without a projected attack. Pray come soon to see us. My respects to Mr. Thompson, Miss Wilkinson, Beddomes, Petries, and other friends, as if named.

I know not what apology to make, for having so long neglected to fulfil my part of the mutual promise of correspondence. Impute it to any thing rather than indifference; for I can assure you, with the utmost sincerity, that your kindness to me, while I had the happiness of being under your roof, left an impression on my mind of gratitude and esteem which no time can efface. It is doing no sort of justice to my feelings, to say that it exceeded any thing of the kind I ever experienced in my life; and heightens the regret I feel at the probability of few opportunities of personal intercourse with a friend, who has so great a claim to my regard, and in whose welfare I shall always feel myself so deeply interested. When I look back on my past days, (alas! why should I ever look back,) the few I spent at Plymouth Dock

appear like a bright spot in a dreary prospect. Though my friends at Bristol were disposed to be displeased at my staying so long in Devonshire, I shall never repent of it, since it afforded me an opportunity of renewing and cementing a virtuous friendship-the only kind of friendship that will flourish to eternal ages. Yes, Madam, I hope to renew with you the remembrance of my visit to Dock, and of your kindness, before the throne, where distance will no more interrupt the intercourse of kindred minds. What a happiness to reflect, though separated here, we are advancing every step nearer to the place of meeting; and, in the mean time, we are mingling our addresses at the same mercy-seat, imbibing pleasure at the same spring, and deposing our anxieties in the same compassionate bosom. There is a divine reality in the communion of saints, which I pray we may more and more experience.

I have just been reading Dr. Whitehead's Life of Mr. Wesley: it has given me a much more enlarged idea of the virtues and labours of that extraordinary man than I ever had before. I would not incur the guilt of that virulent abuse which Toplady cast upon him, for points merely speculative and of very little importance, for ten thousand worlds. When will the christian world cease disputing about religion, and begin to enter into its spirit, and practise its precepts? I am attempting to write a vindication of village preaching and of Sunday-schools, but when it will be out

I do not know; I endeavour to do a little at it every day, but am a slow hand.

From several quarters I am given to understand my preaching at Plymouth and Dock gave general dissatisfaction. This intelligence gives me no particular concern, being conscious of my upright intentions; but if it arose, in any degree, from the practical complexion of my addresses, I am sorry, as it indicates a tincture of that antinomian spirit which threatens to deluge the church.

In truth I had almost despaired of the honour of ever hearing from you any more: it was therefore no small gratification to me, to be indulged once more with a sight of your handwriting. I sincerely sympathize with you, my amiable friend, in the heavy loss you have sustained, in being deprived of so excellent a father, who must have been endeared to you in no ordinary degree, not only by the ties of nature, but by the peculiar tenderness and affection he ever displayed through an intimate and almost uninterrupted intercourse of a long series of years. I know, by experience,

the pang which the loss of an affectionate parent produces, though under circumstances which possibly might render the blow somewhat less severe than that which you sustain. For many years previous to the death of my most excellent father, my situation had permitted me but little opportunity of intercourse, which, though it did not in the least impair my esteem or reverence, probably diminished that tenderness and vehemence of attachment, which virtuous children never fail to feel towards the deserving parents with whom they reside. Allowing, however, for this difference, I well know the desolating, the withering sensation, which pervades the heart on the loss of an affectionate father. We feel, with a conviction as instantaneous as lightning, that the loss is irreparable, that the void can never be supplied, and that, however many amiable and excellent friends we may have left, there is none who will so naturally care for our souls. I can most easily conceive, therefore, and most tenderly sympathize with the sorrow which so great a blow must inflict on so tender a heart. The aids of reason and religion may inspire resignation; but nothing but the torrent of time will wear away the traces of sorrow, and leave in the heart a tender and not an afflicting remembrance. It is needless, to a mind so vigorous as yours, to recall to your remembrance the many sources of gratitude which remain in the midst of your affliction, and the great alleviations which accompany it. You will reflect, I am per

suaded, with gratitude, on the great number of years your dear father was spared to you; you will remember the moral impossibility of his continuing to enjoy, at so advanced [an age], many additional years of happiness on earth; and, what will afford you the truest consolation, you will follow him within the veil, and contemplate him resting from his labours, and sitting down with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, in the kingdom of God. How infinitely indebted, my amiable friend, are we to that gospel which gives us everlasting consolation, and a good hope through grace! May he, who alone has immediate access to the heart, calm every agitation, and solace every disquietude of your breast! My excellent friend will not, I am persuaded, abandon herself to immoderate sorrow. I trust, at least, you will be extremely upon your guard against indulging that luxury of grief, as it has been termed, which, however congenial to the extreme sensibility of your temper, would disqualify you alike for happiness and duty. Your domestic station will, happily for you, afford that occupation and diversion to your thoughts, which will have a powerful tendency to moderate the excesses of grief.

I am, dear Madam,

Yours most sincerely and respectfully,

ROBERT HALL.