and upon the largest scale. I believe it is. Experience has settled that question. Methodism has been fairly at work in the United States only since the close of the war for independence say sixty years. It began with nothing-without wealth, or learning, or colleges, or churches, or ministers, and with the whole world, in and out of the Church, its enemies. In a period commonly assigned to the career of two generations of men, it has outstripped all the established denominations-has diffused piety throughout our vast wilds, and done much to purify all the other Churches. We must conclude, also, that it has saved more souls now in heaven than any other Church during the same period. And it is now as vigorous, as diffusive, as pure, as prosperous—I mean, upon the whole-as ever, and increasingly intelligent and respectable. I think that I here claim nothing which can reasonably be denied to us, and I have claimed nearly every thing that belongs to the Gospel.

It is a small matter, in this broad view of the subject, that we are somewhat deficient in the graceful or the convenient. The people we have raised up are as pious as those of other sects, and they are much more numerous. The main objects of Christ's death are thus completely satisfied. He came to seek and save the lost, which has been and is our work. The next important question with me is, to what is this unparalleled success owing? To our doctrines? In some measure, I think, but not chiefly. Others now preach them substantially, and have done so for twenty years, and yet we maintain all our relative superiority. It is not to our learning, nor, I think, to the superior zeal of our ministers, so much as to other causes. I ascribe our great success, under God's blessing, to our itinerant system. There is no other important feature in our system which is peculiar to it. This principle of rotation has carried the Gospel every where-has, by God's blessing, made the weak strong-has been instead of learning to our untrained young men has been the bond of a

comprehensive unity which gives strength to the feeble, and secures a favorable reception and ministerial influence to those who would otherwise be nothing. With the itineracy,

our ministry has outstripped all others. They have saved more souls, which is their proper work.

Now I apply all these considerations to every proposal that impairs the itinerant principle. I fear to modify it so as to suit towns. I do not deny that partial good would be secured; but I fear general evil. Such changes would destroy the unity and symmetry of the system. They would probably render it impracticable. Men would not make the sacrifices they now do, if the system was made to operate partially. Perhaps Methodism was designed for the world -not the city so much. Better to give up the towns to oth-77 ers entirely, than to hazard changes that would diminish its efficiency to save souls. Strong, rich, intelligent congregations are to be preferred to others as a means, not as an end. And, as a means, I admit their importance; but if we can be strong in cities only by impairing our means of general usefulness, we had better give them up to others who are likely to provide for them, and who are now essentially what we should be with the modifications proposed. We ought to have no ambition for any thing but to save as many souls as This ought to decide every question of reform, or change, or improvement. This is the will of Christ concerning us. I try to form all my opinions on church matters with an eye single to this end. The Church that saves the most souls, in proportion to its means, is the truest Church, no matter in what else it may be deficient. Many other things are desirable, and even necessary, but they are collateral and auxiliary, as they are of very secondary worth.

we can.

I trust you will take my views in the kind spirit that dictated this frank, unstudied expression of them. I believe your opinions on these practical questions are likely to be important to do good or evil, and I am glad to communicate free

ly with intelligent and ingenuous minds.

to adopt the soundest principles, and to good.

May God lead you effect the greatest

I mean to come down to the Conference, when it will give me great pleasure to see you.

LXXIII. TO JOHN M. FLOURNOY, ESQ.

(On the death of his father).

West Poultney, June 25th, 1842. I received your letter four days since, containing the painful intelligence of your excellent father's death. After all that I had heard of the unfavorable state of his health for several months past, I was unprepared for this result, and was taken by surprise. Indeed, I had not supposed that the bodily complaints of your father were of a character to excite much apprehension could his mind be restored to tranquillity, and for this favorable change I continued to hope and pray. God has wisely and mercifully ordered the event otherwise, and has seen fit to take his afflicted servant to a better rest. We should have wished for his restoration to that happy, calm, religious frame which has characterized the man and his piety for so long a period, and could have resigned him the more willingly after such a change; but God saw how unimportant it was to him, who was chiefly interested to wait for any such partial alleviation, and took him at once out of his painful, trying condition, into one of heavenly vision and complete bliss. It was a gracious dispensation to the sufferer, and we ought to seek for resignation-cheerful, perfect resignation to the Divine will.

Your dear, honored father has been to me a faithful, longtried friend. Frequently, during the period of our acquaintance, have I had occasion to regard his friendship one of the most valuable of the earthly blessings accorded to me by Divine goodness. The unreserved confidence which I have always been enabled to repose in his discretion, as well as in

his perfect uprightness, and deep, enlightened piety, has made me quite easy with regard to my worldly interests during a series of years of utter prostration and helplessness, in which care and anxiety would have proved highly injurious—probably fatal to me. He has well understood my situation, and in all his letters to me and my dear departed wife, has taken the most generous pains to guard my mind against anxiety, and to lighten my sense of obligation. And now that God has exalted my dear, honored friend to his own right hand, it becomes me to submit without complaint to a bereavement which I am prepared to feel only less than his own family circle. I weep with you all. I pray that you may be supported by the divine consolations of the Gospel. I am thankful that your excellent mother knows so well the worth of this blessed resource, and how to avail herself of it. May the mighty God of Jacob-the widow's God-support her in this her hour of need. I sympathize with her-with the solitary, sad hours that are before her-more even than with the bereaved children. Yet Christ will give her light—the daystar from on high will shine upon her, and she shall be comforted.

What, my dear friend-for such my love to your father, as well as all I have known of you, strongly induce me to regard you—what shall I say to you? Pardon me for obeying the strong impulse of my feelings. I am under the impression that you have hitherto neglected to take God for your portion. I could not but rejoice at the tone of your letter, and even hope that you were no stranger to the Spirit of Christ. I want to urge you to make this affliction the occasion of taking the decisive step, and of making a full, avowed consecration of your life to the Savior. This is certainly God's will concerning you; it may be one part of his design in visiting your large family with mourning. May you hear and obey his voice.

The following touching account of the serene and joyful departure of Mrs. Andrew is taken from a long and deeply interesting letter, written by Bishop Andrew to Dr. Olin :

LXXIV.

Oxford, April 26th, 1842. On each day we thought her dying, and as often the work of blessing us and encouraging us was repeated. On one of these occasions, when panting for breath, she had, for some moments, scarcely been able to articulate. We had just risen from our knees, after commending her to God, she said, “I want to tell you how I feel. I feel like a little child that is just beginning to walk, and it is passing along a road that is muddy and rocky, but the father has it by the hand and is leading it. So it is with me; I am passing through the dark valley, and the way is rough, and my feet are bruised, but I know my Father has me by the hand, and though he leads me a step at a time, yet he will soon bring me safely over." She seemed perfectly lost in astonishment that God should have so abundantly blessed such an imperfect, unprofitable, and unfaithful creature as she was. This was the theme of her exultation-the power, fullness, and freeness of the grace of God. "Much as I have suffered," said she, "I would not that there should have been one stroke or one pain less. I am not tired of the world-there is no reason why I should wish to leave it. I have a kind husband and sweet children, and as kind friends as ever woman was blessed with; yet I long to depart and be with my Savior. The battle is fought and the victory won, and now, Lord, lettest thou thy servant depart in peace." She charged me to be faithful, and devote myself to the great work of publishing a free and a full salvation; " and now," said she, "when you all collect around my body and lay it in the grave, do not weep, but raise a song of triumph." It is a re