Letter 539

I expect more good from Mrs. B.’s medicine than from a heap of others. Remember Hezekiah’s figs.

I am, dear Charles,

Ever yours.

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DXXXIX. — To Miss Perronet.

MY DEAR SISTER, Near LEEDS, August 6, 1775.

I BELIEVE my late illness has already answered many wise ends of Providence. It has been a blessing to me and to many others, — a fresh proof that God doeth all things well.

I doubt not but brother Wood and his fellow-laborer will be still zealous and active for God; and, if so, his work will surely increase at Sevenoaks and the Wells, as well as other places. Nay, I do not despair of poor Canterbury: It is not out of God’s reach.

I dreamed last night that the Spaniards were come, and were searching all houses, and putting men to the torture. But on a sudden they were vanished out of the land, I could not tell how. My Betsy should not think that I am ever so busy as not to have leisure to read and answer her letters. I think Philothea too, since I am alive again, should have written to me, either in verse or prose.

I am, my dear sister,

Your affectionate brother.