I AM now within twelve miles of Castle Howard, the seat of Lord Carlisle, and shall pass it on Monday next in my way home. My success seems to be exceeding great, and I have no doubt but God sent me here. I am now at Helmsley Blackmoor, in the north riding of York, and twenty-four miles beyond the city of York.
I find many here poor and needy in soul, and these are blessed indeed. One poor old farmer has followed me more than two hundred miles, and last night he dropped his chains. This morning he came to visit me with the rays of the sun on his face, and the wings of a dove on his back; and no less than three more have heard the jubilee, and felt their release. I have no call to tall you that the eyes of these seeing me, bless me; and their ears hearing me give witness to me. I have invitations from all quarters, and might soon become a bishop at large.
I preached first at Grantham on Friday night, and was almost melted; on Sunday twice; on Monday evening at Newark; and on Tuesday evening at Retford. On Wednesday I went to Sherborne, but finding but one professing man, the man who invited me, and being informed that the little town was stuffed with empty critics and hypocrites, I fell into a bad humour, and finding there were none poor and needy, or that wished to hear me, I sent six miles for a post-chaise, and reached Elvington, six miles below York, that night. I then sent the poor old farmer before to Helmsley, to inform them that I would preach to them on Thursday and on Friday evenings; and he reached Helmsley about ten o'clock in the forenoon. I arrived about four hours after, and preached to not less than six hundred, as it was conjectured, and last night to a full house; to-morrow I intend to preach twice, and on Monday set off for Newark, Tuesday evening, Wednesday, and Thursday night at Grantham; on Friday I steer my course to Ely, Downham, and Littleport, and then for Cricklewood, if God permit.
I am at a farm-house on a pleasant and beautiful hill; my host has been in irons, so we agree well, but I have a mile to walk every night after I have clone, and the way almost all up hill; this tires me beyond measure, but the cross must attend us. Kind love to Peg and James. So concludes
The servant of servants,
W. H., S. S.
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