Croydon, N. H. Dec. 10: 1854.
We are now very busy, making preparations, to go West, in the Spring. We may go to Kansas, if the way opens for us, in the order of Providence. We have “usefulness to our fellow-creatures,” in view, before any other object, of worldly gain. I am perfectly passive, as it respects “the spot,” or state, or Ter. where Mr. L. sees fit to pitch his tent, let God direct, and all will be right, -- I write no more, in this diary, until we reach our place of destination. “Carry us not thence, unless Thy Presence, go with us,” is our prayer.
Kansas City, Mo. March, 18th 1855.
We left Lebanon, N. H. the old paternal home the 6th of March, 1855. O the tears, and heart-agony, as we tore ourselves away from those aged parents, who gave us birth, and those brothers and sisters, so dear to our hearts—we wept until we reached “White River Junction,” at Hartford, Vt. where bro. Daniel, who accompanied, us there, left us, and we took the cars. Had a pleasant journey from there to Alton Ill. In the cars, and thence up the Mo. River, by steam-boat. The “Kate Sweeney,” Capt. Choteau, the owner, and Capt. of the boat treated his passengers in princely style, and permitted
us to have Divine worship, on board. Every thing seems new and strange to us, from dear old N. E. the farther we journey, toward the sunny South. We landed here at K. City Sunday Morning. What a desolate place!
K. City, March 28th
Mr. L. left immediately, with Charles Julius, for the Ter. leaving I, and Juliette, and Edith, to board at the “American Hotel” in this place, till he could find him a “claim,” and erect a cabin on it, for our accommodation. The landlord gives me two dollars per week, for serving, besides boarding me, and Edith. Juliette has 1,50 per week, and her board, for waiting on the table. It is very sickly here in this Hotel, and in the Town. Many cases of death. Pneumonia seems to be the prevailing sickness. Our food is miserably cooked, so much so, at times, it produces a nauseating effect on approaching the tables. Hundreds are arriving here weekly for the Ter. The Sabbath is greatly desecrated here, and religion is at a very low ebb.
All three of us, are sick, and I know we cannot live in this unhealthy atmosphere. Deaths almost, or quite daily, here. Sadness and discontent, sit on the brow, of every fresh arrival of emigrants, and scores come back here, after
wandering about in the Ter. and spending (in a number of cases) nearly or quite all their means, and take the boat for the return trip to St. Louis, for N. E. again. Two deaths in this Hotel, and the sick are in a number of rooms. What I can do, I know not, as my children are sick, and I am too unwell to sit up, all the time. No face, I ever saw before, and if we stay here I fear we shall die. My dear little Edith has been exposed to the measles, and I fear the consequences, as we have not means in our power, to make her comfortable. I must find a private house, if we can, by going about Town, and hire our board, if possible till I can send an express for Mr. L. who is at the Junction of the Big Blue and Kansas Rivers, as he writes me, and he, and his N. E. Company, have laid out a Town in that spot. They had an excessively hard journey there, and suffered with cold, and snow an occurrence, not common, I am told, in this region. O how my sick lone heart, at this time, sighs for a home, where our children may be comfortable again. What can I do, with but little money, and every thing here so expensive? The price for miserable board here, is $1,00, and $1,50 per day! This is wrong, money is so scarce.
I have never seen so much suffering in so short a time, as since I have been here. O how many have left for the Ter. who will there find a grave!
I left the Hotel, and went to a Mr. Wests, to board, and whilst I was there, it was announced that the “Financier,” a boat was to sail up the Kansas River to Fort Riley and I immediately engaged passage, and went on board, with my family Juliette being sick, and Edith evidently “coming down” with measles. I wanted if possible to escape from that place of sickness, and death, for I feared that every one of us would die, if we remained there, and our graves be dug by stranger’s hand. I tried hard, tho’ scarcely able to sit up, to get my family to where Mr. L. and Charles was, but Providence ordered otherwise. O my God, why am I brought into these straits? Have we done wrong, in coming to Kansas, that I have been in such a dilemma for weeks past, I know not what to do? Or am I brought into these soul-trying difficulties, that I may know how to sympathise with others, in a similar condition? I’ll cling to Jesus, the
Crucified One, tho’ the earth reels beneathe my feet, and the Mountains are removed in my sight, and every other hope fails. I know well that we are thrown from the boat, into this “horrid place,” for some wise purpose. If the boat does not start again, for some time, as she has now struck on a sand-bar, four miles only from the place, “(K. City)” from whence she started, some way will be provided for us, We are now stopping with a half-breed Indian woman, French Catholic whose husband lives near the spot, where the boat grounded. Juliette is better, tho’ very feeble. Edith is very sick, with measles, but patient as a lamb. I have nothing to render her comfortable, in her sickness, and neither suitable food, nor other necessaries, for any of us. I have watched E. day and night, and wept, and prayed, by her bed-side, the most of the time, until it seems as tho’ nature can sustain but little more, and if I fail, before Mr. L. arrives, what will become of my children, in this condition? I have sent an “express,” for Mr. L. and hope he is on his way,
to find us. I am straining my eyes continually watching for his coming—why does he delay, when my heart is sinking within me, and I have wept, until the fountain of tears, is nearly exhausted. Must our graves be dug here, and we have no Christian burial? I cannot rehearse, what I have passed thro, of late, nor need I, for it is written on my heart, in characters, never to be effaced, till I die
I can stop here no longer: My little Angel—Edith groans terribly at night, she is in such pain, in her head, and as there is but one room, in the log cabin where we are, this woman took her bed, and dragged it out on to the porch, to sleep, for “she said she would not sleep in the house, where the child groaned so,” I have hired this man for $30 to carry us to the Big Blue, if we do not meet Mr. Lovejoy, on the way. Edith is very feeble, though the measles have disappeared, and we start this day with heavy hearts. God alone, to whom we commit ourselves, knoweth the burden upon my spirit. That man, with whom I agreed,
has put a drunken rowdy-teamster, in his stead, to drive our team, and the horses will not draw the load, and I fear Edith will not live to reach Lawrence. The carriage is very hard to ride in, and jolts, and jars us badly What shall I do? No human being that we ever saw before to show us any sympathy, The first night, on our journey, an awful thunder-storm overtook us, and we leaped from the baggage-waggon, with Edith in our arms, as the awful peals of thunder, were rending the heavens and the rain falling in torrents and took shelter, with a family, consisting of a young man, his wife and babe, by the Name of Johnson, a few miles beyond Westport, Missouri. They were slave-holders, but we were cordially received, and freely, and kindly entertained. May Heaven reward them, for their hospitality, to a way-faring pilgrim, whose heart was well-nigh bursting from accumulating anguish That night, the miserable teamster, crawled into our carriage, and stole the eatables, and necessaries, I had purchased at K. City, for our journey, and smashed the glass, that Mr.
Lovejoy had written me to purchase for our little cabin. We could have no redress, for our grievances, only to bear them, patiently. What we suffered this day, no tongue can describe. The roads were almost impassable. The horses would not draw but a few rods, at a time. The driver uttered horrid oaths, the road was full of men and their teams, strangers all, and bound for the Territory. At night, we stopped at a half-breed Indian house, and my little Edith must have her little pallet, spread on the floor, tho’ she begged for a bed, “her head ached so bad,” she said. There were two beds, in the only room, in the log-cabin. In one, slept the Indian, and his squaw; in the other, in every conceivable position, were stowed I think, five squaws, and on the floor, stretched two men, travellers. On this floor, I sat, weeping, and praying the whole night. Every bone in my body ached, and my mind, was strung up to the utmost tension of sorrow. Edith was evidently failing, and O could I but reach Lawrence, that if she died I might not bury her on the road, or leave
her body amongst the Indians. O how my soul clung to her. I went out of doors, I looked up to heaven—the moon was shining clear in the sky, the whippoorwill, was singing his mournful requiem, in a grove, near the Indian’s cabin. Juliette, was sleeping with an Indian woman, in our waggon, and I walked around the enclosure, with feelings, that never can be described. Why O why Job-like, must my hopes be crushed. Why must such and out-bursting flood of sorrow overwhelm me? The morning came I took my suffering lamb, and got into the waggon, having had but little sleep or rest, for three weeks, and my heart was sinking within me. Edith was failing during the day. The next night we reached the cabin of a Shawnee Indian. He permitted me, by charging a quarter of a dollar, to spread a mattrass, of my own, on the floor for Edith,but would not permit Juliette, to lodge in the cabin, without a heavy price. So I fastened Juliette up in the waggon, alone in the woods, and sat down on the floor, still another night
to weep and pray. Occasionally, I would stretch my limbs, on the bare floor, but my anxiety for my child kept my eyes unclosed the most of the time. Another lady stopped there just coming into the Ter. whose child had the measles. The Indian said to her, “your child will live, but I don’t know about the other ladies child” – O how these words, sank into my heart! The next morning, we were on our way at an early hour hoping to reach Lawrence, some time, before night, and looking every hour, to meet Mr. L. on the road. I feared Edith had the seal of death, upon her brow. She opened wide, her full blue eye, and looking me full in the face, said she, “Mother, you are good.” These were her last words: her voice trembled some, but O so patient—About four o’clock in the P. M. we came in sight of Lawrence, and saw a man approaching us on foot—we held our breath, lest we might be deceived! Lo! ‘tis he! We simultaneously, uttered a cry, and the next moment, we were sobbing in
each other’s arms. Mr. L. had arrived in L. an hour previously, and by some means learned that we were near, and run to meet us! O what had we both been thro’ since we parted, and there was our dying, idolized child! My God! Why dost Thou suffer this to come upon us! Those little arms, that always encircled her father’s neck, (when returning home, she has run to meet him) will never clasp it again: those lips, that again, and again, when her father bade her Adieu at K. City, pressed the kiss of affection, on her father’s cheek, will never kiss him again. She does not recognize him—She’ll die! This awful truth, is forced upon me, and can we survive the awful stroke? She is borne in her father’s arms, from the waggon, to the cabin of a kind-hearted Christian family, by the name of Savage, from Hartford Vt. who have just arrived here. The next day, about two o’clock, in the P. M. her spirit, went to God—Can I proceed with my mournful story? The next day, May the 5th we buried her dear little body, at Lawrence, with many tears.
This is our first great sorrow, and the billows have quite gone over our soul. I am now about 6 months, advanced in pregnancy and why I live, is more than I can tell.
May, the 6th.
We tore ourselves from the grave, of our loved-one, and sowing our tears, along the road, went on our way toward “Big Blue” The third day we reached there, and went into a log cabin, to live with no floor, nor window, and tears, were my meat and drink, day and night, until it seemed sometimes as tho reason, could not retain her throne, unless my sorrows assuaged. No friend that seemed to understand my sorrow. No acquaintances here, but my family –All is one vast expanse of nature, and tho’ the Country is surpassingly beautiful, it is as lonely to me, as tho’ I was shut up in a tomb, my heart is so sad, sad—I am glad, I’m born to die.
Mouth of the Big Blue, Manhattan, K. T. Aug. 20th, 1855.
O my uncontrollable sorrow, for my Edith—the pangs are sharper, and sharper, to be borne. I want to feel reconciled
but cannot—O if I could say, “Thy will be done,” and feel it, too. I am very feeble in body, and have but little thought, that I shall survive the event, of child-birth, I have passed thro such scenes, of trouble, for months past; but then I shall go to my child, whom I love better than myself. O how I miss her—how I mourn for her. My heart grieves more, and more, at her loss. How my poor heart withers beneath the stroke. Were it not for the full belief, that my precious Edith has gained heaven, I could not be sustained. How I weep, but it availeth not, I shall go to her, but she’ll never return to me. I love her as none can tell. I am in a critical situation, and find but little rest for body, or mind. Forsake me not, O Father of mercies, when the floods, go over my soul.
I am still lingering amid distracting pains, by day, and night. The Lord only knows whether the result, will be life or death, into His hands, I commit all.
Manhattan, Oct. 13th
The 17th of Sept. at four o’clock, in the P. M. after a lingering
and well-nigh death-like sickness, it was announced that “a son was born.” A beautiful boy, he truly is, and I have given up to God, to be a “Herald of the Cross,” and I feel as tho’ the Lord would accept him, and spare his life. My prayer is, that he may be a Samuel, from his birth. Lord, he is Thine, for time, and for Eternity. I feel the loss of Edith, more and more, O God, let me see my child, in heaven! I thought, and so did my attendants, that I might die in my late sickness, but God, for some purpose hath spared me: may it be to train my little Irving, (now four weeks old) for the skies, Lord impart grace.
May 5th 1856.
Great bend of the Blue, in a little cabin, hastily thrown together—this is now our home. We have occupied a “balloon house,” so called ready-made, brought on the ill-fated Steamer Hartford, that was burnt to the water’s edge, on her downward trip, from Manhattan, to Lawrence. In this house, last Winter, our family near freezing, the cold,
was so intense. I wrapped my babe in blankets, and my furs, to keep him from perishing, near the stove. Mr. L’s station, the first year, was “Fort Riley Mission,” and in the fall, was sent to Lawrence station, consequently, we were alone in the winter, and suffered incredibly. O how I sighed for a comfortable home, in N. E. again. Mr. L. took him a “claim,” adjoining Manhattan, and to prevent its being jumped we have moved on to it, and Mr. L. has been sent by the Lawrence people, to the East, to solicit funds, to build a Church in Lawrence. I am very lonely, in this distant land, and he, so far away, while the political elements, are all in commotion, and war is being threatened. One year ago yesterday, I saw the cold earth, heaped upon the coffin, that contained my darling Edith, and O, what a day, was the anniversary of that heart-rending scene! How my poor lacerated heart, bleeding in every pore, looks to Heaven, that its wounds,
may be, (if not healed) made endurable, by the grace of God, bestowed. What a year has been the past! O my weeping days, and nights! She is at rest, I know, I feel, but my accumulating sorrow, is wearing out my poor body, and in addition, Mr. L. has been gone nearly five months, and were it possible I would take up the bones of my child, and go to N. England and not go thro’ what I have since I came to Kansas. Juliette, was married by her father, the 9th of March, to Dr. L. Whitehorn of Hudson, Mich. It was a sore trial, to me, to have her marry so young, but I pray the Lord, to bless their union, and bring them, both safe to heaven, at last.
O how lonely, lonely, I feel, from day to day, and from week, to week. Mr. is still in the East, and there are “wars, and rumors, of wars.” Almost every week som[e]body falls by the hand of violence, and I know not that any place is secure. The Free State men, are shot down
by pro-slavery villains, as beasts of prey. A soldier, in the U. S. army is posted as sentinel, and keeps a constant lookout, (from the top of old Bluemont, in sight, from my cabin, window) for the approach of Lane, and his army, that are supposed to be en route for Kansas, thro’ Iowa. How long must I remain here, in this isolated spot, and repeat, so often the appropriate lines of A. Selkirk, on the Island Juan Fernandez. I never dreamed in happy N. E. of a tithe, of what I have already passed thro’ in Kansas, and why is it suffered so to be. May the sufferings the pioneers of Kansas, have passed thro’ be the means of helping the down-trodden, and oppressed, and working out the Heaven-approved principles, of universal emancipation.
Mr. L. has returned from the E. and has had a serious time, in getting home He reached St. Louis, on his way to his family and for fear of violence, from border-ruffians he was obliged to turn about, and take the
over-land route thro’ Iowa. The horse he bought was taken sick on the road, and finally died, and he was obliged to buy another. This journey has been to him, an expensive one, but I am glad, he is spared to return. He insists on my accompanying him to Lawrence, which I am now preparing to do. The dogs of war, are let loose, and armed men, are thronging the streets of Lawrence and Topeka. All is commotion. Murder, unwhipt by Justice, stalks abroad, at noon-day. Martyrs, to freedom’s holy cause, are being added to the long list of the fallen! This is an awful crisis, and unless heaven interpose, we shall be swept away, by an overwhelming army, led on by the whiskey-demon, to deeds of the blackest hue! History, seldom, chronicles more shocking barbarities, than have been in some instances practised upon defenseless free State men, “and the end, is not yet!”
Lawrence, Sept. 1:
You seldom meet a man, now-a-days, who is not fully “armed
and equipped, as the law directs.” All things look war-like—There is now a large army in Lawrence, marching, and counter-marching thro’ our streets, almost daily. Col. Lane is now in the Ter. and the ruffians, dread his presence, and fear his military skill and courage. We are in constant fear and excitement. Startling reports, from various quarters, are coming in, every few hours. Our family are sick—Mr. L. very sick, with ague, and intermittent fever, and so also is our little Irving. I too am sick, with fever. External things, are dark and gloomy—our enemies have cut off the means of receiving supplies, from Leavenworth, and are doing their best, to starve us, into submission. Our food, tho’ we are sick, is of unbolted flour, and glad to get that. Our men are in fine spirits, and in every engagement yet, have whipped the enemy. I shall find but little time to write, save for the N. E. papers, at present.
Sumner, K. T. Sept. 1859.
I have not written in my journal, for three years, but have
kept regularly posted up, in matters pertaining to the Ter. as I have corresponded with many Weekly papers, concerning events, as they transpired. After remaining at Lawrence two years, Mr. L. was stationed at Oskaloosa, but his family, went on to a “claim,” at Palmyra, 10 miles South of Lawrence. I lived a year, in a little log cabin in the woods, and passed many days, and nights, entirely alone, with my little two-year-old boy, in times when strong-minded men feared for their personal safety; but an unseen Arm, shielded me from harm, tho’ I was very lonely. Here I was violently siezed with bilious fever, and lay nearly two days, almost entirely helpless, scorched with burning fever, and none to give me even a drink of cold water, to moisten my parched lips. The Lord was indeed a present Help, as with flowing tears, I looked upward in that sad hour. I could not, at first, penetrate the mystery, why all these afflictions, of such a grievous character, should be suffered to burst upon my head, and all too, at once, or but a
small portion of time intervene between one stroke, and another. The former part of my life, though others, under the same circumstances, might have considered it not very free from labor and toil, yet, the Angel of death, had not left such a felt vacuum, in the loved circle, neither had such deprivation of earthly comforts, ever been our lot, till we trod the soil of Kansas, and then, I had seemingly to grapple with them alone, with an infant, a few weeks old, far removed from civilized life, and my husband instead of being with his family, during the coldest winter, that was ever known, they were in a frail balloon house, and well-nigh froze, whilst he was at Lawrence, in comfortable quarters, boarding. I know now, that “all things shall work together for good, to them that love the Lord,” it has been so, already in my case, and to-day, I bless the Lord, for all these trials—not one too many for I love the Hand Divine, that holds the rod. The year ’58, we were appointed to Sumner, on the Missouri River. We put up the frame of a house, and moved in, without doors, or windows,
and here I lived nearly half the second year, more than two-thirds of the time, day and night, alone with Irving, who is now nearly four years old. A few weeks since, I had two chills, one a kind of “congestive chill—was very sick, and no one with me, but my little boy. The second attack, I rallied all my remaining strength, got to the door, and called to the nearest neighbor, who heard me, and came or sent immediately to my assistance. Our house at the present writing, is only half-finished, as we did not receive but $300, last year which was not but little over half enough for our support, and the present year, we shall receive still less, as only $1,00 Missionary money, is appropriated the present year, and last year $50 more. This field of labor the present year extends from within four miles of Leavenworth on the South, to Monrovia, on the North, nearly 50 miles, along, and near the Missouri valley. Mr. Lovejoy has been absent for some time past, attending a camp-meeting, at Oskaloosa—One is in progress, too at this time, at Baldwin City, where “Baker University” is located, and I had anticipated attending this, and also visiting Charles, our son, who resides there; but my plans are frustrated, as some one must remain in the house, to watch the garden
from the depredations of animals, that run at large, and also from petty rogues, who love to pilfer, from their industrious neighbors, rather than earn a livelihood. Day before yesterday, or Aug. 30th, was a memorable day in memory’s calendar. God has revealed Himself to me, many times, in a glorious manner, but this manifestation of his glory, His love, that possessed my spirit, I think exceeded all former manifestations, and it really seemed that the “earthern vessel” must break, unless God withheld His Hand. I shouted from a full soul, and even at a late hour in the night, with none but my little boy, with me, I feared the neighbors might hear my shouts of praise—God has saved me from sin—the witness is clear with not one doubt—glory to His blessed Name! Some fiery trial may be near, as it has almost invariably happened in my history, after such a wonderful strengthening of my faith, but His grace will help me to overcome, and vanquish all
thro’ Jesus’ Name. O the sweet peace, undisturbed that possesses my soul whilst I write. “I am glad that I am born to die,” to live forever, with my Savious in Heaven. He hath done all things well” for me, tho’ the flames have seemed at the time, almost unendurable, yet, they have only been the crucible to refine my spirit, and remove the drop. Glory to the Eternal King, He never will forsake His children, who trust their all in His hands and commit their souls to His faithful keeping In one week, or the 7th inst. it will be 25 years, since I have been married—years of care, and toil, but I have had many blessings, I might have had more burdens to bear, & I think I have never wrongfully repined, or complained of my lot in life, tho’ sometimes thorny. ‘Tis enough, that I, so unworthy, can enjoy the smiles of my Saviour, and anticipate the joys of the upper world. God is hearing prayer for my dear children, and I believe, He will save them here, with a present, and hereafter with an eternal salvation. I believe Charles will yet stand on Zions walls, and blow the gospel trumpet. O I have such faith in God, I know the power that locked up the lion’s jaws,
so that Daniel was safe, in their den!—I know what shielded the Hebrew children, in the glowing furnace—I know why there was power enough to bring the dead to life, when that corpse of the Moabite, touched the bones of Elijah thr prophet Tell me there will never be a resurrection of this body!—why “he that believeth in Me, shall never die”—Glory to His name! we’ll sleep in the grave, for a brief period of time, but His voice, will rouse our slumbering dust, and His power, will clothe us with immortality, and eternal life. Only a little time, and our eyes will behold the “King, in His beauty,” our ears to be charmed with serapic songs, and our feet tread the streets, of the New Jerusalem—Many of our friends are there—some we never saw, but we feel an inexpressibly sweet union with their glorified spirits. A preacher’s wife, has died within a few Months, whom we never saw, but we love, and feel with her a spiritual union. We refer to Mrs. Goode, and also to Mrs. Dennison, with the latter, of whom, we have formerly associated. Precious saints!
safe from temptation—secure from falling--all tears wiped from your eyes—ye shall never say, “I am sick,” or “afflicted”—ye now gaze on the ineffable glories of the Lamb-angels, are your companions, and the blood-washed of every age, and clime your associates, whilst you range the fields of light, in extatic joy. My soul cries out, “that I too may share those joys,” when the toils of life are o’er. I know to-day, what Paul meant, when he said, “Having a desire to depart,” and I can say “the will of the Lord be done”—I know not what the Lord is about to do for me, or with me, but one thing I know, my soul is filled with visions of God, and heaven To Him, I commit my interests, for time and for eternity, and subscribe with my own hand, to His faithfulness. Amen, and Amen.
J. L. Lovejoy.
Sept. 1: 1859.
Sumner, Jan 5th 1860.
I now know why I received such a baptism of the Holy Ghost, in Sept. last. Mr. Lovejoy, was violently attacked with bilious fever, at the Oskaloosa camp-meeting and has been in a very feeble (and much of the time) almost helpless condition, ever since, and we have been much of the time, in great want of the daily comforts, of life. Our brethren, are “few and far between,” and have hard struggling, to procure a living for their own families, times are so hard, in the Ter. The coldest days, we have had, I have been compelled to pick up my wood, where I could find it, by wandering amongst the trees, around our dwelling, for Mr. L. was sick in bed, and money was too scarce, to hire a “wood-chopper.” There is considerable suffering amongst our neighbors this winter—but little work, to be had by the laborer, and the provisions are plenty, but little money, to buy with. Our dear Christian friends, from N. E. have sent us about eighty dollars at different times, that has been a great help to us, in this long
family-affliction. We pray the Lord to abundantly reward them. We have soul-rejoicing tidings, from our son, Charles Julius, at Palmyra, who has enlisted, we hope for life, in the praying army. God heareth and answereth the prayer of faith—Blessed be His holy Name! At the very hour, it seems, whilst I was wrestling in prayer in his behalf, in our dwelling in this place, he was 60 miles from here, but the arrows of the Almighty, fastened in his spirit, and he found no rest, until he believed in Jesus to the salvation of his soul. We have from his birth, consecrated him to God, and the work of the ministry, and may our hopes, and desires, now be fully realized. He is now, 22 years old, and may he no longer refuse to bear the cross of Christ, in laboring henceforth for the salvation of the perishing world around. We have some salvation, on some parts of this large circuit, but no general revival of religion. O that the great Head of the Church, would visit his people in power, and right up His own cause, with, or without means. Our colleague, Br. Taylor, is also laid aside with inflammation, of the eyes, and altogether, it is a trying time, but faith’s strong-arm, still clings to the promises, and I know the result, will be
well, if we do not waver, or lose ground spiritually. Better days ahead, and tho’ fierce be the storm, the anchor is firm, neither has it once dragged, tho’ at times the dark clouds have drifted so low, on our weather-beam, as to obscure the “light house,” on the other shore, yet when “sight” failed, “faith,” took manfully hold of the helm, and never for a moment steered out of our track, on the Ocean-wide, marked by those, who have gotten the victory and in long white garments, stand on the hills of light, with the harp of God, in their hand. We have occasionally, encouraging letters from friends in our “sun-rise home,” far in the East, that make our hearts glad.