_London, December 1, 1767._
_Dear Sir_,
_QUANTUM mutatus ab illo!_ As you now do not suffer outwardly, I expect
to hear that you suffer inwardly. Nothing else can preserve you this
winter season, or prepare you for another spring. A spring, I trust,
you will yet have. Then shall poor _Sampson_’s locks grow again, and
he be revenged of the _Philistines_ for the loss of his eyes. Surely
you have been wrong advised. _Exitus acta probat._ If you chuse to
have our correspondence continued, write your whole heart; it may help
to unload it. I shall not upbraid; though I do not expect letters now
will smell of the divine fire as formerly. Well, if they smell of the
prison of humiliation, by and by they may regain their usual and more
solid permanent fervor. But, _facilis descensus Averni_.――You meet
like apostles now; but when they met between the time of their LORD’s
death and resurrection, what trouble did they endure, for fear of the
_Jews_? But be not discouraged. Continue instant in prayer. A risen, an
ascended JESUS will yet appear in the midst of you, (though the doors
of your hearts may be now shut) renew your commission, endue you with
power from on high; and then, woe be to the _Jewish_ sanhedrim. O think
of this, ye little college of cast-outs! Do not deny him in any wise.
You see I write to you out of the fulness of my heart. The LORD bless
you and keep you; the LORD lift up the light of his countenance upon
you, and be gracious unto you; the LORD cause his face to shine upon
you, and then, but not till then, will you have peace.
Yours, &c. &c.
_G. W._
_P. S._ Dear Mr. ―――― must hear from me next. GOD bring all your souls
out of prison. Amen and amen.