_4th Mo. 3d_, 1837. Almost in despair of ever
being what I ought to be. I feel so poor in every
good thing, and so amazingly rich in every bad thing.
Still this little spark of love that remains, seems to
hope in Him "who will not quench the smoking flax."

_6th Mo. 4th_. I have cause to be very watchful.
Satan is at hand: temptations abound, and it is no
easy matter to keep in the right way. To have my
affections crucified to the world is my desire. The
way to the celestial city, is not only through the
valley of humiliation, but also through the valley
of the shadow of death.

_6th Mo. 11th_. Many things have lately occurred
which have flattered my vanity. I have received
compliments and commendations: old Adam likes
these things, and persuades me that I am somebody,
and may well feel complacency. How needful is
watchfulness! may the true light discover to me the
snares that are set on every side.

_7th Mo. 2d_. May I be enabled to give myself up
as clay into the Potter's hand, without mixing up
any thing of my own contriving; and in the silence
of all flesh, wait to have the true seed watered and
nourished by heavenly dew.

_8th Mo. 2d_. I feel humbled at the sight of my
many backslidings and deficiencies. Oh, may He,