to the bottom of every wound of error, and scripturally and experimentally show me if I am child of God walking in darkness, or a child of hell walking in the light of presumption. If my case is the latter, I am of all men the most miserable, and in this have made myself twofold more the child of hell than before. But, dear Lord, I will look again towards thy holy temple, for thou art the hope of Israel, and the Saviour thereof in the time of trouble. This promise, of late, has been very precious to me, "Call upon me in the time of trouble, and I will deliver you." May the dear Lord pardon me if I have done wrong in signing this name,

A DESPISED NAZARITE.

FELLOWSHIP.

Friend A.,-I saw a letter from you a few days ago, stating your opinion that you should not be long in this sinful state. I am very glad to bear the Lord has been very gracious to you, in making you resigned to your situation. I am aware that if the Lord manifest himself, all will be right, though under the most trying providence. It appears you will soon have to pass the passage of Jordan. I trust you will be able to pronounce the word Shibboleth. I should like to give you some encouragement to believe the Lord has blessed your preaching; for 1 believe some of the poor despised Antinomians took encouragement, last Good Friday, at Triston, in hearing that sermon you preached at that place, and on that day, from Judges xii. 4, 5, 6. My dear brother, if I may be so bold as to claim relationship to you, I can assure you I am afraid to call the Lord, Father, but I believe he is your Father in a special sense. I have professed to be a follower of his for more than twenty years, and now feel as if I have no part nor lot in the matter of salvation. I know that head knowledge is of no use. I cannot feel the sealing of the Spirit. Sometimes I think I wish I could: but, O! how faint my desires. I feel that saying of scripture fulfilled in me, "No man can keep alive his own soul." I have little or no evidence of my interest in the blessed Jesus. This one thing I know, that is, I do feel a love to those sincere men who preach the blessed Jesus as the only way of salvation, and also the work of the Spirit. As to the preachers of the day, even among those who profess to be high Calvinists, there are many, I am fearful, who are only letter learned. Poor things, they cannot preach what they have not felt. If Huntington was alive to hear the letter-learned preachers of this day, what would he say? Bless the Lord, there are a few who have not defiled their garments with the false doctrines of the day; but are crying aloud, and showing the house of Israel their sins; may the Lord ever keep them such. It seems very needful they should show us what we are, and not what we ought to be. Do, do, seems to be the gospel in this our day.

By this time you will be wondering what I write to you for. I will tell you. I saw a letter from you, as I said before; it struck me you must want something to support your wife and dear children. Some of our friends at Triston willingly gave their mites, and we soon raised which I have sent to you. I hope you will not thank us, but the Lord. I often think I am part of the scaffolding which is for the purpose of raising the building, but am no part of the building. What a wretched heart is mine, prone to every evil, hypocrisy, blasphemy, infideli* Friend A-- died just before the money was received.

ty, which is the worst of all, for that saps the foundation of every thing. Ó, wretched man that I am, who shall deliver me from this state? Bless the Lord, I know he can, and is able at last to receive me into that everlasting kingdom prepared for his people, if I am his by electing love. If I could feel certain I am his, I should feel a pleasure in telling you so. I hope you will now be delivered from doubting of your interest in the covenant of grace; and if the Lord should think proper to take you soon, I hope you will enjoy the sweet communion of his Spirit. That Jesus may be precious to your soul, and that you may leave a glorious testimony behind that you are entered into that blessed rest where sin and sorrow will ever cease, is the sincere wish of one of the chiefest of sinners. I remain yours affectionately in gospel bonds, if I have an interest in them,

Saxmundham.

J. S. S.

SPIRITUAL CORRESPONDENCE.

TO THE EDITORS OF THE GOSPEL STANDARD. Sirs,-At various intervals within the last twelve months, I have had it much upon my mind to write to you concerning the state of my soul, and my motive in wishing so to do has been, because in the several letters, upon individual experience, published in the Standard, not one has altogether met my case. In hope, then, of obtaining a satisfactory answer to my question, "Is my spot the spot of his children?" I have at length summoned courage to address you; indeed, I shall present you with a strange anomaly and entangled chain of contradictions.

Brought up by godly parents, I imbibed sound doctrine with my mother's milk; and in the language of dear Mr. Hart, "retained the sound doctrines of the gospel from my childhood;" and, like him, in childhood and youth, often felt something like the strivings of God's Spirit with me. In early manhood, I found myself a high Calvinist in theory and judgment, and a Deist in practice and pursuit, never being able to see a rational medium between high Calvinism and broad Infidelity, yet, always thought upon God from a very babe. When in trouble, I used my prayers as a Mahometan would his talisman, or a Papist his beads; and, as soon as out of trouble, I was out of mind for prayer. I could not hear, to the satisfaction of my judgment, the Independents of these parts, and was jealous of the Particular Baptists, thinking they were all in the same drift. But after various delays, went to hear them, and heard more to the satisfaction of my judgment, and felt a trickling tear at hearing the almost forgotten words, sovereign grace, dying love, &c. I became acquainted, eventually, with some who, I believe, are truly children of God, and am now the subject of hopes and fears, of joys and sorrows, of longing after communion with God, and am never so miserable as when my spiritual appetite fails me, and do know what it is, if not wretchedly deceived, to pray with sincerity, "O Lord, come trials what will, thick, fast, and perpetual, and with them thy supporting grace: but, O Lord, for thy mercy's sake, take not my longing and thirsting after thy Holy Spirit from me." I have, and do still dread the smallest cessation from trouble, unless it be succeeded with joy and praise in believing, knowing, by sad experience, if it is calm without, it is dead and lifeless within, and trust I do know what real poverty of spirit is, and can, in a small measure, enjoy the appropriate promise at times, and cannot abide the preaching of the

day, seeing and feeling its end and aim, namely, to rob God of his glory, and the poor, tried, tossed and perplexed soul of his meat and drink, nay, of his very spiritual life. I can see eye to eye with yourselves, I. K., Mr. Philpot, and J. M'K., in preference to most professors and possessors; and here let me bear testimony to the usefulness of Mr. P.'s writings; in very truth, nothing has come from his pen, which I have seen, but what has driven me closer and closer still into the corner. He hunts me out of every chink and every crevice; yet, in very deed, from the bottom of my soul, I love it, and, blessed be God, do generally feel, after my hypocritically shifting and twisting under his lash, a groaning prayer: "O Lord, I beseech thee to have mercy upon me, for, Lord, thon only knowest what a hypocrite I am," and can truly say that yet there is a very abominable, base, proud, and hypocritical something, that he, Mr. P. has not yet flogged me for. But what perplexes and troubles me very much indeed is, that I never was convinced of my bell-deserving sinfulness at all to my satisfaction. You will see that I do not account for the interval between my carnal and sinfully secure, and my present doubting and fearing state. To be honest, the only reason is, that I cannot at all, or for the life of me remember when I first felt what I humbly hope is a thirst for God; and here may I be allowed to make a passing remark. In Mr. Philpot's "Winter afore Harvest," he very strongly insists, and with good reason too, that a right beginning is a beginning felt; the decided truth of which remark was much canvassed by my friendly would-be comforters, but, lately, in the pages of the Standard, was an account of the very remark alluded to being blessed to J. M'K., Preston.

I can see clearly enough, in my judgment, that the smallest sin is an infinite breach of an infinitely holy law, and therefore must, without an infinite remedy, be awarded in the subject of it, with an infinite punishment, or infinite justice be sacrificed. But, O the hardness of my wretched heart; for want of legal and gospel convictions, I am almost at times ready to say, "What can I do in time to merit punishment to all eternity?" Yet, afterwards, my reflections have generally been, "O God the Holy Ghost, it is thy blessed office to convince of sin and hardness of heart; convince me, for thy mercy's sake, I humbly beseech thee, of my sinfulness, that I may not be so impious and so abominable as to charge the ever blessed God with injustice, and that the conviction may be attended with godly savour, that I may set a proper estimate upon the sufferings of the dear Redeemer; for, indeed, thou knowest my wretched existence is that I am whole and do not praise the Almighty as I would;" and then, again, (what a strange creature I am,) when convinced of my seemingly never to be eradicated vile ingratitude, I wonder, or try to wonder that I am not cut off from the land of the living. I can bear painful testimony to Mr. Warburton's remark, that "a thankful heart is as much the gift of God as the mercy itself;" and, can you believe it possible, that after a mercy received, I am tempted, at times, to quench the Spirit of praise, constraining me within to give thanks unto God. But, indeed, I now know better than to plead my crimes to procure my pardon, or to rest on them as evidences of grace.

Thus you see, Sirs, I have good reason to be a doubter, fearing my religion is all in my judgment; and, if I tell you of my heart's feelings, you will say they are all natural. By the way, I should like to see a powerfully written piece exclusively upon natural and divine affections; or, as Mr. P. says, between a natural and a spiritual tasting of divine things. There is nothing, in my own experience, puzzles me so much as

when however rarely a powerfully applied gospel sermon has been delivered in my hearing; I have felt moved, nay, more, I have felt in my throat a choking sensation, just such a one as is felt from purely natural causes; such as parting from a dear relative or friends. An honest conscience or an accusing devil, I do not know which, has told me it was from nature altogether. But, it once more occurs to me what nonsense I am writing; and, should you be of the same opinion, you can easily destroy the paper.

I very often pass judgment on myself in this way. Your religion is in your brains; your faith is notional, historical, and theoretical; your affections for divine things are purely natural; you are what philosophers call constitutionally religious; you are the creature of circumstances; had you been brought up a Papist or Mahometan, you would have remained so as it regards your judgment; and as for your fancied religious feelings, you are in that also the creature of circumstances; your religion has come upon you habitually, owing to your intercourse with religious people. "You know," says my remembrancer, “that your last acquaintance, previous to your present ones, was a literally philosophic Infidel, and you drank into his spirit considerably." Well, after such disputing away every comfort and every evidence, what do you think I say? Why, search me and try me, O Lord; and, if up to this moment 1 have been deceived, let this be the present time to undeceive me, for thy mercy's sake, 1 humbly beseech thee."

Now, Sirs, 1 leave this in your hands to do with it as you think fit; and, should it meet with a favourable reception, you may hear from this quarter again. Bearing testimony to the great usefulness of the Gospel Standard, 1 subscribe myself yours most respectfully,

Suffolk.

W. J.

Dear Sirs,-About three weeks since, being in the yard, as is a custom with me, asking the God of all my mercies to have mercy on me, a female friend, who was then sick, but who is now no more in this life, was brought upon my mind in such a forcible manner, that I could not help praying for her in a very feeling and earnest way. The words were these, as near as I can think; "O Lord, bless, succour, and support Mrs. in her affliction; cause her to feel that thou art her God, for thy mercy's sake. Amen." It is nearly thirty years since I knew myself a siuner; but never in all the time was any person brought upon my mind in prayer with such power and feeling. There is a deal of talk about prayer; but this taught me that when I prayed aright, the Holy Spirit must breathe into my soul, and indite what to pray for. But I feel at this moment that it beggars all words to describe the access, unction, savour, power, freedom, faith, love, solemn reverence, and holy communion, which I felt with God in Christ. If I had all languages, I never, no never, could describe it. Thanks, eternal thanks, yea, everlasting thanks, be to our Three-One God. It left a savour and richness which, when I think of it, makes me long to be there again. I had to go into the neighbourhood where this friend lived that afternoon, and I called to see her. After her attendant had left the room, I said to her, "Pray, did you feel any thing particular this morning?" After a short pause, she said, “Yes, O yes I did, about half-past ten o'clock; for," said she, “I was sorely laden with pain, and I said to my mother, O how kind, how good the Lord is to me." Then I told her that at half-past ten, (for I looked at my watch,) I was asking the Lord to have mercy upon me, to bless, direct, and keep me from sin, when you were

you ask

That I

And yet

brought upon my mind in such a powerful manner, that I could not help praying for you, that the Lord would bless you. "O thank the Lord," she said, with such a bright countenance as I had not seen her have before. "Well," I said, "that has brought me here now." I repeated that passage in 1 John iii. 14, "We know that we have passed from death unto life, because we love the brethren." Taking hold of my hand, she said, "I never saw it so before." No. Why? Because I believe she felt a little of it in her own soul at the time. With that I left her, and never saw her again. Now, Messrs. Editors, as for feeling pieces, I have given you a little, but not as I felt it. cannot commit to paper, nor communicate to mortal ears. at this present time what do you think I feel? O, Sirs, I feel pride, cursed pride. I dare not tell you how I feel. "O, Lord Jesus, lead me into Gethsemane, and there let me see thy distorted visage, which was marred more than any man's, oozing out great drops of blood." O, my soul! what a sight! wonder and adore at suffering love, and sink into nothing at his feet. I wish you in Gethsemane, Messrs. Editors; and if you never were there, you know nothing of that secret breaking of heart for sin, and yet being a sinner. Some time back I felt a little of being broken in heart, so that my body trembled like a leaf, and my eyes flowed with tears, and I was in such a state as I cannot describe. These things are easily spoken; but, O to feel them. I believe every saint is led into that garden as it pleaseth the Lord. When I am led into this garden, I feel and see for myself, yea, and when I come out too; and O what a coming out it is! Some whom I know, I fear never were there, or else they could say some little of what they saw and felt there. And yet what a subject of sin I am. I sin in speaking, and sin if I don't speak; I sin in thinking, looking, walking, hearing, breathing. I cannot describe the feeling sense of sin, nor have I ever heard any of God's sent ministers get to the bottom of it. O no, they cannot. A SINNER SAVED, AND A SINNER YET.

Manchester, March 7th, 1839.

Messrs. Editors,-After reading your address of last month, I felt a desire to communicate to you and your readers what the Lord hath done for my soul. I was, from boyhood, so convinced of the justice of God, my sins and the condemnation due thereto, and, at the sametime of my inability to comply with his holy law, that, in bitterness of soul, I have wished that I had never been born, or, rather, had died an infant. O the alienation of heart, and rebellion against God! at these times my heart has said, "There is no hope; no, for I have loved strangers, and after them I will go." When about ten years of age, one night I had an awful dream, which I believe will never be erased from my mind. I thought that I with others of my companions were on the brink of hell, and that some of them were hurried in, and instantly swallowed up. Some one also endeavoured to drag me into the same dreadful place. I struggled apparently in vain, when some one delivered me. This dream has since been fully realized in every part. I awoke in great terror, but dared not tell any one. After this I still went on in sin and rebellion against God, until he stopped me by the small pox, then prevailing in the town. While terrified by the fear of death, I made many vows of reformation, &c. But, no sooner had the Lord healed me, than my rebellion was manifested. The very first night that I was able to get out, I went to the theatre, and thus went on sinning with a high hand against that God who had so signally raised me up, until I had acquired a notoriously vile character.

But