LETTER LVI.
London, July 31, 1739.
OH that my head was water and my eyes fountains of tears, that I might weep over my dear Mr. ——. What? And has my familiar friend, who has been dear to me as my own soul, has he taken part with, and gone back to the enemy? Surely it cannot be!—And yet I must believe it.—But if any one had told my dear friend, that he would have behaved thus, would he not have cried out, “Is thy servant a dog that he should do this?” Oh, my dear friend, I am in pain for you! Alas! who hath bewitched you, that you should not obey the truth? You did run well; who, or what hath hindered you? Not a fear of man, I hope; not a desire of that praise, that cometh of man. I know the time when my dear friend’s heart stood stedfast. I know the time when my dear friend was willing to be accounted a fool for Christ’s sake, and chose rather to suffer affliction with the people of God, than to enjoy the pleasures of sin, of false politeness, for a season. And why should I despair of my dear friend now? No, I know Jesus Christ was set for the falling and rising again of many in Israel. Our Lord, I trust, has prayed for you, and I hope your faith will not totally fail. Forgive me, I must stop and sigh: God forbid I should be called, at the great day, to say, that my dear Mr. —— put his hand to the plough and turned back unto perdition. Good God! the thought strikes me as though a dart was shot through my liver. Return, return. My dear friend, I cannot part from you for ever. Do not speak peace to your soul, when there is no peace. Do not turn factor for the devil. Do not prejudice or hurt my brother, and thereby add to the grief you have already occasioned.
Your most affectionate friend and servant in Christ,
G. W.
LETTER LVII.
Bristol, July 31, 1739.
My dear Brother,