_Valley of Achor_, _July_ 26, 1819. MY DEAR FRIEND, MRS. R. I am exceedingly grieved to hear of your indisposition of body. This is the reason, no doubt, why I have not seen you for so long a time: but in a few months more, I hope to see you at Mount Gilead. I soon shall get from Achor’s Vale, To Gilead’s Mount remove; And ever tell, the untold tale, Of everlasting love. There is balmy consolation in Gilead, amongst the _heap_ of _witnesses_, and a real physician _there_, to heal every wound that sin has made. I long to be at that mount. But many, alas! surround it, that never feed on it—many walk about Zion, that never enter into it, and many have the word, and desire the word, that never did desire, or enjoy the sincere _milk_ of it. You and I know that there can be no feeding without life, and this life is seen by the appetite. Blessed are they, that hunger and thirst after righteousness; after an increasing knowledge of _it_, and after a divine enjoyment of _it_—to be found in _it_, in death, and to be owned in _it_, in the last great day. Ah! this is the rich robe. I pray my dear friend may be found adorned with it, when the judge shall appear in awful grandeur; when the elements shall melt with fervent heat; when the stars shall fall from their sockets, and when sun and moon; when the grand planetary orbs shall be thrown into promiscuous ruin, and all creation fly away before the face of _him_, who will ere long swear, that time shall be no more. There are two precious promises, confirmed by the path of a covenant God. _He_ swore by himself, that in blessing, _he_ would bless _his_ people. _He_ has sworn _he_ never will be wroth with, nor rebuke _his_ people. This is sweet food for precious faith. O may you feast on it divinely. Because _he_ could swear by no greater, _He_ swore by himself, saying, I declare, in blessing you, I will bless you. Eternal life is in God’s blessing, and this life being in Christ, in blessing, God blesses us for evermore.—I trust my dear friend’s mind is often led to the Saviour, and that you prove _his_ preciousness in _his_ sacred person, _his_ covenant love, _his_ meritorious obedience, and _his_ atoning blood—_his_ prevalent intercession, and _his_ advocacy with the Father. This is the glorious object of faith, and round _him_ faith hovers, till it can gather strength enough to lay hold of _him_—to _him_ it often looks, and always bends; and close to _him_ it cleaves, as the fond ivy entwines round the oak. This, you doubtless, see in your lowest state, even when low in body, weak in nerves, barren in mind, tried in the world, and grieved in the church; and when nature is reluctant; the flesh a heavy clog, and the spirits within, seem to sink into earth, as its centre. Yet there is a going to our spiritual David, though in as helpless a state as lame Mephibosheth, or aged Barzillai. I have had