Willingly would I sacrifice the dearest earthly friend to engage in this blessed service. O that I had a thousand pious relatives, well calculated for the important station of Missionaries; the tenderest ties that bind me to them, should be rent. I would say to them, go-and let the destitute millions of Asia and Africa know there is compassion in the hearts of Christians; tell them of the love of Jesus, and the road to bliss on high Providence now gives me an opportunity to go myself to the heathen. Shall I refuse the offer? shall I love the glittering toys of this dying world so well, that I cannot relinquish them for God? Forbid it, Heaven! Yes, I will go; however weak and unqualified I am, there is an all-sufficient Saviour ready to support me. In God alone is my hope. I will trust his promises, and consider it one of the highest privi leges that would be conferred upon me, to be permitted to engage in his glorious service among the wretched inhabitants of Hindostan.

Aug. 11. How reviving to my disconsolate mind has been the work of life this day! Oh, this adorable plan of salvation! Have I the least inclination to alter one single part of it, if I could? O no! I would not be less holy--I would not wish God to exact less perfect obedience from his creatures.

Mr. R. drank tea with us. I felt the same backwardness in conversing upon the things of the kingdom, that I usually do. Whence this criminal diffidence? Oh, when will divine grace so absorb my heart, that my stammering tongue shall be loosed, and Jesus and his salvation be my theme! If I cannot unite in conversing with believers, in a land

where religion flourishes, how can I speak to the benighted heathen of India, whose minds are involved in Pagan darkness?

To Miss M. S. of Boston.

Haverhill, Sabbath-Aug. 21, 1811.

How great, my dear M. would be the pleasure, could I retreat with you to some lonely corner, far from the busy haunts of this vain world, and unbosom to you the secrets of my heart, instead of writing to you. But this dear privilege is denied me.. I must be content with expressing a few unconnected thoughts on paper for the present, and will anticipate a happy meeting with you on earth, and a still happier one in those regions, where the friends of Immanuel will never more be separated. What if our intercourse on earth should cease? If we are the followers of the Lamb, our prayers will unitedly ascend to the same blessed throne while we live ; and when our pilgrimage is ended, our friendship will exist and flourish for ever. M. we are pilgrims, we are strangers in a barren land. This world is not our portion; it is incapable of satisfying our desires. The glittering toys of life are not calculated to afford real enjoyment. There is nothing in heaven or earth, but God, that can delight our hearts, and ease us of the heavy load of sin. Let us not be satisfied with the low and grovelling pursuits of time; but let us look to the unchangeable Jehovah, for a supply of his soul refreshing grace. How much has God done for us individually? He has, as we humbly trust, made us partakers of his grace,

and redeemed us from eternal death. What shall we render to him for this abundant mercy? Oh let our future lives evince our gratitude, and let our praises unceasingly flow to his throne! Dear M. I feel as though I had done nothing for God.Where are the last five years of my wretched life? Can they witness to my exertions in the cause of the Lord?" I think of the days of other years, and my soul is sad." All is a barren waste. A few heartless duties and cold formalities will never carry me to heaven.

Sabbath eve. This day, my dear M. I have been highly privileged. I have heard three sermons preached by the excellent Mr. R. How sweet is the gospel to the heart of the believer! How does the pure word of truth animate the desponding sinner, and encourage him to apply to the Lamb of God for pardon and sanctification! But this glorious gospel, which reveals to mortals the way of salvation, the far greater part of the inhabitants of the earth are deprived of. "Where there is no vision the people perish." Thousands of immortal souls are entering eternity, and peopling the dark realms of woe. If our souls are of greater importance than this world, with all its boasted treasures, how can we calculate the worth of those millions of souls, which are equally as precious as our own? We have had the bible in our hands from our childhood; we are instructed regularly from this precious volume every Sabbath. We have believing friends to associate with; we enjoy the stated ordinances of the gospel. But the dear heathen have no such privileges. They are destitute of Bibles, Sabbaths,›

and churches. The inhabitants of Hindostan, to atone for their sins, will submit to the most cruel tortures imaginable. Widows consent to be burned with their deceased husbands; parents sacrifice their infant offspring to appease the anger of their idol gods; they cast them into the river Ganges, where they perish. But this dreadful superstition vanishes before the benignant rays of the gospel, as the morning dew before the rising sun. We enjoy its meridian splendour. Have we any benevolence? Are we susceptible of feeling for the distresses of our fellow-creatures? As we value the salvation which a Saviour offers; as we value his tears, his labours, and his death, let us now seriously ask what we shall do for the salvation of the benighted heathen? If we are not permitted to visit them themselves, and declare to them the efficacy of a Saviour's blood, yet we can ardently pray for them. And not only pray for them, but by our vigorous exertions we can awaken a missionary spirit in others, and excite them also to feel for those who are perishing in pagan darkness. M. the subject is copious indeed, I might easily write till the rising sun, and then not give you a perfect delineation of the wretchedness of many of our fellow creatures. But I must leave these forlorn wretches. Suffice it to say, that when the whole universe shall stand collected at the bar of God, we shall meet them, and there render a solemn account for the manner with which we have conducted ourselves towards them in this world. I hope, my dear M. you are living near to God, and enjoying times of refreshing from his presence. Oh pray often, and remember me in

your prayers.

Should stormy oceans roll between us, yet I shall ever continue to love you. Farewell, my dear M. Your affectionate

HARRIET.

Extracts from a Letter to her Sister M. at Charles

town.

Aug. 1811. A FEW moments this morning shall be spent in writing to my dear sister. Accept my hearty congratulations for your returning health. I often think of you, and imagine you possessed of every comfort which can render life desirable. I have been contrasting your present delightful situation with the trying one that is probably to be mine. Although I could shed floods of tears at the idea of bidding a final farewell to the dear associates of my youth, and the guardian and instructor of my early years; yet a consciousness that this is the path marked out for me by my heavenly Father, and an assurance that the cause I have engaged in is a blessed one, impart at times an indescribable pleasure. If some unforeseen occurrence should prevent my going to the East Indies, I shall still enjoy the satisfaction of thinking that this also is ordered by God. Should I never go, Oh may I never forget the wretched inhabitants of Hindos tan, nor cease to pray that they may enjoy the blessings of the gospel. HARRIET ATWOOD.

1811.

Aug. 13. How consoling has been the beloved