possesses their esteem, confidence, and affection, I determined to take a dismission from my pastoral relation, whenever I should discover such symptoms of unusefulness. This appeared to be the case, at the close of the year 1780, and accordingly I asked a dismission, on Lord's day, January 21, 1781. But my request was not granted, and I continued in tolerable peace, till the year 1784, when I again asked a dismission, on Lord's day, May 20. This request was also denied. In both these instances of asking a dismission, I acted with sincerity, and without any sensible sinister motives. No man, perhaps, felt more reluctance to leaving his people, than I did mine. I had cherished a warm and sincere attachment to them, and viewed them in general as the most intelligent, kind, and ministerial people I was ever acquainted with. And this attachment has never been destroyed, though sometimes weakened, by what I have deemed very unseemly and ungrateful conduct. But after all, I am apt to think, they have generally entertained too high an opinion of my abilities, and too low an opinion of my attachment to them. Here, however, we may have erred on both sides. Our feelings and opinions respecting each other will never be known, till the day arrives that will disclose the secrets of all hearts, and rectify all mistakes; and I am willing to refer all things to Him, who will judge without error and without partiality.

But I should be very ungrateful to God, if, after mentioning so many disagreeable things, I should pass over in silence some very happy circumstances, in the course of my ministry. From the time of my ordination to the year 1785, I seemed to labor in vain, and to spend my strength for nought. Though now and then an individual joined the church, yet there was no general and deep attention to divine things among my people. This was a matter of grief and discouragement. I began to despair of ever seeing any considerable success in my ministerial labors, and was brought to feel my entire dependence upon God for a revival of religion. While my mind was in this state, a serious attention to divine things began to appear in the second parish in Medway, which was contiguous to mine, about the middle of November, 1784. In the space of five or six weeks after this, the same serious attention began to spread in my congregation, which continued and increased till April or May, and did not wholly subside for above a year. It was indeed a glorious and solemn season. On the Sabbath, at lectures, and in conferences, the people in general were deeply affected. And though many had high exercises of mind, and were extremely impressed with lively views of eternal realities, yet no disturbance or irregularities occurred.

Those who entertained hopes of a saving change, never expressed any enthusiastic fervor or zeal, but manifested a sensible, rational, scriptural joy in God, and delight in religious duties. It could not be ascertained how many were really awakened and convinced. There was, however, an uncommon solemnity upon the minds of the people in general, so that there was no opposition made to the work, by scarcely a single person. There were about seventy who professed to entertain a hope of a saving change, though the whole of that number did not join our church. This revival of religion put a new face upon my congregation, and gave me new courage and zeal in my ministerial labors. Some who had been unfriendly became friendly, and many who had been friendly, became more and more attached to me. I believe I stood in a favorable light among all my people; though probably some were more displeased with my preaching, the more they understood and felt it. Not long after this revival, religion gradually declined among us, though the late converts retained as much life and vigor and zeal as could be expected, and generally gave convincing evidence that they had been savingly taught of God. But in February, 1794, God was pleased again to pour out his Spirit in a more than common measure, but not to so great a degree as in the former revival. It first appeared in one family, in which two or three were hopefully converted. But upon preaching a sermon in that family, the attention immediately and considerably spread; so that in the course of a few months, about thirty professed to find comfort, and finally made a public profession of religion. In consequence of these two spiritual harvests, my church was greatly enlarged, and continues to be the most numerous in this vicinity. At this time, January, 1806, there is awful coldness, and indifference, and stupidity prevailing, both in the church and congregation. On the whole, I have abundant reason to bless God, that he has given me to see so many displays of divine grace, and afforded me so much ground to hope, that I have been made the instrument of some saving benefit to the precious souls committed to my charge.

In my domestic concerns I have experienced uncommon favors and uncommon frowns of Providence. For more than two years, I enjoyed great comfort in my dear consort. She was a pattern of piety, prudence, condescension, benevolence, and cheerfulness. I never saw her in a passion. I never received an unkind expression from her lips. Whenever I returned from a journey, or even from a visit in the parish, she never failed to welcome me home by a smile on her countenance. I never knew an instance, in which she appeared designedly to give me a painful feeling. As she never meant to

displease me, so it seemed impossible to be displeased with her. Hence our affections, instead of abating with time, mutually strengthened and increased. Having received a pious education, she early imbibed a peculiar veneration for ministers, whom she loved to see, converse with, and entertain. Notwithstanding she had a slender constitution, and was frequently exercised with bodily infirmities, yet she was neither gloomy nor impatient, but always maintained a calm, serene, cheerful spirit. As I was born on the twentieth of April, 1745, ordained on the twenty-first of April, 1773, and married on the sixth of April, 1775, so our first child was born on the fourteenth of April, 1776. I proposed to name him after my grand-father, father, and one of my brothers; but my wife insisted upon calling him Nathanael, after my own name, to which, with some reluctance, I consented. In the next year, on June 23, 1777, we had another son born, whom we named Diodate Johnson, as a token of respect to the Reverend Diodate Johnson, of East Haddam, to whom I was under peculiar obligations of gratitude. Our happiness was now at the summit. We had two lovely children, and a fair prospect of a flourishing family. But we were preparing for peculiar trials and affliction. My dear wife never enjoyed a moment of health from the birth of her last child to her death. She soon fell into a decline, which terminated in a proper consumption, and put a period to her valuable life, June 22, 1778. This was a great and heavy loss. It is true, indeed, I had long anticipated the sorrowful event; but when the parting moment came, it was distressing above any thing I had either anticipated or endured. It cast a gloom over all things around me, and damped all my earthly prospects. Though her conduct before and in her sickness, gave me strong confidence that she was prepared to exchange this for a better world; yet this very circumstance served to increase the greatness of my loss, and the weight of my sorrow.

I was now in a situation very lonely, but not altogether disconsolate. My much respected mother-in-law, who was a pious and amiable woman, and who had resided with me during her daughter's decline, continued to reside with me, and perform the part of a tender mother to her little grand-children. These, at the same time, engrossed my attention and affections. The fondness I had entertained for their mother, I soon transferred to them, who became my idols, and the source of my greatest earthly comfort. They contributed to divert my mind and assuage my sorrows. They also raised my hopes of future felicity, in forming their minds, and preparing them to be useful in life; as they both appeared to possess a good degree of docility, and an amiable disposition. In this last particular, they manifested

something very singular. Though they were very nearly of an age, yet I never knew them to contend about the smallest trifles. They discovered the tender, kind, condescending disposition of their departed mother, which took a strong hold of my heart. I loved them to excess; and God saw it was not safe for them, nor for me, that they should long continue in my hands. About two months after their parent's decease, I took a journey to Braintree, whither I carried their grand-mother, and where I left her. I returned on Wednesday in the afternoon, when I found my eldest child sick of the dysentery. I was alone, and had nobody in the family but a hired man and maid. The care of the sick child chiefly devolved upon me, though not altogether. But on Friday my youngest child was seized with the same disorder, and would go to none but myself, if he could help it. I was now borne down with incessant attention to my children, and incessant concern for their lives. Their disorder increased every day, and became more and more alarming. On Monday the eldest fell into convulsion fits, and expired in extreme agonies, about one o'clock at night. His painful death deeply wounded my parental feelings; but I still had one gleam of hope left. My youngest child was just alive, and there was a bare possibility of his recovery; but before nine o'clock next morning, he also fell into convulsion fits, and died in the utmost anguish and distress. Thus, in one day, all my family prospects were completely blasted! My cup of sorrow was now filled to the brim, and I had to drink a full draught of the wormwood and the gall. It is impossible to describe what I felt. I stood a few moments, and viewed the remains of my two darlings, who had gone to their mother and to their long home, never to return. But I soon found the scene too distressing, and retired to my chamber, to meditate in silence upon my forlorn condition. I thought there was no sorrow like unto my sorrow. I thought my burden was greater than I could bear. I felt as though I could not submit to such a complicated affliction. My heart rose in all its strength against the government of God, and then suddenly sunk under its distress, which greatly alarmed me. I sprang up, and said to myself, I am going into immediate distraction; I must submit, or I am undone for ever. In a very few minutes my burden was removed, and I felt entirely calm and resigned to the will of God. I soon went down, attended to my family concerns, and gave directions respecting the interment of my children. I never enjoyed greater happiness in the course of my life, than I did all that day and the next. My mind was wholly detached from the world, and altogether employed in pleasing contemplation of God and divine things. I felt as though I could

follow my wife and children into eternity, with peculiar satisfaction. And for some time after my sore bereavements, I used to look towards the burying ground, and wish for the time when I might be laid by the side of my departed wife and dear little ones.

While I was thus under the correcting hand of Providence, I had great opportunity of gaining spiritual instruction. And though I was too stupid, yet I believe I learned some things, which I shall never forget, and for which I shall have reason always to bless God. I learned to moderate my expectations from the world, and especially from the enjoyment of children and earthly friends. I have scarcely ever thought of my present wife and children, without reflecting upon their mortality, and realizing the danger of being bereaved of them. And I have never indulged such high hopes concerning my present family, as I presumptuously indulged with respect to the family I have laid in the dust. I have likewise learned, by past painful experience, to mourn with them who mourn, and to weep with them who weep. I used to think before I was bereaved, that I heartily sympathized with the afflicted, at funerals; but I now know that I never entered into their feelings, and was a stranger to the heart of mourners. I now follow them into their solitary dwellings, and mourn with them after their friends and relatives have left and forgotten them. Their heaviest burden comes upon them while they are sitting alone, and reflecting upon the nature and consequences of their bereavements. This I now know was my case. How many painful hours did I experience in secret! And how many tears did I shed in silence! How dreary did my empty house appear! And how often did its appearance, after I had left it for a time, and returned to it, awaken afresh my past sorrows! The same causes, I am persuaded, have the same effects upon other mourners; and therefore I cannot easily forget them, nor cease to sympathize with them, in their solitary hours. In these, and various other respects, I have found it to have been good for me to bear the yoke in my youth.

In less than two years after my wife and two children died, I married a daughter of the Rev. Chester Williams, of Hadley. Her father died when she was young, and her mother married the Rev. Samuel Hopkins, D. D., the immediate successor of Mr. Williams. She was well educated by her father Hopkins, who treated her with truly paternal tenderness, both while her mother lived and after her decease. She then took the principal care of his numerous family, some of whom were quite young. This gave her an opportunity of becoming well acquainted with domestic concerns, and qualified her to pro