It is now rapidly advancing to the close of two _long_ years since I had the pleasure of mingling my voice with yours in ascribing honour and thanksgiving to that Being whose arm alone has been my support, and whose kind angel has swept the misty vapours far away which dispondency would feign cast over the star of hope, and nearly one year since I have heard ought direct from you. While in Bavaria, I saw a statement in a German paper that Brother Joseph had been apprehended and confined in prison. I knew not but that it might be so; yet I was inclined to set it down among the numerous deaths which he has suffered, the imprisonments which he has endured, and the various runaways of which he has been guilty, according to the flood of newspaper slang which has been poured forth upon a deceived public: but as time allows nothing to remain stationary, you may judge of my anxiety to hear from you, particularly when the happiness or misery of my own dear wife and little children is identified with your own. I sometimes fancy myself in your midst, in my hours of silent meditation, gazing upon a large concourse of saints. I see many, _very_ many strange faces that I never saw before; while others with whom I was familiarly acquainted, I do not see. Being anxious to know where they are, I inquire after them; but am told, with a sigh that contains no fiction, that time--that cruel and unfeeling destroyer of the human race, has borne them on his untiring wing to a long and sleepy mansion, to await the hour when the voice of the Archangel and the trumpet of God shall bid their sleeping dust arise, and come forth to receive the reward of their labours. O, ye precious souls! your debt is paid, and I cannot but embalm your memory with a tear as these lines slip from my pen.