deep fenfe of fin, and looked to that Lord by whofe merts alone finners could be faved. He defired me to call in the other gentleman, who likewise affifted him to move the heart of the poor youth: but the Doctor's words were the moft pathetic and effectual. He lifted up his hands, and cried out, O Lord Jefus, have mercy on us, and give, O give unto him, my fellow-finner, that as we fuffer together, we may go together to heaven!' His converfation to this poor youth was fo moving, that tears flowed from the eyes of all prefent.

"He prayed God to blefs his friends who were prefent with him, and to give his bleffings to all his brethren the clergy; that he would pour out his Spirit upon them, and make them true minifters of Jesus Chrift, and that they might follow the divine precepts of their heavenly Mafter.. Turning to one who stood near him, he ftretched out his hand, and faid, Now, my dear friend, speculation is at an end; all must be real! what poor ignorant beings we are! He prayed for the Magdalens, and wifhed they were there, to fing for him the 23d Pfalm.

"After he had waited fome time for the officers, he asked what o'clock it was; and being told that it was half an hour after eight, he faid, I wish they were ready, for I long to be gone.' He requefted of his friends, who were in tears about him, to pray for him : to which he was anfwered by two of them,We pray more than language can utter. He replied, I believe it.' "At length he was fummoned to go down into a part of the yard which is inclofed from the reft of the goal, where the two unhappy convicts and the friends of the Doctor were alone. On his feeing two prifoners looking out of the windows, he went to them and exhorted them fo pathetically, that they both wept abundantly. He faid once, I am now a spectacle to men, and shall loon be a fpectacle to angels."

"Juft before the fheriff's officers came with the halters, one who was walking with him told him that there was yet a little folemnity he muft pafs through before

he

he went out.

He asked, What is that?' You will be bound.' He looked up, and faid, 'Yet I am free; my freedom is there,' pointing upwards. He bore it with Chriftian patience, and beyond what might be expected; and when the men offered to excufe tying his hands, he defired them to do their duty, and thanked them for their kindness. After he was bound, I offered to affift him with my arm in conducting him through the yard, where feveral people were affembled to fee him; but he replied, No, I am as firm as a rock.'-As he paffed along the yard, the spectators and prifoners wept and bemoaned him; and he, in return, prayed God to bleís them.

"On the way to execution he confoled himself in reflecting and speaking on what Chrift had fuffered for him: lamenting the depravity of human nature, which made fanguinary laws neceffary; and faid he could gladly have died in the prifon-yard, as being led out to public execution tended greatly to distress him. He defired me to read to him the 51ft Pfalm, and alfo pointed out an admirable penitential prayer from Roffel's Prifoner's Director. He prayed again for the King and likewise for the people.

"When he came near the street where he formerly dwelt, he was much affected, and wept. He said probably his tears would feem to be the effect of cowar dice, but it was a weaknefs he could not well help; and added, he hoped he was going to a better home.

"When he arrived at the gallows, he afcended the cart, and spoke to his fellow-fufferer. He then prayed, not only for himself, but also for his wife, and the un fortunate youth that fuffered with him; and declaring that he died in the true faith of the gospel of Chrift, in perfect love and charity with all mankind, and with thankfulnefs to his friends, he was launched into eternity, emploring mercy for his foul for the fake of his bleffed Redeemer."

His corpfe, on the Monday following, was carried to Cowley, in Buckinghamshire, and depofited in the church there. THOUGHTS

COMMENCED

SUNDAY EVENING, EIGHT O'CLOCK.* Feb. 23, 1777.

WEEK THE FIRST.

The Imprisonment.

MY friends are gone! Harsh on its fullen hinge
Grates the dread door: the maffy bolts refpond
Tremendous to the furely keeper's touch.

The dire keys clang, with movement dull and flow
While their beheft the ponderous locks perform;
And faftened firm, the object of their care
Is left to folitude,-to forrow left!

But wherefore fastened? Oh still stronger bonds
Than bolts, or locks, or doors of molten brass,
To folitude and forrow would confign
His anguifh'd foul, and prison him, tho' free!
For, whither fhould he fly, or where produce
In open day, and to the golden fun,
His hapless head! whence every laurel torn,
On his bald brow fits grinning Infamy;
And all in fportive triumph twines around
The keen, the ftinging adders of difgrace!

Yet what's difgrace with man? or all the ftings
Of pointed fcorn? What the tumultuous voice
Of erring multitudes? Or what the shafts

Of keenest malice, levell'd from the bow

Of human inquifition ?-if the God,

Who knows the heart, looks with complacence down
Upon the ftruggling victim, and beholds

Repentance bursting from the earth-bent eye,
And faith's red crofs held closely to the breast ?
Oh Author of my being! of my blifs
Beneficent Dispenser! wondrous power,
Whofe eye, all-fearching thro' this dreary gloom
Difcerns the deepest secreets of the foul,

The hour when they lock up in this dismal place,

B

Affift

Affift me! With thy ray of light divine
Illumine my dark thoughts; upraife my low;
And give me wifdom's guidance, while I ftrive
Impartially to state the dread account,
And call myself to trial! Trial far

Than that more fearful-tho' how fearful that
Which trembling late I proved! Oh aid my hand
To hold the balance equal, and allow
The few fad moments of remaining life
To retrospection ufeful; make my end,

As my first wish (thou know'st the heart) has been,
To make my whole of being to my friends,
My fellow-pilgrims thro' this world of woe,
Inftructive! Oh could I conduct but one,
One only with me, to our Canaan's reft,
How could I meet my fate, nor think it hard!
Not think it hard?-Burft into tears, my foul;
Guth every pore of my distracted frame,
Gush into drops of blood !—But one; fave one,
Or guide to Canaan's reft ?-when all thy views
In better days were dedicate alone

To guide, perfuade to that celeftial reft,
Souls which have liftened with devotion's ear
To Sion's fongs enchanting from thy lips,
And tidings fweet of Jefu's pardoning love!

But one, fave one?-Oh, what a reft is this!
Oh what a Sabbath in this dungeon's gloom,
This prifon-houfe, meet emblem of the realm
Referv'd for the ungodly! Hark, methinks
I hear the cheerful melody of praise

And penitential fweetnels*! 'Tis the found,
The well-known found, to which my foul, attun'd
For year fucceeding year, hath hearken'd glad,
And fill with fresh delight: while all my powers
In bleft employ have preft the faving truths
Of grace divine, and faith's all-conquering might,
On the fure Rock of Ages grounded firm.

Thofe hours are gone! and here, from heaven fhut out,
Referring more immediately to the duty of the Magdalen Chapel.

And

And heavenly works like thefe on this lov'd day,
Reft of my God, I only hear around

The difmal clang of chains; the hoarse rough fhout
Of diffonant imprecation; and the cry

Of mifery and vice, in fearful din

Impetuous mingled; while my frighted mind
Shrinks back in horror! while the fcalding tears
Involuntary ftarting, furrow down

My fickly cheeks; and whirling thought confus'd
For giddy moments, fcarce allows to know
Or where, or who, or what a wretch I am!

Not know? Alas! too well it strikes my heart, Emphatical it speaks! while dungeons, chains, And bars and bolts proclaim the mournful truth, "Ah what a wretch thou art! how funk, how fall'n "*From what high state of blifs, into what woe!" Fall'n from the topmoft bough that plays in air E'en of the tallest cedar; where aloft

Proud happiness her towering eyrie built;
Built, as I dreamt, for ages. Idle dream?
Aud yet, amongst the millions of mankind,
Who fleep like me, how few, like me deceiv'd,
Do not indulge the fame fantastic dream!

Give me the angel's clarion !-Let me found,
Loud as the blast which shall awake the dead;
Oh let me found, and call the flumberers forth
To view the vifion which delufion charms;
To shake the potent incantation off;
Or ere it burft in ruin on their fouls,
As it has burft on mine.-Not on my foul!
Retract the dread idea: Righteous God!
Not on my foul! Oh Thou art gracious all,
And with an eye of pity from thy throne
Of Majefty fupernal, thou behold'st

The creatures of thy hand, thy feeble fons,
Struggling with fin, with Satan, and the world,
Their fworn and deadly foes: and, having felt
In human flesh the trials of our kind,

• Milton's Par. Loft, B. 5. P. 549+

B 2

Know'