LETTER MXLIX.
To Mr. D——.
On board the Deborah, July 20, 1754.
My very dear Mr. D——,
THIS leaves me on my way towards New-York. Accept this as a token, that change of climate doth not cause a change of affection. No, you and my other dear Edinburgh friends are still upon my heart, and I trust will remain fixed there, till we meet to join the singing choir that is about the throne. I hope you have an earnest and anticipation of this, every Monday evening. I hope you enjoy a feeling possession of your God, every day and every hour. This will make the most barren wilderness to smile, and support you under the most distressing circumstances. It is this that supports me by land and by water. Without it, what could such a poor, weak, faint-hearted pilgrim do? Verily I should faint.—But as yet I cannot die. In spite of thunder, lightning, rain, and heat, God is pleased to hold my soul in life, and to let me see his glorious work prosper in my unworthy hands. Georgia and Bethesda I found in a thriving way. My family consists of a hundred and six, and will prove I trust of more extensive use every day. About six weeks I staid at Carolina and Georgia. One is likely to be settled as minister in Charles-Town. There my poor labours have met with usual acceptance, and I live in hopes of some gracious gales to the northward. Perhaps about Christmas, or early in the spring, I may see my native country again.—O may I return grown in grace, and in the knowledge of my Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ! But I am a dwarf. Pray, pray for me. Accept unfeigned thanks for all favours, remember me in the kindest manner to all inquiring friends, and believe me to be, my very dear Sir,
Yours, &c. in our glorious Head,
G. W.