Having a leisure morning, I most cheerfully give a few minutes to my dear friend in England. I have just been thinking, before I took my pen, how very mysterious are the workings of God's providence! Near four years ago, a party of our Ioway Indians started out on what appeared to us to be a wrong and uncalled-for expedition. We dreaded the result, and, so far as our opinion was consulted, it was given against the design, advising rather that they should stay at home, go to labour and economy, and not go to be shown as wild animals. In these notions we thought we were sustained by reason and Scripture, and were at least sincere in our views. We, however, made but little resistance, and when it was determined that they should go we submitted, did what we could for their comfort and success, gave them the parting hand, and commended them to the care of a merciful Providence. They started, spent the winter in St. Louis and New Orleans, associated with bad company, were exceedingly intemperate, and seemed to have grown much worse, which tended to confirm us in the belief of the error and impropriety of such a measure, and our hearts mourned over them. In the spring they went to the eastern part of the United States, and from thence to England. From the latter place we heard of the death of one and another, and of a probability of their going to France, and becoming enchained with the externals of the Catholic religion. Here we thought our opinions were fully confirmed. How can any good result from this? How much harm must ensue to these poor people, and probably through them to their nation!