'Saturday, 5.45 P.M.

'My dearest Father,--I must write my last letter as a layman to you.
I can't tell you the hundredth part of the thoughts that have been
passing through my mind this week. There has been no return of the
excitement that I experienced last Sunday and Monday, and I have been
very happy and well.

'To-day my eyes are not comfortable, from I know not what cause, but
as all the work for them is over, it does not matter so much. I am
glad to have had a quiet time for reflection. Indeed, I do not
enough realise my great unworthiness and sinfulness, and the awful
nature of the work I am undertaking. I pray God very earnestly for
the great grace of humility, which I so sadly need: and for a spirit
of earnest prayer, that I may be preserved from putting trust in
myself, and may know and forget myself in my office and work. I
never could be fit for such work, I know that, and yet I am very
thankful that the time for it has come. I do not feel excited, yet I
am somewhat nervous because it requires an effort to meditate
steadily. I have thought so much of my early life, of dearest Mamma.
What a snare it seems, so full of transitory earthly plans and
pursuits; such a want of earnestness of purpose and steady
performance of duty! God grant my life as a clergyman may be more
innocent to myself, and more useful to others! Tell dear Joan the
gown came this morning. My kind love to her, Fan, and Jem.

'Ever, my dearest Father,

'Your affectionate and dutiful Son,