Sunday 24. Mr. Murry, preached from _Numbers xxiii. 10_. _Let me die the death of the righteous_, &c. O may I not only die his death, but also live his life; for indeed ’tis impossible to do the former, unless we first do the latter. Saturday 30. Mr. F――――l, in the evening preached on _John xx. 19_. _Peace be unto you._ Tho’ I was much tempted with drowsiness under the word, yet some parts of it were greatly blest to me. He afterwards met the society, and told them, that in several places both in this round, and others, numbers were convinced and brought to Christ. O may I be one! “Into that happy number, Lord, A weary sinner take, Jesus, fulfil thy gracious word, For thy own mercy’s sake.” Sunday 31. I spent the morning in reading the eight last chapters of _Romans_, and Mr. _Wesley_’s notes upon them. Indeed I think they are a most beautiful part of the scripture. O that they and every other part of that holy book may be written upon my heart. Sunday, April 7. Was Easter-day. I was prevented from hearing the sermon by a violent tooth-ach. O how many pains are we subject to while in this mortal life! But when this mortal shall put on immortality, what a glorious change shall we undergo? _Lord, let this change pass upon me, and to that end let me now rise from a death of sin unto a life of righteousness._ “Thy resurrection’s power impart, And rise triumphant in my heart.” Thursday 11. At noon, we had the pleasure of the Rev. Mr. _John Wesley_’s company to dinner; and in the evening he preached on _Jeremiah viii. 22_. _Is there no balm in Gilead_, &c. His conversation was very edifying, and God blest it to my poor soul. Friday 12. At five in the morning, Mr. _Wesley_ preached on _Psalms lxxxiv. 1_. _How amiable are thy tabernacles, O Lord of hosts._ At night we took leave of him, and of my uncle, aunt, and Mrs. L――――. These at one in the morning set out for _Liverpool_, and he at five for _Newcastle-upon-Tyne_. Sunday 14. I found my mind much oppressed with perplexing thoughts concerning my dear parents. But why, O my soul, dost thou suffer these anxious cares to oppress thy troubled breast? Is not the God who gave me these tender parents at liberty to take them from me? And is he not able to raise me up friends in their room? Besides, this is caring for the morrow. Is it not time enough to make myself uneasy when the trial comes, without anticipating what may never be? Then, O my soul, trust thou in God: for he will be the help of my countenance, and my God. Saturday 20. I was all this day in a fretful frame, which I too much yielded to. O God, give me power over this, and every other easily besetting sin.