Page:The Works of the Reverend George Whitefield, M.A. (1771 Vol 1).djvu/14

 his death, and be a means, like, his beloved Redeemer, of reconciling all former animosities, which is the hearty wish of, dear Sir,

Your sincere friend and humble servant, G. W.    LETTER II. To Mr. G. H.

Dear Sir,     Bristol, Sept. 10, 1734.

THIS morning I wrote to you in haste, expecting Mr. I. would soon be going; but to my great satisfaction, he came hither this night, and soon afterwards, your very much wished-for letter was brought to hand; which (after ten thousand thanks for so many repeated favours) I shall now beg leave to answer. You tell me "Mr. P. likes N." be praised! That he hath recommended something to my perusal. I'll read it, willing, with care, at my return. "That he wants to know my quality, state, condition, circumstances, &c." Alas! that anyone should enquire after such a wretch as I am. However, since he hath been so kind, pray tell him, that as for my quality, I was a poor, mean drawer; but by the distinguishing grace of, am now intended for the ministry. As for my estate, that I am a servitor; and as to my condition and circumstances, I have not of my own any where to lay my head. But my friends, by 's providence, minister daily to me, and in return for such unmerited, unspeakable blessings, I trust the same good Being will give me grace to dedicate myself without reserve to his service. To "spend and be spent" for the welfare of my fellow-creatures, endeavouring to promote the gospel of his Son as much as lies in my poor power. But "observe his humility," says Mr. H. Aye, catch an old Christian without profound humility, if you can. Believe me, Sir, it is nothing but this flesh of ours, those cursed seeds of the proud apostate, which lie lurking in us, that make us to think ourselves worthy of the very air we breathe. When our eyes are opened by the influences of divine grace, we then shall begin to think of ourselves as we ought to think, even, that is all, and we are less than nothing. Well, you may cry, O happy temper, could I but learn of to be meek