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the fool's eyes, wandering to the ends of the earth. If I attended the word preached, it was the fame. And, though I was taught, by bitter experience, fomething of the importance of the truths I heard, yet, if I attempted to pray, though I knew I must perish everlaftingly if the Lord did not give me the things I felt my need of, yet here worldly cares would fo crowd into my mind that I have forgot what I came to God for. This I thought was a black mark indeed; this made my burden intolerable. His miniftry ftill cut me off in the matter of faith. He would defcribe all I felt; and fometimes, under the word, I would have a little gleam of light to fee fomething of the Spirit's work, which would give me a little hope that I was in the footfteps of the flock. But he was fure not to leave the pulpit till he had pofitively afferted that in fuch a foul, under thofe feelings, there was faith; which was like ftriking me dead; for I was well convinced I was quite deftitute of that precious grace; and these two paffages of fcripture were, to me, quite a confirmation of it. The first is the words of Chrift himself, when he fays to his difciples, "If ye had faith as a grain of muftard feed, ye might say to this mountain, Be thou removed, and be thou caft into the fea; and it fhould be done." The mountain I conceived to be unbelief. The Saviour fays the muftard feed is the leaft of all feeds; and I drew this inference from it-that, if I had the leaft degree of faith

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in my heart, I fhould not be held so fast under its power. The other paffage is, what John fays in one of his epiftles: "This is the victory that overcomcth the world, even our faith." But, with respect to my knowing any thing of this victory, my confcience bore witness that worldly cares fo captivated my thoughts, that I could not keep. them where I wifhed them to be for one minute. What it was which kept me from black despair I know not. All the hope I had was this: when I had a gleam of light to fee that the path I was in had been trodden by many who had received don and peace in times paft, then I thought perhaps God might fave me. But then I knew not but that this hope might be cut off; and, fhould this take place, I must be loft for ever. And I lived in daily expectation that this would be the cafe. At times I fhould find my burden get lighter; at leaft, I fhould feel myself more infenfible of it. Then I thought I was in a worse fituation than before; and I fought for it as if it had been my chiefeft treasure; though I knew, when I had it, it almoft made me diftracted. I laboured long under a fharp temptation, and was faying, like one of old, "I choofe ftrangling rather than life." Any inftrument of death I could not bear in my fight; and was afraid I should be left to be my own executioner. The Lord ftill held me up to the light, and to a fight of his juftice and fovereignty; and I faw clearly that he would be

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just if he condemned me, and would be glorified in doing it, for I had procured it all to myself; and that my mouth would be for ever ftopped, for I was under a threefold condemnation-condemned by the law, condemned by the gospel, and by my own confcience. But here I felt it cut. clofeft; the thoughts of being condemned by the gofpel, which is in itself good news and glad tidings, and in which is revealed a Saviour, who I faw was every way fufficient and able to fave me. But it all rested on the act of his fovereign will; and whether that act would be put forth in mercy or in justice, I knew not. Here all legal hopes are cut; no bottom in this dungeon, And this was the place where fovereign mercy took me up. About this time God, in his kind providence, fent you down to the King's dale. You were, by appointment, to spend a day at the G, and I was invited to meet you there. My cafe, at that time, feemed to be defperate, I had been for fome time in great fear of lofing my rationality, and was fure it must take place, if God did not appear for me; and then I thought I fhould be left to curse and blafpheme all that was good. This cut me to the quick. I was truly miferable, and thought myself not fit for the fociety of any that feared the Lord. I thought, if they did but know my heart, they would fpurn me, and efpecially fuch an old fervant of the Lord as I conceived you to be; for which reason I had a deal of pro and con in my

mind that morning whether to go or not. I wanted to hear your converfation, and others whom I knew were to be there; and glad fhould I be could I have been fhut in a closet for that purpose. However, I at last concluded to go, but with this refolution, that I would by no means whatever open my mouth. You were almost a stranger to me, I having never been in your company but once before, nor ever had any conversation with you. When I came I found you there, with several others, at dinner, and I was placed next to you. Even this circumftance made my heart ready to burst within me. O, thought I, did you but know what a wretch I am, you would not endure me fo near you! I did try to hide my face with my bonnet as much as I could. But you had not fat many minutes at dinner before you related a circumftance of a woman who was brought under convictions by your miniftry, and who at laft was quite deprived of her rationality, and was put into a mad-house; and her husband faid to you, " You always faid it was the work of God on her foul; but what can you fay now?" You faid to him in anfwer, "And fo I do now; and I believe, in God's time, fhe will be brought to her right mind." This account was, indeed, like fewel to that fiery temptation I was then under; and no fooner was the word out of your mouth, than my fenfations were fuch as I cannot defcribe. I thought I even feemed as if I felt my fenfes going b from

from me. At this time, if I had had all the world given me, I could not have helped bursting into tears; they came indeed from the abundant grief of my heart. You obferved me, and turned to me very quick, and faid to me, "What do you

weep for? Jefus Chrift came into the world to fave finners." I answered, " If you "If you knew my state, and what a wretch I am, you would not fay fo to me." You turned to me again, and faid, "What do you cry for?" I made no anfwer, being determined, if poffible, to keep my refolution. You repeated it feveral times, but could draw no more from me, till his Majesty's herald, who was prefent, faid, "Sir, let her alone; perhaps the will tell you what the matter is by and by." You then left off noticing me, and related a circumftance of a young woman who for fome time had attended your miniftry, and who was brought into great diftrefs of foul; one who, I found, frequently vifited you; and that fhe came to you one day, and faid, "I am come to vifit you for the laft time, as it is of no ufe; all is over with me; there is no hope for me, I am certainly loft; I have neither ftrength nor power left, and fink I muft." You faid to her, "Well, girl; I fee now your ftrength is gone, and you are brought to the place of promifed deliverance; the work of ftripping is done, there is nothing left; and I fhall foon fee you again with a new fong in your mouth." Thefe are the words, as near as they are brought to my recollection

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