THE UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS LIBRARY "• • • ■: THE OF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON, LATE PASTOR OF THE UNITED PARISHES OF ST. MARY WOOLNOTH AND ST. MARY WOOL- CHURCIl-HAW, LOMBARD STREET, LONDON. CONTAINING, A N AUTHENTIC NARRATIVE, ETC. LETTERS ON RELIGIOUS SUBJECTS, CARDIPHONIA, DISCOURSES INTENDED FOR THE PULPIT, SERMONS PREACHED IN THE PARISH CHURCH OF OLNEY, A REVIEW OF ECCLESIASTICAL HISTORY, OLNEY HYMNS, POEMS, MESSIAH, OCCASIONAL SERMONS, AND TRACTS. TO WHICH ARE PREFIXED, MEMOIRS OF HIS LIFE, &c. BY THE REV. RICHARD CECIL, A. M. COMPLETE IN TWO VOLUMES. VOL. I. NEW YORK: ROBERT CARTER & BROTH E R S, No. 2 8 5 BROADWAY. 1851 Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2017 with funding from University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign Alternates https://archive.org/details/worksofrevjohnne00newt_0 A 7 ? ! y 9 ' jut* ^ CONTENTS OF THE FIRST VOLUME. / ,> \3 MEMOIRS OF THE REV. JOHN NEW- TON. Page. Preface 5 Memoirs, &c 7 Review of his Character 56 Remarks in Familiar Conversation 60 General Observations 67 AN AUTHENTIC NARRATIVE, &c. LET. I.— Introductory Observations 80 II. — Occurrences in early Life 81 III. — Journey to Kent, voyage to Venice, & c. 83 IV. — Voyage to Madeira, Entry on board a Guineaman, and voyage to Africa . . 87 V. — Hardships endured in Africa 89 VI.— Enlargement in Africa 92 VII.— Voyage from Cape Lopez to England, &,c 94 VIII.— Danger, &c. in the Voyage from Cape Lopez 96 IX —Events in Ireland, and arrival in Eng- land 98 X — Voyage to Africa 100 XL — Voyage to Antigua, Return to England, and Marriage 102 XII. — Another Voyage to Africa 105 XIII —Last Voyage to Africa, &c 107 XIV.— Conclusion of the Narrative 109 LETTERS ON RELIGIOUS SUBJECTS. LET. I.— On Trust in God 112 II.— To a Student of Divinity . < . . • 114 III. — On 2 Cor. v. 10, and Rom. xiv. 12. . .116 IV. — On Family-worship 118 V. — On the difficulties attending the Mi- nistry 120 VI.— On the Influence of Faith 122 VII.— On a Ministerial Address to the Un- converted 124 VIII.— On the Inward Witness 127 IX.— On Election and Perseverance . . . 129 X.— On Grace in the Blade 132 XL— On Grace in the Ear 134 XII.— On Grace in the Full Corn .... 1.36 XIII. — On Hearing Sermons 138 XIV. — On Temptation 141 XV.— A Plan of a Christian Library . . . 146 XVI.— On the Inefficacy of Knowledge . . . 147 XVII.— On a Believer’s Frames 149 XVII I. — On Social Prayer 152 XIX.— On Controversy 154 XX.— On Conformity to the World . . . .156 XXL— On Spiritual blindness 158 XXII. — On a State of Poverty 160 XX III — On Simplicity and Sincerity .... 163 XXIV.— On Communion with God 165 XXV. — On Faith, and the Communion of Saints 168 XXVI. — On Gospel Illumination 170 XXVII. —On Union with Christ ib. XXVIII.— On the Divine Guidance . . . • . 171 XXIX.— On Rom. viii. 19, 20, 21 173 XXX.— On the Right Use of the Law ... 176 XXXI —On Love to the Brethren 179 XXXII— On Candour 180 XXXIII.— (1) On Man in his Fallen Estate . . 183 XXXIV.— (2) On Man in his Fallen Estate . . 185 XXXV.— On Phil iv. 8 188 XXXVI.— To a Friend on his Recovery from Illness 190 1 age. XXXVII— On Christian Experience iii XXXVIII.— On Religion as being necessary to the Enjoyment of Life 194 XXXIX.— A Word in Season 1% XL. — To Professors in Trade ...... f98 XLL— On the Ministry of Angels .... 199 CARDIPHONIA. Twenty-six Letters to a Nobleman 202 Eight Letters to the Rev. Mr. S . . . - . 243 Eleven Letters to Mr. B , &c 263 Four Letters to the Rev. Mr. R 272 A Letter to the Rev. Mr. O 276 Seven Letters to the Rev. Mr. P 278 Three Letters to Mrs. G 284 Two Letters to Miss F 289 Four Letters to the Rev. Dr. 291 Seven Letters to Mrs. 294 Four Letters to Mrs. T 304 Five Letters to Mr. 309 Eight Letters to the Rev. Mr. 315 Four Letters to Mrs. P 322 Six Letters to the Rev. Mr. B 327 Nine Letters to the Rev. Mr. R 333 Three Letters to Aliss Th 340 Seven Letters to 343 Five Letters to Air. C 347 Eight Letters to Mrs. 352 Five Letters to Miss D 363 Three Letters to Mrs. H 368 Two Letters to Aliss P 371 Fourteen Letters to the Rev. Mr. B .... 373 DISCOURSES INTENDED FOR THE PULPIT. SERMON I. — On the Dcceitfulness of the Heart . — “ The heart is deceitful above all things, and des- perately wicked ; who can know it? I the Lord search the heart, I try the reins, even to give every man according to his ways, and according to the fruit of his doings,” Jer. xvii. 9, 10 382 SERAION II. — On the Saviour and his Salvation . — “ This is a faithful saying, and worthy of all ac- ceptation, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners, of whom I am chief,” ITim. i. 15 387 SERAION III. — On the Christian Name.—“ And the disciples were called Christians first at Antioch,” Acts xi 26 »•••••••••• . 3d2 SERMON IV.— On. all Things being given us with Christ.— He that spared not his own son, but delivered him up for us all, how shall he not with him also freely give us all things?” Rom. viii. 32. 396 SER MO N V . — On searching the Scriptu res. — ‘ ‘Search the scriptures, for in them ye think ye have eter- nal life, and they are they which testify of me,” John v. 39 402 SERMON VI.— The same subject continued . . . 407 SERMONS PREACHED IN THE PARISH CHURCH OF OLNEY. SERMON I.— The small Success of a Gospel. Minis- try . — “ At that time Jesus answered and said, I thank Uiee, O Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because thou hast hid these things from the wise and prudent, and hast revealed them unto babes,” Matt. xi. 25 414 3 6X1741 4 CONTENTS. Page SERMON II. — The Mysteries of the Gospel hid from. Many. — Same text 417 SERMON III.— Of those from whom the Gospel-Doc- trines are. Aid.— Same text 421 SERMON IV. — The Mature of Spiritual Revelation , and who are favoured with it . — Same text . . . 424 SERMON V.— The Sovereignty of Divine Grace asserted and illustrated — “ Even so, Father, for so it seemed good in thy sight,” Matt. xi. 26. . . 427 SERMON VI. — Of the Person of Christ . — “All things are delivered unto me of my Father: and no man knoweth the Son but the Father ; nei- ther knoweth any man the Father, save the Son, and he to whomsoever the Son will reveal him,” Vitt. xi. 27 431 SERMON VII. — Of the Authority of Christ — Same text . 434 SERMON VIIL — The Glory' and Grace of God' re- vealed in. Jesus Christ. — Same text 438 SERMON IX. — Labouring and heavy-laden Sinners described. — “Come unto me, all ye that labour, and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest,” Matt. xi. 28 441 SERMON X. — Of Coming to Christ. — Same text . 444 SERMON XI. — Of Believers' Rest in Christ . — Same text 447 SERMON XII.— Of the Yoke of Christ.—' " Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me ; for I am meek and lowly in heart : and ye shall find rest for your souls.” Matt, xi 29 451 SERMON XIII. — The Service of Christ easy and pleasant. — “ For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light,” Matt. xi. 30 454 Page SERMON XIV. — Believers cautioned against Mis- conduct in their Profession. — “ Let not your good be evil spoken of.” Rom. xiv. 16 457 SERMON XV. — The Extent and Sanction of the Third Commandment. — “ Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain; for the Lord will not hold him guiltless that taketh his name in vain.” Exod. xx. 7 461 SERMON XVI. — The Christian Life compared to a Race . — “ So run that ye may obtain,” 1 Cor. iv. 24 465 SERMON XVII. — JV"o Access to God but by the Gos- pel of Christ. — “ Wherewith shall I come before the Lord, and bow myself before the high God? Shall I come before him with burnt-offerings, with calves of a year old? Will the Lord be pleased with thousands of rams, or with ten thou- sands of rivers of oil ? Shall I give my first born for my transgression, the fruit of my body for the sin of my soul? He hath showed thee,0 man. what is good ; and what doth the Lord require of thee, but to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God?” Micah vi. 6—8. 468 SERMON XVIII.— Of a Living and a Dead Faith. — “ For as the body without the spirit is dead, so faith without works is dead also,” James ii. 26. 472 SERMON XIX. — Guilt removed and Peace restor- ed — “ O Lord, open thou my lips, and my mouth shall show forth thy praise,” Psalm li. 15. . . . 475 SERMON XX — Of the Assurance of Faith.— 1 ' And we know that we are of God,” 1 John v. 19. . 481 MEMOIRS OP THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. PREFACE. X he Memoirs of the Hon. and Rev. William Bromley Cadogan, and those of John Bacon, Esq. were written at the particular re- quest of their relations. But in publishing these of the late Rev. John Newton, I profess myself a volunteer; and my motives were the following: — When I perceived my venerable friend bending un- der a weight of years, and considered how soon, from the very course of nature, the world must lose so valuable an instructor and example ; when I reflected how common it is for hasty and inaccu- rate accounts of extraordinary characters to be obtruded on the pub- lic by venal writers, whenever more authentic documents are want- ing ; above all, when I considered how striking a display such a life affords of the nature of true religion, of the power of divine grace, of the mysterious but all-wise course of divine providence, and of the encouragement afforded for our dependence upon that providence in the most trying circumstances ; I say, on these ac- counts I felt, that the leading features of such a character should not be neglected, whilst it was easy to authenticate them correctly. Besides which, I have observed a want of books of a certain class for young people ; and have often been inquired of by Christian pa- rents for publications that might amuse their families, and yet tend to promote their best interests. The number, however, of this kind which X have seen, and that appeared unexceptionable, is but small : For, as the characters and sentiments of some men become moral blights in society, men whose mouths seldom open but, like that of sepulchres, they discover the putridity they contain, and infect more VJ PREFACE. or less whoever ventures within their baneful influence ; so the re- formed subject of these Memoirs was happily a remarkable instance of the reverse. The change that took place in his heart, after such a course of profligacy, affords a convincing demonstration of the truth and force of Christianity. Instead of proceeding as a blight in society, he became a blessing ; his future course was a striking example of the beneficial effects of the Gospel ; and that, not only from the pul- pit and by his pen, but also by his conversation in the large circle of his acquaintance, of which there is, yet living, a multitude of witnesses. Impressed, therefore, with the advantages which I conceived would result from the publication of these Memoirs, I communica ted my design some years ago to Mr. N. Whatever tended to promote that cause in which his heart had been long engaged, I was sure would not fail to obtain his concurrence. He accordingly promised to afford whatever materials might be necessary, beyond those which his printed Narrative contained. He promised also to read over and revise w hatever was added from my own observation ; and he soon after brought me an Account in writing, containing every thins memorable which he recollected before the commencement of his Narrative. I shall, therefore, detain the reader no longer than to assure him, that the whole of the following Memoirs (except what relates to Mr. N.’s character) was submitted to him in MS. while he w^as capable of correcting it, and received his sanction. MEMOIRS, &C. 8 { C . These Memoirs seem naturally to commence with the Account mentioned in the Preface, and which I here transcribe ; — “ I was born in London, the 24th July, 1725, old style. My parents, though not wealthy, were respectable. My father was many years master of a ship in the Mediterranean trade. In the year 1748 he went Governor of York Fort, in Hudson’s Bay, where he died in the year 1750. “ My mother was a Dissenter, a pious woman, and a member of the late Dr. Jenning’s church. She was of a weak, consumptive habit, and loved retirement; and as I was her only child, she made it the chief business and pleasure of her life to instruct me, and bring me up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord. I have been told, that from my birth she had, in her mind, devoted me to the minis- try ; and that, had she lived till I was of a proper age, I was to have been sent to St. Andrews, in Scotland, to be educated. But the Lord had appointed other- wise. My mother died before I was seven years of age. “ I was rather of a sedentary turn, not active and playful, as boys commonly are, but seemed as willing to learn as my mother was to teach me. I had some ca- pacity, and a retentive memory. When I was four years old, I could read (hard names excepted) as well as I can now ; and could likewise repeat the answers to the questions in the Assembly’s Shorter Catechism, with the proofs ; and all Dr. Watts’s smaller Catechisms, and his Children’s Hymns. ‘‘When my father returned from sea, after my mother’s death, he married again. My new mother was the daughter of a substantial grazier at Aveley in Essex. She seemed willing to adopt and bring me up; but, after two or three years, she had a son of her own, who engrossed the old gentleman’s notice. My father was a very sensible and a moral man, as the world rates morality, but neither he nor my step-mother were under the impressions of religion ; I was, therefore, much left to myself, to mingle with idle and wicked boys, and soon learnt their ways. “ I never was at school but about two years (from my eighth to my tenth year ;) it was a boarding-school at Stratford in Essex. Though my father left me much to run about the streets, yet, when under his eye, he kept me at a great distance. I am persuaded he loved me, but he seemed not willing that I should know it. I was with him in a state of fear and bondage. His sternness, together with the severity of my schoolmaster, broke and overawed my spirit, and almost made me a dolt ; so that part of the two years I was at school, instead of making progress. I nearly forgot all my good mother had taught me. “ The day I was eleven years old, I went on board my father’s ship in Long- reach. I made five voyages with him to the Mediterranean. In the course of the last voyage, he left me some months at Alicant in Spain, with a merchant, a particular friend of his, with whom I might have done well, if I had behaved well. But by this time my sinful propensities had gathered strength by habit : I was very wicked, and therefore very foolish; and, being my own enemy, I seemed determined that nobody should be my friend. " My father left the sea in the year 1742. I made one voyage afterwards to 7 8 MEMOIRS OF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. Venice before the mast; and soon after my return, was impressed on board the Harwich. Then began my awfully mad career, as recorded in the Narrative ; to which, and to the Letters to a wife, I must refer you for any farther dates ana incidents. 1 am truly yours, " JOHN NEWTON. “Dec. 19, 1795.” A few articles may be added to this account from the Narrative, where we find, that his pious mother “ stored his memory with whole chapters, and smader portions of Scripture, catechisms, hymns, and poems ; and often commended him with prayers and tears to God :” also, that in his sixth year he began to learn Latin, though the intended plan of his education was soon broken ; and that he lost this valuable parent, July 11, 1732. We also find, that, after his father’s second marriage, he was sent to the school above mentioned ; and in the last of the two years he spent there, a new usher came, who, observing and suiting his temper, he prosecuted Latin with great eagerness, and before he was ten years old he had reached and maintained the first post in the second class, which, in that school, was Tully and Virgil. But by being pushed forward too fast, and not properly grounded (a method too com- mon in inferior schools,) he soon lost all he had learned. In the next and most remarkable period of Mr. N.’s life, we must be conducted by the Narrative above mentioned. It has been observed, that at eleven years of age he was taken by his father to sea. His father was a man of remarkably good sense, and great knowledge of the world; he took much care of his son’s morals, but could not supply a mother’s part. The father had been educated at a Jesuits’ college, near Seville in Spain, and had an air of such distance and severity in his carriage as discouraged his son, who always was in fear when before him, and which deprived him of that influence he might otherwise have had. From this time to the year 1742, Mr. N. made several voyages, but at consi- derable intervals: these intervals were chiefly spent in the country, excepting a few months in his fifteenth year, when he was placed, with a very advantageous prospect, at Alicant, already mentioned. About this period of his life, w ith a temper and conduct exceedingly various, he was often disturbed with religious convictions ; and being from a child fond of reading, he met with Bennet’s “Christian Oratory:” and though he under- stood little of it, the course of life it recommended, appeared very desirable. He therefore began to pray, to read the Scriptures, to keep a diary, and thought him- self religious ; but soon became weary of it, and gave it up. He then learned to curse and to blaspheme, and was exceedingly wicked when out of the view of his parents, though at so early a period. Upon his being thrown from a horse near a dangerous hedge-row, newly cut, his conscience suggested to him the dreadful consequences of appearing in such a state before God. This put him, though but for a time, upon breaking off his profane practices ; but the consequence of these struggles between sin and con- science was, that on every relapse he sunk into still greater depths of wickedness. He was roused again by the loss of a companion, who had agreed to go with him one Sunday on board a man-of-war. Mr. N. providentially coming too late, the boat had gone without him, and was overset, by which his companion and several others were drowned. He was exceedingly affected at the funeral of this com- panion, to think, that by the delay of a few minutes (which at the time occa- sioned much anger) his life had been preserved : but this also was soon forgotten. The perusal of the “Family Instructor” produced another temporary reforma- tion. In short, he took up and laid aside a religious profession three or four dif- ferent times before he was sixteen years of age. “ A.11 this while,” says he, “ my heart was insincere; I often saw the necessity of religion, as a means of escaping hell, but I loved sin, and was unwilling to for MEMOIRS OF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 9 sake it. I was so strangely blind and stupid, that sometimes, when I have been determined upon things which I knew were sinful, I could not go on quietly till I had first despatched my ordinary task of prayer, in which I have grudged every moment of the time; when this was finished, my conscience was in some measure pacified, and I could rush into folly with little remorse.” But his last reform was the most remarkable. “Of this period,” says he, “ at least of some part of it, I may say in the apostle’s words, ‘ After the strictest sect of our religion, I lived a Pharisee.’ I did every thing that might be expected from a person entirely ignorant of God’s righteousness, and desirous to establish his own. I spent the greatest part of every day in reading the Scriptures, and in meditation and prayer. I fasted often : I even abstained from all animal food for three months. I would hardly answer a question, for fear of speaking an idle word. I seemed to bemoan my former miscarriages very earnestly, and sometimes with tears : in short, I became an ascetic, and endeavoured, as far as my situation woyld permit, to renounce society, that I might avoid temptation.” This reformation, it seems, continued for more than two years. “ But,” he idds, “it was a poor religion; it left me in many respects under the power of sin ; and, so far as it prevailed, only tended to make me gloomy, stupid, unso- ciable, and useless.” That it was a poor religion, and quite unlike that which he afterwards possessed, will appear from what immediately follows : for had it been taken up upon more scriptural ground, and been attended with that internal evidence and satisfaction, which true religion only brings, he could not so soon have fallen a dupe to such a writer as Shaftesbury. It was at a petty shop at Middleburgh, in Holland, that he first met with a volume of the Characteristics. The declamation, called by his Lordship a Rhapsody, suited the romantic turn of his mind. Unaware of its ten- dency, he imagined he had found a valuable guide. This book was always in his hand, till he could nearly repeat the Rhapsody. Though it produced no immediate effect, it operated like a slow poison, and prepared the way for all that followed. About the year 1742, having lately come from a voyage, his father, not intend- ing to return to sea, was contriving for Mr. N.’s settlement in the world. But to settle a youth who had no spirit for business, who knew but little of men or things, who was of a romantic turn — a medley, as he expressed it, of religion, philosophy, and indolence, and quite averse to order — must prove a great difficulty. At length a merchant in Liverpool, an intimate friend of the father, and after- wards a singular friend to the son, offered to send him for some years to Jamaica, and undertook the charge of his future welfare. This was consented to, and pre- paration made for the voyage, which was to be prosecuted the following week. In the mean time, he was sent by his father, on some business, to a place a few miles beyond Maidstone in Kent. But the journey, which was designed to last but three or four days, gave such a turn to his mind as roused him from his habi- tual indolence, and produced a series of important and interesting occurrences. A few days before this intended journey, he received an invitation to visit some distanTTeTaffa^ They were particular friends of his mother, wh o died at their house; but a coolness haying’.taken place upon hiYTather’s second mar- riage, aTTiirtercourse between them had ceased. TAsIus road lay within half a mile 'of the house7and~Tie obtained his fathers leave to call on them, he went thither, and met with the kindest reception from these friends. They had two daughters : it seems the elder had been intended, by both the mothers, for his future wife. Almost at the first sight of this girl, then under fourteen _y ears of age, he w as impressed with such an affection for her, as appears to have equalled 11 that . t h£-Wjitefs ~bT rq m ance have~Im agIhedV~ ;£ I soon lost,” says he, “ all sense of religi o n , and became deaf to the remon- strances of conscience and prudence, but my regard for her was always the same ; and I may, perhaps, venture to say, that none of the scenes of misery and wick- edness I afterwards experienced, ever banished her a single hour together from Saqr waking thoughts for the seven following years.* 10 MEMOIRS OF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. His heart being now riveted to a particular object, every thing with which he was concerned appeared in a new light. He could not now bear the thought of jiving at such a distance as Jamaica, for four or five years, and therefore deter- mined not to go thither. He dared not communicate with his father on this point, but, instead of three days, he staid three weeks in Kent, till the ship had sailed, and then he returned to London. His father, though highly displeased, became reconciled, and in a little time he sailed with a friend of his father’s to Venice. In this voyage, being a common sailor, and exposed to the company of his com- rades, he began to relax from the sobriety which he had preserved, in some de- gree, for more than two years. Sometimes, pierced with convictions, he made a few faint efforts, as formerly, to stop ; and though not yet absolutely profligate, he was making large strides towards a total apostacy from God. At length he received a remarkable check by a dream, which made a very strong, though not abiding impression upon his mind. I shall relate this dream in his own words, referring to the Narrative those who wish to know his opinion of dreams, and his application of this one in particular to his own circumstances : — “The scene presented to ray imagination was the harbour of Venice, where we had lately been. I thought it was night, and my watch upon the deck ; and that, as I was walking to and fro by myself, a person came to me (I do not re- member from whence) and brought me a ring, with an express charge to keep it carefully ; assuring me, that while I preserved that ring I should be happy and successful : but, if I lost or parted with it, I must expect nothing but trouble and misery. I accepted the present and the terms willingly, not in the least doubting my own care to preserve it, and highly satisfied to have my happiness in my own keeping. I was engaged in these thoughts, when a second person came to me, and, observing the ring on my finger, took occasion to ask me some questions concerning it. I readily told him its virtues; and his answer expressed a sur- prise at my weakness, in expecting such effects from a ring. I think he reasoned with me some time upon the impossibility of the thing ; and at length urged me, in direct terms, to throw it away. At first I was shocked at the proposal ; but his insinuations prevailed. I began to reason and doubt, and at last plucked it off my finger, and dropped it over the ship’s side into the water, which it had no sooner touched than I saw, at the same instant, a terrible fire burst out from a range of mountains (a part of the Alps,) which appeared at some distance behind the city of Venice. I saw the hills as distinct as if awake, and that they were all in flames. I perceived, too late, my folly ; and my tempter with an air of insult in- formed me, that all the mercy God had in reserve for me was comprised in that ring, which I had wilfully thrown away. I understood, that I must now go with him to the burning mountains, and that all the flames I saw were kindled on my account. I trembled, and was in a great agony ; so that it was surprising I did not then awake : but my dream continued, and when I thought myself upon the point of a constrained departure, and stood self-condemned, without plea or hope, suddenly either a third person, or the same who brought the ring at first, (I am not certain which,) came to me, and demanded the cause of my grief. I told him the plain case, confessing that I had ruined myself wilfully, and deserved no pity. He blamed my rashness, and asked if I should be wiser, supposing I had my ring again. I could hardly answer to this, for I thought it was gone beyond recal. I believe, indeed, I had not time to answer, before I saw this unexpected friend go down under the water, just in the spot where I had dropped it, and he soon re- turned, bringing the ring with him : the moment he came on board, the flames in the mountains were extinguished, and my seducer left me. Then was ‘ the prey taken from the hand of the mighty, and the lawful captive delivered.’ My fears were at an end, and with joy and gratitude I approached my kind deliverer to receive the ring again ; but he refused to return it, and spoke to this effect : 4 If you should be intrusted with this ring again, you would very soon bring your- self into the same distress ; you are not able to keep it, but I will preserve it foi MEMOIRS OF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 11 you, and whenever it is needful will produce it in your behalf.’ Upon this I awoke, in a state of mind not to be described : I could hardly eat, or sleep, or transact my necessary business for two or three days; but the impression soon wore olF, and in a little time I totally forgot it; and I think it hardly occurred to ~*y mind again till several years afterwards.” Nothing remarkable happened in the following part of that voyage. Mr. N. returned home in December, 1743, and, repeating his visit to Kent, protracted his stay in the same imprudent manner he had done before. This so disappointed his father’s designs for his interest, as almost induced him to disown his son. Be- fore any thing suitable offered again, this thoughtless son, unmindful of the con- sequence of appearing in a check shirt, was marked by a lieutenant of the Har- wich man-of-war, who immediately impressed and carried him on board a ten- der This was at a critical juncture, as the French fleets were hovering upon our coast : so that his father was incapable of procuring his release. A few days after, he was sent on board the Harwich at the Nore. Here a new scene of life was presented, and for about a month much hardship endured. As a war was daily expected, his father was willing he should remain in the navy, and procu- red him a recommendation to the captain, who sent him upon the quarter-deck as a midshipman. He might now have had ease and respect, had it not been for his unsettled mind and indifferent behaviour. The companions he met with here completed the ruin of his principles ; though he affected to talk of virtue, and preserved some decency, yet his delight and habitual practice was wickedness. His principal companion was a person of talents and observation, an expert and plausible infidel, whose zeal was equal to his address. “ I have been told,” says Mr. N., “ that afterwards he was overtaken in a voyage from Lisbon in a violent storm ; the vessel and people escaped, but a great sea broke on board, and swept him into eternity.” Being fond of this man’s company, Mr. N. aimed to discover what smattering of reading he had : his companion, observing that Mr. N. had not lost all the restraints of conscience, at first spoke in favour of religion ; and having gained Mr. N.’s confidence, and perceiving his attatchment to the Characteristics, he soon convinced his pupil that he had never understood that book. By objections and arguments Mr. N.’s depraved heart was soon gained. He plunged into infidelity with all his spirit ; and, like an unwary sailor, who quits his post just before a rising storm, the hopes and comforts of the Gospel were renounced at the very time when every other comfort was about to fail. In December 1744, the Harwich was in the Downs, bound to the East Indies. The captain gave Mr. N. leave to go on shore for a day; but, with his usual in- consideration, and following the dictates of a restless passion, he went to take a last leave of the object with which he was so infatuated. Little satisfaction at- tended the interview in such circumstances, and on new-year’s day he returned to the ship. The captain was so highly displeased at this rash step, that it occa- sioned ever after the loss of his favour. At length they sailed from Spithead, with a very large fleet. They put into Torbay, with a change of wind, but sailed the next day, on its becoming fair. Several of the fleet were lost at leaving the place, but the following night the whole fleet was greatly endangered upon the coast of Cornw all, by a storm from the southward. The ship on which Mr. N. was aboard escaped unhurt, though several times in danger of being run down by other vessels ; but many suffered much : this occasioned their putting back to Plymouth. While they lay at Plymouth, Mr. N. heard that his father, who had an in- terest in some of the ships lately lost, was come down to Torbay. He thought, that, if he could see his father, he might easily be introduced into a service which would be better than pursuing a long and uncertain voyage to the East Indies. It was his habit in those unhappy days, never to deliberate: as soon as the thought occurred, he resolved to leave the ship at all events : he did «o, and in the worst manner possible. He was sent one day in the boat to pre- vent others from desertion, but betrayed his trust, and deserted himself. Not 12 MEMOIRS OF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. knowing which road to take, and fearing to inquire, lest he should be suspected yet having some geueral idea of the country, he found, after he had travelled some miles, that he was on the road to Dartmouth. That day, and part of the next, every thing seemed to go on smoothly. He walked fast, and thought to have seen his father in about two hours, when he was met by a small party of soldiers, whom he could not avoid or deceive : they brought him back to Ply- mouth, through the streets of which he proceeded guarded like a felon. Full ol indignation, shame, and fear, he was confined two days in the guard-house, then sent on ship-board, and kept a while in irons ; next he was publicly stript and whipt, degraded from his office, and all his former companions forbidden to show him the least favour, or even to speak to him. As midshipman he had been entitled to command, in which (being sufficiently haughty and vain) he had not been temperate ; but was now in his turn brought down to a level with the lowest, and exposed to the insults of all. The state of his mind at this time can only be properly expressed in his own words : — “ As my present situation was uncomfortable, my future prospects were still worse ; the evils I suffered were likely to grow heavier every day. While my catastrophe was recent, the officers and my quondam brethren w ere somew hat disposed to screen me from ill usage ; but during the little time I remained with them afterwards, I found them cool very fast in their endeavours to protect me. Indeed, they could not avoid such conduct, without running a great risk of shar ing with me : for the captain, though in general a humane man, who behaved very well to the ship’s company, was almost implacable in his resentment, and took several occasions to show it, and the voyage w r as expected to be (as it proved) for five years. Yet nothing I either felt or feared distressed me so much, as to see myself thus forcibly torn away from the object of my affections, under a great improbability of seeing her again, and a much greater, of returning in such a man- ner as would give me hope of seeing her mine. “ Thus I was as miserable on all hands, as could well be imagined. My breast was filled w ith the most excruciating passions, eager desire, bitter rage, and black despair. Every hour exposed me to some new insult and hardship, with no hope of relief or mitigation ; no friend to take my part, nor to listen to my com- plaint. Whether I looked inw'ard or outward, I could perceive nothing but dark- ness and misery. I think no case, except that of a conscience wounded by the wrath of God, could be more dreadful than mine. I cannot express with what wishfulness and regret I cast my last looks upon the English shore ; I kept my eyes fixed upon it, till the ship’s distance increasing, it insensibly disappeared ; and, when I could see it no longer, I was tempted to throw' myself into the sea, which (according to the wicked system I had adopted) would put a period to all my sorrows at once. But the secret hand of God restrained me.” During his passage to Madeira, Mr. N. describes himself as a prey to the most gloomy thoughts ; though he had deserved all. and more than all he had met with from the captain, yet pride suggested that he had been grossly injured; “and this so far,” says he, “ wrought upon my wicked heart, that I actually formed designs against his life, and that w as one reason w hich made me willing to pro- long my ow r n. I was sometimes divided between the two, not thinking it prac- ticable to effect both. The Lord had now to appearance given me up to judicial hardness ; I was capable of any thing. I had not the least fear of God before my eyes, nor (so far as 1 remember) the least sensibility of conscience. I was possessed with so strong a spirit of delusion, that I believed my own lie, and was firmly persuaded, that after death I should cease to be. Yet the Lord preserved me! Some intervals of sober reflection w'ould at times take place: when I have chosen death rather than life, a ray of hope w'ould come in (though there was little probability for such hope) that I should yet see better days, that I might return to England, and have my wishes crow'ned, if I did not w ilfully throw' my- self away. In a w r ord, my love to Mrs. N. was now the only restraint I had MEMOIRS OF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON 13 left : though I neither feared God, nor regarded man, I could not bear that she should think meanly of me when I was dead. Mr. N. had been at Madeira some time ; and the business of the fleet being now completed, they were to sail the following day. On that memorable morn- ing he happened to be late in bed, and would have continued to sleep, but that an old companion, a midshipman, came down, between jest and earnest, and bid him rise. As he did not immediately comply, the midshipman cut down the hammock in which he lay ; this obliged him to dress himself ; and though very angry he durst not resent it, but was little aware that this person, without design, was a special instrument of God’s providence. Mr. N. said little, but went upon deck, where he saw a man putting his clothes into a boat, who in- formed him he was going to leave the ship. Upon inquiry, he found that two men from a Guinea ship, which lay near them, had entered on board the Har- wich, and that the commodore (the late Sir George Pocock) had ordered the captain to send two others in their room. Inflamed with this information, Mr. N. requested that the boat might be detained a few minutes ; he then en- treated the lieutenants to intercede with the captain, that he might be dismissed upon this occasion : though he had formerly behaved ill to these officers, they were moved with pity, and were disposed to serve him. The captain, who had refused to exchange him at Plymouth, though requested by Admiral Medley, was easily prevailed with now. In little more than half an hour from his being asleep in bed, he found himself discharged, and safe on board another ship. The events depending upon this change, will show it to have been the most criti- cal and important. The ship he now entered was bound to Sierra Leone, and the adjacent parts of what is called the windward coast of Africa. The commander knew his father — received him kindly — and made professions of assistance ; and probably would have been his friend, if, instead of profiting by his former errors, he had not pur- sued a course, if possible, worse. He was under some restraint on board the Harwich, but being now among strangers, he could sin without disguise. “ I well remember,” says he, “ that while I was passing from the one ship to the other, I rejoiced in the exchange, with this reflection, that I might now be as aban- doned as I pleased, without any control ; and from this time I was exceedingly vile indeed, little, if any thing, short of that animated description of an almost irrecoverable state, which we have in 2 Pet. ii. 14. I not only sinned with a high hand myself, but made it my study to tempt and seduce others upon every occasion : nay, I eagerly sought occasion, sometimes to my own hazard and hurt. By this conduct he soon forfeited the favour of his captain : for, besides being care- less and disobedient, upon some imagined affront, he employed his mischievous wit in making a song to ridicule the captain as to his ship, his designs, and his person ; and he taught it to the whole ship’s company. He thus proceeded for about six months, at which time the ship was preparing to leave the coast; but, a few days before she sailed, the captain died. Mr. N. was not upon much better terms with his mate, who succeeded to the command, and upon some occasion had treated him ill. He felt certain, that, if he went in the ship to the West Indies, the mate would have put him on board a man- of-war, a consequence more dreadful to him than death itself : to avoid this, he determined to remain in Africa, and pleased himself w r ith imagining it would be an opportunity of improving his fortune. Upon that part of the coast there were a few white men settled, whose busi- ness it was to purchase slaves, &C. and sell them to the ships at an advanced, price : one of these, who had first landed in circumstances similar to Mr. N.’s, had acquired considerable wealth. This man had been in England, and was re- turning in the same vessel with Mr. N. of which he owned a quarter part. His example impressed Mr N. with hopes of the same success, and he obtained his discharge, upon condition of entering into the trader’s service, to whose gene- rosity he trusted without the precaution of terms. He received, however, no 14 MEMOIRS OF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. compensation for his time on board the ship, but a bill upon the owners in Eng- land, who failing before his return, the bill was never paid; the day, therefore, on which the vessel sailed, he landed upon the island of Benanoes like one ship- 'wrecked, with little more than the clothes upon his back. i ‘ The two following years,” says he, “ of which I am now to give some account, will seem as an absolute blank in my life : but I have seen frequent causes since to admire the mercy of God in banishing me to those distant parts, and almost exclud- ing me from all society, at a time when I was big with mischief, and, like one infected with a pestilence, was capable of spreading a taint wherever I went. But the Lord wisely placed me where I could do little harm. The few I had to con- verse with were too much like myself; and I was soon brought into such abject circumstances that I was too low to have any influence. I was rather shunned and despised than imitated, there being few, even of the Negroes themselves, during the first year of my residence, but thought themselves too good to speak to me. I was as yet an outcast' ready to perish; but the Lord beheld me with mercy — he even now bid me live ; and I can only ascribe it to his secret upholding power, that what l suffered, in a part of this interval, did not bereave me either of my life or senses.” The reader will have a better idea of the situation Mr. N. was now in by his brief sketch of it. — “From Cape de Verd, the most western point of Africa, to Cape Mount, the whole coast is full of rivers : the principal are the Gambia, Rio Grande, Sierra Leone, and Sherbro. Of the former, as it is well known, and as I was never there, I need say nothing. The Rio Grande (like the Nile) divides into many branches near the sea. On the most northerly, called Cacheo, the Portuguese have a set- tlement. The most southern branch, known by the name of Rio Nuna, is, or was the usual boundary of the white men’s trade northward. Sierra Leone is a moun- tainous peninsula, uninhabited, and I believe inaccessible, upon account of the thick woods, excepting those parts which lie near the water. The river is large and navigable. From hence about twelve leagues to the south-east are three con- tiguous islands, called the Benanoes, twenty miles in circuit : this was about the centre of the white men’s residence. Seven leagues farther, the same way, lie the Plantanes, three small islands, two miles distant from the continent, at the point which forms one side of the Sherbro. This river is more properly a sound, running within a long island, and receiving the confluence of several large rivers, ‘ rivers unknown to song,’ but far more deeply engraven in my remem- brance than the Po or Tiber. The southernmost of these has a very peculiar course, almost parallel to the coast : so that in tracing it a great many leagues upwards, it will seldom lead one above three miles, and sometimes not more than half a mile from the sea shore.” Mr. N.’s new master had resided near Cape Mount, but at this time had settled at the Plantanes, on the largest of the three islands. It is low and sandy, about two miles in circumference, and almost covered with palm-trees. They imme- diately began to build a house. Mr. N. had some desire to retrieve his time and character, and might have lived tolerably well with his master, if this man had not been much under the direction of a black woman, who lived with him as a wife, and influenced him against his new servant. She was a person of some consequence in her own country, and he owed his first rise to her interest. This woman, foi reasons not known, was strangely prejudiced against Mr. N. from the first ; he also had unhappily a severe fit of illness which attacked him before he had an oppor- tunity to show what he could or would do in the service of his master. Mr. N. was sick when his master sailed in a shallop to Rio Nuna, and was left in the hands of this woman. He was taken some care of at first, but not soon recover- ing, her attention was wearied, and she entirely neglected him. Sometimes it was with difficulty he could procure a draught of cold water when burning with t fever ! His bed was a mat, spread upon a board or chest, with a log for his pillow Upon his appetite returning, after the fever left him, he would gladly have eater MEMOIRS OF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 15 Out “ no one gave unto him.’’ She lived in plenty, hut scarcely allowed him suffi- cient to sustain life, except now and then, when in the highest good humour she would send him victuals in her own plate after she had dined. And this (so greatly was he humbled) he received with thanks and eagerness, as the most needy beggar does an alms. “ Once,” says he, “ I well remember, I was called to receive this bounty from her own hand ; but, being exceedingly weak and feeble, I dropped the plate. Those who live in plenty can hardly conceive how this loss touched me : but she had the cruelty to laugh at my disappointment, and though the table was covered with dishes (for she lived much in the European manner) she refused to give me any more. My distress has been at times so great as to compel me to go by night, and pull up roots in the plantation (though at the risk of being punished as a thief,) which I have eaten raw upon the spot for fear of discovery. The roots I speak of are very wholesome food, when boiled or roasted, but as unfit to be eaten raw m any quantity as a potato. The consequence of this diet, which after the first experiment I always expected, and seldom missed, was the same as if I had taken tartar emetic ; so that I have often returned as empty as I went, yet necessity urged me to repeat the trial several times. I have sometimes been relieved by strangers ; yea, even by the slaves in the chain, who have secretly brought me victuals (for they durst not be seen to do it) from their own slender pittance. Next to pressing want, nothing sits harder upon the mind than scorn and con- tempt, and of this likewise I had an abundant measure.” When slowly recovering, the same woman would sometimes pay Mr. N. a visit, not to pity or relieve, but to insult him. She w ould call him worthless and indo- lent, and compel him to walk ; w hich, when he could scarcely do, she would set her attendants to mimic his motions, to clap their hands, laugh, throw limes at him, and sometimes they would even throw stones. But though her attendants were forced to join in this treatment, Mr. N. was rather pitied than scorned by the meanest of her slaves, on her departure. When his master returned from the voyage, Mr. N. complained of ill usage, but was not credited, and as he did it in her hearing, he fared worse for it. He accompanied his master in his second voyage, and they agreed pretty well till his master was persuaded by a brother trader, that Mr. N. was dishonest. This seems to be the only vice he could not be charged with, as his honesty seemed to be the last remains of a good education which he could now boast of: and though his great distress might have been a strong temptation to fraud, it seems he never once thought of defrauding his master in the smallest matter. The charge, however, was believed, and he was condemned without evidence. From that time he was used very hardly ; whenever his master left the vessel, he was locked upon deck with a pint of rice for his day’s allowance, nor had he any relief till his master’s return. “ Indeed,” says he, “ I believe I should have been nearly starved, but for an oppor- tunity of catching fish sometimes. When fowls were killed for my master’s own use, I seldom was allowed any part but the entrails, to bait my hooks with : and at what we called slack-water, that is, about the changing of the tides, when the cur- rent was still, I used generally to fish (for at other times it was not practicable,) and I very often succeeded. If I saw a fish upon my hook, my joy was little less than any other person would have found in the accomplishment of the scheme he had most at heart. Such a fish hastily broiled, or rather half burnt, without sauce, salt, or bread, has afforded me a delicious meal. If I caught none, I might, if I could, sleep away my hunger till the next return of slack-water, and then try again. “ Nor did I suffer less from the inclemency of the weather, and the want of clothes. The rainy season was now advancing ; my whole suit was a shirt, a pair of trowsers, a cotton handkerchief instead of a cap, and a cotton cloth about two yards long, to supply the want of upper garments : and thus accoutred, I have been exposed for twenty, thirty, perhaps near forty hours together, in incessant rains, accompanied with strong gales of wind, without the least shelter, when my master was on shore. I feel to this day some faint returns of the violent pains I then con- 16 MEMOIRS OF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. tracted. The excessive cold and wet I endured in that voyage, and so soon after 1 had recovered from a long sickness, quite broke my constitution and my spirits ; the latter were soon restored, but the effects of the former still remain with me, as a needful memento of the service and the wages of sin. In about two months they returned, and the rest of the time Mr. N. spent with his master was chiefly at the Plantanes, and under the same regimen as has been mentioned. His heart was now bowed down, but not at all to a whole- some repentance. While his spirits sunk, the language of the prodigal was far from him : destitute of resolution, and almost all reflection, he had lost the fierce- ness which fired him when on board the Harwich, and rendered him capable of the most desperate attempts ; but he was no farther changed than a tiger tamed by hunger. However strange it may appear, he attests it as a truth, that though destitute both of food and clothing, and depressed beyond common wretchedness, he could sometimes collect his mind to mathematical studies. Having bought Barrow’s Euclid at Plymouth, and it being the only volume he brought on shore, he used to take it to remote corners of the island, and draw his diagrams with a long stick upon the sand. “Thus,” says he, “I often beguiled my sorrows, and almost forgot my feelings ; and thus without any other assistance, 1 made my- self in a good measure master of the first six books of Euclid.” “ With my staff I passed this Jordan, and now I am become two bands.” These words of Jacob might well affect Mr. N. when remembering the days in which he was busied in planting some lime or lemon trees. The plants he put into the ground were no higher than a young gooseberry bush. His master and mistress, in passing the place, stopped a while to look at him ; at length his master said, “ Who knows but, by the time these trees grow up and bear, you may go home to England, obtain the command of a ship, and return to reap the fruits of your labours ? We see strange things sometimes happen.” “ This,” says Mr. Newton, “as he intended it, was a cutting sarcasm. I be- lieve he thought it full as probable that I should live to be king of Poland ; yet it proved a prediction, and they (one of them at least,) lived to see me return from England, in the capacity he had mentioned, and pluck some of the first limes from those very trees. How can I proceed in my relation, till I raise a monument to the Divine goodness, by comparing the circumstances in which the Lord has since placed me with what I was in at that time ! Had you seen me, sir, then go so pensive and solitary in the dead of night to wash my one shirt upon the rocks, and afterwards put it on wet, that it might dry upon my back, while I slept — had you seen me so poor a figure, that when a ship’s boat came to the island, shame often constrained me to hide myself in the woods, from the sight of strangers ; especially, had you known that my conduct, principles, and heart, were still darker than my outward condition — how little would you have imagined, that one who so fully answered to the irruy'^TOj xsti ftirowns^ of the apos- tle, was reserved to be so peculiar an instance of the providential care and exu- berant goodness of God. There was at that time but one earnest desire of my heart, which was not contrary and shocking both to religion and reason ; and that one desire, though my vile licentious life rendered me peculiarly unworthy of success, and though a thousand difficulties seemed to render it impossible, the Lord was pleased to gratify.” Things continued thus nearly twelve months. In this interval Mr. N. wrote two or three times to his father, describing his condition, and desiring his assist- ance : at the same time signifying, that he had resolved not to return to England unless his parent were pleased to send for him. His father applied to his friend at Liverpool, who gave orders accordingly to a captain of his, who was then fit- ting out for Gambia and Sierra Leone. Sometime within the year, Mr. N. obtained his master’s consent to live with ♦ Hateful and hating one another. MEMOIRS OF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 17 another trader, who dwelt upon the same island. This change was much to his advantage, as he was soon decently clothed, lived in plenty, was treated as a companion, and trusted with his effects to the amount of some thousand pounds. This man had several factories, and white servants in different places ; particu- larly one in Ivittam, the river already described as running so near along the sea coast. Mr. N. was soon appointed there, and had a share in the management of business, jointly with another servant ; they lived as they pleased ; business flourished, and their employer was satisfied. “ Here,” says he, “I began to be wretch enough to think myself happy. There is a significant phrase frequently used in those parts, that such a white man is grown black. It does not intend an alteration of complexion, but disposi- tion. I have known several, who settling in Africa after the age of thirty or forty, have at that time of life been gradually assimilated to the tempers, customs and ceremonies of the natives, so far as to prefer that country to England ; they have even become dupes to all the pretended charms, necromancies, amulets, and divinations of the blinded Negroes, and put more trust in such things than the wiser sort among the natives. A part of this spirit of infatuation was growing upon me : in time, perhaps, I might have yielded to the whole. I entered into closer engagements with the inhabitants, and should have lived and died a wretch amongst them, if the Lord had not watched over me for good. Not that I had lost those ideas which chiefly engaged my heart to England ; but a despair of seeing them accomplished, made me willing to remain where I was. I thought I could more easily bear the disappointment in this situation than nearer home. But, as soon as I had fixed my connexions and plans with these views, the Lord providentially interposed to break them in pieces, and save me from ruin in spite of myself.” In the meantime, the ship that had orders to bring Mr. N. home, arrived at Sierra Leone. The captain made inquiry for Mr. N. there, and at the Benanoes; but finding he was at a great distance, thought no more about him. A special providence seems to have placed him at Kittam just at this time ; for the ship coming no nearer the Benanoes, and staying but a few days, if he had been at the Plantanes, he would not probably have heard of the ship till she had sailed : the same must certainly have been the event had he been sent to any other fac- tory, of which his new master had several. But though the place he went to was a long way up a river, much more than a hundred miles distance from the Plantanes, yet, by its peculiar situation already noticed, he was still within a mile of the sea coast. The interposition was also more remarkable, as at that very juncture he was going in quest of trade, directly from the sea, and would have set out a day or two before, but that they waited for a few articles from the next ship that came, in order to complete the assortment of goods he was to take with him. They used sometimes to walk to the oeach, in hopes of seeing a vessel pass by : but this was very precarious, as at that time the place was not resorted to by ‘ Lips of trade : many passed in the night; others kept at a considerable distance li om the shore, nor does he remember that any one had stopped while he w r as tii ere. In February 1747, his fellow-servant, walking down to the beach in the fore- noon. saw a vessel sailing by, and made a smoke in token of trade. She was already beyond the place, and the wind being fair, the captain demurred about stopping : had Mr. N.’s companion been half an hour later, the vessel would have been beyond recall. When he saw her come to an anchor, he went on board in a canoe, and this proved the very ship already spoken of, which brought an order for Mr. N.’s return. One of the first questions the captain put was concerning Mr. N.; and understanding he was so near, the captain came on shore to deliver h-is message. “ Had,” says he, “ an invitation from home reached me when I was sick and starving at the Plantanes, I should have received it as life from the dead : but 0 18 MEMOIRS CF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON now, for the reasons already given, I heard it at first with indifference.'* The captain, however, unwilling to lose him, framed a story, and gave him a very plausible account of his having missed a large packet of letters and papers, which he should have brought with him ; but said he had it from his father’s own mouth, as well as from his employer, that a person lately dead had left Mr. N. four hundred pounds per annum ; and added, that, if embarrassed in his circum- stances, he had express orders to redeem Mr. N. though it should cost one half of his cargo. Every particular of this was false ; nor could Mr. N. believe what was said about the estate, except that, as he had some expectations from an aged relation, he thought a part of it might be true. But though his father’s care and desire to see him was treated So lightly, and would have been insufficient alone to draw him from his retreat, yet the remem- brance of Mrs. N., the hopes of seeing her, and the possibility that his accepting this offer might once more put him in the way of gaining her hand, prevailed over all other considerations. The captain farther promised, (and in this he kept his worn.) that Mr. N. should lodge in his cabin, dine at his table, and be his companion, without being liable to service. Thus suddenly was he freed from a captivity of about fifteen months. He had neither a thought nor a desire of this change one hour before it took place ; but, embarking with the captain, he in a few hours lost sight of Kittam. The ship in which he embarked as a passenger, was on a trading voyage for gold, ivory, dyers’ wood, and bees’ wax. Such a cargo requires more time to collect than one of slaves. The captain began his trade at Gambia, had been already four or five months in Africa, and, during the course of a year after Mr. N. had been with him, they ranged the whole coast as far as Cape Lopez, which lies about a degree south of the equinoxial, and more than a thousand miles fur- ther from England than the place from whence he embarked. “ I have,” says he, “little to offer worthy of notice, in the course of this tedi- ous voyage. I had no business to employ my thoughts, but sometimes amused myself with mathematics ; excepting this, my whole life, when awake, was a course of most horrid impiety and profaneness. I know not that I have ever since met so daring a blasphemer. Not content with common oaths and imprecations, 1 daily invented new ones ; so that I was often seriously reproved by the captain, who was himself a very passionate man, and not at all circumspect in his ex- pressions. From the relation I at times made him of my past adventures, and what he saw of my conduct, and especially towards the close of the voyage, when we met with many disasters, he would often tell me, that, to his great grief, he had a Jonah on board ; that a curse attended me wherever I went ; and that all the troubles he met with in the voyage were owing to his having taken me into his vessel.” Although Mr. N. lived long in the excess of almost every other extravagance, he was never, it seems, fond of drinking : his father was often heard to say, that while his son avoided drunkenness, some hopes might be entertained of his re- covery. Sometimes, however, in a frolic, he would promote a drinking bout : not through love of liquor, but disposition to mischief. The last proposal he made of this kind, and at his own expense, was in the river Gabon, whilst the ship was trading on the coast, as follows : — Four or five of them sat down one evening, to try who could hold out longest in drinking geneva and rum alternately ; a large sea-shell supplied the place of a glass. Mr. N. was very unfit for such a challenge, as his head was always incapable of bearing much liquor : he began, however, and proposed, as a toast, some imprecation against the person who should start first : this proved to be himself. Fired in his brain, he arose and danced on the deck like a madman ; and while he was thus diverting his companions, his hat went overDoard. See- ing the ship’s boat by moonlight, he endeavoured eagerly to throw himself over (he side into the boat, that he might recover his hat. His sight, however, de- MEMOIRS OF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 19 ceived him, for the boat was not (as he supposed,) within his reach, but perhaps twenty feet from the ship’s side. He was, however, half overboard, and would in the space of a moment have plunged into the water, when somebody caught hold of his clothes, and pulled him back. This was an amazing escape, as he could not swim, had he been sober ; the tide ran very strong, his companions were too much intoxicated to save him, and the rest of the ship’s company were asleep. Another time, at Cape Lopez, before the ship left the coast, he went with some others into the woods, and shot a buffalo, or wild cow : they brought a part of it on board, and carefully marked the place (as he thought,) where the rest was left. In the evening they returned to fetch it, but set out too late. Mr. N. undertook to be their guide; but night coming on before they could reach the place, they lost their way. Sometimes they were in swamps, and up to their middle in water ; and, when they recovered dry land, they could not tell whether they were proceeding towards the ship, or the contrary way. Every step in- creased their uncertainty — night grew darker — and they were entangled in thick woods, which perhaps the foot of man had never trodden, and which abound with wild beasts; besides which, they had neither light, food, nor arms, while expecting a tiger to rush from behind every tree. The stars were clouded, and they had no compass to form a judgment which way they were going. But it pleased God to secure them from the beasts; and, after some hours perplexity, the moon arose, and pointed out the eastern quarter. It appeared then, that in- stead of proceeding towards the sea, they had been penetrating into the country; at length, by the guidance of the moon, they recovered the ship. These, and many other deliverances, produced at that time no salutary effect. The admonitions of conscience, which from successive repulses had grown weaker and weaker, at length entirely ceased ; and for the space of many months, if not for some years, he had not a single check of that sort. At times he was visited with sickness, and believed himself to be near death, but had not the least con- cern about the consequences. “ In a word,” says he, “ I seemed to have every mark of final impenitence and rejection ; neither judgments nor mercies made the least impression on me.” At length, their business being finished, they left Cape Lopez, and after a few days stay at the island of Annabona, in order to lay in provisions, they sailed homeward about the beginning of January, 1784. From Annabona to England is perhaps more than seven thousand miles, if the circuits are included, which are necessary to be made on account of the trade winds. They sailed first west- ward, till near the coast of Brazil, then northward, to the banks of Newfound- land, without meeting any thing extraordinary. On these banks they stopped half a day to fish for cod : this was then chiefly for diversion, as they had pro- vision enough, and little expected those fish, (as it afterwards proved,) would be all they w r ould have to subsist on. They left the banks, March 1st, with a hard gale of wind westerly, which pushed them fast homewards. By the length of this voyage, in a hot climate, the vessel was greatly out of repair, and very unlit to endure stormy weather. The sails and cordage were likewise very much worn, and many such circumstances concurred to render what followed imminently dangerous. Among the few books they had on board was Stanhope’s Thomas a Kempis. Mr. N. carelessly took it up, as he had often done before, to pass away the time, but which he had read with the same indifference as if it were a romance. But in reading it this time, a thought occurred, “ What if these things should be true ?” He could not bear the force of the inference, and therefore shut the book, concluding that, true or false, he must abide the consequences of his own choice, and put an end to these reflections by joining in the vain conversation which came in his way. “ But now,” says he, “ the Lord’s time was come, and the conviction I was so unwilling to receive was deeply impressed upon me by an awful dispensation.” 20 MEMOIRS OF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. He went to bed that night in his usual carnal security, but was awaked from a sound sleep by the force of a violent sea which broke on board : so much of it came down as filled the cabin with water in which he lay. This alarm was followed by a cry from the deck, that the ship was sinking. He essayed to go upon deck but was met upon the ladder by the captain, who desired him to bring a knife. On his returning for the knife, another person went up in his place, who was instantly washed overboard. They had no leisure to lameut him, nor expected to survive him long, for the ship was filling with water very fast. The sea had torn away the upper timbers on one side, and made it a mere wreck in a few minutes ; so that it seems almost miraculous that any survived to relate the story. They had immediate recourse to the pumps, but the water in- creased against their efforts. Some of them were set to bailing, though they had but eleven or twelve people to sustain this service : but notwithstanding all they could do, the vessel was nearly full, and with a common cargo must have sunk ; but having a great quantity of bees’ wax and wood on board, which was speci- fically lighter than water, and providentially receiving this shock in the very crisis of the gale, towards morning they were enabled to employ some means for safety, which succeeded beyond hope. In about an hour’s time day began to break, and the wind abated : they expended most of their clothes and bedding to stop the leaks ; over these they nailed pieces of boards, and at last perceived the water within to subside. At the beginning of this scene Mr. N. was little affected : he pumped hard, and endeavoured to animate himself and his companions. He told one of them, that in a few days this distress would serve for a subject over a glass of wine ; but the man being less hardened than himself, replied, with tears, “ No ; it is too late now.” About nine o’clock, being almost spent with cold and labour, Mr. N. went to speak with the captain; and, as he was returning, said, almost without meaning, “If this will not do, the Lord have mercy upon us!” thus expressing, though with little reflection, his desire of mercy for the first time within the space of many years. Struck with his own words, it directly occurred to him, “ What mercy can there be for me!” He was, however, obliged to re- turn to the pump, and there continued till noon, almost every passing wave breaking over his head, being, like the rest, secured by ropes, that they might not be washed away. He expected, indeed, that every time the vessel descended in the sea, she would rise no more ; and though he dreaded death now, and his heart foreboded the worst, if the Scriptures, which he had long opposed, were true, yet he was still but half convinced, and remained for a time in a sullen frame, a mixture of despair and impatience. He thought, if the Christian reli- gion were true, he could not be forgiven, and was therefore expecting, and al- most at times wishing, to know the worst of it. , The following part of his Narrative will, I think, be best expressed in his own words : — “ The 10th, that is, in the present style, the 21st of March, is a day much to be remembered by me, and I have never suffered it to pass wholly un- noticed since the year 1748. On that day the Lord sent from on high, and \ delivered me out of deep waters. I continued at the pump from three in the morning till near noon, and then I could do no more. I went and lay down upon my bed, uncertain, and almost indifferent, whether I should rise again. In an hour’s time I was called, and, not being able to pump, I went to the helm, and steered the ship till midnight, excepting a small interval for refreshment. I had here leisure and convenient opportunity for reflection. I began to think of my former religious professions — the extraordinary turns of my life — the calls, 1 warnings, and deliverances I had met with — the licentious course of my conver- \ sation — particularly by unparalleled effrontery, in making the Gospel history \ (which I could not be sure was false, though I was not yet assured it was true) the constant subject of profane ridicule. I thought, allowing the Scripture pre- mises, there never was or could be such a sinner as myself ; and then comparing tire advantages I had broken through, I concluded at first, that my sins were too MEMOIRS OF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. •21 great to be forgiven. The Scripture likewise seemed to say the same : for I had formerly been well acquainted with the Bible, and many passages upon this re- turned upon my memory; particularly those awful passages, Prov. i. 24 — 31; Heb. vi. 4, 6; and 2 Pet. ii. 20; which seemed so exactly to suit my case and character, as to bring with them a presumptive proof of a divine original. “ Thus, as I have said, I have waited with fear and impatience to receive my inevitable doom. Yet though I had thoughts of this kind, they were exceeding faint and disproportionate ; it was not till after (perhaps) several years, that I had gained some clear views of the infinite righteousness and grace of Christ Jesus my Lord, that I had a deep and strong apprehension of my state by nature and practice ; and perhaps, till then, I could not have borne the sight: so wonderfully does the Lord proportion the discoveries of sin and grace ; for he knows our frame, and that if he were to put forth the greatness of his power, a poor sinner would be instantly overwhelmed, and crushed as a moth. But to return: when I saw beyond all probability, that there was still hope of respite, and heard about six in the evening that the ship was freed from water, there arose a gleam of hope. I thought I saw the hand of God displayed in our favour. I began to pray : I could not utter the prayer of faith : I could not draw near to a reconciled God and call him Father: my prayer was like the cry of the ravens, which yet the Lord does not disdain to hear. I now began to think of that Jesus whom I had so often derided : I recollected the particulars of \ his life and of his death ; a death for sins not his own, but, as I remembered, for the sake of those, who, in their distress, should put their trust in him. And now I chiefly wanted evidence. The comfortless principles of infidelity were deeply riveted, and I rather washed than believed these things were real facts. You will please to observe, that I collect the strain of the reasonings and exercises of my mind in one view ; but I do not say that all this passed at one time. The great question now was, how to obtain faith ? I speak not of an appropriating faith (of which I then knew neither the nature nor necessity,) but how I should gain an assurance that the Scriptures were of divine inspiration, and a sufficient warrant for the exercise of trust and hope in God. “ One of the first helps I received, (in consequence of a determination to ex- amine the New Testament carefully,) was from Luke xi. 13. I had been sensi- ble, that to profess faith in Jesus Christ, when, in reality, I did not believe his history, was no better than a mockery of the heart-searching God ; but here I found a Spirit spoken of, which was to be communicated to those w ho ask it. Upon this I reasoned thus : If this book be true, the promise in this passage must be true likewise : I have need of that very Spirit, by which the whole was written, in order to understand it aright. He has engaged here to give that Spirit to those who ask : I must therefore pray for it, and if it be of God he will make good his own word. My purposes were strengthened by John vii. 17. I concluded from thence, that though I could not say from my heart, that I be- lieved the Gospel, yet I would, for the present, take it for granted ; and that by studying it in this light, I should be more and more confirmed in it. “If what I am writing could be perused by our modern infidels, they would say, (for I too well know their manner,) that I was very desirous to persuade myself into this opinion. I confess I was, and so would they be, if the Lord should show them, as he was pleased to show me at that time, the absolute ne- cessity of some expedient to interpose between a righteous God and a sinful soul: upon the Gospel scheme I saw at least a peradventure of hope, but on every other side I was surrounded with black, unfathomable despair.” The w r ind being now moderate, and the ship drawing nearer to its port, the ship’s company began to recover from their consternation, though greatly alarmed by their circumstances. They found, that the water having floated their move- ables in the hold, all the casks of provisions had been beaten to pieces by the violent motion of the ship. On the other hand, their live stock had been washea overboard, in the storm. In short, all the provisions they saved, except the fish 22 MEMOIRS OF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. ately caught on the banks for amusement, and a little of the pulse kind, which used to be given to the hogs, would have supported them but a week, and that at a scanty allowance. The sails, too, were mostly blown away, so that they ad- vanced but slowly even while the wind was fair. They imagined they were about a hundred leagues from land, but were in reality much farther. Mr. N.’s leisure was chiefly employed in reading, meditation on the Scriptures, and prayer for mercy and instruction. Things continued thus for about four or five days, when they were awakened one morning by the joyful shouts of the watch upon deck, proclaiming the sight of land, with which they were ail soon raised. The dawning was uncommonly beautiful, and the light, just sufficient to discover distant objects, presented what seemed a mountainous coast, about twenty miles off, with two or three small islands; the whole appeared to be the north-west extremity of Ireland, for which they were steering. They sincerely congratulated each other, having no doubt, that, if the wind continued, they should be in safety and plenty the next day. Their brandy, which was reduced to a little more than a pint, was, by the captain’s orders, distributed among them ; who added, “ We shall soon have brandy enough.” They likewise ate up the residue of their bread, and were in the condition of men suddenly reprieved from death. But while their hopes were thus excited, the mate sunk their spirits by say- ing, in a graver tone, that “ he wished it might prove land at last.” If one of the common sailors had first said so, the rest would probably have beaten him. The expression, however, brought on warm debates, whether it was land or not; but the case was soon decided ; for one of their fancied islands began to grow red from the approach of the sun. In a word, their land was nothing but clouds ; and in half an hour more the whole appearance was dissipated. Still, however, they cherished hope from the wind continuing fair ; but of this hope they were soon deprived. That very day, their fair wind subsided into a calm, and the next morning the gale sprung up from the south-east, directly against them, and continued so for more than a fortnight afterwards. At this time the ship was so wrecked, that they were obliged to keep the wind always on the broken side, except when the weather was quite moderate ; and were thus driven still farther from their port in the north of Ireland, as far as the Lewis or western isles of Scotland. Their station now was such as deprived them of any hope of relief from other vessels. “ It may indeed be questioned,” says Mr. N., “whether our ship was not the very first that had been in that part of the ocean, at the same time of the year.” Provisions now began to fall short, the half of a salted cod was a day’s subsist- ence for twelve people : they had no stronger liquor than water, no bread, hardly any clothes, and very cold weather. They had also incessant labour at the pumps, to keep the ship above water. Much labour and little food wasted them fast, and one man died under the hardship. Yet their sufferings 'were light when compared with their fears. Their bare allowance could continue but little longer, and a dreadful prospect appeared of their being either starved to death, or reduced to feed upon one another. At this time Mr. N. had a farther trouble, peculiar to himself. The captain, whose temper was quite soured by distress, was hourly reproaching him as the sole cause of the calamity, and was confident, that his being thrown overboard would be the only means of preserving them. The captain, indeed, did not in- tend to make the experiment, but “ the continued repetition of this in my ears,” says Mr. N., “ gave me much uneasiness; especially as my conscience seconded his words ; I thought it very probable, that all that had befallen us was on my account- — that I was at last found out by the powerful hand of God — and con- demned in my own breast.” While, however, they were thus proceeding, at the time when they were ready to give up all for lost, and despair appeared in every countenance, the; began to conceive hope, from the wind’s shifting to the desired point, so as l-eci MEMOIRS OF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. £3 to suit that broken part of the ship, which must be kept out of the water, and so gently to blow as their few remaining sails could bear. And thus it continued, at an unsettled time of the year, till they were once more called up to see land, and which was really such. They saw the island of Tory, and the next day an- chored in Lough S willy, in Ireland, on the 8th of April, just four weeks after the damage they had sustained from the sea. When they came into this port, their very last victuals were boiling in the pot, and before they had been there two hours, the wind, which seemed to have been providentially restrained till they were in a place of safety, began to blow with great violence; so that, if they had continued at sea that night, they must, in ail human estimation, have gone to the bottom ! “ About this time,” says Mr. N., “ I began to know that there is a God, who hears and answers prayer.” Mr. N.’s history is now brought down to the time of his arrival in Ireland, in the year 1748; and the progress he had hitherto made in religion will be best re- lated in his own words. I shall, therefore, make a longer extract than usual, because it is important to trace the operation of real religion in the heart. Speak- ing of the ship in which he lately sailed, he says, “ There were no persons on board to whom I could open myself with freedom, concerning the slate of mtf soul; none from whom I could ask advice. As to books, I had a New Testa- ment, Stanhope, already mentioned, and a volume of Bishop Beveridge’s Ser- mons, one of which, upon our Lord’s passion, affected me much. In perusing the New Testament, I was struck with several passages, particularly that of the fig-tree, Luke xiii. the case of St. Paul, 1 Tim. i. but particularly that of the pro- digal, Luke xv. I thought that had never been so nearly exemplified as by my- self. And then the goodness of the father in receiving, nay, in running to meet such a son, and this intended only to illustrate the Lord’s goodness to returning sinners ! Such reflections gaining upon me, I continued much in prayer ; I saw that the Lord had interposed so far to save me, and I hoped he would do more. Outward circumstances helped in this place to make me still more serious and earnest in crying to him, who alone could relieve me ; and sometimes I though I could be content to die even for want of food, so I might but die a believer. “ Thus far I was answered, that before we arrived in Ireland I had a satisfac- tory evidence, in my own mind, of the truth of the Gospel, as considered in itself, and of its exact suitableness to answer all my needs. 1 saw, that, by the way they were pointed out, God might declare, not his mercy only, but his jus- tice also, in the pardon of sin, on account of the obedience and sufferings of Jesus Christ. My judgment, at that time, embraced the sublime doctrine of ‘ God ma- nifest in the flesh, reconciling the world unto himself.’ I had no idea of those systems, which allow the Saviour no higher honour than that of an upper ser- vant, or at the most a demi-god. I stood in need of an Almighty Saviour, and such a one I found described in the New Testament. Thus far the Lord had wrought a marvellous thing ; I was no longer an infidel ; I heartily renounced my former profaneness, and had taken up some right notions ; was seriously dis- posed, and sincerely touched with a sense of the undeserved mercy 1 had re- ceived, in being brought safe through so many dangers. I was sorry for my past mispent life, and proposed an immediate reformation. I was quite freed from the habit of swearing, which seemed to have been deeply rooted in me, as a second nature. Thus, to all appearance, I was a new man. “ But though I cannot doubt that this change, so far as it prevailed, was wrought by the Spirit and power of God, yet still I was greatly deficient in many respects. I was in some degree affected with a sense of my enormous sins; but I was little aware of the innate evils of my heart. I had no appre- hension of the spirituality and extent of the law of God ; the hidden life of a Christian, as it consists in communion with God by Jesus Christ ; a continual dependence on him for hourly supplies of wisdom, strength, and comfort, was a mystery of which I had as yet no knowdedge. I acknowledged the Lord’s mercy in pardoning what was past, but depended chiefly upon my own resolu 24 MEMOIRS OF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. tion to do better for the time to come. I had no Christian friend or faithful minister to advise me, that my strength was no more than my righteousness , and though I soon began to inquire for serious books, yet, not having spiritua. discernment, I frequently made a wrong choice ; and I was not brought in the way of evangelical preaching or conversation, (except the few times when I heard but understood not,) for six years after this period. Those things the Lord was pleased to discover to me gradually. I learnt them here a little, and there a little, by my own painful experience, at a distance from the common means and ordinances, and in the midst of the same course of evil company, and bad examples, I had been conversant with for some time. “From this period I could no more make a mock of sin, or jest with holy things ; I no more questioned the truth of Scripture, or lost a sense of the re- bukes of .conscience. Therefore I consider this as the beginning of my return to God, or rather of his return to me ; but I cannot consider myself to have been a believer, (in the full sense of the word,) till a considerable time afterwards.” While the ship was refitting at Lough Swilly, Mr. N. repaired to London- derry, where he soon recruited his health and strength. He was now a serious rofessor, went twice a day to the prayers at church, and determined to receive he sacrament the next opportunity. When the day came, he arose very early, was very earnest in his private devotions, and solemnly engaged himself to, the Lord ; not with a formal, but sincere surrender, and under a strong sense of the mercies lately received. Having, however, as yet but an imperfect knowledge of his own heart, and of the subtlety of Satan’s temptations, he was afterwards seduced to forget the vows of God that were upon him. Yet he felt a peace and satisfaction in the ordinance of that day, to which he had been hitherto an utter stranger. The next day he went abroad with the mayor of the city, and some gentlemen, shooting ; climbing up a steep bank, and pulling his fowling-piece in a perpen- dicular direction after him, it went off so near his face as to destroy the corner of his hat. The remark he makes on this ought not to be omitted: “ Thus, when we think ourselves in the greatest safety, we are no less exposed to dan- ger, than when all the elements seem conspiring to destroy us. The divine Providence, which is sufficient to deliver us in our utmost extremity, is equally necessary to our preservation in the most peaceful situation.” During their stay in Ireland, Mr. N. wrote home. The vessel he was in had not been heard of for eighteen months, and was given up for lost. His father had no expectation of hearing that his son was alive, but received his letter a few days before he embarked from London to become governor of York Fort, in Hudson’s Bay, where he died. He intended to take his son with him, had he returned to England in time. Mr. N. received two or three affectionate letters from his father ; and hoped, that in three years more he should have had the opportunity of asking his forgiveness, for the uneasiness his disobedience nad occasioned ; but the ship that was to have brought his father home came without him. It appears he was seized with the cramp, when bathing, and was drowned before the ship arrived in the Bay. Before his father’s departure from Eng- land, he had paid a visit in Kent, and gave his consent to the union that had been so long talked of. Mr. N. arrived at Liverpool the latter end of May 1748, about the same day that his father sailed from the Nore. He found, however, another father in the gentleman whose ship had brought him home. This friend received him with great tenderness, and the strongest assurances of assistance ; yet not stronger than he afterwards fulfilled; for to this instrument of God’s goodness he felt he owed every thing. “ Yet,” as Mr. N. justly observes, “it would not have been in the power even of this friend to have served me effectually, if the Lord had not met me on my way home, as l have related. Till then, I was like the man pos- sessed with the legion. No arguments, no persuasion, no views of interest, no remembrance of the past, nor regard to the future could have restrained me MEMOIRS OF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 25 within the bounds of common prudence; but now I was in some measure restored to my senses.” This friend immediately offered Mr. N. the command of a ship, which, upon mature consideration, he for the present declined. He prudently considered that hitherto he had been unsettled and careless ; and therefore that he had better make another voyage, and learn obedience and acquire farther experience in business, before he ventured to undertake such a charge. The mate of the ves- sel in which he came home was preferred to the command of a new ship, and Mr. N. engaged to go in the station of mate with him. There was something so peculiar in Mr. N.’s case, after this extraordinary deliverance, and because others in like circumstances might be tempted to de- spair, that I think it proper to make another extract from his Narrative, as such accounts cannot be well conveyed but in his own words. “ We must not make the experience of others in all respects a rule fo our- selves, nor our own a rule to others : yet these are common mistakes, and pro- ductive of many more. As to myself, every part of my case has been extraordi- nary — I have hardly met a single instance resembling it. Few, very few, have been recovered from such a dreadful state ; and the few that have been thus fa- voured, have generally passed through the most severe convictions : and, after the Lord has given them peace, their future lives have been usually more zeal- ous, bright, and exemplary than common. Now, as, on the one hand, my convictions were very moderate, and far below what might have been expected from the dreadful review I had to make ; so, on the other, my first beginnings in a re- ligious course were as faint as can be well imagined. I never knew that season alluded to, Jer. ii. 2 ; Rev. ii. 4, usually called the time of the first love. Who would not expect to hear, that, after such a wonderful and unhoped-for deliver- ance as I had received, and after my eyes were in some measure enlightened to see things aright, I should immediately cleave to the Lord and his ways with full purpose of heart, and consult no more with flesh and blood ? But, alas ! it was far otherwise with me : I had learned to pray : I set some value upon the word of God ; and was no longer a libertine ; but my soul still ‘ cleaved to the dust.’ Soon after my departure from Liverpool, I began to intermit and grow slack in waiting upon the Lord : I grew vain and trifling in my conversation ; and though my heart smote me often, yet my armour was gone, and I declined fast : and by the time we arrived at Guinea, I seemed to have forgotten all the Lord’s mercies, and my own engagements, and was, (profaneness excepted,) al- most as bad as before. The enemy prepared a train of temptations, and I be- came his easy prey ; for about a month he lulled me asleep in a course of evil, of which, a few months before, I could not have supposed myself any longer ca- pable. How much propriety is there in the apostle’s advice, ‘ Take heed lest any of you be hardened through the deceitfulness of sin.’ ” In this voyage Mr. N.’s business, while upon the coast, was to sail in the long boat, from place to place, in order to purchase slaves. The ship, at this time, was at Sierra Leone, and he at the Plantanes, the scene of his former captivity, and where every thing he saw tended to remind him of his present ingratitude. He was now in easy circumstances, and courted by those who had once despised him. The lime-trees he had formerly planted, were growing tall and promised fruit, upon his expected return with a ship of his own. Unaffected, however, with these things, he needed another providential interposition to rouse him ; and accordingly he w'as visited with a violent fever, which broke the fatal chain, and once more brought him to himself. Alarmed at the prospect before him, he thought himself now summoned away. The dangers and deliverances through which he had passed — his earnest prayers in the time of trouble — his solemn vows before the Lord at his table — and his ungrateful returns for all his goodness — were present at once to his mind. He began then to wish that he had sunk in the ocean, when he first cried for mercy. For a short time he concluded that the door of hope was quite shut. W eak, and almost delirious, he arose from his bed 26 MEMOIRS OF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. crept to a retired part of the island, and here found a renewed liberty in prayer; daring to make no more resolves, he cast himself upon the Lord, to do with him as he should please. It does not appear that any thing new was presented to his mind, but that, in general, he was enabled to hope and believe in a crucified Saviour. After this, the burthen was removed from his conscience, and not only his peace, but his health was gradually restored, when he returned to the ship. And though subject to the efforts and conflicts of sin, dwelling in him, he was ever after delivered from the power and dominion of it. His leisure hours in this voyage were chiefly employed in acquiring Latin, which he had now almost forgotten. This desire took place from an imitation he had seen of one of Horace’s Odes in a Magazine. In this attempt at one of the most difficult of the poets, he had no other help than an old English translation, with Castalio’s Latin Bible. He had the edition in usum Delphini, and, by com- paring the odes with the interpretation, and tracing such words as he understood from place to place by the index, together with what assistance he could get from the Latin Bible, he thus, by dint of hard industry, made some progress. He not only understood the sense of many odes, and some of the epistles, but “ I began,” says he, “ to relish the beauties of the composition ; acquired a spice of what Mr. Law calls, ‘ classical enthusiasm ;* and, indeed, by this means I had Horace more ad unguem than some w r ho are masters of the Latin tongue ; for my helps were so few, that I generally had the passage fixed in my memory be- fore I could fully understand its meaning.” During the eight months they were employed upon the coast, Mr. N.’s busi- ness exposed him to innumerable dangers from burning suns, chilling dews, winds, rains, and thunder storms, in an open boat ; and on shore, from long journeys through the woods, and from the natives, who in many places are cruel, treacherous, and watching opportunities for mischief. Several boats, during this time, were cut off, several white men poisoned, and from his own boat he buried six or seven people, with fevers ; when going on shore, or re- turning, he was more than once overset by the violence of the surf, and brought to land half dead, as he could not swim. Among a number of such escapes, which remained upon his memory, the following w ill mark the singular providence that was over him : — On finishing their trade, and being about to sail to the West Indies, the only service Mr. N. had to perform in the boat, was to assist in bringing the w r ood and water from the shore. They were then at Rio Cestors. He used to go into the river, in the afternoon, with the sea-breeze, to procure his lading in the evening, in order to return on board in the morning with the land-wind. Se- veral of these little voyages he had made ; but the boat was grown old, and al- most unfit for use ; this service likewise was almost completed. One day, hav- ing dined on board, he was preparing to return to the river as formerly — he had taken leave of the captain — received his orders — was already in the boat — and just going to put off; in that instant the captain came up from the cabin, and called him on board again. Mr. N. w r ent, expecting farther order s, but the c ap- tain said, “he had taken it! n foffiiTsHTeadT”^^ d'TlTyThat ?v Jr. N. slTould"reT naiti tha t day "in th e ship, a rah nccordtligly orde mLanothcr man to go in his room.' MrTJS^-was ^surprised at thj s^jtg the b^ at^ad^-neveiiffieen jsent away without him before. Ileasked TluPcaptain the reason of h jsjgsolu ti on , but none was assigned, exceplTas above, that s o he wmuldHTaveit. ^ JXlie boat Ther elore went wit hout Mr. N., britTetlirned~nbTnore : it sunk that night in the river; and the~~p e i sun vvItc t supplied Mt. N.’s pfa ce drowned! Mr. N. was much struck when news of the event was received the next morning The captain himself, though quite a stranger to religion, even to the denying a particular providence, could not help being affected ; but declared, that he had no other reason for countermanding Mr. IN. at that time, but that it came sud- denly into his mind to detain him. MEMOIRS OF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 27 A short time after he was thus surprisingly preserved, they sailed for Antigua, and from thence to Charleston, in South Carolina. In that place there were many serious people ; but, at this time, Mr. N. was little capable of availing himself of their society, supposing that all who attended public worship were good Christians, and that whatever came from the pulpit must be very good. He had two or three opportunities, indeed, of hearing a minister of eminent character and gifts, whom, though struck with his manner, he did not rightly understand. Almost every day, when business would permit, he used to retire into the woods and fields, (being his favourite oratories,) and began to taste the delight of com- munion with God, in the exercises of prayer and praise ; and yet so much in- consistency prevailed, that he frequently spent the evening in vain and worthless company. His relish, indeed, for worldly diversions was much weakened ; and he was rather a spectator than a sharer in their pleasures ; but he did not as yet see the necessity of absolutely relinquishing such society. It appears, that com- pliances of this sort, in his present circumstances, were owing rather to a want of light than to any obstinate attachment: as he was kept from what he knew to be sinful, he had, for the most part, peade o Tl^n scTeuee ; , and liis---stronges,t desires were towards the tilings of Go37~He did not as^yet apprehend the force of -t h a t precept, “ Abstain from - all app earance of " but he very often ventured upon the brink of temptation. He did not break with the worl d at _once, as mf^iriiave^jjoiuj-^q^eeterlvbut Was gradual! v led to see the i nconveme nee and ” II y of fiist ~ mie thing a nd then an ntlrer,liiicr as such to give them upT They finished their voyage, and arrived in Liverpool. When the ship’s affairs were settled, Mr. N. went to London, and from thence he soon repaired to Kent. More than seven years had now elapsed since his first visit : no views of the kind seemed more chimerical than his, or could subsist under greater discourage- ments ; yet while he seemed abandoned to his passions, he was still guided by a hand that he knew not, to the accomplishment of his wishes. Every obstacle was now removed — he had renounced his former follies — his interest was estab- lished — and friends on all sides consenting. The point was now entirely be- tween the parties immediately concerned ; and after what had passed, was easily concluded ; accordingly their hands were joined, February the 1st, 1750. “ But, alas !” says he, “this mercy, which raised me to all I could ask or wish in a temporal view, and which ought to have been an animating motive to obe- dience and praise, had a contrary effect : I rested in the gift and forgot the giver. My poor narrow heart was satisfied. A cold and careless frame as to spiritual things, took place, and gained ground daily. Happy for me, the season was ad- vancing ; and in June I received orders to repair to Liverpool. This roused me from my dream ; and I found the pains of absence and separation fully pro- portioned to my preceding pleasure.* Through all my following voyages, my irregular and excessive affections were as thorns in my eyes, and often made my other blessings tasteless and insipid. But he, who doth all things well, over- ruled this likewise for good ; it became an occasion of quickening me in prayer, both for her and myself ; it increased my indifference for company and amuse- * In writing to Mrs. Newton from St. Alban’s, he inserts a prayer for his own health and that of Mrs. N., upon which he remarks as follows : — “ This prayer includes all that I at that time knew how to ask for; and had not the Lord given me more than I knew how to a^jt or think, I should now be completely miserable. The prospect of this separation was terrible to me as death : to avoid it, I repeatedly purchased a ticket in the lottery : thinking, ‘ Who knows but I may obtain a considerable prize, 'and be thereby saved from the necessity of going to sea?’ Happy for me. the lot, which I then considered as casual, was at thy disposal. The money, which I could not with prudence have spared at the time, was lost : all my tickets proved blanks, though 1 attempted to bribe thee, by promising, if I succeeded, to give a considerable part to the poor. But these blanks were truly prizes. Thy mercy sent me to sea against my own will. To thy blessing, and to my solitary sea-hours, I was indebted for all my temporal comforts and future hopes. “ Thou wert pleased likewise to disappoint me, b^ thy providence, of some money, which I expected to receive on my marriage ; so that, excepting our apparel, when I sailed from Liverpool on my first voyage, the sum total of my worldly inventory was — seventy pounds in debt.” 28 MEMOIRS OF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. ment , it habituated me to a kind of voluntary self-denial, which I was after wards taught to improve to a better purpose.” Mr. N. sailed from Liverpool, in August 1750, commander of a good ship. He had now the command and care of thirty persons : he endeavoured to treat them with humanity, and to set them a good example.* He likewise established public worship, according to the Liturgy of the church of England, officiating himself twice every Lord’s day. He did not proceed farther than this w hile he continued in that occupation. Having now much leisure, he prosecuted the study of Latin with good success. He remembered to take a Dictionary this voyage, and added Juvenal to Horace ; and, for prose authors, Livy, Caesar, and Sallust. He was not aware of the mis- take of beginning with such difficult waiters ; but, having heard Livy highly commended, he was resolved to understand him: he began with the first page, and made it a rule not to proceed to a second till he understood the first. Often at a stand, but seldom discouraged, here and there he found a few lines quite obstinate, and was forced to give them up, especially as his edition had no notes. Before, however, the close of that voyage, he informs us, that he could, with a few exceptions, read Livy almost as readily as an English author. Other prose authors, he says, cost him but little trouble, as in surmounting the former diffi- culty he had mastered all in one. In short, in the space of two or three voyages, he became acquainted with the best classics. He read Terence, Virgil, several pieces of Cicero, and the modern classics, Buchanan, Erasmus, and Casimir ; and made some essays towards writing elegant Latin. “But by this time,” he observes, “the Lord was pleased to draw me nearer to himself, and to give me a fuller view of the pearl of great price, the inestima- ble treasure hid in the field of the Holy Scriptures ; and for the sake of this I was made willing to part with all my newly-acquired riches. I began to think, that life was too short (especially my life,) to admit of leisure for such elaborate trifling. Neither poet nor historian could tell me a word of Jesus ; and I there- fore applied myself to those who could. The classics were at first restrained to one morning in the week, and at length laid aside.” This his first voyage after his marriage lasted the space of fourteen months, through various scenes of danger and difficulty ; but nothing very remarkable oc- curred ; and, after having seen many fall on his right hand and on his left, he was brought home in peace, Nov. 2, 1751. In the interval, between his first and second voyage, he speaks of the use he found in keeping a sort of diary, of the unfavourable tendency of a life of ease among his friends, and of the satisfaction of his wishes proving unfavourable to the progress of grace ; upon the whole, however, he seems to have gained ground, and was led into farther views of Christian doctrine and experience by ScougaFs Life of God in the Soul of Man, Hervey’s Meditations, and the Life of Colonel Gardiner. He seems to have derived no advantages from the preach- ing he heard, or the Christian acquaintance he made ; and though he could not live without prayer, he durst not propose it, even to his wife, till she first urged him to the mutual practice of it. In a few months, the returning season called him abroad again, and he sailed from Liverpool, in a new ship, July 1752.f “ I never knew,” says he, “ sweeter or more frequent hours of Divine communion than in ' my two last voyages to Guinea when I was either almost secluded from society on shipboard, or when * I have heard Mr. Newton observe, that as the commander of a slave-ship, he had a number of women under his absolute command ; and knowing the danger of his situation on that account, lie resolved to abstain from flesh in his food, and to drink nothing stronger than water, during the voyage; that, by abstemiousness, he might subdue every improper emotion : and that, upon his setting sail, the sight of a certain point of land was the signal for his beginning a rule, which he was enabled to keep. t Mr. N. had had an unexpected call to London ; and, on his return, when within a few miles of Liver- pool, he mistook a marl-pit for a pond, and, in attempting to water his horse, both the horse and the rider plunged into it overhead. He was afterwards told, that, near that time, three persons had lost their lives by a mistake of the same kind. MEMOIRS OF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 29 on shore among the natives. I have wandered through the woods, reflecting on the singular goodness of the Lord to me, in a place where, perhaps, there was not a person who knew me for some thousand miles round. Many a time, upon these occasions, I have restored the beautiful lines of Propertius to the right owner ; lines full of blasphemy and madness when addressed to a creature, but full of comfort and propriety in the mouth of a believer. Sic ego desertis possim bene vivere sylvis, Q.uo nulla humano sit via trita pede ; Tu mihi curarum requies, in nocte vel artra Lumen, et in solis tu mihi turba locis. PARAPHRASED. In desert woods, with thee, my God, Where human footsteps never trod, How happy could I be ! Thou my repose from care, my light Amidst the darkness of the night, In solitude my company.” In the course of this voyage, Mr. N. was wonderfully preserved through many unforeseen dangers. At one time there was a conspiracy among his own people to become pirates, and take possession of the ship. When the plot was nearly ripe, they watched only for opportunity : two of them were taken ill in one day ; one of them died. This suspended the affair, and opened a way to its discovery. The slaves on board frequently plotted insurrections, and were sometimes upon the very brink of one when it was disclosed. When at a place called Mana, near Cape Mount, Mr. N. intended to go on shore the next morn- ing to settle some business; but the surf of the sea ran so high, that he was afraid to attempt landing. He had often ventured at a worse time ; but then feeling a backwardness which he could not account for, the high surf furnished a pretext for indulging it: he therefore returned to the ship without doing any business. He afterwards found, that, on the day he intended to land, a scandalous and groundless charge had been laid against him, which greatly threatened his honour and interest, both in Africa and England, and would perhaps have affected his life, had he landed. The person most concerned in this affair owed him about a hundred pounds, which he sent in a huff, and otherwise, perhaps, would not have paid it at all. Mr. N. heard no more of this accusation till the next voyage, and then it was publicly acknowledged to have been a malicious calumny, with- out the least shadow of a ground. But, as these things did not occur every day, Mr. N. prosecuted his Latin, being very regular in the management of his time. He allotted about eight hours for sleep and meals, eight hours for exercise and devotion, and eight hours to his books ; and thus, by diversifying his engagements, the whole day was agreeably filled up. From the coast he went to St. Christopher’s, where he met with a great dis- appointment: for the letters, which he expected from Mrs. N., were by mistake forwarded to Antigua. Certain of her punctuality in writing, if alive, be con- cluded by not hearing from her, that she was surely dead. This fear deprived him of his appetite and rest, caused an incessant pain in his stomach, and, in the space of three weeks, he was near sinking under the weight of an imaginary stroke. “ I felt,” says he, “some severe symptoms of that mixture of pride and madness, commonly called a broken heart ; and, indeed, I wonder that this case is not more common. How often do the potsherds of the earth presume to contend with their Maker ! and what a wonder of mercy is it that they are not all broken ! This was a sharp lesson, but I hope it did me good ; and w hen I had thus suf- fered some weeks, I thought of sending a small vessel to Antigua. I did so, and she brought me several packets, which restored my health and peace, and gave 30 MEMOIRS OF THE RE\ JOHN NEWTON. me a strong contrast of the Lord’s goodness to me, and of my unbelief and in- gratitude towards him.” In August, 1753, Mr. N. returned to Liverpool : after that voyage, he con- tinued only six weeks at home, and, in that space, nothing very memorable occurred. We now follow Mr. N. in his third voyage to Guinea: it seems to be the shortest of any that he had made, and which is principally marked by an account of a young man, who had formerly been a midshipman, and his intimate com- panion on board the Harwich. This youth, at the time Mr. N. first knew him, was sober, but afterwards sadly infected with Mr. N.’s then libertine principles. They met at Liverpool, and renewed their former acquaintance : as their con- versation frequently turned upon religion, Mr. N. was very desirous to recover his companion, to whom he gave a plain account of the manner and reasons of his own change, and used every argument to induce him to relinquish his infi- delity. When pressed very close, his usual reply was, that Mr. N . was the first person who had given him an idea of his liberty, which naturally occasioned many mournful reflections in the mind of his present instructor. This person was going master to Guinea himself; but, meeting with a disappointment, Mr. N. offered to take him as a companion, with a view of assisting him in gaining future employment ; but, principally, that his arguments, example, and prayers, might be attended with good effect. But his companion was exceedingly pro- fane ; grew worse and worse ; and presented a lively, but distressing picture, continually before Mr. N.’s eyes, of what he himself had once been. Besides this, the man was not only deaf to remonstrance himself, but laboured to coun- teract Mr. N.’s influence upon others; his spirit and passions were likewise so exceedingly high, that it required all Mr. N.’s prudence and authority to hold him in any degree of restraint. At length Mr. N. had an opportunity cf buying a small vessel, which he sup- plied with a cargo from his own ship : he gave his companion the command of it : and sent him away to trade on the ship’s account. When they parted, Mr. N. repeated and enforced his best advice : it seemed greatly to affect his com- panion at the time ; but when he found himself released from the restraint of his instructor, he gave a loose to every appetite ; and his violent irregularities, joined to the heat of the climate, soon threw him into a malignant fever, which carried him off in a few days. He seems to have died convinced, but not changed : his rage and despair struck those who were about him with horror • and he pronounced his own fatal doom befbre he expired, without any sign that he either hoped or asked for mercy. — I trust the reader will deem the features of this awful case (though a digression from the principal subject) too instructive to be omitted. Mr. N. left the coast in about four months, and sailed for St. Christopher’s. Hitherto, he had enjoyed a perfect and equal state of health in different climates for several years. But in this passage he was visited with a fever, which gave him a very near prospect of eternity : he was, however, supported in a silent composure of spirit by the faith of Jesus, and found great relief from those words, “ He is able to save to the uttermost.” He was for a while troubled, whether by a temptation, or by the fever disordering his faculties, that he should be lost or overlooked amidst the myriads that are continually entering the unseen world ; but the recollection of that Scripture, “the Lord knoweth them that are his,” put an end to his doubts. After a few days, however, he began to amend, and by the time they arrived in the West Indies, he was perfectly recovered. In this way he was led for about the space of six years: he had learnt some- thing of the evil of his heart — had read the Bible over and over — had perused several religious books — and had a general view of Gospel truth : but his con- ceptions still remained confused in many respects, not having, in all this time met with one acquaintance qualified to assist his inquiries. On his arrival at St. Christopher’s, he found a captain of a ship from London MEMOIRS OF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 31 a man of experience in the things of God. For near a month, they spent every evening together on board each other’s ship alternately : prolonging their visits till near day-break. While Mr. N. was an eager recipient, his companion’s dis- course not only informed his understanding, but inflamed his heart — encouraged him in attempting social prayer — taught him the advantage of Christian converse — put him upon an attempt to make his profession more public, and to venture to speak for God. His conceptions now became more clear and evangelical ; he was delivered from a fear which had long troubled him, of relapsing into his for- mer apostacy ; and taught to expect preservation, not from his own power and holiness, but from the power and promise of God. From this friend he likewise received a general view of the present state of religion, and of the prevailing errors and controversies of the times, and a direction where to inquire in Lon- don for further instruction. Mr. N.’s passage homewards gave him leisure to digest what he had received : and he arrived safely at Liverpool, August 1754 .* His stay at home, however, was intended to be but short ; and by the begin- ning of November he was ready again for the sea. But the Lord saw fit to over- rule his design. It seems, from the account he gives, that he had not the least scruple as to the lawfulness of the slave-trade : he regarded it as the appointment of Providence : he considered this employment as respectable and profitable ; yet he could not help thinking himself a sort of gaoler, and was sometimes shocked with an employment so conversant with chains, bolts, and shackles. On this account he had often prayed that he might be fixed in a more humane profes- sion, where he might enjoy more frequent communion with the people and ordi- nances of God ; and be freed from those long domestic separations, which he found so hard to bear. His prayers were now answered, though in an unex- pected way. Mr. N. was within two days of sailing, and in apparent good health ; but as he was one afternoon drinking tea with Mrs. N. he was seized with a fit, which deprived him of sense and motion. When he had recovered from this fit, which lasted about an hour, it left a pain and dizziness in his head, which continued, with such symptoms, as induced the physicians to judge it would not be safe for him to proceed on the voyage. By the advice of a friend, therefore, to whom the ship belonged, he resigned the command on the day before she sailed ; and thus he was not only freed from that service, but from the future consequences of a voyage which proved extremely calamitous. The person who went in his room, died ; as did most of the officers, and many of the crew. As Mr. N. was now disengaged from business, he left Liverpool, and spent most of the following year in London, or in Kent- Here he entered upon a new trial, in a disorder that was brought upon Mrs. N. from the shock she received in his late illness ; as he grew better, she became worse with a disorder which the physicians could not define, nor medicines remove. Mr. N. was therefore placed for about eleven months in what Dr. Young calls the Dreadful post of observation, Darker every hour. * In a MS. note on a letter from sea, Mr. Newton remarks: — “I now enter my 70th year. Still thou art singularly bountiful to me : still I have reason to think myself favoured, as to externals, beyond the common lot of mortals. Thou didst bear me above the removal of her I most valued, io the admiration of all who knew me. The best part of my childhood and youth was vanity and folly ; but, before I attained the age of man, I became exceedingly vile indeed ; and was seated in the chair of the scorncr in early life. The troubles and miseries I for a lime endured were my own. I brought them upon myself, by forsaking thy good and pleasant paths ; and choosing the way of transgressors, which 1 found very hard; they led to slavery, contempt, famine, and despair. “ But my recovery from that dreadful state was wholly of thee. Thou didst prepare the means, un- thought of and undcsired by me. How nice were the turns upon which my delivery from Africa depend- ed ! Had the ship passed one quarter of an hour sooner, I hid died there a wretch, as I had lived. But thou didst pity, and hear my first lispings in prayer, at the time the storm fell upon me. Thou didst preserve me from sinking and starving. Thus I returned home, and thou didst provide me friends, when I was destitute and a stranger.” 32 MEMOIRS OF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. The reader will recollect, that Mr. N.’s friend at St. Christopher’s had givetk him information for forming a religious acquaintance in London ; in consequence of which, he became intimate with several persons eminent for that character, and profited by the spiritual advantages which a great city affords with respect to means. When he was in Kent, his advantages were of a different kind ; most of his time he passed in the fields and woods. “ It has been my custom,” says he, “ for many years, to perform my devotional exercises sub dio when I have op- portunity, and I always find these scenes have some tendency both to refresh and compose my spirits. A beautiful, diversified prospect gladdens my heart. When I am withdrawn from the noise and petty works of men, I consider myself as in the great temple, which the Lord has built for his own honour.” During this time he had to weather two trials, the principal of which was Mrs. N.’s illness. She still grew worse, and he had daily more reason to fear that hour of separation, which appeared to be at hand. He had likewise to pro- vide some future settlement ; the African trade was overdone that year, and his friends did not care to fit out another ship till that which had been his returned. Though a provision of food and raiment had seldom been with him a cause of great solicitude, yet he was some time in suspense on this account ; but, in Au- gust following, he received a letter, that he was nominated to a post, which afforded him a competency, both unsought and unexpected. When he had gained this point, his distress respecting Mrs. N. was doubled ; he was obliged to leave her in the greatest extremity of pain and illness ; and when he had no hope that he should see her again alive. He was, however, enabled to resign her and himself to the divine disposal ; and, soon after he was gone, she began to amend, and recovered so fast, that in about two months he had the pleasure to meet her at Stone, on her journey to Liverpool. From October 1755, he appears to have been comfortably settled at Liverpool, and mentions his having received, since the year 1757, much profit from his ac- quaintance in the West Riding of Yorkshire. “I have conversed,” says he, “ at large, among all parties, without joining any ; and in my attempts to hit the golden mean, I have been sometimes drawn too near the different extremes ; yet the Lord has enabled me to profit by my mistakes.” Being at length placed in a settled habitation, and finding his business would afford him much leisure, he considered in what manner he could improve it. Having determined, with the apostle, “ to know nothing but Jesus Christ, and him crucified,” he devoted his life to the prosecution of spiritual knowledge, and resolved to pursue nothing but in subservience to this design. But as what follows will appear most natural, and must be better expressed in his own words, I shall transcribe them from the conclusion of his narrative. “ This resolution,” says Mr. N., “ divorced me (as I have already hinted) from the classics and mathematics. My first attempt was to learn so rr*!ch Greek as would enable me to understand the New Testament and Septuagint; and when I had made some progress this way, I entered upon the Hebrew" the following year ; and two years afterwards, having surmised some advantages from the Syriac version, I began with that language. You must not think that I have attained, or even aimed at a critical skill in any of these ; I had no business with them, but as in reference to something else. I never read one classic author in the Greek ; I thought it too late in life to take such a round in this language as I had done in the Latin. I only wanted the signification of scriptural words and phrases, and for this I thought I might avail myself of Scapula, the Synopsis, and others, who had sustained the drudgery before me. In the Hebrew", I can read the historical books and Psalms with tolerable ease ; but in the prophetical and difficult parts, I am frequently obliged to have recourse to Lexicons, &c. However, I know so much as to be able, w ith such helps as are at hand, to judge for myself the meaning of any passage I have occasion to consult. “ Together with these studies, I have kept up a course of reading the best writers in Divinity, that have come to my hand, in the Latin and English tongues, MEMOIRS OF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 33 and some French, for I picked up the French at times while I used the sea. But within these two or three years, I have accustomed myself chiefly to writing, and have not found time to read many books besides the Scriptures. “ I am the more particular in this account, as my case has been something sin gular ; for in all my literary attempts I have been obliged to strike out my own path by the light I could acquire from books, as I have not had a teacher or assist- ant since I was ten years of age. One word concerning my views to the ministry, and I have done. I have told you, that t his was my dear mother’s hope conc erning me ; but her death, a nd the scenes of life in which I afterwards engaged, seemedl^ciff off theT probability. The first desires of thi s sort in my own mi nd, aro se many years ago, from re- -flec tion on Gal , j. 2-3, 2L I couTdbuFvvisli for such a public opportunity to tes- tifythe riches oFDivine grace. I thought I was, above most living, a fit person to proclaim that faithful saying, ‘ that Jesus Christ came into the world to save \ the chief of sinners;’ and as my life had been full of remarkable turns, and I ' seemed selected to show what the Lord could do, I was in some hopes, that per- haps, sooner or later, he might call me into his service. “ I believe it was a distant hope of this that determined me to study the ori- ginal Scriptures ; but it remained an imperfect desire in my own breast, till it was recommended to me by some Christian friends. I started at the thought when first seriously proposed to me ; but, afterwards, set apart some weeks to consider the case, to consult my friends, and to entreat the Lord’s direction. The judgment of mv friends, and many things that occurred, tended to engage me. My first thought was to join the Dissenters, from a presumption that I could not honestly make the required subscriptions ; but Mr. C , in a conversation upon these points, moderated my scruples ; and, preferring the Established Church in some respects, I accepted a title from him some months afterwards, and solicited ordi nation from the late Archbishop of York. I need not tell you I met a refusal, nor what steps I took afterwards to succeed elsewhere. At present I desist from any applications. My desire to serve the Lord is not weakened ; but I am not so hasty to push myself forward as I was formerly. It is sufficient that he knows how to dispose of me, and that he both can and will do what is best. To him I commend myself : I trust that his will and my true interest are inseparable. To his name be glory for ever; and with this I conclude my story.” A variety of remarks occurred to me while abridging the narrative, but I re- frained from putting them down, lest, by interrupting its course, and breaking the thread of history, I should rather disgust than profit the reader. I have heard Mr. N. relate a few additional particulars, but they were of too little interest to be inserted here ; they went, however, like natural incidents, to a farther authen- tication of the above account, had it needed any other confirmation than the solemn declaration of the pious relator. Romantic relations, indeed, of unprinci- pled travellers, which appear to have no better basis than a disposition to amuse credulity, to exhibit vanity, or to acquire gain, may naturally raise suspicion and produce but a momentary effect at most on the mind of the reader ; but facts,, like the present, manifest such a display of the power, providence, and grace of God ; and at the same time such a deep and humbling view of human depravity, when moved and brought forth by circumstances, as inexperience can scarcely credit, but which must interest the eye of pious contemplation, and open a new world of wonders. I must now attempt to conduct the reader without the he p of Mr. N.’s IS ax rative, finished Feb. 2, 1763 ; to which, as I have already observed, he referred me for the former and most singular part of his life. When I left the above ac- count with him for revision, he expressed full satisfaction as to all the facts re- lated ; but said, he thought I had been too minute even in the abridgment, since the Narrative itself had been long before the public. I remarked, in reply, that the Narrative contained a great variety of facts — that these Memoirs might fall into the hands of persons who had not seen the Narrative — but that without some 34 MEMOIRS OF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. abridgment of it, no clear view could be formed of the peculiarity of his whole dispensation and character — and, therefore, that such an abridgment appeared to be absolutely necessary, and that he had recommended it at my first undertaking the work. With these reasons he was well satisfied. I now proceed to the re- maining, though less remarkable part of his life. Mr. Manesty, who had long been a faithful and generous friend of Mr. N. having procured him the place of tide-surveyor in the port of Liverpool, Mr. N. gives the following account of it ; — “ I entered upon business yesterday. I find my duty is to attend the tides one week, and visit the ships that arrive, and such as are in the river ; and the other week to inspect the vessels that are in the docks ; and thus alternately the year round. The latter is little more than a sinecure, but the former requires pretty constant attendance, both by day and night. I have a good office, with fire and candle, and fifty or sixty people under my direction: with a handsome six-oared boat and a coxswain to row me about in form.”* We cannot wonder that Mr. N. latterly retained a strong impression of a par- ticular providence, superintending and conducting the steps of man ; since he was so often reminded of it in his own history. The following occurrence is one of many instances. Mr. N. after his reformation, was remarkable for his punctuality : I remember his often sitting with his watch in his hand lest he should fail in keeping his next engagement. This exactness with respect to time, it seems, was his habit while occupying his post at Liverpool. One day, however, some business had so detained him, that he came to his boat much later than usual, to the surprise of those who had observed his former punctuality. He went out in the boat as heretofore, to inspect a ship, but the ship blew up just before he reached her : it appears, that if he had left the shore a few minutes sooner, he must have perished with the rest on board. This anecdote I had from a clergyman, upon whose word I can depend, who had been long in intimate habits with Mr. N., and who had it from Mr. N. himself : the reason of its not appearing in his letters from Liverpool to Mrs. N. I can only suppose to be, his fearing to alarm her with respect to the dangers of his station. But another providential occurrence, which he mentions in those letters, I shall transcribe. “ When I think of my settlement here, and the manner of it, I see the ap- pointment of Providence so good and gracious, and such a plain answer to my poor prayers, that I cannot but wonder and adore. I think I have not yet told you, that my immediate predecessor in office, Mr. C — , had not the least inten- tion of resigning his place on the occasion of his father’s death ; though such a report was spread about the town without his knowledge, or rather in defiance of all he could say to contradict it. Yet to this false report I owe my situation. For it put Mr. M — upon an application to Mr. S — , the member for the town ; and, the very day he received the promise in my favour, Mr. C — was found dead in his bed, though he had been in company, and in perfect health, the night before. If I mistake not, the same messenger who brought the promise, carried back the news of the vacancy to Mr. S — , at Chester. About an hour after, the mayor applied for a nephew of his ; but, though it was only an hour or two, he was too late. Mr. S — had already written, and sent off the' letter ; and I was appointed accordingly. These circumstances appear to me extraordi- nary, though of a piece with many other parts of my singular history. And the more so, as by another mistake I missed the land waiter’s place, which was my first object, and which I now see would not have suited us nearly so well. 1 thank God I can now look through instruments, and second causes, and see his wisdom and goodness immediately concerned in fixing my lot.” Mr. N. having expressed, near the end of his Narrative, the motives which induced him to aim at a regular appointment to the ministry in the church of England, and of the refusal he met with in his first making the attempt, the * Letters to a Wife, vol. ii. p. 7. MEMOIRS OF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 35 reader is farther informed, that, on Dec. 16, 1758, Mr. N. received a title to a curacy from the Rev. Mr. C — , and applied to the archbishop of York, Dr. Gil- bert, for ordination. The bishop of Chester having countersigned his testimo- nials, directed him to Dr. Newton, the archbishop’s chaplain. He was referred to the secretary, and received the softest refusal imaginable. The secretary in- formed him, that he had “represented the matter to the archbishop; but his Grace was inflexible in supporting the rules and canons of the church,” &c. Travelling to Loughborough, Mr. N. stopped at W elwyn, and sending a note to the celebrated Dr. Young, he received for answer, that the doctor would be glad to see him. He found the doctor’s conversation agreeable, and to answer his expectation respecting the author of the Night Thoughts. The doctor like- wise seemed pleased with Mr. N. He approved Mr. N.’s design of entering the ministry, and said many encouraging things upon the subject : and when he dismissed Mr. N. desired him never to pass near Welwyn without calling upon him. Mr. N. it seems, had made some small attempts at Liverpool, in a way of preaching or expounding. Many wished him to engage more at large in those ministerial employments, to which his own mind was inclined : and he thus ex- presses his motives in a letter to Mrs. N. in answer to the objections she had formed. “ The late death of Mr. Jones, of St. Saviour’s, has pressed this con- cern more closely upon my mind. I fear it must be wrong, after having so solemnly devoted myself to the Lord for his service, to wear away my time, and bury my talents in silence, (because I have been refused orders in the church,) after all the great things he has done for me.”* In a note annexed, he observes, that “the influence of his judicious and affec- tionate counsellor moderated the zeal which dictated this letter, written in the year 1762 ; that had it not been for her, he should probably have been precluded from those important scenes of service, to which he was afterwards appointed but he adds, “ The exercises of my mind upon this point, I believe, have not been peculiar to myself. I have known several persons, sensible, pious, of com- petent abilities, and cordially attached to the established church, who, being wearied out with repeated refusals of ordination, and, perhaps, not having the advantage of such an adviser as I had, have at length struck into the itinerant path, or settled among the Dissenters. Some of these, yet living, are men of respectable characters, and useful in their ministry ; but their influence, which would once have been serviceable to the true interests of the Church of England , now rather operates against it.” In the year 1764, Mr. N. had the curacy of Olney proposed to him, and was recommended by Lord D — to Dr. Green, bishop of Lincoln ; of whose candoui and tenderness he speaks with much respect. The bishop had admitted him as a candidate for orders. “ The examination,” says he, “ lasted about an hour, chiefly upon the principal heads of Divinity. As I resolved not to be charged hereafter with dissimulation, I was constrained to differ from his lordship in some points : but he was not offended ; he declared himself satisfied, and has promised to ordain me, either next Sunday, in town, or the Sunday following, at Buck- den. Let us praise the Lord!”! Mr. N. was ordained deacon at Buckden, April 29, 1764, and priest in June the following year. In the parish of Olney, he found many, who not only had evangelical views of the truth, but had also long walked in the light and experi- ence of it. The vicarage was in the gift of the Earl of D — , the nobleman to whom Mr. N. addressed the first twenty-six letters in his Cardiphonia. The earl was a man of real piety, and most amiable disposition ; he had formerly ap- pointed the Rev. Moses Brown vicar. Mr. Brown was an evangelical minister and a good man ; of course he had afforded wholesome instruction to the parish- ioners of Olney, and had been the instrument of a sound conversion in many of Letters to a Wife, vol. ii. p, 7C. t Ibid. vol. ii. p. 8? 36 MEMOIRS OF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. hem. He was the author of a poetical piece entitled Sunday Thoughts, a translation of Professor Zimmerman’s Excellency of the Knowledge of Jesus Christ, &c. But Mr. Brown had a numerous family, and met with considerable trials in it; he too much resembled Eli in his indulgence of his children. He was also under the pressure of pecuniary difficulties, and had therefore accepted the chaplaincy of Morden College, Blackheath, while vicar of Olney. Mr. N. in these circum- stances, undertook the curacy of Olney, in which he continued near sixteen years, previous to his removal to St. Mary Woolnoth, to which he was after- wards presented, bv the late John Thornton, Esq. As Mr. N. was under the greatest obligations to Mr. Thornton’s friendship while at Olney, and had been enabled to extend his own usefulness by the bounty of that extraordinary man, it may not be foreign to our subject to give some ge- neral outline of Mr. Thornton’s character in this place. It is said of Solomon, that “ the Lord gave him largeness of heart, even as the sand on the sea-shore such a peculiar disposition for whatever was good or benevolent was also bestowed on Mr. Thornton. He differed as much from rich men of ordinary bounty, as they do from others that are parsimonious. Nor was this bounty the result of occasional impulse, like a summer shower, violent and short; on the contrary, it proceeded like a river pouring its waters through various countries, copious and inexhaustible. Nor could those obstructions of imposture and ingratitude, which have often been advanced as the cause of damming up other streams, prevent or retard the course of this. The generosity of Mr. Thornton, indeed, frequently met with such hindrances, and led him to increasing discrimination; but the stream of his bounty never ceased to hold its course. Deep, silent, and overwhelming, it still rolled on, nor ended even with his life. But the fountain from whence this beneficence flowed, and by which its per- manency and direction were maintained, must not be concealed. Mr. Thornton was a Christian. Let no one, however, so mistake me here, as to suppose, that I mean nothing more by the term Christian, than the state of one, who, con- vinced of the truth of revelation, gives assent to its doctrines — regularly attends its ordinances — and maintains an external moral and religious deportment. Such a one may have a name to live while he is dead ; he may have a form of godli- ness without the power of it ; he may even be found denying and ridiculing that power — till at length he can only be convinced of his error at an infallible tribu- nal ; where a widow, that gives but a mite, or a publican, that smites on his breast, shall be preferred before him. Mr. Thornton was a Christian indeed ; that is, he was alive to God by a spi- ritual regeneration. VVith this God he was daily and earnestly transacting that infinitely momentous affair — the salvation of his own soul ; and, next to that, the salvation of the souls of others. Temperate in all things, though mean in nothing, he made provision for doing good with his opulence, and seemed to be most in his element when appropriating a considerable part of his large income to the necessities of others. But Mr. Thornton possessed that discrimination in his attempts to serve his fellow-creatures, which distinguishes an enlightened mind ; he habitually con- templated man, as one, w r ho has not only a body, subject to want, affliction, and death, but also a spirit, which is immortal, and must be happy or miserable for ^ver. He therefore felt, that the noblest exertions of charity are those which are directed to the relief of the noblest part of our species. Accordingly, he left no mode of exertion untried to relieve man under his natural ignorance and de- pravity. To this end, he purchased advowsons and presentations, with a view to place in parishes the most enlightened, active and useful ministers. He em- ployed the extensive commerce in which he was engaged, as a powerful instru- ment for conveying immense quantities of Bibles, prayer-books, and the most useful publications, to every place visited by our trade. He printed, at his own MEMOIRS OF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 37 sole expense, large editions of the latter for that purpose ; and it may safely be affirmed, that there is scarcely a part of the known world, where such books could be introduced, which did not feel the salutary influence of this single in- dividual. Nor was Mr. Thornton limited in his views of promoting the interests of real religion, with what sect soever it was connected. He stood ready to assist a be- neficial design in every party, but would be the creature of none. General good was his object, and wherever or however it made its way, his maxim seemed constantly to be, “ valeat quantum , valere potest.” But the nature and extent of his liberality will be greatly misconceived, if any one should suppose it confined to moral and religious objects, though the grand- est and most comprehensive exertions of it. Mr. Thornton was a philanthro- pist on the largest scale — the friend of man under all his wants. His manner of relieving his fellow-men was princely ; instances might be mentioned of it, were it proper to particularize, w hich would surprise those who did not know Mr. Thornton. They were so much out of ordinary course and expectation, that I know some who felt it their duty to inquire of him, whether the sum they had received was sent by his intention, or by mistake? To this may be added, that the manner of presenting his gifts was as delicate and concealed, as the mea- sure was large. Besides this constant course of private donations, there was scarcely a public charity, or occasion of relief to the ignorant or necessitous, which did not meet with his distinguished support. His only question was, “May the miseries of man, in any measure, be removed or alleviated?” Nor was he merely distin- guished by stretching out a liberal hand : his benevolent heart was so intent on doing good, that he was ever inventing and promoting plans for its diffusion at home or abroad. He that wisely desires any end, will as wisely regard the means ; in this Mr. Thornton was perfectly consistent. In order to execute his beneficent designs, he observed frugality and exactness in his personal expenses. By such pros- pective methods, he was able to extend the influence of his fortune far beyond those who, in still more elevated stations, are slaves to expensive habits. Such men meanly pace in trammels of the tyrant custom, till it leaves them scarcely enough to preserve their conscience, or even their credit, much less to employ their talents in Mr. Thornton’s nobler pursuits. He, however, could afford to be generous; and, while he was generous, did not forget his duty in being just- He made ample provision for his children ; and though, while they are living it would be indelicate to say more, I am sure of speaking truth when I say, they are so far from thinking themselves impoverished by the bounty of their father, that they contemplate with the highest satisfaction the fruit of those benefits to society which he planted, which it may be trusted will extend with time itself, and which, after his example, they still labour to extend. But, with all the piety and liberality of his honoured character, no man had deeper views of his own unworthiness before his God. To the Redeemer’s work alone he looked for acceptance of his person and services : he felt, that all he did or could do, was infinitely short of that which had been done for him, and of the obligations that were thereby laid upon him. It was this abasedness of heart to wards God, combined with the most singular largeness of heart toward his fellow creatures, which distinguished John Thornton among men. To this common patron of every useful and pious endeavour, Mr. N. sent the Narrative, from which the former part of these Memoirs is extracted. Mr Thornton replied in his usual manner; that is, by accompanying his letter with a valuable bank note ; and, some months after, he paid Mr. N. a visit at Olney A closer connexion being now formed between friends, who employed their dis tinct talents in promoting the same benevolent cause, Mr. Thornton left a sum ot money with Mr. N. to be appropriated to the defraying his necessary expenses and relieving the poor. “Be hospitable,” said Mr. Thornton, “and keep an 38 MEMOIRS OF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. open house for such as are worthy of an entertainment : help the poor and need> I will statedly allow you <£*200 a-year, and readily send whatever you have oc- casion to draw for more.” Mr. N. told me, that he thought he had received of Mr. Thornton upwards of £ 3000 in this way, during the time he resided at Olney. The case of most ministers is peculiar in this respect : some among them may be looked up to, on account of their publicity and talents ; they may have made great sacrifices of their personal interest, in order to enter on their ministry, and may be possessed of the strongest benevolence ; but, from the narrowness of their pecuniary circumstances, and from the largeness of their families, they often per- ceive, that an ordinary tradesman in their parishes, can subscribe to a charitable or popular institution much more liberally than themselves. This would have been Mr. N.’s case, but for the above-mentioned singular patronage. A minister, however, should not be so forgetful of his dispensation, as to repine at his want of power in this respect. He might as justly estimate his deficiency by the strength of the lion, or the flight of the eagle. The power communicated to him is of another kind ; and power of every kind belongs to God, who gives gifts to every man severally as he will. The two mites of the widow were all the power of that kind which was communicated to her, and her bestowment of her two mites was better accepted than the large offerings of the rich man. The powers, therefore, of Mr. Thornton, and of Mr. -N., though of a different order, were both consecrated to God ; and each might have said, “ Of tliine own have we given thee.” Providence seems to have appointed Mr. N.’s residence at Olney, among other reasons, for the relief of the depressed mind of the poet Cowper;* There has gone forth an unfounded report, that the deplorable melancholy of Cowper was in part, derived from his residence and connexions in that place. The fact, how ever, is the reverse of this ; and as it may be of importance to the interests o true religion to prevent such a misrepresentation from taking root, I will presen the real state of the case, as I have found it attested by the most respectable liv ing witnesses ; and more especially as confirmed by a MS., written by the poet himself, at the calmest period of his life ; with the perusal of which I was fa- voured by Mr. N. It most evidently appears, that symptoms of Mr. Cowper’s morbid state began to discover themselves in his earliest youth. He seems to have been at all times disordered, in a greater or less degree. He was sent to Westminster school at the age of nine years, and long endured the tyranny of an elder bov, of which he gives a shocking account in the paper above-mentioned; and which “pro- duced,” as one of his biographers observes, who had long intimacy with him, “ ail indelible effect upon his mind through life.” A person so naturally bashful and depressed as Cowper, must needs find the profession of a barrister a farther occasion of anxiety : the post obtained for him by his friends in the House of Lords, overwhelmed him ; and the remonstrances which those friends made against his relinquishing so honourable and lucrative an appointment, (but which soon after actually took place,) greatly increased the anguish of a mind already incapacitated for business. To all this were added events, which of themselves have been found sufficient to overset the minds of the strongest ; namely, the decease of his particular friend and intimate, Sir William Russel; and his meeting with a dis- appointment in obtaining a lady upon whom his affections were placed. But the state of a person, torn and depressed, not by his religious connexions but by adverse circumstances, and these meeting a naturally morbid sensibility long before he knew Olney, or had formed any connexion with its inhabitants will best appear from some verses which he sent at this time to one of his femak relations, and for the communication of which we are indebted to Mr. Hayley : — “ Doom’d, as I am, in solitude to waste The present moments, and regret the past ; MEMOIRS OF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 39 .Depriv’d of every joy I valued most — My friend torn from me, and my mistress .ost : Call not this gloom I wear, this anxious mien, The dull effect of humour or of spleen ; Still, still I mourn, with each returning da}', Him — snatch’d by fate, in early youth, away ; And her, through tedious years of doubt and pain, Fix’d in her choice, and faithful — but in vain. See me, ere yet my destin’d course half done, Cast forth a wand’rer on a wild unknown ! See me. neglected on the world’s rude coast, Each dear companion of my voyage lost! Nor ask, why clouds of sorrow shade my brow, And ready tears wait only leave to flow : Why all that soothes a heart, from anguish free, All that delights the happy — palls with me ? That any man, under such pressures, should at first turn his mind to those re- sources, which religion alone can afford, is both natural and rational. But Mr. Ccwper was like a person looking from a high tower, who perceives only the danger of falling, but neither the security nor prospect it presents; and therefore it is no wonder, with so melancholy, morbid, and susceptible a mind, that his unhappiness should be increased. And yet this very mind of Cowper, when put under the care of Dr. Cotton, of St. Alban’s (a physician as capable of ad- ministering to the spiritual as to the natural maladies of his patients,) received the first consolation it ever tasted, and that from evangelical truths. It was under the care of this physician, that Mr. Cowper first obtained a clear view of those sublime and animating truths, which so distinguished and exalted his future strains as a poet. Here also he received that settled tranquillity and peace, which he enjoyed for several years afterwards. So far, therefore, was his con- stitutional malady from being produced or increased by his evangelical connexions, either at St. Alban’s or at Olney, that he seems never to have had any settled peace but from the truths he learned in these societies. It appears, that among them alone he found the only sunshine he ever enjoyed through the cloudy day of his afflicted life. It appears also, that, while at Dr. Cotton’s, Mr. Cowper’s distress was, for a long time, entirely removed, by marking that passage in Rom. iii. 25: “Him hath God set forth to be a propitiation, through faith in his blood, to declare his righteousness for the remission of sins that are past.” In this scripture he saw the remedy, which God provides for the relief of a guilty conscience, with such clearness, that, for several years after, his heart was filled with love, and his life occupied with prayer, praise, and doing good to his needy fellow-creatures. Mr. N. told me, that from Mr. Cowper’s first coming to Olney, it w r as ob- served he had studied his Bible with such advantage, and was so well acquainted with its design, that not only his troubles were removed, but that to the end of his life he never had clearer views of the peculiar doctrines of the gospel than when he first became an attendant upon them ; that (short intervals excepted) Mr. Cowper enjoyed a course of peace for several successive years ; that, during this period, the inseparable attendants of a lively faith appeared, by Mr. Cowper s exerting himself to the utmost of his power in every benevoh service he could render to his poor neighbours ; and that Mr. N. used to consider him as a sort of curate, from his constant attendance upon the sick and afflicted, in that large and necessitous parish. But the malady, which seemed to be subdued by the strong consolations of the gospel, w r as still latent ; and only required some occasion of irritation to break out again, and overwhelm the patient. Any object of constant attention, that shall oc- cupy a mind previously disordered, whether fear, or love, or science, or religion, will not be so much the cause of the disease, as the accidental occasion of exciting it. Cowper’s Letters will show us how r much his mind was occupied at one time by the truths of the Bible, and at another time by the fictions of H omer : but his melancholy was originally a constitutional disease, a physical disorder, w hich, in- 40 MEMOIRS OF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. deed, could be affected either by the Bible or by Homer, but was utterly distinct in its nature from the mere matter of either. And here I cannot but mark this necessary distinction, having often been witness to cases where religion has been assigned as the proper cause of insanity, when it has been only an accidental oc- casion, in the case of one already affected.* Thus Cowper’s malady, like a strong current, breaking down the banks wffiich had hitherto sustained the pressure and obliquity of its course, prevailed against the supports he had received, and pre- cipitated him again into his former distress. I inquired of Mr. N. as to the manner in which Mr. Cowper’s disorder re- turned, after an apparent recovery of nearly nine years continuance: and was informed that the first symptoms were discovered one morning, in his discourse, soon after he had undertaken a new engagement in composition. As a general and full account of this extraordinary genius is already before the public, such particulars would not have occupied so much room in these Me- moirs, but with the view of removing the false statements that have been made. Of great importance also was the vicinity of Mr. N.’s residence to that of the Rev. Mr. Scott, then curate of Ravenstone and Weston Underwood, and now rector of Aston Sandford ; a man whose ministry and writings have since been so useful to mankind. This clergyman was nearly a Socinian : he was in the habit of ridiculing evangelical religion, and laboured to bring over Mr. N. to his own sentiments. Mr. Scott had married a lady from the family of a Mr. Wright, a gentleman in his parish, who had promised to provide for him. But Mr. Scott’s objections to subscription arose so high, that he informed his patron it would be in vain to attempt providing for him in the Church of England, as he could not conscientiously accept a living on the condition of subscribing its Liturgy and Articles. “ This,” said Mr. N., “gave me hopes of Mr. Scott’s being sincere, however wrong in his principles.” But the benefit which Mr. Scott derived from his neighbour, will best appear in his own words : — t “ I was,” says he, “ full of proud self-sufficiency, very positive, and very ob- stinate ; and being situated in the neighbourhood of some of those whom the world calls Methodists I joined in the prevailing sentiment; held them in sove- reign contempt ; spoke of them with derision ; declaimed against them from the pulpit, as persons full of bigotry, enthusiasm, and spiritual pride ; laid heavy things to their charge; and endeavoured to prove the doctrine, which I supposed them to hold (for 1 had never read their books,) to be dishonourable to God, and destructive of morality ; and though in some companies I chose to conceal part of my sentiments, and in all affected to speak as a friend to universal toler- ation, yet scarcely any person could be more proudly and violently prejudiced against both their persons and principles than I then was. “ In January 1774, two of my parishioners, a man and his wife, lay at the point of death. I had heard of the circumstance, but, according to my general * I have been an eye-witness of several instances of this kind of misrepresentation, but will detain the reader with mentioning only one. I was called to visit a woman whose mind was disordered, and on my observing, that it was a case which required the assistance of a physician rather than that of a clergyman, her husband replied : “ Sir, we sent to you, because it is a religious case — her mind has been injured by constantly reading the Bible.” “ I have known many instances,” said I, “of persons brought to their senses by reading the Bible ; but it is possible, that too intense an application to that, as well as to any other subject, may have disordered your wife.” “There is every proof of it,” said he ; and was proceeding to multiply his proofs, till his brother interrupted him by thus addressing me : — “ Sir, I have no longer patience to stand by and see you imposed on. The truth of the matter is this : my brother has forsaken his wife, and been long connected with a loose woman. He had the best of wives in her, and one who was strongly attached to him : but she has seen his heart and property given to another, and in her solitude and distress, went to the Bible, as the only consolation left her. Her health and spirits at length sunk under her troubles ; and there she lies distracted, not from read- ing her Bible, but from the infidelity and cruelty of her husband.” Does the reader wish to know what reply the husband made to this 1 He made no reply at all, but left the room with confusion of face. + Scott’s Force of Truth, p. 11, fifth edition. MEMOIRS OF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 41 custom, not being sent for, I took no notice of it ; till one evening, the woman being now dead, and the man dying, I heard that my neighbour Mr. N. had been several times to visit them. Immediately my conscience reproached me with being shamefully negligent, in sitting at home within a few doors of dying persons, my general hearers, and never going to visit them. Directly it occur- red to me, that whatever contempt I might have for Mr. N.’s doctrines, I must acknowledge his practice to be more consistent with the ministerial character than my own. He must have more zeal and love for souls than I had, or he would not have walked so far to visit and supply my lack of care to those, who, as far as I was concerned, might have been left to perish in their sins. “ This reflection affected me so much, that without delay, and very earnestly yea, with tears, I besought the Lord to forgive my past neglect ; and I resolved thenceforth to be more attentive to this duty: which resolution, though at first formed in ignorant dependence on my own strength, I have by divine grace been enabled hitherto to keep. I went immediately to visit the survivor; and the af- fecting sight of one person already dead, and another expiring in the same cham- ber, served more deeply to impress my serious convictions. “ It was at this time that my correspondence with Mr. N. commenced. At a visitation, May 1775, we exchanged a few words on a controverted subject, in the room among the clergy, which I believe drew many eyes upon us. At that time he prudently declined the discourse ; but a day or two after he sent me a short note, with a little book for my perusal. This was the very thing I wanted ; and I gladly embraced the opportunity, which, according to my wishes, seemed now to offer ; God knoweth, with no inconsiderable expectations, that my arguments would prove irresistibly convincing, and that I should have the honour of rescuing a well-meaning person from his enthusiastical delusions. “ I had, indeed, by this time conceived a very favourable opinion of him, and a sort of respect for him, being acquainted with the character he sustained, even among some persons who expressed a disapprobation of his doctrines. They were forward to commend him as a benevolent, disinterested, inoffensive person, and a laborious minister. But on the other hand I looked upon his religious sentiments as rank fanaticism ; and entertained a very contemptible opinion of his abilities, natural and acquired. Once I had the curiosity to hear him preach ; and, not understanding his sermon, I made a very great jest of it, where I could do it without giving offence. I had also read one of his publications ; but for the same reason I thought the greater part of it whimsical, paradoxical, and unintel- ligible. “ Concealing, therefore, the true motives of my conduct, under the offer of friendship, and a professed desire to know the truth (which, amidst all my self- sufficiency and prejudice, I trust the Lord had even then given me,) with the greatest affectation of candour, and of a mind open to conviction, I wrote him a long letter ; purposing to draw from him such an avowal and explanation of his sentiments, as might introduce a controversial discussion of our religious dif- ferences. “The event by no means answered my expectation. He returned a very friendly and long answer to my letter, in which he carefully avoided the mention of those doctrines which he knew would offend me. He declared that he be- lieved me to be one who feared God, and was under the teaching of his Holy Spirit; that he gladly accepted my offer of friendship, and was no ways inclined to dictate to me ; but that, leaving me to the guidance of the Lord, he would be glad, as occasion served from time to time, to bear testimony to the truths of the gospel, and to communicate his sentiments to me on any subject with all the confidence of friendship. “ In this manner our correspondence began ; and it was continued, in the in- terchange of nine or ten letters, till December, in the same year. Throughout I held my purpose, and he his. I made use of every endeavour to draw him into con- troversy, and filled my letters with definitions, inquiries, arguments, objections, and 42 MEMOIRS OF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. consequences, requiring explicit answers. He, on the other hand, shunned every thing controversial as much as possible, and filled his letters with the most useful and least offensive instructions ; except that now and then he dropped his hints concerning the necessity, the true nature, and the efficacy of faith, and the man- ner in which it was to be sought and obtained; and concerning some other mat- ters suited, as he judged, to help me forward in my inquiry after truth. But they much offended my prejudices, afforded me matter of disputation, and at that time were of little use to me. “ When I had made this little progress in seeking the truth, my acquaintance with Mr. N. was resumed. From the conclusion of our correspondence in De- cember 1775, till April 1777, it had been almost wholly dropped. To speak plainly, I did not care for his company : I did not mean to make any use of him as an instructor, and I was unwilling the world should think us in any way con- nected. But, under discouraging circumstances, I had occasion to call upon him ; and his discourse so comforted and edified me, that my heart, being by his means relieved from its burden, became susceptible of affection for him. From that time I was inwardly pleased to have him for my friend; though not, as now, rejoiced to call him so. 1 had, however, even at that time no thoughts of learn- ing doctrinal truth from him, and was ashamed to be detected in his company ; but I sometimes stole away to spend an hour with him. About the same period I once heard him preach ; but still it was foolishness to me, his sermon being principally upon the believer’s experience, in some particulars with which I was unacquainted ; so that, though I loved and valued him, I considered him as a person misled by enthusiastical notions; and strenuously insisted, that we should never think alike till we met in heaven.” Mr. Scott, after going on to particularize his progress in the discovery of truth and the character of Mr. N. as its minister, afterwards adds : — f ‘ The pride of reasoning, and the conceit of superior discernment, had ail along accompanied me ; and though somewhat broken, had yet considerable in- fluence. Hitherto, therefore, I had not thought of hearing any person preach ; because I did not think any one in the circle of my acquaintance capable of giv- ing me such information as I wanted. But being at length convinced that Mr. N. had been right, and that I had been mistaken, in the several particulars in which we had differed, it occurred to me, that, having preached those doctrines so long, he must understand many things concerning them to which I was a stranger. Now, therefore, though not without much remaining prejudice, and not less in the character of a judge than of a scholar, I condescended to be his hearer, and occasionally to attend his preaching, and that of some other ministers. I soon perceived the benefit ; for from time to time the secrets of my heart were disco- vered to me, far beyond what I had hitherto noticed; and I seldom returned from hearing a sermon without having conceived a meaner opinion of myself — without having attained to a farther acquaintance with my deficiencies, weak- nesses, corruptions, and wants — or without being supplied with fresh matter for prayer, and directed to greater watchfulness. I likewise learned the use of ex- perience in preaching; and was convinced that the readiest way to reach the hearts and consciences of others, was to speak from my own. In short, I gradu- ally saw more and more my need of instruction, and was at length brought to consider myself as a very novice in religious matters. Thus I began experiment- ally to perceive our Lord’s meaning, when he says, ‘Except ye receive the king- dom of heaven as a little child, ye shall in nowise enter therein.’ ” If I have seemed to digress in dwelling so long on these three characters, let the reader consider the importance of the facts — their intimate connexion with Mr. N.’s history — and let me inform him, that the author has something much nearer his heart than that of precision in setting forth the history of an indivi- dual ; namely, that of exhibiting the nature and importance of vital and experi- mental religion : he therefore gladly brings forward any fact found in his way, which may tend to illustrate it- MEMOIRS OF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 43 But to return to the more immediate subject of these Memoirs. In the year 1776, Mr. N. was afflicted with a tumour, or wen, which had formed on his thigh ; and on account of its growing more large and troublesome, he resolved to undergo the experiment of extirpation. This obliged him to go to London for the operation, which was successfully performed, October 10th, by the late Mr. Warner, of Guy’s Hospital. I remember hearing him speak several years after- wards of this trying occasion ; but the trial did not seem to have affected him as a painful operation, so much as a critical opportunity in which he might fail in demonstrating the patience of a Christian under pain. “ I felt,” said he, “that being enabled to bear a very sharp operation, with tolerable calmness and confi- dence, was a greater favour granted to me than the deliverance from my malady.* While Mr. N. thus continued faithfully discharging the duties of his station, and watching for the temporal and eternal welfare of his flock, a dreadful fire broke out at Olney, October <1777. Mr. N. took an active part in comforting and relieving the sufferers : he collected upwards of £ 200 for them ; a consider- able sum of money, when the poverty and late calamity of the place are regarded. Such instances of benevolence towards the people, with the constant assistance he afforded the poor, by the help of Mr. Thornton, naturally led him to expect that he should have so much influence as to restrain gross licentiousness on par- ticular occasions. But, to use his own expression, he had “ lived to bury the old crop on which any dependence could be placed.” He preached a weekly lec- ture, which occurred that year on the 5th of November ; and, as he feared that the usual way of celebrating it at Olney might endanger his hearers in their at- tendance at the church, he exerted himself to preserve some degree of quiet on that evening. Instead, however, of hearkening to his entreaties, the looser sort exceeded their former extravagance, drunkenness, and rioting, and even obliged him to send out money, to preserve his house from violence. This happened but a year before he finally left Olney. When he related this occurrence to me, he added, that he believed he should never have left the place while he lived, had not so incorrigible a spirit prevailed in a parish he had long laboured to reform. But I must remark here, that this is no solitary fact, nor at all unaccountable. The gospel, we are informed, is not merely “ a savour of life unto life,” but also “ of death unto death.” Those whom it does not soften it is often found to harden. Thus we find St. Paul “ went into the synagogue and spake boldly for the space of three months, disputing and persuading the things concerning the kingdom of God. But when divers were hardened, and believed not, but spake evil of that way before the multitude, he departed from them.” “ The strong man armed,” seeks to keep his “ house and goods in peace,” and, if a minister is disposed to let this sleep of death remain, that minister’s own house and goods may be permitted to remain in peace also. Such a minister may be esteemed by his parish as a good kind of man — quiet, inoffensive, candid, &c. ; and if he discover any zeal, it is directed to keep the parish in the state he found it ; that is, in ignorance and unbelief, worldly-minded and hard-hearted — the very state of peace in which the strong man armed seeks to keep his palace or citadel, the human heart. But if a minister, like the subject of these Memoirs, enters into the design of his commission — if he be alive to the interest of his own soul, and that of the souls committed to his charge; or, as the apostle expresses it, “ to save himself *, His reflections upon the occasion, m his diary, are as follow: — “Thou didst support me, and make this operation very tolerable. The cure, by thy blessing, was happily expedited: so that, on Sunday the 27th, I was enabled to go to church and hear Mr. F , and the Sunday following, to preach for him. The tenderness and attention of Dr. and Mrs. F , with whom we were, I cannot sufficiently describe ; nor, indeed, the kindness of many other friends. To them I would be thankful, my Lord, but especially to thee ; for what are creatures but instruments in thy hand, ful- filling thy pleasure 7 At home all was preserved quiet, and I met with no incident to distress or dis- turb me while absent. The last fortnight I preached often, and was hurried about in seeing my friends. But though I nad a litile leisure or opportunity for retirement, and my heart, alas ! as usual* 6adly reluctant and duJ in secret, yet in public thou wert pleased to favour me with liberty.” 44 MEMOIRS OF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. and those that hear him,” he may depend upon meeting in his own experience the truth of that declaration, “Yea, all that will live godly in Christ Jesus shall suffer persecution,” in one form of it or another. One of the most melancholy sights we behold is when any part of the church, through prejudice, joins the world in throwing the stone. There is, however, such a determined enmity to godliness itself, in the breast of a certain class of men existing in most parishes, that whatever learning and good sense are found in their teacher — whatever consistency of character, or blameless deportment he exhibits — whatever benevo lence or bounty (like that which Mr. N. exercised at Olney,) may constantly appear in his character — such men remain irreconcileable. They will resist every attempt made to appease their enmity. God alone, who changed the hearts of Paul and of Newton, can heal these bitter waters. I recollect to have heard Mr. N. say on such an occasion, “ When God is about to perform any great work, he generally permits some great opposition to it. Suppose Pharaoh had acquiesced in the departure of the children of Israel, or that they had met with no difficulties in the way, they would, indeed, have passed from Egypt to Canaan with ease ; but they, as well as the church in all future ages, would have been great losers. The wonder-working God would not have been seen in those extremities, which make his arm so visible. A smooth passage, here, would have made but a poor story.” But, under such disorders, Mr. N. , in no one instance that I ever heard of. was tempted to depart from the line marked out by the precept and example of his Master. He continued to “ bless them that persecuted him,” knowing that “the servant of the Lord must not strive, but be gentle unto all men, apt to teach, patient.” To the last day he spent among them, he went straight for- ward, “ in meekness instructing those that opposed, if God peradventure might give them repentance to the acknowledging the truth.” But, before we take a final leave of Olney, the reader must be informed of another part of Mr. N.’s labours. He had published a volume of Sermons before he took orders, dated Liverpool, January 1, 1760. In 1762 he published his Omicron, to which his letters, signed Vigil, were afterwards annexed. In 1764 appeared his Narrative. In 1767, a volume of Sermons, preached at Olney. In 1769 his Review of Ecclesiastical History : and in 1779, a volume of Hymns, of which some were composed by Mr. Cowper, and distinguished by a C. To these succeeded, in 1781, his valuable work, Cardiphonia ; but more will be said of these in their place. From Olney Mr. N. was removed to the rectory of the united parishes of St. Mary Woolnoth, and St. Mary Woolchurch Haw, Lombard Street, on the pre- sentation of his friend Mr. Thornton. It is remarkable, that these parishes had been favoured with two very emi- nent pastors, before Mr. N. appeared ; namely, the Rev. Josias Shute, B. D., archdeacon of Colchester, and rector of St. Mary Woolnoth, who died 1643 — and the Rev. Ralph Robinson, who died in 1655. * There is a well written account of Mr. Shute in the Christian Observer of January 1804 ; from which it appears, that his piety, ministerial talents, and moderation in those difficult times, were very much distinguished during the thirty-three years he continued rector.* Mr. Robinson died young, but has left a volume of truly evangelical discourses preached at St. Mery’s. Some difficulty arose on Mr. N.’s being presented, by Mr Thornton’s right of presentation being claimed by a nobleman ; the question was, therefore, at * Grander in his Biographical History of England, says that “ His learning in divinity and eccle- siastical history was extensive, indeed almost universal.”' And even Walker, in his account of the Clergy, says, that, “ In the beginning of the troubles, he was molested and harassed to death, and denied a funeral sermon to be preached for him by Dr. Holdsworth, as he desired— that he was a person of great pietv, charity, and gravity, and of a most sweet and affable temper.” It farther ap- pears, that, like his successor Mr. N., he preached twice on the Sunday, and had a lecture in his church every Wednesday. race n u Jim Barlow !hurch family is Steve Storckman MEMOIRS OF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 45 length brought before the House of Lords, and determined in favour of Mr. Thornton. Mr. N. preached his first sermon in these parishes, Dec. 19, 1779, from Eph. iv. 15. “ Speaking the truth in love.” It contained an affectionate address to his parishioners, and was directly published for their use. Here a new and very distinct scene of action and usefulness was set before him. Placed in the centre of London — in an opulent neighbourhood — with connexions daily increasing, he had now a course of service to pursue, in several respects different from his former at Olney. Being, however, well acquainted with the word of God, and the heart of man, he proposed to himself no new weapons of warfare for pulling down the strong holds of sin and Satan around him. He perceived, indeed, most of his parishioners too intent upon their wealth and mer- chandise to pay much regard to their new minister ; but, since they would not come to him, he was determined to go, as far as he could, to them ; and, there- fore, soon after his institution, he sent a printed address to his parishioners : he afterwards sent them another address, on the usual prejudices that are taken up against the gospel. What effects these attempts had then upon them does not ap- pear; certain it is, that these, and other acts of his ministry, will be recollected by them, when the objects of their present pursuits are forgotten or lamented. I have heard Mr. N. speak with great feeling on the circumstances of his last important station. “ That one,” said he, “ of the most ignorant, the most mise- rable, and the most abandoned of slaves, should be plucked from his forlorn state of exile on the coast of Africa, and at length be appointed minister of the parish of the first magistrate of the first city in the world — that he should there not only testify of such grace, but stand up as a singular instance and monument of it — that he should be enabled to record it in his history, preaching, and writings to the world at large — is a fact I can contemplate with admiration, but never sufficiently esti- mate.” This reflection, indeed, was so present to his mind on all occasions, and in all places, that he seldom passed a single day anywhere, but he was found referring to the strange event, in one way or other. It may be necessary to add, that the latter part of these Memoirs leads me to speak so personally of my friend, that any farther inspection from his own eye was deemed improper. When Mr. N. came to St. Mary’s, he resided for sometime in Charles’ Square, Hoxton ; afterwards he removed to Coleman Street Buildings, where he continued till his death. Being of the most friendly and communicative disposition, his house was open to Christians of all ranks and denominations. Here, like a father among his children, he used to entertain, encourage, and instruct his friends, especially younger ministers, or candidates for the ministry. Here also the poor, the afflicted, and the tempted, found an asylum and a sympathy, which they could scarcely find, in an equal degree, anywhere besides. His timely hints were often given with much point, and profitable address, to tbe numerous acquaintance which surrounded him in this public station. Some time after Mr. N. had published his Omicron, and described the three stages of growth in religion, from the blade, the ear, and the full corn in the ear, distin- guishing them by the letters A, B, and C, a conceited young minister wrote to Mr. N., telling him, that he read his own character accurately drawn in that of C. Mr. N. wrote in reply, that in drawing the character of C, or full maturity he had forgotten to add, till now, one prominent feature of C’s character, namely, that C never knew his own face. “ It grieves me,” said Mr. N., “to see so few of my wealthy parishioners come to church. I always consider the rich as under greater obligations to the preaching of the gospel than the poor. For at church, the rich must hear the whole truth as well as others. There they have no mode of escape. But let them once get home, you will be troubled to get at them; and, when you are admitted, you are so fettered with punctilio, so interrupted and damped with the frivolous conversation of their friends, that, as Archbishop Leighton says 1 it is well if your visit does not prove a blank or a blot.’ ” MEMOIRS OF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. Mr. N. used to improve every occurrence which he could with propriety brmt, «nto the pulpit. One night he found a bill put up at St. Mary Woolnoth’s, upon which he commented a great deal when he came to preach. The bill was to this effect; “A young man having come to the possession of a very considerable fortune, desires the prayers of the congregation, that he may be preserved from the snares to which it exposes him.” — “ Now, if the man,” said Mr. N., “ had lost a fortune, the world would not have wondered to have seen him put up a bill ; but this man has been better taught.” Coming out of his church, on a Wednesday, a lady stopped him on the steps, and said, “ The ticket, of which I held a quarter, is drawn a prize of ten thou- sand pounds: I know you will congratulate me upon the occasion.” “ Madam,” said he, “ as for a friend under temptation, I will endeavour to pray for you.” Soon after he came to St. Mary’s, I remember to have heard him say, in a certain company, “ Some have observed, that I preach shorter sermons on a Sunday morning, and with more caution: but this I do upon principle. I suppose I may have two or three of my bankers present, and some others of my parish, who have hitherto been strangers to my views of truth. I endeavour to imitate the apostle. ‘ I became,’ says he, 1 all things to all men but observe the end: it was in order to gain some. The fowler must go cautiously to meet shy birds, but he will not leave his powder and shot behind him. ‘ I have fed you with milk,’ says the apostle ; but there are some, that are not only for forcing strong meat, but bones too, down the throat of the child.-?- We must have patience with a single step in the case of an infant ; and there are one-step books and sermons, which are good in their place. Christ taught his disciples as they were able to bear ; and it was upon the same principle that the apostle accommodated himself to prejudice. — Now,” continued he, “ what I wish to remark on these considera- tions is, that this apostolical principle, steadily pursued, will render a minister apparently inconsistent — superficial hearers will think him a trimmer. On the other hand, a minister, destitute of the apostolical principle and intention, and directing his whole force to preserve the appearance of consistency, may thus seem to preserve it; but, let me tell you, here is only the form of faithfulness, without the spirit.” I could not help observing one day, how much Mr. N. was grieved with the mistake of a minister, who appeared to pay too much attention to politics. “For my part,” said he, “ I have no temptation to turn politician, and much less to inflame a party, in these times. When a ship is leaky, and a mutinous spirit di- vides the company on board, a wise man would say, ‘ My good friends, while we are debating, the water is gaining on us — we had better leave the debate, and go to the pumps.’ — I endeavour,” continued he, “ to turn my people’s eyes from instruments to God. I am continually attempting to show them, how far they are from knowing either the matter of fact, or the matter of right. I incul- cate our great privileges in this country, and advise a discontented man to take a lodging for a little while in Russia or Prussia.” Though no great variety of anecdote is to be expected in a course so stationary as this part of Mr. N.’s life and ministry ; (for sometimes the course of a single day might give the account of a whole year,) yet that day was so benevolently spent, that he was found in it “not only rejoicing with those that rejoiced,” but literally “weeping with those that wept.” The portrait which Goldsmith drew from imagination, Mr. N. realized in fact; insomuch that had Mr. N. sat for his picture to the poet, it could not have been more accurately delineated than by the following lines in his Deserted Village :— ♦ “ Unskilful he to fawn, or seek for power, By doctrines fashion’d to the varying hour ; Far other aims his heart had learn’d to prize, More bent to raise the wretched than to rise. Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, And even his failings lean’d to virtue’s side; MEMOIRS OF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 47 But in his duty prompt at every call, He watch’d and wept, he prayed and felt, for all : And as a bird each fond endearment tries, To tempt its new-fledg’d offspring to the skies, He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way.” I remember to have heard him say, when speaking of his continual interrup- tions, “ I see in this world two heaps of human happiness and misery ; now if I can take but the smallest bit from one heap and add to the other, I carry a point — If, as I go home, a child has dropped a halfpenny, and if, by giving it another, I can wipe away its tears, I feel I have done something. I should be glad in- deed to do greater things, but I will not neglect this. When I hear a knock at my study door, I hear a message from God ; it may be a lesson of instruction, perhaps a lesson of patience; but, since it is his message, it must be interesting.” But it was not merely under his own roof that his benevolent aims were thus exerted ; he was found ready to take an active part in relieving the miserable, directing the anxious, or recovering the wanderer, in whatever state or place he discovered such : of which, take the following instance: — Mr. , who is still living, and who holds a post of great importance abroad, was a youth of considerable talents, and who had had a respectable edu- cation. I am not informed of his original destination in point of profession ; but certain it is, that he left his parents in Scotland, with a design of viewing the world at large, and that without those pecuniary resources, which could render such an undertaking convenient or even practicable. Yet having the sanguine expectations of youth, together with its inexperience, he determinately pursued his plan. I have seen an account from his own hand, of the strange, but by no means dishonourable resources to which he was reduced in the pursuit of this scheme ; nor can romance exceed the detail. But the particulars of his long journey, till he arrived in London, and those which have since occurred, would not be proper, at present, for any one to record except himself ; and I cannot but wish he would favour the world with them, on the principle which led Mr. N. to write his Narrative. To London, however, he came; and then he seemed to come to himself. He had heard Mr. N.’s character, and on a Sunday evening he came to St. Mary Woolnoth, and stood in one of the aisles while Mr. N. preached. In the course of that week he wrote Mr. N. some account of his ad- venture, and state of mind. Such circumstances could be addressed to no man more properly. Mr. N.’s favourite maxim was often in his mouth, more often in his actions, and always in his heart “ Haud ignara mali, miseris succurrere disco.” Mr. N. therefore gave notice from the pulpit on the following Sunday evening, that, if the person was present who had sent him such a letter, he would be glad to speak with him. Mr. gladly accepted the invitation, and came to Mr. N.’s house, where a friendship began, which continued till Mr. N.’s death. Mr. N. not only all’orded this youth the instruction, which he, at this period, so deeply needed : but marking his fine abilities and corrected inclination, he introduced him to Henry Thornton Esq.; who, inheriting his father’s unbounded liberality and determined adherence to the cause of real religion, readily patronized the stranger. Mr. was, by the munificence of this gentleman, supported through a university edu- cation, and was afterwards ordained to the curacy of . It was, however, thought expedient, that his talents should be employed in an important station abroad, which he readily undertook, and in which he now maintains a very dis- tinguished character. It ought not to be concealed, that Mr. , since his advancement has not only returned his patron the whole expense of his university education, but 48 MEMOIRS OF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. has also placed in his hands an equal sum, for the education of some pious youth, who might be deemed worthy of that assistance once afforded to himself! Mr. N. used to spend a month or two, annually, at the house of some friend in the country ; he always took an affectionate leave of his congregation before he departed, and spake of his leaving town as quite uncertain of returning to it, considering the variety of incidents which might prevent that return. Nothing was more remarkable than his constant habit of regarding the hand of God in every event, however trivial it might appear to others. On every occasion — in the concerns of every hour — matters public or private, like Enoch, he “walked with God.” Take a single instance of his state of mind in this respect. In walk- ing to his church, he would say, *' ‘ The way of man is not in himself,’ nor can he conceive what belongs to a single step. When I go to St. Mary Woolnoth, it seems the same whether I turn down Lothbury or go through the Old Jewry ; but the going through one street and not another, may produce an effect of lasting consequences. A man cut down my hammock in sport, but had he cut it down half-an-hour later, I had not been here ; as the exchange of crew was then ma- king. A man made a smoke on the sea-shore at the time a ship passed, which was thereby brought to, and afterwards brought me to England.” Mr. N. had experienced a severe stroke soon after he came to St. Mary’s and while he resided in Charles’s Square, in the death of his niece, Miss Eliza Cun- ningham. He loved her with the affection of a parent, and she w r as, indeed, truly lovely. He had brought her up, and had observed, that, with the most amiable natural qualities, she possessed a real piety. With every possible atten- tion from Mr. and Mrs. Newton and their friends, they saw her gradually sink into the arms of death ; but fully prepared to meet him as a messenger sent from a yet kinder Father, to whom she departed, October 6th, 1785, aged fourteen years and eight months. On this occasion Mr. N. published some brief memoirs of her character and death. In the year 1784 and 17S5 Mr. N. preached a course of sermons, on an occa- sion, of which he gives the following account in his first discourse : “ Conversa- tion in almost every company, for some time past, has much turned upon the commemoration of Handel, and particularly on his Oratorio of the Messiah. I mean to lead your meditations to the language of the oratorio, and to consider, in their order (if the Lord, on whom our breath depends, shall be pleased to af- ford life, ability, and opportunity,) the several sublime and interesting passages of Scripture, which are the basis of that admired composition.” In the year 1786 he published these discourses, in two volumes octavo. There is a passage so original, at the beginning of his fourth sermon, from Mai. iii. 1 — 3, “ The Lord, whom ye s-eek, shall suddenly come to his temple,” &c. that I shall tran- scribe it for the use of such as have not seen these discourses ; at the same time, it will, in a few words, convey Mr. N.’s idea of the usual performance of this oratorio, or attending its performance, in present circumstances. “ ‘ Whereunto shall we liken the people of this generation, and to what are they like ?’ I represent to myself a number of persons, of various characters, involved in one common charge of high treason. They are already in a state of confinement, but not yet brought to their trial. The facts, however, are so plain, and the evidence against them so strong and pointed, that there is not the least doubt of their guilt being fully proved, and that nothing but a pardon can pre- serve them from punishment. In this situation, it should seem their wisdom to avail themselves of every expedient in their power for obtaining mercy. But they are entirely regardless of their danger, and wholly taken up with contriving methods of amusing themselves, that they may pass away the term of their im- prisonment with as much cheerfulness as possible. Among other resources, they call in the assistance of music. And amidst a great variety of subjects in this way, they are particularly pleased with one. They choose to make the solemni- ties of their impending trial, the character of their Judge, the methods of his procedure, and the awful sentence to which they are exposed, the groundwork MEMOIRS OF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 49 of a musical entertainment. And, as if they were quite unconcerned in the event, their attention is chiefly fixed upon the skill of the composer, in adapting the style of his music to the very solemn language and subject with which they are trifling. The king, however, out of his great clemency and compassion to- wards those who have no pity for themselves, prevents them with his goodness. Undesired by them, he sends them a gracious message. He assures them, that he is unwilling they should suffer : he requires, yea, he entreats them to submit. He points out a way in which their confession and submission shall be cer- tainly accepted ; and in this way, which he condescends to prescribe, he offers them a free and a full pardon. But instead of taking a single step towards a com- pliance with his goodness, they set his message likewise to music: and this, together with a description of their present state, and of the fearful doom awaiting them if they continue obstinate, is sung for their diversion, accompanied with the sound of cornet, flute, harp, sackbut, psaltery, dulcimer, and all kinds of in- struments. Surely, if such a case as I have supposed could be found in real life, though I might admire the musical taste of these people, I should commiserate their insensibility !” But “clouds return after the rain:” a greater loss than that of Miss C. was to follow. Enough has been said in these Memoirs already, to show the more than ordinary affection Mr. N. felt for her who had been so long his idol, as he used to call her ; of which I shall add but one more instance, out of many that might easily be collected. Being with him at the house of a lady at Blackheath, we stood at a window, which had a prospect of Shooter’s Hill. “ Ah,” said Mr. M., “ I remember the many journeys I took from London to stand at the top of that hill, in order to 1 ok towards the part in which Mrs. N. then lived : not that I could see the spot itself, after travelling several miles, for she lived far beyond what I could see, v. hen on the hill ; but it gratified me even to look towards the spot: and this I did always once, and sometimes twice a week.” “ Why,” said I, “this is more like one of the vagaries of Romance than of real life.” “ True,” replied he, “ but real life has extravagances, that would not be admitted to appear in a well-written romance — they would be said to be out of nature.” In such a continued habit of excessive attachment, it is evident how keenly Mr. N. must have felt, while he observed the progress of a threatening indura- tion in her breast. This tumour seemed to have arisen from a blow she received before she left Liverpool. The pain it occasioned at the time soon wore off, but a small lump remained in the part affected. In October 1788, on the tumour’s increasing, she applied to an eminent surgeon, who told her it was a cancer, and now too large for extraction, and that he could only recommend quiet. As the spring of 1789 advanced, her malady increased ; and though she was able to bear a journey to Southampton, from which she returned, in other respects, tolerably well ; she grew gradually worse with the cancer till she expired, December 15, 1790. Mr. N. made this remark on her death, “ Just before Mrs. N.’s disease became so lormidable, I was preaching on the waters of Egypt being turned into blood. The Egyptians had idolized their river, and God made them loathe it. I was apprehensive it would soon be a similar case with me.” During the very affect- ing season of Mrs. N.’s dissolution, Mr. N., like David, wept and prayed ; but the desire of his eyes being taken away by the stroke, he too, like David, “ arose from the earth, and came into the temple of the Lord, and worshipped,” and that in a manner which surprised some of his friends. 1 must own I was not one of those who saw any thing that might not be ex- pected from such a man, surrounded with such circumstances. I did not wonder at his undertaking to preach Mrs. N.’s funeral Sermon, on the following Sunday, at St. Mary’s: since I always considered him as an original, and his case quite an exception to general habits in many respects. There also could be no ques- tion as to the affection he had borne to the deceased : it had even prevailed, as he readily allowed, to an eccentric and blamable degree ; and indeed after her re- 50 MEMOIRS OF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON- raoval, he used to observe an annual seclusion, for a special recollection of her, whom through the year he had never forgotten, and from which proceeded a sort of little elegies or sonnets to her memory. But he clearly recognized the will of God in the removal of his idol, and reasoned as David did on the occasion : “ While she was yet alive I fasted and wept: for I said, who can tell whether God will be gracious to me, that she may live ? But, now she is dead, wherefore should I fast? Can I bring her back again ? I shall go to her, but she shall not return to me.” Besides which, Mr. N. had a favourite sentiment, which I have heard him ex- press in different ways long before he had so special an occasion for illustrating it in practice. “ God in his providence,” he used to say, “ is continually bring- ing about occasion to demonstrate characters.” He used to instance the case of A chan and Judas among bad men ; and that of St. Paul, Acts xxvii. among good ones. “ If any one,” said he, “ had asked the centurion, who Paul the prisoner was, that sailed with them on board the ship-— it is probable he would have thus replied, ‘ He is a troublesome enthusiast, who had lately joined himself to a certain sect. These people affirm, that a Jewish malefactor, who was crucified some years ago at Jerusalem, rose the third day from the dead ; and this Paul is mad enough to assert, that Jesus, the leader of their sect, is not only now alive, but that he himself has seen him, and is resolved to live and die for him — Poor crazy creature !’ But God made use of this occasion to discover the real charac- ter of Paul, and taught the centurion, from the circumstances which followed, to whom it was he owed his direction in the storm, and for whose sake he re- ceived his preservation through it.” In all trying occasions, therefore, Mr. N. was particularly impressed with the idea of a Christian, and especially of a Christian minister, being called to stand forward as an example to his flock- — to feel himself placed in a post of honour — a post in which he may not only glorify God, but also forcibly demonstrate the peculiar supports of the gospel. More especially, when this could be done (as in his own case) from no doubtful motive ; then it may be expedient to leave the path of ordinary custom, for the greater reason of exhibiting both the doctrines of truth, and the experience of their power. Though I professedly publish none of Mr. M.’s letters, for reasons hereafter as- signed, yet I shall take the liberty to insert part of one, with which I am fa- voured by J. F — — , Esq. of Stanmore Hill, written to him while at Rome, and dated December 5th, 1798. It shows the interest which the writer took in the safety of his friend, and his address in attempting to break the enchantments with which men of taste are surrounded, when standing in the centre of the fine arts. “ The true Christian, in strict propriety of speech, has no home here; he is, and must be, a stranger and a pilgrim upon earth : his citizenship, treasure, and real home are in a better world ; and every step he takes, whether to the east, or to the west, is a step nearer to his Father’s house. On the other hand, when in the path of duty, he is always at home ; for the whole earth is the Lord’s: and as we see the same sun in England or Italy, in Europe or Asia, so wherever he is, he equally sets the Lord always before him ; and finds himself equally near the throne of grace at all times, and in all places. God is every where, and, by faith in the great Mediator, he dwells in God, and God in him ; to him that line of Horace may be applied in the best sense, — t( Cesium, non animum mutant, qui trans marc currunt.” “ I trust, my dear Sir, that you will carry out and bring home with you, a de- termination similar to that of the patriarch Jacob ; who vowed a vow, saying, ‘ If God will be with me, and will keep me in the way that I go, and will give me bread to eat, and raiment to put on, so that I come again to my father’s house in peace, then shall the Lord be my God !’ May the Lord himself write it on you heart ! MEMOIRS OF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 52 “ You are now at Rome, the centre of the tine arts ; a place abounding with every thing to gratify a person of your taste. Athens had the pre-eminence in the apostle Paul’s time ; and I think it highly probable, from many passages in his writings, that he likewise had a taste capable of admiring and relishing the beauties of painting, sculpture, and architecture, which he could not but observe during his abode in that city ; but then he had a higher, a spiritual, a divine taste, which was greatly shocked and grieved by the ignorance, idolatry, and wickedness, which surrounded him, insomuch that he could attend to nothing else. This taste, which cannot be acquired by any effort or study of ours, but is freely bestowed on all who sincerely ask it of the Lord, divests the vanities, which the world admire, of their glare ; and enables us to judge of the most splendid and specious works of men, who know not God, according to the de- claration of the prophet, ‘ They hatch cockatrice eggs, and weave the spider’s web.’ Much ingenuity is displayed in the weaving of a cobweb ; but when finished it is worthless and useless : incubation requires close diligence and at- tention ; if the hen is too long from her nest, the egg is spoiled ; but why should she sit at all upon the egg, and watch it, and warm it night and day, if it only produce a cockatrice at last ? Thus vanity or mischief are the chief rulers of un- sanctified genius ; the artists spin webs, and the philosophers, by their learned speculations, hatch cockatrices, to poison themselves and their fellow-creatures : few of either sort have one serious thought of that awful eternity, upon the brink of which they stand for a while, and into the depth of which they suc- cessively fall. “ A part of the sentence denounced against the city, which once stood upon seven hills, is so pointed and graphical, that I must transcribe it : ‘ And the voice of harpers, and musicians, and pipers, and trumpeters, shall be heard no more at all in thee ; and no craftsman, of whatsoever craft he be, shall be found any more in thee, and the light of a candle shall no more be seen in thee.’ Now, I am informed, that, upon certain occasions, the whole cupola of St. Peter’s is covered with lamps, and affords a very magnificent spectacle : if I saw it, it would remind me of that time w r hen there will not be the shining of a single candle in the city ; for the sentence must be executed, and the hour may be ap- proaching : — Sic transit gloria mundi ! “You kindly inquire after my health : myself and family are, through the di- vine favour, perfectly well ; yet, healthy as I am, I labour under a growing dis- order, for which there is no cure — I mean old age. I am not sorry it is a mortal disease, from which no one recovers ; for who would live always in such a world as this, who has a scriptural hope of an inheritance in the world of light ? I am now in my seventy-second year, and seem to have lived long enough for myself; I have known something of the evil of life, and have had a large share of the good. I know what the world can do, and what it cannot do : it can neither give nor take away that peace of God, which passeth all understanding it cannot soothe a wounded conscience, nor enable us to meet death with comfort. That you, my dear sir, may have an abiding and abounding experience that the gospel is a catholicon, adapted to all our wants and all our feelings, and a suitable help when every other help fails, is the sincere and ardent prayer of “ Your affectionate friend, “ JOHN NEWTON .’ 1 But in proportion as Mr. N. felt the vanity of the pursuits he endeavoured to expose in the foregoing letter, he was as feelingly alive to whatever regarded eternal concerns. Take an instance of this, in a visit which he paid to another friend. This friend was a minister, who affected great accuracy in his discourses, and who, on that Sunday, had nearly occupied an hour in insisting on several MEMOIRS OF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 5*i laboured and nice distinctions made in his subject. As he had a high estimation of Mr. N.’s judgment, he inquired of him, as they walked home, whether he thought the distinctions just now insisted on were full and judicious ? Mr. N. said he thought them not full, as a very important one had been omitted. What can that be ?” said the minister ; “ for I had taken more than ordinary care to enumerate them fully.” “ I think not,” replied Mr. N. ; “ for when many of your congregation had travelled several miles for a meal, I think you should not have forgotten the important distinction which must ever exist between meat and bones.” In the year 1790, Mr. M. had the honorary degree of D. D. conferred upon him by the University of New-Jersey in America, and the diploma sent him. He also received a work in two volumes, dedicated to him with the above title annexed to his name. Mr. N. w'rote the author a grateful acknowledgment for the work, but begged to decline an honour which he never intended to accept. “ I am (said he,) as one born out of due time. I have neither the pretension nor wish to honours of this kind. However, therefore, the University may overrate ray attainments, and thus shcnv their respect, I must not forget myself. It would be both vain and improper were I to concur in it.” But Mr. N. had yet another storm to weather. While we were contemplating the long and rough voyage he had passed, and thought he had only now to rest in a quiet haven, and with a fine sunsetting at the close of the evening of his life, clouds began to gather again, and seemed to threaten a wreck at the very entry of the port.* He used to make excursions in the summer to different friends in the country, endeavouring to make these visits profitable to them and their neighbours, by his continual prayers, and the expositions he gave of the scriptures read at their morning and evening w r orship. I have heard of some, w r ho were first brought to the knowledge of themselves and of God by attending his exhortations on these occasions ; for, indeed, besides w hat he undertook in a more stated way at the church, he seldom entered a room, but something both profitable and entertain- ing fell from his lips. After the death of Miss Cunningham and Mrs. N., his companion in these summer excursions was his other niece, Miss Elizabeth Cat- lett. This young lady had also been brought up by Mr. and Mrs. N. with Miss Cunningham, and on the death of the two latter, she became the object of Mr. N.’s naturally affectionate disposition. She also became quite necessary to him by her administrations in his latter years ; she watched him, walked with him, visited wherever he went : when his sight failed, she read to him, divided his food, and was unto him all that a dutiful daughter could be. But, in the year 3 601 , a nervous disorder seized her, by which Mr. N. was obliged to submit to her being separated from him. During the twelvemonth it lasted, the w eight of the affliction, added to his weight of years, seemed to over- whelm him. I extracted a few' of his reflections on the occasion, w 7 ritten on some blank leaves in an edition of his Letters to a Wife, which he lent me on my undertaking these Memoirs, and subjoin them in a note.! It may give the reader * In a MS. note on a letter, dated 15th Dec. 1197, he writes, “ Though I am not so sensibly af- fected as I could wish, I hope I am truly affected by the frequent reviews I make of my past life. Perhaps the annals of thy church scarcely afford an instance in all respects so singular. Perhaps thy grace may have recovered some from an equal decree of apostaev, infidelity, and profligacy ; but few of them have been redeemed from such a state of misery and depression as I was in, upon the coast of Africa, when thy unsought mercy wrought l'or my deliverance : but that such a wretch should not only be spared and pardoned, but reserved to the honour of preaching thy gospel, which he had blas- phemed and renounced, and at length be placed in a very public situation, and favoured with accept- ance and usefulness, both from the pulpit and the press : so that my poor name is known in most parts of the world, where there are any who know thee — this is wondeful indeed ! The mope thou hast ex- alted me, the more I ought to abase myself.” t “ August 1, 1801. I now enter my 77th year. I have been exercised this year with a trying and unexpected change ; but it is by thy appointment, my gracious Lord ; and thou art unchangeably wise, good, and merciful. Thou gavest me my dear adopted child. Thou didst own my endeavours to bring her up for thee. I have no doubt that thou hast called her by thy grace. I thank thee for the MEMOIRS OF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 53 pleasure to be informed, that Miss Catlett returned home — gradually recovered — and afterwards married a worthy man of the name of Smith. It was with a mixture of delight and surprise, that the friends and hearers oi this eminent servant of God beheld him bringing forth such a measure of fruit is extreme age. Though then almost eighty years old, his sight nearly gone, and incapable, through deafness, of joining in conversation, yet his public ministry was regularly continued, and maintained with a considerable degree of his formei animation. His memory, indeed, was observed to fail, but his judgment in di- vine things still remained ; and though some depression of spirits was observed, which he used to account for from his advanced age, his perception, taste, and zeal for the truths he had long received and taught, were evident. Like Simeon, having seen the salvation of the Lord, he now only waited and prayed to depart in peace. After Mr. N. was turned of eighty, some of his friends feared he might continue his public ministrations too long ; they marked not only his infirmities in the pulpit, but felt much on account of the decrease of his strength, and of his oc- casional depressions. Conversing with him in January 1806 on the latter, he observed, that he had experienced nothing which in the least affected the princi- ples he had felt and taught ; that his depressions were the natural result of four- score years, and that, at any age, we can only enjoy that comfort from our principles which God is pleased to send. “ But (replied I,) in the article of public preaching, might it not be best to consider your work as done, and stop before you evidently discover you can speak no longer?” “ I cannot stop,” said he, raising his voice ; What ! shalt the old African blasphemer stop while he can speak ?” In every future visit I perceived old age making rapid strides. At length his friends found some difficulty in making themselves known to him: his sight, his hearing, and his recollection exceedingly failed ; but, being mercifully kept from pain, he generally appeared easy and cheerful. Whatever he uttered was per- fectly consistent with the principles he had so long and so honourably main- tained. Calling to see him a few days before he died, with one of his most intimate friends, we could not make him recollect either of us ; but seeing him afterwards, when sitting up in his chair, I found so much intellect remaining as produced a short and affectionate reply, though he was utterly incapable of con- versation. Mr. N. declined in this very gradual way, till at length it was painful to ask him a question, or attempt to rouse faculties almost gone ; still his friends were anxious to get a word from him, and those friends who survive him will be as anx- ious to learn the state of his mind in his latest hours. It is quite natural thus to inquire, though it is not important, how such a decided character left this world. I have heard Mr. N. say, when he has heard particular inquiry made about the last expressions of an eminent believer, “Tell me not how the man died, but how he lived.” Still I say it is natural to inquire, and I will meet the desire, not by trying to expand uninteresting particulars, but as far as I can collect encouraging facts , many years comfort (ten) I have had in her, and for the attention and affection she has always shown me, exceeding that of most daughters to their own parents. Thou hast now tried me, as thou didst Abraham, in my old age ; when my eyes are failing, and my strength declines. Thou hast called for my Isaac, who had so Tong been my chief stay and staff ; but it was thy blessing that made her so. A nervous disorder has seized her, and I desire to leave her under thy care ; and chiefly pray for myself, that I may be enabled to await thy time and will, without betraying any signs of impatience or de- spondency unbecoming my profession and character. Hitherto thou hast helped me ; and to thee I look for help in future. Let all issue in thy glory, that my friends and hearers may be encouraged by seeing how I am supported : let thy strength be manifested in my weakness, and thy grace be sufficient for me, and let all finally work together for our good. Amen. I aim to say from my heart, not my will, but thine be done. But though thou hast in a measure made my spirit willing, thou knowest, and I feel, that the flesh is weak. Lord, I believe ; help thou my unbelief. Lord, I submit, subdue every rebellious thought that dares arise against thy will. Spare my eyes, if it please thee ; but, above all, strengthen my faith and love.” MEMOIRS OF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 54 and I learn from a paper, kindly sent me by his family, all that is interesting and authentic. About a month before Mr. N.’s death, Mr. Smith’s neice was sitting by him, to whom he said, It is a great thing to die ; and when flesh and heart fail, to have God for the strength of our heart, and our portion for ever: I know whom I have believed, and he is able to keep that which I have committed, against that great day. Henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous judge, shall give me at that day.” When Mrs. Smith came into the room, he said, “ I have been meditating on a subject, ‘ Come, and hear, all ye that fear God, and I will declare what he hath done for my soul.’ ” At another time he said, “More light, more love, more liberty — Hereafter I hope, when I shut my eyes on the things of time, I shall open them in a better world. What a thing it is to live under the shadow of the wings of the Al- might}^ ! I am going the way of all flesh.” And when one replied, “ The Lord is gracious,” he answered, “ If it were not so, how could l dare to stand before him ?” The Wednesday before he died, Mrs. G asked him if his mind was com- fortable ; he replied, “ I am satisfied with the Lord’s will.” Mr. N. seemed sensible to his last hour, but expressed nothing remarkable after these w r ords. He departed on the 21st, and was buried in the vault of his church the 31st of December 1807, having left the following injunction, in a let- ter for the direction of his executors. “ I propose writing an epitaph for myself, if it may be put up, on a plain marble tablet, near the vestry door, to the following purport : — John Newton, Clerk, Once an infidel and libertine, A servant of slaves in Africa, Was by the rich mercy of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, Preserved, restored, pardoned, And appointed to preach the faith he Had long laboured to destroy, Near 1(5 years at Olney in Bucks ; And — years in this church. On Feb. I, 1750, he married Mary, Daughter of the late George Catlett, Of Chatham, Kent. He resigned her to the Lord who gave her, On the 15th of December, 1790. “ And 1 earnestly desire, that no other monument, and no inscription but to this purport, may be attempted for me.” The following is a copy of the exordium of Mr. Newton’s will, dated June 13, 1803 : — “ In the name of God, amen. I, John Newton, of Coleman street Buildings, in the parish of St. Stephen, Coleman Street, iiLthe city of London, Clerk, being through mercy in good health and of sound and disposing mind, memory, and un- derstanding, although in the seventy-eighth year of my age, do, for the settling of my temporal concerns, and for the disposal of all the worldly estate which it hath pleased the Lord in his good providence to give me, make this my last Will and Testament as follows. I commit my soul to my gracious God and Saviour who mercifully spared and preserved me, when I was an apostate, a blasphemer MEMOIRS OF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 55 and an infidel, and delivered me from that state of misery on the coast of Africa into which my obstinate wickedness had plunged me ; and who has been pleased to admit me (though most unworthy,) to preach his glorious gospel. I rely with humble confidence upon the atonement and mediation of the Lord Jesus Christ, God and Man, which I have often proposed to others as the only founda- tion whereon a sinner can build his hope ; trusting that he will guard and guide me through the uncertain remainder of my life, and that he will then admit me into his presence in his heavenly kingdom. I would have my body deposited in the vault under the parish church of St. Mary Woolnoth, close to the coffins of my late dear wife and my dear niece Elizabeth Cunningham ; and it is my desire, that my funeral may be performed with as little expense as possible, con - sistent with decency.”—-- - 0 REVIEW OF MR. NEWTON’S CHARACTER. There seems to be little need of giving a general character of Mr. N. after the particulars which appear in the foregoing Memoirs. He unquestionably was the child of a peculiar providence, in every step of his progress ; and his deep sense of the extraordinary dispensation through which he had passed, was the prominent topic in his conversation. Those who personally knew the man, could have no doubt of the probity with which his Narrative (singular as it may ap- pear) was written. They, however, w T ho could not view the subject of these Me- moirs so nearly as his particular friends did, may wish to learn something farther of his character with respect to his literary attainments — his ministry — his FAMILY HABITS his WRITINGS and his FAMILIAR CONVERSATION. Of his literature, we learn from his Narrative what he attained in the learned languages, and that by almost incredible efforts. Few men have un- dertaken such difficulties, under such disadvantages. It, therefore, seems more extraordinary that he should have attained so much, than that he should not have acquired more. Nor did he quit his pursuits of this kind, but in order to gain that knowledge which he deemed much more important. Whatever he conceived had a tendency to qualify him as “ a scribe well instructed in the kingdom of God, bringing out of his treasury things new and old” — I say, in pursuit of this point, he might have adopted the apostle’s expression, “ One thing [ do.” By a principle so simply and firmly directed, he furnished his mind with much information : he had consulted the best old divines ; had read the moderns of reputation with avidity ; and was continually watching whatever might serve for analogies or illustrations, in the service of religion. ‘ £ A minis- ter,” he used to say, “ wherever he is, should be always in his study. He should look at every man, and at every thing, as capable of affording him some instruc- tion.” His mind, therefore, was ever intent on his calling — ever extracting some- thing, even from the basest materials, which he could turn into gold. In consequence of this incessant attention to his object, while many, whose early advantages greatly exceeded his, were found excelling Mr. N. in the know- ledge and investigation of some curious abstract, but very unimportant points ; he was found vastly excelling them in points of infinitely higher importance to man. In the knowledge of God, of his word, and of the human heart, in its wants and resources, Newton would have stood among mere scholars as his name-sake the philosopher stood in science among ordinary men. I might say the same of some others who have set out late in the profession, but who, with a portion of Mr. N.’s piety and ardour, have greatly outstripped those who have had every early advantage and encouragement. Men with specious titles and high connexions have received the rewards; while men, like Newton, without them, have done the work. With respect to his ministry, he appeared, perhaps, to least advantage in the pulpit ; as he did not generally aim at accuracy in the composition of his ser- mons, nor at any address in the delivery of them. His utterance was far from clear, and his attitudes ungraceful. He possessed, however, so much affection foi 56 MEMOIRS OF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 57 his people, and zeal for their best interests, that the defect of his manner Was of little consideration with his constant hearers: at the same time, his capacity, and habit of entering into their trials and experience, gave the highest interest to his ministry among them. Besides which, he frequently interspersed the most brilliant allusions, and brought forward such happy illustration of his sub- ject, and those with so much unction on his own heart, as melted and enlarged theirs. The parent-like tenderness and affection which accompanied his instruc- tion, made them prefer him to preachers, who, on other accounts, were much more generally popular. It ought also to be noted, that amidst the extravagant notions and unscriptural positions, which have sometimes disgraced the religious world, Mr. N. never departed, in any instance, from soundly and seriously pro- mulgating the “ faith once delivered to the saints,” of which his writings will remain the best evidence. His doctrine was strictly that of the Church of Eng- land, urged on the consciences of men in the most practical and experimental manner. “ I hope,” said he one day to me, smiling, “ I hope I am upon the whole a scriptural preacher : for I find I am considered as an Arminian among the high Calvinists, and as a Calvinist among the strenuous Arminians.” I never observed any thing like bigotry in his ministerial character, though he seemed at all times to appreciate the beauty of order, and its good effects in the ministry. He had formerly been intimately connected with some highly re- spectable ministers among the dissenters, and retained a cordial regard for many to the last. He considered the strong prejudices w hich attach to both Church- men and Dissenters, as arising more from education than from principle. But being himself both a clergyman and an incumbent in the Church of England, he wished to be consistent. In public, therefore, he felt he could not act with some ministers, whom he thought truly good men, and to whom he cordially wished success in their endeavours; and he patiently met the consequence. They called him a bigot, and he in return prayed for them that they might not be really such. He had formerly taken much pains in composing his sermons, as I could perceive in one MS. which I looked through ; and even latterly, I have known him, whenever he felt it necessary, produce admirable plans for the pulpit. I own I thought his judgment deficient in not deeming such preparation necessary at all times. I have sat in pain when he has spoken unguardedly in this way before young ministers : men, who, with but comparatively slight degrees of his information and experience, would drajsr encouragement to ascend the pulpit with but little previous study of their subject. A minister is not to be blamed, who cannot rise to qualifications which some of his brethren have attained ; but he is certainly bound to improve his own talent to the utmost of his power : he is not to cover his sloth, his love of company, or his disposition to attend a wealthy patron, with the pretence of depending entirely on divine influence. Timothy had at least as good ground for expecting such influence as any of his successors in the ministry ; and yet the apostle admonishes him to “give attendance to reading, to exhortation, and to doctrine — not to neglect the gift that was in him — -to me- ditate upon these things — to give himself wholly to them, that his profiting might appear to all.” Mr. N. regularly preached on the Sunday morning and evening at St. Mary Woolnoth, and also on the Wednesday morning. After he was turned of seven- ty, he often undertook to assist other clergymen ; sometimes even to the preach- ing six sermons in the space of a week. What was more extraordinary, he con- tinued his usual course of preaching at his own church after he was fourscore years old, and that when he could no longer see to read his text ! His memory and voice sometimes failed him ; but it was remarked, that, at this great age, he was nowhere more collected or lively than in the pulpit. He was punctual as to time with his congregation; and preached every first Sunday evening in the month on relative duties. Mr. Alderman Lea regularly sent his carriage to convey him to the church, and Mr. Bates sent his servant to attend him in the pulpit; which friendly assistance was continued till Mr. N. could appear no longer in public. 58 MEMOIRS OF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. His ministerial visits were exemplary. I do not recollect one, though favoured with many, in which his general information and lively genius did not commu- nicate instruction, and his affectionate and condescending sympathy did not leave comfort. Truth demands it should be said, that he did not always administer consolation nor give an account of characters, with sufficient discrimination. His talent did not lie in “discerning of spirits.” I never saw him so much moved as when any friend endeavoured to correct his errors in this respect. His credulity seem- ed to arise from the consciousness he had of his own integrity, and from that sort of parental fondness which he bore to all his friends, real or pretended. I knew one, since dead, whom he thus described, while living — “ He is certainly an odd man, and has his failings; but he has great integrity, and I hope is going to heaven.” Whereas almost all who knew him thought the man should go first into the pillory ! In his family Mr. N. might be admired more safely than imitated. His ex- cessive attachment to Mrs. N. is so fully displayed in his Narrative, and con- firmed in the two volumes he thought proper to publish, entitled, “ Letters to a Wife,” that the reader will need no information on this subject. Some of his friends wished this violent attachment had been cast more into the shade, as tend- ing to furnish a spur, where human nature generally needs a curb. He used, indeed, to speak of such attachments, in the abstract, as idolatry ; though his own was providentially ordered to be the main hinge on which his preservation and deliverance turned, while in his worst state. Good men, however, cannot be too cautious how they give sanction, by their expressions or example, to a passion, 'which, when not under sober regulation, has overwhelmed not only families, but states, with disgrace and ruin. With his unusual degree of benevolence and affection, it was not extraordinary that the spiritual interests of his servants were brought forward, and examined severally every Sunday afternoon ; and that, being treated like children, they should grow old in his service. In short, Mr. N. could live no longer than he could love ; it is no wonder, therefore, if his nieces had more of his heart than is generally afforded to their own children by the fondest parents. It has already been mentioned, that his house was an asylum for the perplexed and afflicted. Young ministers were peculiarly the objects of his attention: he instructed them, he encouraged them, he warned them ; and might truly be said to be a father in Christ, “ spending and being spent” for the interest of his church. In order thus to execute the various avocations of the day, he used to rise early ; he sel- dom was found abroad in the evening, and was exact in his appointments. Of liis writings, I think little need be said here ; they are in wide circulation, and be & t speak for themselves. What I shall observe upon them, therefore, will be general and cursory. The Sermons Mr. N. published at Liverpool, after being refused on his first application for Orders, were intended to show what he would have preached, had he been admitted ; they are highly creditable to his understanding and to his heart. The facility with which he attained so much of the learned languages seems partly accounted for, from his being able to acquire, so early, a neat and natural style in his own language, and that under such evident disadvantages. His Review of Ecclesiastical History, so far as it proceeded, has been much es- teemed ; and, if it had done no more than excite the Rev. J. Milner (as that most valuable and instructive author informs us it did) to pursue Mr. N.’s idea more largely, it was sufficient success. Before this, the world seems to have lost sight of a history of real Christianity, and to have been content with what, for the most part, was but an account of the ambition and politics of secular men, assuming the Christian name. It must be evident to any one, who observes the spirit of all his sermons, hymns, tracts, &c. that nothing is aimed at which should be met bv critical in- vestigation. In the preface to his hymns, he remarks, “ Though I would v-r> MEMOIRS OF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 59 offend readers of taste by a wilful coarseness and negligence, 1 do not write pro- fessedly for them. I have simply declared my own views and feelings, as I might have done if I had composed hymns in some of the newly discovered islands in the South sea, where no person had any knowledge of the name of Jesus but myself.” To dwell, therefore, with a critical eye on this part of his public character, would be absurd and impertinent, and to erect a tribunal to which he seems not amenable. He appears to have paid no regard to a nice ear, or an accurate re- viewer ; but, preferring a style at once neat and perspicuous, to have laid out himself entirely for the service of the church of God, and more especially for the tried and experienced part of its members. His chief excellence seemed to lie in the easy and natural style of his episto lary correspondence. His letters will be read while real religion exists ; and the) are the best draught of his own mind. He had so largely communicated to his friends in this way, that I have heard him say, “ he thought, if his letters were collected, they would make several folios.” He selected many of these for publication, and expressed a hope, thal no other person would take that liberty with the rest, which were so widely spread abroad. In this, however, he was disappointed and grieved, as he once remarked to me ; and for which reason I do not annex any letters that I received from him. He esteemed that collection published under the title of Cardipho- nia” as the most useful of his writings, and mentioned various instances of the benefits which he heard they had conveyed to many. His Apologia, or defence of conformity, was written on occasion of some reflec- tions (perhaps only jocular) cast on him at that time. His Letters to a Wife, written during his three voyages to Africa, and published 1793, have been re- ceived with less satisfaction than most of his other writings. While, however, his advanced age and inordinate fondness may be pleaded for this publication, care should be taken lest men fall into a contrary extreme ; and suppose that temper to be their wisdom, which leads them to avoid another, which they consider as his weakness. But his Messiah, before mentioned, his Letters of the Rev Mr. Vanlier, chaplain at the Cape, his Memoirs of the Rev. John Cowper (brother to the poet,) and those of the Rev. Mr. Grimshaw of Yorkshire, together with his single sermons and tracts, have been well received, and will remain a public benefit. I recol'lect reading a MS. which Mr. N. lent me, containing a correspondence that had passed between himself and the Rev. Dr. Dixon, principal of St. Edmund Hall, Oxford ; and another MS. of a correspondence between him and the late Rev. Martin Madan. They would have been very interesting to the public, par- ticularly the latter, and were striking evidences of Mr. N.’s humility, piety, and faithfulness; but reasons of delicacy led him to commit the whole to the flames. To speak of his writings in the mass, they certainly possess what many have aimed at, but very few attained, namely originality. They are the language of the heart; they show a deep experience of its religious feelings, a continual anxiety to sympathize with man in his wants, and to direct him to his only resources. His conversation, and familiar habits with his friends, were more peculiar, amusing, and instructive, than any I ever witnessed. It is difficult to convey a clear idea of them by description. I venture, therefore, to add a few pages of what I may call his table-talk , which I took down at different times, both in company and in private, from his lips. Such a collection of printed remarks will not have so much point as when spoken in connexion with the occasion that produced them : they must appear to considerable disadvantage thus detached, and candid allowance should be made by the reader on this account. They, however, who had the privilege of Mr. N.’s conversation when living, cannot but recognize the speaker in most of them, and derive both profit and pleasure from these remains of their late valuable friend ; and such as had not, will (if I do not mistake) think them the most valuable part of this book REMARKS MADE BY MR. NEWTON IN FAMILIAR CONVERSATION. While the mariner uses the loadstone, the philosopher may attempt to inves- tigate the cause ; but after all, in steering through the ocean, he can make no other use of it than the mariner. If an angel were sent to find the most perfect man, he would probably not find him composing a body of divinity, but perhaps a cripple in a poor-house, whom the parish wish dead, and humbled before God with far lower thoughts of him- self than others think of him. When a Christian goes into the world, because he sees it is his call, yet, while he feels it also his cross, it will not hurt him. Satan will seldom come to a Christian with a gross temptation : a green log and a candle may be safely left together ; but bring a few shavings, then some small sticks, and then larger, and you may soon bring the green log to ashes. If two angels came down from heaven to execute a divine command, and one was appointed to conduct an empire, and the other to sweep a street in it, they would feel no inclination to change employments. The post of honour in an army is not with the baggage, nor with the women What some call providential openings are often powerful temptations ; the heart, in wandering, cries, Here is a way opened before me ; but, perhaps, not to be trodden, but rejected. Young people marry as others study navigation, by the fire-side. If they marry unsuitably, they can scarcely bring things to rule ; but, like sailors, they must sail as near the wind as they can. I feel myself like a traveller with his wife in his chaise and one ; if the ground is smooth, and she keep the right pace, and is willing to deliver the reins when I ask for them, I am always willing to let her drive. I should have thought mowers very idle people ; but they work while they whet their scythes. Now devotedness to God, whether it mows or whets the scythe, still goes on with the work. A Christian should never plead spirituality for being a sloven ; if he be but a shoe-cleaner, he should be the best in the parish. In chosing my text, I feel myself like a servant to whom a key has been given, which opens a particular drawer, but who has not the bunch of keys, which open all the drawers. I therefore expect to be helped to only one text at a time. My course of study, like that of a surgeon, has principally consisted in walking the hospital. In divinity, as well as in other professions, there are the little artists. A man may be able to execute the buttons of a statue very neatly, but I could not cal him an able artist. There is an air, there is a taste, to which his narrow capa city cannot reach. Now in the church, there are your dexterous button-makers. My principal method for defeating heresy, is by establishing truth. One proposes to fill a bushel with tares ; now if I can fill it first with wheat, I shall defy his attempts. When some people talk of religion, they mean they have heard so many ser- 60 MEMOIRS OF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 61 mons, and performed so many devotions, and thus mistake the meavts for the end. But true religion is an habitual recollection of God and intention to serve him, and thus turns every thing into gold. We are apt to suppose that we need something splendid to evince our devotion, but true devotion equals things — washing plates, and cleaning shoes, is a high office, if performed in a right spirit. If three angels were sent to earth, they would feel perfect indifference who should perform the part of prime-minister, parish-minister, or watchman. When a ship goes to sea, among the vast variety of its articles and circumstances, there is but one object regarded, namely, doing the business of the voyage: every bucket is employed with respect to that. Many have puzzled themselves about the origin of evil ; I observe there is evil, and that there is a way to escape it, and with this I begin and end. Consecrated things under the law were first sprinkled with blood, and then anointed with oil, and thenceforward were no more common. Thus under the gospel, every Christian has been a common vessel for profane purposes ; but, when sprinkled and anointed, he becomes separated and consecrated to God. I would not give a straw for that assurance, which sin will not damp. If David had come from his adultery, and had talked of his assurance at that time, I should have despised his speech. A spirit of adoption is the spirit of a child ; he may disoblige his father, yet he is not afraid of being turned out of doors. The union is not dissolved, though the communion is. He is not well with his father, therefore must be unhappy, as their interests are inseparable. We often seek to apply cordials when the patient is not prepared for them, and it is the patient’s advantage, that he cannot take a medicine when prema- turely offered. When a man comes to me, and says, “ I am quite happy,” I am not sorry to find him come again with some fears. I never saw a work stand well without a check. “ I only want,” says one, “ to be sure of being safe, and then I will go on.” No ; perhaps then you will go off. For an old Christian to say to a young one, “ Stand in my evidence,” is like a man, who has with difficulty climbed by a ladder or scaffolding to the top of the house, and cries to one at the bottom, “ This is the place for a prospect — come up at a step ” A Christian, like a miser, will ask the price of his pleasures : the miser has no objection to go to Brighton, but always asks what it will cost ? The miser, indeed, has this advantage, that he is always in the same frame. A Christian in the world, is like a man who has had a long intimacy with one whom at length he finds out was the murderer of a kind father ; the intimacy, after this, will surely be broken. “ Except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God.” A man may live in a deep mine in Hungary, never having seen the light of the sun ; he may have received accounts of prospects, and by the help of a candle, may have examined a few engravings of them ; but let him be brought out of the mine, and set on the mountain, what a difference appears ! In our fallen state, we are a sort of solecism in the universe : other animals are faithful to their instincts ; lambs do not wish to swim, nor fish to feed in a mea- dow. If the sun were a rational creature he would delight to shine, otherwise he ought to be extinguished. Candour will always allow much for inexperience. I have been thirty years forming my own views, and in the course of this time some of my hills have been sinking, and some of my valleys have risen ; but how unreasonable would it be to expect all this should take place in another person, and that in the course of a year or two. Candour forbids us to estimate a character from its accidental blots. Yet it is thus that David, and others have been treated. Apollos met with two candid people in the church : they neither ran away because he was legal, nor were carried away because he was eloquent. 62 MEMOIRS OF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. There is the analogy of faith ; it is a master-key, which not only opens par- ticular doors, but carries you through the whole house ; but an attachment to a rigid system is dangerous. Luther once turned out the epistle of St. James, be- cause it disturbed his system. Dr. Owen will be ashamed of his wisdom and clearness, live minutes after he has been in heaven. I shall preach, perhaps, very usefully upon two opposite texts, while kept apart; but if I attempt nicely to reconcile them, it is ten to one if I don’t begin to bungle. 1 can conceive a living man without an arm or a leg, but not without a head or a heart : so there are some truths essential to vital religion, and which all awakened souls are taught. Apostacy, in all its branches, takes its rise from atheism. “ I have set the Lord always before me,” &-c. The doctrine of omnipresence is universally al- lowed. We are surprised at the fall of a famous professor ; but, in the sight of God, the man was gone before ; it is only we that have now first discovered it. “ He that despiseth small things, shall fall by little and little.” There are critical times of danger. After great services, honours, and conso- lations, we should stand upon our guard. Noah, Lot, David, and Solomon, fell in these circumstances. Satan is a footpad : a footpad will not attack a man in going to the bank, but in returning with his pocket full of money. A Christian is like a young nobleman, who, on going to receive his estate, is at first enchanted by its prospects ; this in a course of time may wear off, but a sense of the value of the estate grows daily. When we first enter into the divine life, we propose to grow rich ; God’s plan is to make us feel poor. Good men have need to take heed of building upon groundless impressions. Mr. Whitfield had a son, which he imagined was born to be a very extraordi- nary man : but the son soon died, and the father was cured of his mistake. I remember, in going to undertake the care of a congregation, I was reading, as I walked in a green lane, “ Fear not, Paul, I have much people in this city but I soon afterwards was disappointed in finding that Paul was not John, and Corinth was not Warwick. Christ has taken our nature into heaven to represent us ; and has left us on earth, with his nature, to represent him. Worldly men will be true to their principles ; and if we were as true to ours, the visits between the two parties would be short and seldom. A Christian in the world is like a man transacting his affairs in the rain. He will not suddenly leave his client, because it rains ; but the moment the business is done, he is off : as it is said in the Acts, “ Being let go, they went to their own company.” When a man is joined to Christ, Christ says to him, as it was once said to the Levite, “ Let all thy wants lie upon me, only abide not in the street.” God’s word is certainly a restraint ; but it is such a restraint as the irons which prevent children from getting into the fire. The scriptures are so full, that every case may be found in them. A rake went into a church, and tried to decoy a girl by saying, “ Why do you attend to such stuff as these scriptures ?” “ Because,” said she, “ they tell me, that in the last days there shall come such scoffers as you.” God deals with us as we do with our children: he first speaks, then gives a gentle stroke, at last a blow. The religion of a sinner stands on two pillars : namely, what Christ did for us in his flesh, and what he performs in us by his Spirit. Most errors arise from an attempt to separate these two. We blame an Arminian for his want of submission to divine sovereignty ; yet let a shower of rain fall on a suit of new clothes, and we cannot submit ourselves. Man is not taught any thing to purpose till God becomes his teacher, and then the glare of the world is put out, and the value of the soul rises in full view. MEMOIRS OF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 63 A man’s present sentiments may not be accurate, but we make too much of sen- timents. We pass a field with a few blades, we call it a field of wheat; but here is no wheat ; no, not in perfection, but wheat is sown, and full ears may be expected. The word temperance, in the New Testament, signifies self-possession; it is a disposition suitable to one who has a race to run, and therefore w T ill not load his pockets with lead. One reason why we must not attempt to pull up the tares which grow among the wheat is, that we have not skill for the work ; like a weeder, whom Mrs. N. employed in my garden at Olney, who for weeds pulled up some of her favourite flowers. Contrivers of systems on earth are like contrivers of systems in the heavens ; where the sun and moon keep the same course, in spite of the philosophers. I endeavour to walk through the world as a physician goes through Bedlam : the patients make a noise, pester him with impertinence, and hinder him in his business ; but he does the best he can, and so gets through. A man always in society, is one always on the spend : on the other hand, a mere solitary is at his best but a candle in an empty room. If we were upon the watch for improvement, the common news of the day would furnish it: the falling of the tower of Siloam, and the slaughter of the Galileans, were the news of the day, which our Lord improved. The generality make out their righteousness by comparing themselves with some others whom they think worse : thus a woman of the town, who was rotting in the Lock Hospital, was offended at a minister speaking to her as a sinner, because she had never picked a pocket. Take away a toy from a child, and give him another, and he is satisfied ; but if he be hungry, no toy will do. Thus as new born babes, true believers desire the sincere milk of the word ; and the desire of grace, in this way, is grace. One said, that the great saints in the calendar were many of them poor sinners ; Mr. N. replied they were poor saints indeed, if they did not feel that they were great sinners. A wise man looks upon men as he does upon horses , and considers their caparisons of title, wealth, and place, but as harness. The force of what we deliver from the pulpit is often lost by a starched, and what is often called a correct style, and especially by adding meretricious orna- ments. I called upon a lady who had been robbed, and she gave me a striking account of the fact ; but had she put it in heroics, I should neither so well have understood her, nor been so well convinced that she was robbed. When a man says he received a blessing under a sermon, I begin to inquire who this man is, that speaks of the help he has received. The Roman people proved the effect they received under a sermon of Antony when they flew to avenge the death of Caesar. The Lord has reasons, far beyond our ken, for opening a wide door, while he stops the mouth of a useful preacher. John Bunyan would not have done half the good he did, if he had remained preaching in Bedford, instead of being shut up in Bedford prison. If I could go to France, and give every man in it a right and peaceable mind by my labour, I should have a statue ; but to produce such an effect in the conversion of one soul would be a far greater achievement. Ministers would over-rate their labours, if they did not think it worth while to be born and spend ten thousand years in labour and contempt, to recover one soul. Don’t tell me of your feelings. A traveller would be glad of fine weather; but, if he be a man of business, he will go on. Bunyan says, You must not judge of a man’s haste by his horse ; for when the horse can hardly move, you may see by the rider’s urging him, what a hurry he is in. A man and a beast may stand upon the same mountain, and even touch one 64 MEMOIRS OF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. another ; yet they are in two different worlds : the beast perceives nothing but the grass ; but the man contemplates the prospect, and thinks of a thousand remote things. Thus a Christian may be solitary at a full exchange ; he can converse with the people there upon trade, politics, and the stocks; but they cannot talk 'w'ith him upon the peace of God, which passeth all understanding. Love and fear are like the sun and moon, seldom seen together. Two men go into a wood with their guns, and one fires as often as the v)ther : but one kills a great quantity of game, because he fires with shot. Some, like Zaccheus, think they sit very snug in a corner, and are brought down much before they expect it. I dreamt one night that I saw Matthew Henry lay open at this text, “ Let your women keep silence in the churches,” and thought I read the following note at bottom: “ Note — We see the reason why women are forbid to preach the gospel, for they would persuade without argument, and reprove without giving offence.” It is a mere fallacy to talk of the sins of a short life. The sinner is always a sinner. Put a pump into the river, you may throw out some water, but the river remains. Professors, who own the doctrines of free grace, often act inconsistently with their own principles, when they are angry at the defects of others. A company of travellers fall into a pit, one of them gets a passenger to draw him out : now he should not be angry with the rest for falling in, nor because they are not yet out, as he is. He did not pull himself out ; instead, therefore, of reproaching them, he should show them pity ; he should avoid at any rate going down upon their ground again, and show how much better and happier he is upon his own. We should take care that we do not make our profession of religion a receipt in full for all other obligations. A man, truly illuminated, will no more despise others, than Bartimeus, after his own eyes were opened, would take a stick, and beat every blind man lie met. We are much mistaken in supposing, that the removal of a particular obstruc- tion would satisfy the objector. Suppose I am in bed, and want to know whether it be light, it is not enough if I draw the curtain; for if there be light, I must have eyes to see it. Too deep a consideration of eternal realities might unfit a man for his present circumstances. Walking through St. Bartholomew’s Hospital or Bedlam must deeply affect a feeling mind, but in reality this world is a far w r orse scene ; it has but two wards : in the one, men are miserable ; in the other mad. Some preachers near Olney dwelt on the doctrine of predestination ; an old woman said — “ Ah ! I have long settled that point ; for if God had not chosen me before I was born, I am sure he would have seen nothing in me to have chosen me for afterwards.” Law has swept away Warburton’s cobweb, with a single brush. Abel pleased God, but Cain killed him ; therefore, it was a dangerous thing to please God, if there were no future state. I see the unprofitableness of controversy in the case of Job and his friends; for if God had not interposed, and they had lived to this day, they would have con- tinued the dispute. It is pure mercy that negatives a particular request. A miser would pray very earnestly for gold, if he believed prayer would gain it; whereas, if Christ had any favour to him, he would take his gold away. A child walks in the garden in spring and sees cherries ; he knows they are good fruit, and therefore asks for them. “No, my dear,” says the father, “ they are not ripe : stay till the season.” If I cannot take pleasure in infirmities, I can sometimes feel the profit of them. I can conceive a king to pardon a rebel, and take him into his family, and then say, “I appoint you for a season to wear a fetter. At a certain season I will send a messenger to knock it off In the mean time this fetter will serve to remind you of your state ; it may humble you, and restrain you from rambling.” Some Christians, at a glance, seem of a superior order, and are not ; they want MEMOIRS OF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 65 a certain quality. At a florist’s feast the other day, a certain flower was deter- mined to bear the bell ; but it was found to be an artifical flower ; there is a quality called growth, which it had not. Doctor Taylor of Norwich said to me, “ Sir, I have collated every word in the Hebrew Scriptures seventeen times ; and it is very strange, if the doc- trine of atonement you hold should not have been found by me.” I am not surprised at this : I once went to light my candle with the extinguisher on it. Now, prejudices from education, learning, &>c. often form an extinguisher. It is not enough that you bring the candle, you must remove the extinguisher. I measure ministers by square measure. I have no idea of the size of a table, if you only tell me how long it is; but if you also say how broad, I can tell its di- mensions. So when you tell what a man is in the pulpit, you must also tell me what he is out of it, or I shall not know his size If Nebuchadnezzar’s image was of solid gold, and every worshipper was to have a bit of it, I fear our nation, as well as his, would be ready to fall down be- fore it. There were two sorts of Calvinists at Olney, and they always reminded me of the two baskets of Jeremiah’s figs. A man should be born to high things not to lose himself in them. Slaters will walk on the ridge of a house with ease, which would turn our heads. Much depends on the way we come into trouble. Paul and Jonah were both in a storm, but in very different circumstances. I have read of many wicked Popes ; but the worst Pope I ever met with, is Pope Self. The men of this world are children. Offer a child an apple and a bank-note he will doubtless choose the apple. A pious gentlewoman told me of her pottery being burnt. “ I congratulate, you, madam,” said I, “in possessing something you cannot lose.” The heir of a great estate, while a child, thinks more of a few shillings in his pocket, than of his inheritance. So a Christian is often more elated by some frame of heart, than by his title to glory. A dutiful child is ever looking forward to the holidays, when he shall return to his father ; but he does not think of running from school before. The gospel is a proclamation of free mercy to guilty creatures — an act of grace to rebels. Now, though a rebel should throw away his pistols, and determine to go into the woods, and make his mind better before he goes to court and pleads the act ; he may, indeed, not be found in arms, yet, being taken in his re- forming scheme, he will be hanged The devil told a lie when he said, “ All these things are mine, and to whom- soever I will, I give them for if he had the disposal of preferments, since he knows the effect of them, you and I, brother C — , should soon be dignitaries. Man is made capable of three births — by nature he enters the present world — by grace into spiritual light and life — by death into glory. In my imagination, I sometimes fancy I could make a perfect minister. I take the eloquence of , the knowledge of , the zeal of , and the pastoral meekness, tenderness, and piety of ; then putting them all together into one man, I say to myself, this would be a perfect minister. Now, there is One who, if he chose it, could actually do this ; but he never did : he has seen fit to do otherwise, and to divide these gifts to every man severally as he will. I feel like a man who has no money in his pocket, but is allowed to draw for all he wants upon one infinitely rich : I am, therefore, at once both a beggar and a rich man. I went one day to Mrs. G ’s just after she had lost all her fortune: I could not be surprised to find her in tears; but she said, “ I suppose you think I am crying for my loss: but that is not the case — I am now weeping to think I should feel so much uneasiness on the account.” After that I never heard her speak again upon the subject as long as she lived. — Why, now 66 MEMOIRS OF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. this is just as it should be. — Suppose a man was going to York to take possession of a large estate, and his chaise should break down a mile before he got to the city, which obliged him to walk the rest of the way ; what a fool we should think him if we saw him wringing his hands, and blubbering out all the remaining mile, “ My chaise is broken ! my chaise is broken !” I have many books that I cannot sit down to read ; they are, indeed, good and sound ; but, like halfpence, there goes a great quantity to a little amount There are silver books, and a very few golden books ; but I have one book worth more than all, called the Bible, and that is a book of bank-notes. I conclude these remarks, not because my memorandum-book is exhausted, but lest the reader should think I forget the old maxim, ne quid nhnis. No un- due liberty, however, has been taken in publishing Mr. N.’s private conversa- tion ; since all the above remarks were submitted to him, as intended for this publication, and were approved. GENERAL OBSERVATIONS The difference of mental improvement, among men, seems very much to de- pend on their capacity and habit of gathering instruction from the objects which are continually presented to their observation. Two men behold the same fact : one of them is in the habit of drawing such remarks and inferences as the fact affords, and learns something from every thing he sees; while the other sees the same fact, and perhaps with a momentary admiration, but lets it pass without making so much as one profitable reflection on the occasion. The ex- cursions of the bee and the butterfly present an exact emblem of these two cha- racters. I have present to my mind an acquaintance, who has seen more of the outside of the world than most men : he has lived in most countries of the civilized world ; yet I scarcely know a man of a less improved mind. With every exter- nal advantage, he has learned nothing to any useful purpose. He seems to have passed from flower to flower without extracting a drop of honey ; and now he tires all his friends with the frivolous garrulity of a capricious, vacant, and petu- lant old age. I wish the reader of these Memoirs may avoid such an error in passing over the history here laid before him. An extraordinary train of facts is presented to his observation ; and if “ the proper study of mankind is man,” the history before us will surely furnish important matter of the kind, to the eye of every wise moral traveller. I would here call the attention of three classes of men to a single point of prime importance ; namely, to the efficacy and excellency of real Christianity, as ex- hibited in the principles and practice of the subject of these Memoirs. I. Suppose the reader to be so unhappy (though his misfortune may be least perceived by himself,) as to be led astray by bad society, in conjunction with “an evil heart of unbelief.” 1 will suppose him to be now in the state in which Mr. N. describes himself formerly to have been, and in which also the writer of these Memoirs once was. I will suppose him to be given up to “ believe his own lie ;” and that he may be in the habit of thinking, that God, when he made man, left him to find his way, without any express revelation of the mind and will of his Maker and Governor; or, at most, that he is left to the only rule in morals, which nature may be supposed to present. What that way is, which such a thinker will take, is sufficiently evident from the general course and habits of unbelievers. — But there is a conscience in man. Conscience, in sober moments, often alarms the most stout-hearted. When such an unbeliever meets an overwhelming providence, or lies on a death-bed, he will probably awake to a strong sense of his real condition. He will feel, if not very hardened indeed, in what a forlorn, unprovided, and dangerous state he exists. Life is the mo- ment in which only this sceptical presumption can continue ; and, when it is terminating, where is he to set the sole of his foot ? He wildly contemplates the book of nature, in which he may have been persuaded, that man may read all he needs to know ; but the forlorn outcast sees nothing there to meet his case as a sinner. Infinite power, wisdom, contrivance, general provision alone appear; but nothing of that further and distinct information, which a dying offender needs. He wants footing, and finds none. He needs the hand of a friend to grasp, but none is seen. Possibilities shock his apprehension. He may, per- haps discern, that the present system has a moral government, which frowns 68 MEMOIRS OF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. upon guilt ; and, for aught he knows to the contrary, the next scene may pre- sent a Judge upon his throne of justice — this world, his present idol, vanished like smoke — and quick and dead called to give their account. Where then is he ? — an atom of guilt and wretchedness! All this, I say, may be, for aught he knows to the contrary. But the express and well-authenticated revelation, which that Judge hath sent to man, tells us plainly that all this shall be, and that every eye shall behold it ! “Be it so,” such a reader may reply, “still I am what I am. My habits of thinking are fixed ; and I perceive my habits of life can only be decently borne out by my profession of unbelief. Both are now inveterate. Nor do I see, all things considered, what can be done in my case. How can I adopt the Christian revelation? and what could it do for me if I could ?” I answer by calling your attention to the fact before us. What was the case of John New- ton ? Could any one be more deeply sunk in depravity, in profligacy, in infidelity, than he ? Can you even conceive a rational creature more degraded, or more hardened in his evil habits? Would you attempt to recover such a mind by arguments, drawn from the advantage which virtue has over vice ? or by rous- ing his attention to the duties of natural religion? or the possible consequences of a future retribution ? He would have gone on thinking he had made the most of his circumstances, in his practice of catching fish, and eating them almost raw — He would sullenly have proceeded to sleep through the drying of his one shirt, which he had just washed on the rock, and put on wet — He would, with a sa- vage ferocity, have watched an opportunity for murdering his master — He would have drowned all reflection in a drunken revel, and overwhelmed all remon- strance by belching out newly-invented blasphemies ; and then sought to rush headlong, in a drunken paroxysm, into the ocean. Here is certainly presented the utmost pitch of a depraved and a degraded na- ture ; nor does it seem possible for Satan to carry his point farther with a man — except in one single instance, namely, by the final disbelief of a remedy. Now, by God’s help, this divine remedy was applied, and its efficacy demon- strated, of which there are thousands of living witnesses. A plain matter of fact is before us. It pleased God, by a train of dispensations, that this prodigal should “ come to himself.” He is made to feel his wants and misery. He follows the “ light shining in a dark place.” He calls for help. He is made willing to fol- low his guide. He proceeds with implicit confidence. And now let us examine to what, at length, he is brought ; and also by what means. I speak of a matter of fact — whither is he brought ? He is brought from the basest, meanest, under-trodden state of slavery — from a state of mind still more degraded, being “ foolish, disobedient, deceived, serving divers lusts and plea- sures. living in malice and envy, hateful and hating” — wanting nothing of a com- plete devil but his powers. This man is brought, I say, to be a faithful and zealous servant of his God ; an able and laborious minister of Christ ; a useful and benevolent friend to his neighbour ; wise to secure the salvation of his own soul, and wise to win the souls of others. Consider also the means by which he was brought. It was not by the argu- ments of philosophers, or the rational considerations of what is called natural re- ligion. Mr. N.’s own account informs us, that the peculiar discoveries of revealed truth gradually broke in upon his mind ; till, at length, he was made sensible that there was a remedy provided in the gospel, and which was fully sufficient to meet even his case, and he found that, and that only, to be “ the power of God unto salvation.” The result, therefore, which should be drawn from these premises is the fol- lowing: — There exists a desperate disorder in the world, called sin. Heathens as well as Christians have marked its malignant influence: they have tried various expedients, which have been prescribed for its cure, or at least its mitigation; but no means, except God’s own appointed means, have been discovered, that MEMOIRS OF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 69 have been able to relieve so much as a single individual. Yet, strange to say, this medicina mentis of God’s own appointment, to which only he has promised a peculiar blessing, and by which he is daily recovering men in the most despe- rate circumstances, who actually employ it: strange to say, this remedy still re- mains a stumbling block — is counted foolishness — insomuch, that many will rather dash this cup of salvation from the lips of a profligate, like Newton, when disposed to receive it, than he should obtain relief that way. Their conduct seems to say, “ Rather let such a wretch go on in his profligacy, than the gos- pel be acknowledged to be the wisdom and the power of God.” Not that the case of Mr. N., here presented to the consideration of an unbe- liever, is brought forward as if the gospel needed any farther evidence, or has occasion for facts of our own time to give it additional authenticity ; but we are directed to regard the “cloud of witnesses,” among which our departed brother was distinguished; “and though now dead, yet speaketh.” May the reader have ears to hear the important report ! Does the question return, therefore, as to what the unbeliever should do ? Let him, after seriously considering what is here advanced, consider also what con- duct is becoming a responsible, or at least a rational creature ? Surely it becomes such a one to avoid all means of stifling the voice of conscience whenever it begins to speak ; to regard the voice of God yet speaking to him in the revelation of his grace, and that much more humbly and seriously than such persons are wont to do. It becomes him, if he have any regard to the interest of his own soul, or the souls of his fellow-creatures, to give no countenance, by his declara- tions or example, to the senseless cavils, and indecent scoffs, by which the pro- fligate aim to cloak the disorders of their hearts ; by which vanity aims at distinc tion, and lialf-thinkers affect depth. The person I am now speaking to cannot but observe how much the judgment becomes the dupe of the passions. “ If the veil be upon the heart, it will be upon every thing.” We need not only an object presented, but an organ to discern it. Now the gospel, only, affords both these. Mr. N. becomes an instructive example in this respect to the unbe- liever. “One of the first helps,” says he, “I received (in consequence of a determination to examine the New Testament more carefully) was from Luke vi. 13, £ If ye then, being evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more shall your heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to them that ask him ?’ I had been sensible, that to profess faith in Jesus Christ, when, in reality, 1 did not believe his history, was no better than a mockery of the heart- searching God ; but here I found a Spirit spoken of, which was to be communi- cated to those who ask it. Upon this I reasoned thus : if this book be true, the promise in this passage must be true likewise. I have need of that very Spirit by which the whole was written, in order to understand it aright. He has engaged here, to give that Spirit to those who ask ; and if it be of God, he will make good his own word.” A man, therefore, who is found in this unhappy state, but not judicially har- dened in it, should mark this stage of Mr. N.’s recovery, and attend to the facts and evidences of the pow r er and excellency of real religion, such as this before him. He should appreciate that gospel, which it lias pleased God to employ as his instrument for displaying the wonders of his might in the moral world. He should pray that he may experience the power of it in his own heart, and thus not lose the additional benefit of the cases presented to him in Memoirs like these ; a case probably far exceeding his own in the malignity of its symptoms. Let him also consider, that, while such convictions can produce no real loss to him, they may secure advantages beyond calculation. He may not be able at present to comprehend how “ godliness is profitable for all things, in having not only the promise of the life that now is, but that which is to come but he may see, as a rational creature, that, at the very lowest estimation, he has taken a safe side, by embracing the only hope set before him : and on this ground it is clearly demonstrable, that not only the grossest folly must attach to the 70 MEMOIRS OF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. rejector of a revelation attended with such accumulated evidences, but also actual guilt, and the highest ingratitude and presumption. II. But there is another class of men, to whom I would recommend a serious consideration of Mr. N.’s religious character and principles. The persons whom I am now addressing are convinced of the truth of revelation, and some of them ably contend for it against unbelievers. They are also conscientious — they are often useful in society — and are sometimes found amiable and benevolent: they are even religious, according to their views of religion ; and some of them are exact in thAr devotions. Yet from certain morbid symptoms, they appear not to receive the grace of God in truth, nor to be cordially disposed to the spirit of the gospel. So much apparent right intention and exemplary conduct seems, indeed, to demand respect: and a respect which some, who possess more zeal than judgment, do not duly pay them. Ardelio despises his neighbour Eusebius’s religious views and habits; and not only deems him a blind Pharisee, but has sometimes expressed the sentiment in the rudest terms. This reminds me of the old story of Diogenes’ walking on the costly carpet of his brother philosopher, saying, “ I trample on the pride of Plato.” “ Yes,” said Plato, “ but with greater pride, Diogenes.” If it be asked, Why should any one judge unfavourably of such a character as Eusebius ? I answer, we may charitably seek to convince one whom we have reason to think under fatal mistakes, without any disposition to judge or condemn him. I meet a traveller who is confidently pursuing a path, which I have reason to believe is both wide of his mark, and dangerous to his person : I may charita- bly attempt to direct his steps, without thinking ill of his intention. It is re- corded of our Lord, that he even loved a young man, who went away sorrowful on having his grand idol exposed. But why, it is asked, should you suspect any thing essentially wrong in such characters as you describe ? I reply, for the fol- lowing reasons : — I have observed with much concern, when God hath wrought such a mighty operation of grace in the heart of a man like Newton, that this man has not, upon such a saving change being wrought, suited the religious taste of the persons just mentioned. They will, indeed, commend his external change of conduct ; but by no means relish his broken and contrite spirit, or his ascribing the change to free and unmerited favour, and his “ counting all things but loss for the excellency of the knowledge of Christ Jesus,” as that Lord who has thus called him “ from darkness to light, and from the power of Satan to God.” They will not relish the zeal and evangelical strain of his preaching, his endeavouring to alarm a stupid sleeping conscience, to probe a deceitful heart, to expose the wretchedness of the world, and to rend the veil from formality and hypocrisy ; nay, they will rather prefer some dry moralist, or mere formalist, who, instead of having ex- perienced any such change of heart, will rather revile it. Again, I have observed a lamentable disposition of mind in such persons to form false and unfavourable associations. They will pay too much attention to inju rious representations, true or false, of a religious class of mankind, whom the world has branded with some general term of reproach. Two or three ignorant or extravagant fanatics shall be admitted to represent the religious world at large, not considering how much such offensive characters are actually grieving those whose cause I am pleading. No one, indeed, can have lived long in society, but he must needs have met the counterfeit of every excellence. In the article of property, for instance, who is not on the watch lest he should be imposed on ? And, while the love of property is so general, who is not studious to discover the dilference between the true and the false? It will be so in religion, wherever there is the attention which its worth so imperiously demands. Love has a piercing eye, which will discover its object in a crowd. But if there be this disposition to confound in the lump the precious with the vile, it is symptomatic of something morbid in the heart. W e have reason to fear a latent aversion from vital and spiritual religion, notwithstanding all the allowance that can be made for the MEMOIRS OF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 71 prevailing prejudices of their education and circumstances, in the persons offended And here, also, we cannot but lament the effect of such a disposition in those perverse conclusions these persons are often observed to draw from a sermon, Of the two handles which attach to every thing, what must we think of that mind which is ever choosing the wrong ? Jesus Christ, for instance, shows how much the farm, the oxen, and the wife became impediments in the way of those who refused his invitation. But a perverse conclusion would infer that he was, therefore, an enemy to lawful engagements. Candour, however, sees at a glance, that this was not his design in speaking the parable. His drift was evidently to mark the state and spirit of the recusants, and not to discountenance their lawful occupations. He meant to show, that even lawful pursuits may be unlawfully pursued, when they become sole objects, and are thus preferred to his inestima- ble proposal. It is thus the well-disposed hearer will mark the design of his minister, and draw wholesome nourishment from that discourse, which another will turn to poison, by stopping to cavil at the letter. Another objection arises from the affinity which characters of this class have with a “ world which lieth in wickedness.” In this instance of their worldly attachments, their charity will readily “ cover a multitude of sins,” and form ex- cuses for serious breaches of both tables of the law, in their worldly friends. They appear in their element while in the society of these friends, especially if wealthy and accomplished. If any person’s ear is wounded with a profane ex- pression from one of their rich or fashionable acquaintance, they are ready to whisper, that, “notwithstanding his unguarded language, he has yet upon the whole one of the best of hearts.” Yet an infallible monitor has said, “ Know ye not, that the friendship of the world is enmity with God ?” If the old maxim does not always hold good, that “ A man is known by the company he keeps,” it will infallibly stand good if we add one veord to it, namely, “ that a man is known by the company he chooses to keep.” The physician may be detained in an infectious chamber, and the lawyer be found conversing with his client in a shower of rain ; but nobody will infer from thence, that the one chooses to breathe foul air, or that the other chooses to be wet to the skin. While the true Christian, therefore, w ill avoid inurbanity, fanat- icism, or becoming the dupe of any religious party, he will also join the Psalmist in declaring, “I am a companion of all them that fear thee, and of them that keep thy precepts.” Again, these moral and religious characters, whom I am labouring to convince of their errors, have been observed to be more disposed to nurse, than to examine their prejudices against a minister of Mr. N.’s principles. “ His teaching,” say they, “tends to divide a parish, or a family.” But why do they not examine the reason ? Why do they not consider, that introducing good has ever been the occasion of disturbing evil ? I recollect a great family, whose servants were in a ferment, because one truly conscientious man w r as found among them. “ He will spoil the place,” w r as their term, because he would not connive at their ini- quity. But let me ask, what was to be blamed in this affair ? His integrity or their corruption ? The master understood the case, and valued his servant in proportion as he marked the division. And thus it is in religion, while moving in a blind and corrupt world. Christ, though the Prince of Peace, expressly de- clared, that his doctrine would be the occasion of much division in the world ; that he “ came not to send peace, but a sword ;” that he should be the occasion of family variance, &c. Matt. x. 34, 35 ; and warns his disciples of what they must expect while they endeavour faithfully to conduct his interests. Plain matter of fact declares, that to maintain truth has been the occasion of the suffer- ing state of the true church in all ages, and that often unto the death of its in- numerable martyrs. But, should a man who reads his Bible, or has any regard for the interests of truth, need to have this explained ? Another mistake might be exposed in the stale objection, that such principles as Mr. N ’s toad injure the interests of morality, from his strictly adhering tc 72 MEMOIRS OF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. the doctrine of our eleventh article, on justification by faith. I would hope that this objection, in many, arises from a very slight acquaintance with the subject. It requires, indeed, but little attention to mark how expressly the Scriptures maintain our justification on the sole merit of our Redeemer, while they as fully maintain the necessity of our sanctification, or holiness, by his Spirit. It has been proved over and over, by sound and incontestable arguments, that these two grand fundamentals of our religion are so far from opposing each other, either in Scripture or experience, that, when real, they are found inseparable. But, be- cause this is not the place to either state or defend this doctrine at large, it may help such as have hitherto stumbled respecting it, to observe an illustration and proof of this position, in the matter of fact just now presented to our view. To one willing to learn, I would say, what proof would you require of the practical tendency of principles like Mr. N.’s? We bring you, in his history, a most deplorable instance of human depravity and deep moral disorder. What experiment shall be tried to recover this wretched creature to God and to him- self? Regard, I say, the fact in this man’s history. You will find, that his re- covery was not brought about by such considerations as are urged in what are termed moral or rational discourses ; but, on the contrary, by such truths as he laboured throughout his ministry to establish, not only from the Scriptures, but from his own experience of their efficacy. He dwelt on truths, which are es- sential and peculiar to Christianity ; such as the guilt and utter depravity of our fallen nature, whereby man is become an alien and apostate from his God ; his inability to recover himself without the grace of the Holy Spirit ; the necessity of regeneration by the same Spirit, and of faith in the Redeemer, not only as the only ground of his justification before God, but as the root and motive of all ac- ceptable obedience and good works. “ If I wanted a man to fly,” said Mr. N., ie I must contrive to find him wings ; and thus, if I would successfully enforce moral duties, I must advance evangelical motives.” He preached truths like these constantly and fervently, and he lived a consistent example of them. Thus in all things approving himself a true disciple and minister of Christ, those who knew him, know, without making any odious comparison, it might be literally affirmed of Mr. N., that “ by pureness, by knowledge, by long-suffering, by kindness, by the Holy Ghost, by love unfeigned, by the word of truth, by the power of God, by the armour of righteousness on the right hand and on the left,” his mouth was opened and his heart enlarged towards men. I trust it is from a pure motive that I am endeavouring to convince persons of the class I am addressing of their mistake. And I am the more induced to bring a case in point before them, because I think it cannot be paralleled as an instance of the power of religion among those who labour to keep up prejudices against ministers of Mr. N.’s character ; or who, by unfair or partial statements, strive to subvert the doctrines he preached, and the great end to which all his labours were directed, namely, the life of God in the soul of man. If, indeed, any one “ is willing to be deceived, let him be deceived.” At least such an one will not be addressed here. But if a man has any serious sense of the value of his soul — of its lost condition by sin, and of recovering the friendship of his God — if he feel the express declaration in the Scriptures of an eternity of happiness or misery to be of infinite importance, and to which the weightiest concern in this perishing world is but as the “dust on the balance” — let such an one consider these things. Let him inquire, whether those who object to the charac- ter and views of such a minister as Mr. N. labour first to probe the state of their own hearts deeply, as he did? When he was no longer an infidel, had renounced his grosser habits, and was to all appearance a new man ; “Yet,” says he. “ though I cannot doubt that this change, so far as it prevailed, was wrought by the Spirit and power of God, still l was greatly deficient in many respects. I was in some degree affected with a sense of my enormous sins, but I was little aware of the innate evils of my heart. I had no apprehension of the spirituality and extent of the law of God. The hidden life of a Christian, as it consists in MEMOIRS OF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 73 communion with God by Jesus Christ, and a continual dependence upon him for hourly supplies of wisdom, strength, and comfort, was a mystery of which I had as yet no knowledge. I acknowledged the Lord’s mercy in pardoning what was past, but depended chiefly upon my own resolution to do better for the time to come.” Let the honest inquirer also consider, whether the objectors just spoken of are observed to be as anxious in their pursuits to serve God and propagate his will to glorify his Son, and to save the souls of men? Whether they have experi- enced the force of truth in the conversion of their own hearts and lives? “ Con- formed to the world,” as he once was, have they been since “ transformed by the renewing of their minds,” as he at length became? A few such questions as these, well considered, would lead to important discoveries. Such an inquiry would show, that, however some persons may be able to treat the outworks of revelation, as they may of any other science they have studied ; yet for such to dogmatize on religion, as it consists in a vital, spiritual, and experimental princi- ple, would be as absurd as for a man originally deprived of one of the five senses, to deny the perceptions of those who possess them all. In short, it is as ridiculous as it is profane, for men rashly to assert on religious points, who evidently appear to have nothing so little at heart as the real influence and actual interests of re- ligion. Lastly, let nominal Christians seriously consider whether our immortal interests are not much too important to be stated upon a mere prejudice of education — an old unrevised habit of thinking — a taking it for granted that they are right, when the event may awfully prove the reverse ; and that too, when such errors can never be rectified ? The persons with whom I have been pleading would pity the Jew or the Pagan in such an error : I earnestly pray that they may be ena- bled to see as clearly their own mistake, and not resent the admonition of a real friend now seeking to prevent it. III. But there yet remains a class of persons, found in the religious world, who entertain a high regard for Mr. N.’s character, and who should gather that in- struction from it of which they appear to stand in great need. “ They should all take care,” as he expresses it, “ that they do not make their profession of re- ligion a receipt in full for all other obligations.” I do not regard this class as hypocrites, so much as self-deceivers. They have a zeal for the gospel ; but without a comprehensive view of its nature. They do not consider, that, in avoiding error on the one hand, they are plunging into a contrary mistake. Like a child crossing a bridge, they tremblingly avoid the deep water which they per- ceive is roaring on one side ; and recede from it till they are ready to perish, from not perceiving the danger of that which lies on the other side. The class of which I am here speaking are defective in the grand article of a humble and contrite spirit. I remember Mr. N. used to remark, that “ if any one criterion could be given of a real work of grace begun in the heart of a sin- ner, it would be found in his contrite spirit.” Nothing is more insisted on in Scripture, as essential to real religion. I never knew any truly serious Christian but would readily join in acknowledging, that “ the religion of a sinner,” as Mr. N. expresses it, “stands on two pillars; namely, what Christ did for us in his flesh, and what he performs in us by his Spirit. Most errors,” says he, “arise from an attempt to separate these two.” But as it was in the beginning, so it is now ; the enemy comes and sows tares among the wheat ; and a sort of loose profession has obtained, which has brought much reproach on religion, and be- come a cause of stumbling to many, who perceive a class of Christians contend- ing for only a part of Christianity. Fou can prevail little with a professor of this description, in exhorting him by “the meekness and gentleness of Christ,” to self-denying, patient, or forbearing habits. If you state the genius of Christ’s religion as it relates to the returning good for evil ; in blessing them that curse, and praying for such as revile and persecute ; in showing, out of a good conversation, their works with meekness K 74 MEMOIRS OF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. of wisdom ; or in having a fervent charity towards all men, &c. he is ready ta kindle, and to cover his conduct by a crude system of mere doctrinal points, ill un- derstood. It is well if your charitable remonstrance does not lead him to ask, Whether you mean to bring him back to the Whole Duty of Man, or to Nelson’s Festivals and Fasts ? He laments that you yourself are not clear in the gospel, because you maintain the whole of it ; and that you are not faithful, if you main- tain the whole of it in a patient, forbearing spirit. The views of such persons, and the evil tempers to which they give place in their spiritual warfare, have often reminded me of the shrewd answer which our Richard I. sent the Pope ; who was angry because a certain warlike bishop had fallen by Richard in battle, and whom, being an ecclesiastic, the Pope called his son. Richard sent the bishop’s armour to the Pope, with the words of Joseph’s brethren, “ Know now, whether this be thy son’s coat or not.” Nothing, however, could be more opposed to the spirit and character of our departed friend than the temper that has just been described. His zeal in pro- pagating the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, was not more conspicuous than the tenderness of his spirit as to the manner of his maintaining and delivering it. He was found constantly “ speaking the truth in love, and in meekness instructing those that oppose themselves, if God peradventure would give them repentance to the acknowledging the truth.” There was a gentle- ness, a candour, and a forbearance in him, that I do not recollect to have seen in an equal degree among his brethern ; and which had so conciliating an effect, that even the enemies of truth often spoke loudly in praise of his character. On the other hand, it generated such an affection in his friends, that, had he at- tempted to preach longer than he did, a great part of his congregation would have gathered, were it only for the pleasure they had in seeing his person. That this account is not panegyric, is clear to all who personally knew Mr. N. But as many who may read these Memoirs had not that pleasure, I will add the testimony of one, whose nice discernment of character will admit of no ques- tion : — “ A people will love a minister, if a minister seems to love his people ; the old maxim simile agit in simile, is in no case more exactly verified ; therefore you were beloved at Olney ; and, if you preached to the Chickasaws and Choc- taws, would be equally beloved by them.”* As this spirit of Christian benevolence and charity seems not to have been sufficiently cultivated among us, while a furious and often abusive zeal for certain points, as Cowper remarks, has been substituted for the whole truth, I am led to dwell longer than I intended in enforcing this amiable feature of Mr. N.’s cha- racter ; especially on account of those Christians, who have imbibed a false taste in their religion, from such teachers, or books, as have fallen in their way. I therefore earnestly request those persons to weigh well the inquiries which fol- low : — Have you ever sufficiently considered the evil of divisions and heart-burnings in a church ; and what interest that enemy, who comes to sow tares among the wheat, takes in promoting them? Do you reflect, that another Christian may be doing God’s work, though his mode of doing it may not meet your taste, any more than your taste meets his ? Do you consider how much greater evil a wrong spirit and temper produce than the things you object against ? Do you weigh the consequences of your haste in weakening the hands and grieving the heart of any godly minister, whom you constantly or occasionally attend ; and in actually laying a stumbling-block in the way of the ungodly, while you depre- ciate him and his services ? Nothing affected that eminent character, Mr. Cado- gan, like what he met from some religious persons of this kind, as I have related from his own lips, in his Memoirs.! Let me farther exhort such as are in danger from this unchastised spirit to coiv Haley’s life of Cowper, Letter xxvii. t See Memoirs of Cadogan, p. 39. MEMOIRS OF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 75 sider, bow much corrupt nature is at the bottom of this error. Corrupt nature frets and rages at any supposed contradiction or restraint : it would substitute the work of the tongue for that of the heart : in the mean time, real religion i3 scorned by the world, which cannot distinguish between a thing so deformed, and the thing as it ought to appear. Consider, also, whether there needs any grace at all in order to maintain such a sort of profession. We require only to christen the evil passions of corrupt nature, and then may call names, hate, boast, and give ourselves the preference, as much as any ungodly man whatever ! A zealot at an election can fight and strive for his favourite candidate ; with inflamed zeal he can cause divisions, ex- hibit pride, self-will, and impatience of subordination : but, let me ask, will the same evil tempers change their nature because they are employed about spiritual objects ? Much blame attaches, too, respecting certain disputable points for which such persons strive. It seems as if some, who are otherwise good men, did not relish the Bible till they had garbled and selected it ; and that, if the whole were not of acknowledged authority, they would condemn it as it now stands. They speak as if it were not accurate in its terms, or sufficiently express or decisive in con- firming their fond opinions. This leads them to be shy of some parts of revela- tion, and to distort others, in order to fit them for their system ; and while con- tending for that system, they appear to forget the stress which the apostle lays upon the holy, humble, self-denying, affectionate spirit of Christianity, in 1 Cor. xiii. ; how gentle it is, how easy to be entreated, how it hopeth and endureth all things, &c. While, on the contrary, they who can speak with the tongues of men and of angels, who have all knowledge, who can work miracles, and even die martyrs, would, without this distinguishing characteristic of Christianity, be considered of God as nothing. The Old Testament dispensation, it is granted, had a severe aspect, and special occasions may be pleaded for special expressions of holy indignation under any dispensation ; but when the prophet describes the brighter day, he foretells, that then “ the wolf shall dwell with the lamb,” &c., as emblematical of the prevalence of that grace described by the apostle, in the chapter just quoted. Hold, therefore, the faith once delivered to the saints as firmly as possible, but hold it in love. “ Buy the truth and sell it not rather die for it, than part with it ; but “ speak it in love and walk in it “ as Christ also walked,” ever remembering, that “ the wrath of man worketh not the righteousness of God.” I feel conscious that it is simply with a view to convince many well meaning Christians of their error (and I have found more or less of this class in almost every place where I have been,) that I thus speak. If a gross superstition, arising in the Church, perverted the Christianity of former ages ; I wish I may mistake in supposing, that a loose and unscriptural profession is widely spreading as the bane of our age. Against such a departure from the true genius of Christian- ity, I certainly, as a minister of Christ, ought to bear my feeble testimony. Con- sider, therefore, that what is said, is with a single view to your best interests ; and the Lord give you understanding in all things. As I referred the Christians who were last addressed, to the character of Mr. N. as an example, so I never knew a more perfect one to my purpose. When any person depreciated the ministry of a good man, who, by advancing important truths, was opposing the reigning errors of the times ; but who, from timidity or prejudice, was shy of Mr. N., he would imitate his Divine Master by saying, “ Let him alone ; he that is not against us is on our side. Make no man an of- fender for a word. He is doing good, according to his views. Let us pray for him, and by no means weaken his hands. Who knows but God may one day put him far above our heads both in knowledge and usefulness I” His grand point, in a few words, as he used to express it, was, “to break a HARD HEART, AND TO HEAL A BROKEN HEART.” To implant the life of God ill 76 MEMOIRS OF THE REV JOHN NEWTON. the soul of man, he would sacrifice every subordinate consideration. He felt every other consideration comparatively insignificant. He saw the spirit of ancient Pharisaism working among those who cry out the most against it ; who exact to a scruple, in the tvthe of mint, anise, and cummin of their own peculiarities, while they pass over the weightier matters of unity and love ; straining at the gnat of a private opinion, and swallowing the camel of a deadly discord. On the contrary, as far as order and circumstances would admit, Mr. N. clave to every good man, and endeavoured to strengthen his hands, in whatever denomination of Christians he was found. His character well illustrated the Scripture, that though “ scarcely for a righteous (or just) man would one die ; yet for a good man (i. e. one eminent for his candour and benevolence) some would even dare to die.” However they admired some ministers, they all loved him; and saw exemplified in him that “ wisdom which is from above, which is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, and easy to be intreated, full of mercy and good fruits without partiality and without hypocrisy.” I conclude these Memoirs with a word to such as are endeavouring to follow the steps of their late faithful friend, as he followed Christ. We cannot but la- ment the errors just described. We cannot, if we have any zeal for the gospel, but protest against them. But let us recollect, that they are not the only errors which are found in the church ; and therefore let us watch, lest any other “root of bitterness spring up to trouble us, and defile many.” While you lament w ith me the removal of ministers like Mr. N., let us recollect that Eternal Friend, who will never leave his church without witnesses to the truth ; and w ho, among other reasons for removing earthly helps, teaches us thereby to rest only upon that help which cannot be removed. Let us take comfort too in recollecting, that, spotted as the church may appear from the inconsistencies of many of its members, yet all the real good that is to be found in this corrupt world, is to be found in that church. God saw seven thousand true believers in Israel w T hile his prophet could see but one. Where some Jehu is sounding a trumpet before him, many are quietly passing to heaven without any such clamour. As a great writer remarks, “ Because half a dozen grasshoppers, under a fern, make the field ring with their importunate chink, while thousands of great cattle chew the cud and are silent, pray do not imagine that those, who make the noise, are ‘ the only inhabitants of the field.’ ” But I must remark, that nothing has been more profitable to myself in consider- ing Mr. N.’s life, than the exhibition it makes of a particular providence. If the church be not conducted by such visible signs now, as formerly, it is found to be as actually conducted. We read of a Divine hand concerned in the fall of sparrows, in numbering the hairs of our head, and in raising our dust to life ; but with what little interest we read this, appears by our distrust in the first trial we meet. If w r e do not dare to join the sentiments of some, w r ho regard such expressions as purely figurative and hyperbolical, yet our imagination is so over- whelmed with the difficulty of the performance, that w r e are apt to turn from the subject with some general hope, but with a very indistinct and vague idea of “ a God at hand,” faithful to his promise, and almighty to deliver. Yet how r many cases occur in the history of every one of us, where nothing short of an Al- mighty arm could prove “ a present help in the time of trouble.” Now, this short history before us is admirably calculated to encourage our faith and hope, when we are called to pass through those deep waters, that seem to bid defiance to human strength and contrivance. What, for instance, but a Divine interference caused Mr. N. to be roused from sleep on board the Harwich at the moment of exchanging men, and thereby effected his removal ? What placed him in a situation so remarkably suited to his recovering the ship, which had already passed the place of his station in Africa, and brought him back to his country > what kept him from returning in the boat, that w r as lost at Rio Cestors ? or from the ship that was blown up near Liverpool ? not to mention many other of his special deliverances MEMOIRS OF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. 77 “ I am a wonder unto many,” says he, in the motto of his Narrative; and if we as distinctly considered the strange methods of mercy which have occurred in our own cases, we should at least be a wonder to ourselves. But my aim is to point out the use we should make of these Memoirs in this respect. We should, as Christians, mark the error of despair. We should see, that the case of a praying man cannot be desperate ; that if a man be out of the pit of hell, he is on the ground of mercy. We should recollect, that God sees a way of escape when we see none ; that nothing is too hard for him; that he warrants our dependence, and invites us to call on him in the day of trouble, and gives a promise of deliverance. We should, therefore, in every trial, adoot the lan- guage of Mr. N.’s favourite Herbert : “Away, despair; my gracious Lord doth hear; Though winds and waves assault my keel, He doth preserve it ; he doth steer, Ev’n when the boat seems most to reel. Storms are the triumph of his art : Well may he close his eyes, but not his heart.” From these facts we should see, that Christ is able, not only “ to save to the uttermost all that come unto God by him ;” but also that he is able to bring the most hardened blasphemer and abject slave from his chains of sin and misery, to stand in the most honourable and useful station, and proclaim to the wretched and to the ruined the exceeding riches of his grace. I have observed, from my own experience as well as from that of others, how strong a hold Satan builds by despair. The pressing fascinations of the world, the secret invitations of sensu- ality, and the distant prospect of eternal things, form a powerful current against vital religion. The heart of a Christian is ready to sink whenever these proud waters rise. Let him, therefore, recollect, that his hope, his only hope, is in pressing right onward through a world of lies and vanity; that his present dis- pensation is the walk of faith and not of sight; and that “by two immutable things, in which it is impossible for God to lie, he has given strong consolation to such as flee for refuge to the hope set before them.” One could, indeed, scarcely conjecture, that cases like Mr. N.’s should be so perverted by any of our children, as that they should take confidence in their sins from his former course of life ; but, because such facts, as I am credibly in- formed, do exist, let us be upon the watch to counteract this deep device of the great enemy. My dear young friends, who may have read these Memoirs, perhaps merely for your amusement, consider with what a contrary design St. Paul states his former unrenewed condition: “I was,” says he, “before a blasphemer, a per- secutor, and injurious; but for this cause I obtained mercy.” For what cause ? Was it that men should continue in sin, because a miracle of special grace had been wrought? To “ do evil that good may come” is the black mark of a repro- bate mind. But “for this cause,” saith the apostle, “I obtained mercy; that in me first Jesus Christ might show forth all long-suffering, for a pattern to them who should hereafter believe in him to life everlasting.” The same caution is necessary whenever you may be tempted to hope for such a recovery as Mr. N.’s, after erring like him. To proceed upon such a hope, is a gross presumption. Thousands perish in wrong courses, for one who escapes from their natural con- sequences. Pray, therefore, that you may be enabled to resist the temptation of perverting such extraordinary cases. God affords them to be “a savour of life unto life,” while Satan would employ them to be “a savour of death unto death.” One almighty to save, affords you here, indeed, an instance of special mercy, which gives you the strongest encouragement in setting your face towards his kingdom; and this is the proper use to be made of such a case. Your parents, your most disinterested friends, are anxiously watching for your 78 MEMOIRS OF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. good : and they, perhaps, have put this book into your hand with a view of pro- moting it. The author has cause to thank God, who put it into the heart of his pious parent to make a similar attempt, and bless it with success ; and he could tell of more such instances. May it please God that you may be added to the number ! Worldly prosperity would rather hurt than help you before your minds become rightly directed. Mr. N. shows us,* that his firmest friend could not have served him effectually had not God first prepared his mind for the advancement. An enemy would occupy your minds with perishing objects; bat God calls you to cultivate nobler views. He proposes glory, honour, immortality, and eternal life by the gospel. “ Seek,” therefore, “ first the kingdom of God and his righ- teousness and all other things shall be added to you.” Memoirs, page 26. AN AUTHENTIC NARRATIVE, &c. LETTER I. REVEREND AND DEAR SIR, I make no doubt but you have at times had pleasing reflections upon that promise made to the Israelites, Deut. viii. 2. They were then in the wilderness, surrounded with difficulties, which were greatly aggra- vated by their own distrust and perverseness : they had experienced a variety of dispensa- tions, the design of which they could not as yet understand ; they frequently lost sight of God’s gracious purposes in their favour, and were much discouraged by reason of the way. To compose and animate their minds, Moses here suggests to them, that there was a fu- ture happy time drawing near, when their journey and warfare should be finished ; that they should soon be put in possession of the promised land, and have rest from all their fears and troubles ; and then it would give them pleasure to look back upon what they now found so uneasy to bear : — “ Thou shalt remember all the way, by which the Lord thy God led thee through this wilderness.” But the importance and comfort of these words is still greater, if we consider them in a spiritual sense, as addressed to all who are passing through the wilderness of this world to a heavenly Canaan ; who by faith in the promises and power of God are seek- ing eternal rest in that kingdom which can- not be shaken. The hope of that glorious inheritance inspires us with some degree of courage and zeal to press forward, to where Jesus has already entered as our forerunner; and when our eye is fixed upon him, we are more than conquerors over all that would withstand our progress. But we have not yet attained it ; we still feel the infirmities of a fallen nature : through the remains of ignorance and unbelief, we often mistake the Lord’s dealings with us, and are ready to complain, when, if we knew all, we should rather rejoice. But to us likewise there is a time coming, when our warfare shall be accomplished, our views enlarged, and our .ight increased : then, with what transports of adoration and love shall we look back j upon the way, by which the Lord led us ! 1 We shall then see and acknowledge, that mercy and goodness directed every step ; we shall see, that what our ignorance once called adversities and evils, were in reality blessings which we could not have done well without ; that nothing befel us without a cause : that no trouble came upon us sooner, or pressed us more heavily, or continued longer, than our case required : in a word, that our many afflictions were each in their place among the means employed by divine grace and wisdom, to bring us to the posses- sion of that exceeding and eternal weight of glory, which the Lord has prepared for his people. And even in this imperfect state, though we are seldom able to judge aright of our present circumstances, yet, if we look upon the years of our past life, and compare the dispensations we have been brought through, with the frame of our minds under each successive period ; if we consider, how wonderfully one thing has been connected with another ; so that what we now number amongst our greatest advantages, perhaps took their first rise from incidents which we thought hardly worth our notice ; and that we have sometimes escaped the greatest dan- gers that threatened us, not by any wisdom or foresight of our own, but by the interven- tion of circumstances, which we neither de- sired nor thought of ; — I say, when we com- pare and consider these things by the light afforded us in the holy scriptures, we may collect indisputable proof, from the narrow circle of our own concerns, that the wise and good providence of God watches over his people from the earliest moment of their life, overrules and guards them through all their wanderings in a state of ignorance, leads them in a way they know not, till at length his providence and grace concur in those events and impressions, which bring them to the knowledge of him and themselves. I am persuaded that every believer will, upon due reflection, see enough in his own case to confirm this remark ; but not all in the same degree. The outward circum stances of many ha,ve been uniform; the? 79 80 INTRODUCTORY OBSERVATIONS. have known but little variety in life ; and I with respect to their inward change, it has I been effected in a secret way, unnoticed by others, and almost unperceived by them- selves. The Lord has spoken to them, not in thunder and tempest, but with a still small voice he has drawn them gradually to him- self; so that, though they have a happy as- surance of the thing, that they know and love him, and are passed from death unto life ; yet of the precise time and manner, they can give little account. Others he seems to select, in order to show the exceeding riches of his grace, and the greatness of his mighty power : he suffers the natural rebel- lion and wickedness of their hearts to have full scope ; while sinners of less note are cut off with little warning, these are spared, though sinning with a high hand, and, as it were, studying their own destruction. At length, when all that knew them are perhaps expecting to hear, that they are made signal instances of divine vengeance, the Lord (whose thoughts are high above ours, as the heavens are higher than the earth) is pleased to pluck them as brands out of the fire, and to make them monuments of his mercy, for the encouragement of others ; they are, be- yond expectation, convinced, pardoned, and changed. A case of this sort indicates a di- vine power no less than the creation of a world : and it is evidently the Lord’s doing, and it is marvellous in the eyes of all those, who are not blinded by prejudice and unbelief. Such was the persecuting Saul : his heart was full of enmity against Jesus of Nazareth, and therefore he persecuted and made havoc of his disciples. He had been a terror to the church of Jerusalem, and was going to Damascus with the same views. He was yet breathing out threatenings and slaughter against all that loved the Lord Jesus. He thought little of the mischief he had hitherto done. He was engaged for the suppression of the whole sect ; and hurrying from house to house, from place to place, he carried me- naces in his look, and repeated threatenings with every breath. Such was his spirit and temper, when the Lord Jesus, whom he hated and opposed, checked him in the height of his rage, called this bitter persecutor to the honour of an apostle, and inspired him with great zeal and earnestness, to preach that faith which he had so lately attempted to de- stroy. Nor are we without remarkable displays of the same sovereign, efficacious grace in our own times ; — I may particularly mention the instance of the late colonel Gardiner. If any real satisfaction could be found in a sin- ful course, he would have met with it ; for he pursued the experiment with all possible ad- vantages. He was habituated to evil ; and many uncommon, almost miraculous deliver- ances, made no impression upon him. Yet [let. .. | he was likewise made willing in the day of I God’s power : and the bright example of his life, illustrated and diffused by the account of him, published since his death, has afford- ed an occasion of much praise to God and much comfort to his people. After the mention of such names, can you permit me, Sir, to add my own 1 If I do, it must be with a very humbling distinction. These once eminent sinners, proved sincere Christians: much had been forgiven them, therefore they loved much. St. Paul could say, “ The grace bestowed upon me was not in vain ; for I laboured more abundantly than they all.” Colonel Gardiner likewise was as a city set upon a hill, a burning and a shining light : the manner of his conversion was hardly more singular, than the whole course of his conversation from that time to his death. Here, alas ! the parallel greatly fails. It has not been thus with me ; — I must take deserved shame to myself, that I have made very unsuitable returns for what I have re- ceived. But, if the question is only concern- ing the patience and long-suffering of God, the wonderful interposition of his providence in favour of an unworthy sinner, the power of his grace in softening the hardest heart, and the riches of his mercy in pardoning the most enormous and aggravated transgres- sions ; in these respects, I know no case more extraordinary than my own. And indeed many persons, to whom I have related my story, have thought it worthy of being pre- served. I never gave any succinct account in writ- ing, of the Lord’s dealing with me, till very lately ; for I was deterred, on the one hand, by the great difficulty of writing properly where self is concerned ; on the other, by the ill use which persons of corrupt and perverse minds are often known to make of such in- stances. The Psalmist reminds us that a re- serve in these things is proper, when he says, “ Come unto me, all you that fear God, and I will tell you what he hath done for iny soul and our Lord cautions us not to “ cast our pearls before swine.” The pearls of a Christian are, perhaps, his choice experiences of the Lord’s power and love in the concerns of his soul ; and these should not be at all adventures made public, lest we give occa- sion to earthly and grovelling souls, to pro- fane what they cannot understand. These were the chief reasons of my backwardness : but, a few weeks since, I yielded to the judg- ment and request of a much respected friend, and sent him a relation at large, in a series of eight letters. The event has been what I little expected ; I wrote to one person, but my letters have fallen into many hands: amongst others, I find they have reached your notice ; and instead of blaming me tor being too tedious and circumstantial, which was the fault I feared I had committed, you OCCURRENCES IN EARLY LIFE. 81 LET. II.] are pleased to desire a still more distinct de- tail. As you and others of my friends appre- hend my compliance with this request may be attended with some good effect, may pro- mote the pleasing work of praise to our ador- able Redeemer, to confirm the faith of some or other of his people, I am willing to obey ; 1 give up my own reasonings upon the inex- pediency of so inconsiderable a person as my- self adventuring in so public a point of view. If God may be glorified on my behalf, and nis children in any measure comforted or in- structed by what I have to declare of his goodness, I shall be satisfied ; and am con- tent to leave all other possible consequences of this undertaking in his hands, who does all things well. I must again have recourse to my memory, as I retained no copies of the letters you saw. So far as I can recollect what I then wrote, I will relate, but shall not affect a needless variety of phrase and manner, merely be- cause those have been already perused by many. I may perhaps, in some places, when repeating the same facts, express myself in nearly the same words; yet I propose, ac- cording to your desire, to make this relation more explicit and particular than the former, especially towards the close, which I wound up hastily, lest my friend should be wearied. I hope you will likewise excuse me, if I do not strictly confine myself to narration, but now and then intersperse such reflections as may offer, while I am writing : and though you have signified your intentions of com- municating what I send you to others, I must not, on this account, affect a conciseness and correctness which is not my natural talent, lest the whole should appear dry and con- strained. I shall therefore (if possible) think only of you, and write with that confidence and freedom which your friendship and can- dour deserve. This sheet may stand as a preface, and I purpose, as far els I can, to in- termit many other engagements, until I have completed the task you have assigned me. In tne mean time, I entreat the assistance of your prayers, that in this, and all my poor attempts, I may have a single eye to his glory, who was pleased to call me out of horrid darkness, into the marvellous light of his gospel. — I am, with sincere respect, dear sir. your obliged and affectionate servant. January 12, 1763. LETTER II. reverend sir, — I can sometimes feel a pleasure in repeating the grateful acknow- ledgment of David, “ O Lord, I am thy ser- vant, the son of thine handmaid ; thou hast loosed my bands.” The tender mercies of God towards me were manifest in the first L moment of my life ; — I was bom as it were in his house, and dedicated to him in my in- fancy. My mother (as I have heard from many) was a pious experienced Christian; she was a dissenter, in communion with the late Doctor Jennings. I was her only child; and as she was of a weak constitution and a retired temper, almost her whole employ- ment was the care of my education. I have some faint remembrance of her care and in- structions. At a time when I could not be more than three years of age, she herself taught me English, and with so much suc- cess (as I had something of a forward turn,) that when I was four years old I could read with propriety, in any common book that of- fered. She stored my memory, which was then very retentive, with many valuable pieces, chapters, and portions of scripture, catechisms, hymns and poems. My temper, at that time seemed quite suitable to her wishes: I had little inclination to the noisy sports of children, but was best pleased when in her company, and always as willing to learn as she was to teach me. How far the best education may fall short of reaching the heart, will strongly appear in the sequel of my history : yet, I think, for the encourage- ment of pious parents to go on in the good way of doing their part faithfully to form their children’s minds, I may properly pro- pose myself as an instance. Though in pro- cess of time, I sinned away all the advantages of these early impressions, yet they were for a great while a restraint upon me ; they re- turned again and again, and it was very long before I could wholly shake them oft*; and when the Lord at length opened my eyes, I found a great benefit from the recollection of them. Further, my dear mother, besides the pains she took with me, often commend- ded me with many prayers and tears to God ; and I doubt not but I reap the fruits of these prayers to this hour. My mother observed my early progress with peculiar pleasure, and intended from the first to bring me up with a view to the ministry, if the Lord should so incline my heart. In my sixth year I began to learn Latin ; but, before I had time to know much about it, the intended plan of my education was broke short. — The Lord’s designs were far beyond the views of an earthly parent ; he was pleased to reserve me for an unusual proof of his patience, providence, and grace, and therefore overruled the purpose of my friends, by depriving me of this excellent parent, when I was something under seven years old. I was born the 24th of July, 1725, and she died the 11th of that month, 1732. My father was then at sea (he was a com- mander in the Mediterranean trade at that time :) he came home the following year, and soon after married again. Thus I pass- ed into different hands. I was well *reated 82 OCCURRENCES IN EARLY LIFE. in all other respects ; but the loss of my mo- ther’s instructions was not repaired. I was now permitted to mingle with careless and profane children, and soon began to learn their ways. Soon after my father’s marriage I was sent to a boarding school in Essex, where the imprudent severity of the master almost broke my spirit and relish for books. With him I forgot the first principles and rules of arithmetic, which my mother had taught me years before. I staid there two years; in the last of the two a new usher coming, who observed and studied my temper, I took to the Latin with great eagerness ; so that before I was ten years old, I reached and maintained the first post in the second class, which in that school read Tully and Virgil. I believe I was pushed forward too fast, and therefore not being grounded, I soon lost all I had learned (for I left school in my tenth year,) and when I long afterwards un- dertook the Latin language from books, 1 think I had little, if any advantage, from what I had learned before. My father’s second marriage was from a family in Essex; and when I was eleven years old, he took me with him to sea. He was a man of remarkable good sense, and great knowledge of the world ; he took great care of my morals, but could not supply my mother's part. Having been educated himself in Spain, he always observed an air of distance and severity in his carriage, which overawed and discouraged my spirit. I was always in fear when before him, and therefore he had the less influence. From that time to the year 1742, I made several voyages, but with considerable intervals be- tween, which were chiefly spent in the country, excepting a few months in my fif- teenth year, when I was placed upon a very advantageous prospect at Alicant in Spain ; but my unsettled behaviour and impatience of restraint rendered that design abortive. In this period my temper and conduct were exceedingly various. At school, or soon after, I had little concern about reli- gion, and easily received very ill impressions. But I was often disturbed with convictions ; I was fond of reading from a child ; among other books, Bonnet’s Christian Oratory often came in my way ; and though I understood but little of it, the course of life therein recom- mended appeared very desirable, and I was inclined to attempt it. 1 began to pray, to read the scriptures, and to keep a sort of diary ; I was presently religious is my own eyes ; but alas ! this seeming goodness had no solid foundation, but passed away like a morning cloud, or early dew. I was soon weary, gradually gave it up, and became worse than before: instead of prayer, I learned to curse and blaspheme, and was ex- ceedingly wicked, when from under my parents’ view. All this was before I was [let. ii. twelve years old. About that time I had s. dangerous fall from a horse ; I was throwi, I believe, within a few inches of a hedge-row newly cut down ; I got no hurt ; but could not avoid taking notice of a gracious provi- dence in my deliverance; for had I fallen upon the stakes, I had inevitably been killed ; my conscience suggested to me the dreadful consequences, if in such a state I had been summoned to appear before God. I presently broke off from my profane practices, and ap- peared quite altered ; but was not long before I declined again. These struggles between sin and conscience were often repeated ; but the consequence was, that every relapse sunk me into still greater depths of wicked- ness. I was once roused by the loss of an intimate companion. We had agreed to go on board a man-of-war (I think it was on Sun- day,) but I providentially came too late ; the boat was overset, and he and several others were drowned. I was invited to the funeral of my play-fellow, and was exceedingly af- fected, to think that by a delay of a few minutes (which had much displeased and angered me till I saw the event,) my life had been preserved. However, this like- wise was soon forgot. At another time, the perusal of the Family Instructor put me upon a partial and transient reformation. In brief, though I cannot distinctly relate par- ticulars, I think I took up and laid aside a religious profession three or four different times before I was sixteen years of age ; but all this while my heart was insincere. I of- ten saw a necessity of religion as a means of escaping hell ; but I loved sin, and was unwilling to forsake it. Instances of this, I can remember, were frequent in the midst of all my forms; I was so strangely blind and stupid, that sometimes when I have been determined upon things which I knew were sinful and contrary to my duty, I could not go on quietly, till I had first despatched my ordinary task of prayer, in which I have grudged every moment of my time ; and when this was finished, my conscience was in some measure pacified, and I could rush into folly with little remorse. My last reform was the most remarkable both for degree and continuance. Of this period, at least of some part of it, I may say, in the apostle’s words, “ After the strictest sect of our religion, I lived a pharisee.” I did every thing that might be expected from a person entirely ignorant of God’s righte- I ousness, and desirous to establish his own. T spent the greatest part of every day in reading the scriptures, meditation and pray- er ; I fisted often ; I even abstained from all 1 animal food for three months ; I would hardly ! answer a question for fear of speaking an idle j word. I seemed to bemoan my former miscar- | riages very earnestly, sometimes with tears. ! In short I became an ascetic, and endeavoured, JOURNEY TO KENT, &c. 83 LET. III.] so far as my situation would permit, to re- nounce society, that I might avoid tempta- tion. I continued in this serious mood (I can- not give it a higher title) for more than two years, without any considerable breaking off! But it was a poor religion ; it left me in many respects under the power of sin, and so far as it prevailed, only tended to make me gloomy, stupid, unsociable, and useless. Such was the frame of my mind, when I became acquainted with Lord Shaftesbury. I saw the second volume of his Characteris- tics in a petty shop at Middleburgh in Hol- land. The title allured me to buy it, and the style and manner gave me great plea- sure in reading, especially the second piece, which his lordship, with great propriety, has entitled a Rhapsody. Nothing could be more suited to the romantic turn of my mind, than the address of this pompous declamation ; of the design and tendency I was not aware ; I thought the author a most religious person, and that I had only to follow him, and be happy. Thus with fine words and fair speeches my simple heart was beguiled. This book was always in my hand ; I read it till I could very nearly repeat the Rhapsody verbatim from beginning to end. No imme- diate effect followed, but it operated like a slow poison, and prepared the way for all that followed-. This letter brings my history down to De- cember, 1743. I was then lately returned from a voyage, and my father not intending me for the sea again, was thinking how to settle me in the world ; but I had little life or spirit for business : I knew but little of men or things. I was fond of a visionary scheme of contemplative life ; a medley of religion, philosophy, and indolence; and was quite averse to the thoughts of an industrious application to business. At length a mer- chant in Liverpool, an intimate friend of my father (to whom, as the instrument of God’s goodness, I have since been chiefly indebted for all my earthly comforts,) proposed to send me for some years to Jamaica, and to charge himself with the care of my future fortune. I consented to this, and every thing was pre- pared for my voyage. I was upon the point of setting out the following week. In the meantime, my father sent me on some busi- ness to a place a few miles beyond Maid- stone in Kent; and this little journey, which was to have been only for three or four days, occasioned a sudden and remarkable turn, which roused me from the habitual indolence I had contracted, and gave rise to the series of uncommon dispensations, of which you desire a more particular account. So true it is, “ that the way of man is not in himself; it is not in man that walketh to direct his steps.” — I am affectionately your’s in the best bonds. January 13, 1763. LETTER III. dear sir, — A few days before my intend- ed journey into Kent, I received an invita- tion to visit a family in that county. They were distant relations, but very intimate friends of my dear mother : she died in their house; but a coolness took place upon my father’s second marriage, and I had heard nothing of them for many years. As my road lay within half a mile of their house, I obtained my father’s leave to call on them. I was, however, very indifferent about it, and sometimes thought of passing on : however I went. I was known at first sight, before I could tell my name, and met with the kind- est reception, as the child of a dear deceased friend. My friends had two daug-hters. The eldest (as I understood some years afterwards) had been often considered, by her mother and mine, as a future wife for me from the time of her birth. I know in- deed, that intimate friends frequently amuse themselves with such distant prospects for their children, and that they miscarry much oftener than succeed. I do not say that my mother predicted what was to happen, yet there was something remarkable in the man- ner of its taking place. All intercourse be- tween the families had been long broken off; I was going into a foreign country, and only called to pay a hasty visit; and this I should not have thought of, but for a message re- ceived just at that crisis (for I had not been invited at any time before.) Thus the cir- cumstances were precarious in the highest degree, and the event was as extraordinary. Almost at the first sight of this girl (for she was then under fourteen,) I was impressed with an affection for her, which never abated or lost its influence a single moment in my heart from that hour. In degree, it actually equalled all that the writers of romance have imaged ; in duration, it was unalterable. I soon lost all sense of religion, and became deaf to the remonstrances of conscience and prudence ; but my regard for her was always the same ; and I may perhaps venture to say, that none of the scenes of misery and wick- edness I afterwards experienced, ever ban- ished her a single hour together from my waking thoughts, for the seven following years. Give me leave, Sir, to reflect a little upon this unexpected incident, and to consider its influence upon my future life, and how far it was subservient to the views of divine providence concerning me, which seem to have been twofold ; that by being given up, for awhile, to the consequences of own wil- fulness, and afterwards reclaimed by a high hand, my case, so far as it should be known, might be both a warning and an encourage, ment to others. In the first place, hardly any thing less 84 JOURNEY TO than this violent and commanding- passion would have been sufficient to awaken me from the dull melancholy habit I had con- tracted. I was almost a misanthrope, notwith- standing- I so much admired the pictures of virtue and benevolence as drawn by lord Shaftesbury : but now my reluctance to ac- t ve life was overpowered at once, and I was willing to be or to do any thing, which might subserve the accomplishment of my wishes at some future time. Farther, when I afterwards made ship- wreck of faith, hope, and conscience, my love to this person was the only remaining principle, which in any degree supplied their place ; and the bare possibility of seeing her again was the only present and obvious means of restraining me from the most hor- rid designs against myself and others. But then the ill effects it brought upon me counterbalanced these advantages. The interval, usually styled the time of courtship, is indeed a pleasing part of life, where there is a mutual affection, the consent of friends, a reasonable prospect as to settlement, and the whole is conducted in a prudential manner, and in subordination to the will and fear of God. When things are thus situated, it is a blessing to be susceptive of the tender pas- sions ; but when these concomitants are wanting, what we call love is the most tor- menting passion in itself, and the most de- structive in its consequences, that can be named : and they were all wanting, in my case. I durst not mention it to her friends, or to my own, nor indeed for a considerable time to herself, as I could make no propo- sals : it remained as a dark fire, locked up in my own breast, which gave me a constant uneasiness. By introducing an idolatrous regard to a creature, it greatly weakened my sense of religion, and made farther way for the entrance of infidel principles: and though it seemed to promise great things, as an incentive to diligence and activity in life, in reality it performed nothing. I often formed mighty projects in my mind, of what I would willingly do or suffer for the sake of her I loved ; yet, while I could have her company, I was incapable of forcing myself away to improve opportunities that offered ; still less could it do in regulating my man- ners. It did not prevent me from engaging in a long train of excess and riot, utterly un- worthy the honourable pretensions I had formed. And though through the wonderful interposition of divine goodness, the maze of my follies was at length unravelled, and my wishes crowned in such a manner as over- paid my sufferings ; yet, I am sure, I would not go through the same series of trouble again to possess all the treasures of both the Indies. I have enlarged more than I intend- ed on this point, as perhaps these papers may be useful to caution others against indulging KENT, AND [let. iii. an ungovernable passion by my painful ex- perience. How often may such headstrong votaries be said “ to sow the wind, and reap the whirlwind.” My heart being now fixed and riveted to a particular object, I considered every thing I was concerned with in a new light. I con- cluded it would be absolutely impossible to live at such a distance as Jamaica, for a term of four or five years, and therefore deter- mined at all events that I would not go. I could not bear either to acquaint my father with the true reason, or to invent a false one; therefore, without giving any notice to him why I did so, I staid three weeks instead of three days in Kent, till I thought (as it proved) the opportunity would be lost, and the ship sailed. I then returned to London. I had highly displeased my father by this disobedience ; but he was more easily re- conciled than I could have expected. In a little time I sailed with a friend of his to Venice. In this voyage, I was exposed to the company anti ill example of the common sailors among whom I ranked. Importunity and opportunity presenting every day, I once more began to relax from the sobriety and order which I had observed, in some degree, for more than two years. I was sometimes pierced with sharp convictions; but though I made a few faint efforts to stop, as I had done from several before ; I did not, indeed, as yet turn out profligate ; but I was making large strides towards a total apostacy from God. The most remarkable check and alarm I re- ceived (and for what I know, the last,) was oy a dream, which made a very strong, though not any abiding impression upon my mind. The consideration of whom I writing to renders it needless for me either to enter upon a discussion of the nature of dreams in general, or to make an apology for recording my own. Those who acknowledge scripture will allow that there have been monitory and supernatural dreams, evident communi- cations from heaven, either directing or fore- telling future events: and those who are acquainted with the history and experience of the people of God are well assured, that such intimations have not been totally with- held in any period dowm to the present times. Reason, far from contradicting this supposi- tion, strongly pleads for it, where the process of reasoning is rightly understood, and care- fully pursued. So that a late eminent wri- ter,* who, I presume, is not generally charged with enthusiasm, undertakes to prove, that the phenomenon of dreaming is inexplicable at least, if not absolutely impossible, without, taking in the agency and intervention of spiritual beings, to us* invisible. I would re- fer the incredulous to him. For my own part, I can say, without scruple, “ The dream * Baxter or the Vis Inertia;, 85 VOYAGE TO VENICE, &c. LET. III.] is certain, and the interpretation thereof sure.” 1 am sure I dreamed to the following effect, and I cannot doubt, from what I have seen since, that it had a direct and easy ap- plication to my own circumstances, to the dangers into which I was about to plunge myself, and to the unmerited deliverance and mercy which God would be pleased to offer me in the time of my distress. Though I have wrote out a relation of this dream more than once for others, it has hap- pened tlfcit I never reserved a copy ; but the principal incidents are so deeply engraven in my memory, that I believe I am not liable to any considerable variations in repeating the account. The scene presented to my imagi- nation was the harbour of Venice, where we had lately been. I thought it was night, and my watch upon the deck ; and that, as I was walking to and fro by myself, a person came to me, (I do not remember from whence,) and brought me a ring, with an express charge to keep it carefully ; assur- ing me that while I preserved that ring, I should be happy and successful : but, if I lost or parted with it, I must expect nothing but trouble and misery. I accepted the present and the terms willingly, not in the least doubting my own care to preserve it, and highly satisfied to have my happiness in my own keeping. I was engaged in these thoughts, when a second person came to me, and observing the ring on my finger, took occasion to ask me some questions concern- ing it. I readily told him its virtues, and his answer expressed a surprise at my weak- ness, in expecting such effects from a ring. I think he reasoned with me some time upon the impossibility of the thing, and at length urged me in direct terms to throw it away. At first, I was shocked at the proposal ; but his insinuations prevailed. I began to reason and doubt myself, and at last plucked it off my finger, and dropt it over the ship’s side into the water, which it had no sooner touched, than I saw, the same instant, a ter- rible fire burst out from a range of moun- tains, (a part of the Alps,) which appeared at some distance behind the city of Venice. I saw the hills as distinct as if awake, and they were all in flames. I perceived too late my folly ; and my tempter, with an air of insult, informed me, that all the mercy God had in reserve for me, was comprised in that ring, which I had wilfully thrown away. I understood that I must now go with him to the burning mountains, and that all the flames I saw were kindled upon my account. I trembled, and was in a great agony ; so that it was surprising I did not then awake : but my dream continued, and when I thought myself upon the point of a constrained departure, and stood self-con- demned, without plea or hope ; suddenly, either a third person, or the same who brought the ring at first, (I am not certain which,) came to me, and demanded the cause of my grief. I told him the plain case, con- fessing that I had ruined myself wilfully, and deserved no pity. He blamed my rash- ness, and asked if I should be wiser, sup- posing I had my ring again. I could hardly answer to this ; for I thought it was gone beyond recal. I believe, indeed, I had not time to answer, before I saw this unexpected friend go down under the water, just in the spot where I dropped it; and he scon re- turned, bringing the ring with him. The moment he came on board, the flames in the mountains were extinguished, and my sedu- cer left me. Then was “the prey taken from the hand of the mighty, and the lawful captive delivered.” My fears were at an end, and with joy and gratitude I approached my kind deliverer to receive the ring again ; but he refused to return it, and spoke to this effect : “ If you should be entrusted with this ring again, you would very soon bring your- self into the same distress ; you are not able to keep it ; but I will preserve it for you, and whenever it is needful, will produce it in your behalf.”— Upon this I awoke, in a state of mind not to be described : I could hardly eat, or sleep, or transact my necessary business for two or three days ; but the im- pression soon wore off, and in a little time I totally forgot it ; and I think it hardly oc- curred to my mind again, till several years afterwards. It will appear, in the course of these papers, that a time came, when 1 found myself in circumstances very nearly resembling those suggested by this extraor- dinary dream, when I stood helpless and hopeless upon the brink of an awful eternity : and I doubt not, but had the eyes of my mind been then opened, I should have seen my grand enemy, who had seduced me, wilfully to renounce and cast away my religious pro- fession, and to involve myself in the most complicated crimes ; I say, I should probably have seen him pleased with my agonies, and waiting for a permission to seize and bear away my soul to this place of torment. I should perhaps have seen likewise that Jesus, whom I had persecuted and defied, rebuking the adversary, challenging me for his own, as a brand plucked out of the fire, and say- ing, “ Deliver him from going down into the pit; I have found a ransom.” However, though I saw not these things, I found the benefit; I obtained mercy. The Lord an- swered for me in the day of my distress; and, blessed be his name, he who restored the ring, (or what was signified by it,) vouch- safes to keep it. O what an unspeakable comfort is this, that I am not in mine own keeping. “ The Lord is my shepherd :” I have been able to trust my all in his hands, and I know in whom I have believed. Satan still desires to have me, that he might sift 66 JOURNEY TO KENT, &c. as wheat ; but my Saviour has prayed for me, that my faith may not fail. Here is my security and power ; a bulwark, against which the gates of hell cannot prevail. But for this, many a time and often, if possible, I should have ruined myself, since my first deliverance ; nay, I should fall, and stumble, and perish still, after all that the Lord has done for me, if his faithfulness was not engaged in my behalf, to be my sun and shield even unto death. — “ Bless the Lord, O my soul.” Nothing very remarkable occurred in the following part of that voyage. I returned home in December, 1743, and soon after re- peated my visit to Kent, where I protracted my stay in the same imprudent manner I had done before, which again disappointed my father's designs in my favour, and almost provoked him to disown me. Before any thing suitable offered again I was impressed (owing entirely to my own thoughtless con- duct which was all of a piece.) and put on board a tender : it was a critical juncture, when the French fleets were hovering upon our coast, so that my father was incapable to procure my release. In a few days I was sent on board the Harwich man-of-war, at the Nore. I entered here upon quite a new scene of life, and endured much hardship for about a month. My father was then willing that I should remain in the navy, as a war was daily expected, and procured me a re- commendation to the captain, who took me upon the quarter deck as a midshipman. I had now an easy life, as to externals, and might have gained respect; but my mind was unsettled, and my behaviour very indif- ferent I here met with companions who completed the ruin of my principles; and though I affected to talk of virtue, and was not utterly abandoned as afterwards, yet my delight and habitual practice was wicked- ness : my chief intimate was a person of ex- ceeding good natural talents, and much ob- servation ; he was the greatest master of what is called the free-thinking scheme I remember to have met with, and knew how to insinuate his sentiments in the mast plau- sible way. And his zeal was equal to his ad- dress; he could hardly have laboured more in the cause, if he had expected to gain heaven by it. Allow me to add, while I think of it, that this man, whom i honoured as my mas- ter, and whose practice I adopted so eagerly, 'perished in the same way as I expected to ha 7 e done. I have been told, that he was overtaken in a voyage from Lisbon with a violent storm : the vessel and people escaped, but a great sea broke on board and swept him into eternity. Thus the Lord spares or punishes according to his sovereign pleasure ! But to return : — I was fond of his company, and having myself a smattering of books, was eager enough to show my reading. He soon perceived my case that I had not wholly [let. III. broke through the restraints of conscience, and therefore did not shock me at first with too broad intimations of his design ; he rather, as I thought, spoke favourably of religion : but when he had gained my confidence, he began to speak plainer ; and perceiving my ignorant attachment to the characteristics, he joined issue with me upon that book, and convinced me that I had never understood it In a word, he so plied me with objec- tions and arguments, that my depraved heart was soon gained, and I entered into his plan with all my spirit. Thus, like an unwary sailor, who quits his port just before the ris- ing storm, I renounced the hopes and com- forts of the gospel at the very time when every other comfort was about *to fail me. In December, 1744, the Harwich was in the Downs, bound to the East Indies. The captain gave me liberty to go on shore for a day ; but without consulting prudence, or regarding consequences, I took horse, and followed the dictates of my restless passion ; I went to take a last leave of her I loved. I had little satisfaction in the interview, as I was sensible that I was taking pains to mul- tiply my own troubles. The short time I could stay passed like a dream, and on new- year’s day, 1745, I took my leave to return to the ship. The captain was prevailed on to excuse my absence; but this rash step (especially as it was not the first step of the kind I had taken,) highly displeased him, and lost me his favour, which I never re- covered. At length we sailed from Spithead with a very large fleet. We put into Torbay with a change of wind; but it returning fair again, w T e sailed the next day. Several of our fleet w r ere lost in attempting to leave that place: and the following night the whole fleet was greatly endangered upon the coast of Cornwall, b}’ - a storm from the southward. The darkness of the night, and the number of the vessels, occasioned much confusion and damage. Our ship, though several times in imminent danger of being run down by other vessels, escaped unhurt ; but many suffered much, particularly the admiral. This occasioned our putting back to Plymouth. While we lay at Plymouth, I heard that my father, who had interest in some of the ships lately lost, was come down to Torbay. He had a connexion at that time with the African company. I thought if I could get to him, he might easily introduce me into that service, which would be better than pursuing a long uncertain voyage to the East Indies. It was a maxim with me in those unhappy days, never to deliberate ; the thought hardly occurred to me before I was resolved to leave the ship at all events : I did so, and in the wrongest manner possible. I was sent one day in the boat, to take care VOYAGE TO MADEIRA, &c. 87 LET. IV.] I hat none of the people deserted; but I be- trayed my trust, and tvent off myself. I knew not what road to take, and durst not ask for fear of being’ suspected ; yet having' some general idea of the country, I guessed right ; and when I had travelled some miles, I found upon inquiry, that I was on the road to Dartmouth. All went smoothly that day, and part of the next: I walked apace, and expected to have been with my father in about two hours, when I was met by a small party of soldiers; I could not avoid or de- ceive them. They brought me back to Ply- mouth. I walked through the streets guarded like a felon. My heart was full of indigna- tion, shame, and fear. I was confined two 3ays in the guard house, then sent on board jny ship, and kept awhile in irons, then pub- icly stripped and whipped ; after which I was degraded from my office, and all my former companions forbidden to show me the least favour, or even to speak to me. As midshipman, T had been entitled to some command, which (being sufficiently haughty and vain,) I had not been backward to exert. I was now in my turn brought down to a level with the lowest, and exposed to the in- sults of all. And as my present situation was uncom- fortable, my future prospects were still worse : the evils I suffered were likely to grow heavier every day. While my catastrophe was recent, the officers and my quondam brethren were something disposed to screen me from ill usage ; but, during the little time I remained with them afterwards, I found them cool very fast in their endeavours to protect me. Indeed they could not avoid it without running a great risk of sharing with me ; for the captain, though in general a humane man, who be- haved very well to the ship’s company, was almost implacable in his resentment, when he had been greatly offended, and took se- veral occasions to show himself so to me ; and the voyage was expected to be, as it proved, for five years. Yet I think nothing I either felt or feared distressed me so much, as to see myself thus forcibly torn a way from the object of my affections, under a great improbability of seeing her again, and a much greater of returning in such a manner as would give me hopes of seeing her mine. Thus I was as miserable on all hands as could well be imagined. My breast was filled with the most excruciating passions, eager desire, bitter rage, and black despair. Every hour exposed me to some new insult and hardship, with no hope of relief or mitigation, no friend to take my part, or to listen to my complaint. Whether I looked inward or out- ward, I could perceive nothing but darkness and misery. I think no case except that of a conscience wounded by the wrath of God, could be more dreadful than mine. I cannot express with what wishfulness and regret I cast my last looks upon the English shore ; i kept my eyes fixed upon it till, the ship’s distance increasing, it sensibly disappeared , and when I could see it no longer, I was tempted to throw myself into the sea, which (according to the wicked system I had adopted) would put a period to all my sorrows at once. But the secret hand of God re- strained me. — Help me to praise him, dear Sir, for his wonderful goodness to the most unworthy of all creatures. — I am your most obliged servant. January 15, 1763. LETTER IV. dear .sir, — Though I desired your instruc- tions as to the manner and extent of these me- moirs, I began to write before I received them, and had almost finished the preceding sheet when your favour of the 11th came to hand. I shall find another occasion to acknowledge my sense of your kind expressions of friend- ship, which, I pray the Lord, I may never give you cause to repent or withdraw; at present I shall confine myself to what more particularly relates to the task assigned me. I shall obey you, Sir, in taking ndtice of the little incidents you recal to my memory, and of others of the like nature, which, without your direction, I should have thought too trivial, and too much my own to deserve mentioning. When I began the eighth letter, I intended to say no more of myself than might be neces- sary to illustrate the wonders of divine pro- vidence and grace in the leading turns of my life ; but I account your judgment a sufficient warrant for enlarging my plan. Amongst other things, you desired a more explicit account of the state and progress of my courtship, as it is usually phrased. This was the point in which I thought it especially became me to be very brief ; but I submit to you ; and this seems a proper place to resume it, by telling you how it stood at the time of my leaving England. — When my inclinations first discovered themselves, both parties were so young, that no one but myself considered it in a serious view. It served for tea-table talk amongst our friends, and nothing further was expected from it. But afterwards, when my passion seemed to have abiding effects, so that in an interval of two years it was not at all abated, and especially as it occasioned me to act without any regard to prudence or interest, or my father’s Resigns, and as there was a coolness between him and the family, her parents began to consider it as a matter of consequence ; and when I took my last leave of them, her mother (at the same time she expressed the most tender affection for me, as if I had been her own child) told me, that though she had no objections to make, 88 VOYAGE TO MADEIRA, &c. upon a supposition that, at a maturer age, there should be a probability of our engaging upon a prudent prospect, yet, as things then stood, she thought herself obliged to inter- fere ; and therefore desired I would no more think of returning to her house, unless her daughter was from home, till such time as I could either prevail with myself entirely to give up my pretensions, or could assure her that I had my father’s express consent to go on. Much depended upon Mrs. N*****’s part in this affair ; it was something difficult ; but though she was young, gay, and quite un- practised in such matters, she was directed to a happy medium. A positive encourage- ment, or an absolute refusal, would have been attended with equal, though different disad- vantages. But without much studying about it, I found her always upon her guard : she had penetration to see her absolute power over me, and prudence to make a proper use of it ; she would neither understand my hints, nor give me room to come to a direct ex- planation. She has said since, that from the first discovery of my regard, and long before the thought was agreeable to her, she had often an unaccountable impression upon her mind, that sooner or later she should be mine. Upon these terms we parted. I now return to my voyage. During our passage to Maderia, I was a prey to the most gloomy thoughts. Though I had well de- served all I met with, and the captain might have been justified if he had carried his re- sentment still farther ; yet my pride at that time suggested that I had been grossly injur- ed, and this so far wrought upon my wicked heart, that I actually formed designs against his life ; and this was one reason that made me willing to prolong my own. I was some- times divided between the two, not thinking it practicable to effect both. The Lord had now to appearance given me up to judicial blindness; I was capable of any thing. I had not the least fear of God before my eyes, nor (so far as I remember) the least sensibility of conscience. I was possessed of so strong a spirit of delusion, that I believed my own lie, and was firmly persuaded that after death I should cease to be : yet the Lord preserved me ! Some intervals of sober reflection would at times take place: when I have chosen death rather than life, a ray of hope would come in (though there was little probability for such a hope) that I should yet see better days, that I might again return to England, and have my wishes crowned, if I did not wLfully throw inyself away. In a word, my love to Mrs. N***** was now the only re- straint I had left: though I neither feared God, nor regarded men, I could not bear that she should think meanly of me when I was dead. As in the outward concerns of life, the weakest means are often employed by divine providence to produce great effects, [let. iv. beyond their common influence (as when a disease, for instanqp, has been removed by a fright,) so I found it then: this single thought, which had not restrained me from a thousand smaller evils, proved my only and effectual barrier against the greatest and most fatal temptations. How long I could have sup- ported this conflict, or what, humanly speak- ing, would have been the consequence of my continuing in that situation, I cannot say ; but the Lord whom I little thought of, knew my danger, and was providing for my deliverance. Two things I had determined when at Ply- mouth, that I would not go to India, and that I would go to Guinea ; and such, indeed, was the Lord’s will concerning me; but they were to be accomplished in his way, not in my own. W e had been now at Maderia some time ; the business of the fleet was complet- ed, and we were to sail the following day. On that memorable morning I was late in bed, and had slept longer, but that one of the midshipmen (an old companion) came down, and between jest and earnest bade me rise ; and as I did not immediately comply, be cut down the hammock or bed in which I lay, which forced me to dress myself. I was very angry, but durst not resent it. I was little aware how much his caprice affected me, and that this person, who had no design in what he did, was the messenger of God’s provi- dence. I said little, but went upon deck, where I that moment saw a man putting his clothes into a boat, who told me he was going to leave us. Upon inquiring, I was inform- ed that two men from a Guinea ship, which lay near us, had entered on board the Har- wich, and that the commodore (the present Sir George Pocock) had ordered the captain to send two others in their room. My heart instantly burned like fire. I begged the boat might be detained a few minutes ; I ran to the lieutenants, and intreated them to inter- cede with the captain that I might be dis- missed. Upon this occasion, though I had been formerly on ill terms with these officers, and had disobliged them all in their turns, yet they had pitied my case, and were ready to serve me now. The captain, who, when we were at Plymouth, had refused to exchange me, though at the request of admiral Medley, was now easily prevailed on. I believe, in little more than half an hour from my being asleep in my bed, I saw myself discharged, and safe on board another ship. This was one of the many critical turns of my life, in which the Lord was pleased to display his providence and care, by causing many un- expected circumstances to concur in almost an instant of time. These sudden opportu- nities were several times repeated : each of them brought me into an entire new scene of action ; and they were usually delayed to almost the last moment, in which they could have taken place. HARDSHIPS ENDURED IN AFRICA. 89 LET. V.] The ship T went on hoard of was bound to Sierra Leone, and the adjacent parts of what ia called the Windward Coast of Africa. The commander, I found, was acquainted with my father : he received me very kindly, and made fair professions of assistance, and i believe he would have been my friend ; but without making* the least advantage of former mistakes and troubles, I pursued the same course ; nay, if possible, I acted much worse. On board the Harwich, though my principles were totally corrupted, yet, as upon my first going there I was in some degree staid and serious, the remembrance of this made me ashamed of breaking out in that notorious manner I could otherwise have indulged. But now, entering amongst strangers, I could appear without disguise ; and I well remember, that while I was pass- ing from the one ship to the other, this was one reason why I rejoiced in the exchange, and one reflection I made upon the occasion, viz. that I now might be as abandoned as I pleased, without any control : and, from this time, I was exceedingly vile indeed, little if any thing short of that animated description of an almost irrecoverable state, which we have in 2 Peter ii. 14. I not only sinned with a high hand myself, but made it my study to tempt and seduce others upon every occasion: nay, I eagerly sought occasion sometimes to my own hazard and hurt. One natural consequence of this carriage was, a loss of the favour of my new captain ; not that he was at all religious, or disliked my wickedness, any further than it affected his interest ; but I became careless and disobe- dient ; I did not please him, because I did not intend it ; and, as he was a man of an odd temper likewise, we the more easily dis- agreed. Besides, I had a little of that un- lucky wit, which can do little more than multiply troubles and enemies to its pos- sessor; and upon some imagined affront, I made a song, in which I ridiculed his ship, his designs, and his person, and soon taught it to the whole ship’s company. Such was the ungrateful return I made for his offers of friendship and protection. I had men- tioned no names, but the allusion was plain, and he was no stranger either to the inten- tion or the author. — I shall say no more of this part of my story ; let it be buried in eternal silence. But let me not be silent from the praise of that grace which could pardon, that blood which could expiate such sins as mine ; yea, “ the Ethiopian may change his skin, and the leopard his spots,” since I, who was the willing slave of every evil, possessed with a legion of unclean spirits, have been spared, and saved, and changed, to stand a monument of his Al- mighty power for ever. Thus I went on for about six months, by *vhich time the sh ; p was preparing to leave M the coast. A few days before she sailed the captain died. I was not upon much better terms with his mate, who now succeeded to the command, and had upon some occasion treated me ill : I made no doubt, but, if I went with him to the West Indies, he would put me on board a man-of-war ; and this, from what I had known already, was more dreadful to me than death. To avoid it, 1 determined to remain in Africa, and amused myself wit. >. many golden dreams, that here I should find an opportunity of improving my fortune. There are still upon that part of the coast a few white men settled, (and there were many more at the time I was first there,) whose business it was to purchase slaves, & c. in the rivers and country adjacent, and sell them to the ships at an advanced price. One of these, who at first landed in my in- digent circumstances, had acquired consider- able wealth : he had lately been in England, and was returning in the vessel I was in, of which he owned a quarter part. His ex- ample impressed me with hopes of the same success ; and upon condition of entering into his service, I obtained my discharge. I had not the precaution to make any terms, but trusted to his generosity. I received no compensation for my time on board the ship, but a bill upon the owners in England, which was never paid ; for they failed before my return. The day before the vessel sailed I landed upon the island of Benanoes, with little more than the clothes upon my back, as if I had escaped shipwreck. — I am, dear Sir, your’s, &c. January 17, 1763. LETTER V. dear sir, — There seems an important in- struction, and of frequent use, in these words of our dear Lord, “ Mine hour is not yet come.” The two following years, of which I am now to give some account, will seem as an abso- lute blank in a very short life : but as the Lord’s hour of grace was not yet come, and I was to have still deeper experience of the dreadful state of the heart of man, when left to itself ; I have seen frequent cause since, to admire the mercy of the Lord in banish- ing me to those distant parts, and almost ex- cluding me from human society, at a time when 1 was big with mischief, and, like one infected with a pestilence, was capable of spreading a taint wherever I went. Had my affairs taken a different turn ; had I suc- ceeded in my designs, and remained in Eng- land, my sad story would probably have been worse. Worse in myself, indeed, I could have hardly been ; but my wickedness would have had greater scope ; I might have been 90 HARDSHIPS ENDURED IN AFRICA. I LET. V. very hurtful to others, and multiplied irre- parable evils ; but the Lord wisely placed me Wiiere I could do little harm. The few I l n . 1 to converse with were too much like myself, and I was soon brought into such abject circumstances, that I was too low to have any influence. I was rather shunned and despised than imitated; there being few even of the negroes themselves, during the first year of my residence amongst them, Liit thought themselves too good to speak to me. I was as yet an “ outcast lying in my blood,” (Ezek. xvi.) and to all appearance exposed to perish. But the Lord beheld me with mercy, — he did not strike me to hell, as I justly deserved ; “ he passed by me when I was in my blood, and said unto me live.” But the appointed time for the mani- festation of his love, to cover all my iniqui- ties with the robe of his righteousness, and to admit me to the privileges of his children, was not till long afterwards ; yet even now he bade me live ; and I can only ascribe it to his secret upholding power, that what I suffered in a part of this interval, did not be- reave me either of my life or senses ; yet as by these sufferings the force of my evil ex- ample and inclinations was lessened, I have reason to account them amongst my mercies. It may not, perhaps, be amiss to digress for a few lines, and give you a very brief sketch of the geography of the circuit I was now confined to, especially as I may have frequent occasion to refer to places I shall now mention ; for my trade afterwards when the Lord gave me to see better days, was chiefly to the same places, and with the same persons, where and by whom I had been con- sidered as upon a level with their meanest slaves. From Cape De Verd, the most wes- tern point of Africa, to Cape Mount, the whole coast is full of rivers: the principal are Gambia, Rio Grande, Sierra Leone, and Sherbro. Of the former, as it is well known, and I was never there, I need say nothing. The Rio Grande, like the Nile, divides into many branches near the sea. On the most northerly, called Cacheo, the Portuguese have a settlement. The most southern branch, known by the name of Rio Nuna, is, or then was, the usual boundary of the white men’s trade northward. Sierra Leone is a mountainous peninsula, uninhabited, and I believe inaccessible, upon account of the thick woods, excepting those parts which lie near the water. The river is large and na- vigable. From hence, about twelve leagues to the south-east, are three contiguous is- lands, called the Benanoes, about twenty miles in circuit : this was about the centre of the white men’s residence. Seven leagues farther the same way, lie the Plantanes, three small islands, two miles distant from the con- tinent at the point which forms one side of the Sherbro. This river is more properly a sound, running within a long island, and re- ceiving the confluence of several large rivers, “ rivers unknown to song,” but far more deeply engraven in my remembrance than the Po or Tyber. The southernmost of these has a very peculiar course, almost parallel to the coast ; so that in tracing it a great many leagues upwards, it will seldom lead one above three miles, and sometimes not more than half a mile from the sea-shore. Indeed I know not, but that all these rivers may have communications with each other, and with the sea in many places, which I have not remarked. If you cast your eyes upon a large map of Africa, while you are read- ing this, you will have a general idea of the country I was in ; for though the maps are very incorrect, most of the places I have mentioned are inserted, and in the same order as I have named them. My new master had formerly resided near Cape Mount, but he now settled at the Plan- tanes, upon the largest of the three islands. It is a low sandy island, about two miles in circumference, and almost covered with palm- trees. We immediately began to build a house, and to enter upon trade. I had now some desire to retrieve my lost time, and to exert diligence in what was before me ; and he was a man with whom I might have lived tolerably well, if he had not been soon influ- enced against me : but he was much under the direction of a black woman, who lived with him as a wife. She was a person of some consequence in her own country, and he owed his first rise to her interest. This woman, (I know not for what reason,) was strangely prejudiced against me from the first; and what made it still worse for me, was a severe fit of illness, which attacked me very soon, before I had opportunity to show what I could or would do in his service. I was sick when he sailed in a shallop to Rio Nuna, and he left me in her hands. At first I was taken some care of ; but, as I did not recover very soon, she grew weary, and entirely neglected me. I had sometimes not a little difficulty to procure a draught of cold water, when burning with a fever. My bed was a mat, spread upon a board or chest, and a log of wood my pillow. When my fever left me, and my appetite returned, I would gladly have eaten, but there was no one gave unto me. She lived in plenty her- self, but hardly allowed me sufficient to sus- tain life, except now and then, when in the highest good humour, she would send me victuals in her own plate, after she had dined ; and this, (so greatly was my pride humbled,) I received with thanks and eager ness, as the most needy beggar does an alms. Once, I well remember, I was called to re- ceive this bounty from her own hand ; but, being exceedingly weak and feeble, I drop- ped the plate. Those who live in plenty can HARDSHIPS ENDURED IN AFRICA. 91 1«ET. V.] hardly conceive how this loss touched me ; but she had the cruelty to laugh at my dis- appointment ; and though the table was co- vered with dishes, (for she lived much in the European manner,) she refused to give me any more. My distress has been at times so great, as to compel me to go, by night, and pull up roots in the plantation, (though at the risk of being punished as a thief,) which I have eaten raw upon the spot, for fear of discovery. The roots I speak of are very wiiolesome food, when boiled or roasted, but as unfit to be eaten raw in any quantity, as a potatoe. The consequence of this diet, which, after the first experiment, I always expected, and seldom missed, was the same as if I had taken tartar emetic ; so that I often returned as empty as I went : yet ne- cessity urged me to repeat the trial several times. I have sometimes been relieved by strangers; nay, even by the slaves in the chain, who secretly brought me victuals (for they durst not be seen to do it,) from their own slender pittance. Next to pressing want, nothing sits harder upon the mind than scorn and contempt : and of this likewise I had an abundant measure. When I was very slowly recovering, this woman would sometimes pay me a visit, not to pity or relieve, but to insult me. She would call me worthless and indolent, and compel me to walk, which when I could hardly do, she would set her attendants to mimic my motions, to clap their hands, laugh, throw limes at me ; or, if they chose to throw stones, (as I think was the case once or twice,) they were not rebuked: but, in general, though all who depended on her favour must join in her treatment, yet, when she was out of sight, I was rather pitied than scorned, by the mean- est of her slaves. At length my master re- turned from his voyage ; I complained of ill usage, but he could not believe me ; and, as I did it in her hearing, I fared no better for it. But in his second voyage he took me with him. We did pretty well for a while, till a brother trader he met in the river, persuaded him that I was unfaithful, and stole his goods in the night, or when he was on shore. This was almost the only vice I could not be justly charged with: the only remains of a good education I could boast of, was what is com- mon^ called honesty : and, as far as he had entrusted me, I had always been true ; and though my great distress might, in some measure, have excused it, I never once thought of defrauding him in the smallest matter. However, the charge was believed, and I condemned without evidence. From that time he likewise used me very hardly ; whenever he left the vessel I was locked upon deck, with a pint of rice for my day’s allowance ; and if he staid longer, I had no relief till his return. Indeed, I believe I should have been nearly starved, but for an opportunity of catching fish sometimes. When fowls were killed for his own use, I seldom was allowed any part but the entrails, to bait my hooks with : and, at what we call slack water , that is, about the changing of the tides, when the current was still, I used generally to fish, (for at other times it was not practicable,) and I very often succeeded. If 1 saw a fish upon my hook, my joy was little less than any other person may have found, in the accomplishment of the scheme he had most at heart. Such a fish, hastily broiled, or rather half burned, without sauce, salt, or bread, has afforded me a delicious meal. If I caught none, I might, if I could, sleep away my hunger till the next return of slack water, and then try again. Nor did I suffer less from the inclemency of the weather and the want of clothes. The rainy season was now advancing ; my whole suit was a shirt, a pair of trowsers, a cotton handkerchief instead of a cap, and a cotton cloth about two yards long, to supply the want of upper g-arments: and thus accoutred, I have been exposed for twenty, thirty, per- haps near forty hours together, in incessant rains, accompanied with strong gales of wind, without the least shelter, when my master was on shore. I feel to this day some faint returns of the violent pains I then contracted. The excessive cold and wet I endured in that voyage, and soon after I had recovered from a long sickness, quite broke my con- stitution and my spirits ; the latter were soon restored, but the effects of the former still remain with me, as a needful memento of the service and the wages of sin. In about two months we returned, and then the rest of the time I remained with him was chiefly spent at the Plantanes under the same regimen as I have already men- tioned. My haughty heart was now brought down, not to a wholesome repentance, not to the language of the prodigal ; this was far from me ; but my spirits were sunk ; ] lost all resolution, and almost all reflection. I had lost the fierceness which fired me when on board the Harwich, and which made me capable of the most desperate at- tempts ; but I was no further changed than a tyger tamed by hunger — remove the occa- sion, and lie will be as wild as ever. One thing, though strange, is most true. Though destitute of food and clothing, de- pressed to a degree beyond common wretch- edness, I could sometimes collect my mind to mathematical studies. I had bought Bar- row’s Euclid at Portsmouth ; it was the only volume I brought on shore; it was always with me, and 1 used to take it to remote corners of the island by the sea side, and draw my diagrams with a long stick upon the sand. Thus I often beguiled my sor- rows, and almost forgot my feeling: and thus, without any other assistance, I made 92 ENLARGEMENT IN AFRICA. myself, in good measure, master of the first six books of Euclid. — I am, your’s as before. January 17, 1763. LETTER VI. dear sir, — There is much piety and spirit in the grateful acknowledgment of Jacob, “ With my staff I passed this Jordan, and now I am become two bands.” They are words which ought to affect me with a peculiar emotion. I remember that in some of those mournful days, to which my last letter re- fers, I was busied in planting some lime or lemon trees. The plants I put into the ground were no longer than a young goose- berry bush ; my master and his mistress passing by the place, stopped a while to look at me; at last, “Who knows,” says he, “who knows but by the time these trees grow up and bear, you may go home to England, ob- tain the command of a ship, and return to reap the fruits of your labours; we see strange things sometimes happen.” This, as he intended it, was a cutting sarcasm. I be- lieve he thought it full as probable, that I should live to be king of Poland; yet it proved a prediction, and they (one of them at least) lived to see me return from England in the capacity he had mentioned, and pluck some of the first limes from those very trees. How can I proceed in my relation, till I raise a monument to the divine goodness, by com- paring the circumstances in which the Lord has since placed me, with what I was at that time ! Had you seen me, Sir, then go so pensive and solitary in the dead of night to wash my one shirt upon the rocks, and after- wards put it on wet, that it might dry upon my back, while I slept; had you seen me so poor a figure, that when a ship’s boat came to the island, shame often constrained me to hide myself in the woods, from the sight of strangers; especially, had you known that my conduct, principles, and heart, were still darker than my outward condition, how little would you have imagined that one, who so fully answered to the -/.** nHrwres* of the apostle, was reserved to be so peculiar an instance of the providential care and ex- uberant goodness of God. There was, at that time, but one earnest desire in my heart, which was not contrary and shocking both to religon and reason ; that one desire, though my vile licentious life rendered me peculiarly unworthy of success, and though a thousand difficulties seemed to render it im- possible, the Lord was pleased to gratify. But this favour, though great, and greatly prized, was a small thing compared to the blessings of his grace : he spared me, to give [let. hi. me the knowledge of himself, in the person of Jesus Christ ; in love to my soul he de- livered me from the pit of corruption, and cast all my aggravated sins behind his back. He brought my feet into the paths of peace. This is indeed the chief article, but it is not the whole. When he made me acceptable to himself in the beloved, he gave me favour in the sight of others. He raised me new friends, protected and guided me through a long series of dangers, and crowned every day with repeated mercies. To him I owe it that I am still alive, and that I am not still living in hunger, and in thirst, and in nakedness, and the want of all things : into that state I brought myself, but it was he who delivered me. He has given me an easy situation in life, some experimental lino wl edge of his gospel, a large acquaint- ance amongst his people, a friendship and correspondence with several of his most honoured servants. But it is as difficult to enumerate my present advantages, as it is fully to describe the evils and miseries of the preceding contrast. I know not exactly how long things con- tinued with me thus, but I believe near a twelvemonth. In this interval I wrote two or three times to my father; I gave him an ac- count of my condition, and desired his assist- ance, intimating at the same time, that I bad resolved not to return to England, unless he was pleased to send for me ; I have likewise letters by me wrote to Mrs. N***** in that dismal period; so that at the lowest ebb, it seems I still retained a hope of seeing her again. My father applied to his friend in Liverpool, of whom I have spoken before, who gave orders accordingly to a captain of his, who was then fitting out for Gambia and Sierra Leone. Some time within the year, as I have said, I obtained my master’s consent to live with another trader, who dwelt upon the same island. Without his consent I could not be taken, and he was unwilling to do it sooner, but it was then brought about. This was an alteration much to my advantage ; I was soon decently clothed, lived in plenty, was considered as a companion, and trusted with the care of all his domestic effects, which were to the amount of some thousand pounds. This man had several factories and white servants in different places, particu- larly one in Kittam, the river I spoke of which runs so near along the sea coast. I was soon appointed to go there, where I had a share in the management of business, jointly with another of his servants: we lived as we pleased, business flourished, and our employ- er was satisfied. Here I began to be wretch enough to think myself happy. There is a significant phrase frequently used in those parts, that such a white man is grown black. It does not intend an alteration of com Hateful and hating one another. ENLARGEMENT IN AFRICA. LET. VI.] plexion, but disposition. I have known several, w ho, settling in Africa after the age of thirty or forty, have at that time of life been gradu- ally assimilated to the tempers, customs, and ceremonies of the natives, so far as to prefer that country to England ; they have even become dupes to all the pretended charms, necromances, amulets, and divinations of the blinded negroes, and put more trust in such things than the wiser sort among the na- tivas. A part of this spirit of infatuation was growing upon me ; in time, perhaps, I might have yielded to the whole : I entered into closer engagements with the inhabitants, and should have lived and died a wretch amongst them, if the Lord had not watched over me for good. Not that I had lost those ideas which chiefly engaged my heart to England, but despair of seeing them accomplished made me willing to remain where I was. I thought I could more easily bear the dis- appointment in this situation, than nearer uome. But, so soon as I had fixed my con- nexions and plans with these views, the Lord providentially interposed to break them in pieces, and save me from ruin in spite of myself In the mean time, the ship that had orders to bring me home arrived at Sierra Leone : the captain made inquiry for me there and at the Benanoes ; but understanding that I was at a great distance in the country, he thought no more about me. Without doubt the hand of God directed my being placed at Kittam just at this time ; for, as the ship came no nearer than the Benanoes, and staid but a few days, if I had been at the Plantanes, I could not perhaps have heard of her till she had been sailed. The same must have certainly been the event, had I been sent to any other factory, of which my new master had several upon different rivers. But though the place I was at, was a long way up a river, much more than a hundred miles dis- tant from the Plantanes, yet, by the peculiar situation which I have already noticed, I was still within a mile of the sea coast. To make the interposition more remarkable, I was at that very juncture going in quest of trade to a place at some distance directly from the sea, and should have set out a day or two before, but that we waited for a few articles from the next ship that offered, to complete the assortment of goods I was to take with me. We used sometimes to walk to the beach, in expectation of seeing a vessel pass by, but this was very precarious, as at that time the place was not at all re- sorted to by ships for trade. Many passed in the night, others kept at a considerable dis- tance from the shore. In a word, I do not Know that any one had stopped while I was there, though some had before, upon observ- ing a signal made from the shore. In Feb- ruary, 1747 (I know not the exact day,) my 9*1 fellow servant walking down to the beach in the forenoon, saw a vessel sailing past, and made a smoke in token of trade. She was already a little beyond the place, and, as the wind was fair, the captain was in some demur whether to stop or not : however, had my companion been half an hour later, she would have gone beyond recal ; but he scon saw her come to anchor, and went on board in a canoe : and this proved the very ship 1 have spoken of. One of the first questions he was asked, was concerning me ; and when the captain understood I was so near, he came on shore to deliver his message. Had an invitation from home reached me, when I was sick and starving at the Plantanes, I should have received it as life from the dead ; but now, for the reasons already given, I heard it at first with indifference. The captain, unwilling to lose me, told a story altogether of his own framing : he gave me a very plausible account, how he had missed a large packet of letters and papers, which he should have brought with him ; but this, he said, he was sure of, having had it from my father’s own mouth, as well as from his employer, that a person lately dead had left me £400 per annum; adding further, that if I was any way embarrassed in my cir- cumstances, he had express orders to redeem me, though it should cost one half of his cargo. Every particular of this was false ; nor could I myself believe what he said about the estate ; but, as I had some expectations from an aged relation, I thought a part of it might be true. But I was not long in sus- pense : for though my father’s care and de- sire to see me had too little weight with me, and would have been insufficient to make me quit my retreat, yet the remembrance of Mrs. N*****, the hopes of seeing her, and the possibility, that accepting this offer might once more put me in a way of gaining her hand, prevailed over all other considerations. The captain further promised (and in this he kept his word,) that I should lodge in his cabin, dine at his table, and be his constant companion, without expecting any service from me. And thus I was suddenly freed from a captivity of about fifteen months. I had neither a thought nor a desire of this change one hour before it took place. I embarked with him, and in a few hours lost sight of Kittam. Plow much is their blindness to be pitied, who can see nothing but chance in events of this sort ! So blind and stupid was I at that time, I made no reflection. I sought no di- rection in what had happened ; like a wave of the sea driven with the wind, and tossed, I was governed by present appearances and looked no further. But he, who is eyes to the blind, was leading me in a way that I knew not. Now 1 am in some measure enlightened, I 94 VOYAGE FROM CAPE LOPEZ FOR ENGLAND. [let. VII. can easily perceive that it is in the adjust- ment and concurrence of these seemingly fortuitous circumstances, that the ruling power and wisdom of God is most evidently displayed in human affairs. How many such casual events may we remark in the his- tory of Joseph, which had each a necessary influence in his ensuing promotion ! If he had not dream 0 1, or if he had not told his dream ; if the Mi Hanites had passed by a day sooner or later ; i f they had sold him to any person but Potipnar; if his mistress had been a better woman ; if Pharaoh’s officers had not displeased their lord ; or if any or all these things had fallen out in any other manner or time than they did, all that followed had been prevented : the promises and purposes of God concerning Israel, their bondage, de- liverances, polity, and settlement, must have failed ; and, as all these things tended to, and centered in Christ, the promised Saviour, the desire of all nations would not have ap- peared ; mankind had been still in their sins, without hope, and the counsels of God's eter- nal love in favour of sinners defeated. Thus we may see a connexion between Joseph’s first dream, and the death of our Lord Christ, with all its glorious consequences. So strong, though secret, is the concatenation between the greatest and the smallest events ! What a comfortable thought is this to a believer to know, that amidst all the various inter- fering designs of men, the Lord has one con- stant design which he cannot, will not miss, namely, nis own glory in the complete sal- vation of his people ; and that he is wise, and strong, and faithful, to make even those things, which seem contrary to this design, subservient to promote it. You have allowed me to comment upon my own text, yet the length of this observation may need some apology. Relieve me to be, with great respect, dear sir, your affectionate and obliged servant. January 18, 1763. LETTER VII. deyr sir, — The ship I was now on board as a passenger, was on a trading voyage for gold, ivory, dyers’ wood, and bees’ wax. It requires much longer time to collect a cargo of this sort than of slaves. The captain began his trade at Gambia, had been already lour or five months in Africa, and continued there a year, or thereabouts, after I was with him; in which time we ranged the whole coast, as far as Cape Lopez, which lies about a degree south of the Equinoctial, and more than a thousand miles farther from England than the place where I embarked. I have little to offer worthy your notice, in the course of this tedious voyage. I lad no business to employ my thoughts, but some- times amused myself with mathematics : ex- cepting this, my whole life, when awake, was a course of most horrid impiety and pro- faneness. I know not that I have ever since met so daring a blasphemer: not content with common oaths and imprecations, I daily invented new ones ; so that I was often se- riously reproved by the captain, who was himself a very passionate man, and not at all circumspect in his expressions. From the relation I at times made him of my past ad- ventures, and what he saw of my conduct, and especially towards the close of the voyage, when we met with many disasters, he would often tell me that, to his great grief he had a Jonah on board ; that a curse attended me wherever I went ; and that all the troubles he met with in the voyage, were owing to his having taken me into the vessel. I shall omit any further particulars, and after mentioning an instance or two of the Lord’s mercy to me, while I was thus defying his power and patience, I shall proceed to some- thing more worthy your perusal. Although I lived long in the excess of al- most every other extravagance, I never was fond of drinking; and my father has often been heard to say, that while I avoided drunkenness, he should still entertain hopes of my recovery. But sometimes I would promote a drinking-bout for a frolic’s sake, as I termed it : for though I did not love the liquor, I ws • sold to do iniquity, and delight- ed in mischief. The last abominable frolic of this sort I engaged in, was in the river Gabon ; the proposal and expense were my own. Four or five of us one evening sat down upon deck, to see who could hold out longest in drinking geneva and rum alter- nately ; a large sea-shell supplied the place of a glass. I was very unfit for a challenge of this sort, for my head was always incapa- ble of bearing much strong drink. H owever, I began and proposed the first toast, which, [ well remember, was some imprecation against the person who should start first. This prov- ed to be myself. My brain was soon fired: I arose and danced about the deck like a madman; and while I was thus diverting my companions, my hat went overboard. By the light of the moon, I saw the ship's boat, and eagerly threw myself over the side to get into her, that I might recover my hat. My sight in that circumstance deceived me, for the boat was not within my reach, as I had thought, but perhaps twenty feet from the ship’s side. I was, however, half over board, and should in one moment more have plunged myself into the water, when some- body catched hold of my clothes behind, and pulled me back. This was an amazing escape, for I could not swim if I had been sober; the tide ran very strong; my com- panions were too much intoxicated to save 95 let. vii.] VOYAGE FROM CAPE me ; and the rest of the ship’s company were asleep. So near I was, to appearance, of per- ishing- in that dreadful condition, and sinking into eternity under the weight of my own curse ! Another time, at cape Lopez, some of us had been in the woods, and shot a buffalo or v/ild cow. We brought a part of it on board, and carefully marked the place (as I thought) where we left the remainder. In the even- ing, we returned to fetch it; but we set out too late. I undertook to be their guide ; but night coming on before we could reach the place, we lost our way. Sometimes we were in swamps up to the middle in water, and when we recovered dry land, we could not tell whether we were walking towards the ship, or wandering farther from her. Every step increased our uncertainty. The night grew darker, and we were entangled in inextricable woods, where perhaps the foot of man had never trod before. That part of the country is entirely abandoned to wild beasts, with which it prodigiously abounds. We were indeed in a terrible case, having neither light, food, nor arms, and expecting a tiger to rush from behind every tree. The stars were clouded, and we had no compass to form a judgment which way we were going. Had things con- tinued thus, we had probably perished ; but it pleased God, no beast came near us ; and after some hours perplexity, the moon arose and pointed out the eastern quarter. It ap- peared then, as we had expected, that in- stead of drawing near to the sea side, we had been penetrating into the country; but by the guidance of the moon, we at length came to the water side, a considerable dis- tance from the ship. We got safe on board, without any other inconvenience than what we suffered from fear and fatigue. Those and many other deliverances were all, at that time, entirely lost upon me. The ad- monitions of conscience, which, from succes- sive repulses, had grown weaker and weaker, at length entirely ceased ; and for a space of many months, if not for some years, I cannot recollect that I had a single check of that sort. At times I have been visited with sickness, and have believed myself near to death, but I had not the least concern about the consequences. In a word, I seemed to have every mark of final impenitence and rejection; neither judgments nor mercies made the least impression on me. At length, our business finished, we left Cape Lopez, and after a few days stay at the island of Annabona, to lay in provisions, we sailed homeward about the beginning of Ja- nuary 1748. From Annabona to England, without touching at any intermediate port, is a very long navigation, perhaps more than seven thousand miles, if we include the cir- cuits necessary to be made on account of the LOPEZ FOR ENGLAND. trade-winds. We sailed first westward, till near the coast of Brazil, then northward, to the banks of Newfoundland, with the usual variations of wind and weather, and without meeting any thing extraordinary. On these banks we stopped half a day to fish for cod ; this was then chiefly for diversion ; we had provisions enough, and little expected those fish (as it afterwards proved) would be all we should have to subsist on. We left the banks on the first of March, with a hard gale of wind, westerly, which pushed us fast homewards. I should here observe, that, with the length of this voyage, in a hot cli- mate, the vessel was greatly out of repair, and very unfit to support stormy weather; the sails and cordage were likewise very much worn out, and many such circum- stances concurred to render what followed more dangerous. I think it was on the ninth of March, the day before our catastro- phe, that I felt a thought pass through my mind, which I had long been a stranger to. Among the few books we had on board, one was Stanhope’s Thomas a Kempis ; I care- lessly took it up, as I had often done before, to pass away the time ; but I had still read it with the same indifference as if it was en- tirely a romance. However, while I was reading this time, an involuntary suggestion arose in my mind : What if these things should be true 1 I could not bear the force of the inference, as it related to myself: and therefore shut the book presently. My conscience witnessed against me once more, and I concluded that, true or false, I must abide the consequences of my own choice. I put an abrupt end to these reflections, by joining in with some vain conversation or other that came in my way. But now the Lord’s time was come, and the conviction I was so unwilling to receive, was deeply impressed upon me by an awful dispensation. I went to bed that night in my usual security and indifference, but was awakened from a sound sleep by the force of a violent, sea, which broke on board us ; so much of it came down below as filled the cabin I lay in with water. This alarm was followed by a cry from the deck, that the ship was going down or sinking. As soon as I could recover myself, I essayed to go upon deck : but was met upon the ladder by the captain, who desired me to bring a knife with me. While I returned for the knife, another person went up in my room, ,vho was instantly washed overboard. We had no leisure to lament him, nor did we expect to survive him long; for we soon found the ship was filling with water very fast. The sea had torn away the upper timbers on one side, and made a mere wreck in a few mi- nutes. I shall not affect to describe this disaster in marine dialect, which would be understood by few ; and therefore I can give 96 DANGER, &c. IN THE [let VIII. you but a very inadequate idea of it. Taking- in all circumstances, it was astonishing, and almost miraculous, that any of us survived to relate the story. We had immediate re- course to the pumps ; but the water increased against our efforts. Some of us were set to baling in another part of the vessel ; that is, to lade it out with buckets and pails. We had but eleven or twelve people to sustain this service; and, notwithstanding all we could do, she was full, or very near it : and then, with a common cargo, she must have sunk of course ; but we had a great quantity of bees’ wax and wood on board, which were specifically lighter than the water ; and as it pleased God that we received this shock in the very crisis of the gale, towards morning we were enabled to employ some means for our safety, which succeeded beyond hope. In about an hour’s time, the day began to break, and the wind abated. We expended most, of our clothes and bedding to stop the ’oaks (though the weather was exceedingly cold, especially to us, who had so lately left a hot climate ;) over these we nailed pieces of boards, and at last perceived the water abate. At the beginning of this hurry, I was little affected. I pumped hard, and endea- voured to animate myse f and companions : I told one of them, that in a few days, this distress would serve us to talk of over a glass of wine ; but he being a less hardened sinner than myself, replied, with tears, “ No ; it is too late now.” About nine o’clock, being almost spent with cold and labour, I went to speak with the captain, who was busied else- where, and just as I was returning from him, I said almost without any meaning, “ If this will not do the Lord have mercy upon us.” This (though spoken with little reflection) was the first desire I had breathed for mere}* - for the space of many years. I was instantly struck with my own words; and, as Jehu said once, “ what hast thou to do with peace?” so it directly occurred, “ What mercy can there be for me ?” I was obliged to return to the pump, and there I continued till noon, almost every passing wave breaking over my head ; but we made ourselves fast with ropes, that we might not be washed away. Indeed, I expected that every time the ves- sel descended in the sea, she would rise no more ; and though I dreaded death now, and my heart foreboded the worst, if the scrip- tures, which I had long since opposed, were indeed true; yet still I was but half con- vinced, and remained for a space of time in a sullen frame, a mixture of despair and im- patience. I thought, if the Christian religion was true, I could not be forgiven ; and was, therefore, expecting, and almost, at times, wishing, to know the worst of it. — I am your’s, &c. January 19, 1763. LETTER VIII. dear sir, — Tne tenth (that is, m the pre- sent style, the twenty-first) c£ March, is a day much to be remembered by me, and I have never suffered it to pass wholly un- ! noticed since the year 1748. On that day ! the Lord sent from on high, and deliver- ! ed me out of the deep waters. I continued | at the pump from three in the morning till i near noon, and then I could do no more. I went and lay down upon my bed, uncertain and almost indifferent, whether I should rise again. In an hour’s time I was called, and not being able to pump, I went to the helm, and steered the ship till midnight, excepting a small interval for refreshment. I had here leisure and convenient opportunity for reflection. I began to think of my former religious professions ; the extraordinary turns in my life ; the calls, warnings, and deliver- ances I had met with ; the licentious course of my conversation, particularly my unparal- leled effrontery in making the gospel his- tory (which I could not now be sure was false, though I was not yet assured it was true) the constant subject of profane ridi- cule. I thought, allowing the scripture premises, there never was nor could be such a sinner as myself ; and then, comparing the advantages I had broken through, I concluded, at first, that my sins were too great to be forgiven. The scripture likewise seemed to say the same ; for I had formerly been well acquainted with the Bible, and many passages, upon this occasion, returned upon my memory, particularly those awful i passages, Prov. i. 24 — 31. Heb. vi. 4, 6, and 2 Pet. ii. 20, which seemed so exactly to suit my case and character, as to bring with them a presumptive proof of a divine original. Thus, as I have said, I waited with fear and impatience to receive my inevitable doom. Yet, though I had thoughts of this kind, they were exceeding faint and disproportionate. It was not till long after (perhaps several years,) till I had gained some clear views of the infinite righteousness and grace of Christ Jesus, my Lord, that I had a deep and strong apprehension of my state by nature and prac- tice ; and, perhaps, till then, I could not have borne the sight. So wonderfully does the Lord proportion the discoveries of sin and grace ; for he knows our frame, and that if he was to put forth the greatness of his power, a poor sinner would be instantly overwhelmed, and crushed as a moth. But to return : when I saw, beyond all probability, there was still hope of respite, and heard, about six in the evening, that the ship was freed from water, there arose a gleam of hope. I thought I saw the hand of God displayed in our favour ; I began to pray ; I could not utter the prayer of faith ; I could not draw near to a recon- VOYAGE FROM CAPE LOPEZ. 97 LET. VI.] ?iled God, and call him father : my prayer was like the cry of the ravens, which yet the Lord does not disdain to hear. I now began to think of that Jesus whom I had so often derided : I recollected the particulars of his life and of his death ; a death for sins not his own, but, as I remembered, for the sake of those who, in their distress, should put their trust in him. And now I chiefly wanted evidence. The comfortless principles of in- fidelity were deeply riveted, and I rather wished than believed these things were real facts. You will please to observe, Sir, that I collect the strain of the reasonings and ex- ercises of my mind in one view ; but I do not say that all this passed at one time. The great question now was, how to obtain faith. I speak not of an appropriating faith, (of which I then knew neither the nature nor ne- cessity,) but how I should gain an assurance that the scriptures were of divine inspiration, and a sufficient warrant for the exercise of trust and hope in God. One of the first helps I received, (in consequence of a determina- tion to examine the New Testament more carefully,) was from Luke xi. 13. I had been sensible, that to profess faith in Jesus Christ, when in reality I did not believe his history, was no better than a mockery of the heart-searching God; but here 1 found a Spirit spoken of, which was to be communi- cated to those who ask it. Upon this I rea- soned thus : If this book is true, the promise in this passage must be true likewise; I have need of that very Spirit, by which the whole was written, in order to understand it aright. He has engaged here to give that Spirit to those who ask. I must therefore pray for it, and, if it is of God, he will make good his own word. My purposes were strengthened by John vii. 17. I concluded from thence, that though I could not say from my heart, that I believed the gospel, yet I would, for the present, take it for granted ; and that, by studying it in this light, I should be more and more confirmed in it. If what I am writing could be perused by our mo- dern infidels, they would say, (for I too well know their manner,) that I was very de- sirous to persuade myself into this opinion. I confess I was, and so would they be, if the Lord should show them, as he was pleased to show me at that time, the absolute neces- sity of some expedient to interpose between a righteous God and a sinful soul. Upon the gospel scheme I saw, at least, a peradventure of hope, but on every other side I was sur- rounded with black unfathomable despair. The wind was now moderate, but con- tinued fair, and wc were still drawing nearer to our port. We began to recover from our consternation, though we were greatly alarmed by our circumstances. Wc found that, the water having floated all our move- ables in the hold, all the casks of provision N had been beaten to pieces by the violent mo- tion of the ship : on the other hand, our live stock, such as pigs, sheep, and poultry, had been washed overboard in the storm. In effect, all the provisions we saved, except the fish I have mentioned, and some food of the pulse kind, which used to be given to the hogs (and there was but little of this left,) all our other provisions would have subsisted us but a week, at scanty allowance. The sails, too, were mostly blown away, so that we advanced but slowly, even while the wind was fair. We imagined ourselves about a hundred leagues from the land, but were in reality much further. Thus we proceeded with an alternate prevalence of hope and fear. My leisure time was chiefly employ- ed in reading and meditating on the scrip- tures, and praying to the Lord for mercy and instruction. Things continued thus for four or five days, or perhaps longer, till we were awakened one morning, by the joyful shout of the watch upon deck, proclaiming the sight of land. We were all soon raised at the sound. The dawning was uncommonly beautiful, and the light, (just strong enough to discover distant objects) presented us with a gladden- ing prospect: it seemed a mountainous coast, about twenty miles from us, terminating in a cape or point, and a little farther, two or three small islands, or hummucks, as if just rising out of the water : the appearance and position seemed exactly answerable to our hopes, resembling the north-west extremity of Ireland, which we were steering for. We sincerely congratulated each other, making no doubt, but that if the wind continued, we should be in safety and plenty the next day. The small remainder of our brandy (which was reduced to little more than a pint) was, by the captain’s orders, distributed amongst us ; he adding at the same time, “ We shall soon have brandy enough.” We likewise eat up the residue of our bread for joy of this welcome sight, and were in the condition of men suddenly reprieved from death. While we were thus alert, the mate with a graver tone than the rest, sunk our spirits by saying that, “ he wished it might prove land at last.” If one of the common sailors had first said so, I know not but the rest would have beat him for raising such an unreasonable doubt. It brought on, however, warm debates and dis- putes whether it was land or no ; but the case was soon unanswerably decided; for the day was advancing fast, and in a little time, one of our fancied islands began to grow red, from the approach of the sun, which soon arose just under it. In a word, we had been prodigal of our bread and brandy too hastily ; our land was literally in nubibus , nothing but clouds, and in half an hour more the whole appearance was dissipated. Sea- men have often known deceptions of this 98 EVENTS IN IRELAND, &c. sort, but in our extremity we were loath to be undeceived. However, we comforted ourselves, that though we could not see the land, yet we should soon, the wind hitherto continuing fair ; but, alas ! we were deprived of this hope likewise. That very day, our fair wind subsided into a calm, and the next morning the gales sprung up from the south- east, directly against us, and continued so for more than a fortnight afterwards. The 6hip was so wrecked, that we were obliged to keep the wind always on the broken side, unless the weather was quite moderate : thus we were driven, by the wind fixing in that quarter, still further from our port, to the northward of all Ireland, as far as the Lewis or western islands of Scotland, but a long way to the westward. In a word, our station Was such as deprived us of any hope of being relieved by other vessels : it may, indeed, be questioned, whether our ship was not the very first that had been in that part of the ocean, at the same season of the year. Provisions now began to grow very short ; the half of a salted cod was a day’s subsist- ence for twelve people ; we had plenty of fresh water, but not a drop of stronger liquor ; no bread, hardly any clothes, and very cold weather. W e had incessant labour with the pumps, to keep the ship above water. Much labour and little food, wasted us fast, and one man died under the hardship. Yet our suf- ferings were light in comparison of our just fears ; we could not afford this bare allow- ance much longer, but had a terrible pros- pect of being either starved to death, or re- duced to feed upon one another. Our ex- pectations grew darker every day, and I had a further trouble peculiar to myself. The captain, whose temper was quite soured by distress, was hourly reproaching me (as I formerly observed) as the sole cause of the calamity, and was confident that if I was thrown overboard, and not otherwise, they should be preserved from death. He did not intend to make the experiment, but continual repetition of this in my ears gave me much uneasiness, especially as my conscience se- conded his words. I thought it very probable, that all that had befallen us was on my ac- count. I was, at last, found out by the power- ful hand of God, and condemned in my own breast. However, proceeding in the method I have described, we began to conceive hopes greater than all our fears, especially, when at the time we were ready to give up all for lost, and despair was taking place in every countenance, we saw the wind come about to the very point we wished it, so as best to suit that broken part of the ship which must be kept out of the water, and to blow so gent- ly as our few remaining sails could bear; and thus it continued without any observable al- teration or increase, though at an unsettled time of the year, till we once more were call- [let. ix. ed up to see the land, and were convinced that it was land indeed. We saw the island Tory, and the next day anchored in Lcugh Swilly, in Ireland ; this was the eighth of April, just four weeks after the damage was sustained from the sea. When we came into this port our very last victuals were boiling in the pot; and before we had been there two hours, the wind, which seemed to have been providentially restrained till we were in a place of safety, began to blow with great violence, so that if we had continued at sea that night in our shattered, enfeebled condition, we must, in all human appear- ance, have gone to the bottom. About this time I began to know that there is a God that hears and answers prayer. How many times has he appeared for me since this great deliverance ! — yet, alas ! how distrust- ful and ungrateful is my heart unto this hour ! — I am, dear sir, your obliged humble servant. January 19, 1763. LETTER IX. dear sir, — I have brought my history down to the time of my arrival in Ireland, 1748 ; but before I proceed, I would look back a little, to give you some farther account of the state of my mind, and how far I was helped against inward difficulties, which be- set me, at the time I had many outward hardships to struggle with. The straits of hunger, cold, weariness, and the fears of sinking and starving, I shared in common with others ; but besides these, I felt a heart- bitterness, which was properly my own ; no one on board, but myself, being impressed with any sense of the hand of God in our danger and deliverance, at least not awak- ened to any concern for their souls. No tem- poral dispensations can reach the heart, un- less the Lord himself applies them. My companions in danger were either quite un- affected, or soon forgot it all ; but it was not so with me : not that I was any wiser or bet- ter than they, but because the Lord was pleased to vouchsafe me peculiar mercy, otherwise I was the most unlikely person in the ship to receive an impression, having been often before quite stupid and hardened in the very face of great dangers, and al- ways to this time had hardened my neck still more and more after every reproof I can see no reason why the Lord singled me out for mercy, but this, “that so it seemed good to him ;” unless it was to show, by one astonishing instance, that with him “nothing is impossible.” There wepe no persons on board to whom I could open myself with freedom, concerning the state of my soul, none from whom I could EVENTS IN IRELAND. 99 LET. IX.] ask advice. As to books, I had a New Tes- tament, Stanhope, already mentioned, and a volume of bishop Beveridge’s sermons, one of which, upon our Lord’s passion, affected me much. In perusing the New Testament, I was struck with several passages, particular- ly that of the fig-tree, Luke xiii. The case of St. Paul, 1 Tim. i. but particularly the prodigal, Luke xv. a case, I thought, that had never been so nearly exemplified, as by myself ; and then the goodness of the father in receiving, nay, in running to meet such a son, and this intended only to illustrate the Lord’s goodness to returning sinners, — this gained upon me. I continued much in prayer ; I saw that the Lord had interposed so far to save me, and I hoped he would do more. The outward circumstances helped in this place to make me still more serious and earnest in crying to him, who alone could relieve me ; and sometimes I thought I could be content to die, even for want of food, so I might but die a believer. Thus far I was answered, that before we arrived in Ireland, I had a satisfactory evidence in my own mind of the truth of the gospel, as considered in itself, and its exact suitableness to answer all my needs. I saw that, by the way they are pointed out, God might declare not his mercy only, but his justice also, in the par- don of sin on the account of the obedience and sufferings of Jesus Christ. My judgment, at that time, embraced the sublime doctrine of “ God manifest in the flesh, reconciling the world to himself.” I had no idea of those systems which allow the Saviour no higher honour than that of an upper servant, or, at the most, a demi-god. I stood in need of an Al- mighty Saviour, and such a one I found de- scribed in the New Testament. Thus far the Lord had wrought a marvellous thing : I was no longer an infidel; I heartily re- nounced my former profaneness, and I had taken up some right notions, was seriously disposed, and sincerely touched with a sense of the undeserved mercy I had received, in be- ing brought safe through so many dangers. I was sorry for my misspent life, and purposed an immediate reformation : I was quite freed from the habit of swearing, which seemed to have been deeply rooted in me, as a second nature. Thus, to all appearance, I was a new man. But though I cannot doubt that this change, so far as it prevailed, was wrought by the Spirit and power of God, yet still I was greatly deficient in many respects. I was in some degree affected with a sense of rny more enormous sins, but I was little aware of the innate evils of my heart. I had no apprehension of the spirituality and extent of the law of God ; the hidden life of a Chris- tian, as it consists in communion with God by Jesus Christ, and a continual dependence on him for hourly supplies of wisdom, strength, and comfort, was a mystery of which I had as yet no knowledge. I acknowledged the Lord’s mercy in pardoning what was past, but depended chiefly upon my own resolution to do better for the time to come. I had no Chris- tian friend or faithful minister to advise me, that my strength was no more than my righte- ousness ; and though I soon began to inquire for serious books, yet, not having spiritual dis- cernment, I frequently made a wrong choice, and I was not brought in the way of evan- gelical preaching or conversation (except a few times when I heard but understood not) for six years after this period. Those things the Lord was pleased to discover to me gra- dually. I learnt them here a little and there a little, by my own painful experience, at a distance from the common means and ordi- nances, and in the midst of the same course of evil company and bad examples I had been conversant with for some time. F rom this pe- riod I could no more make a mock at sin, or jest with holy things ; I no more questioned the truth of scripture, or lost a sense of the rebukes of conscience. Therefore I consider this as the beginning of rny return to God, or rather of his return to me ; but I cannot consider myself to have been a believer (in the full sense of the word) till a considerabla time afterwards. I have told you that, in the time of our dis- tress, we had fresh water in abundance ; this was a considerable relief to us, especially as our spare diet was mostly salt fish, without bread. We drank plentifully, and were not afraid of wanting water ; yet our stock of this likewise was much nearer to an end than we expected ; we supposed that we had six large butts of water on board, and it was well that we were safe arrived in Ireland, before we discovered that five of them were empty, having been removed out of their places and stove by the violent agitation, when the ship was full of water. If we had found this out while we were at sea, it would have greatly heightened our distress, as we must have drank more sparingly. While the ship was refitting at Lough Swiliy, I repaired to Londonderry. I lodged at an exceeding good house, where I was treated with much kindness, and soon re- cruited my health and strength. I was now a serious professor, went twice a day to the prayers at church, and determined to receive the sacrament the next opportunity. A few days before, I signified my intention to the minister, as the rubric directs ; but I found this practice was grown obsolete. At length the day came ; I arose very early, was very particular and earnest in my private devotion ; and, with the greatest solemnity, engaged myself to be the Lord’s for ever, and only his. This was not a formal, but a sincere sur- render, under a warm sense of mercies re- cently received ; and yet, for want of a better 100 ARRIVAL IN ENGLAND. knowledge of myself and the subtilty of Satan’s temptations, I was seduced to forget the vows of God that were upon me. Upon the whole, though my views of the gospel salvation were very indistinct, I experienced a peace and satisfaction in the ordinance that day, to which I had been hitherto a perfect stranger. The next day I was abroad with the mayor of the city and some other gentlemen a-shoot- ing ; I climbed up a steep bank, and pulling my fowling-piece after me, as I held it in a perpendicular direction, it went off so near my face, as to burn away the corner of my liat. Thus, when we think ourselves in the greatest safety, we are no less exposed to danger than when all the elements seem con- spiring to destroy us. The divine providence, which is sufficient to deliver us in our utmost extremity, is equally necessary to our preser- vation in the most peaceful situation. During our stay in Ireland I wrote home. The vessel I was in had not been heard of for eighteen months, and was given up for lost long before. My father had no more expectation of hearing that I was alive, but he received my letter a few days before he left London. He was just going out governor of York Fort, in Hudson’s bay, from whence he never returned. He sailed before I arrived in England, or he had purposed to take me with him ; but God designing other- wise, one hindrance or other delayed us in Ireland till it was too late. I received two or three affectionate letters from him, but I never had the pleasure of seeing him more. I had hopes, that in three years more I should have had an opportunity of asking his for- giveness for the uneasiness my disobedience had given him ; but the ship that was to have brought him home, came without him. Ac- cording to the best accounts wrn received, he was seized with the cramp when bathing, and drowned a little before her arrival in the bay. — Excuse this digression. My father, willing to contribute all in his power to my satisfaction, paid a visit before his departure to my friends in Kent, and gave his consent to the union which had been so long talked of. Thus, when I returned to , I found I had only the consent of one person to obtain : with her I as yet stood at as great an uncertainty as on the first day I saw her. I arrived at in the latter end of May, 1748, about the same day that my father sail- ed from the Nore, but found the Lord had provided me another father, in the gentle- man whose ship had brought me home. He received me with great tenderness, and the strongest expressions of friendship and assist- ance : yet not more than he has since made good ; for to him, as the instrument of God’s goodness, I owe my all. Yet it would not have been in the po ver, even of this friend, to [let. x. have served me effectually, if the Lord had not met with me on my way home, as I have related. Till then I was like the man possess- ed with the legion. No arguments, no per suasion, no views of interest, no remem brance of the past, or regard to the future, could have constrained me within the bounds of common prudence. But now I w r as in some measure restored to my senses. My friend immediately offered me the command of a ship ; but, upon mature consideration, I declined it for the present. I had been hith- erto always unsettled and careless, and there- fore thought I had better make another voyage first, and learn to obey, and acquire a farther insight and experience in business, before I ventured to undertake such a charge. The mate of the vessel I came home in, was pre- ferred to the command of a new ship, and I engaged to go in the station of mate with him. I made a short visit to London, &c. which did not fully answer my views. I had but one opportunity of seeing Mrs. N*****, of which I availed myself very little, for I was always exceeding awkward in pleading my own cause, viva voce. But after my re- turn to L , I put the question in such a manner, by letter, that she could not avoid (unless I had greatly mistaken her) coming to some sort of an explanation. Her answer, though penned with abundance of caution, satisfied me ; as I collected from it, that she was free from any other engagement, and not un willing to wait the event of the voyage I had undertaken. I should be ashamed to trouble you with these little details, if you had not yourself desired me. — I am, your’s, &c. January 20, 1763. LETTER X. dear sir, — My connexions with sea affairs have often led me to think, that the varieties observable in Christian experience may be properly illustrated from the circumstances of a voyage. Imagine to yourself a number of vessels, at different times, and from dif- ferent places, bound to the same port ; there are some things in which all these would agree, — the compass steered by, the port in view, the general rules of navigation, both as to the management of the vessel and de- termining their astronomical observations, would be the same in all. In other respects they would differ ; perhaps no two of them would meet with the same distribution of winds and weather. Some we see set out with a prosperous gale ; and, when they al- most think their passage secured, they are checked by adverse blasts ; and after endur- ing much hardship and danger, and frequent expectations of shipwreck, they just escape and reach the desired haven. Others meet VOYAGE TO AFRICA. 101 LET. X.] the greatest difficulties at first; they put forth in a storm, and are often beaten back ; at length their voyage proves favourable, and they enter the port with a a rich and abundant entrance. Some are hard beset with cruisers and enemies, and obliged to fight their way through ; others meet with iittle remarkable in their passage. Is it not thus in the spiritual life 1 All true believers walk by the same rule, and mind the same things. The word of God is their compass ; Jesus is both their polar star and their sun of righteousness ; their hearts and faces are all set Sion-ward. Thus far they are as one body, animated by one spirit ; yet their ex- perience, formed upon these common princi- ples, is far from being uniform. The Lord, in his first call, and his following dispensations, has a regard to the situation, temper, and talents of each, and to the particular services or trials he has appointed them for. Though all are exercised at times, yet some pass through the voyage of life much more smoothly than others. But he “ who walk- eth upon the wings of the wind, and mea- sures the waters in the hollow of his hand,” will not suffer any of whom he has taken charge, to perish in the storms, though, for a season, perhaps, many of them are ready to give up all hopes. We must not, therefore, make the experi- ence of others, in all respects, a rule to our- selves, nor our own, a rule to others; yet, these are common mistakes, and productive of many more. As to myself, every part of my case has been extraordinary. I have hardly met a single instance resembling it. Few, very few, have been recovered from such a dreadful state ; and the few that have bean thus favoured, have generally passed through the most severe convictions; and after the Lord has given them peace, their future lives have been usually more zealous, bright, and exemplary, than common. Now, as on the one hand, my convictions were very moderate, and far below what might have been expected from the dreadful review I had to make ; so, on the other, my first be- ginnings in a religious course were as faint as can be well imagined. I never knew that season alluded to, Jer. ii. 2. Rev. ii. 4. usually called the time of the first love. Who would not expect to hear, that, after such a wonderful unhoped-for deliverance, as I had received, and, after my eyes were in some measure enlightened to see things aright, I should immediately cleave to the Lord and his ways, with full purpose of heart, and consult no more with flesh and blood 1 But, alas ! it was far otherwise with me : I had learned to pray ; I set some value upon the word of God, and was no longer a liber- tine ; but my soul still cleaved to the dust. Soon after my departure from L , I began to intermit, and grow slack in waiting upon the Lord ; I grew vain and trifling in my conversation ; and though my heart smote me often, yet my armour was gone, and I declined fast; and by the time I arrived at Guinea, I seemed to have for- gotten all the Lord’s mercies, and my own engagements, and was (profaneness except- ed) almost as bad as before. The enemy prepared a train of temptations, and I be- came his easy prey ; and, for about a month, he lulled me asleep in a course of evil, of which, a few months before, I could not have supposed myself any longer capable. How much propriety is there in the apostle’s ad- vice, “ Take heed lest any of you be harden- ed through the deceitfulness of sin.” O, who can be sufficiently upon their guard! Sin first deceives, and then it hardens. I was now fast bound in chains ; I had little desire, and no power at all to recover myself I could not but at times reflect how it was with me: but, if I attempted to struggle with it, it was in vain. I was just like Sam- son, when he said, “ I will go forth and shake myself as at other times ;” but the Lord was departed, and he found himself helpless in the hands of his enemies. By the remem- brance of this interval, the Lord has often instructed me since, what a poor creature I am in myself, incapable of standing a single hour without continual fresh supplies of strength and grace from the fountain head. At length the Lord, whose mercies are in- finite, interposed in my behalf. My business in this voyage, while upon the coast, was to sail from place to place in the long-boat to purchase slaves. The ship was at Sierra Leone, and I then at the Plantanes, the scene of my former captivity, where every thing I saw might seem to remind me of my ingrati- tude. I was in easy circumstances, courted by those who formerly despised me. The lime trees I had planted were grown tall, and promised fruit the following year; against which time I had expectations of returning with a ship of my own. But none of these things affected me, till, as I have said, the Lord again interposed to save me. He visited me with a violent fever, which broke the fatal chain, and once more brought me to myself. But, O what a prospect ! I thought myself now summoned away. My past dan- gers and deliverances, my earnest prayers in the time of trouble, my solemn vows be- fore the Lord at his table, and my ungrateful returns for all his goodness were all present to my mind at once. Then I began to wish that the Lord had suffered me to sink into the ocean, when I first besought his mercy. For a little while I concluded the door of hope to be quite shut ; but this continued not long. Weak, and almost delirious, I arose from my bed, and crept to a retired part of the island ; and here I found a renewed liberty to pray. I durst make no more 102 VOYAGE TO AFRICA. resolves, but cast myself before the Lord, to do 1 with me as he should please. I do not re- 1 member that any particular text, or remark- j able discovery, was presented to my mind ; | but in general I was enabled to hope and believe in a crucified Saviour. The burden was removed from my conscience, and not only my peace, but my health was restored ; I cannot say instantaneously, but I recovered from that hour ; and so fast, that when I re- turned to the ship, two days afterwards, I was perfectly well before I got on board. And irom that time, I trust, I have been de- livered from the power and dominion of sin ; though, as to the effects and conflicts of sin dwelling in me, I still “ groan, being burden- ed.” I now began again to wait upon the Lord ; and though I have often grieved his Spirit, and foolishly wandered from him since, (when, alas ! shall I be more wise 1) yet his powerful grace has hitherto preserv- ed me from such black declensions as this I nave last recorded ; and I humbly trust in his mercy and promises, that he will be my guide and guard to the end. My leisure hours in this voyage were chiefly employed in learning the Latin lan- guage, which I had now entirely forgot. This desire took place from an imitation I had seen of one of Horace’s odes in a magazine. I began the attempt under the greatest dis- advantages possible; for I pitched upon a poet, perhaps the most difficult of the poets, even Horace himself, for my first book. I had picked up an old English translation of him, which, with Castalio’s Latin Bible, were all my helps. I forgot a Dictionary ; but I would not therefore give up my purpose. I had the edition in usum Delphini, and by comparing the Odes with the interpretation, and tracing the words, I could understand from one place to another, by the index, with the assistance I could get from the Latin Bible ; in this way, by dint of hard industry, often waking when I might have slept, I made some progress before I returned, and not only understood the sense and meaning of many Odes, and some of the Epistles, but began to relish the beauties of the com- position, and acquire a spice of what Mr. Law calls classical enthusiasm. And, indeed, by this means, I had Horace more ad un- guent than some who arc masters of the Latin tongue ; for my helps were so few, that I ge- nerally had the passage fixed in my memory, before I could fully understand its meaning. My business in the long-boat, during the eight months we were upon the coast, ex- posed me to innumerable dangers and perils, from burning suns, and chilling dews, winds, rains, and thunder-storms, in the open boat ; and on shore, from long journeys through the woods, and the temper of the natives, who are, in many places, cruel, treacherous, and vatching opportunities for mischief. Several [let. XI. j boats in the same time were cut off; severa. white men poisoned, and, in my own boat j I buried six or seven people with fevers. I When going on shore, or returning from it, in their little canoes, I have been more than once or twice overset by the violence of the surf, or break of the sea, and brought to land half dead (for I could not swim.) An account of such escapes as I still remembt r, would swell to several sheets, and many more I have perhaps forgot; I shall only select one instance, as a specimen of that wonderful providence which watched over me for good, and which, I doubt not, you will think worthy of notice. When our trade was finished, and we were near sailing to the West Indies, the only re- maining service I had to perform in the boat, was to assist in bringing the wood and water from the shore. We were then at Rio Ces- tors. I used to go into the river in the after- noon, with the sea breeze, procure my load ing in the evening, and return on board in the morning, with the land wind. Several of these little voyages I had made ; but the boat was grown old, and almost unfit for use. This service likewise was almost completed. One day having dined on board, I was pre paring to return to the river, as formerly; * had taken leave of the captain, received hifl orders, was ready in the boat, and just go ing to put off, as we term it ; that is, to lei go our ropes and sail from the ship. In thal instant, the captain came up from the cabin, and called me on board again. I went, ex pecting further orders ; but he said he hai “taken it in his head” (as he phrased it,) that I should remain that* day in the ship, and accordingly ordered another man to go in my room. I was surprised at this, as the boat had never been sent aw T ay without me before ; and asked him the reason. He could give me no reason, but as above, that so he would have it. Accordingly, the boat went without me, but returned no more. She sunk that night in the river, and the person who had supplied my place was drowned. I w T as much struck when we received news of the event the next morning. The captain himself, though quite a stranger to religion, so far as to deny a particular providence, could not help being affected; but he de- clared, that he had no other reason for coun- termanding me at that time, but that it came suddenly into his mind to detain me. I wonder I omitted it in my eight letters, as I have always thought it one of the most ex- traordinary circumstances of my life. I am, dear sir, your humble servant. January 21, 1763. LETTER XI. de\r sir, — A few days after I was thus wonderfully saved from an unforeseen danger, 103 RETURN TO ENGLAND, &c. LET. XI.] we sailed for Antigua, and from thence pro- ceeded to Charleston, in South Carolina. In this place there are many serious people ; but I knew not how to find them out. In- deed, I was not aware of a difference ; but supposed that all who attended public wor- ship were good Christians. I was as much in the dark about preaching, not doubting but whatever came from the pulpit must be very good. I had two or three opportunities of hearing a dissenting minister, named Smith, who, by what I have known since, I believe to have been an excellent and powerful preacher of the gospel ; and there was some- thing in his manner that struck me ; but I did not rightly understand him. The best words that men can speak are ineffectual, till explained and applied by the Spirit of God, who alone can open the heart. It pleased the Lord for some time, that I should learn no more than what he enabled me to collect from my own experience and reflec- tion. My conduct was now very inconsist- ent. Almost every day, when business would permit, I used to retire into the woods and fields (for these, when at hand, have always been my favourite oratories ;) and I trust I began to taste the sweets of communion with God, in the exercises of prayer and praise, and yet I frequently spent the evening in vain and worthless company. Indeed, my relish for worldly diversions was much weakened, and I was rather a spectator than a sharer in their pleasures ; but I did not as yet see the necessity of an absolute forbear- ance. Yet, as my compliance with custom and company was chiefly owing to want of light, rather than to an obstinate attachment, and the Lord was pleased to preserve me from what I knew was sinful, I had, for the most part, peace of conscience, and my strongest desires were towards the things of God. As yet I knew not the force of that precept, “Abstain from all appearance of evil,” but very often ventured upon the brink of temptation ; but the Lord was gracious to my weakness, and would not suffer the ene- my to prevail against me. I did not break with the world at once (as might, in my case, have been expected,) but I was gradu- ally led to see the inconvenience and folly of one thing after another, and, when I saw it, the Lord strengthened me to give it up. But it was some years before I was set quite at liberty from occasional compliance in many things in which, at this time, I dare by no means allow myself. We finished our voyage, and arrived in L . When the ship’s affairs were set- tled, I went to London, and from thence (as you may suppose) I soon repaired to Kent. More than seven years were now elapsed since my first visit. No views of the kind could seem more chimerical, or could subsist under great discouragements, than mine had , done ; yet, through the over-ruling goodness of God, while I seemed abandoned to myself, and blindly following my own passions, I was guided, by a hand that I knew not, to the accomplishment of my wishes. Every obstacle was now removed. I had renounced my former follies, my interest was establish- ed, and friends on all sides consenting, the point was now entirely between ourselves, and after what had passed, was easily con- cluded. Accordingly, our hands were joined on the first of February 1750. The satisfaction I have found in this union, you will suppose, has been greatly heighten- ed by reflections on the former disagreeable contrasts I had passed through, and the views I have had of the singular mercy and providence of the Lord in bringing it to pass. If you please to look back to the beginning of my sixth letter, I doubt not but you will allow that few persons have known more, either of the misery or happiness, of which human life (as considered in itself) is capa- ble. How easily, at a time of life when I was so little capable of judging (but a few months more than seventeen,) might my af- fections have been fixed where they could have met with no return, or where success would have been the heaviest disappointment. The long delay I met with was likewise a mercy; for, had I succeeded a year or two sooner, before the Lord was pleased to change my heart, we must have been mutually un- happy, even as to the present life. Surely goodness and mercy have followed me all my days. But alas ! I soon began to feel that my heart was still hard and ungrateful to the God of my life. This crowning mercy, which raised me to all I could ask or wish in a temporal view, and which ought to have been an animating motive to obedience and praise, had a contrary effect. I rested in the gift, and forgot the giver. My poor nar- row heart was satisfied. A cold and care- less frame, as to spiritual things, took place and gained ground daily. Happy for me, the season was advancing, and in June I re- ceived orders to repair to L . This roused me from my dream. I need not tell you, that I found "the pains of absence and separation fully proportioned to my preced- ing pleasure. It was hard, very hard, to part, especially as conscience interfered, and sug- gested to me how little I deserved that we should be spared to meet again. But the Lord supported me. I was a poor faint idolatrous creature ; but I had now some acquaintance with the way of access to a throne of grace, by the blood of Jesus, and peace was soon restored to my conscience. Yet, through all the following voyage, my irregular and ex- cessive affections were as thorns in my eyes, and often made my other blessings tasteless and insipid. But He, who doth all things 104 VOYAGE TO AFRICA. [LET. XI. well, over-ruled this likewise for good. It became an occasion of quickening me in prayer, both for her and myself ; it increased my indifference for company and amusement; it habituated me to a kind of voluntary self- denial, which I was afterwards taught to improve to a better purpose. While I remamed in England, we corres- ponded every post; and all the while I used the sea afterwards, I constantly kept up the practice of writing two or three times a week (if weather and business permitted,) though no conveyance homeward offered for six or eight months together. My packets were usually heavy; and as not one of them at any time miscarried, I have to the amount of nearly two hundred sheets of paper now lying in my bureau of that correspondence. I mention this little relief I had contrived to soften the intervals of absence, because it i had a good effect beyond my first intention. It habituated me to think and write upon a great variety of subjects; and I acquired, in- sensibly, a greater readiness of expressing myself, than I should have otherwise attain- ed. As I gained more ground in religious knowledge, my letters became more serious, and, at times, I still find an advantage in looking them over, especially as they remind me of many providential incidents, and the state of my mind at different periods in these voyages, which would otherwise have esca- ped my memory. I sailed from L in August 1750, commander of a good ship. I have no very extraordinary events to recount from this period, and shall therefore, contract my me- moirs, lest I become tedicus ; yet I am will- ing to give you a brief sketch of my history down to 1755, the year of my settlement in my present situation. I had now the com- mand and care of thirty persons ; I endea- voured to treat them with humanity, and to set them a good example. I likewise es- tablished public worship, according to the liturgy, twice every Lord's day, officiating myself. Farther than this I did not proceed, while I continued in that employment. Having now much leisure, I prosecuted the study of the Latin with good success. I remembered a dictionary this voyage, and procured two or three other books ; but still it was my hap to choose the hardest. I ad- ded Juvenal to Horace; and, for prose au- thors, I pitched upon Livy, Caesar, and Sal- lust. You will easily conceive, Sir, that I had hard work to begin (where I should have left off) with Horace and Livy. I was not aware of the difference of style ; I had heard Livy highly commended, and was re- solved to understand him. I becran with the first, page, and laid down a rule, which I seldom departed from, not to proceed to a second period till I understood the first, and so on. I was often at a stand, but seldom dis- couraged ; here and there I found a few lines quite obstinate, and was forced to break in upon my rule, and gave them up, especially as my edition had only the text, without any notes to assist me. But there were not many such ; for, before the close of that voy- age, I could (with a few exceptions) read Livy from end to end, almost as readily as an English author. And I found, in sur- mounting this difficulty, I had surmounted all in one. Other prose authors, when they came in my way, cost me little trouble. In short, in the space of two or three voyages, 1 became tolerably acquainted with the best classics (I put all I have to say upon this subject together;) I read Terence, Virgil, and several pieces Of Cicero, and the modern classics, Buchanan, Erasmus, and Caeeunrr. At length I conceived a design of becoming Ciceronian myself, and thought it would be a fine thing indeed to write pure and elegant Iiatin. I made some essays towards it, but by this time, the Lord was pleased to draw me nearer to himself, and to give me a fuller view of the “pearl of great price,” the inestimable treasure hid in the field of the holy scriptures ; and, for the sake of this, I was made willing to part with all my newly acquired riches. I began to think that life was too short (especially my life) to admit of leisure for such elaborate trifling. Neither poet nor historian could tell me a word of Jesus, and I therefore applied myself to those who could. The classics were at first re- strained to one morning in the week, and at length quite laid aside. I have not looked into Livy these five years, and I suppose I could not well understand him. Some passages in Horace and Virgil I still admire, but they seldom come in iny way. I prefer Buchanan’s Psalms to a whole shelf of Elze- virs. But thus much I have gained, and more than this I am not solicitous about, so much of the Latin as enables me to read any useful or curious book that is published in that language. About the same time, and for the same reason that I quarrelled with Livy, I laid aside the mathematics. I found they not only cost me much time, but en- grossed my thoughts too far : my head was literally full of schemes. I was weary of cold contemplative truths, which can neither warm nor amend the heart, but rather tend to aggrandize self. I found no traces of this wisdom in the life of Jesus, or the writings of Paul. I do not regret that I have had some opportunities of knowing the first prin- ciples of these things ; but I see much cause to praise the Lord, that he inclined me to stop in time ; and that whilst I was “ spend- ing my labour for that which is not bread,” he was pleased to set before me “ wine and milk, without money and without price.” My first voyage was fourteen months, through various scenes of danger and diffi LET. XII.] ANOTHER VOYAGE TO AFRICA. 105 cult}', but nothing 1 very remarkable ; and as I intend to be more particular with regard to the second, I shall only say that I was pre- served from every harm ; and having seen many fall on my right hand and on my left, I was brought home in peace, and restored to where my thoughts had been often direct- ed, November 2, 1751. — I am, your’s, &c. January 22, 1763. LETTER XII. dear sir, — I almost wish I could recall my last sheet, and retract my promise. I fear I have engaged too far, and shall prove a mere egotist. What have I more that can deserve your notice! However, it is some satisfaction that I am now writing to yourself only ; and I believe, you will have candour to excuse, what nothing but a sense of your kindness could extort from me. Soon after the period where my last closes, that is, in the interval between my first and second voyage after my marriage, I began to keep a sort of diary, a practice which I have found of great use. I had, in this in- terval, repeated proofs of the ingratitude and evil of my heart. A life of ease, in the midst of my friends, and a full satisfaction of my wishes, was not favourable to the progress of grace, and afforded cause of daily humilia- tion. Yet, upon the whole, I gained ground. I became acquainted with books, which gave me a further view of Christian doctrine and experience, particularly Scougal’s Life of God in the Soul of Man, Hervey’s Medita- tions, and the Life of Colonel Gardiner. As to preaching, I heard none but of the common sort, and had hardly an idea of any better ; nei- ther had I the advantage of Christian acquaint- ance ; I was likewise greatly hindered by a cowardly reserved spirit ; I was afraid of being thought precise ; and, though I could not live without prayer, I durst not propose it, even to mv wife, till she herself first put me upon it ; so far was I from those expressions of zeal and love, which seemed so suitable to the case of one who has had much forgiven. In a few months the returning season called me abroad again, and I sailed from L in a new 6hip, July 1752. A sea-faring life is necessarily excluded from the benefit of public ordinances and Christian communion; but, as I have ob- served, my loss upon these heads was at this time but small. In other respects, I know not any calling that seems more favourable, or affords greater advantages to an awaken- ed mind, for promoting the life of God in the soul, especially to a person who nas the com- mand of a ship, and thereby has it in his power to restrain gross irregularities in others, and to dispose of his own time ; and still more so in African voyages, as these ships carry a double proportion of men and offi- cers to most others, which made my depart- ment very easy ; and, excepting the hurry of trade, &c. upon the coast, which is rather occasional than constant, afforded me abun- dance of leisure. To be at sea m these cir- cumstances, withdrawn out of the reach of innumerable temptations, with opportunity and a turn of mind disposed to observe the wonders of God m the great deep, with the two noblest objects of sight, the expanded heavens, and the expanded ocean, continual- ly in view ; and where evident interpositions of Divine Providence, in answer to prayer, occur almost every day ; these are helps to quicken and confirm the life of faith, which, in a good measure, supply to a religious sailor the want of those advantages which can be only enjoyed upon the shore. And, indeed, though my knowledge of spiritual things (as knowledge is usually estimated) was, at this time, very small, yet I sometimes look back with regret upon those scenes. I never knew sweeter or more frequent hours of di- vine communion than in my two last voyages to Guinea, when I was either almost seclud- ed from society on ship-board, or when on shore among the natives. I have wandered through the woods, reflecting on the singular goodness of the Lord to me, in a place where, perhaps, there was not a person who knew him for some thousand miles round me. Many a time, upon these occasions, I have restored the beautiful lines of Propertius to the right owner ; lines full of blasphemy and madness, when addressed to a creature, but full of comfort and propriety in the mouth of a believer. Sic ego desertis possim bene vivere si/lvis Quo nulla humano sit via trita pede ; Tu mild curarum requies, in node velatra Lumen , el in solis tu mihi turba loeis. PARAPHRASED. In desert woods with thee, my God, Where human footsteps never trod, How happy could I be ! Thou my repose from care, my light Amidst the darkness of the night, In solitude my company. In the course of this voyage, I was wonder- fully preserved in the midst of many obvious unforeseen dangers. At one time there was a conspiracy amongst my own people to turn pirates, and take the ship from me. When the plot was nearly ripe, and they only waited a convenient opportunity, two of those concerned in it were taken ill one day ; one of them died, and he was the only person I buried while on board. This suspended the affair, and opened the way to its discovery, or the consequence might have been fatal. The slaves on board were likewise frequent- ly plotting insurrections, and were sometimes 106 ANOTHER VOYAGE TO AFRICA. upon the very brink of mischief; but it was always disclosed in due time. When I have thought myself most secure, I have been suddenly alarmed with danger ; and when I have almost despaired of life, as sudden a. deliverance has been vouchsafed me. My stay upon the coast was long, and the trade very precarious ; and, in the pursuit of my business, both on board and on shore, I was in deaths often. Let the following instance serve as a specimen. I was at a place called Mana, near Cape Mount, where I had transacted very large concerns, and had, at the time I am speak- ing of, some debts and accounts to settle, which required my attendance on shore, and I intended to go the next morning. When I arose, I left the ship according to my pur- pose ; but when I came near the shore, the surf, or break of the sea, ran so high, that I was almost afraid to attempt landing. Indeed I had often ventured at a worse time, but I felt an inward hinderance and backwardness, which I could not account for : the surf fur- nished a pretext for indulging it ; and after waiting and hesitating for about half an hour, I returned to the ship, without doing any business ; which I think I never did but that morning, in all the time I used that trade. But I soon perceived the reason of all this. It seems the day before I intended to lasfd, a scandalous and groundless charge had been laid against me (by whose instigation I could never learn,) which greatly threatened my nonour and interest, both in Africa and Eng- land, and would perhaps, humanly speaking, have affected my life, if I had landed accord- ing to my intention. I shall, perhaps, inclose a letter, which will give a full account of this strange adventure ; and therefore shall say no more of it here, any further than to tell you, that an attempt aimed to destroy either my life or my character, and which might very probably, in its consequences have ruin- ed my voyage, passed off without the least inconvenience. The person most concerned owed me about a hundred pounds, which he sent me in a huff; and otherwise, perhaps, would not have paid me at all. I was very uneasy for a few hours, but was soon after- wards comforted. I heard no more of my accusation till the next voyage, and then it was publicly acknowledged to have been a malicious calumny, without the least shadow of a ground. Such were the vicissitudes and difficulties through which the Lord preserved me. Now and then both faith and patience were sharply exercised, but suitabl strength was given ; and as those things did not occur every day, the study of the Latin, of which I gave a general account in m last, was re- newed, and carried on from time to time, when business would permit. I was mostly very regular in the manageme t of my time. [let. XII. I allotted about eight hours for sleep and meals, eight hours for exercise and devotion, and eight hours to my books ; and thus, by diversifying my engagements, the whole day was agreeably filled up, and I seldom found a day too long, or an hour to spare. My studies kept me employed, and so far it was well ; otherwise they were hardly worth the time they cost, as they led me to an admira- tion of false models and false maxims; an almost unavoidable consequence, I suppose, of an admiration of classic authors. Abating what I have attained of the language, I think I might have read Cassandra or Cleopatra to as good purpose as I read Livy, whom I now account an equal romancer, though in a different way. From the coast, I went to St. Christopher’s ; and here my idolatrous heart was its own pun- ishment. The letters I expected from Mrs N***** were, by mistake, forwarded to An- tigua, which had been at first proposed as oui port. As I was certain of her punctuality in writing, if alive, I concluded, by not hear- ing from her, that she was surely dead. This fear affected me more and more ; I lost my appetite and rest ; I felt an incessant pain in my stomach, and in about three weeks time I was near sinking under the weight of an imaginary stroke. I felt some severe symp- toms of that mixture of pride and madness, which is commonly called a broken heart; and, indeed, I wonder that this case is not more common than it appears to be. How often do the potsherds of the earth presume to contend with their maker! and what a wonder of mercy is it, that they are not all broken ! However, my complaint was not all grief ; conscience had a share. I thought my unfaithfulness to God had deprived me of her, especially my backwardness in speaking of spiritual things, which I could hardly at- tempt even to her. It was this thought, that I had lost invaluable, irrecoverable opportu- nities, which both duty and affection should have engaged me to improve, that chiefly stung me ; and I thought I could have given the world to know that she was living, that I might at least discharge my engagements by waiting, though I were never to see her again. This was a sharp lesson, but I hope it did me good ; and when I had thus suffered some weeks, I thought of sending a small vessel to Antigua. I did so, and she brought me several packets, which restored my health and peace, and gave me a strong contrast of the Lord’s goodness to me, and my unbelief and ingratitude towards him. In August, 1753, I returned to L . My stay was very short at home that voyage, only six weeks ; in that space nothing very remarkable occurred ; I shall therefore begin my next with an account of my third and last voyage. And thus I give both you and myself hopes of a speedy period to these LAST VOYAGE TO AFRICA. 107 LET. XIII. J memoirs, which begin to be tedious and minute, even to myself ; only I am animated by the thought that I write at your request, and have therefore an opportunity of show- ing myself, your obliged servant. January 31, 1763. LETTER XIII. dear sir, — My third voyage was shorter and less perplexed than either of the former. Before I sailed, I met with a young man, who had formerly been a midshipman and my in- timate companion, on board the Harwich. He was, at the time I first knew him, a so- ber youth, but I found too much success in my unhappy attempts to infect him with libertine principles. When we met at L , our acquaintance renewed upon the ground of our former intimacy. He had good sense, and had read many books. Our conversation frequently turned upon religion, and I was desirous to repair the mischief I had done him. I gave him a plain account of the manner and reason of my change, and used every argu- ment to persuade him to relinquish his infi- del schemes ; and when I sometimes pressed him so close that he had no other reply to make, he would remind me that I was the very first person who had given him an idea of his liberty. This occasioned me many mournful reflections. He was then going master to Guinea himself, but before his ship was ready, his merchant became a bankrupt, which disconcerted his voyage. As he had no further expectations for that year, I offer- ed to take him with me as a companion, that he might gain a knowledge of the coast ; and the gentleman who employed me promised to provide for him upon his return. My view in this was not so much to serve him in his business, as to have opportunity of debating the point with him at leisure ; and I hoped, in the course of my voyage, my arguments, example, and prayers, might have some good effect on him. My intention in this step was better than my judgment, and I had fre- quent reason to repent it. He was exceed- ingly profane, and grew worse and worse : I saw in him a most lively picture of what I had once been, but it was very inconvenient to have it always before my eyes. Besides, he was not only deaf to my remonstrances himself, but laboured all that he could to counteract my influence upon others. His spirit and passions were likewise exceeding high, so that it required all my prudence and authority to hold him in any degree of re- straint. He was as a sharp thorn in my side for some time ; but at length I had an oppor- tunity upon the coast of buying a small vessel which I supplied with a cargo from my own, and gave him the command, and sent him away to trade on the ship’s account. When we parted, I repeated and enforced my best advice. I believe his friendship and regard were as great as could be expected, where principles were so diametrically opposite. He seemed greatly affected when I left him, but my words had no weight with him. When he found himself at liberty from un- der my eye, he gave a hasty loose to every appetite ; and his violent irregularities, joined to the heat of the climate, soon threw him into a malignant fever, which carried him off’ in a few days. He died convinced, but not changed. The account I had from those who were with him was dreadful ; hig rage and despair struck them all with horror, and he pronounced his own fatal doom before he expired, without any appearance that he either hoped or asked lor mercy. I thought this awful contrast might not be improper to give you, as a stronger view of the distin- guishing goodness of God to me the chief of sinners. I left the coast in about four months, and sailed for St. Christopher’s. Hitherto I had enjoyed a perfect state of health, equally in every climate, for several years; but, upon this passage, I was visited with a fever, which gave me a very near prospect of eter- nity. I have obtained liberty to enclose you three or four letters, which will more clearly illustrate the state and measure of my expe- rience, at different times, than any thing I can say at present. One of them you will find was written at this period, when I could hardly hold a pen, and had some reason to believe I should write no more. I had not that tr\n e o$ot>ix,* which is so desirable at a time when flesh and heart fail ; but my hopes were greater than my fears, and I felt a silent composure of spirit, which enabled me to wait the event without much anxiety. My trust, though weak in degree, was alone fixed upon the blood and righteousness of Jesus ; and those words, “he is able to save to the uttermost,” gave me great relief. I was for a while troubled with a very singular thought. Whether it was a temptation, or that the fever disordered my faculties, I can- not say, but I seemed not so much afraid of wrath and punishment, as of being lost and overlooked amidst the myriads that are con- tinually entering the unseen world. What is my soul, thought I, among such an innu- merable multitude of beings 1 And this troubled me greatly. Perhaps the Lord will take no notice of me. I was perplexed thus for some time, but at last a text of scripture, very apposite to the case, occurred to my mind, and put an end to the doubt ; “ The Lord knoweth them that are his.” In about ten days, beyond the hopes of those about me, I began to amend, and by the time of * Full assurance. 103 LAST VOYAGE our arrival in the West Indies, I was per- fectly recovered. — I hope this visitation was made useful to me. Thus far, that is, for about the space of six years, the Lord was pleased to lead me in a secret way. I had learned something of the evil of my heart ; I had read the Bible over and over, with several good books, and had a general view of gospel truths. But my con- ceptions were, in many respects, confused ; not having, in all this time, met with one acquaintance who could assist my inquiries. But upon my arrival at St. Christopher’s, this voyage, I found a captain of a ship from Lon- don, .whose conversation was greatly helpful to me. He was, and is a member of Mr. B r’s church, a man of experience in the things of God, and of a lively, communicative turn. We discovered each other by some casual expressions in mixed company, and soon became (so far as business would per- mit) inseparable. For near a month, we spent every evening together, on board each other's ship alternately, and often prolonged our visits till towards day-break. I was all ears; and what was better, he not only inform- ed my understanding, but his discourse in- flamed my heart. He encouraged me to open my mouth in social prayer ; he taught me the advantage of Christian converse ; he put me upon an attempt to make my profession more public, and to venture to speak for God. From him, or rather from the Lord, by his means, I received an increase of know- ledge ; my conceptions became clearer and more evangelical, and I was delivered from a fear which had long troubled me, the fear of relapsing into my former apostacy. But now I began to understand the security of the covenant of grace, and to expect to be preserved, not by my own power and holiness, but by the mighty power and promise of God, through faith in an unchangeable Sa- viour. He likewise gave me a general view of the state of religion, with the errors and controversies of the times (things to which I hid been entirely a stranger,) and finally directed me where to apply in London for further instruction. With these newly ac- quired advantages, I left him, and my pas- sage homewards gave me leisure to digest what I had received. I had much comfort and freedom during those seven weeks, and my sun was seldom clouded. I arrived safe in L , August, 1754. My stay at home was intended to be but short, and by the beginning of November, I was again ready for the sea : but the Lord saw fif to over-rule my design. During the time I was engaged in the slave trade, I never had the least scruple as to its lawful- ness. I was, upon the whole, satisfied with it, as the appointment Providence had mark- ed out for me ; yet it was, in many respects, far from eligible. It is, indeed, accounted a TO AFRICA, &c. [let. xiii. genteel employment, and is usually very profitable, though to me it did not prove so, the Lord seeing that a large increase of wealth could not be good for me. However I considered myself as a sort of gaoler 01 turnkey ; and I was sometimes shocked with an employment that was perpetually conver- sant with chains, bolts, and shackles. In this view I had often petitioned, in my pray- ers, that the Lord, in his own time, would be pleased to fix me in a more humane call- ing, and, if it might be, place me where I might have more frequent converse with his people and ordinances, and be freed from those long separations from home, which very often were hard to bear. My prayers were now answered, though in a way I little expected. I now experienced another sud- den, unforeseen change of life. I was within two days of sailing, and, to all appearance, in good health as usual; but in the afternoon, as I was sitting with Mrs. N*****, by our- selves, drinking tea, and talking over past events, I was in a moment seized with a fit, which deprived me of sense and motion, and left me no other sign of life than that of breathing. I suppose it was of the apoplec- tic kind. It lasted about an hour, and when I recovered, it left a pain and dizziness in my head, which continued with such symp- toms as induced the physicians to judge it would not be safe or prudent for me to pro- ceed on the voyage. Accordingly, by the advice of my friend, to whom the ship be- longed, I resigned the command the day be- fore she sailed ; and thus I was unexpectedly called from that service, and freed from a share of the future consequences of that voyage, which proved extremely calamitous. The person who went in my room, most of the officers, and many of the crew, died, and the vessel was brought home with great dif- ficulty. As I was now disengaged from business. I left L , and spent most of the following year at London, and in Kent. But I entered upon a new trial. You will easily conceive that Mrs. N***** was not an unconcerned spectator, when I lay extended, and, as she thought, expiring upon the ground. In effect, the blow that struck me reached her in the same instant : she did not, indeed, immediate- ly feel it, till her apprehensions on my ac- count began to subside ; but as I grew bet- ter, she became worse: her surprise threw her into a disorder, which no physicans could define, or medicines remove. Without any of the ordinary symptoms of a consumption, she decayed almost visibly, till she became so weak that she could hardly bear any one to walk across the room she was in. I was placed for about eleven months in what Dr. Young calls the — dreadful post of observation, Darker everv hour ” CONCLUSION OF THE NARRATIVE. 109 r.ET. XIV ] It was not till after my settlement in my present station, that the Lord was pleased to restore her by his own hand, when all hopes from ordinary means were at an end. But before this took place, I have some other particulars to mention, which must be the subject of the following sheet, which I hope will be the last on this subject, from — Your » ffcctionate servant. February 1, 1764. LETTER XIV. dear sir, — By the directions I had receiv- ed from my friend at St. Kitt’s, I soon found out a religious acquaintance in London. I first applied to Mr. B , and chiefly attend- ed upon his ministry, when in town. From him I received many helps both in public and private; for he was pleased to favour me with his friendship, from the first. His kind- ness and the intimacy between us have con- tinued and increased to this day; and of all my many friends, I am most deeply indebted to him. The late Mr. II d was my second acquaintance ; a man of a choice spirit, and an abundant zeal for the Lord’s service. I enjoyed his correspondence till near the time of his death. Soon after, upon Mr. W d’s return from America, my two good friends introduced me to him; and though I had little personal acquaintance with him till after- wards, his ministry was exceeding useful to me. I had likewise access to some religious societies, and became known to many excel- lent Christians in private life. Thus, when at London, I lived at the fountain head, as it were, for spiritual advantages. When I was in Kent, it was very different, yet I found some serious persons there ; but the fine va- riegated woodland country afforded me ad- vantages of another kind. Most of my time, at least some hours every day, I passed in retirement, when the weather was fair ; sometimes in the thickest woods, sometimes on the highest hills, where almost every step varied the prospect. It has been my custom for many years, to perform my devotional exercises sub dio , when I have opportunity, and I always find these rural scenes have some tendency both to refresh and compose my spirits. A beautiful diversified prospect gladdens my heart. When I am withdrawn from the noise and petty works of men, I consider myself as in the great temple, which the Lord hath built for his own honour. The country between Rochester and Maid- stone, bordering upon the Medway, was well suited to the turn of my mind ; and was I to go over it now, I could point to many a place where I remember either to have earnestly sought, or happily found, the Lord’s comforta- ble presence with my soul. And thus I lived, j sometimes at London, and sometimes in the country, ill the autumn of the following year. All this while I had two trials, more or less, upon my mind ; the first and principal was Mrs. N*****’s illness ; she still grew worse, and I had daily more reason to fear that the hour of separation was at hand. When faith was in exercise, I was in some measure re- signed to the Lord’s will ; but too often my heart rebelled, and I found it hard either to trust or to submit. I had likewise some care about my future settlement; the African trade was overdone that year, and my friends did not care to fit out another ship till mine return- ed. I was sometime in suspense ; but, indeed, a provision of food and raiment has seldom been a cause of great solicitude to me. I found it easier to trust the Lord in this point than in the former, and accordingly this was first answered. In August I received an account that I was nominated to the office of . These places are usually obtained, or at least sought, by dint of much interest and application ; but this came to me un- sought and unexpected. I knew, indeed, my good friend in L had endeavoured to procure another post for me, but found it pre-engaged. I found afterwards, that the place I had missed would have been very unsuitable for me, and that this, which I had no thought of, was the very tiling I could have wished for, as it afforded me much leisure, and the liberty of living in my own way. Several circumstances, unnoticed by others concurred, to show me that the good hand of the Lord was as remarkably con- cerned in this event as in any other leading turn of my life. But when I gained this point, my distress in the other was doubled; I was obliged to leave Mrs. N*****, in the greatest extremity of pain and illness, when the physicians could do no more, and I had no ground of hope that I should see her again alive, but this, that nothing is impossible with the Lord. I had a severe conflict ; but faith pre- vailed. I found the promise remarkably fulfilled, of strength proportioned to my need. The day before I set out, and not till then, the burden was entirely taken from my mind. I was strengthened to resign both her and myself to the Lord’s disposal, and departed from her in a cheerful frame. Soon after I was gone, she began to amend, and recover- ed so fast, that in about two months I had the pleasure to meet her at Stone, on her journey to L . And now, I think, I have answered, if not exceeded, your desire. Since October 1755, we have been comfortably settled here, and all my circumstances have been as remark- ably smooth and uniform as they were vari- ous in former years. My trials have been light and few, not but that I still find, in the experience of every day, the necessity of a 110 CONCLUSION OF THE NARRATIVE. [let. XIV. life of fiith. My principal trial is, the body of sin and death, which makes me often to sigh oat the apostle’s complaint, “ O wretch- ed man, &:c.” But with him likewise I can say, “ I thank God through Jesus Christ my Lord.” I live in a barren land, where the knowledge and power of the gospel is very low ; yet here are a few of the Lord's people ; and this wilderness has been a useful school to me, where I rive studied more leisurely the truths which I gathered up in London. I brought down with me a considerable stock of notional truths; but I have since found, that there is no effectual teacher but God ; that we can receive no further than he is pleased to communicate ; and that no know- ledge is truly useful to me, but what is made my own by experience. Many things, I thought I had learned, would not stand in an hour of temptation, till I had in this way learned them over again. Since the year 1757, 1 have had an increasing acquaintance in the West Riding of Yorkshire, where the gospel flourishes greatly. This has been a good school to me. I have conversed at large among all parties, without joining any ; and in my attempts to hit the golden mean, I have sometimes been drawn too near the different extremes ; yet the Lord has enabled me to profit by my mistakes. In brief, I am still a learner, and the Lord still condescends to teach me. I begin at length to see that I have attained but very little ; but I trust in him to carry on his own work in my soul, and, by all the dispensations of his grace and pro- vidence, to increase my knowledge of him and of myself. When I was fixed in a house, and found my business would afford me much leisure time, I considered in what manner I should improve it. And now, having reason to close with the apostle’s determination, “ to know nothing but Jesus Christ, and him crucified,” I devoted my life to the prosecution of spirit- ual knowledge, and resolved to pursue no- thing but in subservience to this main design. This resolution divorced me, as I have al- ready hinted, from the classics and mathema- tics. My first attempt was to learn so much Greek as would enable me to understand the New Testament and Septuagint; and when I had made some progress this way, I enter- ed upon the Hebrew the following year ; and two years afterwards, having surmised some advantages from the Syriac version, I began with that language. You must not think t-hatihave attained, or ever aimed at, a cri- tical~skill in any of these. I had no business with them but as in reference to something else. I never read one classic author in tfye Greek. I thought it too late in life th take such a round in this language as I had doneln the Latin. I only wanted the signifi- cation of scriptural words and phrases ; and for this I thought I might avail myself of Scapula, the Synopis, and others, who had sustained the drudgery before me. In the Hebrew, I can read the historical books and psalms with tolerable ease; but in the pro- phetical and difficult parts, I am frequently obliged to have recourse to lexicons, &c. However, I know so much as to be able, with such helps as are at hand, to judge for myself the meaning of any passage I have occasion to consult. Beyond this I do not think of proceeding, if I can find better em- ployment ; for I would rather be some way useful to others, than die with the reputation of an eminent linguist. Together with these studies, I have kept up a course of reading of the best writers in divinity that have come to my hand, in the Latin and English tongues, and some French ; for I picked up the French at times while I used the sea. But within these two or three years I have accustomed myself chiefly to writing, and have not found time to read many books besides the scriptures. I am the more particular in this account, as my case has been somewhat singular ; for in all my literary attempts, I have been obliged to strike out my own path, by the light I could acquire from books, as I have not had a teacher or assistant since I w T as ten years of age. One word concerning my views to the mi- nistry, and I have done. I have told you, that this was my dear mother’s hope concern- ing me ; but her death, and the scenes of life in which I afterwards engaged, seemed to cut off the probability. The first desires of this sort in my own mind, arose many year9 ago, from a reflection on Gal. i. 23, 2*4. I could not but wish for such a public opportu- nity to testify the riches of divine grace. I thought I was, above most living, a fit person to proclaim that faithful saying, “ That Jesus Christ came into the world to save the chief of sinners;” and as my life had been full of remarkable turns, and I seemed selected to show what the Lord could do, I was in some hopes that, perhaps, sooner or later, he might call me into his service. I believe it was a distant hope of this that determined me to study the original scrip- tures ; but it remained an imperfect desire in my own breast, till it was recommended to me by some Christian friends. I started at the thought, when first seriously proposed to me ; but afterwards set apart some weeks to consider the case, to consult my friends, and to in treat the Lord’s direction. The judgment of my friends, and many things ' that occurred, tended to engage me. My j first thought was to join the dissenters, from ! a presumption that I could not honestly make i the required subscriptions ; but Mr. C , in a conversation upon these points, mode- rated my scruples ; and preferring the esta- blished church in some other respects, I ac- CONCLUSION OF THE NARRATIVE. Ill LIST. XIV.] cepted a title from him, some months after- wards, and solicited ordination from the late archbishop of York. I need not tell you I met a refusal, nor what steps I took after- wards to succeed elsewhere. At present I desist from any applications. My desire to serve the Lord is not weakened ; but I am not so hasty to push myself forward as I was former! v It is sufficient that he knows how to dispose of me, and that he both can and will do what is best. To him I commend my- self : I trust that his will and my true interest are inseparable. To his name be glory for ever. And thus I conclude my story, and presume you will acknowledge I have been particular enough. I have room for no more, but to repeat that I am, sir, your’s, &c. February 2, 1764. FORTY-ONE FETTERS ON RELIGIOUS SUBJECTS. ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED UNDER THE SIGNATURES OF OMICRON AND VIGIL. LETTER I. On Trust in the Providence of God , and Benevolence to his Poor. my dear friend, — The more I think of the point you proposed to me, the more I am confirmed to renew the advice I then gave. There is doubtless such a thing as Christian prudence ; but, my friend, beware of coun- terfeits. Self-love, and the evil heart of un- belief, will endeavour to obtrude upon us a prudence so called, which is as opposite to the former as darkness to light. I do not say that, now you have a wife, and the pros- sent of a family, you are strictly bound to com- municate with the poor in the same propor- tion as formerly. I say, you are not bound : for every thing of this sort should proceed from a willing mind. But if you should tell me, the Lord has given you such a zeal for his glory, such a concern for the honour of the gospel, such a love to his members, such a grateful sense of his mercies (especially by granting you, in this late instance of your marriage, the desire of your heart,) and such an affiance in his providence and promises, that you find yourself very unwilling to be one sixpence in the year less useful than you was before, I could not blame you, or dis- suade you from it. But 1 do not absolutely advise it ; because I know not the state of your mind, or what measure of faith the Lord has given you. Only this I believe, that when the Lord gives such a confidence, he will not disappoint it. When I look among the professors, yea, among the ministers of the gospel, there are few things I see a more general want of, than such a trust in God as to temporals, anu such a sense of the honour of being permit- ted to relieve the necessities of his people, as might dispose them to a more liberal dis- tribution of what they hove at present in their power, and to a reliance on him for a sufficient supply in future. Some excep- tions there are. Some persons I have the happiness to know, whose chief pleasure it seems to be, to devise liberal things. Fcr the most part, we take care, first, to be well supplied, if possible, w T ith all the necessaries, conveniences, and not a few of the elegan- cies of life ; then to have a snug fund laid up against a rainy day, as the phrase is (if this is in an increasing way, so much the belter,) that when we look at children and near relatives, we may say to our hearts, “ New they are well provided for.” And w hen we have gotten all this, and more, we are, perhaps, content, for the love of Christ, to bestow a pittance of our superfluities, a tenth or a twentieth part of what we spend or hoard up for ourselves, upon the poor. But, alas ! what do we herein more than others I Multitudes, who know nothing of the love of Christ, will do thus much, yea, perhaps, greatly exceed us, from the mere feelings of humanity. But it may be asked, Would you show no regard to the possibility of leaving your wife or children unprovided fori Quite the re- verse. I would have you attend to it very much, and behold the scriptures show you the more excellent way. If you had a little money to spare, would you not lend, it to me, if I assured you it should be repaid when wantedl I can point out to you better interest no ON TRUST IN GOD. 113 LET. I.] md better security than I could possibly give you : Prov. xix. 17, “ He that hath pity upon the poor, lendeth unto the Lord ; and thai which he hath given, will he pay him again.” What think you of this text 1 Is it the word of God or not? Is he worthy of be- 'ief, or not? Is he able to make good his word, or is he not ? I dare stake all my in- terest in your friendship (which I should be very loath to forfeit,) that if you act upon this maxim, in a spirit of prayer and faith, and with a single eye to his glory, you shall not be disappointed. Read over Matt. vi. 26 — 34. Shall we confine that reasoning and those promises to the primitive times ? Say not, “if the Lord would make windows in heaven, this thing might be.” He has more ways to bless and prosper those who trust in him, than we are able to point out to him. But I tell you, my friend, he will sooner make windows in heaven, turn stones into bread, yea, stop the sun in his course, than he will suffer those who conscientiously serve him, and depend upon him, to be des- titute. Some instances we have had of ministers, who have seemed to transgress the bounds of strict prudence in their attention to the poor. But if they have been men of faith, prayer, and zeal ; if they did it, not from a caprice of humour, or a spirit of indolence, but from such motives as the scripture sug- gests and recommends, I believe their fami- lies have seldom suffered for it. I wish you to consult, upon this head, what Mrs. Alleine says, in the affecting account she has given of that honoured and faithful servant of God, her husband, Joseph Alleine. Besides, you know not what you may actually save in a course of years by this method. The apos- tle, speaking of some abuses that obtained in the church of Corinth, says, “ For this cause many are sick among you.” If prudence should shut up the bowels of your compassion (which I trust it never will,) the Lord might quarter an apothecary upon your family, which would, perhaps, cost you twice the money that would have sufficed to refresh his people, and to commend your ministry and character. But if, after all, prudence will be heard, I counsel you to do these two things. First, Be very certain that you allow yourselves in nothing superfluous. You cannot, I trust, in conscience think of laying out one penny more than is barely decent, unless you have another penny to help the poor. Then, se- condly, Let your friends, who are in good circumstances, be plainly told, that, though you love them, prudence and the necessary charge of a family, will not permit you to entertain them ; no, not for a night. What say you ! shut my door against my friends? Yes, by all means, rather than against Christ. If the Lord Jesus was again upon earth in a P state of humiliation, ard he, and the best friend you have, standing' at your door, and your provision so strait that you could not receive both, which would you entertain 1 Now, he says of the poor, “Inasmuch as you did it to the least of these my brethren, you did it unto me.” Your friends have houses of their own, and money to pay at an inn, if you do not take them in ; but the poor need relief. One would almost think that pas- sage, Luke xiv. 12, 13, 14, was not con- sidered as a part of God’s word ; at least I believe there is no one passage so generally neglected by his own people. I do not think it unlawful to entertain our friends ; but if these words do not teach us, that it is in some respects our duty to give a preference to the poor, I am at a loss to understand them. I was enabled to set out upon the plan I recommend to you, at a time when my cer- tain income was much too scanty for my own provision, and before I had the expectation or promise of assistance from any person upon earth. Only I knew that the Lord could pro- vide me with whatever he saw needful ; and I trusted, that if he kept me dependant upon himself, and desirous to live for his service only, he assuredly would do so. I have as yet seen no cause to repent it. I live upon his promise ; for as to any present ways or means, every thing here below is so uncer- tain, that I consider myself in the same situation with the birds of the air, who have neither store-house nor barn. To-day I have enough for myself, and something to impart to them that need ; as to futurity, the Lord must provide ; and for the most part I can believe he will. I can tell you, however, that now and then my heart is pinched ; un- belief creeps in, and self would much rather choose a strong box, or what the world calls a certainty, than a life of absolute depend- ence upon the providence of God. However, in my composed hours I am well satisfied. Hitherto he has graciously taken care of me ; therefore may my heart trust in him, and not be afraid. Consider, my friend, the Lord has done well for you likewise. He has settled you peaceably in a good and honourable interest; he has now answered your prayers, in giving you a partner, with whom you may take sweet counsel, one that will help and strengthen you in your best desires. Be- ware, therefore, of that reasoning which might lead you to distrust the Lord your God, or to act as if you did. You complain that there is too much of an expensive taste among some persons in your congregation. If you set yourself to discountenance this, and should at the same time too closely shut up your hand, they will be ready to charge you with being governed by the same worldly spirit, though in another form. If you have been hitherto tender and bountiful to the 114 TO A STUDENT IN DIVINITY. [let. .1. poor, and should make too great and too sud- den an alteration in this respect, if the blame should not fall upon you, it probably would upon your wife, who, I believe, would be far from deserving it. If the house which had been open to the poor in former times, should be shut against them, now yen live in it, would it not lead the people’s thoughts back 1 Would it not open the mouths of those who do not love your ministry, to say, That, not- withstanding all your zeal about doctrines, you' know how to take care of your own in- terest, as well as those whom you have thought indifferent and lukewarm in the cause of the gospel } Would it not 1 But 1 forbear. I Irnow you need no such argu- ments. Yet consider how many eyes are upon you, watching for your halting. Now, at your first setting out, is the proper time seriously to seek the Lord’s direction, that you may, from the beginning, adopt such a plan as may be most for your own comfort, the honour of your character as a minister, the glory of him who has called you, and the edi- fication of your people. It is easier to begin well, than to make alterations afterwards. I trust the Lord will guide and bless you in your deliberations. And, for my own part, I am not in the least afraid, that you will ever have cause to blame me for the advice I have given, if you should be disposed to follow it. I have given you my opinion freefy, and, perhaps, with an appearance of more strict- ness than is necessary. But I would apply our Lord’s words in another case to this: , “ All men cannot receive this saying ; he that is able to receive it, let him receive it.” j If the Lord has given you this confidence in his word, you are happy. It is better than the possession of thousands by the year. — I am, &c. LETTER II. Extract of a Letter to a Student in Divinity. de.\r sir, — The subject of your last is im- portant. I can sympathise with your anxiety, having known much of it myself, and there- fore willingly devote my first leisure to your service. But shall I indeed condole with you 1 or shall I rather congratulate you on the perplexity you complain of* I know it is not pleasing; but I hope it will be sancti- fied and profitable to you. Though I am no enemy to the acquisition of useful knowledge, I have seen many in- stances of young men who have been much hurt by what they expected to reap ad van- j tage from. They have gone to the academy ' humble, peaceable, spiritual, and lively; but have come out self- wise, dogmatical, censo- rious, anl full of a prudence founded upon the false maxims of the world. I have been ready to address them with that line of Mil- ton : M If thou art he — But ah ! how fali’n !” I do not mention this as the necessary fault of the institution, but as the frequent effect of notions too hastily picked up, when not sanctified by grace, nor balanced by a proportionable depth of spiritual experience. Iam therefore glad to hear, that notwith- standing the advantages you have had in the pursuit of your studies, you feel an inward conviction, that you still need something which you cannot receive from men, or books, in order to complete your fitness for the ministry ; that you may be “ a workman that needs not to be ashamed,” and enabled rightly to divide (to distinguish and distribute) the word of truth. It seems to me a point of more curiosity than use, to inquire too nicely into the modus of the Holy Spirit's assistance in the com- posure and delivery of sermons. If we can- not exactly state the boundaries between what we may deem the result of our own thoughts, and the needful influence of the [Ioly^ Spirit, it seems a safe way to give him the "honour of the whole, and to attribute nothing to our selves but our infirmities. If we have a capacity, means for improvement, diligence to make use of those means, and if that diligence is attended with any degree of success, may we not acknowledge, that the former links of this chain are the effects of his goodness and favour, no less than the latter? To the question, How far is it lawful to expect this assistance ? I answer, It is law- I fill very far, even to lay the whole stress up- j on it, so as to be firmly persuaded that we j can neither meditate nor speak to purpose i without it ; that if we have not this assist- | ance, whatever else we have, or may think ; we have, we shall but “ darken counsel by ! words without knowledge.” For this, I j think, I have warrant in John xv. 5. If any person supposes he has so far mastered a system of divinity, that though he can indeed do betfer with the Spirit’s assistance, yet he can make a tolerable shift without it, I envy him not this attainment. But if the question intends, IIow far a de- pendence upon the Holy Spirit may lawfully supersede the use of means? I answer, Not in the least. The blessing and the means ! are so closely united, that they cannot bo separated. The blessing may be surely ex- ’ pected, if diligently sought in the use of proper means ; and we have no just reason to expect it without them. But to clear up the whole, let it be considered. What may deserve the name of diligence in this matter ? and what are the proper means ? By diligence, I understand spiritual di!i- TO A STUDENT IN DIVINITY. 115 LET. II.] gence; such an active, improving, indus- trious habit, as is peculiar to a heart im- pressed with some real abiding sense of the Jove of God, the worth of souls, the shortness of time, and the importance of eternity. Without this turn of mind, though a man should spend sixteen hours every day in his study, he may be a mere trifler. The great- est part of his application will be spent on what is least necessary, and his knowledge will chiefly prove of that sort which pufleth up, without communicating any real benefit. Gen. xli. 21. Psal. cxxvii. 2. The chief means for attaining wisdom, and suitable gifts for the ministry, are, the holy scriptures and prayer. The one is the fountain of living water, the other the bucket with which we are to draw. And I believe you will find, by observation, that the man who is most frequent and fervent in prayer, and most devoted to the word of God, will shine and flourish above his fellows. Next to these, and derived from them, is meditation. By this I do not mean a stated exercise upon some one particular subject, so much as a disposition of mind to observe carefully what passes within us and around us ; what we see, hear, and feel ; and to apply all for the illustration and confirmation of the written word to us. In the use of these means, and an humble dependence upon the Lord in all the changing dispensations we pass through, our spiritual experience will enlarge ; and this experience is the proper fund of our ministerial capacity, so far as it may be considered inherent in us. Prov. xvi. 23. Mat. xiii. 52. 1 John i. 3. These means are of universal importance. The wisest can do nothing without them; the weakest shall not use them in vain. There are likewise subordinate means, which may be helpful, and should in general be at- tended to. Yet they ought not, I apprehend, to be considered as a sine qua non in a mi- nister’s call and fitness. The first preachers had them not, and some in the present day are enabled to do well without them. Under this head, I principally intend all that comes under the usual denomination of literature. A competent acquaintance with the learned languages, history, natural philosophy, &c. is very desirable. If these things are held in a proper subserviency, if they do not en- gross too much of our time, nor add fuel to the fire of that self importance which is our great snare, they may contribute to increase and enlarge our ideas, and facilitate our expressing ourselves with propriety. But these attainments, like riches, are attended with their peculiar temptations ; and unless they are under the regulation of a sound judgment, and spiritual frame of mind, will prove, like Saul’s armour to David, rather cumbersome than useful in preaching. The sermons of preachers th is qualified are often more ingenious than edifying, and rather set off the man, than commend the gospel of Christ. As you desire my advice with respect to your future studies, I shall comply, without hesitation or ceremony. The original scriptures well deserve your pains, and will richly repay them. There is, doubtless, a beauty, fulness, and spirit, in the originals, which the best translations do not always express. When a word or phrase admits of various senses, the transla- tors can only preserve one ; and it is not to be supposed, unless they were perfectly un- der the influence of the same infallible Spirit, that they should always prefer the best Only be upon your guard, lest you should bo tempted to think, that because you are master of the grammatical construction, and can tell the several acceptations of the words in the best authors, you are therefore and thereby master of the spiritual sense likewise. Thi3 you must derive from your experimental knowledge, and the influence and teaching of the Spirit of God. Another thing which will much assist you in composing, and speaking properly and ac- ceptably, is logic. This will teach you what properly belongs to your subject, and what may be best suppressed ; and likewise to ex- plain, divide, enumerate, and range your ideas to advantage. A lax, immethodical, disproportionate manner is to be avoided; yet beware of the contrary extreme. An affected stare hness and over-accuracy will fetter you, will make your discourse lean and dry, preclude an useful variety, and savour more of the school-lamp, than of tha heavenly fire, which alone can make our meditations efficacious, and profitable either to ourselves or our hearers. The proper me- dium can hardly be taught by rule ; experi- ence, observation, and prayer, are the best guides. As your inquiry seems chiefly to be, How to fill up your outlines 1 I would advise you to study the living, as well as the dead, or rather more. Converse much with experi- enced Christians, and exercised souls. You will find advantage in this respect, not only from the wise, but from the weak of the flock. In the course of your acquaintance, you will meet with some in a backsliding state, some under temptations, some walking in dark- ness, others rejoicing in the light, &c. Ob- serve how their spirits work, what they say, and how they reason in their several cases; what methods and arguments you find most successful in comforting the feeble-minded, raising up those who are oast down, and the like ; and what answers they return. Compare these with the word of God, and your own heart. What you observe of ten persons in these different situations, may be applied to ten thousand. For though some 116 TO A STUDENT IN DIVINITY. circumstances vary, the heart of man, the aids of grace, and the artifices of Satan, in genera], are universally the same. And whenever you are to preach, remember that some of all these so *ts will probably be before you, and each should have something said to their own peculiar case. The tempted and distressed will be most probably relieved, by opening the various states and exercises of the heart, and by showing, from scriptural and other examples, that no new thing has befallen them. The careless and backsliders, who have made a profession, should be reminded of that bless- edness they once spoke of, and warned of their danger. Those who are now upon the mount, should be cautioned to expect a change, and to guard against security and spiritual pride. To the dead in trespasses and sins (some such will be always present,) it is needful to preach the spirituality and sanc- tion of the law, that they may be stirred up to seek Jesus. Of him all awakened souls love to hear much. Let him, therefore, be your capital subject. If you discuss some less essential topic, or bend all your strength to clear up some dark text, though you should display much learning and ingenuity, you will probably fall short of your main design, which I dare say, will be to promote the glory of God, and the good of souls. You will likewise find advantage, by at- tending as much as you can on those preach- ers, whom God has blessed with much power, life, and success in their ministry; and in this you will do well not to confine yourself to any denomination or party ; for the Spirit of the Lord is not confined. Different men have different gifts and talents. I would not wish you to be a slavish admirer of any man. Christ alone is our Master and Teacher. But study the excellencies of each; and if you observe a fault in any (for no human models are perfect,) you will see what you are your- self to avoid. Your inquiries respecting my own experi- ence on this subject, must be answered very briefly. I have long since learned, that if I was ever to be a minister, faith and prayer must make me one. I desire to seek the Lord’s direction, both in the choice and man- agement of subjects ; but I do not expect it in a way of extraordinary impulse, but in endeavouring to avail myself, to the best of my judgment, of present circumstances. The converse I have with my people usually suggests what I am to preach to them. At first, my chief solicitude used to be, what I should find to say ; I hope it is now, rather that I may not speak in vain. For the Lord has sent me here, not to acquire the charac- ter of a ready speaker, but to win souls to Christ, and to edify his people. As to pre- paration, I make little use of books, except- ing the Bible and Concordance. Though I [let. ii. preach without notes, I must frequently write more or less upon the subject. Often, when I begin, I am at a loss how I shall pro- ceed ; but one thing insensibly offers after another ; and in general, I believe, the best and most useful parts of my sermon occur de novo , while I am preaching. This reminds me of Luther’s maxim, “ Bene precasse esl bene studuisse .” When I can find my .heart in frame and liberty for prayer, every thing else is comparatively easy. I should be very glad if any thing I have offered, may afford you satisfaction. The sum of my advice is this : Examine your heart and views. Can you appeal to him who knows all things concerning the sin- cerity of your aim, that you devote yourself to the work of the ministry, not for worldly regards, but with an humble desire to pro- mote the Redeemer’s kingdom 1 If so, and his providence has thus far concurred with you, trust him for your sufficiency of every kind, and he will not disappoint you, but will be near to strengthen you according to your [ day. Depend not upon any cisterns you can hew out for yourself, but rejoice that you have liberty to come to the fountain that is always full, and always flowing. You must not expect a mechanical sufficiency, such as artificers ac- quire by habit and exercise in their business. When you have preached well nineteen times, this will be no security for the twen- tieth. Yea, when you have been upheld for twenty years, should the Lord withhold his hand, you would be as much at a loss as at first. If you lean upon books or men, or upon your own faculties and attainments, you will be in fear and in danger of falling continual- ly. But if you stay yourself upon the Lord, he will not only make good your expecta- tions, but in time will give you a becoming confidence in his goodness, and free you from your present anxiety. One thing more I must mention as belong- ing to the subject: That a comfortable free- dom for public service depends much upon the spirituality of our walk before God and man. Wisdom will not dwell with a trifling, an assuming, a censorious, or a worldly spirit. But if it is our business, and our pleasure, to contemplate Jesus, and to walk in his steps, he will bless us; we shall be like trees planted by a constant stream, and he will prosper the work of our hands. — I am, &c. LETTER III. A letter to a friend, on the Question , W heth- er the sins of believers shall be publicly declared at the great day ? or, how are we to understand the apostle's assertion, “ we must all appear before the judgment-scat LET. III.] of Christ ; that every one may receive the things done in his body , according to that he hath done, whether it be good or bad ?” 2 Cor. v. 10, compared with Rom. xiv. 12. my hear sir, — My heart congratulates you. What changes and events many, in younger life, may be reserved to see, who can tell f But your pilgrimage is nearly finished; you stand upon the river’s brink, with the city full in view, waiting and wish- ing for the appointed hour. You need not be anxious concerning your passage ; for every circumstance attending it is already adjusted by infinite wisdom and love, and the King himself will be ready to receive you. While you continue here, I am glad to hear from you, and should be glad to contribute in any way or degree to your satisfaction, or even to show my willingness, if I can do no more. I can propose little more than the latter, by offering my thoughts on the subject you pro- pose from 2 Cor. v. 10, and the apparent difficulty of understanding that passage, in full harmony with the many texts which seem expressly to assert, that the sins of be- lievers are so forgiven as to be remembered no more. There is doubtless, as you observe, a per- fect consistence in every part of the word of God; the difficulties we meet with are wholly owing to the narrowness of our fa- culties, and the ignorance which, in some decree, is inseparable from our present state of imperfection. And we may, in general, rest satisfied with the thought, that there is a bright moment approaching, when the veil shall be wholly taken away. It is the part of faith to rest upon the plain declara- tions of Scripture, without indulging a blameable curiosity of knowing more than is clearly revealed ; yet, while we humbly de- pend upon divine teaching, it is right to aim at as enlarged a sense of what is revealed as we can attain to. Every acquisition of this kind is more valuable than gold, es- pecially respecting those points which have an immediate tendency to comfort and sup- port us under the view of an approaching dissolution. The question you have propo- sed is undoubtedly of this nature. May the Lord direct my thoughts and pen, that I may not “ darken counsel by words without knowledge !” I have been looking over the passage you refer to in Dr. Ridgely, and think I might be well excused from say- ing any thing further on the subject, as he hath briefly and fully stated all the argu- ments that have occurred to me on either side of the question, and closes with a proper caution not to be peremptory in determining, lest by attempting to be wise above what Is written, I should betray my own folly. Yet, as you desire to have my thoughts, I must say something. I wish I may not give you 117 reason to think that this caution has been lost upon me. I think all the great truths in which we are concerned, are clearly, and expressly laid down, not only in one, but in many pla- ces of scripture ; but it sometimes happens, that here and there we meet with a text, which, in the first and obvious sound of the words, seems to speak differently from what is asserted more largely elsewhere ; which texts, singly taken, afford some men their only ground for the hypothesis they maintain. Thus the Arians lay a great stress on John xiv. 28, and the Arminians on James ii. 24, &c. But their true interpretation is to be sought according to the analogy of faith. They are capable of a sense agreeable to the others, though the others are not intelli- gible in the sense they would fix upon these. In like manner, I would say, whatever may be the precise meaning of 2 Cor. v. 10, we are sure it cannot be designed to weaken what we are taught in almost every page, of the free, absolute and unalterable nature of a believer’s justification ; the benefit of which, as to the forgiveness of sin, is signi- fied by the phrases of “blotting out,” — “not remembering,” — “casting behind the back,” — and “into the depths of the sea.” The sins of a believer are so effectually removed, that even when, or if they are sought for, they cannot be found; for Jesus has borne them away : believers are complete in him, and clothed in his righteousness. They shall stand before God without spot or wrinkle. Who shall lay any thing to their charge! But it is probable that those stray expres- sions chiefly, if not entirely, respect the guilt, imputation, and deserved consequences of sin.— None can suppose that the Lord will, or can forget the sins of his people, or that they can ever be hid from his all-com- prehending view. Neither can I think they themselves will forget them. Their song is founded upon a recollection of their sins and their circumstances in this life, Rev. v. 9; and their love, and consequently, their hap- piness, seems inseparably connected with the consciousness of what they were, and what they had done, Luke vii. 47. And I think those are the sweetest moments in this life, when we have the clearest sense of our own sins, provided the sense of our acceptance in the Beloved is proportionably clear, and we feel the consolations of his love, notwith- standing all our transgressions. When we arrive in glory, unbelief and fear will cease for ever; our nearness to God, and commu- nion with him, will be unspeakable beyond what we can now conceive. Therefore, the remembrance of our sins will be no abate- ment of our bliss, but rather the contrary. When Pharaoh and his host were alive, and pursuing them, the Israelites were terrified ; but afterwards, when they saw their enemies ON 2 COR. V. 10, AND ROM. XIV. 12. 118 ON FAMILY-WORSHIP. dead upon the shore, their joy and triumph were not abated, but heightened, by the con- sideration of their number. With respect to our sins being made known toothers, I acknowledge with you, that I could not now bear to have any of my fellow crea- tures made acquainted with what passes in my heart for a single day ; but, I apprehend it is a part, and a proof of my present de- pravity, that I feel myself disposed to pay so great a regard to the judgment of men, while I am so little affected with what I am in the sight of a pure and holy God. But I believe that hereafter, when self shall be entirely rooted out, and my will perfectly united to the divine will, I should feel no re- luctance, supposing it for the manifestation of his glorious grace, that men, angels, and ! devils, should know the very worst of me. Whether it will be so or no, I dare not deter- mine. Perhaps the difficulty chiefly lies in the necessity of our being at present taught heavenly things by earthly. In the descrip- tions we have of the great day, allusion is made to what is most solemn in human trans- actions. The ideas of the judgment-seat, the great trumpet, of the book being opened, and the pleadings, Matt. xxv. 37 — 44, seem to be borrowed from the customs that obtain amongst men, to help our weak conceptions, rather than justly and fully to describe what will be the real process. Now, when we at- tempt to look into the unseen world, we carry our ideas of time and place, and sensi- ble objects, along with us; and we cannot divest ourselves of them, or provide ourselves with better: yet, perhaps, they have as little relation to the objects we aim at, as the ideas which a man born blind acquires from what he hears and feels, have to the true nature of light and colours. Mr. Locke mentions one, who, after much thought and conversa- tion, supposed he had got a tolerable notion of scarlet, and that it was something nearly resembling the sound of a trumpet. Per- haps, this is no improper emblem of the ut- most we can attain to, when we are endea- vouring to realize the solemnities of the judgment-day. What we mean by memory and reasoning, may possibly have no place in the world of spirits. We guess at some- thing more suitable, perhaps, when we use the term intuition. But I apprehend we must die before we can fully understand what it signifies : perhaps, thoughts may be as intelligible there as words are here. In a word, my dear Sir, if 1 have not given you satisfaction (I am sure I have not satis- fied myself,) accept my apology in the words of a much wiser, and an inspired man : “ Such knowledge is too wonderful for me: it is high, I cannot attain unto it.” Ere long we shall know : in the mean while our cause is in sure hands : we have a shepherd who will guide us below, an Advocate who will [let. iv. receive and present us before the throne above. I trust we meet daily before the throne of grace; hereafter vre shall meet in glory. The paper will allow no mere. Be- lieve me yours in the Lord, &c. LETTER IV. To Theron, on Family Worship. sir, — A neglect of family-prayer is, I am afraid, too common amongst professors in this day. I am glad that you consider it both as a duty and a privilege, and are by grace de- termined, that when you shall commence master of a family, you will worship God with all your house. It was Abraham’s com- mendation, that he not only served the Lord himself, but was solicitous that his children and household might serve him likewise. I trust that he who inclines y r our heart to walk in the footsteps of faithful Abraham will bless you in the attempt, and give you peace in your dwelling ; a mercy which is seldom enjoyed, which, indeed, can hardly be expect- ed by those families wliich call not upon the Lord. Though I readily comply with your re- quest, and should be glad if I can offer any thing that may assist or animate you in your good purpose ; I am afraid I shall not answer your expectations with regard to the parti- culars of your inquiry 7 , concerning the most proper method of conducting family worship. The circumstances of families are so various, that no determinate rules can be laid down, nor has the word of God prescribed any ; be- cause, being of universal obligation, it is wisely and graciously accommodated to suit the different situations of his people. You must, therefore, as to circumstantials, judge for yourself. You will do well to pursue such a method as you shall find most con- venient to yourself and family, without scru- pulously binding yourself, when the scripture has left you free. We have no positive precept enjoining us any set time for prayer, nor even how often we should pray, either in public or private ; though the expressions of, continuing in- stant in prayer,” “ praying without ceasing,” and the like, plainly intimate that prayer should be frequent. Daniel prayed three times a dajr ; which the Psalmist speaks of as his practice likewise ; and in one place declares his purpose of praising God seven times a day. This last expression is, perhaps, indefinite ; not precisely seven times, but very often. Indeed, a person who lives in the exercise of faith and love, and who finds, by experience, that it is good for him to draw nigh to God, will not want to be told how often he must pray, any more than how often ON FAMILY WORSHIP. .19 LET. IV.] ho mast converse with an earthly friend. Those whom we love, we love to be much with. Love is the best casuist, and either resolves or prevents a thousand scruples and questions, which may perplex those who only serve God from principles of constraint and fear. And a believer will account those his happiest days, when he has most leisure, and most liberty of spirit, for the exercise of prayer. However, I think family prayer can- not be said to be stated, unless it be performed at least daily, and when unavoidable hinder- ances do not prevent, twice a day. Though all times and seasons are alike to the Lord, and his ear is always open, whenever we have a heart to call upon him; yet to us there is a peculiar suitableness in beginning and closing the day with prayer : in the morn- ing, to acknowledge his goodness in our pre- servation through the night, and entreat his presence and blessing on our persons and callings in the course of the day; and at night, to praise him for the mercies of the day past, to humble ourselves before him for what has been amiss, to wait on him for a re- newed manifestation of his pardoning love, and to commit ourselves and our concerns to his care and protection while we sleep. You will of course choose those hours when you are least liable to be incommoded by the calls of business, and when the family can assemble with the most convenience; only I would observe, that it greatly preserves regularity and good order in a house, to keep constantly to the same hours when it is prac- ticable ; and likewise, that it is best not to defer evening-prayer till late, if it can be well avoided, lest some who join in the ex- orcise, and perhaps the person himself who leads in it, should be too weary or sleepy to give a due attention. Oil this account, I should advise to have family-prayer before supper, where people have the choice and disposal of their own hours. I think, with you, that it is very expedient and proper that reading a portion of the word of God should be ordinarily a part of our fa- mily- ^ worship; so likewise, to sing a hymn or psalm, or part of one, at discretion, pro- vided there are some persons in the family who have enough of the musical ear and voice to conduct the singing in a tolerable manner ; otherwise, perhaps, it may be better omitted. If you read and sing, as well as pray, care should be taken that the combined services do not run into an inconvenient length. The chief thing to be attended to is, that it may be a spiritual service ; and the great evil to be dreaded and guarded against in the exercise of every duty that returns fre- quently upon us, is formality. If a stated couise of family-prayer is kept up as con- stantly in its season as the striking of the dock, it may come in time to be almost as | mechanically performed, unless We are con- tinually looking to the Lord to keep our hearts alive. It most frequently happens, that one or more members of a family are unconverted persons. When there are such present, a great regard should be had to them, and every thing conducted with a view to their edification, that they may not be dis- gusted, or wearied, or tempted to think that it is little more than the fashion or custom of the house; which will probably be the case, unless the master of the family is lively * and earnest in the performance of the duty, and likewise circumspect and consistent in every part of his behaviour at other times. By leading in the worship of God before chil- dren, servants, strangers, a man gives bond, as it were, for his behaviour, and adds strength to every other motive which should engage him to abstain from all appearance of evil. It should be a constant check upon our language and tempers in the presence of our families, to consider that we began the day, and propose to end it, with them in prayer. The Apostle Peter uses this argu- ment to influence the conduct of husbands and wives towards each other ; and it is equally applicable to all the members of a family ; “ That your prayers be not hindered that is, either prevented and cut off, or de- spoiled of all life and efficacy, by the fer- ment of sinful passions. On the other hand, the proper exercise of family-prayer, when recommended by a suitable deportment, is a happy means of instructing children and ser- vants in the great truths of religion, of soften- ing their prejudices, and inspiring them with a temper of respect and affection, which will dispose them to cheerful obedience, and make them unwilling to grieve or offend. In this instance, as in every other, we may ob- serve, that the Lord’s commands to his peo- ple are not arbitrary appointments, but that, so far as they are conscientiously complied with, they have an evident tendency and suit- ableness to promote our own advantage. He requires us to acknowledge him in our fami- lies, for our own sakes ; not because he has need of our poor services, but because we have need of his blessing, and without the influ- ence of his grace (which is promised to all who seek it) are sure to be unhappy in our- selves and in all our connexions. When husband and wife are happily par- takers of the same faith, it seems expedient, and for their mutual good, that, besides their private devotions, and joining in family prayer, they should pray together. They have many wants, mercies, and concerns, in common with each other, and distinct from the rest of the family. The manner in which they should improve a little time in this joint exercise cannot well be prescribed by a third person ; yet I will venture to sug- gest one thing : and the rather as I do not 120 ON THE SNARES AND DIFFICULTIES, &c. remember to have met with it in print. 1 conceive that it may prove much to their comfort to pray alternately, not only the husband with and for the wife, but the wife with and for the husband. The Spirit of God by t ie apostle, has expressly restrained women from the exercise of spiritual gifts in public, but I apprehend the practice I am speaking of can no way interfere with that restriction. I suppose them in private to- gether, and then I judge it to be equally right and proper for either of them to pray with the other. Nor do I meet with any thing in St. Paul’s writings to prevent my thinking, that if he had been a married man, he would, though an apostle, have been glad of the prayers of his wife. If you ask, how often they should pray together ? I think the of- tener the better, provided it does not break in upon their duties; once a day at least; and if there is a choice of hours, it might be as well at some distance from their other seasons of worship. But I would observe, as before, that in matters not expressly com- manded, prudence and experience must di- rect. I have written upon the supposition that you use extempore prayer; but as there are many heads of families who fear the Lord, and have not yet attained liberty to pray ex- tempore before others, I would add, that their inability in this respect, whether real, or whether only proceeding from fear, and an undue regard to self, will not justify them in the omission of family prayer. Helps may be procured. Mr. Jenk’s Devotions are in many hands, and I doubt not but there are other excellent books of the same kind, w 7 ith which I am not acquainted. If they begin with a form, not with a design to confine themselves always to one, but make it a part of their secret pleading at the throne of grace, that they may be favoured with the gift and spirit of prayer; and accustom them- selves while they use a form, to intersperse some petitions of their own ; there is little doubt but they will in time find a growth in liberty and ability, and at length lay their book entirely aside. For it being every be- liever’s duty to worship God in his family, his promise may be depended upon, to give them a sufficiency in all things, for those services which he requires of them. Happy is that family where the worship of God is constantly and conscientiously main- tained. Such houses are temples, in which the Lord dwells, and castles garrisoned by a divine power. I do not say, that, by honour- ing God in your house, you will wholly es- cape a share in the trials incident to the pre- sent uncertain state of things. A measure of such trials will be necessary for the exercise and manifestation of your graces, to give you a more convincing proof of the truth and sweetness of the promises made to a time of [let. v. affliction to mortify the body of sin, and tc wean you more effectually from the world. But this I will confidently say, that the Lord will both honour and comfort those who thus honour him. Seasons w 7 ill occur in w 7 hieh you shall know, and probably your neighbours shall be constrained to take notice, that he has not bid you seek him in vain. If you meet with troubles, they shall be accompa- nied by supports, and followed by deliver- ance; and you shall upon many occasions experience, that he is your protector, pre- serving you and yours from the evils by which you will see others suffering around you. I have rather exceeded the limits I propo- sed, and therefore shall only add a request, that in your addresses at the throne of grace you will remember, &c. LETTER V. On the Snares and Difficulties attending the Ministry of the Gospel. dear sir, — I am glad to hear that you are ordained, and that the Lord is about to fix you in a place where there is a prospect of your being greatly useful. He has given you the desire of your heart ; and I hope he has given you likewise a heart to devote yourself, without reserve, to his service, and the service of souls for his sake. I willingly comply with your request ; and shall without ceremony, offer you such thoughts as occur to me upon this occasion. You have doubtless often anticipated in your mind the nature of the service to which you are now called, and made it the subject of much consideration and prayer. But a distant view of the ministry is generally very different from what it is found to be when we are actually engaged in it. The young sol- dier, who has never seen an enemy, may form some general notions of what is before him ; but his ideas will be much more lively and diversified when he comes upon the field of battle. If the Lord was to show us the whole beforehand, who that has a due sense of his own insufficiency and weakness, would venture to engage! But he first draws us by a constraining sense of his love, and by giv- iig us an impression of the worth of souls, and leaves us to acquire a knowledge of what is difficult and disagreeable by a gradual ex- perience. The ministry of the gospel, like the book which the apostle John ate, is a bit- ter sweet ; but the sweetness is tasted first ; the bitterness is usually known afterwards when we are so far engaged that there is no going back. Yet I would not discourage you; it is a good and noble cause, and we serve a good LET. V.] and gracious Master ; who, though he will make us feel our weakness and vileness, will not suffer us to sink under it. His grace is sufficient for us ; and if he favours us with an humble and dependant spirit, a single eye and a simple heart, he will make every diffi- culty give way, and mountains will sink into plains before his power. You have known sunething of Satan’s de- vices while you were in private life : how he has envied your privileges, assaulted your peace, and laid snares for your feet : though the Lord would not suffer him to hurt you, he has permitted him to sift and tempt, and shoot his fiery arrows at you. Without some of this discipline, you would have been very unfit for that part of your office which con- sists in speaking a word in season to weary and heavy-laden souls. But you may now expect to hear from him, and to be beset by his power and subtilty in a different manner. You are now to be placed in the forefront of the battle, and to stand as it were, for his mark : so far as he can prevail against you now, not yourself only, but many others, will be affected ; many eyes will be upon you ; and if you take a wrong step, or are ensnared into a wrong spirit, you will open the mouths of the adversaries wider, and grieve the hearts of believers more sensibly than if the same things had happened to you while you was a layman. The word of the ministry is truly honourable ; but, like the post of honour in a battle, it is attended with peculiar dan- gers ; therefore the apostle cautions Timo- thy, “ Take heed to thyself, and to thy doc- trine.” To thyself in the first place, and then to thy doctrine ; the latter without the former would be impracticable and vain. You have need to be upon your guard in whatever way your first attempts to preach the gospel may seem to operate. If you should (as may probably be the case where the truth has been little known) meet with much opposition, you will perhaps find it a heavier trial than you are aware of; but I speak of it only as it might draw forth your corruptions, and give Satan advantage against you, and this may be two ways; first, by embittering your spirit against opposers, so as to speak in anger, to set them at defiance, or retaliate upon them in their own way ; which, besides bringing guilt upon your con- science, would of course increase your diffi- culties, and impede your usefulness. A vio- lent opposition against ministers and profess- ors of the gospel is sometimes expressed by the devil’s roaring, and some people think no good can be done without it. It is allowed, that men who love darkness will show their dislike of the light; but, I believe, if the wis- dom and meekness of the friends of the gos- pel had been always equal to their good in- tentions and zeal, the devil would not have had opportunity of roaring so loud as he has 121 sometimes done. The subject-matter of the gospel is offence enough to the carnal heart we must therefore expect opposition; but we should not provoke or despi'se it, or do any thing to aggravate it. A patient continuance in well-doing, a consistency in character, and an attention to return kind offices for hard treatment, will, in course of time, greatly soften the spirit of opposition ; and instances are to be found of ministers, who are treated with some respect, even by those persons in their parishes who are most averse to their doctrine. When the apostle directs us, “ If it be possible, and as much as in us lies, to live peaceably with all men,” he seems to intimate, that though it be difficult, it is not wholly impracticable. We cannot change the root- ed prejudices of their hearts against the gos- pel ; but it is possible, by the Lord’s blessing, to stop their mouths, and make them ashamed of discovering it, when they behold our good conversation in Christ. And it is well worth our while to cultivate this outward peace, provided we do not purchase it at the ex- pense of truth and faithfulness ; for ordinari- ly we cannot hope to be useful to our people, unless we give them reason to believe that we love them, and have their interest at heart. Again, opposition will hurt you, if it should give you an idea of your own import- ance, and lead you to dwell with a secret self-approbation upon your own faithfulness and courage in such circumstances. If you are able to stand your ground uninfluenced either by the favour or the fear of men, you have reason to give glory to God ; but. re- member, that you cannot thus stand an hour, unless he upholds you. It shows a strong turn of mind, when we are very ready to speak of our trials and difficulties of this kind, and of our address and resolution in encountering them. A natural stiffness of spirit, with a desire to have self taken notice of, may make a man willing to endure those kind of hard- ships, though he has but little grace in ex- ercise; but true Christian fortitude, from a consciousness that we speak the truths of God, and are supported by his power is a very different thing. If you should meet with but little opposi- tion, or if the Lord should be pleased to make your enemies your friends, you will probably be in danger from the opposite quarter. If opposition has hurt many, popularity has wounded more. To say the truth, I am in some pain for you. Your natural abilities are considerable ; you have been diligent in your studies ; your zeal is warm, and your spirit is lively. With these advantages, I expect to see you a popular preacher. The more you are so, the greater will your field of usefulness be : but, alas ! you cannot yet km ^ to what it will expose you. It is like walking upon ice. When you shall see an attentive congregation hanging upon your words; ON THE SNARES AND DIFFICULTIES, &c. 122 ON THE INFLUENCE OF FAITH. [let. yl when you shall hear the well-meant, but often injudicious, commendations of those to whom the Lord shall make you useful ; when you shall find, upon an intimation of your preach- ing in a strange place, people thronging from all parts to hear you, how will your heart feel 1 It is easy for me to advise you to be humble, and for you to acknowledge the propriety of the advice; but while human nature remains in its present state, there will be almost the same connection between popularity and pride, as between fire and gunpowder ; they cannot meet without an explosion, at least, not unless the gunpowder is kept very damp. »3o unless the Lord is constantly moistening our hearts (if I may so speak) by the influ- ences of his Spirit, popularity will soon set us in a blaze. You will hardly find a person, who has been exposed to this fiery trial, with- out suffering loss. Those whom the Lord loves, he is able to keep, and he will keep them upon the whole ; yet by such means, and in a course of such narrow escapes, that they shall have reason to look upon their deliverance as no less than miraculous. Sometimes, if his ministers are not watchful against the first impressions of pride, he per- mits it to gather strength ; and then it is but a small thing, that a few of their admirers may think them more than men in the pulpit, if they are left to commit such mistakes when out of it, as the weakest of the flock can discover and pity. And this will certainly be the case, while pride and self-sufficiency have the ascendant. Beware, my friend, of mistaking the ready exercise of gifts for the exercise of grace. The minister may be assisted in public for the sake of his hearers ; and there is something in the nature of our public work, when surrounded by a con- course of people, that is suited to draw forth the exertion of our abilities, and to en- gage our attention in the outward services, when the frame of the heart may be far from being right in the sight of the Lord. When Moses smote the rock, the water followed; yet he spoke unadvisedly with his lips, and greatly displeased the Lord. However, the congregation was not disappointed for his fault, nor was he put to shame before them ; but he was humbled for it afterwards. They are happy whom the Lord preserves in some degree humble, without leaving them to ex- pose themselves to the observation of men, and to receive such wounds as are seldom healed without leaving a deep scar. But even these have much to suffer. Many dis- tressing exercises you will probably meet with, upon the best supposition, to preserve in you a due sense of your own unworthi- ness, and to convince you, that your ability, your acceptance, and your usefulness, de- pend upon a power beyond your own. Some- times, perhaps, you will feel such an amaz- ing difference between the frame of your spirit in public and in private, when the eyes of men are not upon you, as will make you, almost ready to conclude, that you are no better than a hypocrite, a mere stage-player, who derives all his pathos and exertion from the sight of the audience. At other times, you will find such a total emptiness and in- disposition of mind, that former seasons of liberty in preaching will appear to you like the remembrance of a dream, and you will hardly be able to persuade yourself you shall ever be capable of preaching again ; the scriptures will appear to you like a sealed book, and no text or subject afford any light or opening to determine your choice; and this perplexity may not only seize you in the study, but accompany you to the pulpit. If you are enabled at some times to speak tc the people with power, and to resemble Sam- son, when, in the greatness of his strength, he bore away the gates of the city, you will, perhaps, at others, appear before them like Samson when his locks were shorn, and he stood in fetters. So that you need not tell the people you have no sufficiency in your- self ; for they will readily perceive it without your information. These things are hard to bear ; yet successful popularity is not to be preserved upon easier terms ; and if they are but sanctified to hide pride from you, you will have reason to number them amongst your choicest mercies. I have but just made an entrance upon the subject of the difficulties and dangers attending the ministry. But my paper is full. If you are willing I should proceed, let me know, and I believe I can easily find enough to fill another sheet. May the Lord make you wise and watchful ! That he may be the light of your eye, the strength of your arm, and the joy of your heart, is the sincere prayer of, &c. LETTER VI. On the Practical Influence of Faith. sir, — The use and importance of faith, as it respects a sinner’s justification before God, has been largely insisted on ; but it is likewise of great use and importance in the daily concerns of life. It gives evidence and sub- sistence to things not seen, and realizes the great truths of the gospel, so as that they become abiding and living principles of sup- port and direction, wdiile w r e are passing through this wilderness. Thus, it is as the eye and the hand, without which we cannot take one step with certainty, or attempt any service with success. It is to be wished, that this practical exercise of faith we're duly attended to by all professors. We should not then meet with so many cases that put ON THE INFLUENCE OF FAITH. 123 1. 1ST. VI.] us to a stand, and leave us at a great difficulty I/.) reconcile, what we see in some, of whom we would willingly hope well, with what we read in scripture, of the inseparable con- comitants of a true and lively faith. For how can we but be staggered, when we hear per- sons speaking the language of assurance, that they know their acceptance with God through Christ, and have not the least doubt of their interest in all the promises ; while, at the same time, we see them under the influ- ence of unsanctified tempers, of a proud, passionate, positive, worldly, selfish, or churl- ish carriage ! It is not only plain from the general tenure of scripture, that a covetous, a proud, or a censorious spirit, are no more consistent with the spirit of the gospel, than drunkenness or whoredom ; but there are many express texts directly pointed against the evils which too often are found amongst professors. Thus the apostle James assures us, “That if any man seemeth to be religious, and bridleth not his tongue, his religion is vain and the apostle John, “ That if any mar. love the world, the love of the Father is not in him and he seems to apply this character to any man, whatever his profession or pretences may be, “ who having this world’s goods, and seeing his brother have need, shutteth up his bowels of compassion from him.” Surely these texts more than intimate, that the faith which jus- tifies the soul, does likewise receive from Jesus grace for grace, whereby the heart is purified, and the conversation regulated as becomes the gospel of Christ. There are too many who would have the ministry of the gospel restrained to the pri- vileges of believers; and when the fruits of faith, and the tempers of the mind, which should be manifest in those who have “tasted that the Lord is gracious,” are inculcated, think they sufficiently evade all that is said, by calling it legal preaching. I would be no advocate for legal preaching; but we must not be deterred by the fear of a hard word, from declaring the whole counsel of God ; and we have the authority and example of St. Paul, who was a champion of the doc- trines of free grace, to animate us in exhort- ing professors to “ walk worthy of God, who has called them to his kingdom and glory.” And indeed the expression of a believer’s privilege is often misunderstood. It is a believer’s privilege to walk with God in the exercise of faith, and, by the power of his Spirit, to mortify the whole body of sin ; to gain a growing victory over the world and self, and to make daily advances in conformity to the mind that was in Christ. And noth- ing that we profess to know, believe, or hope for, deserves the name of a privilege, farther than we are influenced by it to die unto sin, and to live unto righteousness. Whosoever is possessed of true faith, will not confine his inquiries to the single point of his accept- ance with God, or be satisfied with the distant hope of heaven hereafter. He will likewise be solicitous how he may glorify God in the world, and enjoy such foretastes of heaven as are attainable while he is yet upon earth. Faith, then, in its practical exercise, has for its object the whole word of God, and forms its estimate of all things with which the soul is at present concerned, according to the standard of scripture. Like Moses, it “ endures, as seeing him who is invisible.” When our Lord was upon earth, and con- versed with his disciples, their eyes and hearts were fixed upon him. In danger he was their defender ; their guide when in per- plexity; and to him they looked for the solution of all their doubts, and the supply of all their wants. He is now withdrawn from our eyes ; but faith sets him still before us for the same purposes, and, according to its degree, with the same effects, as if we actually saw him. His spiritual presence, apprehended by faith, is a restraint from evil, an encouragement to every service, and afiords a present refuge and help in every time of trouble. To this is owing the delight a believer takes in ordi- nances, because there he meets his Lord; and to this likewise it is owing, that his re- ligion is not confined to public occasions ; but he is the same person in secret as he appears to be in the public assembly ; for he worships him who sees in secret, and dares appeal to his all-seeing eye for the sincerity of his desires and intentions. By faith he is enabled to use prosperity with moderation ; and knows and feels, that what the world calls good is of small value, unless it is ac- companied with the presence and blessing of Him whom his soul loveth. And his faith upholds him under all trials, by assuring him that every dispensation is under the di- rection of his Lord ; that chastisements are a token of his love ; that the season, measure, and continuance of his sufferings, are appoint- ed by infinite wisdom, and designed to work for his everlasting good ; and that grace and strength shall be afforded him, according to his day. Thus, his heart being fixed, trust- ing in the Lord, to whom he has committed all his concerns, and knowing that his best interests are safe, he is not greatly afraid of evil tidings, but enjoys a stable peace in the midst of a changing world. For though he cannot tell what a day may bring forth, he believes that He, who has invited and enabled him to cast all his cares upon him, will suffer nothing to befall him but what shall be made subservient to his chief desires, the git *ry of God in the sanctification and final sal vation of his soul. And if, through the weakness of his flesh, he is liable to be startled by the first impression of a sharp and sudden trial, he quickly flees to his strong' refuge, remem- bers it is the Lord’s doing, resigns himself 124 ON THE INFLUENCE OF FAITH. [let. VII. to his will, and patiently expects a happy is- sue. By the same principle of faith, a believer’s conduct is regulated towards his fellow-crea- tures ; and in the discharge of the several duties and relations of life, his great aim is to please God, and to let his light shine in the world. He believes and feels his own weak- ness and unworthiness, and lives upon the grace and pardoning love of his Lord. This gives him an habitual tenderness and gentle- ness of spirit. Humbled under the sense of much forgiveness to himself, he finds it easy to forgive others, if he has aught against any. A due sense of wdiat he is in the sight of the Lord, preserves him from giv ing way to an- ger, positiveness, and resentment. He is not easily provoked, but is “ swift to hear, slow to speak, slow to wrath;” and if offended, easy to be entreated, and disposed, not only to yield to a reconciliation, but to seek it. As Jesus is his life, and righteousness, and strength, so he is his pattern. By faith he contemplates and studies this great exemplar of philanthropy. With a holy ambition, he treads in the footsteps of his Lord and Mas- ter, and learns of him to be meek and lowly, to requite injuries with kindness, and to over- come evil with good. From the same views, by faith he derives a benevolent spirit, and, according to his sphere and ability, he endea- vours to promote the welfare of all around him. The law of love being thus written in his heart, and his soul set at liberty from the low and narrow dictates of a selfish spirit, his language will be truth, and his dealings equity. His promise may be depended on, without the interposition of an oath, bond, or witness ; and the feelings of his own heart, under the directions of an enlightened con- science, and the precepts of scripture, prompt him to do unto others as he would desire they, in the like circumstances, should do unto him. If he is a master, he is gentle and compas- sionate ; if a servant, he is faithful and obedi- ent ; for in either relation he acts by faith, under the eye of his Master in heaven. If he is a trader, he neither dares nor wishes to take advantage, either of the ignorance or the necessities of those with whom he deals. And the same principle of love influences his whole conversation. A sense of his own in- firmities makes him candid to those of others. Ke will not readily believe reports to their prejudice, without sufficient proof; and even then, he will not repeat them, unless he is lawfully called to it. He believes that the precept, “ Speak evil of no man,” is founded upon the same authority with those which for- bid committing adultery or murder, and there- fore he “ keeps his tongue as with a bridle. ” Lastly, faith is of daily use as a preserva- tive from a compliance with the corrupt cus- toms and maxims of the world. The be- liever though in the world, is not of it. By faith he triumphs over its smiles and entice ments; he sees that all that is m the world, suited to gratify the desires of the flesh or the eye, is not only to be avoided as sinful, but as incompatible with his best pleasures. He will mix with the world so far as is ne- j cessarj 7 , in the discharge of the duties of that j station of life in which the providence of God has placed him, but no farther. His leisure and inclinations are engaged in a different pursuit. They who fear the Lord are his chosen companions; and the blessings he derives from the word, and throne, and ordi- nances of grace, make him look upon the poor pleasures and amusements of those who | live without God in the world with a mix- I ture of disdain and pity; and by faith he is J proof against its frowns. He will obey God | rather than man. He will “have no fellow- ship with the unfruitful works of darkness, but will rather reprove them.” And if, upon this account, he should be despised and in- juriously treated, whatever loss he suffers in such a cause, he accounts his gain, and es- teems such disgrace his glory. I am not aiming to draw a perfect charac- ter, but to show the proper effects of that faith w T hich justifies, w r hich purifies the heart, w’hich worketh by love, and overcomes the world An habitual endeavour to possess such a frame of spirit, and thus to adorn the gospel of Christ, and that with growing suc- cess, is what I am persuaded you are not a stranger to ; and I am afraid that they who can content themselves w T ith aiming at any thing short of this in their profession, are too much strangers to themselves, and to the nature of that liberty wherewith Jesus has promised to make his people free. That you may go on from strength to strength, increas- ing in the light and image of our Lord and Sa- viour, is the sincere prayer of, &c. LETTER Vll. On the Propriety of a Ministerial Address to the Unconverted. sir, — In a late conversation, you desired my thoughts concerning a scriptural and consis- tent manner of addressing the consciences of unawakened sinners in the course of your ministry. It is a point on which many emi- nent ministers have been, and are not a little divided; and it therefore becomes me to pro- pose my sentiments with modesty and cau- tion, so far as I am constrained to differ from any, from w'hom, in general, I would be glad to learn. Some think that it is sufficient to preach | the great truths of the word of God in their hearing ; to set forth the utterly ruined and j helpless state of fallen man by nature, and ON MINISTERIAL ADDRESS. 125 LET. VII.] the appointed method of salvation by grace, through faith in the Lord Jesus Christ ; and then to leave the application entirely to the agency of the Holy Spirit, who alone can enlighten the dark understandings of sinners, and enable them to receive, in a due manner, the doctrines of either the law or the gospel. And they apprehend, that all exhortations, arguments, and motives, addressed to those who are supposed to be still under the influ- ence of a carnal mind, are inconsistent with the principles of free grace, and the acknow- ledged inability of such persons to perform any spiritual acts; and that, therefore, the preachers who, avowing the doctrines of free grace, do, notwithstanding, plead and expos- tulate with sinners, usually contradict them- selves, and retract in their application what they had laboured to establish in the course of their sermons. There are others, who, though they would be extremely unwilling to derogate from the free grace and sovereign power of God in the great work of conversion, or in the least degree to encourage the mistaken notion which every unconverted person has of his own power ; yet think it their duty to deal with sinners as rational and moral agents ; and as such, besides declaring tne counsel of God in a doctrinal way, to warn them by the terrors of the Lord, and to beseech them, by his tender mercies, that they re- ceive not the grace of God in a preached gospel in vain. Nor can it be denied, but of eternal things, have sometimes, in the warmth of their hearts, dropped unguarded expressions, and such as have been justly liable to exception. If we were to decide to which of these different methods of preaching the prefer- ence is due, by the discernible effects of each, it will, perhaps, appear in fact, with- out making any invidious comparisons, that those ministers whom the Lord has honoured with the greatest success in awakening and converting sinners, have generally been led to adopt the more popular way of exhortation or address ; while they who have been stu- diously careful to avoid any direct applica- tion to sinners, as unnecessary and improper, if they have not been altogether without seals to their ministry, yet their labours have been more owned in building up those who have already received the knowledge of the truth, than in adding to their number. Now, as “ he that winneth souls is wise,” and as every faithful labourer has a warm desire of being instrumental in raising the dead in sin to a life of righteousness, this seems at least a presumptive argument in favour of those who, besides stating the doctrines of the gos- pel, endeavour, by earnest persuasions and expostulations, to impress them upon the hearts of their hearers, and intreat and warn them to consider “ how they shall escape, if they neglect so great salvation.” For it is not easy to conceive, that the Lord should most signally bear testimony in favour of that mode of preaching which is least con- sistent with the truth, and with itself. But not to insist on this, nor to rest the cause on the authority or examples of men, the best of whom are imperfect and fallible, let us consult the scriptures, which, as they furnish us with the whole subject-matter of our ministry, so they afford us perfect pre- cepts and patterns for its due and orderly dispensation. With respect to the subject of our inquiry, the examples of our Lord Christ, and of his authorised ministers, the apostles, are both our rule and our warrant. The Lord Jesus was the great preacher of free grace, “ who spake as never man spake ;” and his ministry, while it provided relief for the weary and heavy-laden, was eminently designed to stain the pride of all human glory. He knew what was in man, and declared, that none could come unto him, unless drawn and taught of God ; John vi. 44 — 46. And yet he often speaks to sinners in terms, which, if they were not known to be his, might perhaps, be censured as inconsistent and legal ; John vi. 27 ; Luke xiii. 24 — 27 ; John xii. 35. — It appears, both from the con- text and the tenor of these passages, that they were immediately spoken not to his disciples, but to the multitude. The apostles copied from their Lord : they taught, that we have no sufficiency of ourselves, even to think a good thought, and that “ it is not of him that willeth, or of him that runneth, but of God who showeth mercy ;” yet they plainly call upon sinners (and that, before they had given evident signs that they were pricked to the heart, as Acts iii. 31.) “ to repent, and to turn from their vanities to the living God Acts iii. 19, and xiv. 15, and xvii. 30. — Peter's advice to Simon Magus is very full and ex- press to this point : for though he perceived him to be “ in the very gall of bitterness, and in the bond of iniquity,” he exhorted him “ to repent, and to pray, if perhaps the thought of his heart might be forgiven.” It may be presumed, that we cannot have stronger evi- dence, that any of our hearers are in a carnal and unconverted state, than Peter had in the case of Simon Magus ; and therefore there seems no sufficient reason why we should hesitate to follow the apostle’s example. You have been told, that repentance and faith are spiritual acts, for the performance of which, a principle of spiritual life is abso- lutely necessary: and that therefore, to exhort an unregenerate sinner to repent or believe, must be as vain and fruitless as to call a dead person out of his grave. To this it may be answered, that we might cheerfully and con- fidently undertake even to call the dead out 123 ON MINISTERIAL ADDRESS. of their graves, if we had the command and promise of God to warrant the attempt; for then we might expect his power would ac- company our word. The vision of Ezekiel, chap, xxxvii. may be fitly accommodated to illustrate both the difficulties and the encour- agement of a gospel minister. The deplora- ble state of many of our hearers may often remind us of the Lord's question to the pro- phet, “Can the -e dry bones live 1” Our re- source, like thr of the prophet, is entirely in the sovereignty, grace, and power of the Lord : “ O Lord, thou knowest, impossible as it is to us, it is easy for thee to raise them unto life ; therefore we renounce our own reason- ings ; and though we see that they are dead, we call upon them at thy bidding, as if they were alive, and say, O ye dry bones, hear the word of the Lord ! The means is our part, the work is thine, and to thee be all the praise.” The dry bones could not hear the prophet ; but while he spoke, the Lord caused breath to enter into them, and they lived, but the word was spoken to them considered as dry and dead. It is true the Lord can, and I hope he often does make that preaching effectual to the conversion of sinners, wherein little is said expressly to them, only the truths of the gospel are declared in their hearing ; but he who knows the frame of the human heart, has provided us with a variety of the topics which have a moral suitableness to engage the faculties, affections, and consciences of sinners, so far at least as to leave themselves condemned if they persist in their sins, and by which he often effects the purposes of his grace ; though none of the means of grace by which he ordinarily works, can produce a real change in the heart, unless they are accompanied with the efficacious power^of his Spirit. Should we admit, that an uncon- verted person is not a proper subject of minis- terial exhortation, because he has no power in himself to comply, the just consequence of this position would, perhaps, extend too far, oven to prove the impropriety of all ex- hortation universally : for when we invite the weary and heavy laden to come to Jesus, that they may find rest ; when we call upon backsliders to remember from whence they are fallen, “to repent and to do their first works yea, when we exhort believers “ to walk worthy of God, who has called them to his kingdom and glory;” in each of these cases we press them to acts for which they have no inherent power of their own ; and unless the Lord the Spirit is pleased to apply the words to their hearts, we do but speak to the air ; and our endeavours can .have no more effect in these instances, than if we were to say to a dead body, “ Arise, and walk.” For an exertion of divine power is no less necessary to the healing of a wounded con- science, than the breaking of a hard heart ; [let. vii. and only he who has begun the good work of grace, is able either to revive or to main- tain it. Though sinners are destitute of spiritual life, they are not therefore mere machines. They have a power to do many things, which they may be called upon to exert. They are capable of considering their ways : they know they are mortal ; and the bulk of them are persuaded in their consciences, that after death there is an appointed judgment. They are not under an inevitable necessity of liv- ing in known and gross sins ; that they do so, is not for want of power, but for want of will. The most profane swearer can refrain from his oaths, while in the presence of a person whom he fears, and to whom he knows it would be displeasing. Let a drunkard see poison put into his liquor, and it may stand by him untasted from morning till night. And many would he deterred from sins to which they are greatly addicted, by the presence of a child, though they have no fear of God before their eyes. They have a power like- wise of attending upon the means of grace ; and though the Lord only can give them true faith and evangelical repentance, there seems no impropriety to invite them, upon the ground of the gospel-promises, to seek to him who is exalted to bestow these blessings, and who is able to do that lor them, which they cannot do for themselves, and who has said, “ Him, that cometh unto me, I will in no wise cast out.” Perhaps it will not be easily prov- ed, that intreaties, arguments, warnings, formed upon these general principles, which are in the main agreeable and adequate to the remaining light of natural conscience, are at all inconsistent with those doctrines which ascribe the whole of a sinner’s salva- tion, from first to last, to the free sovereign grace of God. We should, undoubtedly, endeavour to maintain a consistency in our preaching; but unless we keep the plan and manner of the scripture constantly in view, and attend to every part of it, a design of consistency may fetter our sentiments, and greatly pre- clude our usefulness. We need not wish to be more consistent than the inspired writers, nor be afraid of speaking, as they have spo- ken before us. We may easily perplex our- selves, and our hearers by nice reasonings on the nature of human liberty, and the divine agency on the hearts of men ; but such dis- quisitions are better avoided. W e shall, per- haps, never have full satisfaction on these subjects, till we arrive in the world of light. In the mean time, the path of duty, the good old way, lies plain before us. If when you are in the pulpit, the Lord favours you with a lively sense of the greatness of the trust, and the worth of the souls committed to your charge, and fills your heart with his con- straining love, many little curious distinctions. ON THE INWARD WITNESS OF FAITH. 127 LET. VIII.] which amused you at other times, will be forgotten. Your soul will go forth with your words; and while your bowels yearn over poor sinners, you will not hesitate a moment, whether you ought to warn them of their danger or not. That great champion of free grace, Dr. Owen, has a very solemn address to sinners, the running title to which is, “ Exhortations unto believing.” It is in his Exposition of the 130th Psalm, from p. 242, to 247, London edition, 1609, which I re- commend to your attentive consideration. I am, &c. LETTER VIII. On the Inward Witness to the Ground and Reality of Faith. sir, — I readily offer you my thoughts on 1 John v. 10, “ He that believeth on the Son of God, hath the witness in himself;” though, perhaps, you will think I am writing a ser- mon rather than a letter. If we believe in the Son of God, whatever trials we may meet with in the present life, our best concerns are safe, and our happiness is sure. If we do not, whatever else we have, or seem to have, we are in a state of condemnation ; and liv- ing- and dying so, must perish. Thousands, it is to be feared, persuade themselves that they are believers, though they cannot stand the test of scripture. And there are many real believers, who, through the prevalence of remaining unbelief and the temptations of Satan, form hard conclusions against themselves though the scripture speaks peace to them. But how does this correspond with the passage before us which asserts univer- sally, “He that believeth, hath the witness in himself 1” for can a man have a witness in himself and yet not know it ! It may be an- swered, The evidence, in its own nature, is sufficient and infallible ; but we are very apt, when we would form a judgment of our- selves, to superadd rules and marks of trial which are not given us, for that purpose, in the Bible. That the word and Spirit of God do witness for his children, is a point in which many are agreed, who are far from being agreed as to the nature and manner of that witness. It is, therefore, very desirable rightly to understand the evidence by which we are to judge whether we are believers or not. The importance and truth of the gospel- salvation is witnessed to in heaven, by “ the Father, the Word, and the Spirit.” It is witnessed to on earth, by “ the Spirit, the water, and the blood,” verses 7 and 8. The Spirit, in verse 8, 1 apprehend, denotes a di- vine light in the understanding, communi- cated by the Spirit of God, enabling the soul to perceive and approve the truth. The water seems to intend the powerful influence of this knowledge and light, in the work of sanctification. And the blood, the applica- tion of the blood of Jesus to the conscience relieving it from guilt and fear, and impart- ing a “ peace which passes all understand- ing.” And he that believeth hath this united testimony of the Spirit, the water, and the blood, not by hearsay only, but in himself. According to the measure of liis faith (for faith has various degrees) he has a living proof that the witness is true, by the effects wrought in his own heart. These things, which God has joined toge- ther are too often attempted to be separated. Attempts of this kind have been a principal source and cause of most of the dangerous errors and mistakes which are to be found among professors of religion. Fome say much concerning the Spirit, and lay claim to an inward light, whereby they think they know the things of God. Others lay great stress upon the water ; maintaining a regular conversation, abstaining from the defilements of the world, and aiming at a mastery over their natural desires and tempers ; but neither the one nor the other appear to be duly sen- sible of the value of the blood of atonement, as the sole ground of their acceptance, and the spring of their life and strength. Others, again, are all for the blood ; can speak much of Jesus, and his blood and righteousness; though it does not appear that they are truly spiritually enlightened to perceive the beauty and harmony of gospel-truths, or that they pay a due regard to that holiness without which no man can see the Lord. But Jesus came, not by water only, cr by bleed only, but by water and blood ; and the Spirit bears witness to both, because the Spirit is truth. The water alone affords but a cold starched form of godliness, destitute of that enliven- ing power which is derived from a knowledge of the preciousness of Jesus, as the Lamb that was slain. And if any talk of the blood without the water, they do but turn the grace of God into licentiousness; so, likewise, to pretend to the Spirit, and at the same time to have low thoughts of Jesus, is a delusion and vanity ; for the true Spirit testifies and takes of his glory, and presents it to the sou!. But the real believer receives the united testimony, and has the witness in himself that he does so. To have the witness in ourselves, is to have the truths that are declared in the scripture revealed in our hearts. This brings an experimental conviction, which may be safely depended on, that “ we have received the grace of God in truth.” A man born blind may believe that the sun is bright upon the testimony of another ; but if he should obtain his sight, he would have the witness in himself. Believing springs from a sense 128 ON THE INWARD WITNESS OF FAITH. and perception of the truths of the gospel ; and whoever hath this spiritual perception is a believer. He has a witness in himself. He has received the Spirit ; his understand- ing is enlightened, whereby he sees things to be as they are described in the word of Goi, respecting his own state by sin, and the utter impossibility of his obtaining relief by any other means than those proposed in the gospel. These things are hidden from us bv nature. He has likewise received the blood. The knowledge of sin, and its de- merits, if alone, would drive us to despair; but by the same light of the Spirit, Jesus is appre- hended as a suitable and all -sufficient Saviour. All that is declared concerning his person, offices, love, sufferings, and obedience, is understood and approved. Here the wound- ed and weary soul finds healing and rest. Then the apostle’s language is adopted, “ Yea, doubtless, and I count all things but loss for the excellency of the knowledge of Christ Jesus my Lord.” He has likewise received the water, considered as the emblem of sanc- tification. To a believer, all that the scripture teaches concerning the nature, beauty, and necessity of holiness, as a living principle in *he heart, carries conviction and evidence. A deliverance from the power, as well as from the guilt of sin, appears to be an im- portant, and essential part of salvation. He sees his original and his proper happiness, that nothing less than communion with God and conformity to him, is worth his pursuit. And therefore he can say, “ My soul thirsteth for thee ; I delight in the law of God after the inward man.” In a word, his judgment and his choice are formed upon a new spi- ritual taste, derived from the written word, and correspondent with it, as the musical ear is adapted to relish harmony: so that what God has forbidden, appears hateful; what he has commanded, necessary ; what he has promised, desirable ; and what he has re- vealed, glorious. Whoever has these percep- tions, has the witness in himself, that he has been taught of God, and believes in his Son. If you think this explanation is agreeable to the scripture, you will be satisfied that the witness spoken of in this passage, is very dif- ferent from what some persons understand it to be. It is not an impulse, or strong per- suasion impressed upon us in a way of which we can give no account, that “we are the ! children of God,” and that our sins are freely forgiven ; nor is the powerful application of a particular text of scripture necessary to produce it; neither is it always connected with a very lively, and sensible comfort. These things, in some persons, and instances, may accompany the witness or testimony we are speaking of*, but do not properly belong to it ; and they may be, and often have been, counterfeited. But what I have described is inimitable and infallible: it is undubitably, as [let. viii. the magicians confessed of the miracles of Moses, the finger of God, as certainly the effect of his divine power as the creation of the world. It is true, many who have this wit- ness walk in darkness, and are harassed with many doubts and perplexities concerning their state ; but this is not because the wit- ness is not sufficient to give them satisfaction, but because they do not account it so; being misled by the influence of self-will and a le- gal spirit, they overlook this evidence as too simple, and expect something extraordinary ; at least, they think they cannot be right, un- less they are led in the same way in which the Lord has been pleased to lead others, with whom they may have conversed. But the Lord the Spirit is sovereign and free in his operations; and though he gives to all who are the subjects of his grace, the same views of sin, of themselves, and of the Sa- viour ; yet with respect to the circumstan- tials of his work, there is, as in the features of our faces, such an amazing variety, that perhaps no two persons can be found whose experiences have been exactly alike: but, as the apostle says, that “ he that believeth,” that is, whosoever believeth, without excep- tion, “ has the witness in himself ;” it must, consequently, arise from what is common to them all, and not from what is peculiar to a few. Before I conclude, I would make two or three observations. In the first place, I think it is plain, that the supposition of a real be- liever’s living in sin, or taking encourage- ment from the gospel so to do, is destitute of the least loundation in truth, and can only proceed from an ignorance of the subject. Sin is the burden under which he groans ; and he would account nothing short of a de- liverance from it worthy the name of salva- tion. A principal part of his evidence, that he is a believer, arises from that abhorrence of sin which he habitually feels. It is true, sin still dwelleth in him ; but he loaths and resists it : upon this account he is in a state of continual warfare ; if he was not so, he could not have the witness in himself, that he is born of God. Again, from hence arises a solid evidence, that the scripture is indeed the word of God, because it so exactly describes what is ex- emplified in the experience of all who are i subjects of a work of grace. While we are in a natural state, it is to us as a sealed book ; though we can read it, and perhaps assent to the facts, we can no more understand our own concernments in what we read, than if it was written in an unknown tongue. But when the mind is enlightened by the Holy Spirit, the scripture addresses us as it were by name, explains every difficulty under which we laboured, and proposes an ade- quate and effectual remedy for the relief of all our wants and fears. ON ELECTION AND PERSEVERANCE. 129 LET. IX.] Lastly, it follows, that the hope of a be- liever, is built upon a foundation that cannot be shaken, though it may, and will be, as- saulted. It does not depend upon occasional and changeable frames, upon any that is pre- carious and questionable, but upon a corres- pondence and agreement with the written word. Nor does this agreement depend upon a train of laboured arguments and deductions, but is self-evident, as light is to the eye, to every person who has a real participation of the grace of God. It is equally suited to all capacities ; by this the unlearned are enabled to know their election of God, and to “ rejoice with a joy unspeakable and full of glory.” And the wisest, if destitute of this percep- tion, though they may be masters of all the external evidences of Christianity, and able to combat the cavils of infidels, can see no real beauty in the truths of the gospel, nor derive any solid comfort from them. I have only sent you a few hasty hints : it would be easy to enlarge ; but I sat down, not to write a book, but a letter. May this inward witness preside with power in our hearts, to animate our hopes, and to mortify our corruptions ! — I am, &c. LETTER IX. On the Doctrines of Election and final Per- severance. dear sir, — Your letter breathes the spirit of a Christian, though you say you are not a Calvinist. I should have still confined my- self, in my letters, to the great truths in which we are agreed, if you had not invi- ted me to touch upon the points wherein we differ. If you were positive and peremp- tory in your present sentiments, I should not think it my duty to debate with you ; in that case, we might contend as much for vic- tory as for truth. But as you profess your- self an inquirer, and are desirous of forming your judgment agreeable to the word of God, without being influenced by the authority of names and parties, I willingly embrace the occasion you offer me. You say, that though you are not prejudiced against the doctrines of election, and perseverance of the saints, they appear to you attended with such diffi- culties, that you cannot yet heartily and ful- , < v assent to them. May the Lord the Spirit, wnose office it is to guide his peop.e into all truth, dictate to my pen, and accompany what I shall write with his blessing. It is not my intention to prove and illus- trate these doctrines at large, or to encounter the various objections that have been raised against them. So much has been done in this way already, that I could only repeat what has been said to greater advantage by others. Nor need I refer you to the books which have been professedly written upon this argument. — In a letter to a friend, I shall not aim at the exactness of a disputant, but only offer a few unpremeditated hints, in the same manner as if I had the pleasure of per sonally conversing with you. Permit me to remind you, in the first place, of that important aphorism, John iii. 27, (which, by the by, seems to speak strongly in favour of the doctrines in question :) “ A man can receive nothing, except it be given him from heaven.” If you should accede to my opinions upon my persuasion only, you would be little benefitted by the exchange. The Lord alone can give us the true, vital, comfortable, and useful knowledge of his own truths. We may become wise in no- tions, and so far masters of a system or scheme of doctrines, as to be able to argue, object, and fight, in favbur of our own hypo- thesis, by dint of application, and natural abilities ; but we rightly understand what we say, and whereof we affirm, no farther than we have a spiritual perception of it wrought in our hearts by the power of the Holy Ghost. It is not, therefore, by noisy disputation, but by humble waiting upon God in prayer, and a careful perusal of his holy word, that we are to expect a satisfactory, experimental, and efficacious knowledge of the truth as it is in Jesus. I am persuaded, that you are seeking in this way ; if so, I am confident, you shall not seek in vain. The Lord teaches effectually, though for the most part gradu- ally. The path of the just is compared to the light, which is very faint at the early dawn, but shineth more and more to the per- fect day. If you sincerely seek the Lord’s direction by prayer, you will of course make use of his appointed means of information, and search the scriptures. Give me leave to offer you the following advices, while you are reading and comparing spiritual things with spiritual. First, not to lay too great stress upon a few detached texts, but seek for that sense which is most agreeable to the general strain of the scripture. The infallible word of God must doubtless be consistent with itself. If it does not appear so to us, the obscurity and seeming inconsistency must be charged to the remain- ing darkness and ignorance of our minds. As many locks, whose wards differ, are opened r with equal ease by one master-key ; so there is a certain comprehensive view of scriptural truth, which opens hard places, solves objec- tions, and happily reconciles, illustrates, and harmonizes many texts, which, to those who have not this master-key, frequently styled the analogy of faith, appear little less than contradictory to each other. When you ob- tain this key, you will be sure that you have the right sense. Again, you will do well to consult expe- 130 ON ELECTION AND PERSEVERANCE. [let. IX. rience as you go along. For though this is not to be depended upon in the first instance, but must itself be subjected to the rule of the written word, yet it is a good subordinate help. Consider which sense is most agree- able to what passes within you and around you, and which best answers to the dealings of God with yourself, and to what you can observe of his dealings with others. Farther, when you are led (as I think you will be, if you are not already) to view the Calvinist doctrines in a favourable light, be not afraid of embracing them, because there may be, perhaps, some objections, which, for want of a full possession of the key I men- tioned, you are not able to clear up; but consider if there are not as strong or stronger objections against the other side. We are poor weak creatures : and the clearing up of every difficulty is not what we are immedi- ately called to, but rather to seek that light which may strengthen and feed our souls. Lastly, compare the tendency of different opinions. This is an excellent rule, if we can fairly apply it. Whatever is from God has a sure tendency to ascribe glory to him. to exclude boasting from the creature, to promote the love and practice of holiness, and increase our dependence upon his grace and faithfulness. The Calvinists have no rea- son to be afraid of resting the merits of their cause upon this issue ; notwithstanding the unjust misrepresentations which have been often made of their principles, and the un- generous treatment of those who would charge the miscarriages of a few individuals, as the necessary consequence of embr those principles. But I must check myself, or I shall finish my letter before I properly begin my subject. You have objections to the doctrine of elec- tion. You will, however, agree with me, that the scripture does speak of it, and that in very strong and express terms, particular- ly St. Paul. I have met with some sincere people, as I believe, who have told me that they could not bear to read his eighth chap- ter to the Romans, but always passed it over; so that their prejudices against election, pre- judiced them against a part of the scripture likewise. But why so, unless because the dreaded doctrine is maintained too plainly to be evaded 1 But you will say, that some writers and preachers attempt to put an easier sense upon the apostle’s words. Let us judge then, as I lately proposed, from ex- perience. Admitting, what I am sure you will admit, the total depravity of human na- ture, how can we account for the conversion of a soul to God, unless we likewise admit an election of grace 1 The work must be- gin somewhere. Either the sinner first seeks the Lord, or the Lord first seeks the sinner. The former is impossible, if by na- ture we are dead in trespasses and sins ; if the God of this world have blinded our eyes, and maintains the possession of our hearts ; and if our carnal minds, so far from being disposed to seek God, are enmity against him. Let me appeal to yourself. I think you know yourself too well to say, that you either sought or loved the Lord* first ; perhaps you arc conscious, that for a season, and so fa” as in you lay, you even resisted his call ; and must have perished, if he had not made you willing in the day of his power, and saved you in defiance of yourself. In your own case, you acknowledge that he began with you ; and it must be the case univer- sally with all that are called, if the whole race of mankind are by nature enemies to God. Then farther, there must be an elec- tion, unless all are called. But we are as- sured that the broad road which is thronged with the greatest multitudes, leads to de- struction. Were not you and I in this road I Were we better than those who continue in it still 1 What has made us differ from our former selves 1 Grace. What he s made us differ from those who are now as we once were 1 Grace. Then this grace, by the very terms, must be differencing, or distinguishing grace ; that is, in other words, electing grace. And to suppose, that God should make this election or choice only at the time of our = calling, is not only unscriptural, but contrary to the dictates of right reason, and the ideas we have of the divine perfections, particular- ly those of omniscience and immutability. They who believe there is any power in man by nature, whereby he can turn to God, may contend for a conditional election upon the foresight of faith and obedience ; but while others dispute, let you and me admire ; for we know that the Lord foresaw us (as we were) in a state utterly incapable either of be- lieving or obeying, unless he was pleased to work in us to will and to do according to his own good pleasure. As to final perseverance, whatever judg- ment we form of it in a doctrinal view, un- less we obrselves do so persevere, our pro- fession of religion will be utterly vain ; for only “ they that endure to the end shall be saved.” It should seem, that whoever be- lieves this, and is duly apprized of his own weakness, the number and strength of his spiritual enemies, and the difficulties and dangers arising from his situation in this evil world, will at. least he desirous to have, if possible, some security that his labour and expectation shall not be in vain. To be at an uncertainty in a point of so great import- ance, to have nothing to trust to for our con- tinuance in well doing, but our own feeble efforts, our partial diligence, and short-sight- ed care, must surely be distressing, if we rightly consider how unable we are in our- selves to withstand tne forces of the devil, ! the world, and the flesh, which are combined ON ELECTION AND PERSEVERANCE. 131 LET. IX. J Against our peace. In this view I should expect, that the opposers of this doctrine, if thoroughly sensible of their state and situa- tion, upon a supposition that they should be able to prove it unscriptural and false, would weep over their victory, and be sorry that a sentiment, so apparently suited to encourage and animate our hope, should not be founded in truth. It is not to be wondered at, that this doctrine, which gives to the Lord the glory due to his name, and provides so effec- tually for the comfort of his people, should be opposed and traduced by men of corrupt hearts. But it may well seetn strange, that they who feel their need of it, and cannot be comfortable without it, should be afraid or unwilling to receive it. Yet many a child of light is walking in darkness upon this ac- count. Either they are staggered by the sen- timents of those whom they think wiser than themselves, or stumbled by the falls of pro- fessors who were once advocates for this doctrine, or perplexed be ause they cannot rightly understand those passages of scripture which seem to speak a different language. But as light and knowledge increase, these difficulties are lessened. The Lord claims the honour, and he engages for the accomplish- ment of a complete salvation, that no power shall pluck his people out of his hand, or se- parate them from his love. Their perseve- rance in grace, besides being asserted in many express promises, may be proved with the fullest evidence from the unchangeable- ness of God, the intercession of Christ, the union which subsists between him and his people, and from the principle of spiritual life he has implanted in their hearts, which, in its own nature, is connected with ever- lasting life; for grace is the seed of glory. I have not room to enlarge on these particu- lars, but refer you to the following texts, from which various strong and invincible ar- guments might be drawn for their confirma- tion ; Luke xiv. 23 — 30, compared with Phil, i. 6 ; Heb. vii. 24, with Rom. viii. 34 — 39 ; John xiv. 19, with xv. 1, 2, and iv. 14. Up- on these grounds, my friend, why may not you, who have fled for refuge to the hope set before you, and committed your soul to Jesus, rejoice in his salvation ; and say, “ While Christ is the foundation, root, and head, and husband of his people, while the word of God is Yea and Amen, while the counsels of God arc unchangeable, while we have a Mediator and High Priest before the throne, while the Holy Spirit is willing and able to bear wit- ness to the truths of the gospel, while God is wiser than men, and stronger than Satan, so long the believer in Jesus is and shall be safe. Heaven and earth may pass away, but the promise, the oath, and the blood, on which my soul relies, afford me a security which can never fail.” As the doctrines of election and perse- verance are comfortable, so they cut off all pretence of boasting and self-dependence, when they are truly received in the heart, and therefore tend to exalt the Saviour. Of course they stain the pride of all human glory, and leave us nothing to glory in but the Lord. The more we are convinced of our utter de- pravity and inability from first to last, the more excellent will Jesus appear. The whole may give the physician a good word, but the sick alone know how to prize him. And here I cannot but remark a difference between those who have nothing to trust to but free grace, and those who ascribe a little at least to some good disposition and ability in man. We assent to whatever they en- force from the word of God on the subject of sanctification. We acknowledge its import- ance, its excellency, its beauty ; but we could wish they would join more with us in exalt- ing the Redeemer’s name. Their experience seems to lead them to talk of themselves, of the change that is wrought in them, and the much that depends upon their own watchful- ness and striving. We likewise would be thankful if we could perceive a change wrought in us by the power of grace. We desire to be found watching likewise. But when our hopes are most alive, it is less from a view of the imperfect beginnings of grace in our hearts, than from an apprehension of him who is our all in all. His person, his love, his sufferings, his intercession, compas- sion, fulness, and faithfulness, — these are our delightful themes, which leave us little lei- suie, when m our best frames, to speak of ourselves. How do our hearts soften, and our eyes melt, when we feel some liberty in thinking and speaking of him ! For we i.ad no help in time past, nor can have any in time to come, but from him alon > If any persons have contributed a mite to their own salvation, it was more than we could do. If any were obedient and faithful to the first calls and impressions of his Spirit, it was not our case. If any were prepared to receive him beforehand, we know that we were in a state of alienation from him. We needed sovereign irresistible grace to save us, or we had been lost for ever. If there are any who have a power of their own, we must confess ourselves poorer than they are. We cannot watch, unless he watches with us ; we can- not strive, unless he strives with us ; we can- not stand one moment, unless he holds us up ; and we believe we must perish after all, un- less his faithfulness is engaged to keep us But this, we trust, he will do, not for our righteousness, but for his own name’s sake, and because, having loved us with an ever- lasting love, he has been pleased, in loving- kindness, to draw us to himself, and to be found of us when we sought him not. Can you think, dear Sir, that a person who lives under the influence of these sentiments 132 ON GRACE IN THE BLADE. will desire to continue in sin, because gTace abounds 1 No ; you are too candid an ob- server of men and manners, to believe the calumnies which are propagated against us. It is true, there are too many false and empty professors amongst us ; but are there none amongst those who hold the opposite senti- ments ! And I would observe, that the ob- jection drawn from the miscarriages of re- ! puted Calvinists is quite beside the purpose. I We maintain that no doctrines or means can | change the heart, or produce a gracious con- versation, without the efficacious power of almighty grace : therefore, if it is found to be so in fact, it should not be charged against our doctrine, but rather admitted as a proof and confirmation of it. We confess, that we fall sadly short in every thing, and have reason to be ashamed and amazed that we are so I faintly influenced by such animating prin- ciples ; yet, upon the whole, our consciences bear us witness, and we hope we may declare it both to the church and to the world, with- out just fear of contradiction, that the doc- trines of grace are doctrines according to godliness. — I am, &c. LETTER X. A ; or, Grace in the Blade . — Mark iv. 23. dear sir, — According to your desire, I sit down to give you my general views of a pro- gressive work of grace, in the several stages of a believer’s experience, which I shall mark by the different characters, A, B, C, answerable to the distinctions our Lord teach- es us to observe from the growth of the corn, Mark iv. 23, “ First the blade, then the ear, after that the full corn in the ear.” The Lord leads all his people effectually and sav- ingly to the knowledge of the same essential truths, but in such a variety of methods, that it will be needful, in this disquisition, to set aside, as much as possible, such things as may be only personal and occasional in the experience of each, and to collect those only which, in a greater or less degree, are common to them all. I shall not, therefore, give you a copy of my own experience, or of that of any individual; but shall endea- vour, as clearly as I can, to state what the scripture teaches us concerning the nature and essentials of a work of grace, so far as it will bear a general application to all those who are the subjects of gracious operations. By nature we are all dead in trespasses and sins, not only strangers to God, but in a state of enmity and opposition to his govern- ment and grace. In this respect, whatever difference there may be in the characters of men as members of society, they are all, whether wise or ignorant, whether sober or I [let. X. profane, equally incapable of receiving or approving divine truths, 1 Cor. ii. 14. On this ground our Lord declares, “ No man can come unto me, except the Father who has sent me draws him.” Though the term Fa- ther most frequently expresses a known and important distinction in the adorable Trinity, I apprehend our Lord sometimes uses it, to denote God, or the Divine Nature, in contra- distinction from his humanity, as in John xiv. 9. And this I take to be the sense here : “No man can come unto me, unless he is taught of God,” and wrought upon by a di- vine power. The immediate exertion of this power, according to the economy of salvation, is rather ascribed to the Holy Spirit than to the Father, John xvi. 8 — 11. But it is the power of the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ ; and therefore severally attri- buted to the Father, Son, and Spirit, John v. 21, and ch. vi. 44, 63; 2 Cor. iii. 13; 2 Thes. iii. 5. By A, I would understand a person who is under the drawings of God, which will in- fallibly lead him to the Lord Jesus Christ, for life and salvation. The beginning of this work is instantaneous. It is effected by a certain kind of light communicated to the soul, to which it was before an utter stranger. The eyes of the understanding are opened and enlightened. The light at first afforded is weak and indistinct, like the morning dawn ; but when it is once begun, it will cer- tainly increase and spread to the perfec t day. We commonly speak as if conviction of sin was the first work of God upon the soul that he is in mercy about to draw unto himself But I think this is inaccurate. Conviction is only a part, or rather an immediate effect of that first work ; and there are many con- victions which do not at all spring from it, and therefore are only occasional and temporary, though for a season they may be very sharp, and put a person upon doing many things. In order to a due conviction of sin, we must previously have some adequate conceptions of the God with whom we have to do. Sin may be feared as dangerous without this; but its nature and demerit can only be under- stood by being contrasted with the holiness, majesty, goodness, and truth, of the God against whom it is committed. No outward means, no mercies, judgments, or ordinances, can communicate such a discovery of God, or produce such a conviction of sin, without the concurrence of this divine light and power to the soul. The natural conscience and pas- sions may indeed be so far wrought upon by outward means, as to stir up some desires and endeavours ; but if these are not founded in a spiritual apprehension of the perfections of God, according to the revelatini he has made of himself in his word, they will sooner or later come to nothing; and the person affected will either return by degrees to his ON GRACE IN THE BLADE. LET. X.] former ways, 2 Peter ii. 20, or he will sink into a self-righteous form of godliness, des- titute of the power, Luke xviii. 11. And therefore, as there are so many things in the dispensation of the gospel suited to work upon the natural passions of men, the many woful miscarriages and apostacies amongst professors are more to be lamented than wondered at. For though the seed may seem to spring up, and look green for a season, if there be not depth for it to take root, it will surely wither away. We may be unable to judge with certainty upon the first appear- ance of a religious profession, whether the work be thus deep and spiritual, or not ; but “ the Lord knows them that are his and wherever it is real, it is an infallible token of salvation. Now, as God only thus reveals himself by the medium of scriptu-re-truth, the light received this way leads the soul to the scripture from whence it springs, and all the leading truths of the word of God soon be- gin to be perceived and assented to. The evil of sin is acknowledged, the evil of the heart is felt. There may be for a while some efforts to obtain the favour of God by prayer, repentance, and reformation; but for the most part it is not very long before these things are proved tb be vain and ineffectual. The soul, like the woman mentioned Mark v. 26, wearied with vain expedients, finds itself worse and worse, and is gradully brought to see the necessity and sufficiency of the gos- pel salvation. A may soon be a believer thus far : That he believes the word of God, sees and feels things to be as they are thus described, hates and avoids sin, because he knows it is displeasing to God, and contrary to his goodness; he receives the record which God has given of his Son ; has his heart affected and drawn to Jesus by views of his glory, and of his love to poor sinners ; ventures upon his name and promises as his only encouragement to come to a throne of grace; waits diligently in the use of all means appointed for the communion and growth of grace ; loves the Lord’s people, accounts them the excellent of the earth, and delights in their conversation. He is longing, waiting, and praying for a share in those blessings which he believes they enjoy, and cm be satisfied with nothing less. He is convinced of the power of Jesus to save him ; but through remaining ignorance and legal- ity, the remembrance of sin committed, and t.he sense of present corruption, he often questions his willingness ; and, not knowing the abounding of grace, and the security of the promises, he fears lest the compassionate Saviour should spurn him from his feet. While he is thus young in the knowledge of the gospel, burdened with sin, and, per- haps, beset with Satan’s temptations, the Lord, “ who gathers the lambs in his arms, and carries them in his bosom,” is pleased, at i33 times, to favour him with cordials, that he may not be swallowed up with overmuch sorrow. Perhaps his heart is enlarged in prayer, or under hearing, or some good pro- mise is brought home to his mind, and appli- ed with power and sweetness. He mistakes the nature and design of these comforts, which are not given him to rest in, but to en- courage him to press forward. He thinks he is then right, because he has them, and fondly hopes to have them always. Then his mountain stands strong. But ere long he feels a change ; his comforts are with- drawn ; he finds no heart to pray ; no atten- tion in hearing ; indwelling sin revives with fresh strength, and, perhaps, Satan returns with redoubled rage. Then he is at his wit’s end : thinks his hopes were presumptuous, and his comforts delusions. He wants to feel something that may give him a warrant to trust in the free promises of Christ. His views of the Redeemer’s gracefulness are very narrow ; he sees not the harmony and glory of the divine attributes in the salva- tion of a sinner ; he sighs for mercy, but fears that justice is against him. However, by these changing dispensations, the Lord is training him up, and bringing him forward. He receives grace from Jesus, whereby he is enabled to fight against sin ; his conscience is tender; his troubles are chiefly spiritual troubles ; and he thinks, if he could but at- tain a sure and abiding sense of his accept- ance in the Beloved, hardly any outward trial would be capable of giving him much disturbance. Indeed, notwithstanding the weakness of his faith, and the prevalence of a legal spirit, which greatly hurts him, there are some things in his present experience which he may, perhaps, look back upon with regret hereafter, when his hope and know- ledge will be more established. Particularly that sensibility and keenness of appetite with which he now attends the ordinances, desiring the sincere milk of the word with earnestness.and eagerness as a babe does the breast. He counts the hours from one oppor- tunity to another ; and the attention and de- sire with which he hears may be read in hi& countenance. His zeal is likewise lively; and may be for want of more experience, too importunate and forward. He has a love for souls, and a concern for the glory of God, which, though it may at some times create him trouble, and at others be mixed with some undue motions of self, yet in its prin- ciple is highly desirable and commendable, John xviii. 10. The grace of God influences both the un- derstanding and the affections. Warm affec- tions, without knowledge, can rise no higher than superstition ; and that knowledge which does not influence the heart and affections, will only make a hypocrite. The true be- liever is rewarded in both respects ; yet we 134 ON GRACE IN THE EAR. may observe, that though A is not without knowledge, this state is more usually remark- able for the warmth and liveliness of the af- fections. On the other hand, as the work advances, though the affections are not left out, yet it seems to be carried on principally in the understanding. The old Christian has more solid, judicious, and connected views of the Lord Jesus Christ, and the glories of his person and redeeming love : hence his hope is more established, his dependence more simple, and his peace and strength, catena paribus, more abiding and uniform, than in the case of a young convert ; but the latter has, for the most part, the advantage in point of sensible fervency. A tree is most valuable when laden with ripe fruit ; but it it has a peculiar beauty when in blossom. It is spring-time with A; he is in bloom, and, by the grace and blessing of the heavenly husbandman, will bAr fruit in old age. His ffiith is weak, but his heart is warm. He will seldom venture to think himself a be- liever ; but he sees and feels, and does those things which no one could, unless the Lord was with him. The very desire and bent of his soul is to God, and to the word of his grace. His knowledge is but small : but it is growing every day. If he is not a father or a young man in grace, he is a dear child. The Lord has visited his heart, delivered him from the love of sin, and fixed his desire supremely upon Jesus Christ. The spirit of bondage is gradually departing from him, and the hour of liberty, which he longs for is approaching, when, by a further discovery of the glorious gospel, it shall be given him to know his acceptance, and to rest upon the Lord’s finished salvation. We shall then take notice of him by the name of B in a second letter, if you are not unwilling that I should prosecute the subject. — I am, &c. LETTER XI. B ; or Grace in the Ear . — Mark iv. 28. dear sir, — The manner of the Lord’s work in the hearts of his people is not easily traced, though the fact is certain, and the evidence demonstrable from scripture. In attempting to explain it, we can only speak in general, and are at a loss to form such a description as shall take in the immense vari- ety of cases which occur in the experience of believers. I have already attempted such a general delineation of a young convert, under the character of A, and am now to speak of him by the name of B. This state I suppose to commence when the soul, after an interchange of hopes and fears, according to the different frames it passes through, is brought to rest in Jesus, by a spiritual apprehension of his complete [let. xi suitableness and sufficiency, as the wisdom, righteousness, sanctification, and redemption of all who trust in him, and is enabled, by an appropriating faith, to say, “He is mine, and I am his.” There are various degrees of this persuasion ; it is of a growing nature, and is capable of increase so long as we remain in this world. I call it assurance, when it arises from a simple view of the grace and glory of the Saviour, independent of our sen- sible frames and feelings, so as to enable us to answer all objections from unbelief ani Satan, with the apostle’s words, “ Who is he that condemneth I It is Christ that died, yea, rather, that is risen again ; who is even at the right hand of God, who also maketh in- tercession for us.” Rom. viii. 34. This in my judgment does not belong to the essence of faith, so that B should be deemed more truly a believer than A, but to the establish- ment of faith. And now faith is stronger, it has more to grapple with. I think the cha- racteristic of the state of A is desire, and of B is conflict. Not that B’s desires have subsided, or that A was a stranger to con- flict ; but as there was a sensible eagerness and keenness in A’s desires, which, perhaps, is seldom known to be equally strong after- wards; so there are usually trials and exer- cises in B’s experience, something different in their kind, and sharper in their measure, than what A was exposed to or indeed had strength to endure. A, like Israel, has been delivered from Egypt by great power and a stretched-out arm, has been pursued and terrified by many enemies, has given himself up for lost again and again. He has at last seen his enemies destroyed, and has sung the song of Moses and the Lamb upon the banks of the Red' Sea. Then he commences B. Perhaps, like Israel, he thinks his difficulties are at an end, and expects to go on rejoicing till he enters the promised land. But alas! his difficulties are in a manner but beginning; he has a wilderness before him, of which he is not aware. The Lord is now about to suit his dispensations to humble and to prove him, and to show what is in his heart, that he may do him good at the latter end, that all the glory may redound to his own free grace. Since the Lord hates and abhors sin, and teaches his people, whom he loves, to hate it likewise ; it might seem desirable (and all things are equally easy to him,) that at the same time they are delivered from the guilt and reigning power of sin, they should like- wise be perfectly freed from the defilement of indwelling sin, and be made fully conform- able to him at once. His wisdom has, how- ever, appointed otherwise. But from the above premises of his hatred of sin, and his love to his people, I think we may certainly conclude, that he would not suffer sin to re- main in them, if lie did not purpose to over- rule it, for the fuller manifestation of the ON GRACE IN THE EAR. 135 LET. XI.] glory of his grace and wisdom, and for the making his salvation more precious to their souls. It is, however, his command, and therefore their duty ; yea, further, from the new nature he has given them, it is their de- sire, to watch and strive against sin ; and to propose the mortification of the whole body of sin, and the advancement of sanctification in their hearts, as their great and constant aim, to which they are to have an habitual persevering regard. Upon this plan B sets out. The knowledge of our acceptance with God, and of our everlasting security in Christ, has, in itself, the same tendency upon earth as it will have in heaven, and would, in pro- portion to the degree of evidence and clear- ness, produce the same effects, of continual love, joy, peace, gratitude, and praise, if there was nothing to counteract it. But B is not all spirit. A depraved nature still cleaves to him, and he has the seeds of every natural corruption yet remaining in his heart. He lives likewise in a world that is full of snares and occasions suited to draw forth those cor- ruptions ; and he is surrounded by invisible spiritual enemies, the extent of whose power and subtility he is yet to learn by painful ex- perience. B knows, in general, the nature of his Christian warfare, and sees his right to live upon Jesus for righteousness and strength. He is not unwilling to endure hardships as a good soldier of Jesus Christ; and believes, that though he may be sore thrust at that he may fall, the Lord will be his stay. He knows, that his heart is “ de- ceitful and desperately wicked but he does not, he cannot know at first, the full mean- ing of that expression. Yet it is for the Lord’s glory, and will, in the end, make his grace and love still more precious, that B should find new and mortifying proofs of an evil nature as he goes on, such as he could not once have believed, had they been fore- told to him, as in the case of Peter, Mark xiv. 29. And in effect, the abominations of the heart do not appear in their full strength and aggravation, but in the case of one, who, like B, has tasted that the Lord is gracious, and rejoiced in his salvation. The exceeding sinfulness of sin is manifested, not so much by its breaking through the restraint of threatenings and commands, as by its being capable of acting against light and against love. Thus it was with Hezekiah. He had been a faithful and zealous servant of the Lord for many years ; but I suppose he knew more of God and of himself, in the time of his sickness, than he had ever done before. The Lord, who had signally defended him from Sennacherib, was pleased likewise to raise him from the borders of the grave by a miracle, and prolonged the time of his life in answer to prayer. It is plain from the song which he penned upon his recovery, that he was greatly affected with the mer- cies he had received; yet still there was something in his heart which he knew not, and which it was for the Lord’s glory he should be made sensible of ; and therefore he was pleased to leave him to himself. It is the only instance in which he is said t-o have been left to himself, and the only instance in which his conduct is condemned. I appre- hend, that in the state of B, that is, for a season after we have known the Lord, we have usually the most sensible and distress- ing experience of our evil natures. I do not say, that it is necessary that we should be left to fall into gross outward sin, in order to know what is in our hearts ; though I be- lieve many have thus fallen, whose hearts, under a former sense of redeeming love, have been as truly set against sin, as the hearts of others who have been preserved from such outward falls. The Lord makes some of his children examples and warnings to others, as he pleases. They who are spared, and whose worst deviations are only known to the Lord and themselves, have great reason to be thankful. I am sure I have : the merciful Lord has not suffered me to make any considerable blot in my profes- sion during the time I have been numbered amongst his people. But I have nothing to boast of herein. It has not been owing to my wisdom, watchfulness, or spirituality, though in the main he has not suffered me to live in the neglect of his appointed means. But I hope to go softly all my days under the remembrance of many things, for which I have as great cause to be abased before him, as if I had been left to sin grievously in the sight of men. Yet, with respect to my ac- ceptance in the Beloved, I know not if I have had a doubt of a quarter of an hour’s con- tinuance for many years past. But oh ! the multiplied instances of stupidity, ingratitude, impatience, and rebellion, to which my con- science has been witness! And as every heart knows its own bitterness, I have gene- rally heard the like complaints from others of the Lord’s people with whom I have con- versed, even from those who have appeared to be eminently gracious and spiritual. B does not meet with these things perhaps at first, nor every day. The Lord appoints occasions and turns in life, which try our spirits. There are particular seasons, when temptations are suited to our frames, tempers, and situations; and there are times when lie is pleased to withdraw, and to permit Satan’s approach, that we may feel how vile we are in our- selves. We are prone to spiritual pride, to self dependence, to vain confidence, to cre- ate attachments, and a train of evils. The Lord often discovers to us one single dispo- sition by exposing us to another. He some- times shows us what he can do for us and in us; and at other times how little we can do, and how unable we are to stand without him. 136 ON GRACE IN THE FULL CORN. By a variety of these exercises, through the over-ruling and edifying influences of the Holy Spirit, B is trained up in a growing knowledge of himself and of the Lord. He learns to be more distrustful of his own heart, and to suspect a snare in every step he takes. The dark and disconsolate hours which he has brought upon himself in times past, make him doubly prize the light of God’s counte- nance, and teach him to dread whatever might grieve the Spirit of God, and cause him to withdraw again. The repeated and multiplied pardons which he has received, increase his admiration of, and the sense of his obligations to, the rich, sovereign, abound- ing mercy of the covenant. Much has been forgiven him, therefore he loves much, and therefore he knows how to forgive and to pity others. He does not call evil good, or good evil; but his own experiences teach him tenderness and forbearance. He expe- riences a spirit of meekness towards those who are overtaken in a fault, and his attempts to restore such, are according to the pattern of the Lord’s dealings with himself. In a word, B’s character, in my judgment, is com- plete, and he becomes a C when the habitual frame of his heart answers to that passage in the prophet Ezekiel, chap. xvi. 63, “ That thou mayest remember, and be confounded, and never open thy mouth any more (to boast, complain, or censure,) because of thy shame, when I am pacified towards thee for all that thou hast done, saith the Lord God.” — I am, &c. LETTER XII. C ; or, Grace in the Full Corn in the Ear. Mark iv. 28. dear sir, — By way of distinction, I as- signed to A the characteristic of desire, to B that of conflict. I can think of no single word more descriptive of the state of C than contemplation. His eminence, in compari- son of A, does not consist in the sensible warmth and fervency of his affections: in this respect many of the most exemplary be- lievers have looked back with a kind of re- gret upon the time of their espousals, when, though their judgments were but imperfect- ly formed, and their views of gospel-truths were very indistinct, they felt a fervour of spirit, the remembrance of which is both humbling and refreshing ; and yet they can- not recall the same sensations. Nor is he properly distinguished from B by a conscious- ness of his acceptance in the Beloved, and an ability of calling God his father ; for this I have supposed B has attained to. Though as there is a growth in every grace, C having had his views of the gospel, and of the Lord’s [let. XII. faithfulness and mercy, confirmed by a long- er experience, his assurance is of course more stable and more simple, than when he first saw himself safe from all condemnation. Neither has C, properly speaking, any more strength or stock of grace inherent in him- self than B, or even than A. He is in the same state of absolute dependence, as inca- pable of performing spiritual acts, or of re- sisting temptations by his own power, as he was at the first day of his setting out. Yet, in a sense, he is much stronger, because he has a more feeling and constant sense of his own weakness. The Lord has been long teaching him this lesson by a train of various dispensations ; and through grace he can say, He has not suffered so many things in vain. His heart has deceived him so often, that he is now in a good measure weaned from trusting to it; and therefore he does not meet with so many disappointments. And having found again and again the vanity of all other helps, he is now taught to go to the Lord at once for “grace to help in every time of need.” Thus he is strong not in himself, but in the grace that is in Christ Jesus. But C’s happiness and superiority to B lies chiefly in this, that by the Lord’s blessing on the use of means, such as prayer, reading, and hearing of the word, and by a sanctified improvement of what he has seen of the Lord, and of his own heart, in the course of his experience, he has attained clearer, deep- er, and more comprehensive views of the mys- tery of redeeming love ; of the glorious ex- cellency of the Lord Jesus, in his person, offi- ces, grace, and faithfulness ; of the harmony and glory of all the divine perfections manifest- ed in and by him to the church ; of the stabil- ity, beauty, fulness, and certainty of the holy scriptures, and of the heights, depths, lengths, and breadths of the love of God in Christ. Thus, though his sensible feelings may not be so warm as when he was in the state of A, his judgment is more solid, his mind more fixed, his thoughts more habitually exercised upon the things within the vail. His great business is to behold the glory of God in Christ ; and by beholding, he is changed in- to the same image, and brings fortii, in an eminent and uniform manner, the fruits of righteousness, which are by Jesus Christ to the glory and praise of God. His contem- plations are not barren speculations, but have a real influence, and enable him to exemplify the Christian character to more advantage, and with more consistence, than can, in the present state of things, be expected either from A or B. The following particulars may illustrate my meaning. 1. Humility. A measure of this grace is to be expected in every true Christian ; but it can only appear in proportion to the know • ledge they have of Christ, and of their own ON GRACE IN THE FULL CORN. 137 LET. XII.] nearts. It is a part of C’s daily employment to look back upon the way by which the Lord has led him : and while he reviews the Ebe- nezers he has set up all along’ the road, he sees, in almost an equal number, the monu- ments of his own perverse returns, and how he has, in a thousand instances, rendered to the Lord evil for good. Comparing these things together, he can, without affectation, adopt the apostle’s language, and style him- self “ less than the least of all saints, and of sinners the chief.” A and B know that they ought to be humbled ; but C is truly so, and feels the force of that text which I mention- ed in my last, Ezek. xvi. 63. Again, as he knows most of himself, so he has seen most of the Lord. The apprehension of infinite majesty combined with infinite love, makes him shrink into the dust. From the exer- cise of this grace he derives two others, which are exceedingly ornamental, and prin- cipal branches of the mind which was in Christ. The one is, submission to the will of God. The views he has of his own vileness, un- worthiness, and ignorance, and of the divine sovereignty, wisdom, and love, teach him to be content in every state, and to bear his ap- pointed lot of suffering with resignation, ac- cording to the language of David in a time of affliction, “I was dumb, and opened not my mouth, because thou didst it.” The other is, tenderness of spirit towards his fellow Christians. He cannot but judge of their conduct according to the rule of the word. But his own heart, and the know- ledge he has acquired of the snares of the world, and the subtilty of Satan, teach him to make all due allowances, and qualify him for admonishing and restoring, in the spirit of meekness, those who have been overtaken in a fault. Here A is usually blamable; the warmth of his zeal, not being duly corrected by a sense of his own imperfections, betrays him often into a censorious spirit. But C can bear with A likewise, because he hath been so himself, and he will not expect green fruit to be ripe. 2. Spirituality. A spiritual taste, and a disposition to account all things mean and vain, in comparison of the knowledge and love of God in Christ, are essential to a true Christian. The world can never be his pre- vailing choice, 1 John ii. 13. Yet we are re- newed but in part, and are prone to an undue attachment to worldly things. Our spirits cleave to the dust, in defiance of the dictates of our better judgments ; and I believe the Lord seldom gives his people a considerable victory over this evil principle, until he has let them feel how deeply it is rooted in their hearts. We may often see persons entangled and clogged in this respect, of whose sincer- ity in the main we cannot justly doubt; espe- cially upon some sudden and unexpected turn I in life, which brings them into a situation they have not been accustomed to. A consi- derable part of our trials are mercifully ap- pointed to wean us from this propensity ; and it is gradually weakened by the Lord’s show- ing us at one time the vanity of the creature, and at another his own excellence and all- sufficiency. Even C is not perfect in this respect ; but he is more sensible of the evil of such attachments, more humbled for them, more watchful against them, and more deli- vered from them. He still feels a fetter, but he longs to be free. His allowed desires are brought to a point; and he sees nothing worth a serious thought, but communion with God and progress in holiness. Whatever outward changes C may meet with, he will, in general, be the same man still. He has learned with the apostle, not only to suffer want, but which is perhaps the harder lesson, how to abound. A palace would be a prison to him, without the Lord’s presence; and with this a prison would be a palace. From hence arises a peaceful reliance upon the Lord : he has nothing which he cannot com- mit into his hands, which he is not habitually aiming to resign to his disposal. Therefore, he is not afraid of evil tidings; but when the hearts of others shake like the leaves of a tree, he is fixed, trusting in the Lord, who, he believes, can and will make good every loss, sweeten every bitter, and appoint ail things to work together for his advantage. He sees that the time is short, lives upon the foretastes of glory, and therefore accounts not his life, or any inferior concernment dear, so that he may finish his course with joy. 3. A union of heart to the glory and will of God, is another noble distinction of C’s spirit. The glory of God, and the good of his people are inseparably connected. But of these great ends, the first is unspeakably the highest and most important, and into which every thing else will be finally resolv- ed. Now, in proportion as we advance near- er to him, our judgment, aim, and end, will be conformable to his, and his glory will have the highest place in our hearts. At first it is not so, or but very imperfectly. Our con- cern is chiefly about ourselves ; nor can it be otherwise. The convinced soul inquires, What shall I do to be saved ? The young convert is intent upon sensible comforts ; and in the seasons when he sees his interest se- cure, the prospect of the troubles he may meet with in life makes him often wish for an early dismission, that he may be at rest, and avoid the heat and burden of the day. But C has attained to more enlarged views ; he has a desire to depart and to be with Christ, which would be importunate, if he considered only himself; but his chief desire is, that God may be glorified in him, whether by his life, or by his death. He is not his own ; nor does he desire to be his own ; but 133 ON HEARING SERMONS. so that the power of Jesus may be manifested in him, he will take pleasure in infirmities, in distresses, in temptations ; and though he longs for heaven, would be content to live as long as Methuselah upon earth, if by any thing he could do or suffer, the will and J glory of God might be promoted. And | though he loves and adores the Lord for what i he has done and suffered for him, delivered j him from, and appointed him to ; yet he loves I and adores him likewise, with a more simple and direct love, in which self is in a manner j forgot, from the consideration of his glorious excellence and perfections, as he is in himself, j That God in Christ is glorious over all, and : blessed for ever, is the very joy of his soul ; j and his heart can frame no higher wish, than i that the sovereign, wise, holy will of God, may be accomplished in him, and all his crea- tures. Upon this grand principle his prayers, schemes, and actions are formed. Thus C is already made like the angels, and, so far as consistent with the inseparable remnants of a fallen nature, the will of God is regarded by him upon earth, as it is by the inhabitants of heaven. The power of divine grace in C may be ex- em: lified in a great variety of situations. C may be rich or poor, learned or illiterate, of a lively natural spirit, or of a more slow and phlegmatical constitution. He may have a comparatively smooth, or a remarkably thorny path in life ; he may be a minister or a lay- man : these circumstances will give some tincture and difference in appearance to the work ; but the work itself is the 6ame ; and we must, as far as possible, drop the consi- deration of them all, or make proper allow- j ances for each, in order to form a right judg- j meat of the life of faith. The outward ex- 1 pression of grace may be heightened and set j off. to advantage by many things which are j merely natural, such as evenness of temper, j good sense, a knowledge of the world, and \ the like : and it may be darkened by things i which are not properly sinful, but unavoid- able, such as lowness of spirits, weak abili- j ties, and pressure of temptations, which may have effects that they who have not had ex- : perience in the same things, cannot properly j account for. A double quantity of real grace, ; if I may so speak, that has a double quantity of hinderances to conflict with, will not be | easily observed, unless these hinderances are ! likewise known and attended to; and a I smaller measure of grace may appear great ' when its exercise meets with no remarkable obstruction. For these reasons we can never be competent judges of each other, because we cannot be competently acquainted with the whole complex case. But our great and merciful High Priest knows the whole ; he considers our frame, “remembers that we are but dust:” makes gracious allowances, pities, bears, accepts, and approves, with un- . [let. xm. [ erring judgment. The sun, in his daily course, beholds nothing so excellent and honourable upon earth as C, though perhaps he may be confined to a cottage, and is little known or noticed by men. But he is the ob- ject and residence of divine love, the charge of angels, and ripening for everlasting glory. Happy C ! his toils, sufferings, and exercises will be soon at an end ; soon his desires will be accomplished ; and he who has loved him, and redeemed him with his own blood, will receive him to himself, with a “ Well done, good and faithful servant; enter thou into the joy of thy Lord.” If this representation is agreeable to the scriptures, how greatly are they mistaken, and how much to be pitied, who, while they make profession of the gospel, seem to have no idea of the effects it is designed to pro- duce upon the hearts of believers, but either allow 7 themselves in a worldly spirit and con- versation, or indulge their mi sane tiffed tem- pers, by a fierce contention for names, no- tions, and parties. May the Lord give to you and to me daily to grow in the experience of that wisdom which “is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, and easy to be entreated, full of mercy and good works, without par- tiality, and without hypocrisy.” — I am, &c. LETTER Xm. On Hearing Sermons. dear sir, — I am glad to find that the Lord has at length been pleased to fix you in a fa- voured situation, where you have frequent opportunities of hearing the gospel. This is a great privilege ; but, like all other outward privileges, it requires grace and wisdom to make a due improvement of it : and the great plenty of ordinances you enjoy, though in itself a blessing, is attended with snares, which, unless they are carefully guarded against, may hinder, rather than promote, your edification. I gladly embrace the occa- sion you afford me, of offering you my advice upon this subject. A remembrance of the mistakes I have myself formerly committed, and the observations I have made upon the conduct of professors, considered as hearers, will, perhaps, in some measure qualify me for the task you have assigned me. The faithful ministers of the gospel, are all the servants and ambassadors of Christ ; they are called and furnished by his Holy Spirit ; they speak in his name ; and their success in the discharge of their office, he it more or less, depends entirely upon his bless- ing: so far they are all upon a par. But *n the measure of their ministerial abilities, and in the peculiar turn of their preaching, there is a great variety. There are “ diversities of ON HEARING SERMONS. 139 LET. XII I. J gifts from the same Spirit ; and he distributes to every man severally according to his own will.” Some are more happy in alarming the careless, others in administering conso- lation to the wounded conscience. Some are set more especially for the establishment and confirmation of the gospel-doctrines ; others are skilful in solving casuistical points ; others are more excellent in enforcing practical godliness ; and others again, having been led through depths of temptation and spiritual distress, are best acquainted with the various workings of the heart, and know best how to speak a word in season to weary and exer- cised souls. Perhaps no true minister of the gospel (for all such are taught of God) is wholly at a loss upon either of these points ; but few, if any, are remarkably and equally excellent in managing them all. Again, as to their manner, some are more popular and pathetic, but at the same time more general and diffuse ; while the want of that life and earnestness in delivery is compensated in others, by the closeness, accuracy, and depth of their compositions. In this variety of gifts, the Lord has a gracious regard to the differ- ent tastes and dispositions, as well as to the wants of his people ; and by their combined effects, the complete system of his truth is illustrated, and the good of his church pro- moted with the highest advantage ; while his ministers, like officers assigned to different stations in an army, have not only the good of the whole in view, but each one his par- ticular post to maintain. This would be more evidently the case, if the remaining depravity of our hearts did not afford Satan but too much advantage in his subtile attempts to hurt and ensnare us. But alas ! how often has he prevailed to infuse a spirit of envy or dislike in ministers towards each other, to withdraw hearers from their proper concern- ment, by dividing them into parties and stir- ring them up to contend for a Paul, an Apol- los, or a Cephas, for their own favourites, to the disparagement of others who are equally dear to the Lord, and faithful in his service 1 You may think my preamble long: but I shall deduce my advices chiefly from it; taking it for granted, that to you I may have no need of proving at large what I have advanced. As the gifts and talents of ministers are different, I advise you to choose for your stated pastor and teacher, one whom you find most suitable, upon the whole, to your own taste, and whom you are likely to hear with the most pleasure and advantage. Use some deliberation and much prayer in this matter. Intreat the Lord, who knows better than you do yourself, to guide you where your soul may be best fed ; and when your choice is fixed, you will do well to make a point of at- tending his ministry constantly, I mean, at least the stated times of worship on the Lord’s day. I do not say, that no circumstance will justify your going elsewhere at such times occasionally; but I think the seldomer you are absent the better. A stated and regular attendance encourages the minister, affords a good example to the congregation ; and a hearer is more likely to meet with what is directly suited to his own case, from a minis- ter who knows him, and expects to see him, than he can be from one who is a stranger. Especially, I would not wish you to be absent for the sake of gratifying your curiosity, to hear some new preacher, who you have, per- haps, been told, is a very extraordinary man. For in your way such occasions might pos- sibly offer almost every week. What I have observed of many, who run about unseason- ably after new preachers, has reminded me of Prov. xxvii. 8. “As a bird that wand ere th from her nest, so is the man that wandereth from his place.” Such unsettled hearers sel- dom thrive, they usually grow wise in their own conceits, have their heads filled with notions, acquire a dry, critical, and censorious spirit ; and are more intent upon disputing who is the best preacher, than upon obtaining benefit to themselves from what they hear. If you could find a man, indeed, who had a power in himself of dispensing a blessing to your soul, you might follow him from place to place ; but as the blessing is in the Lord’s hand, you will be more likely to receive it by waiting where his providence has placed you, and where he has met with you before. But as human nature is prone to extremes, permit me to give you a caution on the other hand. If the minister under whom you statedly attend, is made very acceptable to you, you will be in the less danger of slight- ing him. But be careful that you do not slight any other minister of Christ. If, there- fore, when you come to hear your own preacher, you find another in the pulpit, do not let your looks tell him, that if you had known lie had been there you would not have come. I wish indeed you may never think so in your heart ; but though we cannot pre- vent evil thoughts from rising in our minds, we should endeavour to combat and suppress them. Some persons are so curious, or rather so weak, that if their favourite minister is occasionally absent, they hardly think it worth their while to hear another. A judicious and faithful minister, in this case, instead of being delighted with such a mark of peculiar at- tachment to himself, will be grieved to think that they have profited no more by his labours ; for it is his desire to win souls, not to him- self, but to Jesus Christ. I hope you, my friend, will always attend the ordinances with a view to the Lord’s presence ; and when you are in your proper place, consider the preacher (if he preaches the truth) as one providentially and expressly sent by the Lord to you at that time ; and that you could not choose better for yourself, all things con- 140 ON HEARING SERMONS. [let. XIII. sidered, than he has chosen for you. Do not limit the Almighty, by confining your ex- pectations to a single instrument. If you do, you will probably procure your own disap- pointment. If you fix your hopes upon the man, the Lord may withhold his blessing, and then the best men and the best sermons will prove to you but as clouds without water. But, besides the more stated seasons of wor- ship on the Lord’s day, you have many op- portunities of hearing sermons occasionally in the course of the week ; and thus you may partake of that variety of gifts which I have already spoken of. This will be either a benefit, or otherwise, according to the use you make of it. I would recommend to you to improve these occasions, but under some restrictions. In the first place, be cautious that you do not degenerate into the spirit of a mere hearer, so as to place the chief stress of your profession upon running hither and thither after preachers. There are many who are always upon the wing : and, without a due regard to what is incumbent upon them in the shop, in the family, or in the closet, they seem to think they were sent into the world only to hear sermons, and to hear as many in a day as they possibly can. Such persons may be fitly compared to Pharaoh’s lean kine; they devour a great deal; but for w ant of a proper digestion, they do not flour- ish; their souls are lean; they have little 6olid comfort ; and their profession abounds more in leaves than in fruit. If the twelve apostles were again upon earth, and you could hear them all every week ; yet if you were not attentive to the duties of the closet, if you did not allow yourself time for read- ing, meditation, and prayer ; and if you did not likewise conscientiously attend to the concernments of your particular calling, and the discharge of your duties in relative life, I should be more ready to blame your indis- cretion, than to admire your zeal. Every thing is beautiful in its season; and if one duty frequently jostle out another, it is a sign either of a weak judgment, or of a wrong turn of mind. No public ordinances can make amends for the neglect of secret pray- er; nor will the most diligent attendance upon them justify us in the neglect of those iuties, which, by the command and appoint- ment of God, we owe to society. Again, as it is our trial to live in a day wherein so many contentions, and winds of strange doctrines abound, I hope you will watch and pray that you may not have itch- ing ears, inclining you to hearken after novel and singular opinions, and the errone- ous sentiments of men of unstable minds, who are not sound in the faith. I have known persons, who, from a blameable curi- osity, have gone to hear such, not for the sake of edification, which they could not ex- pect, but to know what they had to say, sup- posing that they themselves were tco well established in the truth to be hurt by them. But the experiment (without a just and law- ful call) is presumptuous and dangerous. In this way many have been hurt, yea, many have been overthrown. Error is like poison ; the subtilty, quickness, and force of its opera- tion, is often amazing. As we pray not to be led into temptation, we should take care not to run into it wilfully. If the Lord has shown you what is right, it is not worth your while to know (if you could know it) how many ways there are of being wrong. Farther, I advise you, when you hear a gospel sermon, and it is notin all respects to your satisfaction, he not too hasty to lay the whole blame upon the preacher. The Lord’s ministers have not much to say in their own behalf. They feel (it is to he hoped) their own weakness and defects, and the greatness and difficulty of their work. They are con- scious that their warmest endeavours to pro- claim the Saviour’s glory are too cold ; and their most importunate addresses to con- sciences of men are too faint ; and sometimes they are burdened with such discourage- ments, that even their enemies would pity them, if they knew their case. Indeed, they have much to be ashamed of ; but it will be more useful for you, who are a hearer, to consider whether the fault may not possibly be in yourself. Perhaps you thought too highly of the man, and expected too much from him ; or perhaps you thought too mean- ly of him, and expected too little. In the former case, the Lord justly disappointed you; in the latter, you received according to your faith. Perhaps you neglected to pray for him ; and then, though he might be useful to others, it is not at all strange that he was not so to you. Or possibly you have indulged a trifling spirit, and brought a dearth and deadness upon your own soul, for which you had not been duly humbled, and the Lord chose that time to rebuke you. Lastly, as a hearer, you have a right to try all doctrines by the w T ord of God ; and it is your duty so to do. Faithful ministers will remind you of this; they will not wish to hold you in an implicit and blind obedience to what they say upon their own authority, nor desire that you should follow them far- ther than they have the scriptures for their warrant. They would not be lords over your conscience, but helpers of your joy. Prize this gospel-liberty, which sets you free from the doctrines and commandments of men ; but do not abuse it to the purposes of pride and self. There are hearers who make themselves, and not the scripture, the stand- ard of their judgment They attend not so much to be instructed, as to pass their sen- tence. To them the pulpit is the bar at which the minister stands to take his trial ON TEMPTATION. 141 LET. XIA\] Defore them, — a bar at which few escape censure, from judges at once so severe and inconsistent. For as these censors are not all of a mind, and, perhaps, agree in nothing so much as in the opinion they have of their own wisdom, it has often happened, that, in the course of one and the same sermon, the minister has been condemned as a legalist, and an antinomian; as too high in his no- tions, and to low; as having too little action, and too much. Oh ! this is a hateful spirit, that prompts hearers to pronounce ex cathe- dra , as if they were infallible, breaks in upon the rights of private judgment, even in mat- ters not essential, and makes a man an of- fender for a word. This spirit is one fre- quent unhappy evil, which springs from the corruption of the heart, when the Lord af- fords the means of grace in great abundance. How highly would some of the Lord’s hidden ones, who are destitute of the ordinances, prize the blessing of a preached gospel, with which too many professors seem to be sur- feited. I pray God to preserve you from such a spirit (which, I fear, is spreading, and infects us like the pestilence,) and to guide you in all things. — I am, &c. LETTER XIV. On Temptation. dear, sir, — What can you expect from me on the subject of temptation, with which you have been so much more conversant than myself 1 On this point I am more dis- posed to receive information from you, than to older my advice. You, by the Lord’s ap- pointment, have had much business and ex- ercise on these great waters; whereas the knowledge I have of what passes there, I have gained more from observation than from ac- tual experience. I shall not wonder, if you think I write like a novice ; however, your request has the force of a command with me. I shall give you my thoughts, or rather shall take occasion to write, not so much to you as to others, who, though they may be plunged in the depths of temptation, have not yet seen so much of the wisdom and power of God in these dispensations as yourself. I shall first inquire, why the Lord permits some of his people to suffer such violent as- saults from the powers of darkness; and then suggest a few advices to tempted souls. The temptations of Satan (which though not the most painful, are in reality the most dangerous) do not directly belong to my pre- sent design. I mean those by which he is too successful in drawing many professors from the path of duty, in filling them with spiritual pride, or lulling them into carnal security. In these attempts, he is often most powerful and prevalent when he i3 least perceived. He seldom distresses those whom he can deceive. It is chiefly when these endeavours fail, that he fights against the peace of the soul. He hates the Lord’s people, grudges them all their privileges and all their comforts ; and will do what he can to disquiet them, because he cannot prevail against them. And though the Lord sets such bounds to his rage as he cannot pass, and limits him both as to manner and time, he is often pleased to suffer him to dis- cover his malice to a considerable degree ; not to gratify Satan, but to humble and prove them ; to show them what is in their hearts, to make them truly sensible of their imme- diate and absolute dependence upon himselfi and to quicken them to watchfulness and prayer. Though temptations, in their own nature are grievous and dreadful, yet, when by the grace of God, they are productive of these effects, they deserve to be numbered among the “all things,” which are appointed to work together for the good of those whe love him. The light carriage, vain confi- dence, and woful backslidings of man}' pro- fessors, might, perhaps (speaking after the manner of men,) have been in some measure prevented, had they been more acquainted with this spiritual warfare, and had they drunk of the cup of temptation, which but few of those who walk humbly and uprightly are exempted from tasting of, though not all in the same degree. One gracious end, there- fore, that the Lcrd has in permitting his peo- ple to be tempted, is for the prevention of greater evils, that they may not grow proud or careless, or be ensnared by the corrupt customs of the world. In this view, I doubt not, however burdensome your trials may at some seasons prove, you are enabled, by your composed judgment, to rejoice in them, and be thankful for them. You know what you suffer now ; but you know not what might have been the consequence, if you had never smarted by the fiery darts of the wicked one. Yoit might have been taken in a more fatal snare, and been numbered with those who, by their grievous declensions and falls, have caused the ways of truth to be evil spoken of. Another design is, for the manifestation of his power, and wisdom, and grace, in sup- porting the soul under such pressures as are evidently beyond its own strength to sustain. A bush on fire, and not consumed, engaged the attention of Moses. This emblem is gene- rally applicable to the state of a Christian in the present life; but never more so than when he is in the fire of temptation. And though his heaviest sufferings of this kind are usually hidden from the notice of his fel- low-creatures, yet there are other eyes al- ways upon him. “We are,” says the apos- tle, “ a spectacle to the world ;” not only to 142 ON TEMPTATION. men, but to angels also. Many things pro- bably pass in the invisible slate, in which we have a nearer concernment than we are or- dinarily aware of. The beginning of the book of Job throws some light upon this point, and informs us (of which we should have been otherwise totally ignorant) of the true source of his uncommon sufferings. — Satan had challenged him, charged him as a hypocrite, and thought he was able to prove him one, if he f assistance. But, so long as prayer is restrained, our burden is increased, Psalm xxxii. 3, 5. If he cannot make them omit praying, he will repeatedly endeavour to weary them, by working upon the legality which cleaves so close to the heart. Satan is a hard task-master, when he interferes in the performance of our spiritual duties. This he does, perhaps, more frequently than we think of ; for he can, if it serves his purpose, appear as an angel of light. When the soul is in a tempest, and attempts to pray, he will suggest, that prayer on these occasions should be protracted to such a length, and performed with such steadiness, as is found to be at that season quite impracticable. Such constrained efforts are wearisome ; and from the manner of the performance, he takes occasion to fix fresh guilt upon the conscience. Short, fre- quent, and fervent petitions, which will al- most necessarily arise from what is felt when temptation is violent, are best suited to the case ; and we need not add to the burden, by tasking ourselves beyond our power, as if we expected to be heard for our much speaking. Blessed be God, that we fight with an enemy already vanquished by our Lord, and that we have a sure promise of victory. The Lord is our banner. — I am, &c. LETTER XV. A Plan of a Compendious Christian Library. dear sir, — An eager desire of reading many books, though it is often supposed to be the effect of a taste for knowledge, is per- haps a principal cause of detaining multi- tudes in ignorance and perplexity. When an unexperienced person thus ventures into the uncertain tide of opinions, he is liable to be hurried hither and thither with the chang- ing stream ; to fall in with every new pro- posal, and to be continually embarrassed with the difficulty of distinguishing between probability and truth. Or if, at last, he happily finds a clue tc lead him through the [let. xr. labyrinth wherein so many have been lost, he will acknowledge, upon a review, tha« from what he remembers to have read (for perhaps, the greater part he has wholly for gotten) he has gained little more than a dis covery of what mistakes, uncertainty, insig nificance, acrimony, and presumption, arc often obtruded on the world under the dis- guise of a plausible title-page. It is far from my intention to depreciate the value, or deny the usefulness of books, without exception : a few well chosen trea- tises, carefully perused, and thoroughly di- gested, will deserve' and reward our pains ; but a multiplicity of reading is seldom at- tended with a good effect. Besides the con- fusion it often brings upon the judgment and memory, it occasions a vast expense of time, indisposes for close thinking, and keeps us poor in the midst of seeming plenty, by re- ducing us to live upon a foreign supply, in- stead of labouring to improve and increase the stock of our own reflections. Every branch of knowledge is attended with this inconvenience ; but it is in no one more sensibly felt than when the inquiry is directed to the subject of religion. Perhaps no country has abounded so much with re- ligious books as our own ; many of them are truly excellent ; but a very great number of those which are usually more obvious to be met with, as they stand recommended by great names, and the general taste of the public, are more likely to mislead an inqui- rer, than to direct him into the paths of true peace and wisdom. And even in those books which are in the main agreeable to the word of God, there is often so great a mixture of human infirmity, so much of the spirit of controversy and party, such manifest defects in some, and sc many unwarrantable additions to the simple truth of the gospel in others, that, unless a person’s judgment is already formed, or he has a prudent friend to direct his choice, he will probably be led into error or prejudice before he is aware, by his attachment to a favourite author. Allowing, therefore, the advantage of a dis- creet and seasonable use of human writings, I would point out a still more excellent way for the acquisition of true knowledge : a me- thod, which, if wholly neglected, the utmost diligence in the use of every other means will prove ineffectual ; but which, if faithful- ly pursued in an humble dependence upon the divine blessing, will not only of itself lead us by the straightest path to wisdom, but will also give a double efficacy to every subordinate assistance. If I may be allowed to use the term book in a metaphorical sense, I may say, that tho most high God, in condescension to the weak- ness of our faculties, the brevity of our lives, and our many avocations, has comprised all ON A CHRISTIAN LIBRARY. 145 LET XV.] the knowledge conducive to our real happi- ness in four comprehensive volumes. The first, which may be considered as the text, is cheap, portable, and compendious, so that hardly any person in our favoured land, who is apprized of its worth, need be without it ; and the other three, which are the best and fullest commentaries upon this, are always at hand for our perusal, and pressing upon our attention in every place and circumstance of our lives. It will be easily apprehended, that, by the first book, or volume, I mean that perfect and infallible system of truth, the Bible. The internal characters of this book, arising from its comprehensiveness, simplicity, ma- jesty, and authority, sufficiently prove to every enlightened mind, that it is given by inspiration of God. Tiiey who are competent judges of this evidence, are no more disturb- ed by the suggestions of some men reputed wise, that it is of human composition, than if they were told that men had invented the sun, and placed it in the firmament. Its ful- ness speaks its author. No case has yet occurred, or ever will, for which there is not a sufficient provision made in this invaluable treasury. Here we may seek (and we shall not seek in vain) wherewith to combat and vanquish every error, to illustrate and con- firm every spiritual truth. Here are pro- mises suited to every want, directions adapted to every doubt that can possibly arise. Here is milk for babes, meat for strong men, medi- cines for the wounded, refreshment for the weary. The general history of a’l nations and ages, and the particular experience of j each private believer, from the beginning to the end of time, are wonderfully comprised in this single volume; so that whoever reads and improves it aright, may discover his state, his progress, his temptations, his danger, and his duty, as distinctly and minutely marked out, as if the whole had been written for him alone. In this respect, as well as in many others, great is the mystery of godliness. The simplicity, as well as the subject-mat- ter of the Bible, evinces its divine original. Though it has depths sufficient to embarrass and confound the proudest efforts of unsanc- tified reason, it does not, as to its general im- port, require an elevated genius to under- stand it, but is equally addressed to the level of every capacity. As its contents are of universal concernment, they are proposed in such a manner as to engage and satisfy the inquiries of all ; and the learned, with re- spect to their own personal interest, have no advantage above the ignorant. That it is in fact read by many who receive no instruction or benefit from it, is wholly owing to their in- attention or vanity. This event may rather excite grief than wonder. The Bible teaches us to expect it. It forewarns us that the na- t'^ral man cannot receive the things of God, ' T can neither understand nor approve them. It points out to us the necessity of a heaven- ly teacher, the Holy Spirit, who has promised to guide those who seek him by prayer, into all necessary truth. They who implore his assistance, find the seals opened, the vail taken away, and the way of salvation made plain before them. The language of the Bible is likewise clothed with inimitable majesty and author- ity. God speaks in it, and reveals the glory of his perfections, his sovereignty, holiness, justice, goodness, and grace, in a manner worthy of himself, though, at the same time, admirably adapted to our weakness. The most laboured efforts of human genius are flat and languid, in comparison of those parts of the Bible which are designed to give us due apprehension of the God with whom we have to do. Where shall we find such in- stances of the true sublime, the great, the marvellous, the beautiful, the pathetic, as in the holy scriptures 1 Again, the effects which it performs demonstrate it to be the word of God. With a powerful and penetrating energy, it alarms and pierces the conscience, discovers the thoughts and intents of the heart, convinces the most obstinate, and makes the most careless tremble. With equal authority and efficacy, it speaks peace to the troubled mind, heals the wounded spirit, and can impart a joy unspeakable and full of glory, in the midst of the deeped distress. It teaches, persuades, comforts, ai£i reproves with an authority that can neither be disputed nor evaded ; and often communi- | cates more light, motives, and influence, by a single sentence, to a plain unlettered be- liever, than he could derive from all the voluminous commentaries of the learned. In a word, it answers the character the apos- tle gives of it: “ It is able to make us wise unto salvation ; it is completely and alone sufficient to make the man of God perfect, thoroughly furnished for every good work.” The doctrines, histories, prophecies, pro- mises, precepts, exhortations, examples, and warnings, contained in the Bible, form a per- fect whole, a complete summary of the will of God concerning us, in which nothing is wanting, nothing is superfluous. The second volume which deserves our study is the book of Creation. “ The hea- vens declare the glory of God, and the fir- mament showeth his handy work nor can we cast our eyes any where, without meet- ing innumerable proofs of his wisdom, power, goodness, and presence. God is revealed in the least, as well as in the greatest of his works. The sun and the glow-worm, the fabric of the universe, and each single blade of grass, are equally the effects of divine power. The lines of this book, though very beautiful and expressive in themselves, are not immediately legible by fallen man. The 146 ON A CHRISTIAN LIBRARY. [let. XV. works of creation may be compared to a fair character in cypher, of which the Bible is the key : and without this key they cannot be understood. This book was always open to the Heathens ; but they could not read it, nor discern the proofs of his eternal power and godhead which it affords. “ They became vain in their own imaginations, and w T or- shipped the creature more than the Creator.” The case is much the same at this day with many reputed wise, whose hearts are not subjected to the authority of the Bible. The study of the works of God, independent of his word, though dignified with the name of philosophy, is no better than an elaborate trifling and waste of time. It is to be feared none are more r.emotc from the true know- ledge of God, than many of those who value themselves most upon their supposed know- ledge of his creatures. They may speak in general terms of his wisdom ; but they live without him in the world ; and their philo- sophy cannot teach them either to love, or serve, to fear, or trust him. They who know God in his word, may find both pleasure and profit in tracing his wisdom in his works, if their inquiries are kept within due bounds, and in a proper subservience to things of greater importance ; but they are compara- tively few who have leisure, capacity, or opportunity, for these inquiries. But the book of creation is designed for the instruc- tion of all believers. If they are not qualified to be astronomers or anatomists, yet, from a view of the heavens, the work of God’s fin- gers, the moon and the stars, which he hath created, they learn to conceive of his conde- scension, power, and faithfulness. Though they are unacquainted with the theory of light and colours, they can see in the rain- bow a token of God's covenant-love. Per- haps they have no idea of the magnitude or distance of the sun ; but it reminds them of Jesus the Sun of righteousness, the source of light and life to their souls. The Lord has established a wonderful analogy between the natural and the spiritual world. This is a secret only known to them that fear him ; but they contemplate it with pleasure ; and al- most every object they see, when they are in the right frame of mind, either leads their thoughts to Jesus, or tends to illustrate some spiritual truth or promise. This is the best method of studying the book of Nature, and for this purpose it is always open and plain to those who love the Bible, so that he who runs may read. The book of Providence is the third volume, by which those who fear the Lord are instruc- ted. This likewise is inextricable and unin- telligible to the wisest of men who arc not governed by the word of God. But when the principles of scripture are admitted and understood, they throw a pleasing light upon the study of divine providence, and at the ! same time, are confirmed and illustrated by | it. What we read in the Bible of the sove- j reignty, wisdom, power, omniscience, and ! omnipresence of God, of his overruling all | events to the accomplishment of bis coun- ' sols, and the manifestation of his glory, of | the care he maintains of his church and pe^- j pie, and of his attention to their prayers, is | exemplified by the history of nations and j families, and the daily occurrences of private life. The believer receives bour'y and in- ! dubitable proofs that the Lord reigns ; that j verily there is a God that judges in the earth. Hence arises a solid confidence : he sees that his concerns are in safe hands ; and he needs not be afraid of evil tidings. His heart is fixed, trusting in the Lord ; while others live at an uncertainty, exposed to the impressions of every new appearance ; and, like a ship in a storm, without rudder or pilot, abandon- ed to the power of the winds and waves, in the history of Joseph, and in the book of Esther, and indeed throughout the Bible, we have specimens of the wise unerring providence of God; what important conse- quences depend, under his management, upon the smallest events; and with what certainty seeming contingencies are directed to the issue which he has appointed. By these au- | thentic specimens we learn to judge of the whole; and with still greater advantage by the light of the New Testament, which shows us, that the administration of all power in heaven and earth is in the hands of Jesus. The government is upon his shoulders. The King of saints is King of nations, King of kings, and Lord of lords. Not a sparrow falls to the ground, nor a hair from our heads, without his cognizance. And though his ways are higher than our ways, and his thoughts than our thoughts; though his agency is veiled from the eye of sense by the intervention of second causes, yet faith perceives, acknowledges, admires, and trusts | his management This study, like the for- mer, does not require superior natural abili- ties, but is obvious to the weakest and mean- est of his people, so far as their own duty and peace are concerned. The fourth volume is the hook of the Heart, or of Human Nature, comprehending the experience of what passes within our own breasts, and the observations we make upon the principles and conduct of others, com- pared with what we read in the word of God. The heart of man is deep; but all its princi- ples and workings in every possible situation, and the various manners in which it is affect- ed by sin, by Satan, by worldly objects, and by grace, in solitude and in company, in pros- perity and in affliction, are disclosed and un- folded in the scriptures. Many who are proud of their knowledge of what they may he safe- ly ignorant of, are utter strangers to them- , selves. Having no acquaintance with the scri> 147 LET. XVI.] ON THE INEFFICACY tures they have neither skill nor inclination to ook into their own hearts, nor any certain criterion whereby to judge of the conduct of human life. But the Bible teaches us to read this mysterious book also; shows us the source, nature, and tendency of our hopes, fears, desires, pursuits, and perplexities; the reasons why we cannot be happy in our- selves, and the vanity and insufficiency of every thing around us to help us. The rest and happiness proposed in the gospel, is like- wise found to be exactly suitable to the de- sires and necessities of the awakened heart ; and the conduct of those who reject this sal- vation as well as the gracious effects produ- ced in those who receive it, prove to a de- monstration, that the word of God is indeed a diseerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart. My limits will admit but of a few hints upon these extensive subjects. I shall only observe that whoever is well read in these four books, is a wise person, how little soever he may know of what the men of the world call science. On the other hand, though a man should be master of the whole circle of classical, polite, and philosophical know- ledge, if he has no taste for the Bible, and has no ability to apply it to the works of creation and providence, and his own expe- rience, he knows nothing yet as he ought to know. I have pointed out a treasure of more worth than all the volumes in the Vati- can. — I am, &c. LETTER XVI. On the Licjjicacy of our Knowledge. dear sir, — To be enabled to form a clear, consistent, and comprehensive judgment of the truths revealed in the scriptures, is a great privilege : but they who possess it are exposed to the temptation of thinking too highly of themselves, and too meanly of others, especially of those who not only re- fuse to adopt their sentiments, but venture to oppose them. We see few controversial writings, however excellent in other respects, but are tinctured with this spirit of self-su- periority ; and they who are not called to this service, if they are attentive to what passes in their hearts, may feel it working within them, upon a thousand occasions; though, so far as it prevails, it brings forcibly home to ourselves the charge of ignorance and in- consistence, which we are so ready to fix upon our opponents. I know nothing as a means more likely to correct this evil, than a serious consideration of the amazing differ- ence between our acquired judgment, and our actual experience; or, in other words, how little influence our knowledge and judg- )F OUR KNOWLEDGE. ment have upon our own conduct. Thi 3 may confirm to us the truth and propriety of the apostle’s observation, “ If any man think that he knoweth any thing, he knoweth no- thing yet as he ought to know.” Not that we are bound to be insensible that the Lord has taught us what we were once ignorant of; nor is it possible that we should be so : but, because, if we estimate our knowledge by its effects, and value it no farther than it is experimental and operative (which is the proper standard whereby to try it,) we shall find it so faint and feeble as hardly to de- serve the name. How firmly, for instance, are we persuaded, in our judgments, that God is omnipresent. Great as the difficulties may be which attend our conceptions of this point, the truth itself is controverted by few. It is generally ac- knowledged by unawakened persons ; and, I may add, too frequently known even by be- lievers, as if they knew it not. If the eyes of the Lord are in every place, how strong a guard should this thought be upon the con- duct of those who profess to fear him ! We know how wo are often affected when in tho presence of a fellow-worm; if he is one on whom we depend, or who is considerably our superior in life, how careful are we to com- pose our behaviour, and to avoid whatever might be deemed improper or offensive ! Is it not strange, that those who have taken their ideas of the divine majesty, holiness, and purity from the scriptures, and are not wholly insensible of their inexpressible obli- gations to regulate all they say or do by his precepts, should, upon many occasions, be betrayed into improprieties of behaviour, from which the presence of a nobleman, or a prince, would have effectually restrained them, yea, sometimes, perhaps, even the pre- sence of -a child 1 Even in the exercise of prayer, by which we profess to draw near the Lord, the consideration that his eye is upon us, has little power to engage our at- tention, or prevent our thoughts from wan- dering, like the fool’s eyes, to the ends of the earth. What should we think of a person, who, being admitted into the king’s presence upon business of the greatest importance, should break off in the midst of his address, to pursue a butterfly 1 Could such an in- stance of weakness bo met with, it would be but a faint emblem of the inconsistencies which they who are acquainted with their own hearts, can often charge themselves with in prayer. They are not wholly igno- rant in what a frame of spirit becomes a needy, dependent sinner to approach that God, before whom the angels arc represent- ed as veiling their faces; yet, in defiance cf their better judgment, their attention is di- verted from him with whom they have to do, , to the merest trifles ; they are not able to realize that presence with which they be- 148 ON THE INEFFICACY OF OUR KNOWLEDGE. [let. xvi. lieve themselves to be surrounded, but speak as if they were speaking to the air. Further, if our sense that God is always present, was in any good measure answerable to the con- viction of our judgment, would it not be an effectual preservative from the many impor- tunate, though groundless fears, with which we are harassed ! He says, “ Fear not, I am with thee:” he promises to be a shield and a guard to those who put their trust in him ; yet though we profess to believe his word, and to hope that he is our protector, we sel- dom think ourselves safe, even in the path of duty, a moment longer than danger is kept out of our view. Little reason have w r e to value ourselves upon our knowledge of this indisputable truth, when it has no more effective and habitual influence upon our conduct. The doctrine of God’s sovereignty like- wise, though not so generally owned as the former, is no less fully assented to by those who are called Calvinists. We zealously contend for this point in our debates with the Arminians, and are ready to wonder that any should be hardy enough to dispute the Creator’s right to do what lie will with his own. While we are only engaged in de- fence of the election of grace, and have a comfortable hope that we are ourselves of that number, we seem so convinced, by the arguments scripture affords us in support of this truth, that we can hardly forbear charg- ing our adversaries with perverse obstinacy and pride for opposing it. Undoubtedly the ground of this opposition lies in the pride of the human heart : but this evil principle is not confined to any party ; and occasions fre- quently arise, when they who contend for the divine sovereignty are little more prac- tically influenced by it than their oppo- nents. This humiliating doctrine concludes as strongly for submission to the will of God, under every circumstance of life, as it does for our acquiescing in his purpose to have mercy upon whom he will have mercy. But, alas ! how often do we find ourselves utterly un- able to apply it, so as to reconcile our spirits to those afflictions which he is pleased to al- lot us. So far as we are enabled to say, when we are exercised with poverty, or heavy losses or crosses, “I was dumb, and opened not my mouth, because thou didst it,” so far, and no farther, are we truly con- vinced that God has a sovereign right to dis- pose of us, and all our concernments, as he pleases. How often, and how justly, at such seasons, might the argument we offer to others, as sufficient to silent all their objec- tions, be retorted upon ourselves: “Nay, but who art thou, O man, who repliest against God ! Shall the thing formed say unto him that formed it, Why hast thou made me thus 1” — a plain proof that our knowledge is more notional than experimental. What an inconsistence, that while we think God is just and righteous in withholding from others the things which pertain to their everlasting peace, we should find it so hard to submit to his dispensations to ourselves in matters of unspeakably less importance ! But the Lord’s appointments, to those who fear him, are not only sovereign, but wise and gracious. He has connected their good with his own glory, and is engaged, by pro- mise, to make all things work together for 1 their advantage. He chooses for his people | better than they could choose for themselves. I If they are in heaviness, there is a need-be ! for it, and he withholds nothing from them but what, upon the whole, it is better they should be without. Thus the scriptures teach, and thus we profess to believe. Furnished with these principles, we are at no loss to ! suggest motives of patience and consolation i to our brethren that are afflicted. We can j assure them, without hesitation, that if they I are interested in the promises, their concerns j are in safe hands ; that the things which at i present are not joyous, but. grievous, shall in due season yield the peaceful fruits of righ- teousness, and that their trials are as certainly mercies as their comforts. We can prove to them, from the history of Joseph, David, Job, and other instances recorded in scripture, that, notwithstanding any present dark ap- pearances, it shall certainly be w r ell with the righteous; that God can and will make crooked things straight: and that he often produces the greatest good from those events which we are apt to look upon as evil. From hence we can infer, not only the sinfulness, but the folly of finding* fault with any of his dispensations. We can tell them, that at the worst, the sufferings of the present life are not worthy to be compared with the glory that shall be revealed ; and that, therefore, under the greatest pressures, they should so weep as those who expect, in a little time, to have all their tears wiped away. But when the case is our own, w r hen we are troubled on every side, or touched in the tenderest part, how difficult is it to feel the force of these reasonings, though we know they are true to a demonstration 1 Then, unless w*e ! are endued with fresh strength from on high, | we - are as liable to complain and despond, as j if we thought our afflictions sprung out of the ' ground, and that the Lord had forgotten to j be gracious. 1 might proceed to show the difference be- tween our judgment, -when most enlightened : and our actual experience with respect to I every spiritual truth. We know there is no | proportion between time and eternity, be- | tween God and the creature, the favour of the Lord and the favour or the frowns of men ; and yet often, when these things are brought into close competition, we are scrcly put to it to keep steadfast in the path of duty ; ON A BELIEVER’S FRAMES. 149 LET. XVII.] nay, without new supplies of grace, we should certainly fail in the time of trial, and our knowledge would have no other effect than to render our guilt more inexcusable. We seem to be as sure that we are weak, sinful, fallible creatures, as we are that we exist; and yet we are prone to act as if we were wise and good. In a word, we cannot deny that a great part of our knowledge is, as I have described it, like the light of the moon, destitute of heat and influence ; and yet we can hardly help thinking of ourselves too highly upon the account of it. May we not say with the psalmist, “ Lord, what is man !” yea, what an enigma, what a poor inconsistent creature, is a believer ! In one view, how great are his character and privileges ! He knows the Lord ; he knows himself. His understanding is enlightened to apprehend and contemplate the great mys- teries of the gospel. He has just ideas of the evil of sin, the vanity of the world, the beau- ties of holiness, and the nature of true hap- piness. He was once darkness, but now he is light in the Lord. He has access to God by Jesus Christ, to whom he is united, and in whom he lives by faith. While the prin- ciples he has received are enlivened by the agency of the Holy Spirit, he can do all things. He is humble, gentle, patient, watch- ful, faithful. He rejoices in afflictions, tri- j umphs over temptation, lives upon the fore- j tastes of eternal glory, and counts not his life dear, so he may glorify God his Saviour, and finish his course with joy. But his strength is not his own ; he is absolutely de- pendent, and is still encompassed with in- firmities, and burdened with a depraved na- ture. If the Lord withdraws his power, he becomes weak as another man, and drops, as a stone sinks to the earth by its own weight. His inherent knowledge may be compared to the windows of a house, which can t.rans- j mit the light, but cannot retain it. Without renewed and continual communications from the Spirit of grace, he is unable to withstand the smallest temptation, to endure the slight- er;; trial, to perform the least service in a due manner, or even to think a good thought. He knows this, and yet he too oflen forgets it. But the Lord reminds him of it frequently, by suspending that assistance, without which lie can do nothing. Then he feels what he is, and is easily prevailed upon to act in con- tradiction to his better judgment. Thus repeated experience of his own weakness teaches him, by degrees, where his strength lies : that it is not in any thing that he has already attained, or can call his own, but in the grace, power, and faithfulness of his Sa- viour. He learns to cea’se from his own un- derstanding, to be ashamed of his best en- deavours, to abhor himself in dust and ashes, md to glory only in the Lord. From hence we may observe, that be- lievers who have most knowledge, are no., therefore, necessarily the most spiritual. — Some may, and do, walk more honourably and more comfortably with two talents, than others with five. He who experimentally knows his own weakness, and depends sim- ply upon the Lord, will surely thrive, though his acquired attainments and abilities may be but small ; and he who has the greatest gifts, the clearest judgment, and the most extensive knowledge, if he indulges high thoughts of his advantages, is in imminent danger of mistaking and falling at every step ; for the Lord will suffer none whom he loves to boast in themselves. He will guide the meek with his eye, and fill the hungry with good things ; but the rich he sendeth empty away. It is an invariable maxim in his kingdom, that whosoever exalteth him- self shall be abased ; but he that humbleth himself shall be exalted. — I am, &c. LETTER XVII. On a Believer's Frames. dear sir, — You ask me, in your letter. What one should do when he finds himself always still, quiet, and stupid, except in the pulpit; when he is made useful there, but cannot get either comfort or sorrow out of it, or but very rarely! You describe a case which my own experience has made very familiar to me : I shall therefore take the occasion to offer you a few miscellaneous thoughts upon the subject of a believer’s frames; and I send them to you, not by post, but from the press ; because I apprehend the exercise you speak of is not peculiar to you or to me, but is, in a greater or less degree, the burden of all who are spiritually minded, and duly attentive to what passes in their own hearts, whether they are in the ministry or not. As you intimate that you are, in the main, favoured with liberty and usefulness in the pulpit, give me leave to ask you, What you would do, if yomilid not find yourself occa- sionally poor, insufficient, and, as you ex- press it, stupid, at other times! Are you aware of what might be the possible, the probable, the almost certain consequences, if you always found your spirit enlarged, and your frames lively and comfortable ! Would you not be in great danger of being puffed up with spiritual pride ! Would you not be less sensible of your absolute dependence upon the pow 7 er of Christ, and of your con- tinual need of his blood, pardon, and inter- cession! Would you not be quite at a loss to speak suitably and feelingly to the case of many gracious souls, who are groaning un- der those effects of a depraved nature, from 150 ON A BELIEVER’S FRAMES. which, upon that supposition, you would be exempted 1 How could you speak properly upon the deceitfulness of the heart, if you did not feel the deceitfulness of your own ; or adapt yourself to the changing 1 experiences through which your hearers pass, if you your- self were always alike or nearly sol Or how could you speak pertinently of the inward j warfare, the contrary principles of flesh and spirit fighting one against another, if your awn spiritual desires were always vigorous and successful, and met with little opposition or concroul 1 The apostle Paul, though favoured with a singular eminency in grace, felt at times that ne had no sufficiency in himself, even so much as to think a good thought ; and he saw there was a danger of his being exalted above measure, if the Lord had not wisely and graciously tempered his dispensations to prevent it. By “ being exalted above mea- sure,” perhaps there may be a reference, not only to his spirit, lest he should think more highly of himself than he ought, but likewise to his preaching, lest, not having the same causes of complaint and humiliation in com- mon with others, he should shoot over the heads of his hearers, confine himself chiefly to speak of such comforts and privileges as he himself enjoyed, and have little to say for the refreshment of those who were discour- aged and cast down by continual conflict with indwelling sin. The angel who appeared to Cornelius, did not preach the gospel to him, but directed him to send for Peter; for, though the glory and grace of the Saviour seems a fitter subject for an angel’s powers, than for the poor stammering tongues of sin- ful men, yet, an angel could not preach ex- perimentally, nor describe the warfare be- tween grace and sin from his own feelings. And if we could suppose a minister as full of comforts, and as free from failings as an angel, though he would be a good and happy man, I cannot conceive that he would be a good or useful preacher; for he would not know how to sympathize with the weak and afflicted of the flock, or to comfort them under their difficulties with the consolations where- with he himself, in similar circumstances, had been comforted of God. It belongs to your calling of God as a minister, that you should have a taste of the various spiritual trials which are incident to the Lord’s peo- ple, that thereby you may possess the tongue of the learned, and know how to speak a word in season to them that are weary ; and it is likewise needful to keep you perpetu- ally attentive to that important admonition, ‘ Without me ye can do nothing.” Thus much, considering you as a minister. But we may extend the subject so as to make it applicable to believers in general. I would observe, therefore, that it is a sign of a sad declension, if one, who has tasted that the [let. XVII. Lord is gracious, should be capable of being fully satisfied with any thing short of the light of his countenance, which is better than life. A resting in notions of gospel-truth, or in the recollection of past comforts, without a continual thirst for fresh communications from the fountain of life, is, I am afraid, the j canker which eats away the beauty and fruit- fulness of many professor's in the present day ; and which, if it does not prove them to be absolutely dead, is, at least, a sufficient evi- dence that they are lamentably sick. But, if we are conscious of the desire, if we seek it carefully in the use of all appointed means, if we willingly allow ourselves in nothing which has a known tendency to grieve the Spirit of God, and to damp our sense of divine things; then, if the Lord is pleased to keep us short of those comforts which he has taught us to prize, and, instead of lively sensations of joy and praise, we feel a lan- guor and deadness of spirit, provided we do indeed feel it, and are humbled for it, wo have no need to give way to despondency or excessive sorrow ; still the foundation of our hope, and the ground of our abiding joys, is the same; and the heart may be as really alive to God, and grace as truly in exercise, when we walk in comparative darkness and see little light, as when the frame of our spirits is more comfortable. Neither the reality nor the measure of grace can be pro- perly estimated by the degree of our sensible comforts. The great question is, How are we practically influenced by the word of God as the ground of our hope, and as the govern- ing rule of our tempers and conversation ! The apostle exhorts believers to rejoice in the Lord always. He well knew that they were exposed to trials and temptations, and to much trouble, from an evil heart of unbe- lief; and he prevents the objections we might be ready to make, by adding, “ And again, I say, rejoice !” As if he had said, I speak upon mature consideration ; I call upon you to rejoice, not at some times only, but at all times ; not only when upon the mount, but when in the valley ; not only when you con- quer, but while you are fighting ; not only when the Lord shines upon you, but when he seems to hide his face. When he enables you to do all things, you are no better in yourselves than you were before ; and wher you feel you can do nothing, you are no worse. Your experiences will vary ; but his love and promises are always unchangeable. Though our desires of comfort, and what we call lively frames, cannot be too importunate, while they are regulated by a due submission to his will, yet they may be inordinate for want of such submission. Sinful principles may, and too often do, mix with and defile our best desires. I have often detected tho two vile abominations self-will and self-righ- teousness, insinuating themselves into this ON A BELIEVER'S FRAMES. 151 LET. XVII.] concern ; like Satan, who works by them, they can occasionally assume the appearance of an angel of light. I have felt an impa- tience in my spirit, utterly unsuitable to my state as a sinner and a beggar, and to my profession of yielding myself and all my con- cerns to the Lord’s disposal. He has merci- fully convinced me that I labour under a complication of disorders, summed up in the word sin ; he has graciously revealed him- self to me as the infallible Physician, and has enabled me to commit myself to him as such, and to expect my cure from his hand alone. Yet how often, instead of thankfully accepting his prescriptions, have I foolishly and presumptuously ventured to prescribe to him. and to point out how I would have him deal with me ! How often have I thought something was necessary, which he saw best to deny, and that I could have done better without those dispensations which his wis- dom appointed to work for my good ! He is God, and not man, or else he would have been weary of me, and left me to my own management long ago. How inconsistent! to acknowledge that I am blind, to intreat him to lead me, and yet to want to choose my own way, in the same breath. I have limited the Holy One of Israel, and not considered, that he magnifies his wisdom and grace in working by contraries, and bringing good out of seeming evil. It has cost me something to bring* myself to confess that he is wiser than I ; but I trust, through his blessing, I have not suffered wholly in vain. My sensi- ble comforts have not been great ; the proofs I have had of the evils of my sinful nature, my incapacity and aversion to good, have neither been few nor small ; but by these unpromising means, I hope, he has made his grace and salvation precious to my soul, and in some measure weaned me from leaning to my own understanding. Again, self-righteousness has had a consi- derable hand in dictating many of my desires for an increase of comfort and spiritual strength. I have wanted some stock of my own. I have been wearied of being so per- petually beholden to him, and necessitated to come to him always in the same strain, as a poor miserable sinner. I could have liked to have done something for myself in com- mon, and to have depended upon him chiefly upon extraordinary occasions. I have found, indeed, that I could do nothing without his assistance, nor any thing, even with it, but what 1 have reason to be ashamed of. If this had only humbled me, and led me to rejoice in his all-sufficiency, it would have been well. But it has often had a different effect, to make me sullen, angry, and discontented ; as if it was not best and most desirable, that he should have all the glory of his own \\ ork, and I should have nothing* to boast of, but that in the Lord I have righteousness and strength. I am now learning to glory only in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me; to be content to be no- thing, that he may be all in all. But I find this a hard lesson ; and when 1 seem to have made some proficiency, a slight turn in my spirit throws me back, and I have to begin all again. Tli is is an inseparable connexion between causes and effects. There can be no effect without a cause, no active cause without a proportionable effect. Now indwelling sin is an active cause; and therefore, while it remains in our nature, it will produce effects according to its strength. Why then should I be surprised, that if the Lord suspends his influence for a moment, in that moment sin will discover itself! Why should I wonder that I can feel no lively exercise of grace, no power to raise my heart to God any far- ther than he is pleased to work in me mightily, — any more than I wonder that I do not find fire in the bottom of a well, or that it should not be day when the sun is with- drawn from the earth ! Humbled I ought to be, to find I am so totally depraved ; but not discouraged, since Jesus is appointed to me of God, wisdom, righteousness, sanctifica- tion, and redemption ; and since I find that, in the midst of all this darkness and dead- ness, he keeps alive the principle of grace which he has implanted in my heart. As to Mr. Rutherford’s expression which you mention, that “ there is no temptation like being without temptation ;” I allow it in a qualified sense ; that is, it is the better of the two, to suffer from Satan’s fiery darts, than to be lulled asleep, and drawn into a careless security, by his more subtile, though less perceptible devices ; so as to grow indif- ferent to the means of grace, and sink into a worldly spirit, or, like the church of I.aodi- cea, to imagine ourselves rich, and increased in goods, and that we have need of nothing. But I am persuaded this is not your case; the deadness you complain of, and which is a burden you groan under, is a very different thing. And I advise you to be cautious how you indulge a desire to be. exercised with Satan’s temptations, .as supposing they would be conducive to make you more spiritual, or would, of course, open you a way to greater consolations. If you have such a desire, I may say to you, in the Lord’s words, “ Yoi, know not what you ask.” He who kno our weakness, ar.d the power of our adver sary, lias graciously directed us to pray, that we enter not into temptation. Have you considered what the enemy can do, if he is permitted to come in like a flood 1 In one hour he could raise such a storm, as would put you to your wit’s end. He could bring such a dark cloud over your mind as would blot out all remembrance of your past com- forts, or at least prevent you from deriving 152 ON SOCIAL PRAYER. the least support from them. He could not only fight against your peace, but shake the very foundations of your hope, and bring you to question, not only your interest in the promises, but even to doubt of the most im- portant and fundamental truths upon which your hopes have been built. Be thankful, therefore, if the Lord restrains his malice. A young sailor is often impatient of a short calm ; but the experienced mariner, who has been often tossed with tempests, and upon the point of perishing, will seldom wish for a storm. In a word, let us patiently wait upon the Lord, and be content to follow as he leads, and he will surely do us good. — I am, &c. LETTER XVIII. Thoughts on the Exercise of Social Prayer. sir, — I account it a great mercy, that, at this time, when iniquity so generally abounds, there is a number, 1 hope a growing number, whose eyes affect their hearts, and who are stirred up to unite in prayer for the spread- ing of gospel-knowledge, and a blessing upon our sinful land. Meetings for social prayer are frequent in different parts of the king- dom, and among various denominations of Christians. As the Lord has promised, that when he prepares the heart to pray, he will graciously incline his ear to hear, who can tell but he may yet be intreated for us, and avert the heavy and justly-deserved judg- ments which seem to hang over us I It is much to be desired, that our hearts might be so affected with a sense of divine things, and so closely engaged when we are worshipping God, that it might not be in the power of little circumstances to interrupt and perplex us, and to make us think the service wearisome, and the time which we employ in it tedious. But as your infirmities are many and great, and the enemy of our souls is watchful to discompose us, if care is not taken by those who lead in social prayer, the exercise which is approved by the judg- ment, may become a burden, and an occasion of sin. Complaints of this kind are frequent, and might perhaps be easily rectified, if the persons chiefly concerned were spoken to in love. But as they are usually the last who hear of it, it may perhaps be of service to com- municate a few remarks on a subject of such general concern. The chief fault of some good prayers is, that they are too long; not that 1 think we should pray by the clock, and limit ourselves precisely to a certain number of minutes ; but it is the better of the two, that the hear- ers should wish the prayer had been longer, than spend half or a considerable part of the [let. XVIII. time in wishing it was over. This is fre- quently owing to an unnecessary enlarge- ment upon every circumstance that oilers, as well as to the repetition of the same things. If we have been copious in pleading for spi- ritual blessings, it may be best to be brief and summary in the article of intercession for others ; or if the frame of our spirits, or the circumstances of affairs, lead us to be more large and particular in laying the cases of others before the Lord, respect should be had to this intention in the former part of the prayer. There are, doubtless, seasons when the Lord is pleased to favour those who pray with a peculiar liberty ; they speak because they feel; they have a wrestling spirit, and hardly know how to leave off When this is the case, they who join with them are sel- dom wearied, though the prayer should be protracted something beyond the usual limits. But I believe it sometimes happens, both in praying, and in preaching, that we are apt to spin out our time to the greatest lengtii, when we have, in reality, the least to say. Long prayers should in general be avoided, especially where several persons are to pray successively ; or else even spiritual hearers will be unable to keep up their attention. And here I would just notice an impropriety we sometimes meet with, that when a person gives expectation that he is just going to conclude his prayer, something not tiiougnt ol in its proper place occurring that instant to his mind, leads him as it were to begin again. But unless it is a matter of singular import- ance, it would be better omitted lor that time. The prayers of some good men are more like preaching than praying. They rather express the Lord’s mind to the people, than the desires of the people to the Lord. In- deed this can hardly be called prayer. It might, in another place, stand for a part of a good sermon ; but will afford little help to those who desire to pray with their hearts. Prayer should be sententious, and made up of breathings to the Lord, either of confes- sion, petition, or praise. It should be, not only scriptural and evangelical, but experi- mental, a simple and unstudied expression of the wants and feelings of the soul. It will be so if the heart is lively and affected in the duty ; it must be so if the edification of others is the point in view. Several books have been written to assist in the gift and exercise of prayer, as by Lr. Watts, and others: and many useful hints may be borrowed from them ; but a too close attention to the method and transitions there- in recommended, gives an air of study and formality, and ohends against that simplicity which is so essentially necessary to a good prayer, that no degree of acquired abilities can compensate for the want of it. It is pos- I sible to learn to pray mechanically, and by I rule ; but it is barely possible to do so with ON SOCIAL PRAYER. 153 LET. XVIII.] acceptance, and benefit to others. When the several parts of invocation, adoration, confession, petition, &c. follow each other in a stated order, the hearer’s mind generally goes bo fore the speaker’s voice, and we can form a tolerable conjecture what is to come next. On this account we often find, that unlettered people, who have had little or no help from books, or rather have not been fet- tered by them, can pray with an unction and savour in an unpremeditated way, while the prayers of persons of much superior abilities, perhaps even of ministers themselves, are, though accurate and regular, so dry and starched, that they afford little either of pleasure or profit to a spiritual mind. The spirit of prayer is the truth and token of the spirit of adoption. The studied addresses with which some approach the throne of grace, remind us of a stranger’s coming to a great man’s door; he knocks and waits, sends in his name, and goes through a course of ceremony before he gains admittance ; while a child of the family uses no ceremony at all, but enters freely when he pleases because he knows he is at home. It is true we ought always to draw near the Lord with great hu- miliation of spirit, and a sense of our unwor- thiness. But this spirit is not always best expressed or promoted by a pompous enume- ration of the names and titles of the God with whom we have to do, or by fixing in our minds beforehand, the exact order in which we propose to arrange the several parts of our prayer. Some attention to me- thod may be proper, for the prevention of repetitions ; and plain people may be a little defective in it sometimes; but this defect will not be half so tiresome and disagreeable as a studied and artificial exactness. Many, perhaps most people, who pray in public, have some favourite word or expres- sion which recurs too often in their prayers, and is frequently used as a mere expletive, having no necessary connexion with the sense of what they are speaking. The most disagreeable of these is, when the name of the blessed God, with the addition of perhaps one or more epithets, as Great, Glorious, Holy, Almighty, &c. is introduced so often, and without necessity, as seems neither to indicate a due reverence in the person who uses it, or suited to excite reverence in those who hear. I will not say, that this is taking the name of God in vain, in the usual sense of the phrase ; it is, however, a great impro- priety, and should be guarded against. It would be well if they who use redundant ex- pressions had a friend to give them a caution, as they might, with a little care, be retrench- ed; and hardly any person can be sensible of the little peculiarities he may inadvertent- ly adopt, unless he is told of it. There are several things likewise respect- ing the voice and manner of prayer, which a person may, with due care, correct in him- self, and which, if generally corrected, would make meetings for prayer more pleasant than they sometimes are. These I shall mention by pairs, as the happy and agreeable way is a medium between two inconvenient extremes. Very loud speaking is a fault, when the size of the place, and the number of hearers do not render it necessary. The end of speaking is, to be heard; ond, when that end is attained, a greater elevation of the voice is frequently hurtful to the speaker, and is more likely to confuse a hearer than to fix his attention. I do not deny hut allowance must be made for constitution, and the warmth of the passions, which dispose some persons to speak louder than others. Yet such will do well to restrain themselves as much as they can. It may seem indeed to indicate great earnestness, and that the heart is much affected; yet it is often but false fire. It may be thought speaking with pow- er ; but a person who is favoured with the Lord’s presence may pray with power in a moderate voice; and there may be very lit- tle power of the Spirit, though the voice should be heard in the street and neighbour- hood. The other extreme, of speaking too low, is not so frequent ; but if we are not heard, we might as well altogether hold our peace. It exhausts the spirits, and wearies the at- tention, to be listening for a length of time to a very low voice. Some words or sen- tences will be lost, which will render what is heard less intelligible and agreeable. If the speaker can be heard by the person far- thest distant from him the rest will hear of course. The tone of the voice is likewise to be re- garded. Some have a tone in prayer, so very different from their usual way of speak- ing, that their nearest friends, if not accus- tomed to them, could hardly know them by their voice. Sometimes the tone in changed, perhaps more than once, so that if our eyes did not give us more certain information than our ears, we might think two or three per- sons had been speaking by turns. It is pity that when we approve what is spoken, we should be so easily disconcerted by an awk- wardness of delivery ; yet so it often is, and probably so it will be, in the present weak and imperfect state of human nature. It is more to be lamented than wondered at, that sincere Christians are sometimes forced to confess, “ He is a good man, and his prayers, as to their substance, are spiritual and judi- cious; but there is something so displeasing in his manner, that I am always uneasy when I hear him.” Contrary to this, and still more offensive, is a custom that some have of talking to the Lord in prayer. It is their natural voice, in- ON CONTROVERSY. 154 deed, but it is that expression of it which they use upon the most familiar and trivial occasions. The human voice is capable of so many inflexions and variations, that it can adapt itself to the different sensations of our mind, as joy, sorrow, fear, desire, &c. If a man was pleading- for his life, or expressing his thanks to the king for a pardon, common sense and decency would teach him a suit- ableness of manner; and any one who could not understand his language might know, bv the sound of his words, that he was not making a bargain, or telling a story. How much more, when we speak to the King of kings, should the consideration of his glory, and our own vileness, and of the important concerns we are engaged in before him, im- press us with an air of seriousness and reve- rence, and prevent us from speaking to him as if he was altogether such a one as our- selves 1 The liberty to which we are called by the gospel, does not at all encourage such a pertness and familiarity as would be unbe- coming to use towards a fellow-worm who was a little advanced above us in worldly dignity. I shall be glad if these hints may be of any service to those who desire to worship God in spirit and in truth, and who wish that whatever has a tendency to damp the spirit of devotion, either in themselves or in others, might be avoided. It is a point of delicacy and difficulty to tell any one what we wish could be altered in his manner of prayer, but it can give no just offence to ask a friend, if he has read a letter on this subject, in “A Collection of Twenty-six Letters,” published in 1775. — I am, &c. LETTER XIX. On Controversy. dear sir, — As you are likely to be engaged in controversy, and your love of truth is joined with a natural warmth of temper, my friendship makes me solicitous on your be- half. You are of the strongest side : for truth is great, and must prevail ; so that a person of abilities, inferior to yours, might take the field with a confidence of victory. I am not therefore anxious for the event of the battle ; but I would have you more than a conqueror, and to triumph not only over your adversary, but over yourself. If you cannot be van- quished, you may be wounded. To preserve you from such wounds as might give you cause of weeping over your conquests, I would present you with some considerations, which, if duly attended to, will do you the service of a coat of mail ; such armour, that you need not complain, as David did of Saul’s that it will be more cumbersome than useful ; [let. xix. for you will easily perceive it is taken fron that great magazine provided for a Christian soldier, the word of God. I take it for grant- ed, that you will not expect any apology foi my freedom, and therefore I shall not offer one. For method’s sake, I may reduce my advice to three heads, — respecting your oppo- nent, the public, and yourself. As to your opponent, I wish, that before you set pen to paper against him, and during the whole time you are preparing your an- swer, you may commend him by earnest prayer to the Lord’s teaching and blessing. This practice will have a direct tendency to conciliate your heart to love and pity him ; and such a disposition will have a good in- fluence upon every page you write. If you account him a believer, though greatly mis- taken in the subject of debate between you, the words of David to Joab, concerning Ab- salom, are very applicable : “ Deal gently with him for my sake.” The Lord loves him and bears with him ; therefore you must not despise him, or treat him harshly. The Lord bears with you likewise, and expects that you should show tenderness to others, from a sense of the much forgiveness you need yourself. In a little while you will meet in heaven ; he will then be dearer to you than the nearest friend you have upon earth is to you now. Anticipate that period in your thoughts ; and though you may find it necessary to oppose his errors, view him personally as a kindred soul, with whom you are to be happy in Christ for ever. But if you look upon him as an unconverted person, in a state of enmity against God and his grace (a supposition which, without good evidence, you should be very unwilling to admit,) he is a more proper object of your compassion than of your anger. Alas ! lie knows not what he does : but you know who has made you to differ. If God in his sovereign plea- sure had so appointed, you might have been as he is now ; and he, instead of you, might have been set for the defence of the gospel. You were both equally blind by nature. If you attend to this, you will not reproach or hate him, because the Lord has been pleased to open your eyes, and not his. Of all peo- ple who engage in controversy, we, who are called Calvinists, are most expressly bound by our own principles to the exercise of gen- tleness and moderation. If, indeed, they who differ from us have a power of chang- ing themselves, if they can open their own eyes, and soften their own hearts, then we might with less inconsistence be offended at their obstinacy ; but if we believe the very contrary to this, our part is, not to strive, but in meekness to instruct those who oppose, “ if peradventure God will give them repent- ance to the acknowledgment of the truth.” If you write with a desire of being an in- strument of correcting mistakes, you will of ON CONTROVERSY. l r >5 ICT. XIX.] course be cautious of laying stumbling-ff'ocks in the way of the blind, or of using any ex- pressions "that may exasperate their passions, confirm them in their prejudices, and there- by make their conviction, humanly speaking, more impracticable. By printing, you will appeal to the public, where your readers may be ranged under three divisions. First, such as differ from you in principle. Concerning these I may refer you to what I have already said. Though you have your eyes upon one per- son chiefly, there are many like-minded with him; and the same reasoning will hold, whether as to one or to a million. There will be likewise many who pay too little regard to religion, to have any settled sys- tem of their own, and yet are pre-engaged in favour of those sentiments which are least repugnant to the good opinion men naturally have of themselves. These are very incompetent judges of doctrines, but they can form a tolerable judgment of a writer’s spirit. They know that meekness, humility, and love, are the characteristics of a Christian temper ; and though they affect to treat the doctrines of grace as mere notions and speculations, which, supposing they adopted them, would have no salutary influ- ence upon their conduct ; yet from us, who profess these principles, they always expect such dispositions as correspond with the pre- cepts of the gospel. They are quick-sighted to discern when we deviate from such a spirit, and avail themselves of it to justify their contempt of our arguments. The scrip- tural maxim, That “ the wrath of man worketh not the righteousness of God,” is verified by daily observation. If our zeal is embittered by expressions of anger, invec- tive, or scorn, we may think we are doing service to the cause of truth, when in reality we shall only bring it into discredit. The weapons of our warfare, and which alone are powerful to break down the strong holds of error, are not carnal, but spiritual ; argu- ments fairly drawn from scripture and ex- perience, and enforced by such a mild address, as may persuade our readers, that, whether we can convince them or not, we wish well to their souls, and contend only for the truth’s sake : if we can satisfy them that we act up to these motives, our point is half gained ; they will be more disposed to consider calm- ly what we offer; and if they should still dissent from our opinions, they will be con- strained to approve of our intentions. You will have a third class of readers, who, being of your own sentiments, will readily approve of what you advance, and may be further established and confirmed in their views of scripture doctrines, by a clear and masterly elucidation of your subject. You may be instrumental to their edification, if the laws of kindness, as well as of truth, re- gulates your pen ; otherwise you may do them harm. There is a principle of self, which disposes us to despise those who differ from us ; and we are often under its influence, when we think we are only showing a be- coming zeal in the cause of God. I readily believe, that the leading points of Arminian- ism spring from, and are nourished by, the pride of the human heart ; but I should be glad if the reverse was always true ; and that to embrace what are called the Calvin- istic doctrines was an infallible token of an humble mind. I think I have known some Arminians, that is, persons who, for want of clearer light, have been afraid of receiving the doctrines of free grace, who yet have given evidence that their hearts were in a degree humbled before the Lord. And, I am afraid, there are Calvinists, who, while they account it a proof of their humility, that they are willing, in words, to debase the creature, and to give all the glory of salva- tion to the Lord, yet know not what manner of spirit they are of. Whatever it be that makes us trust in ourselves that we are com- paratively wise or good, so as to treat those with contempt who do not subscribe to our doctrines, or follow our party, is a proof and fruit of a self-righteous spirit. Self-righteous- ness can feed upon doctrines, as well as upon works ; and a man may have the heart of a Pharisee, while his head is stored with orthodox notions of the unworthiness of the creature, and the riches of free grace. Yea, I would add, the best of men are not wholly free from this leaven ; and therefore are too apt to be pleased with such representations as hold up our adversaries lo ridicule, and, by consequence, flatter our own superior judg- ments. Controversies, for the most part, are so managed as to indulge, rather than to re- press this wrong disposition ; and, therefore, generally speaking, they are productive of little good. They provoke those whom they should convince, and puff up those whom they should edify. I hope your performance will savour of a spirit of true humility, and be a means of promoting it in others. Tliis leads me, in the last place, to con- sider your own concern in your present un- dertaking. It seems a laudable service to defend the faith once delivered to the saints; we are commanded to contend earnestly for it, and to convince gainsay ers. If ever such defences were seasonable and expedient, they appear to be so in our day, when errors abound on all sides, and every truth of the gospel is either directly denied, or grossly misrepresented. And yet we find but very few writers of controversy who have not been manifestly hurt by it. Either they grow in a sense of their own importance, or imbibe an angry, contentious spirit, or they insensibly withdraw their attention from those things which are the food, and imma 153 ON CONFORMITY TO THE WORLD. diate support of the life of faith, and spend their time and strength upon matters winch, at most, are but of a secondary value. This shows, that if the service is honourable, it is dangerous. What will it profit a man, if he gain his cause and silence his adversary, if at the same time he loses that humble, ten- der frame of spirit in which the Lord delights, and to which the promise of his presence is made 1 Your aim, I doubt not, is good ; but you have need to watch and pray, for you will find Satan at your right hand, to resist you. He will try to debase your views ; and though you set out in defence of the cause of God, if you are not continually looking to the Lord to keep you, it may become your own cause, and awaken in you those tem- pers which are inconsistent with true peace of mind, and will surely obstruct communion with God. Be upon your guard against ad- mitting any thing personal into the debate. If you think you have been ill treated, you will have an opportunity of showing that you are a disciple of Jesus, who, “ when he was reviled, reviled not again ; when he suffered, he threatened not.” This is our pattern; thus we are to speak and write for God, “ not rendering railing for railing, but contrari- wise, blessing; knowing that hereunto we are called.” The wisdom that is from above is not only pure, but peaceable and gentle ; and the want of these qualifications, like the dead fly in the pot of ointment, will spoil the savour and efficacy of our labours. If we act in a wrong spirit, we shall bring little glory to God, do little good to our fellow-crea- tures, and procure neither honour nor com- fort to ourselves. If you can be content with showing your wit, and gaining the laugh on your side, you have an easy task ; but I hope you have a far nobler aim, and that, sensible of the solemn importance of gospel-truths, and the compassion due to the souls of men, you would rather be a means of removing prejudices in a single instance, than obtain the empty applause of thousands. Go forth, therefore, in the name and strength of the Lord of Hosts, speaking the truth in love ; and may he give you a witness in many hearts, that you are taught of God, and fa- voured with the unction of his Holy Spirit. I am, &c. LETTER XX. On Conformity to the World. dear sir, — You will, perhaps, be sur- prised to see my thoughts on your query in print, rather than to receive them by post, as you expected. But as the subject of it is of general concern, I hope that you will not be displeased that I have taken this method. [let. XX. It would do honour to the pen of an able casuist, and might be of considerable service in the present day, clearly to explain the force of the apostle's precept, “ Be not con- formed to this world;” and to state the just boundary between a sinful compliance with the world, and that scrupulous singularity which springs from a self-righteous principle, and a contracted view of the spirit and liberty of the gospel. To treat this point accurately, would require a treatise, rather than a letter; I only undertake to offer you a few hints ; and, indeed, when the mind is formed to a spiritual taste, a simple desire to be guided by the word and Spirit of God, together with a due attention to our own experience, will, in most practical cases, supersede the necessity of long and elaborate disquisitions. By the world, in the passage alluded to, Rom. xii. 2, I suppose the apostle means the men of the world, in distinction from believers ; these, not having the love of God in their hearts, or his fear before their eyes, are, of course, engaged in such pursuits and practices as are inconsistent with our holy calling, and which we cannot imitate or com- ply with them, without hurting our peace and our profession. We are, therefore, bound to avoid conformity to them in all such in- stances ; but we are not obliged to decline all intercourse with the world, or to impose restraints upon ourselves, when the scriptures do not restrain us, in order to make us as unlike the world as possible. To instance in a few particulars : — It is not necessary, perhaps it is not law- ful, wholly to renounce the society of the world. A mistake of this kind took place in the early ages of Christianity, and men (at first, perhaps, with a sincere desire of serving God without distraction) withdrew into deserts and uninhabited places, and wasted their lives at a distance from their fellow-creatures. But unless we could flee from ourselves likewise, this would afford us no advantage ; so long as we carry our own wicked hearts with us, we shall be exposed to temptation, go where we will. Besides, this would be thwarting the end of our voca- tion. Christians are to be the salt and the light of the world, conspicuous as cities set upon a hill; they are commanded to “let their light shine before men, that they, be- holding their good works, may glorify their Father who is in heaven.” This injudicious deviation from the paths of nature and provi- dence, gave occasion, at length, to the vilest abominations ; and men, who withdrew from the world under the pretence of retirement, became the more wicked and abandoned, as they lived more out of public view and ob- servation. Nor are we at liberty, much less are we enjoined, to renounce the duties of relative ON CONFORMITY TO THE WORLD. 157 LET. XX.] .ife, so as to become careless in the discharge of them. Allowances should, indeed, be made for the distress of persons newly awakened, or under the power of temptation, which may, for a time, so much engross their thoughts, as greatly to indispose them for their bounden duty. But in general, the proper evidence of true Christians, is, not merely that they can talk about divine things, but that, by the grace of God, they live and act agreeable to the rules of his word, in the state in which his providence has placed them, whether as masters or servants, hus- bands or wives, parents or children : bearing rule, or yielding obedience, as in his sight. Diligence and fidelity in the management of temporal concernments, though observable in the practice of many worldly men, may be maintained without a sinful conformity to the world. Neither are we required to refuse a mode- rate use of the comforts and conveniencies of life, suitable to the station which God has appointed us in the world. The spirit of self-righteousness and will-worship works much in this way, and supposes that there is something excellent in long fastings, in ab- staining from pleasant food, in wearing mean- er clothes than is customary with those in the same rank of life, and in many other austerities and singularities not commanded by the word of God. And many persons, who are in the main sincere, are grievously burdened with scruples respecting the use of lawful things. It is true, there is need of a constant watch, lest what is lawful in itself become hurtful to us by its abuse. But these outward strictnesses may be carried to great lengths, without a spark of true grace, and even without the knowledge of the true God. The mortifications and aus- terities practised by the Bramins in India (if the accounts we have of them be true) are vastly more severe than the most zeal- ous effects of modern superstition in our country. There is a strictness which arises rather from ignorance than knowledge, is wholly conversant about externals, and gratifies the spirit of self as much in one way as it seems to retrench it in another. A man may almost starve his body to feed his pride ; but to those who fear and serve the Lord, every creature of God is good, and nothing to be refused, if it be received with thanksgiving; for it is sanctified by the word of God and prayer. Notwithstanding these limitations, the pre- cept is very extensive and important, “ Be not conformed to the world.” As believers, we are strangers and pilgrims upon earth. Heaven is our country, and the Lord is our King. Wo are to be known and noticed as his subjects, and therefore, it is his pleasure, that we do not speak the language, or adopt the customs of the land in which we sojourn. We are not to conform to the world, as we did in the days of our ignorance. And though we have received the principles of grace, and have tasted of the goodness of the Lord, the admonition is still needful ; for we are renewed but in part, and are liable to be drawn aside to our hurt, by the prevalence of evil examples and customs around us. We must not conform to the spirit of tho world. As members of society, we have a part to act in it, in common with others. But if our business is the same, our princi- ples and ends are to be entirely different. Diligence in our respective callings is, as ] have already observed, commendable, and our duty; but not with the same views which stimulate the activity of the men of the world. If they rise early, and take rest late, their en- deavours spring from, and terminate in self, to establish and increase their own impor- tance, to add house to house, and field to field, that, like the builders of Babel, they may get themselves a name, or provide means for the gratification of their sinful passions. If they succeed, they sacrifice to their own net; if they are crossed in their designs, they are filled with anxiety and impatience; they either murmur or despond. But a Christian is to pursue his lawful calling with an oyo to the providence of God, and with submis- sion to his wisdom. Thus, so far as he acts in the exercise of faith, he cannot be disap- pointed. He casts his care upon his heavenly Father, who has promised to take care of him. What he gives, he receives with thank- fulness, and is careful, as a faithful steward, to improve for the furtherance of the cause of God, and the good of mankind ; and if he meets with losses and crosses, he is not dis- concerted, knowing that all his concerns are under a divine direction ; that the Lord, whom he serves, chooses for him better than he could choose for himself : and that his best treasure is safe, out of the reach of the various changes to which all things in the present state are liable. We must not conform to the maxims of the world. The world, in various instances, calls evil good, and good evil. But we are to have recourse to the law and to the testi- mony, and to judge of things by the unerring word of God, uninfluenced by the determina- tion of the great, or the many. We are to obey God rather than man, though upon this account, we may expect to be despised or reviled, to be made a gazing-stock or a laugh- ing-stock to those who set his authorit}' - at defiance. We must bear our testimony to the truth as it is in Jesus, avow the cause of his despised people, and walk in the practice of universal obedience, patiently endure re- proaches, and labour to overcome evil with good. Thus we shall show that we are not ashamed of him. And there is an hour com- ing, when he will not be ashamed of us, who 15S I WAS ONCE BLIND, BUT NOW I SEE. lave followed him, and borne his cross, in the midst of a perverse generation, but will own our worthless names before the assembled world. I W e must not conform to the world in their | amusements and diversions. We are to mix with the world so far as our necessary and providential connexions engage us; so far as we have a reasonable expectation of doing, or getting good, and no further. “ What fellowship hath light with darkness, or what concord hath t iirist with Belial 1” What call can a believer have into those places and companies, where every thing tends to pro- mote a spirit of dissipation ; where the fear of God has no place ; where things are pur- posely disposed to inflame, or indulge cor- rupt and sinful appetites and passions, and to banish all serious thoughts of God and our- selves 1 If it is our duty to redeem time, to walk with God, to do all things in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, to follow the ex- ample which he set us when he was upon earth, and to work out our salvation with fear and trembling; it must of course be our duty to avoid a conformity with the world in those vain and sensual diversions, which stand in as direct contradiction to a spiritual frame of mind as darkness to light. The leading desires of every person under the influence of gospel-principles, will be to maintain a habitual communion with God in his own soul, and to manifest the power of ] is grace in the sight of men. fSo far as a Christian is infected by a conformity to the spirit, maxims, and sinful customs of the world, these desires will be disappointed. Fire and water arc not more opposite than that peace of God which passeth all under- standing, and that poor precarious pleasure which is sought in a compliance with the world ; a pleasure (if worthy the name) which grieves the Spirit ot God and stupifies the heart. Whoever, after having tasted that the Lord is gracious, has been prevailed on to make the experiment, and to mingle with the world’s vanities, has certainly thereby brought a damp upon his experience, and indisposed himself for the exercise of prayer, and the contemplation of divine truths. And if any are not sensible of a difference in this respect, it is because the poison has taken a still deeper effect, so as to benumb their spiritual senses. Conformity to the world is the bane of many professors in this day. They have iound a way, as they think, to serve both Go l and mammon. But because they are double-minded, they are unstable; they make no progress ; and notwithstanding their frequent attendance upon ordinances, they are lean from day to day ; a form of godli- ness, a scheme of orthodox notions they may attain to, but they will remain destitute of the life, power> and comfort of religion, so long as they cleave to those things which are incompatible with it. [let. xxi. I Conformity to the world is equally an ob- struction in the way of those who profess a desire of glorifying God in the sight of men. I Such professors do rather dishonour him; by their conduct, as far as in them lies, they declare, that they do not find the religion of the gospel answer their expectations; that it does not afford them the satisfaction they once hoped for from it; and that therefore they are forced to seek relief from the world. They grieve the people of God by their com- pliances, and ofttimes they mislead the w T eak, and, by their examples encourage them to ven- ture upon the like liberties, which otherwise they durst not have attempted. They em- bolden the wicked likewise in their evil ways, while they see a manifest inconsistence be- tween their avowed principles and their prac- tice ; and thus they cause the ways of truth to be evil spoken of. — The paper constrains me to conclude abruptly. May the Lord enable you and me to lay this subject to heart, and to pray that we may, on the one hand, right- ly understand and prize our Christian liberty; and, on the other hand, be preserved from tiiat growing evil, a conformity to the world — I am, &c. LETTER XXI. “ I teas once blind , but now I see.” dear sir, — The question, What is the discriminating characteristic nature of a work of grace upon the soul 1 has been upon my mind ; if I am able to give you satisfac- tion concerning it, 1 shall think my time well employed. The reason why men in a natural state are utterly ignorant of spiritual truths, is, that they are wholly destitute of a faculty suited to their perception. A remarkable instance we have in the absurd construction which Nicodemus put upon what our Lord had spoken to him concerning the new birth. And in the supernatural communication of this spiritual faculty, by the agency of the Holy Spirit, I apprehend the inimitable and abiding criterion, which is the sub ject of our inquiry, does primarily consist. Those pas- sages of scripture wherein the gospel-truth is compared to light, lead to a familiar illus- tration of my meaning. Men, by nature, are stark blind with respect to this light; by grace the eyes of the understanding are opened. Among a number of blind men, some may be more ingenious and of better capacity than others. They may be better qualified for such studies and employments which do not require eye-sight, than many who can see, and may attain to considerable skill in them ; but with respect to the true nature of light and colours, they are all ox- ON SPIRITUAL BLINDNESS. 159 LET. XXI.] actly upon a level: A blind man, if inge- nious and inquisitive, may learn to talk about the light, the sun, or the rainbow, in terms borrowed from those who have seen them ; but it is impossible that he can have (I mean a man bom blind) a just idea of either ; and whatever hearsay knowledge he may have acquired, he can hardly talk much upon these subjects without betraying his real ignorance. The case of one mentioned by Mr. Locke has been often quoted. He believed, that after much inquiry and reflection, he had at last found out what scarlet was; and being asked to explain himself, “I think,” says he, “scar- let has something like the sound of a trum- pet.” This man had about the same know- ledge of natural light as Nicodemus had of spiritual. Nor can all the learning or study in the world enable any person to form a suit- able judgment of divine truth, till the eyes of his mind are opened, and then he will perceive it at once. Indeed this comparison is well suited to show the entire difference between nature and grace, and to explain the ground of that enmity and scorn which fills the hearts of blinded sinners, against those who profess to have been enlightened by the Spirit of God. The reason why blind men are not affronted when we tell them they cannot see, seems to be, that they are borne down by the united testimony of all who are about them. Every one talks of seeing ; and they find by expe- rience, that those who say they can see, can do many things which the blind cannot. Some such conviction as this many have who live where the gospel is preached, and is made the power of God to the salvation of others. The conversation and conduct of the people of God convinces them, that there is a differ- ence, though they cannot tell wherein it consists. But if we would suppose it possi- ble, that there was a whole nation of blind men, and one or two persons should go amongst them, and profess that they could see, while they could not offer them such a proof of their assertion as they were capable of receiving, nor even explain, to their satis- faction, what they meant by sight, what may we imagine would be the consequence 1 I think there is little doubt but these innovators would experience much the same treatment as the believers of Jesus often meet with from a blind world. The blind people would cer- tainly hate and despise them for presuming to pretend to what they had not. They would try to dispute them out of their senses, and bring many arguments to prove, that there could be no such thing as either light or sight. They would say, as many say now, How is it if these things are so, that we should know nothing of them 1 Yea, I think it probable, they would rise against them as deceivers and enthusiasts, and disturbers of the public peace, and say, “Away with such fellows from the earth ; it is not fit that they should live.” But if we should suppose further, that during the heat of the contest, some of these blind men should have their eyes suddenly opened the dispute as to them would be at an end in a minute: they would confess their former ignorance and obstinacy, confirm the testi- mony of those whom they before despised, and of course share in the same treatment from their blind brethren, perhaps be treated still worse, as apostates from the opinion of the public. If this illustration is justly applicable to our subject, it may lead us to several obser- vations, or inferences, which have a tenden- cy to confirm what we are elsewhere ex- pressly taught by the word of God. In the first place, it shows, that regenera- tion, or that great change without which a man cannot see the kingdom of God, is the effect of almighty power. Neither educa- tion, endeavours, or arguments, can open the eyes of the blind. It is God alone, who at first caused light to shine out of darkness, who can shine into our hearts “ to give us the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ.” People may attain some natural ideas of spiritual truths by reading books, or hearing sermons, and may thereby become wise in their own con- ceits : they may learn to imitate the lan- guage of an experienced Christian; but they know not wlial. they say, nor whereof they affirm, and are as distant from the true mean- ing of the terms, as a blind man who pro- nounces the words blue or rod, is from the ideas which those words raise in the minds of a person who can distinguish colours by his sight. And from hence we may infer the sovereignty as well as the efficacy of grace; since it is evident, not only that the objective light, the word of God, is not afforded uni- versally to all men ; but that those who en- joy the same outward means have not all the same perceptions. There are many who stumble in the noon-day, not for want of light but for want of eyes; and they who now see, were once blind even as others, and had nei- ther power nor will to enlighten their own minds. It is a mercy, however, when peo- ple are so far sensible of their own blindness as to be willing to wait for the manifestation of the Lord’s power, in the ordinances of his appointment. He came into the world, and lie sends forth his gospel, that those who see not may see; and when there i£ a desire raised in the heart for spiritual sight, it shall in his due time be answered. From hence likewise we may observe the proper use and value of the preaching of the gospel, which is the great instrument by which the Holy Spirit opens the blind eyes. Like the rod of Moses, it owes all its efficacy to the appointment and promises of God. Ministers cannot be too earnest in the dis- ISO ON THE ADVANTAGES OF POVERTY. [let. XXII. charge of their office ; it behoves them to use all diligence to find out acceptable words, and to proclaim the whole counsel of God. Yet when they have done all, they have done no- thing, unless their word is accompanied to the heart by the power and demonstration of the Spirit. Without this blessing, an apostle might labour in vain : but it shall be in a measure afforded to all who preach the truth in love, in simplicity, and in an humble dependence upon him who alone can give success. This, in a great measure, puts all faithful ministers on a level, notwithstanding any seeming dis- parity in gifts and abilities. Those who have a lively and pathetic talent may engage the ear, and raise the natural passions of their hearers; but they cannot reach the heart. The blessing may be rather expected to at- tend the humble than the voluble speaker. Further w may remark, that there is a difference in kind, between the highest at- tainments of nature, and the effects of grace in the lowest degree. Many are convinced, who are not truly enlightened; are afraid of the consequences of sin, though they never saw its evil ; have a seeming desire of salva- tion, which is not founded upon a truly spi- ritual discovery of their own wretchedness, and the excellency of Jesus. These may, for a season, hear the word with joy, and walk in the way of professors ; but we need not be surprised if they do not hold out, for they have not root. Though many shall fall, the foundation of God still standeth sure. We may confidently affirm, upon the war- rant of scripture, that they who, having for awhile escaped the pollutions of the world, are again habitually entangled in them, or who, having been distressed upon the ac- count of sin, can find relief in a self-righteous course, and stop short of Christ, “ who is the end of the law for righteousness to every one that believeth;” we may affirm, that these, whatever profession they may have made, were never capable of receiving the beauty and glory of the gospel-salvation. On the other hand, though where the eyes are di- vinely enlightened, the soul’s first views of itself and of the gospel may be confused and indistinct, like him who saw men, as it were trees walking; yet this light is like the dawn, which, though weak and faint at its first appearance, slnneth more and more un- to the perfect day. It is the work of God ; and his work is perfect in kind, though pro- gressive in the manner. He will not despise or forsake the day of small things. When he thus begins, he will make an end ; and such persons, however feeble, poor, and worthless, in their own apprehensions, if they have obtained a glimpse of the Redeemer’s glory, as he is made unto us, of God, wisdom, righteousness, sanctification, and redemption, so that his name is precious, and the desire of their hearts is towards him, have good reason to hope and believe, as the wife of Manoah did in a similar case, that if the Lord had been pleased to kill them, he would not have showed them such things as these. Once more, this spiritual sight and faculty is that which may be principally considered as inherent in a believer. He has no stock of grace, or comfort, or strength, in himself. He needs continual supplies ; and if the Lord withdraws from him, he is as weak and un- skilful, after he has been long engaged in the Christian warfare, as he was when he first entered upon it. The eye is of little present use in the dark; for it cannot see without light. But the return of light is no advantage to a blind man. A believer may be much in the dark; but his spiritual sight remains. Though the exercise of grace may be low, he knows himself, he knows the Lord, he knows the way of access to a throne of grace. His frames and feelings may alter; but he has received such a knowledge of the person and offices, the power and grace, of Jesus the Saviour, as cannot be taken from him ; and could withstand even an angel that should preach another gospel, because he has seen the Lord. — The paper constrains mo to break off. May the Lord increase hir light in your heart, and in the heart of, &.C* LETTER XXII. On the Advantages of a State of Poverty. my dear friexd, — I confess myself almost ashamed to write to you. You are pinched by poverty, suffer the want of many things, and your faith is often sharply tried, when you look at your family, and, perhaps, can hardly conceive how you shall be able to supply them with bread to the end of the week. The Lord has appointed me a differ- ent lot. I am favoured, not only with the necessaries, but with the comforts of life. Now, I could easily give you plenty of good advice ; I could tell you, it is your duty to be patient, and even thankful, in the lowest state ; that if you have bread and water, it is more than you deserve at the Lord’s hands ; and that, as you are out of hell, and made a partaker of the hope of the gospel, you ought not to think any thing hard that you meet with in the way of heaven. If I should say thus, and say no more, you would not dispute the truth of my assertions; but, as coming from me, who live at ease, to you, who are beset with difficulties, you might question their propriety, and think that I know but little of my own heart, and could feel but little for your distress. You would probably compare me to one who should think himself a mari- ner, because he has studied the art of navi- gation by the fireside, though he had never ON THE ADVANTAGES OF POVERTY. 161 LET. XXII.] seen the sea. Yet I hope, by my frequent converse with the Lord’s poor (for I live in the midst of an afflicted and poor people,) I have made some observations, which, though not strictly the fruit of my own experience, may not be wholly unseasonable or unaccept- able to you. Whether the rich or the poor, who live without God in the world, are most to be pitied is not easy to determine. It is a dreadful case to be miserable in both worlds; but yet the parade and seeming prosperity in which some live for a few years, will be no abatement, but rather a great aggravation, of their future torment. A madman is equally to be pitied, whether he is laid upon a bed of state, or a bed of straw. Madness is in the heart of every un regenerate sinner; and the more he possesses of this world’s goods, he is so much the more extensively mischievous. Poverty is so far a negative good to those who have no other restraint, that it confines the effects of the evil heart within narrower bounds, and the small circle of their imme- diate connexions; whereas the rich, who live under the power of sin, are unfaithful stewards of a larger trust, and, by their pernicious influence, are often instrumental in diffusing profaneness and licentiousness through a country or a kingdom, besides the innumerable acts of oppression, and the rava- ges of war, which are perpetrated to gratify the insatiable demands of luxury, ambition, ; and pride. But to leave this, if we turn our eyes from the false maxims of the world, and weigh things in the balance of the sanctuary, I believe we shall find that the believing poor, though they have many trials which call for our compassion, have some advanta- ges above those of the Lord’s people to whom ; he has given a larger share of the good things | of the present life. Why else does the apostle say, “ God has chosen the poor 1” or why do we see, in fact, that so few of the rich j or wise, or mighty are called 1 Certainly he does not choose them because they are poor; for “ he is no respecter of persons rather, I think, we may say, that knowing what is in their hearts, the nature of the world ! through which they are to pass, and what circumstances are best suited to manifest the truth and efficacy of his grace, he has, ! in the general, chosen poverty as the best state for them. Some exceptions he has made that his people may not be wholly without support and countenance, and that the sufficiency of his grace may be made known in every state of life ;' but, for the most part, they are a poor and afflicted peo- ple ; and in this appointment he has had a re- gard to their honour, their safety, and their comfort. I have room but for a very brief illustration of these particulars. Sanctified poverty is an honourable state : net so, indeed, in the judgment of the world. The rich have many friends; the poor are usually despised. But I am speaking of that honour which cometh from God only. The poor, who are “ rich in faith, and heirs of the kingdom,” are honoured with the nearest external conformity to Jesus, their Saviour, wdio, though he was Lord of all, was pleased, for our sakes, to make himself so poor, that he had not where to lay his head, and sub- mitted to receive assistance from the con- tributions of his followers, Luke viii. 3. By this astonishing humiliation, he poured con- tempt upon all human glory, and made the state of poverty honourable: and now, “he that reproacheth the poor, despiseth his Maker.” And as he was, so were his apos- tles in this world. They were not only des- titute of rank, titles, and estates, but were often in hunger and nakedness, and had no certain dwelling place. To infer from hence as some have done, that riches, and the ac- commodations of life, are unsuitable to the state of a Christian, is the mark of a super- stitious and legal spirit. There were, in those days, several believers that were in a state of affluence ; as, for instance, The- ophilus, whom Luke addresses by a title of honour, Kpxno-n (most noble, or excellent,) the same which St. Paul ascribes to the Roman governor. But we may safely infer, that that state of life in which our Lord was pleased to converse with men, and which was the lot of his apostles, and most favoured servants, is honourable in the sight of God. Again, poverty is honourable, because it affords a peculiar advantage for glorifying God, and evidencing the power of his grace, and the faithfulness of his promises, in the sight of men. A believer, if rich, lives by | faith, and his faith meets with various trials. He himself knows by whom he stands ; but it is' not ordinarily so visible to others, as in the case of the poor. When ministers speak of the all-sufficiency of God to those who trust in him, and the certain effect of the princi- ples of the gospel, in supporting, satisfying, and regulating the mind of man, the poor arc the best and most unsuspected witnesses for the truth of their doctrine. If we are asked, Where do these wonderful people live, who can delight themselves in God, esteem a day in his courts better than a thou- sand, and prefer the light of his countenance to all earthly joy 1 we can confidently send them to the poor of the flock. Amongst the number who are so called, there are some who will not disappoint our appeal. Let the world, who refuse to believe the preachers, believe their own eyes; and when they see a poor person content, thankful, rejoicing, admiring the Lord’s goodness for affording him what they account hard fare, and, in the midst of various pressures, incapable of being bribed by offers, or terrified by threats, to swerve a step from the path of known 102 ON THE ADVANTAGES OF POVERTY. duty, let them acknowledge that this is the linger of God. If they harden themselves against this evidence, “ neither would they be persuaded, though one should arise from the dead.” And as poverty is an honourable, so it is comparatively a safe state. True, it is at- tended with its peculiar temptations ; but it is not near so suitable to draw forth and nourish the two grand corruptions of the heart, self-importance, and an idolatrous cleaving to the world, as the opposite state of riches. They who are rich in this world, and who know the Lord and their own hearts, feel the wisdom and propriety of the apostle’s charge, “Not to be high-minded, nor to trust in uncertain riches.” If poor believers consider the snares to which their brethren are exposed, they will rather pray for and pity, than envy them. Their path is slip- pery; they have reason to cry continually, “ Hold thou me up, and I shall be safe ;” tor they live in the midst of the hurries and vanities of the world, are engaged in a large sphere of action, and are incessantly ex- posed to interruptions and snares. The car- riage of all around them reminds them of their supposed consequence; and, by the nature of their situation, they are greatly precluded from plain dealing and friendly advice. But the poor are not surrounded with flatterers, nor teased with impertinen- ces. They meet with little to stimulate their pride, or to soothe their vanity. They not only believe in their judgments, but are constrained to feel, by the experience of every day, that this world cannot afford them rest. If they have food and raiment, and grace therewith to be content, they have reason to be thankful for an exemption from those splendid cares and delusive appear- ances, which are the inseparable attendants of wealth and worldly distinction, and which, if not more burdensome, are, humanly speak- ing, much more dangerous, and greater im- pediments to the progress of a spiritual life, than the ordinary trials of the poor. The believing poor have likewise, for the most part, the advantage in point of spiritual comfort, and that principally in two respects. First, As they are called to a life of more im- mediate dependence upon the promise and pro- vidence of God (having little else to trust to,) they have a more direct and frequent experi- ence of his interposition in their favour. Oba- diah was a servant of God, though he lived in t'ne court of Ahab. He, doubtless, had his dif- ficulties in such a situation ; but he was not in want. He had not only enough for him- self in a time of dearth, but was able to im- part to others. We may believe that he well knew he was indebted to the Lord’s good- ness for his provision ; but he could hardly have so sweet, so strong, so sensible an impression qf God’s watchful care over [let. xxii, him as Elijah had, who, when he was de 4 prived of all human support, was statedly fed by the ravens. Such of the Lord’s peo- ple who have estates in land, or thousands in the bank, will acknowledge, that even the bread they eat is the gift of the Lord’s bounty ; yet, having a moral certainty of a provision for life, I should apprehend that they cannot exercise faith in the divine pro- vidence, with respect to their temporal sup- plies, so distinctly as the poor, who, having no friend or resource upon earth, are neces- sitated to look immediately to their Father who is in heaven, for their daily bread. And though it is not given to the world to know what an intercourse is carried on between heaven and earth, nor with what acceptance the prayers of the poor and afflicted enter into the ears of the Lord of hosts ; yet many of them have had such proofs of his attention, wisdom, faithfulness, power, and love, in sup- plying their wants, and opening them a way of relief, when they have been beset with difficulties on all sides, as have been, to them- selves at least, no less certain and indisputa- ble, I had almost said, no less glorious, than the miracles which he wrought for Israel, when he divided the Red Sea before them, and gave them food from the clouds. Such evidences of the power of faith, the efficacy of prayer, and the truth of the scriptures (preferable to mountains of gold and silver, and for which the state of poverty furnishes the most frequent occasions,) are a rich overbalance for all its inconveniences. But, Secondly, I apprehend that the humble and believing poor have, in general, the greatest share of those consolations, which are the effect of the I.ght of God’s counte- nance lifted up up:r. the soul, of his love shed abroad in the heart, or of a season of refresh- ment from his presence. By such expres sions as these, the scriptures intimate tha„ “joy unspeakable and full of glory;” a de- scription of which, those who have tasted it will not require, and those who are strangers to it, could not understand. This joy is not always the companion of faith, not even of strong faith ; but it is that which a believer, whether rich or poor, incessantly thirsts af- ter ; and, in comparison whereof, all worldly good is but vanity and disappointment. The Lord imparts this joy to his people, in season and measure, as he sees fit ; but his poor peo- ple have the largest share. They have lit- tle comfort from the world, therefore he is pleased to be their comforter. They have many trials and sufferings ; and he with whom they have to do, knows their situation and pressures; he has promised to make their strength equal to their day, and to re- vive their fainting spirits w r ith heavenly cor- dials. When it is thus with them, they can say with Jacob, “ I have enough;” or, as it is in the original, “I have all.” This makes let. xxiil] ON SIMPLICITY AND SINCERITY. 163 nard things easy, and the burden light, which nary wants and real dangers, and furnishes the flesh would otherwise complain of as us with the fairest opportunities for the heavy. This has often given a sweeter re- manifestation, exercise, and increase of the lish to bread and water, than the sensualist graces he has implanted in you. — Influenced ever found to be in the most studied and ex- by these views, I trust you can cheerfully pensive refinements of luxury. Blessed are the poor, who are rich in faith, and heirs of the kingdom which God has promised to them that love him. They often enjoy the most lively foretastes of the glory which shall be revealed. Have not you, my friend, found these things true in your own experience) Yes; the Lord has sanctified your crosses, and supported you under them. Hitherto he has helped you, and he will be with you to the end. As you have followed him upon earth, you will ere long follow him to heaven. You are now called to sow in tears ; there you shall reap in joy, and God shall wipe away all tears from your eyes. In the mean time, be thankful that he honours you, in appointing you to be a witness for the truth and power of his grace, in the midst of an unbelieving world. It is true, that even where the spirit is willing, the flesh is weak. You have sharp trials, which, for the present, cannot be joy- ous, but grievous ; and you have doubtless felt the depravity of your nature, and the subtilty of Satan, at some times prompting you to impatience, envy, and distrust. But these evils are not peculiar to a state of po- verty ; you would have been exposed to the same had you lived in affluence, uigether with many others, from which y'-< are now exempted ; for riches and pov ty are but comparative terms, and it is only the grace of God that can teach us to be content in any possible situation of life. The rich are as prone to desire something which they have not as the poor ; and they who have most to lose have most to fear. That a man’s life (the happiness of his life) “ consisteth not in the abundance of the things which he pos- sessed,” is an aphorism founded upon the highest authority, and confirmed by univer- sal experience and observation. In a word, you are not poor, but rich. The promises are your inheritance ; heaven is your home ; the angels of the Lord are mi- nistering spirits, who rejoice to watch over you for good ; and the Lord of angels him- self is your sun, and shield, and everlasting portion. It is impossible that you, to whom he has given Himself, his Son, his Spirit, his grace, his kingdom, can want any thing that is truly good for you. If riches were so, he could pour them upon you in abundance, as easily as he provides you your daily bread. But these, for the most part, he bestows on those who have no portion but in the present life. You have great reason to re- joice in the lot he has appointed for you, which secures you from numberless imagi- say, What others value I resign : Lord, ’tis enough that thou art mine. I commend you to the blessing of our co- venant God, and to Jesus our Saviour, who, when he was rich, made himself poor for our sakes, that we through his poverty might be rich. — I am, &c. LETTER XXIII. On Simplicity and godly Sincerity. dear sir, — It would be a happy time if all professors of the gospel could, with the apos- tle, rejoice in the testimony of their con- sciences, that they walked in simplicity and godly sincerity. How many evils and scan- dals would be then prevented 1 But, alas ! too many who name the name of Christ, seem to have hardly any idea of this essential part of the Christian character. A few thoughts upon a subject so little attended to, may not be unseasonable. The most advanced in the Christian life have something of this lesson yet to learn ; and the greater proficiency we make in it, the greater will be our inward peace, and the more will our light shine be- fore men, to the glory of our heavenly Fa- ther. Simplicity and sincerity, though insepara- ble, may be distinguished. The former is the principle from which the latter is deriv- ed. Simplicity primarily respects the frame of our spirit in the sight of God ; sincerity more directly regards our conduct as it falls under the observation of men. It is true, the terms are frequently used indifferently for each other, and may be so without occa- sioning any considerable mistake; but as they are not precisely the same, it may be proper, if we would speak accurately, to keep this distinction in view. Some persons who have been more ena- moured with the name of simplicity, than acquainted with its nature, have substituted in its stead a childishness of language and manners, as if they understood the word sim- ple only in the mere vulgar sense, as equiva- lent to foolish. But this infantine softness gives just disgust to those who have a true taste and judgment of divine things; not only as it is an unnecessary deviation from the common usages of mankind, but because, being the effect of art and imitation, it palpa- bly defeats its own pretences. An artificial, or affected simplicity, is a contradiction in 104 ON SIMPLICITY AND SINCERITY. [let. XXIII. terms, and differs as much from the simpli- city of the gospel, as paint does from beauty. The true simplicity, which is the honour and strength of a believer, is the effect of a spiritual perception of the truths of the gos- pel. It arises from, and bears a proportion to, the sense we have of our own unworthi- ness, the power and grace of Christ, and the greatness of our obligations to him. So far as our knowledge of these things is vital and experimental, it will make us simple-hearted. This simplicity may be considered in two re- spects, — a simplicity of intention, and a sim- plicity of dependence. The former stands in opposition to the corrupt workings of self the latter to the false reasonings of unbelief. Simplicity of intention implies, that we have but one leading aim, to which it is our deliberate and unreserved desire, that every thing else in which we are concerned may be subordinate and subservient ; in a word, that we are devoted to the Lord, and have, Tby grace, been enabled to choose him, and to yield ourselves to him, so as to place our happiness in his favour, and to make his glory and will the ultimate scope of all our actions. He well deserves this from us. He is the all-sufficient good. He alone is able to satisfy the vast capacity he has given us ; for he formed us for himself : and they who have tasted that he is gracious, know that his “ lov- ing-kindness is better than life and that his presence and fulness can supply the want, or make up the loss of all creature-comforts. So likewise, he has a just claim to us that we should be wholly his ; for besides that, as his creatures, we are in his hand as clay in the hands of the potter, he has a redemption title to us. He loved us, and bought us with his own blood. He did not hesitate or halt between two opinions, when he engaged to redeem our souls from the curse of the law, and the power of Satan. He could, in the hour of his distress, have summoned legions of angels, had that been needful, to his assist- ance, or have destroyed his enemies with a word or a look ; he could easily have saved himself : but how then could his people have been saved, or the promises of the scriptures have been fulfilled ! Therefore he willingly endured the cross, he gave his back to the smiters, he poured out his blood, he laid down his life. Here was an adorable sim- plicity of intention in him ; and shall we not, O thou lover of souls, bo simply, heartily, and wholly thine ? Shall we refuse the cup of affliction from thy hand, or for thy sake 1 Or shall we desire to drink of the cup of sinful pleasure, when we remember what our sins have cost thee? Shall we wish to be loved by the world that hated thee, or to be admired by the world that despised thee ? Shall we be ashamed of professing our attachment to such a Saviour? Nay, Lord, forbid it. Let thy love constrain us, let thy name be glori- fied, and thy will be done by us and in us. Let us count all things loss and dung for the excellency of the knowledge of Christ Jesus our Lord. Let us not desire any thing thou seest fit to withhold, nor repine to part with what thou callest for ; nor even take plea- sure in what thou bestowest, unless we can improve it tor thee, and ever prefer thy love above our chief temporal joy ! Such is the language of the heart that is blessed with gospel simplicity. It was once the strong- hold of sin, the throne of self : but now self is cast down, and Jesus rules by the golden sceptre of love. This principle preserves the soul from low, sordid, and idolatrous pur- suits, will admit of no rival near the Beloved, nor will it yield either to the bribes or threats of the world. There is likewise a simplicity of depend- ence. Unbelief is continually starting ob- jections, magnifying and multiplying diffi- culties. But faith in the power and promises of God, inspires a noble simplicity, and casts every care upon him, who is able, and has engaged to support and provide. Thus, when Abraham, at the Lord’s call, forsook his coun- try and his father’s house, the apostle observes, “He went out, not knowing whither he went.” It was enough that he knew whom he followed. The all-sufficient God was his guide, his shield, and his exceeding great reward. So, when exercised with long wait- ing for the accomplishment of the promise, he staggered not, ou he did not dis* pute or question, but simply depended upon God, who had spoken and was able also to perform. So likewise, when he received that hard command, to offer up his son, of whom it was said, “ In Isaac shall thy seed be call- ed,” he simply obeyed, and depended upon the Lord to make good his own word, Heb. xi. 17, 19, 19. In this spirit David went forth to meet Goliah, and overcame him ; and thus the three worthies were unawed by the threats of Nebuchadnezzar, and rather chose to be cast into a burning furnace, than to sin against the Lord. And thus Elijah, in a time of famine, was preserved from anxiety and want, and supported by extraordinary methods, 1 Kings xvii. 4, 6, 14. In these times we do not expect miracles, in the strict sense of the word, but they who simply de- pend upon the Lord, will meet with such tokens of his interposition in a time of need, as will, to themselves at least, be a satisfy- ing proof that he careth for them. How com- fortable is it to us, as well as ornamental to our profession, to be able to trust the Lord in the path of duty ; to believe that he will supply our wants, direct our steps, plead our cause, and control our enemies! Thus he has promised, and it belongs to gospel-simpli- city to take his word against all discourage- ments. This will animate us in the use of all lawful means, because the Lord has com- ON COMMUNION WITH GOD. LET. XXJV.] maided us to wait upon him in them ; but it will likewise inspire confidence and hope when all means seem to fail, Heb. iii. 17, 18. For want of this dependence, many dishonour their profession, and even make shipwreck of the faith. Their hearts are not simple ; they do not trust in the Lord, but lean unto their own understandings, and their hopes or fears are influenced by worms like them- selves. This causes a duplicity of conduct. They fear the Lord and serve other gods. By their language, at some times, one would suppose, they desire to serve the Lord only ; but, as if they feared that he was not able to protect or provide for them, they make a league with the world, and seek either secu- rity or advantage from sinful compliances. These cannot rejoice in the testimony of a good conscience. They must live miserably. They are attempting to reconcile what our Lord has declared to be utterly incompatible, the service of God and mammon. They have so much sense of religion as embitters their worldly pursuits; and so much regard to the world as prevents their receiving* any real comfort from religion. These are the luke- warm professors, neither hot nor cold ; nei- ther approved of men nor accepted of God. They can attend upon ordinances, and speak like Christians; but their tempers are un- sanctified, and their conduct irregular and blamable. They are not simple ; and there- fore they cannot be sincere. I need not take time to prove, that the ef- fect- of simplicity will be sincerity. For they who love the Lord above all, who pre- fer the light of his countenance to thousands of gold and silver, who are enabled to trust him with all their concerns, and would rather be at his disposal than at their own, will have but little temptation to insincerity. The principles and motives upon which their con- duct is formed, are the same in public as in private. Their behaviour will be all of a piece, because they have but one design. They will speak the truth m love, observe a ■st net punctuality in their dealings, and do unto others as they would have others should do unto them; because these things are es- sential to their great aim of glorifying and enjoying their Lord. A fear of dishonouring Ins name, and of grieving his Spirit, will teach them not only to avoid gross and known sins, but to abstain from all appearance of 3vil. Their conduct will therefore be con- sistent ; and they will be enabled to appeal to all who know them, “ that in simplicity and godly sincerity, not in fleshly wisdom, but by the grace of God, they have had their conversation in the world.” To a sincere Christian, that craft and cun- ning which passes for wisdom in the world, appears to be not only unlawful but un- necessary. He has no need of the little re- serves, evasions, and disguises, by which de- 165 signing men endeavour (though often in vain) to conceal their proper characters, and to escape deserved contempt. He is what he seems to be, and therefore is not afraid of being found out. He walks by the light of the wisdom that is from above, and leans upon the arm of almighty power : therefore he walks at liberty, trusting in the Lord, whom he serves with his spirit in the gospel of his Son. — I am, &c. LETTER XXIV. On Communion with God. dear sir, — Though many authors have written largely and well concerning com- munion with God, I shall not refer you to books, or have recourse to them myself ; but in compliance with your request, shall simply offer you what occurs to my thoughts upon the subject. I propose not to exceed the limits of a sheet of paper, and must there- fore come immediately to the point That God is to be worshiped, is generally acknowledged ; but that they who worship him in spirit and in truth, have real friendship and communion with him, is known only to themselves. The world can neither un derstand nor believe it. Many who would not be thought to have cast off all reverence for the scriptures, and therefore do not choose flatly to contradict the apostle’s testimony, 1 John i. 3, attempt to evade its force by re- straining it to the primitive times. They will allow that it might be so then; but they pretend that circumstances with us are greatly altered. Circumstances are, indeed, altered with us, so far, that men may now pass for Christians who confess and manifest themselves strangers to the Spirit of Christ: but who can believe that the very nature and design of Christianity should alter in the course of time 1 And that communion with God, which was essential to it in the apos- tles, days, should now be so unnecessary and impracticable, as to expose all who profess an acquaintance with it, to the charge of enthusiasm and folly 1 However, they who have tasted that the LoYd is gracious, will not be disputed out of their spiritual senses. If they are competent judges whether they ever saw the light, or felt the beams of the sun, they are no less certain that, by the knowledge of the gospel, they are brought into a state of communion with God. Communion presupposes union. By nature we are strangers, yea, enemies to God ; but we are reconciled, brought nigh, and become his children by faith in Christ Jesus. We can have no true knowledge of God, desire towards him, access unto him, or gracious communications from him, but in and through the Son of his love. He is the medium of 166 OX COMMUNION WITH GOD. [let. xxit. this inestimable privilege ; for he is the way, the only way of intercourse between heaven and earth ; the sinner’s way to God, and God's way of mercy to the sinner. If any pretend to know God, and to have communion with him, otherwise than by the knowledge of Je- sus Christ, whom he hath sent, and by faith in his name, it is a proof that they neither know God nor themselves. God, if considered abstracted from the revelation of himself in the person of Jesus, is a consuming fire ; and if he should look upon us without respect to his covenant of mercy established in the Me- diator, we could expect nothing from him but indignation and wrath. But when his Holy Spirit enables us to receive the record which he has given of his Son, we are de- livered and secured from condemnation : we are accepted in the Beloved; we are united to him in whom all the fulness of the God- head substantially dwells, and all the riches of divine wisdom, power, and love, are trea- sured up. Thus, in him, as the temple where- in the glory of God is manifested, and by him, as the representative and high priest of his peopl e, and through him, as the living head of his mystical body the church, believers maintain communion with God. They have meat to eat which the world knows not of, honoul which cometh of God only, joy which a stranger intermeddleth not with. They are, for the most part, poor and afflicted, fre- quently scorned and reproached, accounted hypocrites or visionaries, knaves or fools : but this one thing makes amends for all, “ They have fellowship with the Father, and with his Son, Jesus Christ.” I would observe further, that as the incar- nation of that mighty One, on whom our help is laid, was necessary, that a perfect obedi- ence to the law, and a complete and proper atonement for sin, might be accomplished in the human nature that had sinned, and fallen short of the glory of God ; so in another view it affords us unspeakable advantage for our comfortable and intimate communion with God by him. The adorable and aw- ful perfections of Deity are softened, if I may so speak, and rendered more familiar and en- gaging to our apprehensions, when we con- sider them as resident in him, who is very bone of our bone, and flesh of our flesh ; and who, having by himself purged our sins, is now seated on the right hand of the Majesty on high, and reigns, in the nature of man, over all, God blessed for ever. Thus he who knows our frame by becoming man like our- selves, is the supreme and ultimate object of that philanthropy, that human affection which he originally implanted in us. He has made us susceptive of the endearments of friendship and relative life ; and he admits us to communion with himself under the most engaging characters and relations, as our friend, our brother, and our husband. They who. by that faith which is of the operation of God, are thus united to him in Christ, are brought thereby into a state of real habitual communion with hii). The degree of its exercise and sensible percep- tion on our parts, is various in different per- sons, and in the same person at different times ; for it depends upon the communica- tions we receive from the Lord the Spirit, who distributes to every man severally ac- cording to his will, adjusting his dispensa- tions with a wise and merciful respect to our present state of discipline. If we were wholly freed from the effects of a depraved nature, the snares of an evil world : and the subtle temptations of Satan, our actual com- munion with God would be always lively, sensible, and fervent It will be thus in heaven : there its exercise will be without obstruction, abatement, or interruption. But so long as we are liable to security, spiritual pride, indolence, an undue attachment to worldly things, and irregular distempered passions, the Lord is pleased to afford, in- crease, suspend, or renew the sensible im- pressions of his love and grace, in such sea- sons and measures as he sees most suitable to prevent or control these evils, or to hum- ble us for them. We grieve his Spirit, and he withdraws; but, by his secret power over our hearts, he makes us sensible of our folly and loss, teaches us to mourn after him, and to entreat his return. These desires, which are the effects of his own grace, he answers in his own time, and shines forth upon the soul with healing in his beams. But such is our weakness, and so unapt are we to retain even those lessons which we have learned, by painful experience, that we are prone to re- peat our former miscarriages, and to render a repetition of the same changes necessary. From hence it is, that what we call our frames are so very variable, and our com- fortable sense of divine communion is ra f her transient than abiding. But the communion itself, upon which the life and safety of our souls depend, is never totally obstructed ; nor can it be, unless God should be unmind- ful of his covenant, and forsake the work of his own hands. And when it is not per- ceptible to sense, it may ordinarily be made evident to faith, by duly comparing what we read in the scriptures with what passes in our hearts. I say ordinarily, because there may be some excepted cases. If a believer is unhappily brought under the power of some known sin, or has grievously and no- toriously declined from his profession, it is possible that the Lord may hide himself be- hind so dark a cloud, and leave him for a while to such hardness of heart, as that he shall seem to himself to be utterly destitute and forsaken. And the like apprehensions may be formed under some of Satan's violent temptations, when he is permitted to come ON COMMUNION WITH GOD. 167 LET. XXIV.] in as a flood, and to overpower the apparent I exercise of every grace, by a torrent of blas- phemous and evil imaginations. Yet the Lord is still present with his people in the darkest hours, or the unavoidable event of such cases would be apostasy or despair. Psalm xli. 11. The communion we speak of comprises a mutual intercourse and communication in love, in counsels, and in interests. In love. — The Lord, by his Spirit, mani- fests and confirms his love to his people. For this purpose he meets them at his throne of grace, and in his ordinances. There he makes himself known unto them, as he does not unto the world ; causes his goodness to pass before them ; opens, applies, and seals to them his exceeding great and precious pro- mises ; and gives them the Spirit of adoption, whereby, unworthy as they are, they are ena- bled to cry, “Abba, Father.” He causes them to understand that great love wherewith he has loved them, in redeeming them by price and by power, washing them from their sins in the blood of the Lamb, recovering them from the dominion of Satan, and preparing for them an everlasting kingdom, where they shall see his face, and rejoice in his glory. The knowledge of this his love to them, pro- duces a return of love from them to him. They adore him and admire him ; they make an unreserved surrender of their hearts to him. They view him, and delight in him as their God, their Saviour, and their portion. They account his favour better than life. He is the sun of their souls : if he is pleased to shine upon them, all is well, and they are not greatly careful about other things; but if he hides his face, the smiles of the whole crea- tion can afford them no solid comfort. They esteem one day or hour spent in the delight- ful contemplation of his glorious excellences, and in the expression of their desires towards him, better than a thousand ; and when their love is most fervent, they are ashamed that it is so faint, and chide and bemoan them- selves, that they can love him no more. This often makes them long to depart, will- ing to leave their dearest earthly comforts, that they may see him as he is, without a vail or cloud; for they know that then, and not till then, they shall love him as they ought. In counsels. — The secret of the Lord is with them that fear him. He deals fami- liarly with them. He calls them not ser- vants only, but friends; and he treats them as friends. He affords them more than pro- mises; for he opens to them the plan of his great designs from everlasting to everlast- ing; shows them the strong foundations and inviolable securities of his favour towards them, the height, and depth, and length, and breadth of his love, which passeth knowledge, and the unsearchable riches of his grace. I He instructs them in the mysterious conduct of his providence, the reasons and ends of all his dispensations in which they are concern- ed ; and solves a thousand hard questions to their satisfaction, which are inexplicable to the natural wisdom of man. He teaches them likewise the beauty of his precepts, the path of their duty, and the nature of their warfare. He acquaints them with the plots of their enemies, the snares and dangers they are exposed to, and the best methods of avoiding them. And he permits and enables them to acquaint him with all their cares, fears, v/ants, and troubles, with more free- dom than they can unbosom themselves tc their nearest earthly friends. His ear is always open to them; he is never weary of hearing their complaints, and answer- ing their petitions. The men of the world would account it a high honour and pri- vilege to have an unrestrained liberty of access to an earthly king ; but what words can express the privilege and honour of be- lievers, who, whenever they please, have audience of the King of kings, whose com- passion, mercy, and power, are like his ma- jesty, infinite. The world wonders at their indifference to the vain pursuits and amuse- ments by which others are engrossed ; that they are so patient in trouble, so inflexible in their conduct, so well satisfied with that state of poverty and obscurity which the Lord, for the most part, allots them ; but the wonder would cease if what passes in secret were publicly known. They have obtained the pearl of great price; they have communion with God; they derive their wisdom, strength, and comfort from on high, and cast all their cares upon him who, they assuredly know, vouchsafes to take care of them. This re- minds me of another branch of their commu- nion, namely, In interests. — The Lord claims them for his portion; he accounts them his jewels, and their happiness in time and in eternity is the great end which, next to his own glory, and inseparable connexion with it, he has immediately and invariably in view. In this point all his dispensations of grace and providence shall finally terminate. He him- self is their guide and their guard ; he keeps them as the apple of his eye ; the hairs of their heads are numbered; and not an event in their lives takes place but in an appointed subserviency to their final good. And as he is pleased to espouse their interest, they through grace, are devoted to his. They are no longer their own; they would not be their own ; it is their desire, their joy, their glory, to live to him who died for them. He has won their hearts by his love, and made them a willing people in the day of his power. The glory of his name, the success of his cause, the prosperity of his people, the accomplishment of his will, these are the 168 ON FAITH, AND great and leading objects which are engraven upon their hearts, and to which all their prayers, desires, and endeavours, are direct- ed. They would count nothing dear, not even their lives, if' set in competition with these. In the midst of their afflictions, if the Lord is glorified, if sinners are converted, if the church flourishes, they can rejoice. But when iniquity abounds, when love waxes cold, when professors depart from the doc- trines of truth and the power of godliness, then they are grieved and pained to the heart; then they are touched in what they account their nearest interest, because it is their Lord’s. This is the spirit of a true Christian. May the Lord increase it in us, and in all who love his name. I have room only to sub- scribe myself, &c. LETTER XXV. On Faith and the Communion of Saints. dear sir, — In compliance with your re- quest, I freely give you my sentiments on the particulars you desired. Your candour will pass over all inadvertencies, when I give you such thoughts as offer themselves spontaneously, and without study. If the Lord is pleased to bring any thing valuable to my mind, I shall be glad to send it to you ; and I am willing to believe, that when chris- ! tians, in his name and fear, are writing to one another, he does often imperceptibly guide us to drop “ a word in season,” which, I hope, will be the case at present. The first object of solicitude to an awaken- ed soul, is safety. The law speaks, the sin- ner hears and fears. A holy God is revealed, the sinner sees and trembles. Every false hope is swept away ; and an earnest inquiry takes place, “ What shall I do to be saved ?” In proportion as faith is given, Jesus is disco- vered as the only Saviour, and the question is answered ; and as faith increases, fear subsides, and a comfortable hope of life and immortality succeeds. When we have thus “a good hope through grace,” that heaven shall be our home, I think the next inquiry is, or should he, How we may possess as much of heaven by the way as is possible ? in other words, How a fife of communion with our Lord and Saviour may be maintained in the greatest power, and with the least interruption that is con- sistent with the present imperfect state of things'? I am persuaded, dear Sir, this is the point that lies nearest your heart ; and, therefore, I shall speak freely my mind upon it. In the first place, it is plain from scripture and experience, that all our abatements, de- j [let. XXV. clensions, and languors, arise from a defect of faith ; from the imperfect manner in which we take up the revelation of our Lord Jesus Christ in the scriptures. If our apprehen- sions of him were nearly suitable to the characters which he bears in his own word ; if we had a strong and abiding sens*, of his power and grace always upon ou? hearts, doubts and complaints would cease. This would make hard things easy, and bitter things sweet, and dispose our hearts with cheerfulness to do and suffer the whole will of God ; and living upon and to him, as our wisdom, righteousness, sanctification, joy, and supreme end, we should live a heaven upon earth. The face of the question is, there- fore, a little changed, and amounts to this, What are the means to increase and strengthen our faith? I apprehend that the growth of faith, no less than of all other graces, of which faith is the root, is gradual, and ordinarily effected in the use of appointed means ; yet not alto- gether arbitrary, but appointed by him who knows our frame, and therefore works in us, in a way suited to those capacities he has endued us with. 1. If faith arises from the knowledge of Christ, and this knowledge is only contained in the word of God, it follows, that a careful and frequent perusal of the scriptures, which testify of him, is a fit and a necessary means of improving our faith. 2. If, besides the outward revelation of ! the word, there must be a revelation of the Spirit of God likewise, whose office it is to take of the things of Jesus, and show them to the soul, by and according to the written word, Johnxvi. 14; 2 Cor. iii. 18; and if this Spirit is promised and limited to those who ask it ; then it follows likewise, that secret prayer is another necessary means of strength- ening faith. Indeed, these two I account the prime ordinances. If we were providen- tially, and not wilfully restrained from all the rest, the word of grace, and the throne of grace, would supply their wants. With these we might be happy in a dungeon or in a desert ; but nothing will compensate the neglect of these. Though we should be en- gaged in a course of the best conversation, and attend upon sermons from one end of the week to the other, we would languish and starve in the midst of plenty ; our souls would grow dry and lean, unless these se- cret exercises are kept up with some degree of exactness. 3. Another means to this purpose, is faith- fulness to light already received, John xiv. 15 — 24, especially ver. 21. It is worth ob- servation, that faith and fidelity, the act of dependence, and the purpose of obedience, are expressed in the Greek by the same word. Though the power is all of God, and the j blessing of mere free grace ; yet, if there is THE COMMUNION OF SAINTS. 160 LET. XXV.] any secret reserve, any allowed evil con- nived at in the heart and life, this will shut up the avenues to comfort, and check the growth of faith. I lay very little stress upon that faith or comfort which is not affected by un- steady walking. The experience of past years has taught me to distinguish between ignorance and disobedience. The Lord is gracious to the weakness of his people: many involuntary mistakes will not interrupt their communion with him ; he pities their infirmity, and teaches them to do better. But if they dis- pute his known will, and act against the dictates of conscience, they will surely suf- fer for it. This will weaken their hands, and bring distress into their hearts. Wil- ful sin sadly perplexes and retards our pro- gress. May the Lord keep us from it ! It raises a dark cloud, and hides the Sun of righteousness from our view ; and till he is pleased freely to shine forth again, we can do nothing; and for this, perhaps, he will make us wait, and cry out often, “ How long, O Lord ! how long ?” Thus, by reading the word of God, by fre- quent prayer, by a simple attention to the Lord’s will, together with the use of public ordinances, and the observations we are able to make upon what passes within us and without us, which is what we call experience, the Lord watering and blessing with the in- fluence of his Holy Spirit, may we grow in grace, and the knowledge of our Lord and Saviour, be more humbled in our own eyes, more weaned from self, more fixed on him as our all in all, till at last we shall meet before his throne. The communion of saints, another point you desire my thoughts upon, is the great privilege of all the children of God : they may be separate from each other in body, and yet may daily meet at the throne of grace. This is one branch of the communion of saints, to be present in spirit to each other ; sharing in common of the influences of the same Spirit, they feel the same desires, aim at the same objects, and, so far as they are person- ally acquainted, are led to bear each other upon their hearts in prayer. It has often been an encouragement to me in a dark and dull hour, when rather the constraint of duty, than the consideration of privilege, has brought me upon my knees, to reflect how many hearts, and eyes, and hands, have been probably lifted up in the same moment with mine. This thought has given me new courage. O, what a great family has our Father ! and what David says of the natural, is true of the spiritual life, Psalm civ. “ These all wait upon thee, that thou mayest give them their meat in due season. That thou givest (hern, they gather : thou openest thine hand, and they are filled with good.” Then I par- ticularly think of those who have been helpful to me in time past; the seasons of sweet communion we have enjoyed together, the subjects of our mutual complaint.-, Where are they, or how engaged, now ? Perhaps this moment praying, or thinking about me. Then I am roused to make theig cases my own, and by attempting to plead for them, I get strength to pray for myself It is an encouragement, no doubt, in a field of battle, to know that the army we belong to is large, unanimous, all in action, pressing on from every side against the common enemy, and gaining ground in every attack. But if we derive fresh spirits from considering our friends and associates on earth, how should we take fire, if we could penetrate within the vail, and take a view of the in- visible world! We should not then com- plain that we were serving God alone. O the numbers, the voices, the raptures, of that heavenly host ! Not one complaining note, not one discordant string. How many thousand years has the harmony been strengthening, by the hourly accession of new voices ! I sometimes compare this earth to a tem- porary gallery or stage, erected for all the heirs of glory to pass over, that they may join in the coronation of the Great King ! a solemnity in which they shall not be mere spectators, but deeply interested parties ; for he is their husband, their Lord ; they bear his name, and shall share in all his honours. Righteous Abel led the van ; the procession has been sometimes broader, sometimes nar- rowed to almost a single person, as in the days of Noah. After many generations had successively entered and disappeared, the King himself passed on in person, preceded by one chosen harbinger. He received many insults on his passage ; but he bore all for the sake of those he loved, and entered trium- phant into his glory. He was followed by twelve faithful ser- vants, and after them the procession became wider than ever. There are many yet un- born who must, as we do now, tread in the steps of those gone before; and when the whole company is arrived, the stage shall be taken down and burnt. Then all the faithful, chosen race Shall meet before the throne, Shall bless the conduct of his grace, And make its wonders known. Let us then, dear Sir, be of good courage, all the saints on earth, all the saints in heaven, the angels of the Lord, yea, the Lord of angels himself, all are on our side. Though the company is large, yet there is room ; there are many mansions ; — a place for you; a place, I trust, for worthless me. — I am, &c. 170 ON GOSPEL-ILLUMINATION. [let. XXVII. LETTER XXVI. On the gradual Increase of Gospel-illumi- nation. dear sir, — The day is now breaking : ht,\v beautiful its appearance ! how welcome the expectation of the approaching sun ! It is this thought makes the dawn agreeable, that it is the presage of a brighter light ; otherwise, if we expect no more day than it is this minute, we should rather complain of darkness, than rejoice in the early beau- ties of the morning. Thus the life of grace is the dawn of immortality; beautiful beyond expression, if compared with the night and thick darkness which formerly covered us, yet faint, indistinct, and unsatisfying, in comparison of the glory which shall be re- vealed. It is, however, a sure earnest. So surely as we now see the light of the Sun of righte- ousness, so surely shall we see the Sun him- self, Jesus the Lord, in all his glory and lustre. In the mean time, we have reason to be thankful for a measure of light to walk and work by, and sufficient to show us the pits and snares by which we might be en- dangered ; and we have a promise, that our present light shall grow stronger and stronger, if we are diligent in the use of the appointed means, till the messenger of Jesus shall lead us within the vail, and then farewell shades and obscurity for ever ! I can now almost see to write, and shall soon put the extinguisher over my candle. I do this without the least reluctance, when I enjoy a better light ; but I should have been unwilling half an hour ago. Just thus, me- thinks, when the light of the glorious gospel shines into the heart, all our former feeble lights, our apprehensions, and our contrivan- ces, become at once unnecessary and unno- ticed. How cheerfully did the apostle put out the candle of his own righteousness, at- tainments, and diligence, when the true Sun arose upon him] Phil. iii. 7, 8. Your last letter is as a comment upon his determination. Adored be the grace that has given us to be like-minded, even to “ account all things but loss for the excellency of the knowledge of Christ Jesus our Lord.” While I am writing, a new lustre, which gilds the house on the hill, opposite to my study-window, informs me that the sun is now rising: he is rising to others, but not yet to me ; my situation is lower, so that they enjoy a few gleams of sunshine before me; yet this momentary difference is inconsiderable, when compared to the duration of a whole day. Thus, some are called by grace earlier in life, and some later ; but the seeming dif- ference will be lost and vanish when the great day of eternity comes on. There is a time the Lord’s best appointed time, when he will arise and shine upon many a soul that now sits “ in darkness, and in the region of the shadow of death.” I have been thinking on the Lord’s con- ference with Nicodemus : it is a copious sub- ject, and affords room, in one part or other, for the whole round of doctrinal or experi- mental topics. Nicodemus is an encourag- ing example to those who are seeking the Lord’s salvation. He had received some fa- vourable impressions of Jesus; but he was very ignorant, and much under the fear of man. He durst only come by night; and at first, though he heard, he understood not; but he, who opens the eyes of the blind, brought him surely, though gently forward. The next time we hear of him, he durst put in a word in behalf of Christ, even in the midst of his enemies, John vii. ; and at last, he had the courage openly and publicly to assist in preparing the body of his Master for its funeral, at a time when our Lord’s more avowed followers had all forsaken him, and fled. So true is that, “ Then shall ye know, if ye follow on to know the Lord ;” and again, “ He giveth power to the faint ; and to them that have no might, he inereaseth strength.” Hope then, my soul, against hope : though thy graces are faint and languid, he who planted them, will water his own work, and not suffer them wholly to die. He can make a little one as a thousand ; at his presence mountains sink into plains, streams gush out of the flinty rock, and the wilderness blos- soms as the rose. He can pull down what sin builds up, and build up what sin pulls down ; that which was impossible to us, is easy to him, and he has bid us expect sea- sons of refreshment from his presence. Even so, come, Lord Jesus. — I am, &c. LETTER XXVII. On Union with Christ. dear sir, — The union of a believer with Christ is so intimate, so unalterable, so rich in privilege, so powerful in influence, that it cannot be fully represented by any de- scription or similitude taken from earthly things. The mind, like the sight, is incapa- ble of apprehending a great object, without viewing it on different sides. To help our weakness, the nature of < his union is illus- trated in the scriptures, by four comparisons, each throwing additional light on the sub- ject, yet all falling short of the thing signi- fied. In our natural state, we are xx, 5r £f «®« e o^vo<, driven and tossed about by the changing winds of opinion, and the waves of trouble, which hourly disturb and threaten LET. XXVIII.] us upon the uncertain sea of human life. But faith, uniting us to Christ, fixes us upon a sure foundation, the Rock of Ages, where we stand immoveable, though storms and floods unite their force against us. By nature we are separated from the di- vine life, as branches broken off, withered and fruitless. But grace, through faith, unties us to Christ the living vine, from whom, as the root of all fulness, a constant supply of sap and influence is derived into each of his mystical branches, enabling them to bring forth fruit unto God, and to persevere and abound therein. By nature we are 0 -™^™. *** .^w