****
November 30, 1754.
I THANK you, my love, for writing to me, and rejoice that you are happy: God never fails to hear those that call upon him, and is gracious above all that we can either ask or think. As to my illness, it is extremely troublesome, but I believe not dangerous: and I must continue to bear it for a good while longer, without attempting to remove it, because my apothecary himself knows not what to make of it: *however, I am just as I ought to be; I delight to do and to suffer the will of God, and his mercies are sweet to my soul. I am in that happy state of resignation, that I have not a wish, but for an increase of grace and holiness. Sunday my soul longed after the sacrament, and the tears came in my eyes, because I could not go to church. But are the flowing streams of redeeming love confined to place or time? I found indeed they were not; for my soul was at home sweetly replenished with every blessing I could have hoped for at the altar. How much are those to be pitied who know not the love of God! How much are those to be pitied who set their hearts on any thing in this infant-state of existence! How poor, how low, how trifling is every thing, that does not look towards eternity! I have such an experimental sense of the nothingness of all worldly things, that they seem no more to me than dancing puppets; and I am sometimes ready to affront my brother and Mr. ****, by smiling at the important air with which they talk of their business, as they call it.—I think there is very little probability that I shall be fit to come to the wedding. Pray God keep your sister’s heart in this time of danger and distraction, and bless you both with the blessings of his children.
****
January 7, 1755.
To the Rev. Mr. ****.
Reverend Sir,
YOUR character for candour and piety takes from me all fear that you should be offended at the address of a person unknown, even though this address is designed to point out something amiss in you; which it is absolutely necessary (for the good of your own soul, and for the eternal welfare of those who hear you) that you should amend.——You believe!—You feel the power, and live the life of faith!—Oh why will you not strive that others may be partakers of like happiness with you?—I know your general manner of preaching: I myself have heard you; and while my ear has been delighted with your affecting delivery, your elegant language, and well-turned periods, my heart has bled to think that such talents should be so miserably perverted: bled for you, and for those poor souls, whom this way of preaching lulls into a fatal security. Pardon my freedom of speech; pardon my boldness towards you; but you yourself will acknowledge, that where the foundation is unsound, the building must fall; and no true foundation can be laid except Jesus Christ. Your own experience must tell you, that a divine power can alone change the heart; that all outward regularity of behaviour, all rounds and forms of devotion, and all moral duties, without this change are, utterly unavailing, and only like beautifying the outside of a sepulchre, which within is full of dead mens bones and of all uncleanness. You are sensible too, that faith in a dying Redeemer is the only means given us by which this change of heart can be effected. To what purpose then is it to tell poor, lost, undone man, of the dignity of his rational nature, and the beauty of virtue?—Dear sir, for the sake of that God whom you love and adore, away with these shadows, and substitute in their place realities. How would it delight the heart of several of your friends (who greatly love and esteem you, and who wish well to the gospel of Christ) to see you, with all the force of eloquence, labouring to convince your hearers of the sin of their nature, their condemnation in the sight of God, and their utter incapacity to help themselves; and then proclaiming to them, “Behold the Lamb of God, who taketh away the sins of the world!”