versity, she was not without that sympathy and kindness which to none is more welcome and soothing than to the lone heart of the stranger. And, as the circle of her friendships widened, enriched by some of the most eminent for Christian influence and worth, she soon discovered the continent that had attracted her to its friendly coasts to be in hospitality and courtesy, as in language and religion, the affectionate daughter of the land she had left. And when, in after years, she quitted its shores, to spend the evening of her life, and die, amid earlier scenes and older friendships, the recollection of the land that had afforded her a pleasant asylum in adversity, she still warmly and gratefully cherished. America was hallowed ground to her. The history of her sojourn upon its soil had engraven its name more deeply and ineffaceably on her heart than "France" was said to have been on the heart of Mary Queen of Scots. Her interest in its prosperity never decreased. Its religious literature, the histories of its churches, and, especially, the biographies of its saints, beguiled, happily, many an hour of her closing pilgrimage. She contemplated it with a kind of prophetic interest. Its vast territory, its exhaustless capabilities, and its glorious revivals, impressed her with the conviction that America was destined to be the future home of the church, the Mount Ararat, where the Ark would repose from the storms and convulsions of the Old World, the hemisphere upon which would dawn the first light of the millennial glory. There was but one dark spot in its history, over which she wept; and many a fervent petition she sent up to heaven for its removal. That spot effaced, America would stand forth peerless amongst the nations of the earth. Give her entire population equal rights and liberty-civil and religious-and she will soar in national greatness and in moral influence, like her own symbolic eagle, to the sun. And yet it was in this land that she was made to drink most deeply of the waters of adversity. She had scarcely become settled in her new and pleasant home ere death invaded it. The infant daughter she had borne across the Atlantic sickened and died. This was the first draught from sorrow's cup. That cup was now to be brimmed. While the corpse of her babe lay yet unentombed, the woeful intelligence reached her that she was a widow! "Deep calleth unto deep at the noise of thy waterspouts; all thy waves and thy billows are gone over me." Such was now her mournful experience. He letters written at this sad period of her history, a few of which only are preserved, will best depict the deep and varied exercises of her mind under this overwhelming calamity. Addressing her eldest son, then in Bermuda, who, on receiving the tidings of his father's death, hastened to England, she thus writes: "MY PRECIOUS CHILD,— New York, 1816. "Your dear mother is under the chastening hand of God. My dear suffering infant lies a corpse: and the letter containing the intelligence of your dear father's and my beloved husband's death, was this day put into my hands. I am humbled under the mighty hand of God. My soul is bowed down. The death of my child was almost overwhelming; but the death of my dear, my precious, my ever-to-be-lamented husband, is the heaviest affliction I have ever met with. I trust the Lord will yet enable me to say, Thy will, O God, not mine, be done! I wish you could have been there. Oh, that you had been in time to have closed his eyes! I need comfort. I am in a strange place. The Lord help me and increase my faith! The Lord have mercy upon me, for I am in trouble. I trust his soul and the dear departed spirit of my infant are now rejoicing together in glory. That is my only comfort. I am too much afflicted to write more. May God bless you, my child, prays your truly afflicted, widowed mother." But overwhelming as was this affliction, God, whose chastenings are always tempered with mercy, left her not without strong consolation. It was not in unmitigated and hopeless grief that she wept. The last illness and closing scene of Captain Winslow's life afforded satisfactory evidence that he had sought and found the Saviour. His conviction of sin was deep, and his believing reliance upon the atoning merits of the Redeemer earnest and childlike. He died in the assured hope of an humble penitent, a sincere believer, "looking for the mercy of our Lord Jesus Christ unto eternal life." Such was the inexpressible comfort provided by Him whose hand had now slain her fondest earthly treasure. She now saw the fruit of her long travail of soul. Her prayers were answered, though as by fire. "Thou calledst in trouble, and I delivered thee; I answered thee in the secret place of thunder: I proved thee at the waters of Meribah." The long-sought mercy came--her husband was saved; but the blessing was draped in woe. By terrible things in righteousness' God had an swered her, and her 'song was of mercy and judgment.' The blow fell, however, with crushing effect. Her mental distress seemed to baffle the kindest efforts of her pastor and her friends to soothe. Her soul refused to be comforted. To the deep sorrow of bereavement was now added the yet deeper anguish of spiritual darkness and despondency. Satan was permitted to buffet her, and, for a time, the dark waters went over her soul. Thus the calamity that at once withered her lovely flower, and broke the 'strong staff and the beautiful rod,' was augmented by a momentary suspension of the Divine presence. It was at this juncture the following hymn of her favourite author, Newton, read casually to her by her son Espoke the first consolation to her sad heart. "I ask'd the Lord that I might grow And seek more earnestly his face. "'Twas he who taught me thus to pray, As almost drove me to despair. "I hoped that in some favour'd hour "Instead of this, he made me feel The hidden evils of my heart, "Yea, more; with his own hand he seem'd "Lord! why is this?' I trembling cried: 'I answer prayer for grace and faith. "These inward trials I employ, From self and pride to set thee free; How well calculated were these richly experimental breathings to pour the oil of soothing over the broken waters now surging her soul! Bereaved Christian, the same fount of consolation is yours. Approach, and drink abundantly. Your pleasant picture is, perhaps, destroyed, your beauteous flower has faded, your sheltering arm is withered; but Jesus is yours, your deathless Friend, the Brother born for your adversity, and you have in Him all, and infinitely more, that was lovely and loving, tender and protective, in the treasure you have lost. This is but the Lord's all-wise and righteous mode of drawing you into a greater nearness to Himself. We continue a few of the letters addressed to her eldest son at this period of her grief. What a beauteous bow appears in the dark cloud of her afflictions! Blessed discipline that results in such weanedness! "MY DEAREST CHILD, New York, Feb. 7, 1816. "I have but little spirits to write, but as I know you will be anxious to hear from me, I have struggled with my feelings to gratify you. The Lord has indeed laid His chastening hand upon your afflicted mother. My precious, my beloved husband I shall see no more in the flesh. But, oh, what a comfort to my soul that I shall meet him at the right hand of God! I grieve at his sufferings, and in imagination I am ever hovering round his bed. My soul has been bowed down, and I was afraid I should at first sink under so heavy an affliction. Wave upon wave, bitter upon bitter. But the Lord has said, As thy day, so shall thy strength be; and He has been faithful to His promise. E has proved himself a dear child; he has been everything to me, at this trying time, that I could wish. How gracious is the Lord to me! It is my Father that has chastened me, and it shall be for my good and His glory. Now, my precious child, you are my most anxious concern. You will need wisdom from above to direct, and grace to uphold you every moment. Keep close to a throne of grace, and doubt not the God of all grace will give you both. Give my love to It soothed my sorrow to know that I possessed the love and friendship of some of God's dearest, choicest people. Tell dear Miss MI feel very grateful for her letter; for though it cost me many tears, yet it was by far the most satisfactory one I have had, and my heart has thanked her for it a thousand times. Oh, that I could have sat by his bedside as she did! Mysterious are the ways of God! This bereaving providence has done more to wean me from the world, and show me the importance of eternal things, than you can imagine. Blessed be God for all His dispensations, the evil as well as the good. “I am at times miserable indeed beyond conception. Past scenes crowd upon my mind, and unavailing regrets seem to overwhelm my better feelings. I have truly been laid low in the dust, and abhor myself as the chief of sinners. For some days Satan desired to have me, to sift me as wheat; darkness overpowered my mind; doubts and fears respecting my everlasting safety crowded upon me. This, too, was after I had thought myself resigned to the will of God, and began to be interested in my family concerns. I see it was the enemy. Oh, that I had never left your precious father. See Mr. Shepherd, and beg he will relate to you exactly every word that passed between him and my dear husband before he died. My severe trials have awakened a general sympathy among the dear people of God, who have visited and endeavoured to comfort me; but vain is the help of man; God alone can comfort. Dr. Stamford, an excellent minister, called upon me, and preached afterwards a sermon on the occasion of my bereavement, from the words,-Show me wherefore thou contendest with me; but I could not hear it, though I am told it was excellent." While it is painful to trace the bitter and unjust self-accusations contained in the following letter, it is at the same time delightful to observe how richly the 'rod' 'blossomed' with the holy fruits of her deeply-sanctified grief. “MY BELOVED CHILD,— New York, May 28, 1816. "I have received your letter to-day, for which I have been just thanking my God and your God, the Father to the fatherless and the widow's God. I am thankful that He has supported you under the severest trial you have been called to meet with since you entered the vale of tears-the loss of your dear, your precious father. Neither you nor I knew half his worth. The Lord gave us a treasure, but we knew not its value until too late. I hope this has been a sifting time with you, as it has been with your poor mother. How great a backslider have I been! How did I let my vile heart go |