though I have nothing in hand, I come to Jesus, and receive ’out of His fulness, and grace for grace.’  On Thursday I wrote to my dear uncle, endeavouring, though feebly, to urge him to the pursuit of inward holiness.  O Lord, bless him, for Christ’s sake.  I think I never felt a greater desire for the salvation of others.  In this city the Lord still continues to carry on His work.—­I accompanied Mr. M. to Heslington; we had a blessed little meeting.  Three obtained the forgiveness of sins.  Surely these are the latter days, when times of refreshing are promised.  Every day souls are saved, and set apart for God.  In our parlour last Tuesday, Mrs. F. found liberty, as also her daughter a few weeks ago.—­Mr. Mortimer has been our guest the last month, and will remain another week.  He is a man of God.  Next week we expect Mr. Is.  Clayton.  I esteem it an honour conferred upon us to entertain the ministers of the Lord; but a much greater honour, that the Lord condescends to dwell in my heart.  O may I ever walk, and dwell in Him.—­After a week of indisposition, mingled with much excitement, I feel solid rest in God.  We had a blessed time in the band-meeting.  I think I was never more fully delivered from the creature.  How sweet to live above the world!  As I returned.  Miss C. joined me, and informed me what the Lord has done for her soul.  She believes He has taken full possession of her heart.  I rejoiced while she imparted the blessed news.  She expresses herself clearly.  O may she ever hold it fast.  I gave the following lines to Miss A. A. on her birthday; may they be made a blessing to her.

“How important the season!  Big with eternal results!—­born for eternity!  Let it be a day of reflection, dedication, and prayer; and if the following lines prove any assistance to you, I shall be amply repaid.

  Again the happy morn appears;
  And nature, clothed in beauty, wears
  Her wonted colours; and the rose
  In all its pride of lustre glows;
  Emblem of frail mortality! 
  It buds and blossoms but to die: 
  Too soon its glory fades away,
  The passing pageant of a day. 
  In this fair flower, your image trace;
  While youth sits smiling on your face,
  Secure those virtues, which perfume
  The life, when beauty fails to bloom—­
  The rich adorning first designed,
  The vesture of a humble mind. 
  Be yours, in rich abundance given,
  The treasure of an inward heaven.’ 
  Hence virtue takes its deepest root,
  And scatters fragrance in the shoot;
  Blossoms when youth hath passed away,
  Maturing for eternal day. 
  Reflect; the moment flies! ’tis gone! 
  The year its rapid course hath run! 
  What tidings have been winged to heaven,
  Since first the precious boon was given? 
  Examine well; nor fear to know,
  What truth may in its mirror show. 
  Is this, your twentieth birthday, blest
  With more of wisdom in your breast?