times. I tried to seek God, and commit my cause to him, but he hid himself in thick darkness, and seemed to stand aloof to my cry. I read the Bible and Dell; good doctrine, pure, and spiritual; but my soul refused to take comfort in it, or rather, all comfort was withheld, and though I sought it carefully, I found it not. I was ready to rave, and burst out in loud groans. I could have cursed my birth-day like a true Job, for I could scarce esteem life or existence a blessing. I was almost dumb all the day with silence, and I suppose was a gazing stock to some of the company. Now, do I complain improperly? Do I murmur? I wish not to. But, perhaps, the best state is that wherein we bear all, and tell no one of our anguish. I think Samuel Fothergill advised S. Hatton "not to pour forth her complaints to any mortal." If this is absolutely necessary, when shall I attain to it? I wish to give up all, and seek no comfort or relief in any way contrary to divine wisdom. But I find God's people did utter their complaints of old, and sometimes largely too. Was it their weakness? Or affords it some consolation to those who come after them in the same painful pilgrimage? Well, if thou thinkest I complain too extravagantly, know for certain the half is not told thee. But after long tossings and violent commotions, as of all the elements in furious and loud uproar, the waves at length subsided a little, and at his voice, whom they ever obey, the wind and sea were still. This was not till in the evening; and even after this till bedtime, and indeed to-day, the dispensation of almost total silence continues. I had a pretty good night's rest, and awoke this morning in a state of some real relief. But through the preceding exercise, I felt as if I was all over bruised, and every nerve over-stretched and strained. I ate breakfast, read, and walked. The sun shines gloriously; the birds sing sweetly; the wind whistles pleasantly; and all the face of nature is beautiful: but my soul remembers the wormwood and gall, and seems forbidden to seek or take delight in any of the pleasant things of nature. Well, let me be weaned to any degree that Wisdom dictates, and have no will, but that the will divine may be done in all things.

JOB SCOTT..

Dearly beloved,

To a Friend.

Moat, 9th month 28th, 1793.

I have received several kind messages of love and encouragement from thee, which I now thankfully acknowledge. I esteem them, as I think they certainly are, lively evidences of thy fatherly care and regard towards one of, perhaps, the most tossed and tried of the flock. But ought I not to be afraid to complain to thee? Thy repeated watch-word to me is, to keep the word of patience, and to let patience have its perfect work. I assure thee I do earnestly endeavour so to do: but dear James Thornton told me, "The true patience is a divine succour, a gift, a thing that must be felt, supporting the mind." And, alas! my feeling so little of it, at times, when I so sincerely desire it, and so faithfully strive to exercise it, almost convinces me that I am not to be much sensible of its support, but when, and in such wise, as that I may feel and acknowledge it is more of God than man. The dispensation I have been under these two or three last days, has been so tribulating, that notwithstanding my honest endeavours to bear all patiently, I have been almost ready to open my mouth, and curse my day. I strove to think, as at more joyful moments, that life was a blessing, and to be thankful that I am; but, perverse as it might be, I could scarcely feel glad that I ever existed, or forbear wishing I had given up the ghost at the moment of my birth, and been carried at once to the grave.

Well, my dear friend, I am often. fully satisfied, that God never afflicts unnecessarily, nor lays more upon man than is best. And seeing these deep and heavy sufferings are repeatedly, and a good deal towards constantly, laid upon me, and, as it were, fast bound about me, so that I cannot shake them off, nor rise much above the sore depression which attends them; may I not, must I not conclude, a God all wise, and perfect in goodness, knows I stand in need of them? Perhaps, without them I should not be, even in that little degree that I now am, preserved in the line of true humiliation and obedience. And

if I go mourning all my days, and thus witness preservation to the end, Oh! how much better it will be, than to rejoice now, and in conclusion, mourn and weep.

I have almost a continual quarrel with old Babylon, and her several sorts of priests. Had one told me, seven years ago, that I should be engaged in such a constant war, from place to place, with almost all that men deem sacred, and that I should continue going forth from day to day, with scarce more, and sometimes scarce so much, as a sling and stone, I think I should scarcely have believed it; and perhaps should have turned away back in discouragement. Sometimes, indeed, I seem helped to bathe my sword in blood, till the whole host of opposers are made to flee before me; but at other times, I feel to myself much like fighting upon the retreat, and the forehead of Goliah remains unpierced, and he seems to me to stalk off, with erected front, still bidding defiance to the armies of Israel. I think he will yet come down wonderfully, even in this land, though I don't expect to be here to see much of it.

My health is, on the whole, about middling, though oft a good deal drooping. It is sometimes, some cause of comfort to me, that thou hast some faith respecting me; but I have often little or none, respecting myself. Yet I can at this moment, bless the holy name of Israel's God, that he sometimes gives me faith that seems invincible, and which I then feel to be his precious gift, and of his own immediate operation, and not a mere exertion of human confidence. "Let me die the death of the righteous," &c. is my serious request; and to attain it, I fervently desire I may be enabled faithfully to live the life of the righteous. Many deaths it has already cost me, and how many more soever it may require, I much more ardently desire I may rightly submit to, and endure them, than I now do, or ever did, desire the increase of gold or silver. **** is my very agreeable and useful companion; especially useful in giving notice of meetings, in a proper manner, among the people; and more depends on this than many are aware of.

JOB SCOTT.

To Moses Brown, Providence, Rhode Island.

My dear friend,

Dublin, 11th month 7th, 1793.

Thy letter of 6th month 9th, though long finding its way, was truly welcome to my heart: be so kind as to continue letting me hear from thee, for thy truly sympathizing letter was reviving to my mind. My wadings and discouragements were then, and had been for some time, nearly inexpressible, and for aught I know, quite so. I strove all that in me lay for patience and submission, but scarce could refrain crying out, being, in my own feelings, almost ready to open my mouth and regret the day that gave birth to my existence; but through silence in and out of meetings, and bearing my burthen as well as I could, death at last was swallowed up of victory, and truth reigned marvellously over all. But, alas! as I descend in order to ascend, so from the highest ascension I soon descend again, almost into the lowest places. I find but very short intervals of pleasantness, and but very rarely much freedom in conversation. I have had several times, since and before I got thy precious token of remembrance, of sinking very low; but if little else is for me but bitterness, I fully believe it is for no other reason than because that is best. The all-wise Disposer knows what we can bear, and can make of gall and wormwood a precious balsam for the soul. My own will does not like so much of it; but I rejoice, and bless God, that through the repetition and continuance of deep probation, that " own will" of mine is very evidently dying on the cross. Planted in the likeness of death, I experience oftener than daily, and no otherwise than through this, do I arise in the newness of life. When these things are mentioned, one understands scarce any thing of it, another a little, another a little more, and so on, as in degrees. I trust I am not now writing to one who is ignorant, or but slightly acquainted with conflict and probation. I note thy own expressions, of having to "live by faith," and of sufferings in divers respects; I wish to catch the hint, and not only live more and more, but be willing to live more and more, by faith, through all sufferings.

-'s more comfortable state; may

I was glad to hear of thy sickness and health, and blessings, and trials of every kind, be rightly improved, and work the end designed. Sorrow springs not out of the dust; we are in the hands of one who deals wisely with us. "In all I bless (says Young) but most for the severe." Indeed, our nature is such, that I suppose the severe, in general, most effectually prepares us as temples of the living God. We are designed to be partakers of the divine nature, if Peter saw right,* and to be filled with all the fulness of God, if Paul was not mistaken,† or I in recollecting him; but this only in proportion as emptied of ourselves, indeed, put to death in the flesh and quickened in and by the spirit. This is the alone way of salvation forever: the mystery of godliness being, through all time, and in each individual, "God manifest in the flesh," and more and more manifest, till a fulness of dominion and glory. This is my prayer for my own soul and for yours.

Thy account of was truly acceptable: the dear old man has very increasingly, for a few of the last years of my life, obtained a place in my affections and prayers; may the Lord Almighty, if he be still in the body, be graciously pleased more and more to quicken, and make him alive, in the knowledge and obedience of the ever blessed truth, before he goes hence to be seen of men no more. I request thee to make known to him, if living, my fervent affection and travail of soul for him.

The account of removals was and is mournfully affecting; that of dear most of all so; but thy account of his humiliation after separation, and the hope that he might be able to do more for the honour of truth than the meeting could do by any testimony, was rejoicing to my very soul. The Lord has done great things for him. He has seen wonders in the deeps; may he never become an utter cast-away, is my fervent prayer to Israel's God. Present my dear love to him and his, and say to him on my behalf: let not go the faithful word; let neither heights, depths, nor any art or address of the grand seducer, separate thee from the love of God, once so livingly experienced, and prized above thy other chiefest joys. Ah! dear friend, what

VOL. II.-29

*2 Peter i. 4.

+ Eph. iii. 9.