Friday, April 16, 2010


Apr 16 1742: Being Good Friday, I was desired to call on one that was ill at Islington. I found there several of my old acquaintance, who loved me once as the apple of their eye. By staying with them but a little I was clearly convinced that was I to stay but one week among them (unless the providence of God plainly called me so to do), I should be as still as poor Mr. Stonehouse. I felt their words as it were thrilling through my veins. So soft! So pleasing to nature! It seemed our religion was but a heavy, coarse thing; nothing so delicate, so refined as theirs. I wonder any person of taste (that has not faith) can stand before them

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