Galena is by no means a pleasant town. There are some situations on the hills which environ it that would furnish delightful sites for residences, but at present these are chiefly unoccupied. The streets of this place are narrow, and after a rain unspeakably _muddy_. The houses are small, poor, and crowded. There is nothing interesting or attractive about the appearance of the town, except in a business point of view. Galena is the port where almost all the lead raised from the vast mines scattered through this region is brought to be shipped, and will therefore unquestionably be a place of great importance. Its moral character, I fear, is far from what we could wish it. Like many of these western towns, till recently, there has been scarcely the semblance of a Sabbath here. Drinking, duelling, and gambling, have all been common.--And yet there are many here that wish things were different, and are making some successful efforts to cause them to be so. The Bishop of Illinois was here, and officiated the first Sunday I spent in Galena. He bore his testimony very faithfully, in rebuking the prevailing sins of the country, especially duelling, Sabbath-breaking, and profane swearing. I believe his counsel was very kindly received. There is a great deal of intelligence among the residents in this place, and they seem willing to have the truth preached to them plainly. To me there was one object of thrilling interest in Galena--_its grave yard_! Some half-mile from the town, on the head lands beyond the western range of hills that encompassed it, where one stands and looks down into the valley of Fevre River, and off upon the far-spreading prairie, in a retired place, is the spot of earth allotted to the dead, shut in and guarded from unhallowed tread by a neat enclosure. Owing to the newness of the country, and the difficulty in procuring marble, scarcely a single sculptured monument appears on this ground which has already become the resting place of many who were once engaged amid the activities of life. But affection has displayed itself in another form. Not a few of the graves are enclosed by a little fence, painted beautifully white, and the graves are adorned with wild roses which scatter their fragrance and leaves over the place where rests the mouldered dust beneath. When I first entered this sacred enclosure, and trod through the high tangled grass that grew here, I felt at each step that I was treading on holy ground. I was led to a spot where rested the mortal part of one whose image came up before me with the vividness of living reality. The long grass had grown, and become matted over her grave! Fifteen years had elapsed since I had looked upon that dear form, that rested in unbreathing stillness below. During this period I had passed through many trying scenes and often drank deep into the cup of sorrow. And now with the image of this dear departed one, all of "life's