“Those who contend for place and high degree, Are not his sons, but those of Zebedee.”
Whisper, then, in my stead, in some auspicious moment, to this endeared individual what I am so desirous to convey; but mind that you whisper it in tenderness and love.
But my sheet is filling up so fast, that I have hardly left myself room to assure you of the interest which I still, and I hope, ever shall feel in all the concerns—personal, domestic, and ministerial—of my endeared brother. His opportunities of leisure are so few, that I must not often expect any direct communications, but whenever conveyed they will be most grateful. Accept then yourself, and convey to our dear mother, Eliza, and all your beloved family, the sincere and warmest love of your ever attached brother.
Thornhill, near York, Upper Canada, August 18, 1833.
WE were much indebted to you for your last most kind and welcome letter: most joyfully was it received and opened, and with peculiar interest were its instructive and interesting contents perused. So long and so closely written a letter, however, must, we fear, have been sadly trying to your eyes; and we fear this the more, as we learn from Miss E. Ford, that you have recently been experiencing somewhat of failure in your sight. We know how peculiarly trying this circumstance must prove to one, whose enjoyments have been so principally derived from this source; and we tremble at the least intimation of its probable diminution. But we would still say in the language of the man of God, “But the Lord is able to give you much more than this.” And, from what you have experienced under past seasons of privation and discipline, you may still expect that, should God be pleased to try you yet further in this most painful visitation, he will not withhold from you that superabounding grace, which in its blessed issue of spiritual and eternal good is more than tantamount to the most valued of our other joys. My endeared mother, as you well know, has been called to the acuteness of the same trial with yourself; but, O, how sweetly does she bear it—so cheerfully resigned—so peacefully yielding all to the wise and loving discipline of her kind and compassionate Lord, saying, in the language of her favourite hymn:—