and, by partaking our happiness, does not diminish but multiplies our joy. I have no one here who is like-minded with me; and in these circumstances, my spirits sometimes sink very low. I know this is very sinful, for God is here, and the access to his throne is here as free as in the bosom of Christian society. This, indeed, is my only enjoyment; "That were a grief I could not bear, Sometimes, when I enjoy a nearer approach to God, I can, indeed, feel that the loss of Christian fellowship is more than made up;-but, in seasons of coldness and indifference, there is none to stir me up, and nothing that can give comfort. But it is well that it is so. It is well to be compelled to have continual recourse to a throne of grace. How sinful for a Christian ever to think of despondency, with such glorious hopes, and such precious promises to encourage him. But sin will damp the most glorious hopes,-and unbelief will render unavailing the most precious promises. Perfect happiness can be attained only by the attainment of perfect holiness,-while sin wars in the members, there must be a want of enjoyment. I feel that it is sin which separates between my soul and God. I am sometimes discouraged to think that I have now seemed to myself a believer for a considerable time, and yet I look in vain for a progress in holiness and likeness to God. If I have advanced at all, it has been in the discovery of my own utter worthlessness. I do feel more than ever, that I am poor, and miserable, and would discover to me more abundantly the riches of His grace, and let me feel more the presence of that Comforter, who is assuredly with me, if I have not received the grace of God in vain. I have few opportunities of usefulness here;and this is sometimes a cause of sinful discouragement. I attempted a meeting, which failed, owing to the hurry of the harvest. I have visited. most of the cottages near, and distributed tracts, in which employment my little pupil is very willing to assist me. I have discovered one house of mourning, a family that has been much afflicted; -there is a willingness to listen to divine things. I went with a person last sabbath, who preached on an outside stair, in one of the lanes of Glasgow. I confess that it was not without trembling, and some degree of reluctance, that I consented to conclude the service by prayer. The people who gathered around us, I am convinced, cannot be reached in any other way. O to be willing to be counted the off-scourings of all things for Christ's sake. I have seen Mr. Burnet, and have promised to take Ireland into consideration, in making up my mind as to the course of life by which I can most glorify God. I still feel the claims of the Heathen to be the strongest, although some very highly respected friends here, think I might be more useful at home. I trust my only wish is, to know the will of God. The following extracts are from various letters, written to his friend, William Scott Moncreiff, in the months of July and August. From what you say of your friend, I suppose he has made an engagement with Mr. G―, I trust it will turn out for the mutual benefit of himself and his pupils;-indeed, why should I say, I trust?-(which is always an expression of some degree of distrust,)-we know that all things work together for the good of them that love God. I rejoice to hear of your intended return to St. Andrew's; you must stir up the embers of the flame that has been kindled. There is much to be done, my dear friend, every where; and I think every Christian, however obscure, must feel in some degree with the Apostle, that there is a woe pronounced against him, if he publish not the joyful intelligence with which Heaven has favored him. It is well that death should sometimes deprive us of a familiar acquaintance, or a dear relative; for the death of thousands whom we have never seen, or at least never known, has been scarcely sufficient to prove to us, that we may die; and all the warnings we receive fail of practically convincing us that we must. How difficult to conceive the true ratio of the finite to the infinite, of this brief life to that never-ending existence into which it ushers us! And, if difficult to conceive,-ob, how difficult practically to feel it! There is something delightfully pleasing in the "little while" (orov oσov) of the New Testament, if we are waiting for our Lord; but, if careless and indifferent, or afraid of his coming, how alarming the idea, that "the Lord is at hand!" Let us gird up the loins of our mind. Let us devote all our time to the service of our Master;--"now is our salvation nearer, than when we believed." Our friends are parting from us on every side, and we are scattered over the wide world. It is all well; "this is not your rest." Let our hopes rest on nothing short of Heaven. It is true, that the σου communion of the saints on earth resembles the intercourse of just men made perfect; but, Oh, what a resemblance!-How unlike these grovelling souls to the spirits around the throne!--And these corruptible bodies, how vile compared with those · immortal forms, which shall be fashioned like the glorious body of the Omnipotent Sovereign of the Universe! And even our communion with God here, how distant, how much interrupted by sin, or obscured by unbelief! How few, and far between the visits of our Saviour's love, when we think of that place where they "cease not day and night to praise him;" and where they have no need of a temple, for "the Lord God and the Lamb are the temple thereof."-Let us hold fast our confidence, and run with patience, looking unto Jesus; and, ere a few more years have rolled over us, we shall join that "multitude which no man can number." You could not have sent me any thing more appropriate than Stewart's Discourses on the Advent. You know me too well to need to be told how I have felt when separated from you all, and without a single individual to whom I could speak with freedom on the subjects nearest my heart. Mr. Stewart's book I have found a delightful companion. If I can guess at his peculiar views of the Redeemer's advent, through the veil of modesty which almost conceals them, I am scarcely prepared entirely to agree with him. I have been so accustomed to dwell with pleasure on those brighter times to which prophecy seems to point, that the bare possibility that the Lord may come to-day, or to-morrow, seems to blast all these delightful hopes; "a multitude, which no man can number, must first be gathered out of every tribe, and kindred." Still, as Mr. Stewart ob serves, this may be very soon accomplished. Oh, that we may be looking for, and hastening on, the coming of the day of God! I have a great dislike to writing letters, but nothing gives me greater pleasure than to receive them. I guess that this is pretty nearly the case with some of my friends, and therefore a consideration of the golden rule should lead me to like the task of letter-writing better. I am most particularly anxious to hear from my friends, since I came to this solitary place; and a friendly letter, always pleasing, will now be doubly sweet. The words, and the looks of friendship I cannot now enjoy. Its written communications are all that are left to me. How unthankful we are ever apt to he! What a privilege is it that we can convey our thoughts to an absent friend! Without the noble invention of writing, a few miles would separate us more effectually from our friends, than half the circumference of the globe can, possessed as we are of this wonderful medium of intercourse. But, after all, epistolary correspondence is but a poor substitute for personal intercourse. We have symbols to express our thoughts, but we have no written characters that can express that peculiar vividness of impression, or tenderness of feeling which is conveyed by the eye, the features, and the very tone of voice of a present friend. The words of a letter are in some respects dead, like the characters that represent them, while the words of the friend with whom we converse, and even the ideas, which these words express, seem to borrow life and loveliness from the lips and countenance that give them utterance. I have been writing several other letters to-day; and I believe that, in |