light of the sun, whose radiance they reflect, and whose heat they attract.--How sweet to be at the throne of grace! Have had great freedom with the Lord while interceding for a fallen friend, over whom I lament. O that God would reclaim the wanderer. My soul is sweetly drawn out after more of the image of God, for to the present I have but little imitated my Lord. God help me in my life to display every feature of his character. My dear cousin Ann is, I fear, sinking, so true is it, 'Man cometh up as a flower,' and is cut down; but she is happy in God. This is cause of thanksgiving. Many of the excellent of the earth are retreating behind the veil. May I work while it is day. What a poor slothful soul I have been, when heaven shines so bright above me. Now I feel resolved to work. Jesus, Thou seest my heart, aid me that I loiter no more. A full salvation is what my soul aims at; but ah! how grovelling and low are my desires! language is too poor to express my poverty, when seen in the light of the Sun of righteousness. O! when shall I from sin set free, Bask in the light of Deity? Expand my heart and fill the wide expanse.--While Mr. Haswell was preaching, a woman cried out, 'Bless the Lord; bless the Lord O my soul.' I trust she was under divine influence. Mr. H. gave out; 'Praise God from whom,' &c. I began to suspect the power of God was more eminently present than I imagined: this led me to seek after it in my own breast, and to long for a more powerful manifestation. Praise God, I could say, 'Lo! God is here, let us adore.'