of contour, there were more sloping and undulating lines, so that the rifted surface was plentifully decorated with the beauties of vegetation; and where the rock itself appeared, it was enriched by those living hues which the touch of time can alone impart. On either hand, the rocks, with all their irregularities, inclined towards each other in beautiful perspective, and at length appeared to unite, enclosing the waters and vessels in their arms, and giving a compression and a consequent magnitude to the entire scene. The sun had once more travelled to the west; and his rays shot across this picture so as to give his brilliancy to one-half of it, while the remainder was clothed in shadows of a thousand Digressive as some parts of this chapter may apshades. Above us was a fine blue sky, rendered pear, I cannot leave this sketch of my sister's chafiner by the dark lines of rock-work which con-racter without observing that religion, which had ducted the eye to it; and in the far-ground, the clouds were resting on the hills, some shining in crimson glory, and some soft and gray, like aerial mountains.

done so much for her, did not fail to create earnest desires for mental and religious improvement. It was not merely gratification she sought, it was advancement. She found herself to be a child in knowledge, and was not willing to remain so. She had drunk of the waters of life, and she longed to drink again. New worlds, the rational, the moral, the eternal, were open before her, and she was eager to explore them. The serious views she had taken of human life, made it a duty to seek theimprovement of every talent she possessed; and the taste she had had of better things than worldly wisdom regards, made it her settled desire and purpose.

Not only the scene itself, but the class of scenery, was altogether new to Martha; and it inspired her with greater admiration than any thing she had already seen. When her eye had dwelt on the whole in silent pleasure, we walked gently forward, remarking the characteristic beauty of the several parts, till, in the review, they composed an entirely different picture. The hills which were now around us went off in softer and radiated lines, so as to form a natural amphitheatre. The underwood shot up in these rising and expanding galleries with I had formerly endeavored to engage her in some greater luxuriance, and was finely relieved by the studies which I considered would be of permanent aspiring heads of the oak and the elm; while the advantage to her; but she commenced them rather bolder rocks we had left, with their feet in the river, from affection to me, than from any sense of their and their heads apparently in the clouds which real value. The inward native relish was wanthung over the distant horizon, constituted a noble ing; and her resolution failed to overcome the difback ground. Twilight had crept over the scene, ficulties which clog the entrance to every new and and had shed its repose over every thing. All hu- serious pursuit. Now, I found her with an inquiman objects had disappeared. The breeze had sitive mind, and keen appetite for the bread of ceased to murmur, and the waters to ripple. No- knowledge. She was most desirous of becoming thing was heard: nothing was in motion, except the acquainted with whatever in science might render river, which was still flowing, but flowing in si- her useful to others; whatever in literature might lence. Our steps and conversation alone seemed to correct and purify her taste; and whatever in relidisturb the tranquillity. We sat down beneath gion might assist her in rightly conceiving of hersome hazel branches, which sprang from the fis-self, of God, and of immortality. With such dissures of the rock; sank into meditation; and all-positions the work of instruction was easy and deall was profoundly still.

In such a place, on such an evening, and at such a period of life, we might "have thought down hours to moments;" but I was fearful my sister would hazard too much in a lengthened continuance. I turned my eye upon her, designing to ex

lightful. We had many desultory conversations on mental improvement, while together; and I engaged on our re-union in London, to become, as our mutual opportunities should allow, her teacher; thus adding one more tie to the many which bound us together.

On the whole, I think the intercourse of this pe- | extracted and put into her possession. In a word, riod was as profitable as it was pleasing. It was he showed her most marked and particular attenbeneficial to me to witness on another the holy and tions. exalting power of religion; and I was unspeakably grauified to find that a beloved sister, was advancing with her growth in every thing lovely and excellent. My pleasure, too, was without a check, as I daily saw her health improving; and that it might be as fully confirmed as possible, it was determined that her stay should be prolonged beyond the original time, indefinitely." After introducing her, therefore, to a few kind friends, I left her, and returned to the metropolis.

CHAPTER VI.

EMBARRASSMENT. 1810

Martha was still in her seventeenth year. Her thoughts had been as little directed to matrimony, or the preliminary steps to it, as those of any, the most pure of her sex. On this subject, she had all the innocency of the dove, but without the sagacity of the serpent; she knew little of human character beyond what she read in her own heart. Her modesty had always restrained her young friends from making it the matter of conversation or merriment; and her imagination had not been inflamed, her mind perverted, by the perusal of extravagant and ill-principled fictions.

These attentions, therefore, while they were such as might be offered indiscriminately to any young

tude, as a proof of respect for her beloved relative; and when they became an unequivocal expression of something more, she was anxious and disconcerted. She was most desirous of shunning them altogether; but the difficulties of her situation seemed to make it impossible.

It happened that a matronly person, who had recommended herself to Martha by her kindness and piety, had early noticed these attentions. By many hints she had dropped, Martha was aware of this, and she thought the best use to be made of it was to confess the sense of impropriety which possessed her, and to crave the advice of one who had been a mother and a wife, on the best means of meeting the difficulty.

UNQUESTIONABLY the most sacred duty of the bio-person, were received with simplicity and gratigrapher is to state the truth. I do not understand, however, that in the most conscientious discharge of this duty, it is necessary to state all that is true. Much that is trivial and detached may be suppressed, not only without injury, but with advantage; the character of the individual, in its formation and progress, may be the more completely exhibited, as the artist gives a more striking likeness by getting rid of useless habiliments. On the contrary, every thing may be told, and told with the utmost particularity, while the versimilitude of the person is lost, and the general impression arising from the narrative is substantially false. The leading concern, therefore, of the biographer, will be to give that place and that weight, to every event connected with the subject of his memoir, which shall leave on the mind the truest impression of the living character. Good taste will prevent him accumulating minutia, which, if they do not reveal, will encumber his portrait; and integrity will forbid him concealing any occurrences, how delicate soever in themselves, which are indispensable to its truth.

In this record of my sister I am certainly desirous of being, not her eulogist, but her biographer. And if the previous remarks are somewhat apologetical, it is because in attempting to support that appellation, I find it necessary to enter on difficult ground. Were it a mere question of feeling, I might possibly avoid it altogether; but as it forms an important passage in her life, and contributes largely to the progress of her mind, I have no option. While, however, I notice occurrences which are acknowledged to be delicate, I hope they will be treated delicately; and then I am convinced, in discharging the duties of the historian, I shall not violate those of the brother.

When I left Martha, at a distance from home, it was with every sentiment of satisfaction. Her health was advancing, her spirit was happy, and she was beneath the protection of Christian friendship. But, alas! where in this world shall we find perfect safety? Trial and snares cross the most secure and retired path, like the gossamer web in autumn, as quickly and as imperceptibly!

Among the persons to whom I had introduced Martha during my stay, was a young man, an acquaintance of mine. He had seen her twice or thrice in my presence, and I nad no idea of his seeking her society on my departure. He did, however, call upon her; in the first instance, perhaps, from regard to me, but afterward for his own gratification. He introduced her to his family, and sought opportunities of meeting her elsewhere. He was of an open temper, and ardent passions. He had been lately interested in religious objects, and he talked of them with liberty and feeling. He was a professed admirer of the poets; some of his favorite passages he read to her, and others he

But this good lady, with very slender capacity to give advice on such delicate subjects, was one of those persons who have an avowed pleasure in bringing young people together. She was not, therefore, in the least inclined to confine her counsel within the limits which Martha had prescribed to it. She assumed at once that Martha's uneasiness was quite unnecessary; and then descanted freely on the folly of discouraging an individual to whom, and to whose connections, she could allege no ob jections. Martha waived all remark in her reply on the person himself, and contented herself with objecting on account of her youth, but "it was a good thing for young people to be early attached;" her health, but she was getting well every day;" her separation from her parents, "her parents certainly ought to know, but there was time enough for that.'

From the spirit of this advice Martha's heart involuntarily shrunk; but it left her more irresolute what to do, and not less uneasy at remaining as she was. She pondered anxiously her situation; and the more it was the subject of reflection, the more she felt that the notice taken of her was such as, in her present circumstances, she ought not to sanction; while it was of such a character as to make it difficult to decline, without an assumption which modesty forbade her to make. She did not blame the cause of her secret perplexities; but she became increasingly embarrassed and unhappy.

No alternative seemed left to her except hastening her return to London. She therefore wrote to her parents, enlarging on the improved state of her health, and begging that, as the end of her visit was so well accomplished, she might be restored to the bosom of her family. The required permission was granted; and Martha, with a glad heart, fled like the wandering nestling, from a sense of exposure and solitariness, to the warm embraces of her family.

Martha had reached her home, but failed to find all that quiet happiness which till now was identified with the place. Her distress while at Cand her eagerness to return to her friends, had con