Another convert may be mentioned here. Richard Hill (afterwards Sir Richard) was the eldest son of Sir Rowland Hill, the first baronet of a distinguished and ancient family. Richard was now twenty-seven years of age. From childhood, he had been blest with the strivings of God’s Holy Spirit, and of late had been unutterably anxious about his soul. He writes:— “About October, 1757, I set myself to work with all the earnestness of a poor perishing mariner, who is every moment in expectation of shipwreck. I fasted, prayed, and meditated. I read the Scriptures, communicated, and gave much alms. But these things brought no peace to my soul; on the contrary, I saw, what I had never seen before, that all my works were mixed with sin and imperfection. My terrors increased, insomuch that I could neither eat nor sleep, and did not think it possible for me to live a week. Everybody observed how ill I looked, and I had much ado to conceal the straits I was in from all about me. After having suffered in this manner a short time, I made my case known to a clergyman; but all he said to me—which indeed was not much to the purpose—had little or no effect. What to do I knew not. Alas! I had no acquaintance with any one who seemed to have the least experience in such a case as mine. Those about me showed the greatest concern for my situation, and offered their remedies for my relief, such as company, physic, and exercise, which, in order to oblige them, I complied with; but my disorder was not to be removed by these carnal quackeries. What I wanted was a skilful physician for my soul; but where to find such an one I knew not. “I recollected, however, that once, if not oftener, the Rev. Mr. Fletcher, then tutor to two neighbouring young gentlemen, had, in my hearing, been spoken of in a very disrespectful manner, for things which seemed to me to savour of a truly Christian spirit. I, therefore, determined to make my case known to him, and, accordingly, wrote him a letter, without mentioning my name, giving him some account of my situation, and begging him, for God’s sake, to meet me that very night at an inn at Salop, in which place I then was. Though Mr. Fletcher had four or five miles to walk, yet he came punctually to the appointment, spoke to me in a very comfortable manner, and gave me to understand that he had very different thoughts of my state from what I had myself. After our discourse, he went to prayer with me, and, among the other petitions that he put up in my behalf, he prayed that I might not trust in my own righteousness; an expression the import of which I scarcely knew.