*BY what you said to Mr. **** when he had the pleasure of hearing you, I imagine you think my illness is owing to a cause of which I am by no means certain; however the bare probability of such a charge would not be without my immediately reflecting on the dangers and temptations that would attend it. A soul, that is really desirous of attaining the _pure_ love of God, is exceedingly jealous of any thing that has a possibility of drawing it from its centre of happiness, and looks upon any event which has this possible tendency (let the world term it blessing or misfortune) with a tender, anxious fear, which none can understand but those who have felt it. This was my case, and my imagination would sometimes paint a thousand instances which _might_ draw my soul down to earth. And this fear (though it never made me wish any thing but what was the will of God) would bring the tears to my eyes, and cause an uneasiness, which doubtless proceeded from want of faith. But that God whose mercies are renewed every morning, soon delivered me from those fears, and calm peace, perfect resignation and watchfulness succeeded. And for this fortnight past, though I have been in continual uncertainty, whether I should continue in the condition I am thought to be in or not, my mind by the all-sufficient grace of God has been so equally kept, that I have not had the least wish or choice of my own, but have been equally pleased with whatever seemed to be the leadings of Providence concerning me. And you cannot think, what a work of annihilation this uncertainty has been the means of carrying on in my soul, which I see plainly in the nature of things could not so well have been effected by any other. I never can be enough thankful for the unspeakable mercies of God to so unworthy a creature. My will has been brought into deadness, which I, even a _few months_ ago, should have thought almost impossible; and I see, and have some foretastes of that state which is called the pure and disinterested love of God, in a manner I cannot express.