TO THE SAME.

I have intimated my partiality to village preaching; I had my heart’s desire in this instance, but I got leanness in my soul; my home was too much deserted, and the souls of my new flock neglected; my study forsaken; my vanity fed; and though poor as a church mouse, I was as proud as the devil: this did not appear in my general deportment, but wise men saw it. A very elegant suit of canonical robes were made a present to me, and in these, I had the vanity to strut through the town on Sunday, three times a day, to the chapel, admired by those who were as vain as myself. Oh! what folly and vanity I see in these things now; but, I wanted to look as much like the church as I could; and what for, but merely to escape persecution, and that the offence of the cross might cease. Flying from persecution, I met with ten thousand times worse disgrace, and my case was a little like those persons of whom the Prophet speaks; Amos, iii. 19—“I fled from a lion and a bear met me, I went into the house, and leaned on the wall, and a serpent bit me.” About the month of March, 1808, I thought of the kindness of an old and mutual friend, Mr. Alexander, who was a deacon of Mr. G’s.; I sent him a letter, and begged to hear from him; the consequence of this was, a letter came from Mr. G. in friendly terms, to which I gave as friendly an answer. A proposition was soon sent down, to exchange pulpits with Mr. G. for a month; and, as I longed to get to town, I was glad of the opportunity. Some of the friends at B— had seen a book of Mr. G’s.; and they, being much pleased with it, consented to my going to town. I came, and preached on Good Friday, and the following Sunday the chapel was thronged. I became much known and beloved. I had many pressing invitations to stay in town, and have since regretted I did not accept them; but, my heart felt for the flock left behind me; many letters passed to and fro between myself and friends, especially those who had advised me not to have any thing to do with Mr. G. nor to preach for him in town; I did not know who were his friends or his enemies, till they came about me like bees, and laid many things to his change. When I found this, I felt more anxious to return, and wrote to these very professed friends accordingly, stating that I was sorry I had not taken their advice. These friends, during my absence, had been in company with Mr. G. and had altered their minds; of course, made Mr. G. acquainted with the contents of my letters. Mr. G. let no opportunity slip of speaking disrespectfully of me. I however returned, and found, to my surprise, some of the most respectable of the congregation would not speak to me; this hurt my feelings not a little, but the poor of the flock still cleaved to me. My visit in London did me much good, and the hand of the Lord was in it. I felt, however, determined to abide in this place; till the Lord turned me out; for, I having so little native wisdom, prudence, or foresight, I knew not what to wish or do for the best. I once more visited my villages, Bodicott, Kingham, Hook, Nortan, Middleton, Cheny, Chalcomb, Sulgrave, and many other places. In the month of June, I received a pressing invitation to Birmingham, Warwick, Bedworth, and Coventry, which I could not accept till my wife, who was near her time, was delivered; as that was a time I perpetually dreaded, so I could not, would not leave home. But, on the 8th of July, 1808, it being our lecture night, my wife was taken bad, and safely delivered of a daughter: my mind had been uneasy all the day, nor could I find a text in the whole Bible, to preach on in the evening; I was obligated to go to chapel without one, and after prayer could find no other text than this one word—“Farewell.” On this I preached for some time. Many thought, after my departure, that I never intended to return, from the singularity of my text; but, I fully intended it, nor had I the least idea of leaving them, only for a fortnight, to visit the places to which I had been invited: I proposed returning, but the Lord did not intend I should. The next evening I preached at a village, on “These are they that came through much tribulation.” I conversed freely, on divine subjects, with my friends, and was particularly happy in soul, as, in fact, I had been from the time I left town; yet I never dreamed of the storm at hand; but this I have known, often before a storm I have found an universal stillness; and, at times, great spirituality, nearness to God, and a brightening up of every evidence. I mention this to the honour of God’s grace, which has been so often experienced by me. The next morning I took leave of my family, to go my journey, and just as I was going out, a letter was brought to me, from a person, containing some very distressing charges. I had not time to stay to clear that matter up, as I had no means of sending to the places to which I was going, to contradict, or rather postpone my visit. I left it in the hands of a person I supposed my friend, till I returned to the town; but to that town I never did return. I went on my journey with a heavy heart, and the most dreadful and inconceivable anguish of spirit. The Lord enabled me to preach that evening at Kineton, and, the next day I walked ten miles further—arrived at Warwick, and preached there on Friday evening. Ah! little did the crowded congregation think what I felt. The next day I went further, and preached at Bedworth on Sunday three times; one of which was a charity sermon for a school. On Monday I arrived at Coventry; on Tuesday I travelled on to Birmingham, where I was kindly received; I preached there on the Tuesday, Thursday, and the following Sunday. While in the pulpit I was in some measure happy; but, when in company, I was wretched: solitude suited my distressed heart. I was invited to Wolverhampton, Bilston, and Briarley-hill, and so on. All these places I visited, and the word was well received; but, oh, my sorrows! I cannot paint them. I continued at Birmingham a month, or nearly so; the amiable, kind, and spiritual people I was with, saw my distress, and being invited far into the country, I felt resolved to go. But just as I made up my mind for the journey, I received a pressing invitation to London; a chapel having been provided for me, if I would come; with which I complied immediately. During the time I was at Birmingham many letters passed between myself and the managers at B—. The deacons intreated my return upon certain conditions, to which I consented; but the trustees objected to it: it was amidst this pro and con that I received this letter to come to London. My most invaluable friend in Birmingham, at whose house I was, appointed a place to meet my accusers, in company with a godly minister, and some others. We met at a place called Chapel-house, near Chipping Norton, in Oxfordshire, and in some measure gained a satisfaction. I returned to Birmingham, preached that night, and on the Sunday following; took my leave on Tuesday, and proceeded to London on Wednesday. The meeting in the Borough was opened for me, and crowds soon attended. My family came to town, and all my debts were paid in B— shortly after. I was much grieved for the cause in B—, as there are many pious persons there, who love the truth. Peace be with them all. Mr. G. now received an invitation to the place, but his time was but a few weeks there. The Lord often deals in a way of retaliation, even with his own people; but, I forbear. I was no sooner settled at Chapel-court, but I had frequent invitations to other places: the congregation was unsettled at Grub-street: here I preached several times, for each party. If persons fall out it is nothing to me; I have but one subject, Christ; and if that will not unite parties, nothing will. The people behaved very kind to me; and if I could have given them satisfaction, on a certain point, no doubt I should have settled among them: but I shrunk from investigation, because I was conscious of having acted imprudently—and, as I knew: I could not be comfortable among them, nor be much credit to them, I silently evaded them all, and left my case with the great Head of the Church, who had pardoned my soul, but told me—from henceforth thou shalt have wars.—While I thus preached for them, they all acted very kind to me, especially a Mrs. Mc. I shall meet some of them in glory, although prejudice will not let them even speak to me on earth. This reflection as pleasant and painful, but I justify them in it. No man upon earth so prone as I am to idolize the creature, or to lean on his puny arm; this, this is the cause of the long contention, and all my disgrace, grief, and woe. No one could look upon my trials, but most ask—is there not a cause?

I continued at Chapel-court for some months, and preached at other places; also Bunhill-row, Glass-house Yard, and you can well remember the Lord’s-day at Waltham Abbey. I preached at Westminster, and near Leicester-square. My enemies were busy, but all of no avail: the Lord still led me on, though not without some trials. In this year I was called to endure a new affliction, the loss of a darling daughter, about five or six years of age: these were feelings the most painful, but can never be described. Having no relations in the world, I knew not what it was to lose them by death, and having so little fortitude, I was almost inconsolable. My feelings, when seeing her depart, were such as I had been a stranger to before then. I had seen saint and sinner depart, and had long wept with those that wept, but now it was personal. I had preached at a friend’s house, at Camberwell, occasionally; and the evening before her death, my mind was forcibly struck with, and I preached from, Psalm cxxvi. last verse. When I concluded, and on my road home, it appeared to me as if the text was like leaven working in my mind; it was applied to me. The Lord knew what I should feel that night, and the next day I found my dear girl worse. The nurse called me about half-past three; it was not quite light, the eastern sky became enlightened; a solemn stillness pervaded all nature; I stood by her bed-side, and saw her breathe her last. I trust the morning of her better, her eternal day begun. Happy Mary, that thy Lord called thee home so soon! and never, whilst memory holds her seat, shall I forget thy little voice, the day of thy departure—“Mary will die, and go to see the Lord.” But this is my hope; I close these remarks on my dear girl.—

This lovely bud, so young and fair,
Call’d hence by early doom;
Just came to shew how sweet a flower
In Paradise would bloom.

That same evening I was obliged to preach; and no other text could I get but this—“He has done all things well.” May I not say so now? Another calamity came soon after: a young woman, who had lived with us at B—, as a companion to my wife, and who was exceedingly kind to her in my troubles there, had a desire to see London, and spend some time with us. We sent for her, and she continued for about two months. She seemed to be pious, and to understand the gospel. She was suddenly taken ill; the faculty did not exactly understand the nature of her complaint, and although she was poorly, she expressed a desire to hear me as long as she could, and to go to the ordinance of the Lord’s Supper. She came, but was so ill she could not attend to any thing. She grew worse, and her head was dreadfully affected. She at times became raving mad; but at one time she was very sensible; and while she slept, as we all thought, my wife, myself, and some other friends, were talking about the things of God, she spoke very sensibly and slowly, and suddenly uttered, “O what a mercy to be beloved of Jesus!” I was just going to enter into conversation with her; but she grew worse, and shortly after slept in Jesus. Glad would her dear parents have been, had they attended her; but they were near 100 miles off. Yet we got her, perhaps, much better attendance than she could have had at home. On account of the distance from the family, with much regret we deposited her remains in the burial-ground of Tottenham-Court Road, but in hopes of a blissful resurrection; and this blessing is sure to all who are quickened by the gracious in-dwelling of the Holy Spirit. As it is written, Rom. viii. “But if the Spirit of Him who raised up Jesus from the dead, dwell in you, He that raised up Christ from the dead, shall also quicken your mortal bodies, by His Spirit, that dwelleth in you.”—Grace and peace be with you.

I remain, yours, J. C.

For love like; this, ye saints arise
Superior to all earthly ties;
Proclaim the Saviour’s precious blood,
And magnify a Tri-une God!

LETTER XIV.

“Yet thou, O Lord, art in the midst of us.”

To —