before five, and then spend an hour and a half in devotional reading and exercises. And it is then that I have sweeter meditations of heaven than ever before.

Since I have pursued this course, I find a constant increase in the depth and uniformity of my religious feelings. I trust that I do habitually live near to God, and take delight in approaching to him, and in meditating on the rest he has proIvided for his children in heaven.

We do not love Him enough-not half enough for our own happiness, for "praise is pleasant." I have often thought of the expression of Evarts, when near death. After a season of apparent stupor, he suddenly broke out: "Oh praise him, praise him, praise him in strains that ye know not of!" It seemed as if his mind was so filled with conceptions of the infinite perfections of God, that no language could express the intensity of his emotions.

Batavia.

DURING the last week, I made an effort to resuscitate our Temperance Society, which had fallen to decay, and to reorganize it on the principle of entire abstinence. We had a spirited meeting, and took forty-five names to commence with. This is an encouraging indication. But I cannot

tell you how distressed I have been at the low state of religion, and the prevalence of vice here. But I daily pray for the salvation of God; and I cannot but hope, before long, to see the influences of his blessed Spirit with us. My own feelings have been coming more and more into that state which I desire, and I hope God is preparing to bless my labors.

I was preaching this afternoon to those without religion, and after presenting the most solemn truths, they seemed so perfectly indifferent and listless, that I could not endure it any longer; I stopped, and could not refrain from tears. I besought them to listen and attend to their own condition and danger. There is nothing like the power of sympathy, and I found the old Latin maxim of oratory correct: "If you wish me to weep, you must weep yourself." This sudden burst of feeling ran like electricity over the house. Almost every head fell, and all my church were in tears with me. It refreshed my soul to find that the fountains of feeling were not entirely dried up. Yet when I came home, I could only go, in the anguish of my heart, and entreat God to work here for his own cause, for I can do nothing. Oh who can endure to labor in vain, and spend his strength for naught! Thanks be to God, he has said that his word shall not return unto him void. And yet it may be a savor of death unto death" to many souls; and "who is sufficient for these things?"

Batavia.

I HAVE the last week been reading Wilberforce's Practical View. I do admire the work and the man. The style I think perfect for an address on the subject of practical religion; so free from technical phrases, so easy and flowing, so classical and chaste, so clear, discriminating, and copious without diffuseness. It is fitted to interest by the fascination of its style, as well as to insinuate itself into the heart by its affectionate and sincere spirit. I could not but wish that our friends B. and S. could be persuaded to read it, for it discriminates so clearly between external correctness and amiability of temper, and real vital piety. Can you not induce them to read it? You had better make the effort, for none can tell the result.

Under the influence of this work, I prepared a sermon from the text, "Be not conformed to this world," which was as searching and close as any I have preached this long time. I feel sad when I look over this town and see the coldness of Christians in it. With none to co-operate with me, and with great temptations from my own heart, I feel almost disheartened; and yet I must stand as a watchman, and be responsible for the souls of my people. And my example, too, must be holy. If I do not show my own heart to be fixed on heavenly things, how can I expect my people's to be? I believe God has placed me here, where I am obliged

to stand so much alone, that I may be taught not to trust in man. I pray that I may learn the lesson

patiently.

Batavia.

It is a dark but glorious evening; the God of Glory thundereth, and his lightnings enlighten the world! His cloudy pavilion is spread over the heavens, and his awful voice is full of majesty! Oh how I love to see the lightnings streaming down the darkened heavens, and to hear the thunder rolling and echoing in the clouds ! Never do I feel that God is so near, as at such a time, and when a peal of thunder breaks forth, it sends a thrill of exquisite joy through my whole system.

A hot, sultry, wearisome day has been succeeded by cool air and refreshing showers. Thus he watereth the earth from his chambers, and oh that my thirsty soul may be refreshed from the fountains of his love!

Batavia.

MANY thanks for your letter, and the delightful theme it presented. The rest of heaven! Oh

what a source of joy and peace in this world of sin and sorrow! To think that such worthless sinners may be raised to glory and honor and immortality, and be made pure and holy, "without spot, or wrinkle, or any such thing," it is enough to fill the heart with joy unspeakable!

I am glad you love to dwell on this theme, and that you take pleasure in the interchange of Christian feelings. Why should we not speak of our heavenly home to each other? Do we not hope soon to be there, and enjoy it together? Are we not soon to join in its songs of praise, and enter upon its glorious employments? Are we not poor wanderers, seeking speedily to be restored to this our home? If we should chance to meet each other in a far distant land, after years of absence from our country, should we not speak of this loved land, and the friends we have left here, and of our anticipated return? And do we not omit duty, and deprive ourselves of one of the most delightful sources of enjoyment, when we neglect to speak of our heavenly home, its employments and joys? Sometimes, when I have been laboring long, and am fatigued and almost discouraged, the thought that this home is so near, this rest so soon to be enjoyed, nerves my soul to new strength and activity. Oh how true is it, that, if in this life only we have hope in Christ, " we are of all men most miserable."