"By this time you are already in port, on earth or in heaven. Blessed alternative. Ought I to be sad, who can say, 'or in heaven?' O no, I trust grace will be given to acquiesce in his most blessed will; a most gracious will it has been to me and mine. "I wrote you in my last, that our dear Mr. M---- leaves us next month for Britain; his errand is to state the situation of this country, as greatly in want of ministers and the means of educating ministers. Many of his people are dissatisfied, as he has two congregations to supply, and a large family of his own. Why should he be the man? For my own part, I think he is the very man; and I am thankful to feel a degree of disinterestedness. Though I love my minister, value his ministry and his person, I hope the general interest of Christ's body is more dear to me, and of infinitely more importance than my private comfort, which, after all, I do not believe can suffer by parting cheerfully with its apparent food to Christ, who himself is the sum and substance of all that any minister can be instrumental in conveying. All means are alike to him, or no means. I therefore rejoice in his will, and pray that the Lord may prosper him, give him a double portion of his Spirit, and favor in the eyes of all whose influence is necessary to advance the Redeemer's kingdom in America. "Our friend Mrs. K---- is gone; she died suddenly: both Mr. and Mrs. T---- died at their country-seat; he first. She fancied she was getting better. The physician advised her not to ride, as she could not stand the fatigue; she had more faith in air and exercise: the last day she went out she fainted getting into the carriage, and again coming out; and died in the afternoon. She lived near us, yet I never saw her, nor offered one kind office towards the salvation of her soul, which, if lost, leaves me not innocent of her blood, and if saved, as I hope it may be, my sinful neglect is not the less. What a picture in them of the vanity of all under the sun; and in me of the evil of procrastination, for I meant to visit her. O my Saviour, is this the return I make for the millions of pardons which thou hast passed on my account; sparing even the rod, and blessing me with health, restored limbs, and mercy on mercy, comfort on comfort? I want words to paint my abominable ingratitude, indolence, and cruelty; and yet, Oh yet I am spared, and my mercies are spared, as far as I know--but trial may be at hand. Perhaps I write what my children may never read. Well, even then, mercy, mercy shall be my song; for I sing the song on earth which they sing in heaven. I am just going to town to attend preparation sermon. Our feast is on Sabbath." "JULY 17, 1801.