ment which he was called to bear. That it should not seriously diminish his hopefulness, dampen his enthusiasm, and therefore affect his bodily health, was simply impossible.

A visit to the New Hampshire Yearly Meeting, in 1854, was made memorable by his sermon, a copy of which is found in these pages, at the dedication of a new house of worship at New Hampton. The interest during its delivery was, at times, intense. It was observed that Deacon Dudley was, at any moment, liable to uncommon demonstrations. These were restrained, however, until after the benediction, when he shouted, as he alone could shout, "Glory, glory, glory!" The retiring audience was startled, many were alarmed, thinking that some calamity had befallen, but after those three shouts all was calm again.

His first serious, protracted physical prostration at Olneyville, occurred in the summer of 1855; for a number of weeks he sought strength and rest on the eastern shore of Narraganset Bay, at a retired spot of great natural beauty, about three miles below Providence. Amid "influences that teach, chasten and soothe," the ministry of the sea that “ is never spent, its lessons never fully learned, its litany never completed," he addressed to his church these sweet lines, which he calls

AN INVALID PASTOR'S SABBATH MUSING.

The distant bells, whose tones fall faint around me,
Reclining on the sod,

Rouse up my spirit from the spell that's bound me,
And say "Come, worship God."

In the dim distance graceful spires are pointing
Up to the deep blue heaven;

And reverent souls go forth to the anointing
Which in God's house is given.

Gladly my feet would hasten to the portal
So often passed in peace,

And, feasting on the word of life immortal,
Seek there the Father's face.

Back from the temple where tried friends and cherished,
In by-gone Sabbath days,

Cemented heart-bonds that have never perished,
Mid prayer, and song, and praise ;—

Thence come remembrances that wake up yearning,
And make my eyes grow dim;

And thither even now my ear is turning,
To catch the Sabbath hymn.

Again within that pulpit I am sitting,
Calmed by the organ's swell;

Before my eyes familiar forms are flitting,
Each face-I know it well.

Now clear and sweet the grateful psalm seems pouring
Its melody abroad,

And now in prayer the soul is upward soaring,
Craving the help of God.

But when my trembling lips the text has parted,
And winds take up the tone,

Then breaks the dream-th' illusion has departed,
And I am here-alone!

The city bells have ceased their Sabbath calling,
Fresh breezes round me play,

The sea's soft murmur on my ear is falling,
Then softly dies away.

Alone !—yet Nature is God's habitation,
The clouds his robes of light,

The winds his messengers-the best oblation
Are pure hearts in his sight.

To the true soul that bows itself in meekness,
Or lifts itself to sing,

All holy beings come to aid its weakness,-
All blessings to it bring.

Within deep dungeons heavenly light comes flaming,
When Faith kneels there to pray;

And voiceless solitudes hear heaven proclaiming,
Redemption on its way.

And thus my spirit bows itself in meekness

Here by this beetling rock,

And cries,

"Come near me in this hour of weakness, Great Shepherd of the flock."

And then my heart flings off its load of sadness,
And feels no more of fear;

For, as of old, is heard the word with gladness,
“Look up, for I am near."

Then flame the skies with a celestial brightness;
The ripples of the sea

Lift to the breeze their liquid lips of whiteness-
All things bring joy to me.

My prostrate frame renews its strength while sharing These gifts of heavenly love,

And seems anew beneath Heaven's smile preparing
Its gratitude to prove.

Not less is prized the wonted Sabbath meeting
With God's dear friends and mine ;-

Stored in the memory is each heartfelt greeting,
Shared in the by-gone time.

Back to those fellowships, at beck of duty,
In gladness will I go,

Counting it joy alone to show Christ's beauty,-
Him crucified to know.

Yet 'tis a dearer thing to know that ever
Christ walks close by my side,-
To share his fellowship, and feel forever
He is his children's Guide.

To that great faithful ONE our souls are yielded,
Sailing life's ocean o'er;

Till in his presence, from all peril shielded,

Heart-bonds are broke no more.

In the autumn of 1856, being much worn in body and mind, he spent a few weeks, previous to the session of the General Conference in October, in vacation rambles amid familiar scenes in Ohio. The visit to this field, where labor had been most gratefully received, and where many tender friendships had been formed and cherished, yielded him unusual pleasure. In this letter addressed to the covenant meeting of the Olneyville church, the old memories seem struggling with the new for the uppermost place in his heart, and pastoral love beams out with tenderness:

CHESTER, OHIO, Sept. 25, 1856.

"I can not meet you this month as usual in the covenant meeting, and so there is only left me a prayerful remembrance, and a few lines of Christian sympathy. They are small gifts in themselves; but there is heart interest enough going with them to make them larger if I knew how. In the midst of the rural retreat from which I write, thoughts of those who call me pastor come trooping up in battalions. Surrounded by those whose faces beam like stars because they suggest many remembered kindnesses, your forms are present to the inner eye. Gladdened by tones that tell of welltried sympathies, your Christian speech still seems to blend with all these friendly voices. The greetings of old acquaintances are associated with the pressure of your hands. The sacred words I read, bear me back in spirit to the spots where you and I have meditated on them together. A familiar hymn. leaps to my lips in melody, and I am listening for the tones that so often helped me lift it heavenward. I kneel amid a group of worshipers to ask the peace of heaven, and your interests still stand between me and the Mercy Seat. Sabbath bells call, and I seem hastening to stand before the faces that have looked up to me eagerly or reverently from the seats of the sanctuary. My pastoral responsibilities will not be wholly loosened from my heart, and my pastoral yearning for your welfare leaps these hundreds of intervening miles at a bound. God be gracious to you, and lift the light of his