wounding her, when I knew her not, nor knew that I had ever seen her before, or heard there was such a person in being.

She told me, thereupon, that it was a discourse she had heard from me, upon the Eighth Commandment, against stealing, that occasioned the great trouble of her mind; that had led her to think that I was the most proper person she could apply to for advice. I told her it was much that one so zealous for the Established Church as she appeared to be, could venture upon becoming an auditor of one of my character. To which she replied, that was purely providential. She was walking near my Meeting, and met with a shower of rain, and came in there for shelter. I happened to be at that time insisting on the necessity of restitution, where our neighbours had been injured, and showing how necessary our performance of that, as far as we were able, was to our having peace with God, or a true quiet of mind, had so disquieted her, who knew herself in that respect to have been grossly guilty, that from that time forward she could have no rest in her own spirit.

I told her where she had wronged any, and could not find out the persons, it was her best way to make restitution to God, the great proprietor, through the hands of the poor whom he had made his receivers : and that it was enough, and to all intents and purposes sufficient, that where she did not know the persons whom she had injured, she should take care that restitution was made them; but she might

make use of other hands for the conveyance of it; or send it in such a way as that they could not be able to discover from what quarter it came.

About a fortnight after, she came again, and brought me some money, which she desired I would give away to proper objects of charity, which she told me was part of what she had injuriously taken from others, though the persons were wholly unknown to her. The other part she would give away herself. She also brought me a few parcels of money, which she desired I would restore with my own hands to the parties she had injured, dropping what I thought proper upon the occasion. She left it to my discretion, either to make it known who the person was that had injured them or not, as I saw good. Another remarkable occurrence was this. As I was going, one day from Westminster into the City, designing to dine with Sir Richard Levet, I landed at Trigg Stairs. Walking up, from the water-side towards Maiden Lane where he lived, I was overtaken by a woman who had seen me pass by, and ran very eagerly after me, till she was almost out of breath. She seemed greatly frightened, and caught hold of me, begging me, for God's sake, to go back with her. I asked her what the matter was, and what she had to say to me? She told me there was a man had just hanged himself in a cellar, and was cut down, and she ran up, and saw me go by, and was overjoyed at my coming so seasonably, and begged of

me, for the Lord's sake, that I would go back with her, and pity the poor man. I asked her what she expected from me, and whether she thought I could bring a dead man to life. She told me, the man was not dead, but was cut down alive, and come to himself; and that she hoped if at such a season as this he was seriously talked with, it might do him good.

Though I was an utter stranger to the woman, I was yet prevailed with by her earnestness and tears, which were observed by all that passed, to go back with her. She carried me up stairs into an handsome dining-room. I found a grave elderly woman sitting in one corner, a younger woman in another, a down-looking man, that had discontent in his countenance, and seemed to be between thirty and forty years of age, in a third corner, and a chair standing in the fourth, as if set for me; and upon that I placed myself.

After a short silence, I told the three persons, that I did not know either who I was come to, or what I was come for, but that a woman had followed me in the street, and by her earnestness and importunity brought me back, telling me a melancholy story of one that was attempting to dispatch himself, and was happily prevented: and that though a stranger to them, yet I could not but be affected with such an instance of the devil's power, to blind and impose upon poor mortals. I asked the man,

whether it was he that was so weary of life, as to go to throw it away while God was pleased to spare it, and cast himself headlong into perdition.

He told me that he was that unhappy man, that thought himself so wretched at present, that it could not be worse with him in another life than it was in this: and who therefore had attempted to put a period to his life. I told him I had nothing to do to pry into the particularities of his case; but out of an hearty good-will, would advise him to fix upon some friend with whom he could be entirely free, and open his case to him without any reserve, which might be for his advantage.

He told me, he was a constant hearer of Mr. Daniel Burgess. Upon which I advised him to be free with him, and open his case to him in all the particularities of it, hiding nothing from him, that he found any matter of concern or trouble. He told me, that he could be as free with me, as with him, or any one else, if I would give him the hearing; and he begged I would do it. Upon this, I promised to call there in the afternoon, and if I

found he was free with

best advice I was able.

me, I would give him the According to my promise I

called, and had some conversation with the man alone, and with him and his wife and her mother, all together.

The man's great uneasiness arose from family differences, which had risen pretty high. All sides insisted upon my hearing them, particularly. I did

so; and, according to the usual observation, found faults on both sides, though one side might be most faulty. I blamed both on one side and the other, what appeared amiss. They heard me with patience, and appeared much concerned for what was passed, and promised great caution for the future. I put up a prayer with them, and they were very thankful for the time and pains I spent upon them, and called upon me some time after, at my own house, and renewed their thanks; and seemed very much disposed to mind their duty, and study to promote each other's comfort to their utmost. When I inquired after them at some distance of time, intending them a visit, that I might see whether they fulfilled their repeated promises and engagements, they were gone, and no one could give me any account of them.

CHAPTER VII.

1709.

The Account of Public Matters continued.-Of my Journey into North Britain, reception there, and return from thence. 1709. Jan. 1. DR. WILLIAM LLOYD, the deprived Bishop of Norwich, departed this life at

* While occupying a former see, this Bishop had exacted from "Thomas Ashenden, Rector of Dingley, Northampton