"It is now eight o'clock at night, and I take up my pen to write to one whose letters always arouse me to think less of self, and more of Jesus and of the many dying sinners around me. May His presence ever refresh your own soul, giving you an earnest of those bright joys which are at God's right hand for evermore. This day of rest has nearly closed. Alas! there is but little perceptible difference between the Lord's-day and other days, here; and yet I love its return, and never feel so peaceful and joyous as on this heavenly day. Owing to the roughness of the weather, there was no service for the Division; but some of us met as usual in one of the tents, to raise our hearts in prayer and praise to our Heavenly Father. After the morning meeting I went to read and pray with the sick in hospital, and to distribute your new supply of books and tracts (with those sent by the Miss Leycesters, for which thank them with my kindest regards), and the blessed cards of prayer, for which the poor fellows are most eager. Oh! it is enough to make one's heart bleed to see, in one hospital after another, men dying without any kind friend or faithful minister to direct their hearts to the words of heavenly mercy, to point them to Jesus, and to refresh their souls by the water of life. But I do and will hope that many who have gone to their last home from this dreary camp are now before the Lamb, clothed with white robes. It is so great a comfort to believe this—and why should it not be true? May not many a broken and contrite heart, drawn by a dying Saviour's love to make known its wants to Him, and to lean its hopes of pardon and eternal life on the blood of the cross, have received the answer of peace direct from the mercy-seat (where, thank God! Jesus ever pleads)—'Enter thou into the joy of thy Lord.'
"I hear much of a chaplain at Balaklava—Mr.
