place to the hope of protracting his existence, I shall not oppose his wishes, though I augur a removal from my cell, which I never before contemplated, in fulfilling them. My poor invalid talks of the Continent for next spring, and has heard so much of Turin, that thither he has set his heart on going in quest of that which he will never find. What is so far distant, may never come to pass; but I must prepare for it, and you know how painful to me is change of place; yet the bitterest potion is mercifully diluted for us, if we attempt to perform a duty with cheerfulness; and He who "tempers the wind to the shorn lamb," will sustain me through whatever. trials may be in prospect.

Winter has been for many years a heavy season with me. Long nights of watchfulness, and sad musing, impede the progress of our daily task; and the summer has been my comforterits warm sunshine tempts abroad; its bowery shades invite to rest; its long days furnish occupation, and its short nights are often sweetly passed in gazing on the starry host, and ponder

ing on those mansions of eternal blessedness that lie beyond the firmament. But this is mere indulgence, selfish indulgence, and my present cares have taught me a lesson, which I ought to have learned before. Engaged now from morning till night in trying to assuage the sufferings of another, I have not time to dwell on sorrow of my own; and winter glides away unperceived, except by the rapidity of its flight.

It will rejoice you to learn that our great concern prospers; and the earnest desire to infuse "that peace which passeth all understanding" into the sinking spirit, has been blessed with success beyond our hopes. No formal siege, no angry attack, no querulous disputation has been opened here upon error and scepticism. We read, we converse, but we patiently wait for the troubling of the waters ere assistance is offered. The forcing system surely deters many from entering the lists of proselytism from the evil of their ways. You have often heard me say that there is nothing like Butler's Analogy for minds of a certain calibre, which must have strong

food. Here is a new instance in proof of its excellence. Our invalid is charmed with this masterly work, and pores over it incessantly. We have got Tremaine too, of which so many various opinions are in circulation: but as we have not yet finished it, I do not say more at present.

Adieu, dearest friend,

All, to all, with true affection,

ever yours is

VOL. III.

C. DOUGLAS.

LETTER XXX.

FREDERICK DOUGLAS TO ARTHUR HOWARD.

Dearest Arthur,

Glenalta.

OUR letters to and fro, seem all to have reached their several destinations in safety, and yours have truly been a rich resource this winter in our retirement. Little did I imagine when we parted, that you and I were likely to meet in a foreign territory before we shook hands once more at Glenalta; but this letter is actually to be your manifesto of full power to treat in my uncle's name for all such accommodations as may suit his circumstances and the number of our party at Turin, whither you are directing your steps, you say, and where you may expect to see us all, Mr. Oliphant excepted, in two months, should no unforeseen interventions mar the present plan of proceeding.

How extraordinarily the most unlooked for events come round, and sometimes turn up the very thing that we most desire, and which seemed the least within our own power to accomplish!

My college course just finished, my degree taken, and the mind experiencing the pains of liberty, not its pleasures, how delightful is this new direction of its activity! I cannot describe the feelings with which I paid my last accounts to Alma Mater, and took leave for ever of a heap of books which now that I am not obliged to read, I dare say I shall never be likely to open again.

Well, man is surely a perfect enigma! Venteroli, La Place, La Croix, all those volumes with the red, blue, and yellow, covers, which when lying on my table you used to call my parterre of tulips, and at which I have often worked till my mind was reduced to a state of complete inanition, became objects of affection when the task was finished,-not that I had any inclination to continue the toil, when the necessity for it had ceased; but I regretted the