_To Mr. S―――― S――――._
_Bethesda, January 11, 1770._
_Dear Sir_,
CAN I forget my dear, very dear old steady friend? rather let my right hand forget her cunning. How are you? Still afflicted? still in pain? still made to possess wearisome nights, and wearisome days? Well, all will be over soon; soon, yea very soon shall we sing,
All our sorrows left below, And earth exchang’d for heav’n.
This prospect gives songs in the night; this makes _Georgia_ and _Bethesda_ to more than smile: and indeed you and yours would smile too, were you to see what a lasting foundation is laying for the support and education of many yet unborn. All admire the work already done. In a few months the top-stone, I trust, will be brought forth, with shouting, Grace! grace! In the mean while I must range northward. I know who will follow me with their prayers; even you and yours, whom I dearly love, and whom I salute much in the LORD. GOD bless you all, for all kindnesses conferred upon, my very dear friends,
Less than the least of all,