spirit upon them. Let my dear love be carefully communicated to them all, with a solemn charge that they rebel not against divine light within them, nor against those who have the care and oversight of them. If I live to return, I much desire to find them in the innocency of truth. Omit not my love to all my relations; brothers and sisters Lapham, Hazard, Spencer, and all theirs; aunts, uncles, and cousins, and all my friends. I think some of them would do but a friendly part to write me, both relatives and friends. They should not wait for me to begin. I have much to attend to, and some letters to write; but, if they wrote, I believe I should write them. If they don't write, please inform me how they are.

Friends here are growing in plainness, and I hope in more weighty things. A very large number of young women have their bonnets much lower crowned, and more decent, than our dear R. and A. and many more in N. E. I think, on the whole, life is rising among Friends in England; but, alas, the ministry !— the ministry!-my sufferings in spirit are inexpressible, on account of its low and very unskilful state in this nation; but, perhaps, least said is soonest mended. The Yearly Meeting was conducted much more in the true life, and in christian condescension, than ours in general are. If a Friend here was to be as tenacious and urgent, and repeat his prospects as often, and reply and argue, as some among us have done, his credit would sink low with his brethren. I was glad the Lord Jesus, and not mere man, was president, and that his awful presidency kept down the spirit, and will, and wisdom of the creature. This indeed was the case, more, much more than I expected. Oh! that dear New England might witness so great a favour.

In the aboundings of true christian, filial, and brotherly affection, I bid you all a fervent farewell, and rest yours, &c.

JOB SCOTT.

Dear sister,

To Remember Anthony, Providence.

At John Elliott's, London, 6th mo. 2d, 1793.

I write to thee not only as feeling nearly with thee in thy exercises and tossings, but as thou hast in some degree a particular oversight, (if my wish is answered,) of my dear children, not only the two lambs at our father's house, but of all of them, I wish thee to feel thyself in degree charged with a care respecting them. Be free and faithful in caution and counsel to them, and, if needful, to those who have them; though I hope that will be unnecessary.

I have received, as a present from William Tuke, his wife Esther, and son Henry, the father, mother, and brother of Sarah Grubb, one of her valuable Journals. If I send it, I wish thee to take charge of it till I return. Read it, and desire the family to read it, particularly our dear brothers and sisters; and if my dear old father can read it, it may do him good. It is a choice book of living experiences, written in the life; and some parts may answer to thy own trials and experiences, as face to face in a glass. And may thy faith be strengthened, and faithfulness increased, that so light may more abound, and no cloud or dimness spread o'er thee. I may send with it, Esther Tuke's, and the yearly epistle.

Three little girls have written to the children. If I send their little childish letters, please forward them. That from Ann Bevan is the production of a dear little girl, of a greatly beloved family in London. Her father is John Bevan. She sends a little book, too, to my dear Sarah. May it be useful to her tender mind. The others written by two dear little girls in Bristol.

My getting along thou wilt perceive something of by my letter to our dear parents and their children. Is it not almost hard that I have never got a line from any one of you? Have you forgotten me? Well, I have not forgotten you, and trust I shall not; but do let me hear from you. Do, dear sister, write me, and encourage father, and some of the rest of the dear fa

mily, to write me as often as may well be. If you were as long from home you would know how to feel for me, and when you write give me what information you can. If you direct to John Elliott, Bartholomew's Close, London, he will forward letters to me in Ireland or elsewhere, as need may be. If Lydia or Sarah should write a few lines to their little friend Anna Bevan, they may be enclosed in thy letter to me; for I depend on thy writing, and don't disappoint me. Give my love to all my relations and friends. I have written thee several times before. The letter I now write father, is I think the fifth. When you write, let me know how many you have received. I think in a day or two to go for Ireland,

Try to keep up the love and acquaintance among my dear children, and between them and their father's and mother's relations. It is too dear to be lost, or to languish.

Please to forward the letter to Peter Hoxsie for his wife. It contains one for brother Hazard. Let that also for brother Lapham be forwarded. A few particulars more I might mention, but the time allows not of it. So farewell now and forever. As heretofore so now, I remain thy truly affectionate brother,

JOB SCOTT.

To Moses Brown.

Dear friend,

London, 6th month 3d, 1793.

I am now expecting soon to go for Ireland. I have wrote father Anthony, and may, perhaps, direct to thy care a book or two, and some letters for him and the family. I have never got a line from one friend in New England, but Sarah Hoxsie. It would be pleasant to hear from home, if I might enjoy such a favour. I hope thou wilt not fail to write me as often as well may be. My health is now middling; my sore breast remains, and nervous affections.

Deborah Darby and Rebecca Young are equipped for our continent, and think to sail from Liverpool, in hope to reach

Philadelphia Yearly Meeting. Some others on this side the water, think of crossing the Atlantic; but perhaps no movements will be made just yet, though I think it rather likely one or two may open such a prospect before another year.

We this day hear George Dillwyn and his wife, and E. Drinker, were taken and carried back to Philadelphia. Friends here were in daily expectation of their arrival. Dear Samuel Emlen and Sarah Harrison are here, to great acceptance. John Tabor, William Rotch, wife and daughters, are here also. No very late news from Dunkirk. J. Storer, T. Colley, and Elizabeth Gibson, all attended the Yearly Meeting. The health of all the above mentioned is pretty well for them, respectively. Dear Samuel glides smoothly on as usual. Poor Sarah drinks large draughts of wormwood and vinegar. My own cups are such as wisdom fills; let me not, therefore, complain of their bitterness, lest murmuring against necessary potions make still bitterer ones necessary.

The Yearly Meeting here has been large and solid; much more in truth's life and authority than I expected; for the mournful state of the ministry gave me a gloomy prospect in regard to the Yearly Meeting. There is much preaching in England, but too little of gospel. There are many teachers, but few fathers. A few sound elders here and there, are preserved; but too many in that station delight in a sound, crave eagerly to be fed by the ears, and scarce know how to endure silence: and often, very often my business has been to starve them, not being able to utter one word in the life of the gospel; and may I never add to the number, already too great in this land, who minister with little or nothing of that holy ability. A few are yet preserved whose trumpets give a certain sound; yea, often sound an alarm to [spiritual] war; while some do little else than cry peace; and sometimes not with the strictest propriety.

There are some wise arguers in the Meeting for Sufferings; hence that meeting is not the most lively: but in the Yearly Meeting truth's holy presidency kept creaturely wisdom from much undue exertion. May so precious an experience more and more prevail in the dear land of my nativity. It is more to be desired than gold or silver. It is better than the unsubjected

efforts of the most brilliant natural endowments. May we more and more press after it.

My love continues to thee, thy wife, and all thy family; in which I draw to an end, and am thy steadfast friend,

JOB SCOTT.

Extract of a Letter to a Friend.

Liverpool, 26th of 6th month, 1793.

I fear too many overrate their own, and a few others' services, though at the same time they may underrate those of the many. Nor let me cry up my own humility, and, if not divinely abased, and kept rightly low, grow proud under a notion of superior self-nothingness. Let me tell thee that I most sincerely think and feel, that all I ever can be instrumentally exertive in, will be of almost infinitely small amount, or account, in the final settlement of all things, otherwise than as submission to divine power may have prepared my own heart, or rather permitted divine power to prepare it, for good. I feel daily that I have no good thing but what I receive. If I am at any time a little rightly humbled, and sensible of my own inability, unworthiness, and nothingness, as to good of myself, this is all bestowed, and wrought in me. I naturally thought myself somebody, and as long as I live, I should, I believe, be apt to have the same thought, if not, by power above human, daily abased; and as abasement is well thought of, should be liable to plume myself with a notion even of that, if not prevented by grace. And after all I can know of abasement, growth, and usefulness, I think all the varied exercises, humblings, and employments, barely sufficient (if that) to make me know myself, and prepare me, (may I yet experience it,) for a temple of God, wherein he may be "all in all." I often admire that I am employed at all; and daily find more than a small unfitness; yea, something that would both stand and go alone. Indeed I do not expect to get perfectly and perseveringly rid of it, very far on this side the grave. I truly hate it, and if I was able, should lay at it with