I am requested, from a high quarter, to furnish an article for
the _Southern Literary Messenger_. "You are in for a scrape," says a gay
note on the subject. "I have told Mr. White all about it. I am greatly
obliged to you for relieving me." Truth is, I have never regarded the
employment of literary time as thrown away. The discipline of the mind,
induced by composition, is something, and it is surprising what may be
done by a person who carefully "redeems" all his time. It does not, in
the least, incapacitate him for business. It rather quickens his
intellect for it.
_Feb. 1st_. My former agreeable guest at Mackinack (Rev. Geo. H.
Hastings) writes me from Walnut Hills, Ohio: "There is a missionary
spirit in our institution (Lane Seminary) that responds to the wants of
the world. The faculty have pressed upon the minds of us all the duty of
examining early the question, 'Ought I to be a missionary?'"
_16th_. My brother James writes from St. Mary's, foot of Lake Superior:
"The month has been remarkably cold, the thermometer having ranged from
13 deg.
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