is Maker as
before. The drunkard thirsted for his intoxicating cups and returned to
the scenes of his former dissipations; and the profligate, who avowed
himself a 'changed man,' when health was fully restored, laughed at
religion as a fancy, and hastened to wallow in the mire of pollution. He
had scarcely a particle of faith in sick-bed repentances, but believed
that in most instances they are solemn farces.

Deeply affecting and admonitory are some of the instances he records. He
says, 'One night an engineer called me out of bed to visit his wife, who
was attacked with cholera. While I was praying with _her_, _he_ was
seized with the complaint. I visited them again the next day, when the
woman died, but the husband, after a long affliction, recovered. He
seemed sincerely penitent and made great promises of amendment. But,
alas! like hundreds more whom I visited, he no sooner recovered, than he
sought to shun me. At length he left the part of the town where he
resided when I first visited him, as he said, "_to get out of my way_."
But at that time, I visited in all parts of the town, and I often met
him, and it used to pain me to see the dodges he had recourse to in
order to avoid meeting me in the street.'

He also records the case of a carter who resided in Collier Street. He
was attacked with small pox, and was horrible to look at and infectious
to come near, but being urged to visit him, 'I went to see him daily for
a long time,' says John. 'One day when I called I found him, his wife,
and child bathed in tears, for the doctor had just told them that the
husband and father would be dead in a few hours. We all prayed that God
would spare him, and spared he was. I continued to visit him thrice a
day, and he promised that he would accompany me to class when he got
better. At that time he seemed as though he would have had me ever with
him. One day, as I entered his room, he said, "O Mr. Ellerthorpe, how I
love to hear your foot coming into my house." I replied, 'Do you think
it possible that there will come a time when you will rather see any
one's face and hear any one's voice than mine?' "Never, no never," was
his reply. I answered, 'Well, I wish and hope it may never happen as I
have supposed.' Now, what followed? He went once to class, but I could
not attend that night, having to watch the tide, and he never went
again. I have seen him in the streets when he would go anywhere, or turn
down any passage, rather tha