hunt, in the mountain vallies east and north-east of Fort Hall. He was a spare man, of five feet six inches, dressed in a green camlet frock coat, a black vest, striped cotton shirt, leather trousers, and a white felt hat. They had two children, boys, neatly clad in deerskin. His camp equipage was very comfortable-four or five camp kettles, with tin covers, a number of pails, with covers, a leather tent, and an assortment of fine buffalo robes. He had had a very successful hunt. Of the seventeen horses in his caravan, six were loaded with the best flesh of the buffalo cow. And in the best manner, two others bore his tent articles, clothing, robes, &c.; four others were ridden by himself and family; the five remaining were used to relieve those that from time to time might tire. These were splendid animals, as large as the best horses of the States; well knit, deep and wide at the shoulders, a broad loin, and very small limbs and feet, of extreme activity, and capacity for endurance. Learning that this Indian was going to Dr. Whitman's mission establishment, where a number of his tribe had pitched their tents for the approaching winter, I had determined to go with him thither. After the departure of my company, he turned my wornout animals loose, and loaded my packs upon his own, gave me a splendid saddle-horse to ride, and intimated, by significant gestures, that he would go a short distance that afternoon, in order to arrive at the mission early the next day. I gave my assent, and we were soon on our way. Our course was north.easterly, over sharp swells, among which ran many clear and beautiful brooks. The swells and streams run north-westerly from the Blue Mountains. Our course lay across them. Having made ten miles, we encamped for the night. I noticed, during the drive, a degree of forbearance towards the animals, whenever they erred, and of affection and benevolence towards each other, in this family of Indians, which I had never before seen in that race. The weather was so pleasant, that no tent was pitched. The willows were bent, and buffalo robes spread over them. Underneath were laid other robes, on which my Indian host seated himself, with his wife and children on one side, and myself on the other. A fire burned brightly in front. Water was brought, and having washed ourselves, the wife presented a dish of meat to her husband, and one to myself. There was a pause. The woman seated herself between her children. The Indian then bowed his head, and prayed to God! A wandering savage in Oregon, calling upon Jehovah, in the name of Jesus Christ! After prayer, he gave meat to his children, and passed the dish to his wife. While eating, the frequent repetition of the words Jehovah and Jesus Christ, in the most reverential manner, led me to suppose they were conversing on religion, and thus they passed an hour. Meanwhile, the exceeding weariness of a long day's travel admonished me to seek rest. I had slumbered, I know not how long, when a strain of music awoke me. I was about rising, to ascertain whether the sweet notes of Sallie's chant came to these solitudes from earth or sky, when a full recollection of my situation, and of the religious habits of my host, easily solved the rising inquiry, and induced me to observe, instead of disturbing. The Indian family were engaged in their evening devotions. They were singing a hymn in the Nez Perces language. Having finished it, they all bowed their faces upon their buffalo robes, and Crickie prayed long and fervently: afterwards they sang another hymn, and retired. This was the first breathing of religious feelings I had seen since I left the States. A pleasant evidence that the Oregon wilderness was beginning to bear the rose of Sharon on its thousand hills, and that on the barren soil of the Skyuse heart was beginning to bud, and blossom, and ripen the golden fruits of faith in Jehovah, and hope in a future state. 23rd. We were on our way before the sun rose. We rode rapidly for about three hours, over a country gently sloping, and intersected with small streams. The dust had risen in dark clouds during our ride, and rendered it necessary to bathe before presenting ourselves at the mission; we therefore halted on the banks of a little brook, overhung with willows, and proceeded to make our toilet. Crickie's set-out was admirable for the purpose, and shewed that among his other excellencies, cleanliness held a prominent place: a small mirror, pocket-cowb, soap, and towel were produced, and the dust was taken from his person and wardrobe with the greatest nicety. Dr. Whitman is an efficient labourer of the American Board of Foreign Missions, and the mission had then been established but a year or two. "CHRIST IS ALL." "Christ is all." He is to me as the end of the law for righteousness, the substance of prophecy, the sum of the gospel, the life of the promises; my wisdom to direct me, my righteousness to justify me, my sanctification to make me holy, and my redemption to make me completely happy in worlds of unutterable joy. He is the perfection of glory, the standard of holiness; truth without any defect of error, holiness without the least taint of pollution, the chief among ten thousand! Whatever is desirable on earth, whatever is attractive in heaven, all the graces of time, all the glories of eternity, meet in Him their proper centre, flow from Him their original source, are resolved into Him their final end. His promises, how precious! His work, how perfect! His love, how vast! His mercy, how boundless! His truth, how immutable! His power, how omnipotent! His grace, how sovereign! His counsels, how profound! His people, how secure! His presence, how blissful! His smiles, how transporting! His gospel, how free! His law, how holy! His precepts, how pure! His threatenings, how tremendous! But how little of Him who in all things has the pre-eminence, can be known: the poverty of mortal language, the contracted nature of the human intellect, the necessity of receiving all our ideas of spiritual and eternal objects, through the medium of the outward senses, preclude the possibility of doing justice to this most amazing subject. But though the mortal weighs down the immortal at present; ere long, I trust, I shall arrive where, amidst the innumerable hosts of heaven, I shall know Him more fully, and to all eternity adore his name, and proclaim his praise. Reader! O reader! study the excellencies of the person of Jesus, and the riches of his grace; flee for refuge to Him, trust entirely to Him. May his Eternal Spirit glorify Him in you, in the dignity of His person, the perfection of His righteousness, the suitableness of His character, the mysteries of His love: may you live upon His fulness, draw continually out of it, abound in His work; find Him your all in all, amidst all the changing scenes of life, and in the hour of death; in that solemn hour, may you rise on the supporting wings of angels to the climes of bliss, your soul be presented faultless before the throne, complete in Him, and be swallowed up in all the fulness of God. And, at the resurection of the just, may your body rise in all the glories of incorruption; may it then be beautiful as the temple of heaven, and animated with a life, pure as the life of God. 66 CAST YE HIM OUT." So Such is the melancholy doom of the unprofitable servant. hardened in rebellion, so destitute of holiness, so hostile to God, that he cannot be tolerated in heaven; he must be cast out into the outer darkness, where is weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth. He must be cast out from all his privileges. He shall have no more Sabbaths; hear no more sermons; listen to no more prayers; witness no more praise. The house of God shall no more open its doors to him; his closet will never be a Bethel; his Bible offers no more counsels; the Gospel no longer invites; the Saviour no longer pleads; the Spirit no longer strives. All is given over. He is abandoned of God. The means of recovery have been exhausted, and will never be tried again. He shall be cast out from his social blessings. Here he prizes his friends, and is knit to his kindred. But friends and kindred there must part. The knife shall sever the closest ties, aud cut in twain many a father's house. From beyond the dark gulf he shall see in heaven those whom he loved on earth; but in their joys he shall never share. They will be happy, while he is tormented ; they will sing, while he curses; they will feast, while he starves; they will be at rest while he tosses on the fiery surges of the ocean of wrath. He shall be cast out from all sympathy. No pity survives the shock of the second death; compassion is dried up by the heat of hell. He shall call, but not one of his companions will hear. Not a solitary friend to whom he can utter a sigh, or look for a word of compassion. Desolate and alone, he must tread for ever the wine-press of the Almighty's wrath. He has despised infinite He shall be cast out from self-respect. love, and mocked at dying compassion. worm, claims him for its victim. He will be held up as a degraded, polluted, accursed spectacle, for the hissing and scorn of the universe, that shall read the open scroll of his infamy and crime. O! the shame of the prison or the infamy of the gallows is glory to what he shall experience, when the clear light of God's eye shall reveal the heinousness of his sin, and the horror of his rebellion. He shall be cast out from God's favour. The being who has been his best friend, will then be his implacable enemy. The wrath of God! How it shall wither, and blast, and shrivel every enjoyment. He would rather have a universe in arms against him than God alone. When he wakes from the sleep of death, beneath the frown of eternal justice; when he is lashed and broken by almighty strength; when he sinks into those hands from which none can deliver, and all the energies of vengeance are striving together to crush the worm, O! the terror that shall appal, the misery that shall overwhelm! He shall be cast out from all hope. Whatever anguish he shall experience, or torment he shall writhe under, will be endless. Hope, crushed down by his side, shall shriek and die for ever. All shall be blank despair. This is the bitterest ingredient of his cup. If after millions of slow-moving ages had rolled round; after measureless oceans of destiny had been wearily and painfully traversed; after long, long nights of starless gloom had elapsed, could he hope to escape, then would his sunken eye brighten, and his heart sustain itself in its fierce encounter of wrath. But, alas! there is no hope. "For ever!" meets him wherever he goes; glares upon him from every wall; is written on every bolt; shines in every scalding drop; flashes from every surge; and echoes from every cavern of despair. It is the outer darkness, where is weeping, and wailing, and gnashing of teeth. SUSAN P. SIR, I think you may like to have the enclosed letters, which were writter to me by Rachel S., who is mentioned in a little memoir of Susan P., published in the Friendly Visitor for September and October, 1832. Rachel suffered severely from a most painful disorder, and the manner in which she bore the heavy trial of bodily agony and straitened means, testified whose she was, and whom she served. Indeed she ever walked as a simple, trusting, consistent believer and follower of Jesus Christ. I am yours, &c. C. Latchford, April 11, 1836. MY DEAR MADAM,-Since you were so kind as to say you should always be glad to hear from me, and requested I would acquaint you how I was going on, I feel it my duty under existing circum |