_8th Mo. 24th_. The great parting is over: the love and mercy of our heavenly Father sustained my dearest father and mother beyond expectation. On this occasion, when I have been helped back from a sad, lone wandering on barren mountains, I may learn, more deeply than ever before, the safety, the sweetness, of dwelling in the valley of humiliation. Oh, let me dwell there long and low enough. I ask not high enjoyments nor rapturous delights; but I ask, I pray, when I can pray at all, for quiet, watchful, trustful dependence upon my Saviour. _8th Mo. 27th_. We have had a ride in the country this afternoon, and during a solitary walk of a mile and a half I had very sweet feelings. Jesus seemed so near to me and so kind that I could hardly but accept of him. But then there seemed some dark misgivings at the same time; as if I had an account to settle up first,--something I must do myself; the free full grace seemed too easy and gratis to accept of. But all this I found was a mistake. I thought of the lines-- "He gives our sins a full discharge; He crowns and saves us too," and of a remark I had seen somewhere, "Look at Calvary, and wilt thou say that thy sins are _easily_ passed by?" This evening in my _andachtzimmer_,[1] I wished to pray in spirit; but not a petition arose that I could offer. I felt so blind, and yet so peaceful, that all merged into the confiding language, Father, _Thy will_ be done! [Footnote 1: Devotional retirement.] _9th Mo. 2d_. On First-day, the twenty-first, I had a great struggle on the old poetry-writing question. I had written none since the great fight last winter; but now to my dearest father I ventured to write, thinking I had got over the danger of it. But when all was written, I was forced to submit to the mortification of not sending it. The relief I felt was indescribable, and I hope to get thus entoiled no more. My scruple is not against poetry, but _I_ cannot write it without getting over-possessed by it. Therefore it is no more than a reasonable peace-offering to deny myself of it. * * * "And now, Lord, what wait I for?" Enable me to say, "My hope is in thee." It seems as if the path would be a narrow one; but, oh, "make thy way straight before my face;" and, having enabled me, I trust, to _give some_ things to "the moles and to the bats," leave me not till I have learned "to count _all_ things but loss, for the excellency of Christ Jesus my Lord." The following is the unfinished piece just alluded to:-- TO HER FATHER IN AMERICA. And thus it was, as drew the moments nearer That stamp'd their record deep oil every heart; As day by day thy presence grew yet dearer, By how much sooner thou shouldst hence depart.