SUNDAY MUSINGS. 201 



neither does nor wishes any man ill, conscience is but 

 the ashes of early prejudices raked together by a dis- 

 ordered imagination." 



' In the latter end of the autumn of this year (1822) I 

 wrought and resided at Pointzfield for several weeks. 

 My constitution is naturally delicate, and by building 

 in stormy weather on a wet marshy spot of ground, I 

 caught a severe cold which hung about me for several 

 weeks : I felt my strength wasting away : my breast 

 became the seat of a dull oppressive pain, and imagining 

 I was becoming consumptive, I began seriously to think 

 of death. So assured was I at this time of approaching 

 dissolution that even through the perspective of hope I 

 could only look forward on a few short months of life, 

 and, as I could not bring myself to doubt of a separate 

 existence of soul or of a judgment according to deeds 

 done in the body, I began seriously to think of a pre- 

 paration for death. But how was this preparation to be 

 made ? I knew prayer to be the only language by which 

 the sinner could intercede with the Deity for pardon ; 

 but then experience had shown me how unable I was of 

 myself to bring my mind into the frame of devotion, or 

 to preserve that frame unchanged when it was produced 

 by fear, disgust, and the mingling dictates of reason. 

 At length I bethought me of an expedient which I hoped 

 would preserve me from that falling off or apostatizing, 

 of which I had experience two years before; for 

 awakening the sincere fervency of feeling which my 

 expedient was to render lasting, I had before me the fear 

 of death. For the three previous years, when I had 

 freely and seriously pledged my word in a matter of 

 importance, to any of my brother men, I had a pride 

 of rigidly adhering to it. From this I concluded that, 

 were I to pledge myself to God by oath, I would have 



