How far ought these circumstances to weigh with me? I confess, they make me hesitate to give you a decided answer, which else I should do, with all my heart, in the affirmative.

The last letter which I received from him, was dated September. In this letter, he expresses himself with his accustomed affection, and unbosoms to me all his anxieties. Part of it, as well as of the last letter, I am obliged to withhold, from motives of delicacy, though it relates to his chief difficulty in accomplishing the acquiescence of his parents in his leaving this country.

Dysart House, September, 1826. My very dear Sir;

I know, that of late, the fatigues and anxieties of public business, must have pressed on you with more than ordinary severity; and when at home, a few days ago, I heard that in addition to this, you had been visited with bodily distress. In these circumstances, it may seem presumptuous in me to encroach on your time and attention, but I trust you will forgive me. Though circumstances have separated both of us from the place where I was wont to look up to you as my pastor, where our family regarded you as one of their most intimate and most highly valued friends; yet, I cannot help feeling, as if these close and endearing relations subsisted between us still. When, in perplexity, how to act, my mind involuntary turns to you as the person most fit to direct me; and when any affliction distresses our family, I still seem to feel that we have a claim upon your sympathy, even though I know that you are sur

rounded by so many who have now stronger claims upon your affection and your friendship. It may be wrong to feel thus; but if so, I must just repeat it. You will forgive me.

When I wrote last to you, I had the intention of offering myself to the London Missionary Society this summer. The only impediment, was the opposition of my friends. I had already refused a good situation, without consulting my father. He was rather displeased. On the offer of a second, I thought it right to submit to his decision. His letter, desiring me to accept, and your answer to my last letter, came by the same post. I was a good deal perplexed; but at last, against my own inclination, I submitted to parental authority. I thought this acquiescence might reconcile my parents to my ultimate design, which I still kept steadily in view. In this I am disappointed. They seem to have expected, that time, and new scenes of life, would efface the impression. On a visit home, last week, I found their opposition to my leaving this country more determined than before.

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Mr.

I will never cease to hope, I will never cease to pray. These are calamities, which my remaining in this country cannot alleviate, and yet they unnerve all my fortitude in the view of parting. Tell me how far you think this trying dispensation of providence ought to weigh with me. Adam writes me, that he thinks of offering himself to the London Society, with a view to a station at Madras. I know the directors do not give the young men their choice as to the station they are to occupy; and, indeed, it would be wrong to do so. I trust I am ready to go to any part of the world, where they think I may

be most useful; but still I feel that the presence of a tried and beloved friend would be a mighty stimulus to exertion, and a great solace in trials. He talks of going in two years. Did the directors agree to such an arrangement,--when would I require to come before them? In my present situation, I have only one pupil, so that I have a few hours for study. I have applied pretty diligently to Hebrew this summer; and have studied carefully, Paley's Evidences, Dr. Pye Smith's Scripture Testimony, Bishop Lowth's Prelections. I go on with Mosheim's Church History, and Horne's Introduction. We are, at present, at the Earl of Rosslyn's house here, where we shall continue three or four weeks. I cannot tell what my plans are at present. I am rite confused. I think I shall stay over the winter, at all events, in this family, unless the Lord, by the indications of his providence, seem to point out some other path. I and Lord Rosslyn exceedingly kind and attentive. I trust, the peep I have had at the pomp and luxury of the world, have tended to convince me more decidedly, that it is an unsatisfying portion. My pupil gives me great satisfaction. He has a very good mind. He is only ten years of age, and yet enters with delight into the study of astronomy;-philology he is also very fond of. I have conscientiously taught him the doctrines of the gospel. His judgment approves them; and sometimes I have thought his heart was impressed. If the Lord choose him for himself, he may be eminently useful in the church. His talents, and family connexions, open the way to very high stations.

He refers, in this letter, to his reading, of his

among his papers.

Besides his attention to the Hebrew and Greek Scriptures, and his classical reading, he abridged during this summer and autumn, with great accuracy, Horne's Introduction, Paley's Evidences, Dr. Smith's Scripture Testimony to the Messiah, and Mosheim's Ecclesiastical History. That he was not inattentive to other things, is very evident from his letters.

In consequence of this letter, I wrote to his father some time after, urging the necessity of no longer opposing a desire which seemed so evidently of God, and pointing out the consequences of persisting in resistance. I believe this, and other things, contributed to produce the desired effect; and John was satisfied, that when the time came, he would no longer meet with opposition from his parents. It is gratifying to me to be able to state this; as it must be a source of satisfaction to them now, to reflect that their resistance could have had little or no influence on the cause of his early removal. My answer to this letter, which was delayed in expectation of hearing from his father, he never received. It was written the received in Glas

day on which he died, and was gow on the day of his funeral.

A few more let

ters and papers will conduct us towards the closing scene.

Dysart House, September 28, 1826.

My very dear Friend;

I am covered with shame on reading your very kind letter, and especially on observing its date. I will make no apology, but simply beg you to forgive me, and not to attribute my carelessness to want of affection, or even to forgetfulness of

one of my dearest friends, and most highly esteemed companions.

Your letter was, indeed, a refreshing one. Affliction is a blessing; and, I doubt not, that on looking back on the late trying dispensation of the Lord towards your family, that you feel it good for you to have been afflicted. Your letter found me grovelling in the dust,-wrapt in selfishness,―and sunk in depression; brooding over my own vileness, and mourning the loss of privileges I had never deserved; yet, regardless of the inestimable blessings which still remained. Such a letter was quite the medicine for my distempered mind. I forgot myself in sympathizing with your affliction; and the deep impression which a near view of eternity had made upon you, was, I trust, in some degree communicated to myself. O how difficult to keep up a rational conviction of the relation between time and eternity! How does our practice give the lie to our profession!

29th. I have been here a fortnight, and am likely to remain a fortnight longer, for which I am truly thankful. Here I am surrounded with christian friends; and the value of such a privilege I feel more than ever, since I have had some experience of its loss. There is, indeed, an inexpressible heaviness in having no one like-minded. I have temptations here too, but I trust the Lord will uphold me. I am a good deal alone; but I must mingle a little with the society here; and to one accustomed to move in the humblest walks of life, the drawing room of a peer is not the place to learn humility, or to be more deeply impressed with the realities of an unseen world. Yet, I trust, this peep at the luxury and pomp of the