were collected, upon this evening; I was charmed with everything I saw, with everything I heard. I had long admired the master of the house; his lady I had never before seen: she was the object of general adulation; her person was uncommonly elegant, and her face dazzlingly beautiful; she had received a useful as well as a fashionable education, and she was mistress of all the polite accomplishments. She had three lovely children, with minds as well cultivated as their time of life would permit. I threw my eyes upon the happy, the highly favored husband, the amiable wife, the fascinating children, the venerable lady, who gave being to this charming wife, mother, friend. I beheld the group with rapture; for envy, as I have elsewhere observed, was never an ingredient in my composition, and I hung with a sort of chastened pleasure upon the anecdotes furnished by Mr. Whitefield; the whole scene was captivatingly entertaining, and highly interesting: I was ready to wish the night might endure forever. Alas! it was but one night; I never after entered that house. Happy would it have been for me if I had never seen it.* How mysterious are the ways of heaven! this evening, upon which I was so highly gratified, was the remote canse of my suffering, many years afterwards, great and very serious inquietude. I left the house of my friend, Mr. Trinbath, expecting to have seen him again and again; I left him an object of envy to many; but I never saw him more, nor did he, poor gentleman, long continue the object of envy to any one.

This was the last night I spent in this city, in this country. The vessel in which I had engaged a passage to Bristol, was now ready for sailing; I had only time, upon the morning of the ensuing day, to bid a hasty adieu to my grandmother, and her family, with a few other friends; to receive their blessings, and to depart. I took my place in the vessel at the wharf, some of my friends accompanying me thither; I spoke to them with my eyes, with my hands; my tongue refused utterance.

The beauty of the surrounding scenes, in passing from the city to the cove of Cork, cannot perhaps be surpassed. A few miles from the city stands a fortress, then governed by a half-brother of my father. I beheld it with a humid eye; but the vessel had a fair wind, and we passed it rapidly. I retired to the cabin; my too retentive memory retraced the scenes I had witnessed, since first I reached Hibernia's hospitable shore; they were many, and to me interesting; reflection became extremely painful, yet it was impossible to avoid it; and while I was thus retrospecting, the vessel cut her way through the harbor; we had reached the cove, we were on the point of leaving the land. I jumped upon the deck, I threw my eyes over the country I was leaving, which contained all that was dear to me, either by the ties of blood or friendship; all, were drawn up in order before me; it was another parting scene. Yet I cherished hope; I might again return. Alas! alas! this hope was

* See Chap. VI. for an explanation of this reference. T. W. 1:

delusive; it was an everlasting adieu. Dear country of guileless and courteous manners, of integrity, and generous hospitality, I bid you adieu; adieu ye verdant hills, ye fertile vallies, ye gurgling rills, which every where cross the path of the traveller; ye delicious fruits, ye fragrant flowers, ye sylvan scenes, for contemplation made adieu, perhaps forever. Here end the various hopes and fears, which have swelled my bosom in a country celebrated for the sa lubrity of its air, the clearness of its waters, the richuess of its pastures, and the hospitality of its inhabitants; where no poisonous reptile could ever yet procure sustenance.

CHAPTER III.

Arrival in England, and further Progress of the inexperienced

Traveller.

Hail, native Isle, for deeds of worth renowned,
By Statesmen, Patriots, Poets, Heroes crowned;
For thee my friends, my weeping friends, I leave ;
To thy blest arms, thy wandering son receive.

I row began a new era of my melancholy life. Losing sight of land, I again retired to my cabin: alas! 'busy thought was too busy for my peace.' Launched upon the wide ocean, I was speeding to a country, my native country indeed; but a country, in which I could boast neither relation, nor friend, not even a single acquaintance. I was quitting a country, in which I had both relations and friends, with many pleasant acquaintances; yet this consideration did not much depress me; for although my heart was pained, when I reflected on those I was leaving, yet I was in raptures at the thought of England. I promised myself everything pleasing in England; yet, in my most visionary moments, I could not name a source, from which I could rationally expect establishment, or even temporary gratification. Several gentlemen were in the cabin, who took kind notice of me; they asked me no questions, so I was not embarrassed; but they contributed to render my passage agreeable, which, however, was very short for the identical passage, which, when I accompanied my father, consuined full nine weeks, was now performed in three days; but, exempted from those fears, and that nausea, which sometimes afflict fresh-water sailors, I was rather pleased with the rapidity of our passage. We dropped anchor in Bristol channel; I was charmed with an opportunity of going ashore at Pill, and once more greeting the good old lady, that had many years before, so tenderly compassionated me, when I return

ed, as one from the dead, to my offended father. Alas! she was no more; this was a disappointment; but I was in England, and everything I saw, swelled my throbbing bosom to rapture. I was determined on walking to Bristol; it was only five miles, and through a most enchanting country. O! what transport of delight I felt when, with the ensuing morning, I commenced my journey. The birds sweetly carolled, the flowers enamelled the meadows, the whole scene was paradisiacal. It was England. But where was I going? I knew not. How to be employed? I knew not; but I knew I was in England, and, after feasting my eyes and ears, I seated myself upon a verdant bank, where the hot wells, (so much celebrated as the resort of invalid votaries of fashion, who come here to kill time, and to protract a debilitated existence by the use of the waters,) were in full view. Here I began seriously to reflect upon my situation, and to attend to various questions, proposed by a certain invisible, my internal monitor, who thus introduced the inquiry. Well, here you are, in England; what are you to do?' God only knows. Had you not better apply to Him for his direc tion and protection? Certainly, where has my mind wandered, that I have not thus done before? The emotions of my heart were at this moment indescribable. When I last gazed upon these scenes, my prudent, vigilant father was at my side, to guard me from evil; now I had no guide, no counsellor, no protector! O yes,' said my monitor, 'you have the Creator, the Father of your father, He will be your God, and your guide: He will be your protector, your counsellor, your preserver; He will provide for you, and, if you ap ply to Him, He will make your way plain before you,' My hear, softened and cheered by these consoling suggestions, instantly be gan its supplications; there I prayed, and there I remembered Jacob upon the field of Padan-aram ; I commended myself to the care of the God of Abraham, of Isaac, and of Jacob, and I added to these names, the name of my own father. Thus, by unbosoming myself to the Author of my existence, was my spirit greatly refreshed. It is very true I wept, freely wept, but my tears were tears of luxury; and I went on my way rejoicing, in a hope which gave me, as it were, to tread air. I reached Bristol at early dinner: I entered a tavern, inquiring if I could be furnished with a dinner. They saw I was a stranger, and from Ireland. The master of the inn was from the same country; he soon discovered I was a Methodist, and being acquainted with those religionists, he invited them to visit me, and I was consequently introduced to many of the Methodists in that city. It may be thought strange, that, as I had been so much engaged among the Methodists in Ireland, being one of their approved preachers, I did not take the steps necessary to introduce ine among that class of people in England. But, besides the jealousy which had taken place in the minds of my religious brethren, on account of my attachment to the doctrine of election, which made me resolve to quit Mr. Wesley's connexion, and unite myself with the adherents of Mr. Whitefield, I wished for liberty to act

myself, without restraint. But on being introduced, I was soon engaged; attended their meetings, and private societies, and was admired, and caressed, and consequently tarried longer than 1 had proposed, deriving, from every social interview, abundant consolation. Upon the evening previous to my departure from Bristol, I was urged to visit a society a few miles from the city; it was a pleasant walk; several of both sexes were assembled; they were neat in person, and correct in manners, and they were all English. I was charmed, and, being in good spirits, I was thought excellent company; I was then a stranger. They were highly pleased; I was requested to pray; I did so, and we mingled our tears. I was solicited to continue among this people, but my wishes all pointed to London-and to London I must go. I parted with my new acquaintance with regret, for I was as much pleased with them, as they appeared to be with me. Being prevailed upon to tarry dinner the next day, I did not leave Bristol until the afternoon. I then departed alone, determining to proceed as far as Bath, and take the stage for London, upon the ensuing morning. As I passed over one of the most charming roads in England, and alone, I had not only time for reflection, but my reflections were pensively pleasing: I was advancing towards the metropolis; hitherto 1 had experienced the goodness of God, and I indulged the most sanguine hopes. My heart was greatly elated; I beheld the surrounding scenes with rapture; I was not wearied by my walk; it was only sixteen miles from Bristol to Bath; the fields stood thick with corn, the valleys, burdened with an uncommon load of hay, seemed to laugh and sing, and the birds, in their variety, were, as if hymning the praises of their Creator, while the setting sun heightened the grandeur, and gave the finishing touches to the seene. My feelings were indeed highly wrought. I proceeded near the margin of a beautiful river; two hay-makers were returning from their toil; I addressed them, and, in my accustomed manner, I expressed my delight, and my gratitude. These,' said I, in a strain of rapture, these are thy glorious works, Parent of good; Almighty Father, thine this universal fraine; these wondrous fair-surpassing wonder far-thyself how wondrous then!' Tears gushed in my eyes, as I thus expressed the transport of my soul. The men were astonished, yet they seemed pleased; I asked the name of the river? They replied, the Avon, sir.' Then, said I, it flows through the native place of Shakspeare. Shakspeare, who is he?' A writer, I replied: wondering at myself for mentioning his name; but I thought of Shakspeare, and I have ever been accustomed to think loud; the thought was an addition to my pleasures, and, from the abundance of the heart, the mouth speaketh. My companions could not fail of dis covering, that I came from Ireland, yet they cast no reflections upon me, as is the custom with low people, upon these occasions; they were rather disposed to treat me kindly. 'I fancy,' said one of them, 'you are a Methodist.' I am, said 1-—I do not deny it.

Then my Bess will be glad to see thee, I'll warrant me; wool

thee come along with me? Thee may go farther, and fare worse, I can tell thee that,' 'Ay, ay,' said the other, thee had best go with my neighbor-I 'll warrant thee good cheer.' I thanked this kind man, and my heart swelled with gratitude to that Being, in whose hands are the hearts of all his creatures, for thus meeting me on my entrance into this strange city, with loving-kindness, and tender mercy. We walked on together, mutually delighted; 1, with every thing I saw, and my companions with me, for my expressed satisfaction. We soon stopped at the door of a very neat house. This cannot, said my heart, be the dwelling of a hay-maker; it was, however, and opening the door, he said: 'Here, Bess, I have brought thee home a young Methodist; I know thee wilt be glad to see him,' I was then, by this rough, good-hearted man, presented to his wife: Thou must find out his name thyself.' I immedi ately told her my name, when, in a friendly manner, she requested me to be seated. She was a very different character from her husband; her manners were even polished; she entered into friendly conversation with me, and we derived much satisfaction therefrom, when her husband entering, inquired in his rough manner, 'What the plague, Bess, hast got no supper for thy guest?' This was a matter to which we had neither of us recurred. The good man, however, was speedily obeyed, and an elegant repast was forthwith placed upon the table, of which I partook with appetite. We afterwards sang one of the Methodist hymns, and we united in solemn prayer; while my heart acknowledged all the fervor of devotion, even my host himself seemed affected and pleased, declaring he esteemed himself fortunate in meeting me. I was introduced to a handsome lodging room, and a good bed, but the fulness of my grateful heart would not, for some time, allow me to close my eyes; at length I sunk into the most refreshing slumbers, and I arose the next morning greatly exhilarated. I was received by my hospitable host, and hostess, with every mark of satisfaction; we breakfasted together, sang a hymn, and addressed the throne of grace, when the good man went forth to the labors of the field, requesting that I would not think of leaving them. In the course of the morning, the good lady informed me, that they had recently settled in Bath, a Mr. Tucker, who had been a preacher in Ireland. My heart leaped at this intelligence; of all the preachers, with whom I had ever associated, this man possessed the greatest share of my affection. His tender, innocent, child-like disposition, not only endeared him to me, but to all who were acquainted with his worth. My hostess was charmed to learn, that I was known to Mr. Tucker: I solicited her to direct me to his residence, but when she informed me, that, by the death of his father, he had recently come into possession of 30,000 pounds sterling, I became apprehensive I should not be recognized. But I had occasion to reproach myself for suspicions, for no sooner was I conducted to his dwelling, than he caught me in his arms, and expressed the highest satisfaction. Upon introducing me to his lady, he said: "My dear,