ing the grace of God, to cultivate all the social virtues in the bosom of his own family, to make his home, at least, the seat of harmony. Oh, summer! how bright thy season! the buds and blossoms are exchanged for the ripening fruit, the farmers are hastening to "make hay while the sun shines," and all nature smiles under the cheering rays of the meridian sun. Thus is it with you, my dear Caroline; it is now the summer of your life-time, it is your growing season, when the heart is buoyant with hope; anxious care is a stranger to your breast, and all things wear a smiling aspect. Oh! may the bud of promise be now expanding into a blossom and ripening into fruit, under the genial rays of the Sun of Righteousness! Seek to dedicate your youth to his service-give him the best of your days: the world will, at this period of your life especially, be laying out before your eager gaze its captivating snares, but pray earnestly that God would "turn away your eyes from beholding vanity." Remember, whilst contemplating the works of nature at this season in all their cheering beauties, that the Maker of them all is the great and glorious God, and presume not to gaze upon them as you would upon the works of man; but, filled with wonder, delight, and reverence, exclaim with the Psalmist―" Oh! Lord, how manifold are thy works, in wisdom hast thou made them all; the earth is full of thy riches!" Psalm civ. 24. Yours sincerely, J. S. LETTER XI. AUTUMN. "Except a corn of wheat fall into the ground and die, it abideth alone; but if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit.”—John xii. 24. MY DEAR CECILIA, Autumn is now entering with her cornucopia; the reapers are beginning to bring in their golden harvest. I passed over the fields a few days since, all hands were busy, joy was painted on every countenance, and the hymn of gratitude ascended from every heart towards the throne of unbounded goodness. My heart, I assure you, did not refuse a response; but, elated with the scene before me, I involuntarily exclaimed "To God above, from all below, Let hymns of praise ascend; Whose mercy knows no end." At this season, the ancients used to offer sacrifices to Ceres; but now the sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving is heard to ascend only to the fount from whence these blessings spring. The falling leaves, as I passed along the lanes, rather retarded my progress, but they led me to reflect upon the time when I should drop like a leaf in Autumn. One leaf, torn from its parent stem, still clung to it by a slender thread: I watched it—the next breeze cut it asunder, and down it fell; so man often clings to life to the latest moment, till at last, death severs it for Afterwards, extending my walk into the village, I saw some men winnowing the corn; this led to a train of thought ::-as the husbandman suffereth the wheat and tares to grow together until the harvest, and then bindeth the tares in bundles to burn them, but gathereth the ever. E wheat into his barn; so God suffereth the good and bad to grow up together until the end of the world: then, as the former separateth the chaff from the wheat, so will he also separate the sheep from the goats. He will send forth his angels to burn up the wicked with unquenchable fire, but will gather the good into his heavenly kingdom. We know, from common observation, that the seed actually dieth before it is quickened to produce the necessary grain; how, then, can we doubt the Almighty's power to quicken again our corrupted bodies? He who can raise a blade of corn from an insignificant seed, which is first suffered to decay in the ground, can, with the same ease, command our decayed flesh to assume a brighter form. Accustom yourself thus to muse on what is passing around you in the works of God. I heard some one exclaim, to-day, "I am going to take a solitary walk; oh! how miserable, do come with me, pray, I do not like to go alone, it is so dull, particularly in the country, where there is scarcely any human being to be seen.' How I pity such creatures! I trust you are incapable of harbouring a thought like this. What, then, shall the book of nature, which lies open to every view, be considered a trifling companion? Shall a meditation upon. the Divine works contained there, be thought a theme not sufficiently interesting? Why should the conversation which we are about to hold with ourselves, be so much dreaded, unless we are afraid to ask, for a moment, from whence we came, for what we are designed, and whither we are hastening? Are we afraid of examining our hearts? If they will not bear our own scrutiny, how do we suppose they will bear that of the all-perfect Judge ? These are, certainly, most important questions, and can only be properly inquired into when alone. Surely, then, a solitary walk, when all nature is wearing a sombre aspect, might be profitable, and give our minds full scope to dwell upon such topics. But do not think me austere sprung from a pure How I should love or morose, imagine not that I wish you to lead a monastic life, excluded from all society: far be it from me; none can be fonder of rational conversation than myself, and you may enter into it, as a relaxation to unbend your mind from more serious considerations, but never dread being alone. I would wish your mind to be so well cultivated, that you may learn to value your leisure hours, and employ them so well, that you may be enabled to exclaim, with the philosopher of old, "I am never less alone than when alone." But, perhaps, my dear girl, you may say, if I could but find a friend, a companion, to whom I might whisper all my thoughts, to whom I could tell all my faults, who would lend me a willing ear, pity me, and direct me for the future-into whose bosom I could pour all my little griefs and pains, and one who had not only the will, but power to relieve me; one who, delighting in seeing others happy, would not check my mirth, but increase it, provided it source, how delightful it would be. such a companion, my whole heart and soul would be intent upon pleasing such a friend; no task would be too arduous to perform, no restraint would be too irksome to impose upon myself, in order to keep so valuable a treasure always at hand. Happy tidings for my dear Cecilia! such a friend is to be found. It is the man Christ Jesus, to whom you may confess your faults, who will not only listen to your cry, but answer and forgive. It is he who will give the assistance of his Holy Spirit to guide you; it is into his bosom that you may pour all your cares, assured he careth for you, and hath infinite power to relieve you. It is he, (who being the fountain of happiness himself,) is the being from whence all your happiness must flow. This, then, is the companion whom you have been desiring. He hath assured you "his yoke is easy, and his burden is light;" you will, therefore, endeavour to please him, since you have promised to love him with all your heart and soul. He is also a friend who will never leave you, he will be constantly on your right hand, and when you walk alone, hold sweet converse with him in prayer. This is the highest privilege of man, to be admitted to an audience with his Maker, though the curtain of the skies at present hides him from their view. Seek him, then, earnestly, and he will assuredly be found. Endeavour to please him always, and then you may exclaim, "The Author of all these divine works is my father and my friend!" O that you, with myself, may be permitted to aspire to the glorious title of the children of God, is the most fervent prayer of, "The heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament sheweth his handy-work.-Ps. xix. 1. MY DEAR ELIZABETH, The autumnal breezes have long since ceased to blow, and rude boreas has already announced that he is beginning his ravages and devastations upon all the beautiful works of nature. The scene which I lately painted so fair, is now become a dreary void; there, where stood a short time since, the gaudy tulip, the hyacinths, the lovely carnations, and the sweet blushing roses, are now seen nought but decayed stalks and withered leaves; the stately trees of the forest are shorn of their foliage; they stretch their naked branches to the sky, and present indeed a sad and dreary prospect. The warbling tenants of the grove have forsaken the leafless spray, and, guided by unerring instinct, have winged their way to milder climates, to seek |