you went? We all unite in many good wishes and prayers

I received your letter of January 21st. I fear to obtrude upon you in your deep afflictions, though I very often am with you in spirit and in my sympathies. I am sure you have the benefit of many prayers offered by pious souls, both for the removal of your sufferings, and that grace may be given you to bear them aright. After all, however, that sympathy or even grace can do, the burden of such trials as you are called to endure must be heavy indeed, and it is only in the end, when their fruits appear, that they cease to be grievous, and become even joyous. There is a tendency in these overwhelming sorrows that is always good—a tendency to drive us to God, which almost reconciles me to them; and I have seldom ever enjoyed more than when, unable to rise in faith, I have sunk in self-despair-unable to take hold on God, I have fallen upon him in sheer helplessness. Such a frame sometimes enables me to claim God as my heavenly Father with peculiar effect, and to enter into a special communion with Christ, as one who may be touched with the feeling of our infirmities. Pardon me; I know to whom I speak, and I am not to admonish or teach. You will not judge me so harshly as to think so, but I spontaneously fall into such a train. I am acquainted with grief. I can not look upon scenes that are passed but with agony of spirit. Time has broken their tyrannizing power over me, but it has not healed the wound in my spirit; and when I meet with a sufferer, such as God is making you, I find myself telling my own tale of sorrow, the particulars of which come up before me, mingled, I know not how, with religious feelings. I weep and rejoice together. My heart is at once broken

and soothed—the rod and the love of God-his severity and his compassion-rise in review before me, and divide the present, as they seem to have done the past, between them. In such a state of feeling I find an apology for speaking of myself, which, I fear, my most indulgent friends can not admit without some effort. I still indulge a hope that you will be spared the bitter cup which seems to be preparing for you, and that you will long be happy in the unbroken family circle where you have hitherto gathered so rich a harvest of quiet, heart-felt enjoyments. I hope you do not allow yourself to be anxious about the Church and the services which you are prevented from rendering. I am sure there will be no feeling on this subject but one of deep sympathy and of regret for the causes which detain you from your beloved work.

I am little able to give you any information about the state of things even in the region about me-I lead a life so very retired. I hear, however, of many revivals, and am confident that our cause is decidedly advancing through this North country. Our people make vigorous efforts, often great sacrifices, to sustain preaching-such as are unknown in many parts of the work. They are building many good houses of worship-more by far than any other people, and every thing promises permanence.

My increasing strength, which is yet inconsiderable, leads me to inquire, "Lord, what wilt thou have me to do?" I want to preach above all things, but probably shall never be able. As to teaching, I both fear and rather dislike it—at least, I would prefer other work. I have had a letter from Dr. Bascom about being president of Transylvania College, upon which I threw cold water. God is my witness that I have an unfeigned desire to serve him to the utmost of my ability, how and where he may choose; so feeling, I wait and pray for direction.

LXX. TO DR. AND MRS. PALMER.

Salisbury, March 20th, 1842.

Your favor was duly received. I have deferred answering it to the present time, partly because I have been very much engaged, and partly because I would not show too much carelessness in encroaching upon your time, which I know is fully occupied in useful pursuits. Indeed, I often think that you are peculiarly fortunate in this respect-I mean in being able to devote so many hours to public and social religious engagements in addition to the performance of your professional and domestic duties. Next to the entire consecration of life to the promulgation of the Gospel in the Christian ministry, I am sure yours is the most excellent way; I think, too, it has some advantages even over the ministry, which, with one class of good men, falls into a sort of professional piety, and with another, less numerous, class into a continuous excitement, not very favorable to the calmness and pauses which are necessary for the purpose of making up our reckoning and marking our actual progress. Strong passions and unsanctified affections will often consent to merge religious excitement and zeal, and flow along in the same channel with them-even to swell their tide, when they quite refuse the processes by which the Spirit of God would purify or eradicate them; and I think that it very often happens that men greatly absorbed in the promotion of revivals and other active, exciting pursuits, find, when a season for repose and selfexamination is allowed them, that the flame which they have aided in sustaining has failed to purge away the dross, and purify the gold of their own hearts—that pride and self-will may even have grown strong in the midst of influences that have humbled many at the feet of Christ. It is, perhaps, left to a season of general declension to revive the graces and elevate the piety of the minister. He was too busy, too intensely absorbed before in building up the Redeemer's king