shall awaken in my kind friend that decree of sympathy, which shall call forth from her an occasional prayer on my behalf. I never more needed prayer, nor never so much estimated its value, as I have done of late; it is truly wondrous in all the branches and bearings of its beneficial influence. But I must turn to other matters. I often think of your self-imposed silence when we were leaving England, evidently not approving of our step, and yet not wishing to enter into any enlarged reasoning or discussion; and I as often think, was my endeared friend right in her non-approval? I am ready to acknowledge, that we were never so out in our calculation as in many of the results of our Canadian migration; and in the estimation of observant friends we must appear, I should think, to have strangely missed our path. And yet so marked are all the leading circumstances which have transpired, that we cannot, for a moment, question either the permissive or the appointing mercy of our God. It has been of essential benefit to myself; it has been of especial good to — also; her views and feelings have undergone a most material change, so that I quite marvel at the wise and gracious process; and in various ways has the removal been beneficial to our children. But all this is hidden from outward observation; no one perceives either the needs-be, or the result, but the outward appearance it is which puzzles them—all is completely in contrast with our former selves, and so little in accordance with our property and with what we have a kind of right to expect in the shape of accommodation from our parishioners. We would, indeed, without much difficulty, should we see it to be our duty, bring ourselves into altered circumstances; we could retrace at once our migratory steps and reach our native land richer by, at least, a thousand pounds than when we left it. We could also leave our present unaccommodating people, purchase or build on some advantageously situated spot, retire from the peculiar awkwardnesses of Canadian ministrations, and more privately exercise, without cost to any, the exposition of God’s word, and the visiting of the sick and needy. We might also build, at once, in this place, at our own cost, and, without pecuniary regret, let slip a few hundreds of pounds on the impolitic speculation of procuring somewhat more of suitable and becoming accommodation. We might dash also through some others of our temporary unseemlinesses, and be able to write in an altered and more gratifying strain to our now wondering friends—might encourage our sons, for example, to launch out into avocations, or attempt other branches, which, while they have more appearance of gentility, would only sap the foundation of their future respectability and comfort. We might do all this and much more, and pride would suggest its partial or total performance; but we should be either forcing our way, or premature in our movements. Grace and duty