to labour with them so long as the conference wishes, and think I can make myself contented; yet I desire to witness with mine own eyes the fruits of my labours.

Since I have been engaged in preaching, my religious enjoyments have been greater than before. Still I often fear lest, after having "preached to others, I myself should be a cast-away." I feel the need of more piety to make me both useful and happy. I want a more watchful and prayerful spirit; more of a spirit of meekness, charity, and self-sacrifice. I really believe, dear Elijah, that it is harder for ministers to live as they ought, than for private Christians; the former are so continually engaged in sacred things, that they are in danger of losing sight of their solemnity and importance; religion being, as it were, the business of ministers, there is danger lest they think of it as of other business pursuits. Do you not think there is some truth in this? If so, how very careful and prayerful should ministers be! I often try to preach to myself the same sermons I preach to others, and I feel that they produce some good effect upon me. O! pray for me, that I may be instrumental in my own salvation, and in that of many immortal souls.

What a blessed thing it is, my dear Elijah, that we are travelling from earth to glory; the very thought is quite sufficient to buoy us above all trials and afflictions. O! I bless God from my very soul when I reflect, that not only those of our family who have made the cold grave their bed have made heaven their home, but also that those of us who still survive are trying to bend our steps to that blissful land. And I expect we shall all reach it in safety, and there "rejoice, no wand'rer lost, a family in heaven." O! how happy an eternity shall we there spend together! What joy is there in this life if the hope of eternal life be blasted? Why weave the sacred ties of friendship, if death must for ever sever them? Why bind around our

hearts the strong cords of love, if the cords must so soon be broken, and loved ones part for ever? O! it is the thought of immortality that renders the sweets of friendship so fascinating, the ties of affection so endearing. The Christian looks on his friend, the partaker of "like precious faith," and exultingly exclaims, "That which loves now will love for ever." I rejoice that so many of our friends are Christians, but I want them all to become such; let us both labour and pray that they may be, and then we'll be joyful in the hope of meeting them all in glory. O! I have of late felt a very strong desire for the conversion of all our friends, knowing how much religion would increase even their present happiness. How much reason have we to bless God for our early conversion!

TO MISS MARY ANN MUDGE, LYNN.

Randolph, October 2, 1835.

Your remarks upon religion were very good, nor were they in the least "tinctured with melancholy." I rejoice that you are blessed with deep religious feelings which influence your daily conduct, and that your principal happiness results from piety of heart. Never think, my dear Mary Ann, that you shall weary me by conversing on religious subjects, or that I shall ever grow tired in reading details of your religious experience. The most valuable knowledge you can ever communicate is respecting your growth in grace; the best news you can tell is respecting your religious enjoyments. O that your whole family were partakers of the grace of life! I have of late felt a wonderful desire for the conversion of your father and brother, and have tried to breathe forth that desire in prayer. I love them too well to behold them with. indifference, living without the comforts of religion. O that they would be persuaded to "taste and see that the Lord

is good!" Mary Ann, can you not summon up resolution enough to converse with them on the subject? Methinks they would not turn a deaf ear to your affectionate entreaties. They must by and by part with us, and we must part with them, to meet not again "till the heavens be no more;" and what can render that parting scene tolerable but the fond anticipation of meeting, to part not again, in glory? And can we now cherish this anticipation, and derive from it those pleasures which it always adds even to present enjoyments? The ties which bind us to them are strong, and must the grave for ever sever them? O! tell me they are Christians, and I forbear all further inquiries. Let me but know they love the Saviour, and I will rest in hope of greeting them with joy on the shores of eternal deliverance. But till then this poor heart cannot cease from anxiety. O! my dear Mary Ann, can it be indeed true that we are Christians? Shall we 66 wear the white robe and the victor's crown?" Shall we be the associates of angels, the companions of cherubim? Shall we be like the Saviour? like him in purity, in happiness, in glory? O my poor soul, how canst thou bear the thought of so much felicity? Why are not all thy faculties destroyed, when thou reflectest on this "far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory?" Why, O! why dost thou not incessantly break forth into rapturous songs of praise?

TO THE SAME.

Salem, December 31, 1835. How painful, my dear Mary Ann, to reflect that this is the last day of the present year! When a few more moments shall have passed away, the shades of evening will gather in around us, and form the pall in which the old year will be wrapped in quiet and eternal repose. Few will behold its burial except the silent moon and twinkling

stars, and none will sing the mournful dirge or perform the funeral rites.

O! how much of suffering has it witnessed in its silent course; how many tears has it beheld, how many sighs and groans has it heard! It has gazed on earthquake shocks, on battle fields and pestilential plains; on helpless orphans, disconsolate husbands, and mourning widows. It has seen rent asunder the dearest ties which bind the heart to earth, and been an unmoved spectator of the destruction of life's fairest hopes and sweetest joys.

How much of joy has it beheld in new-made ties of friendship, in hearts lately warmed by affection's kindling beams, in the endearments of the social circle, and in the never-failing delights of pure religion! Familiar hath it been with every form of happiness and wo. And O! on how many immortal souls has it seen stamped their endless destiny! How many has it seen carried by angels' wings to heaven, how many dragged by demons to hell! Has one year witnessed all this? Ay, more; language fails to describe, and the soul to conceive, the half of one short year's events. What varied emotions, then, must fill the soul when pausing to look back upon it!

Let us review our own lives during the past year. O! how much cause for joy and gratitude, for sorrow and repentance. How unfaithful have we been in the cause of God, and how little have we grown in grace! I trust that you have not been so negligent as your Wells; but, at the best, how long and sad is the account of our unfaithfulness!

How full of mercy and loving kindness has the year been to us! No wasting disease has enfeebled our bodies We have not been called to follow our dear friends to the grave, nor to weep over their despairing death-beds. Though we have not rejoiced over the conversion of some of them, we have not despaired of it, nor have we sat

down to mourn in hopeless grief. Poverty, with its evils, has been to us a stranger; insanity, with its despondency and frenzy, has been far from us. The endearments of social life have clustered around us, and affection has shed its mild radiance upon our path. Religion has restrained us from outbreaking sins and spread joy through our souls, and bright visions of heaven have cheered us amid all the trials and temptations to which we have been exposed. Surely goodness and mercy have followed us all the days of our life. Why, my poor soul, art thou not "lost in wonder, love, and praise?" O! let us, my dear Mary Ann, lift up our united thanksgiving to God, and let it be "mingled with penitent tears." "Tis meet we should close the dying year with some act of pious devotion, and bid it adieu with holy joy and chastened grief.

But the coming year! What changes will it work in us and in our families? O fearful question! O awful answer! "Thou knowest not what a day may bring forth." Cease, vain speculations, hush, idle imaginings! Let us not seek to draw aside the veil which conceals futurity, but calmly wait till all things shall be present. Let us hope for the best, and prepare for the worst. Let us be entirely devoted to God, and then "whether we live, or die, we are the Lord's." Then all will be well, whether "storm or sunshine be our earthly lot, bitter or sweet our cup." We may, however, consistently wish that the coming year may be as exempt from sorrow, and as full of joy, as the past has been. "Take from my lips," then, my dear Mary Ann, "the wish of happy years." Enjoy for years to come all the sweets of competency, and all the blessings of health; all the delights of social life, all the joys of ardent, reciprocated, constant affection, and all the raptures of pure religion. Enjoy an approving conscience, a reconciled God, and the pleasure of doing good. Enjoy that happiness which would result from