to bear his burdens. And now, what shall I say? What but, "Thanks be to God for his unspeakable gift!' and thanks be to my dear friends for all their favours! They will, I trust, be found faithfully recorded in my breast, when the great Rewarder of those, who diligently seek him, will render to every man according to his works.' Then shall a raised Lazarus appear in the gate, to testify of the love of Charles and Mary Greenwood, and of their godly sister. I thought myself a little better last Sunday; but I have since spit more blood than I had done for weeks before. Glory be to God for every providence! His will be done in me, by health or sickness, by life or death! All from him is, and, I trust, will always be welcome to your obliged pensioner, J. FLETCHER. LETTER LXXXIX. To Mr. and Mrs. Greenwood. 1777. His TEN thousand blessings light upon the heads and hearts of my dear benefactors, Charles and Mary Greenwood! May their quiet retreat at Newington become a Bethel to them! May their offspring be born again there! And may the choicest consolations of the Spirit visit their minds, whenever they retire thither from the busy city! Their poor pensioner travels on, though slowly, towards the grave. journey to the sea seems to him to have hastened, rather than retarded his progress to his old mother, Earth. May every providential blast blow him nearer to the heavenly haven of his Saviour's breast; where, he hopes, one day, to meet all his benefactors, and among them, those whom he now addresses. O my dear friends, what shall I render? What to Jesus? What to you? May He, who invites the heavy laden, take upon him all the burdens of kindness you have heaped on your Lazarus! And may angels, when you die, find me in Abraham's bosom, and bring you into mine, that, by all the kinduess which may be shewn in heaven, I may try to requite that which you have shewn to your obliged Brother, You should have heard from me, if sometimes want of spirits to hold a pen, and for some days, want of paper, had not stood in the way of my incli-, nation. Now I have paper, and a degree of strength, how can I employ both better, than in trying to fulfil with my pen the great commandment, which contains my duty to God and my neighbour? But what can a pen do here? It can just testify what my heart feels :— That no words can describe what I owe to my heavenly Benefactor, to my earthly friends, and to you in particular, who have had so much patience as to stand by me, and bear a share in my burdens, for so many months at home and abroad. What shall I say? Thanks be to God for his unspeakable gifts ;-for Jesus ;-for the Spirit of Jesus; -for the members of Jesus's mystical body; and in particular am I bound to return thanks for those, who have ministered, and still do minister to my wants, and share in my infirmities. Your meek humility forbids my saying, that among the many, who, for Christ's sake, have debased themselves so far, as to take up my cross with me, and help me to bear it after my Lord; you stand in the first rank, and the first fruits of my grati tude are due to you. Simon of Cyrene bore our Lord's cross by compulsion: You have borne that of the most unworthy of his servants without compulsion: And now, what shall I render?—A silent tear whispers, I can render nothing. May the merciful, faithful God, who has promised that a cup of cold water given to the least of his followers shail not lose its reward— may that omnipotent God, who sees you in all the states of weakness, which await you between the present moment and the hour of death, give you all that can make your life comfortable, your trials tolerable, your death triumphant, and your eternity glorious! What I ask for you, I also peculiarly beg for your dear brother and sister, who have vouchsafed to bind so dry, so insignificant (I had almost said, so rotten) a stick as myself, in the bundle of that love, with which they embrace the poor, the lame, the helpless, the loathsome, and those who have their sores without, as Lazarus, or within, as 1. May we all be found bound up together in the bundle of life, light, and love, with our Lord! And when he shall make up his jewels, may you all shine among his diamonds of the finest water and the first magnitude! You want possibly to know, how I go on. Though I am not worth a liue, I shall observe, to the glory of my patient, merciful Preserver and Redeemer, that I am kept in sweet peace, and am looking for the triumphant joy of my Lord, and for the fulness expressed in these words, which sweetly filled the sleepless hours of last night : 66 "Drawn,-and redeemed,—and seal'd, With Father, Son, and Spirit fill'd With respect to my body, I sleep less, and spit more blood than I did when you were here: Nor can I bear the least trot of an easy horse. If this continues many days, instead of thinking to go and see my friends on the Continent, I shall turn my steps to my earthly home, to be ready to lay my bones in my church-yard: And in such a case, I shall put you in mind of your kind promise, that you would do to the last the office of a guardian angel,-hold up my hands in my last conflict, and close my eyes when it is over. Two of my parishioners came to convey me safe home, and had persuaded me to go with them in a post chaise; but I had so bad a night before the day I was to set out, that I gave it up. My prospects and ways are shut up, so that I have nothing to look at but Jesus and the grave. May I so look at them, as to live in him, my resurrection and life; and die in all the meekness and holiness of my Lord and my all! I humbly request a continued interest in your fervent prayers, that I may be found completely ready, when my Lord's messenger shall come for my soul. Adieu, my dear friend. God bless and reward you. I am, Your most affectionate Friend and Brother, J. FLETCHER. LETTER XCI. To the Rev. Mr. Greaves. NYON, Sept. 15, 1780. MY DEAR FELLOW-LABOURER, I HAD fixed the time of my departure for this month; but now two hindrances stand in my way. When I came to collect the parts of my manuscript, I found the most considerable part wanting; and, after a thousand searches, I was obliged to write it over again. This accident obliged me to put off my journey; and now the change of weather has brought back some symptoms of my disorder. I speak, or rather whisper, with difficulty; but I hope the quantity of grapes I begin to eat, will have as good an effect upon me, as in the last two autumns. Have patience then a little while. If things are not as you could wish, you can do but as I have done for many years-learn patience by the things which you suffer. Crossing our will, getting the better of our own inclinations, and growing in experience, are no mean advantages; and they may all be yours. Mr. Ireland writes me word, that if I return to England now, the winter will undo all I have been doing for my health for many years. However, I have not quite laid by the design of spending the winter with you; but do not expect me till you see me. I am, nevertheless, firmly purposed, that if I do not set out this autumn, I shall do so next spring, as early as I can. Till I had this relapse, I was able, thank God, to exhort in a private room three times a week: But the Lord Lieutenant will not allow me to get into a pulpit, though they permit the school-masters, who are laymen, to put on a band and read the church prayers: So high runs the prejudice. The clergy, however, tell me, that if I will renounce my ordination, and get Presbyterian orders among them, they will allow me to preach And, on these terms, one of the ministers of this town offers me his curacy. A young clergyman of Geneva, tutor to my nephew, appears to me a truly converted man; and he is so pleased when I tell him there are converted souls in England, that he will go over with me to learn English, and converse with the British Christians. He wrote last summer with such force to some of the clergy, who were stirring up the fire of persecution, that he made them ashamed, aud we have since had peace from that quarter. There is little genuine piety in these parts; nevertheless, there is yet some of the form of it; so far, as to go to the Lord's table regularly four times a year. There meet the adulterers, the drunkards, the swearers, the infidels, and even the materialists. They have no idea of the double damnation that awaits hypocrites. They look upon partaking that sacrament, as a ceremony enjoined by the magistrate. At Zurich, the first town of this country, they have lately beheaded a cler |