REV. HENRY MARTYN, B.D. 33 



my heart for all the kind consolation and advice you afforded 

 me at the time of my leaving Europe. With a mind somewhat 

 more dispassionate than at that period, I have been reviewing 

 the successive letters you sent to London, Falmouth and Cork, 

 and have been delighted to observe how the sympathizing heart 

 of my dear cousin changed with all my changes. There is also 

 a letter of cousin Thomas's addressed to me, when I was 

 without Christ, an alien from the commonwealth of Israel, 

 having no hope and without God in the world. When I think 

 of these things, my heart is hot within me, and I am constrained 

 to say, what hath Grod wrought ! and what shall I render unto 

 the Lord for all the mercies He hath done unto me ! Dear 

 cousin, Thomas, who kuows what I was, how vain, how wise in 

 my own eyes, will join with me in saying, that nothing is 

 impossible with Grod. Almost excluded from the hope of 

 mercy, even by the word of Grod itself. He yet had compassion 

 on me, and now to Him be the praise and to Him be the glory 

 for ever. How does it become me to walk humbly, lest being 

 puffed up I fall into the condemnation of the devil. my 

 beloved sister, what hath God done and what will he do for us 

 who are his children ? the electing love, the high sovereignty, 

 the resistless power and the unfathomable depths of loving- 

 kindness and grace of Him, who hath wrought redemption for 

 us ! If the grace of God is so sweet now, nowithstanding 

 our sin and confused notions, what is there awaiting us in 

 eternity ? 



My brother Corrie brought me your last short letter, and 

 cousin Thomas's in the same sheet, and at the same time 

 Lydia's. They arrived the 20th of September ; at the beginning 

 of that month, I had sent by the "Sarah Christiana" letters to 

 you, Lydia, Sally, Mr. Grant, and Simeon, and on the 14th, by 

 the fleet, letters to Lydia, Mrs. Curgenven, Simeon, Sargent, 

 and W. Hoare. I find by your letter that you had not received 

 mine from the Cape. The delay I suj)pose was occasioned by 

 its being sent by another ship. There is no ship about to leave 

 India for England that I know of, the occasion of my writing 

 to you now is purely to gratify my own feelings. 



I am now in my budgerow or barge about 100 miles up the 

 river from Calcutta, proceeding to my station — and for the first 

 time alone with the natives. I am as happy as I can well be in 



