When the little volume is printed, send me three or four, at all events not more than six, copies, and tell me if I put you to any additional expense by printing with you, I have no thought of the kind, and in that case must reimburse you.

Priestley, whom I sin in almost adoring, speaks of “such a choice of company as tends to keep up that, right bent and firmness of mind which a necessary intercourse with the world would otherwise warp and relax....  Such fellowship is the true balsam of life; its cement is infinitely more durable than that of the friendships of the world, and it looks for its proper fruit and complete gratification to the life beyond the grave.”  Is there a possible chance for such an one as I to realize in this world such friendships?  Where am I to look for ’em?  What testimonials shall I bring of my being worthy of such friendship?  Alas! the great and good go together in separate herds, and leave such as I to lag far, far behind in all intellectual and, far more grievous to say, in all moral accomplishments.  Coleridge, I have not one truly elevated character among my acquaintance,—­not one Christian; not one but undervalues Christianity.  Singly what am I to do?  Wesley (have you read his life?), was he not an elevated character?  Wesley has said, “Religion is not a solitary thing.”  Alas! it necessarily is so with me, or next to solitary.  ’T is true you write to me.  But correspondence by letter and personal intimacy are very widely different.  Do, do write to me, and do some good to my mind, already how much “warped and relaxed” by the world!  ’T is the conclusion of another evening.  Good night; God have us all in His keeping!

If you are sufficiently at leisure, oblige me with an account of your plan of life at Stowey; your literary occupations and prospects,—­in short, make me acquainted with every circumstance which, as relating to you, can be interesting to me.  Are you yet a Berkleyan?  Make me one.  I rejoice in being, speculatively, a necessarian.  Would to God I were habitually a practical one!  Confirm me in the faith of that great and glorious doctrine, and keep me steady in the contemplation of it.  You some time since expressed an intention you had of finishing some extensive work on the Evidences of Natural and Revealed Religion.  Have you let that intention go?  Or are you doing anything towards it?  Make to yourself other ten talents.  My letter is full of nothingness.  I talk of nothing.  But I must talk.  I love to write to you.  I take a pride in it.  It makes me think less meanly of myself.  It makes me think myself not totally disconnected from the better part of mankind.  I know I am too dissatisfied with the beings around me; but I cannot help occasionally exclaiming, “Woe is me, that I am constrained to dwell with Meshech, and to have my habitation among the tents of Kedar.”  I know I am noways better in practice than my neighors, but I have a taste for religion, an occasional earnest