Syria at present is in a very unsettled state. The Drewzes and Catholics are fighting almost constantly. They sometimes kill hundreds and hundreds of a day. In some sections it is not unfrequent that the traveller meets some dozen or twenty men by the way-side without heads, in a day. In a letter from Bavaria, I stated that hostilities had recommenced between the Turks and Egyptians; I took the statement from a German paper, but it was a mistake. The hostilities were between the lesser tribes in Syria. The American missionaries at Beyrout and Mount Lebanon have received official notice through Commodore Porter, our minister at Constantinople, from the Grand Sultan, that hereafter they can have no redress by law for any violence, outrage, or cruelty, that may be practiced upon them by the people; and advises them to leave the country. This course is approved of by Commodore Porter. I read the correspondence between him and Mr. Chassan, our consul at Beyrout; but all is going on in the providence of God. Syria and Palestine must ferment and ferment, work and work, until they work into the hands of Abraham's children to whom they rightly belong; and may the God of their fathers bless the hand that aids their cause. I must now begin to think of coming to a close. I have nearly three weeks yet to remain in quarantine. The time seems long; yet I endeavour not to let it run to waste. When our ship shall have obtained her prattique, I shall proceed, if the Lord will, directly to Germany over the Alps, and try to light up a fire there. Will you give me your prayers that God may bless my exertions, and that I may be enabled to conduct myself with that dignity and propriety in all things which become a man of God, and which the purity and virtue of the cause I advocate, so justly merits; and further, that in my great weakness celestial strength may appear. My kind respects to the presidency of the church, and a happy new year to all absent and enquiring friends. With the most kind and tender feelings towards you, and with a heart that will burst with blessings on your heads when your faces I behold, allow your _unworthy_ brother in Christ to close by the following lines which he offers you as a farewell token until Providence shall permit us again to meet: Where the sun leaves his last golden ray, Far over the sea's swelling tide, Will friends, dear and true, for me pray, That I in the Lord may abide? Though distance and time do us part, And scenes new and strange roll between, Your memory is dear to my heart, And friendship's bright star gleams the same. In the west, let its ray pour a light On the circle of Zion's true sons, To greet them with joy in the sight Of Him who has said we are one. To share in the spoils of my love, Her daughters, though last, are not least; For surely, 'twas blest from above Which graced the end of the feast. ORSON HYDE. * * * * DEAR BROTHER PRATT,