sake of "the meat that perisheth," and with which, for aught I know, I may be done in an hour or a day! I am a faithless child of Jesus, but still his child, because he chose me in his free mercy, and ransomed me. Would that I had such a heart, that I could serve the Lord indeed, and keep his commandments. I am afraid of the next five weeks. The last spent "in my mother's house in my youth." There will be many plans to form, and much of extra exertion to be got through, and shall I be carried farther from my King? Now, let me have more time for retirement and prayer; my life must languish without it. Let me seek such a spiritual frame as may enable me to look on "time's things" as naught compared with my own and my neighbour's immortal interests. I look with solicitude, but still more with joy, to the approaching event. The lines have fallen unto me in pleasant places. I pray, my dear Saviour, to make this union the means of promoting the life of faith in our own souls, and of spreading its glorious kingdom all around us. may be our fears from our own sins and infirmities, but what may we not hope from his large and remembered promises? Shine on us with thy light, O Lord! revive thy work! and bless the attempts of that pastor of thine, to win souls; and let us be as a garden of the Lord, watered with the rain and dew of the Spirit, that shall make us ever fresh and green! O may holiness be written in our hearts and lives! May zeal for God surround us, and our own things be to us as nothing, compared with the honour of our Saviour's name!' Great This is the last entry in the Diary before the 11th of July, when the marriage was solemnized. 14* CHAPTER X. A NEW HOME. AMONG the circumstances of her marriage day, only one recurs to the imagination with the vividness of reality, as worthy to be particularized, and it will bring the image of her who is now a bride in heaven, in the beauty of her holy, humble, beaming smile, to the mind of many a loving and beloved friend. A party of lively and interested cousins and friends had busied themselves in decorating the drawing-room for the solemn service, during the morning. After their pleasant task was accomplished, and they had retired, one who felt a quieter and more profound anxiety for her happiness, stole gently to that room, which, for the time, seemed to possess the air of a sanctuary. The door having been opened noiselessly, the chamber was surveyed. There hung the gay bouquets of flowers, which, in compliment to the taste of Mary, were in unusual profusion. There lay the gaily adorned bride's cake, which, according to the fanciful custom of the country, is elevated into great importance. There stood the sofa, wheeled with its back to the light, from which the pair were to rise to take their solemn vow; and there in front of that sofa kneeled the lovely bride, so deeply absorbed in communion with her God, that she was unconscious of the presence of an intruder. The occasion was too sacred to admit of social union, even in prayer, and the door was closed as it had been opened, with a petition that Jehovah would hear and accept her sacrifice, without her becoming conscious of the inspection of a human eye. The next entry in the diary is dated Barnes, a mansionhouse in the parish of Cleish, where the young couple resided for some time, while the manse was preparing. 'Barnes, August 5.—On the 11th July, I was united, by Mr. Grey, to my beloved Wallace, and a new period in my life began. How soon may it end! Amid the busy pre * * parations, the gifts of kind friends, and the numerous farewells, the thing itself did not perhaps hold the prominent place that belongs to it; and it was well, for, from what I have experienced since, I think my feelings would have been overpowering. In the first part of the ceremony, the effort not to weep made me shake like a leaf, and dear aunt I- held me up, but before the close I was calm-it was short but soothing and pious, and the firm emphatic tone, yet full of feeling, in which my W. said the words "I do," encouraged me greatly, I did not think so much expression could be put into two simple words! My friends looked bright and kind, and there was a lovely train of cousins and sisters—how soon some of them will be settled far, far from me and my little nook. 21-Returned to Ruthwell-Friday was Fast-day, my dear W. and I joined in prayer several times in its course. After the last time in the evening, I felt a bright glow of happiness, joy in being united to one who would serve God with me, and in being permitted to tell my thoughts and seek grace and strength from that great Being together. It was one of those hours that are as green islands in the waste of ocean often and brightly remembered. We came home to Barnes on Saturday, 30th July, 1836, and had nearly a week of wet weather. For some days, however, it has been fine, the sunbeams throw the shadows of the trees on the grass, roses and willow herbs bloom around me, deep woods shelter our spacious dwelling, and every thing tells of happiness and hope, the gracious gifts of God. I have felt the separation from a mother so revered, and all the loved home circle, more since coming here, than on the 11th, or even before, I think. But my husband smiles so tenderly and beamingly on me, that I feel I could give up still more for him. Oh! let me try to make him happy, and never let the tender flower of love be nipped by hasty words; let me try to make his home comfortable, and study his tastes, even in small things. Our income amply supplies our present wants; and when the thought of the future comes over me, I turn it into a prayer for increase of faith, for what have the future and I to do with each other? I mean not only to give orders, but sometimes to superintend their execution; and I hope it may be proved, in our * * experience, that godliness with contentment is great gain. How numerous are our blessings. W.'s people love him; the surrounding families here have received me kindly; we have lovely scenery around, and are engaged in the most honourable work that can employ mortal man. Shall we not raise here our Ebenezer, and bless the Lord who hath done so great things for us?' Such was the strain of gratitude which flowed in unison with the fulfilment of that plan which had so long appeared in the distance, and the accomplishment of which formed one of the stages in life's brief journey. But on this journey, where is perfect happiness? The depth says of it, as of wisdom, it is not in me. The sea saith, not with me. It cannot be gotten for gold, neither shall silver be weighed for the price thereof. In acquaintance with God, there is peace; in the knowledge of Christ Jesus, there is hope. But present happiness, that joy which hath no unfulfilled desire, is not an earthly joy. God understandeth the way thereof. He knoweth the place thereof. It is in heaven. Even a king's daughter-a bride of heaven, finds it not easy to forget her own people and her father's house; and the more tender and grateful the heart, the keener the longings after those who have been loved and left behind. Sir W. Jones' translation of the adieus of an eastern lady, though applying not to kindred but to accustomed objects, in part exhibits the sentiment. 'Wept o'er each flower, her garden's blameless pride, To flower and fawn prolonged the sad farewell.' Thus, amid the accomplishment of her wishes, wrote the young wife :-'O, it is sad, this severing of early ties ! and many a pang it costs me. I am very happy with him for whom I gave them up, but still I am in a land of strangers. Yet the mercy of the past makes me hope for the future, that the kind hand of Providence will be over me still, to bless, and teach, and succour me.' To her London School-fellow. 'Barnes House, September 14, 1836.-I always loved you, as I used to fancy, much more than you loved poor me. But every letter you write makes me long more for a renewal of that intercourse which was delightful, but too brief. Now, we could hold sweet counsel of Him, whom we have both found to be the best of friends, and whom we both desire to honour with the best of our time and of our affections. Ah! what an added charm there would have been in our friendship, could we have done so then. My heart is full of thankfulness for you, dear friend, and I earnestly hope that you, who began later, have far outstripped me in the Christian race, for I have to deplore many wanderings of heart from God, and much coldness and ingratitude. Would that I could love him as the angels do, and find, at all times, my life, my solace, in converse with him. But were I to permit my harp, which is hanging on the willows, to emit the sounds most congenial at this moment, you would have to listen to a sad and plaintive lay; so I must be less selfish, and try to strike up a more cheerful strain, only entreating you first to pray often for me. Dearest! may I think that every Friday night you pray specially for me? This is what I mean to do for you, and I think we should both derive much comfort from it. Let me thank you warmly for your kindness in sending Ion-charming Ion! How I admire his noble character. I feel almost as strong a wish to know Talfourd as Meta did to know Klopstock, after reading the Messiah? W. could tell you that he thought I had almost lost my senses while he read it to me— it produced so strong an effect. Yet it was not the beauty of the poem alone, but my own state of mind, that made me so alive to its strong touches of feeling; for I had just bid adieu to my mother and my pleasant home, and was feeling the loneliness of my new position more than, I hope, I shall ever feel it again. The weather was dismal, and W. was much engaged in study; and when I roamed about in this great unsocial-looking house, I felt as if I had been dropped down in the midst of a wilderness.' * * Now that we are settled in our retired and peaceful home, striving, in some degree, to fulfil the very important duties to which God has called us, W. is very desirous to adopt every plan for the improvement of his people, and has opened Sabbath schools, and classes for grown-up young |