Page:Records of the Life of the Rev. John Murray.djvu/82

72 importunate invitation. I, however, took a solitary walk, and I met reflection on the way. I had in the world but one half-penny, and a mendicant, asking alms, crossed my path; I gave him my half-penny, and walked on, till, passing out of the city, I advanced into the fields. I began to feel exhausted; and, under the wide spreading shade of a tree, I sat me down. I continued, for some time, in a state of fixed despair, regardless of life and every thing which it had to bestow. The eye of retrospection ran over past scenes; I remembered my father's house, and the plenty which, particularly at this season, reigned there. This was nearly the anniversary of his death; the mournful scene passed in review before me; his paternal advice, his paternal prayers flashed upon my soul; the eye of my mind dwelt upon the family I had deserted. Oh! could they now behold me! Would they not be gratified? I hoped they would; their pity would have pained most exquisitely. Still my emotions were not of an ameliorating description; my heart was indurated, and, had I possessed the means, I should have proceeded in the path of destruction. At length I seemed awakened to a full sense of the horrors of my situation; my heart throbbed with anguish as I spontaneously exclaimed: Am I the son of such a man, the son of such parents? am I that pious youth so much, and by so many admired? am I the preacher, who at so early a period preached to others, drawing tears from the eyes of those who heard me? And is it thus my journey to England terminates? am I now alone, and unfriended, without an extricating hand to save me? Whither, ah! whither shall I go, and what step is now to be taken? At this moment, the voice of consolation vibrated upon my mental ear: "Imitate the prodigal of old, Arise, and go unto your Father; say, I have sinned against heaven, and in thy sight, I am no longer worthy to be called thy son: but beseech Him, nevertheless, to receive you into his service." This counsel, proceeding from a quarter, from which I had not for a long season heard, deeply affected me, and bitterly did I weep, in the dread of that refusal, which, should I venture to follow the guidance of the monitor within, I was, alas! but too certain of receiving. A thousand thoughts, like a swarm of insects, buzzed around me, but no thought gave me peace. How exquisite was the torture, which at this moment I suffered. But the approach of evening roused me to a conviction of the necessity of moving; but whither should I go? that was the question. "Suppose," said my invisible monitor, "you go to the tabernacle?" and, bursting into a flood of tears, I said, Yes, I will present myself among the multitude—yes, I will go; but how shall I meet the eye of any individual,