Memoirs of Mrs. Hawkes, late of Islington. By Catharine Cecil [pp. 239-271]

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Mllemoirs of Mrs. Hawkes.
[APRIL
patience under suffering. God can make a man as quiet by faith, as if there
were no danger at all. But a frown from God is ten thousand times worse
than a stake or gibbet.
"In all dispensations we should be careful not to lose the benefit, either by
falling into a state of despondency, or by being inattentive to our feelings and
sentiments in the affliction; or by impatience under it. Endeavour to keep the
presence of God in your heart through every circumstance.
"Learn to distinguish between humiliation and gloomy depression. What
St. Paul means by being crucified to the world is not a peevish quarrelling with
it, but a noble victory over it. While we say of laughter,' It is mad,' let us
beware of running into an unscriptural melancholy. The enemy has often
made use of this great success to the injury of religion. Holy joy is the proper
antidote.
"As Christians, it is our privilege to be going on to perfection; to walk free
from mists and uncomfortableness; and though, while here, we shall to the end,
only' see through a glass darkly,' yet we are directed to fix our eyes upon a
more perfect day, when the' wise shall shine as the brightness of the
firmament.'"
These remarks, we think, are precisely adapted to the case
of multitudes of conscientious, sorrowful Christians. And as
we have an excellent letter from this profoundly judicious
pastor, on the same subject, addressed to Mrs. Hawkes, we
cannot deprive our readers of the benefit of perusing it.
"MY DEAR DAUGHTER,
"The uneasiness I feel when I see any thing which I think amiss in you,
obliges me to write a letter, though you know I am no writer of letters except
when absolutely compelled.
"Now as you are a fruitful plant in my vineyard, and one that I have had
the honour and pleasure of planting, I cannot be satisfied if I suspect any injury
whatever which may impede your growth.
"But I do suspect an injury. I do think I see one enemy, and that, an enemy
at the very root of your health and comfort:-It is a little mischievous worm
called melancholy. It is engendered by constitution and ill health; and makes
both worse. I say this from experience; but then what is only accidental in
my case, is almost constant in yours; and I cannot but observe this with great
pain. First, because I do not think you are sufficiently apprized of the evil.
It strips you of the only ornament of the Christian profession I ever saw you
want,-I mean a permanent joy and peace in believing. I know you have such
humble views of yourself, that you will consider me a very partial judge: but
on this subject, I cannot think I am incompetent to judge; and I do not allow
myself (I humbly hope) to say what I do not really think.
"I know every thing that occurs is capable of wounding a sensibility such as
yours. But the world is nothing to you. Come, I will give you a bit of an old
man who writes better than I can: "' We may compare an afflicted believer to a man that has an orchard laden
with fruit, who because the wind has blown off the leaves, sits down and weeps.
If one asks What do you weep for? Why my apple-leaves are gone!
But have you not your apples left? Yes. Very well, then do not grieve for
a few leaves, which could only hinder the ripening of your fruit.'
"Pardons and promises that cannot fail, lie at the root of my dear daughter's
profession; and fruits of faith, hope and love, that no one can question, have
long covered her branches. The east wind sometimes carries off a few leaves,
though the rough wind is stayed; and what if every leaf were gone? what if