I commenced the worship of God by reading the 44th Psalm, the singing of which was followed by an Address to the Throne of Grace. I then read a hymn, which, as well as the psalm, was very well executed by the choir. I then commenced my sermon, from the following text: “Remember Lot’s wife.” As I proceeded, the utmost of my ability was thrown into the subject. I enlarged upon the development of the affections, the gratitude we owe to the Almighty for a thousand gifts, and the blessed union of two hearts by divine sanction: the nature of the evil thoughts that should be cast away, and the principles which secure to virtue the fruits of a blessed reward: the penalty of disobedience, and the iniquity of the seducer. Few there are, among even the most earnest admirers of the Bible, who truly appreciate its sublimity and poetry. From the first line of Genesis to the last of Revelations, it is filled with evidences of its divine origin. As I reached that point in my discourse which depicted the bereavements of Lot, the cords of whose heart were all severed by a decree of God’s wrath, I perceived that Maria and her companion were deeply affected. THEIR EYES MET: IT WAS LOVE! * * * * * There is no genuine love but love at first sight. This is the pure offspring of unpolluted sympathy. All other love is merely the result of observation, reflection, and compromise. The enduring passions flash like the lightning; they scorch the soul, but it is warmed forever! Miserable the creature whose love rises by degrees upon the frigid morning of the mind! Amid the gloom and sorrow of existence, suddenly to behold a form having a kindred soul, and to feel an overwhelming conviction that, with that form, our destiny must be forever entwined; that there is no more joy but in his joy, no sorrow but when he grieves; that in the warmth of his love, in his smile of fondness, is all future bliss--this is love. Magnificent, sublime, divine sentiment! An intense flame burns in the breast of an adoring girl: she is an ethereal being. She is out upon the sea of life, with a gaze fixed to a single star. If that do not shine, there is no further joy in existence! Oh Indiscretion! Oh Love! In vain are the teachings of moralists, that thou art a delusion! Love, that can illumine the dark hovel and the dismal garret, that can gladden the heart of the slave, and lighten his shackles! The sage may assert that the gratification of vanity is thine aim and end, but Love glances with contempt at the cold-blooded philosophy of calculation. LETTERS. MARIA TO THEODORE. _Sunday Night, 11 o’clock._