رو

setting, he said to my mother, who was alone with him, "I am dying." Immediately she sounded a trumpet, to call assistance; then taking him in her arms, he said, "O that I could see papa once more; but I never shall in this world." Deacon Ward, a neighbor, came in, having heard the alarm. Being much distressed, Jeremiah said, "my pain of body is very great, and once added, he wished that he was dead; but immediately recalled it, saying, "I am wrong; but if it were the will of God, I should be glad to be out of pain." He made affecting remarks concerning his death, and a short time before he expired, said, O, I fear Friend and David will run a wicked race. After conversing an hour and a half very calmly, he was laid on the bed, and then folding his hands on his bosom, he looked steadfastly towards heaven. They had now thought he would never speak again, when he distinctly said, "Lord Jesus, may I be with thee;" and without a groan or struggle, in one minute and a half, his pulse ceased to beat, and his spirit took flight to that land whence there is no return. Dea. Ward remarked, that he had often been called to attend on death-bed scenes for forty years, but had never witnessed one so much composed as this. Jeremiah was eleven years and six months of age, more than four years older than myself. His body was laid in the grave, the top of which was covered till my father should return. His death greatly affected me, for I loved him tenderly; and when his dying words, 'I fear they will run a wicked race,' recurred, I felt and mourned my loss. No longer could I hear his pious warnings, his affectionate counsel, and never again would he instruct me to call on the name of the Lord. About two months after this, my father having returned, his body was taken up, carried into the meeting-house, and a sermon delivered. Having heard of instances of burial in cases of fits, and that when taken from the earth such had been revived, my childish heart beat high, when I thought it might be thus with my brother. But as the coffin lid was raised, all my hope vanished, and my sorrow returned. That face, once blooming in

health, was now covered with mould, and those eyes, once innocently beaming with affection, were now sunk in their sockets. A deep sense of my own mortality pervaded my soul, and afterward I frequently addressed the throne of grace. But not clearly discerning the things of the kingdom, I often joined in folly with my juvenile companions, by which the Spirit of God was grieved, and my convictions in some measure effaced.

My mother often made observations upon common occurrences, that caused deep and lasting impressions on my mind. Once when she was killing some fowls, their dying struggles excited my sympathy, even to weeping, and I asked why she killed them. "Dear child," said she, "fowls have to die for man, calves have to die for man, sheep have to die for man; but what is more, Jesus, the Saviour of the world, has died for man, and soon we must die." At another time, she said, "Have you ever observed the young sapling, how easily you can bend it to the ground?" I answered "Yes." She continued, "Have you also observed that when grown to be a tree, it will not bow, but will break first?" Again I answered "Yes;" and she said, "Learn instruction. Now in the morning of life, thy heart, like the sapling, is tender, and may easily be turned to God; but when inured to crime and hardened by transgression, like the stubborn oak, it will not bow."

When I was nine years old, my father removed to the town of Junius, Seneca county, New-York. The greater part of the time for more than a year after our removal, neglect of eternal things marked my conduct; yet, frequently, after joining my associates in play, such condemnation filled my soul, that I would resolve never more to engage in idle sports. And though the Spirit of God did not entirely forsake me, yet my resolutions were often broken, and these scenes of folly and sin against God were repeated. About this time, my brother Friend was converted to God. Serious impressions again returned. But the attachment to my childish plays and companions continued; and during the winter months,

we appointed one evening in every week for diversion. For this, conscience sharply reproved me; but being unwilling to desist entirely, I proposed that a part of the time should be spent in learning the orthography of words. My proposal was acceded to, but still conscience was not satisfied, and I further proposed that we should commence our school with prayer. Some of my associates, observing they thought it would be well, requested me to address the throne of grace; the request was granted, which so affected me, that I could no longer participate in their vanities; but for a time remained a spectator, and then feeling condemned for this, wholly forsook the meetings. Serious impressions again increased, and the fear that there was no mercy for me, that my case was hopeless, at times brought keen distress. For weeks and months, I visited the place of secret prayer two or three times a day, till discouragement and unbelief prevailed on me, for a time, to desist. As with others, who live in the Wicked One, excuses for procrastination found way to my heart. The hope, that at some future, unknown time, a revival, or some other event would render seeking the Lord less dif ficult, made me again indifferent.

CHAPTER II.

An account of my conversion, with some other particulars, till my connection with the Free-Will Baptists.

In the autumn of 1816, when I was nearly eleven years old, an alarming occurrence loudly called my attention. While riding alone through a wood but a little distance from home, my life was much endangered by a sudden fall from the horse. Instantly the query rushed upon me, as if a voice from heaven had spoken and said, "Had your life here closed, where would your soul have been now?" Conscience answered, "It would have been in hell." I stood astonished and amazed. The recollection of past life,

In

of broken promises, and of the many times I had prayed, as I thought, earnestly, without finding relief, rushed upon me like a flood. The anguish of my soul was great, and tears gushed from my eyes. vain did I regret my existence; in vain did I envy the reptiles of the earth their state. Having been taught that a part of mankind were elected to salvation and the rest passed by, with great bitterness, the exclamation burst from my bosom, "I am a reprobate; there is no mercy for me." Now did the sorrows of death compass me about, and the pains of hell got hold of me. Despair bound my soul with its cruel fetters. Nature itself wore a solemn gloom, and even the trees seemed to mourn, and the heavens to frown. Every ray of hope was gone, and the anguish of my soul was insupportable., "What shall I do? what shall I do?" was my cry; then a thought rushed into my mind, which in some measure relieved me. 'Peradventure God can, and will have mercy. Christ died for sinners, why not for me? If hell must be my portion, and I must finally perish, I will perish pleading for mercy.' But now, the fate of former promises occurred to my mind; for in the hour of temptation my feelings had changed, and my strongest resolutions had failed. What security had I, that this reso lution should not, in like manner fail? I felt jealous of my own heart; and this seemed an awful moment, on which my eternal destiny was poised. It appeared to me that heaven or hell, depended on the keeping, or not keeping of this resolution. And I felt unwilling to leave myself the least liberty for its violation, lest this dread liberty should be used to my eternal ruin. So falling upon my knees, and raising my hand toward heaven, I made oath unto God, saying, "As long as thou shalt give me life and ability, like Daniel, I will kneel and pray to thee thrice in a day, even though my years should be lengthened to threescore and ten, and hell be my doom at last." I arose; my tears ceased; distress and anxiety were fled; and though the darkness of night veiled the earth, yet nature assumed a new aspect. All that met my sight, praised God, and my heart was constrained to join

the theme. Setting out for home, a sudden rustling among the trees reminded me that those forests were inhabited by beasts of prey; but it excited no timidity as usual, neither did it cause me to make haste; and now, for the first time, I was willing to die. Something whispered, 'How is this? you are not a christian. 'True,' was my reply, 'but the Judge of all the earth will do right.' Such a sense of his justice and goodness filled my soul, that with sweet composure, I felt to commit my all to him, and thus was quiet from fear of evil.

Now, to fulfil my oath required no effort, for it seemed that my eternal destiny depended upon its performance. My constant prayer was, that my soul might be born of the Spirit; but reflections on my past life, the just and holy nature of God, who cannot look on sin with the least allowance, no longer caused my heart to feel condemnation for sin, or to dread his vengeance. I read the threatenings of God's word, they moved me not. I brought to view the pains of hell, my soul rejoiced and was happy This seemed to me very wrong, and thought I, christians may rejoice, but not sinners. I was now distressed with fears that a state of insensibility was taking possession of my heart; for I labored to feel again my former load of guilt, and constantly prayed that conviction might return, but in vain. Heaven seemed deaf to my entreaties; and while thus praying, my heart seemed so hard, that dreadful fears seized me, lest conviction had ceased for ever; yet so sacred appeared my oath, that not the least temptation to violate it troubled my thoughts. Once when bowed before the Lord in secret, all recollections except of the solemn vow, fled from my memory; and not an idea or a word occurring to mind, the fearful expectation was excited, that I should be compelled to rise without offering a single petition to Heaven. But finally the words of the publican, "God be merciful to me a sinner," came to my recollection, and were as soon repeated. Then I arose and returned, weeping, because of the hardness of my heart. Again, while praying, I used every effort to picture to my