side, but be increased, until it fixes me in the unalterable habit of striving for usefulness in this way. It is now in my heart to endeavor to engage others in this measure. Lord, if this impression is from thee, and is designed to lead to the promotion of a religious tract society, O give me wisdom, smile on the design, and open a way for its accomplishment, and may this impression lead to the salvation of thousands.

February 14th. I have been set upon conversing more with my family. I find it is the best, yes the very best, remedy against my greatest dangers. If my soul were set on the salvation of my house, probably salvation would come to them, and we should have a little heaven below the skies. I most earnestly desire thee, O God, whilst thou art making me the instrument of good to others, to indulge me with the happiness of seeing thy power rest upon my poor family. O why may not we be sharers in thy salvation which is so profusely bestowed on others? I feel a strong desire, and see the necessity, to support unremitted watchfulness, prayer and dependance on the strength of Christ, and to commit my salvation more into his hands. I think I feel more humble and dependant, and more of a christian temper than for years past. I clearly see that Christ can enable me to overcome temptation. The keeping of the saints amidst their dangers and fears, is by him who supports the mountains, and whose faithfulness changes not. To him I commit myself, rejoicing. I see by what wondrous measures he is now delivering me from my enemies which were too strong for me. He will deliver and make me a monument of his heaven-astonishing grace. I have been lately wishing to be taken up by some mighty power, and get forward at once very far in my journey, so as to have little to do afterwards to arrive at perfect sanctification. But this is a fruitless hope. I am enlisted in a warfare, and every inch of ground must be taken sword in hand. Those corruptions which are constitutional will live with me, and die only with me. They will trouble me through life. The only remedy is to live near to God. This alone is the water which will quench the fire. The moment I get away from him, Vol. I.

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they will always stand ready to harrass me and drive me back. Divine enjoyment,-spiritual pride,-falls, humiliation, prayer,-elevation,-enjoyment,-pride,-falls,-humiliation, &c. &c. must be my round through life. I have lately found that I ought to turn my heart and soul more immediately to Christ, and like others, (of whom I have lately read,) mourn for the feebleness of my love to Christ. Could I rest more on him, I might support habitual pleasant contemplations, which render the mind more like God. I should then look less on perplexities, and fix my eye less on my miserable depravity, although I should not see it less. I have given up my worldly matters into the hands of Christ, and while I am caring for his interest, I see he is caring for mine. By some merciful interpositions, I see he may be fully trusted for my daily bread, and I think I can leave the rest with him.

If I know any thing of my heart, I am sure that I care more for the success of my ministry than for any worldly interest. And upon a review of my life, I must be confident that the three strongest desires which have habitually influenced me for years, are (1.) To be delivered from sin. O if this could be, I could bear any thing, and be happy in poverty and disgrace. (2.) To enjoy God. I think I surely long more for this than riches or honors, and would give up every thing for it. (3.) That God's kingdom may come. When I hear of any appearance favorable to Zion, my heart is glad. I would rather be an instrument in promoting this interest than to wear laurels for learning, eloquence, &c. I think I have had and daily have, fair opportunities to make the experiment. Since I have been in this place, I am more than ever convinced that I am spoiled for the world, that I cannot live on popular breath or the estimation of the gay. I cannot live confined to their society. The company of the pious, though poor, is far sweeter. I must have the conscience of good people on the side of my preaching, or all the applauses of the world are irksome and terrifying to me. I must have christians for my companions, and cannot live in the world. I know I have a dreadful body of sin struggling within me. I know that pride has much

influence in my best public duties, and has more influence on my deliberate and habitual conduct than any other wrong af fection; but I think it does not govern. Still I ought to be cautious. My zeal to propagate the truth may be a proud and wilful desire to support my own sentiments. From the zeal which appears in politics, and among the most corrupt sects in the christian church, it is evident that this is one of the most powerful principles of the natural heart. And when I see the worshippers of Moloch flaming with zeal for their god, and sacrificing their very children to him, my heart says,What zeal, what sacrifices, what willingness to resign up a child to God, can I depend on as evidence of true religion?

February 26th. Yesterday I sensibly felt for a moment what boldness and fortitude in preaching would result from disinterested humility, that should be perfectly indifferent to the good opinions of others as a personal honor; and saw how different was the assurance of a self-confident spirit; and had a glimpse of the principle which rendered the meek and humble Jesus so intrepid.

Monday, February 28th. Yesterday I went to the house of God under a great sense of my own unworthiness, and fearful of making attempts at eloquence, lest I should be influenced by pride. I endeavored to speak with all the simplicity and sincerity of one who had no regard to the opinions of men, any farther than not to injure the cause of religion, and I found myself much assisted, although I depended much on extemporaneous exertion. I found a solemn sense of divine things more beneficial, even to render my services acceptable, than all the flourish of affected zeal and eloquence. Let this remove the objection, that if I should become unstudious to please, I should lose my influence and degrade the gospel.

I have lately been so fearful of selfishness and pride that I have scarcely dared to move. I now see that their motions have been as constant as the palpitations of my heart, and have exerted an uninterrupted influence on my external conduct, sometimes to spur me forward to zeal in the line of duty, sometimes to hold me back and to weaken my exer

tions, and sometimes to turn my feet aside from the right path. Let me never again be blind to their motions, or be at a loss when to find them in my heart. O how can I bear to live with these filthy vipers in my bosom until I am fifty or sixty years old? But it must be, if I live at all. What can I do but resist them with all the strength that God shall give me, and take care that they are not suffered to shape or influence my outward conduct? But of this I am sure, that I must not omit or relax in a single duty, for fear of being influenced by improper feelings. I must pursue my course and strive to purify my motives.

When I see those of whom I have formed the best opinion, complaining and mourning for sin, saying that they view themselves the greatest of sinners; professing more readily than any other grace, a deep sense that they deserve nothing at the hands of God, that they have not the least dependance on anything they have ever done, that they are willing to be saved by mere mercy, and that God should take the credit of their salvation to himself; when I see them afraid of deception and jealous of themselves; I am conscious that all this is exactly my own habitual experience; but then I apprehend that my consciousness of being unworthy arises, (not like theirs, from a superior acquaintance with my own heart, but) from the obviousness of my sins. When I hear a dying saint say of her bodily pains, "These are nothing to the pains of sin;" my whole heart says Amen. With Mrs. Rowe I think I can certainly and habitually say, If God should bid me form a wish, and take whatever in heaven or earth I had to ask, it should not be the wealth of this world, nor the crowns of princes: no, nor yet the wreaths of martyrs nor thrones of archangels: my first request is to be made holy: this is my highest concern. When I hear the most humble christians declare that they have not the least hope of advancing one foot in their course, any farther than they are carried by God,— that they have no strength against one temptation-that they shall do every thing that they are left to do,-that their only hope for pardon, strength, and life, is in God; I know that I

habitually feel the same: Yet I fear that conscience may do all this. When I heard an eminent saint to-day declare that the days of her affliction had been the sweetest days of her life, I knew that I could say the same; and then my soul replied, What is it that can have made my afflictions so happy, if I had not true religion? My soul trusted in God that he would do right, and would protect me as far as it was best, and make the trials work for my good; and I felt a delight in committing the case to him, leaning on, and communing with him. Could all this arise from the mistaken supposition that he was my friend? But yet, if I love him, why do I not keep his commandments?

How impudent is sin! It would lead one on to commit the most daring crimes when conscience testifies that God is looking on, and would deliberately rush upon the thick bosses of his buckler. When it acts in an Atheist, it does not appear so impudent, as when it shows all its airs by the very side of an awakened conscience. In christians its awful impudence appears to the greatest advantage; which probably was one reason that such a body of sin was left to abide and work in sanctified hearts. Here it discovers its true nature, and shows itself to be as impudent as hell.

March 12th. A great sinner I am, and I have a great sense of it; but is it anything more than conscience? Could I so conduct myself if I had religion? And without it conscience would not sleep in a man in my station, and studies, and living in an awakening. But if I have a sanctified part within me, I have amazingly strong corruptions too. Yet if I have not a sanctified part, what mean these exercises? The other day, under an exquisite sense of sin, I clearly felt that all that I could do could, in the nature of things, have no tendency to atone for the least sin. I believe the feeling is habitual, and that I am not erecting a superstructure of self-righteousness. To-day the feeling returned, and while I was thinking what sacrifice I would be willing to make to escape the dominion of sin, I forgot myself, and turned in my mind what I would be willing to suffer to atone for what is past. But I was awa