And to what purpose can any of us, with better hope of success, devote our time, our money, our labor? Let us have more money for this work. I would say no word to depreciate foreign missions, but is not this after all the work of foreign missions? How will you influence the future of China, or of Japan, or of Africa, or of Europe, in more direct, sympathetic, permanent ways, than by giving the gospel, and the education that goes with the gospel, to those at our very doors from all these lands, who shall carry back, and send back, to their own native countries the same gospel they have learned in this? * * * * * TO THE MEMORY OF DR. POWELL. BY A PASTOR IN THE SOUTH. One night, entranced, I sat spell-bound, And listened in my place, And made a solemn vow to be A hero for my race. He plead as but a few can plead. With eloquence and might, He plead for a humanity, The Freedmen and the right. His soul and true nobility Went out in every word, And strongly moved for better things Was everyone that heard. Too soon has death made good his claim On him who moved us so; Too great and white the harvest yet, To spare him here below. O! "why this waste?"--forgive me, Lord, I would not Judas be; Yet who will plead as he has plead, For Freedmen and for me? Perhaps, ah, yes! I know he will-- This sleeping Prince of Thine, In many a multitude be heard, Yet plead for right and mine. * * * * * THE INDIANS. LETTER FROM GRAND RIVER, DAK. _Dear Friends_: I have never seen a worse day in the Territory than to-day. The snow was about two feet deep and light. Last night the wind began to blow, and to-day it is blowing a gale and the snow flies like powdered glass. Neither man nor beast can endure it. I cannot see my stable, which is within a stone's-throw of the house. I have wood and water enough in the house to last two or three days; so I shall not suffer personally, and I will spend the time of imprisonment in writing, if I can, between making fires. The snow sifts through my door and window until I have a regular snowbank all along the inside of the house. Though I am warm right by the stove, yet I cannot get the room warm enough to melt the snow. Last winter and this are the hardest I have ever seen in the Territory. So dear Dr. Powell has gone home! No one should feel sorry for him. How grand and glorious thus to be called home to God! I do not think the work here will suffer because he has gone from our sight. He is only promoted. God will no doubt let him work on in heaven; only gone from the ills that the flesh is heir to. Dead? Oh no! he is not dead. He is living evermore. May we all be as ready as was he for the final call!