Plymouth Dock.
Dear James,I WISH grace, mercy, and peace to thee, through Jesus Christ our ever blessed, and ever adorable God and Saviour. I begin now to think upon my last week. Mr. D. being gone, I have but one old acquaintance here, who is a young man from Chatham, in Kent, whom I have long known. He sometimes walks out with me, or else I spend all my time in my room, writing letters; but I have very bad conveniences for writing. I believe I have set fire to the place, and now I wish to be off.
The people, many of them, had conceived strange opinions of me; they expected to hear seven thunders utter their voices at once, and that I should storm, and rage, and lay about me like a madman; but as they have seen nothing of this frenzy, wild-fire, nor morris-dancing, they seem quite pleased with the disappointment, both in the man and in his manner: and their language and confession seems to amount to this, that instead of a wild bull, it is nothing but a tame ass; his appearance, method, manner, and behaviour, is nothing like their conception of him. Instead of a great noise, it is a voice in the cool of the day; instead of wrath, mercy; instead of a terrible countenance, a smile; instead of law, gospel: drawing, instead of driving; healing, instead of killing; and wooing instead of divorcing.
I think to weigh anchor, and get under sail, if God favour us with a gale, and go by sea to Southampton, which will be the quickest way. Tender my love to all. Excuse haste. I am just going a voyage to sea, in order to survey a sloop of war, lately come in.
God bless thee, ever thine,
W. H., S. S.
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