DLXXXIX.

August 9, 1809.

THE account you give of the poor man is most humbling and abasing to me, unworthy and much despised as I am: but God sends by whom he will send; and owns, commissions, and honours, those, as his ambassadors of peace, whom the world curses; and he curses those whom the world qualifies, commissions, and sends, while such wage war both with God and us, because he will not own and honour them. But Mary will see more of this work; for, if looks can speak, if countenances proclaim, and if I can read the still lessons of these dumb signs, there is another poor man, who will, and must, ere long, break silence, or else the stones will cry out. Those who cry in secret must be rewarded openly, which is God's owning, honouring, approving, accepting, and openly espousing them, even before the world. I intend to publish your letter, and my answer, when I have time to write. Tell Charles he must come up. God bless you.

Ever yours,

THE DOCTOR.

DXC.

October 4, 1809.

My dear friends may wonder at my long silence: but I have been ill, been a long round, and am going this day into Kent. Never, no never before, have I had such evident tokens of God's goodness attending the word. Another cloud of witnesses are issuing from the press, of such as have lately come to light. Nevertheless I forget not the islanders, who are in my heart and soul to die with them. I am glad that M. has not forgotten you. It is a feather in our cap, and God will curse them that curse us; "Let them all curse (says David) but bless thou." I am in hopes of overtaking Paul in due time, who could say, "I take pleasure in reproaches, in necessities, in distresses, in persecutions, for Christ's sake." It is a hard lesson for the flesh; but we must be a sweet savour unto God in them that perish, a savour of death unto death. Miss C., who was called under me at Newark, is going off the stage, triumphing in God her Saviour, of which I hear

most sweet accounts.

The Lord bless my poor dear souls; so says the troubler of hypocritical impostors,

W. H. S. S.

DXCI.

MY DEAR FRIEND,

Nov. 17, 1809.

I HAVE at last finished my long sermons on the penny a day, paid by the Lord to all the labourers in his vineyard; which has been a long, dark, and difficult path to tread, and seems to have been hidden from all the commentators that I have seen upon that mystery. I am sorry for poor Mrs. W.'s loss of her daughter, though I firmly expected it long before, as I found no liberty to pray for her life, excepting once at your house, when the bar was so strong, that I could intercede for nothing else but for the invaluable blessing of a hope in God's mercy through Christ. And in that I found no damp, no weight, no denial.

The Spirit will make intercession for us according to the will of God, but not against it. Various are the works of that blessed Comforter in us, granting us sometimes support in the mind, when heart and flesh both fail; furnishing us with such answers to fools as stop their mouths; giving us to see with new eyes here and there a passage of scripture suitable to our own experience; sometimes shewing us comfortable evidences of our interest in the great