y conscience told me that had I succeeded in this attempt I should
probably have gone to hell.

I could find no relief, nor the least shadow of comfort; the extreme
distress of my mind so affected my health that I continued very ill for
three Days, and Nights; and would admit of no means to be taken for my
recovery, though my lady was very kind, and sent many things to me; but
I rejected every means of relief and wished to die--I would not go into
my own bed, but lay in the stable upon straw--I felt all the horrors of
a troubled conscience, so hard to be born, and saw all the vengeance of
God ready to overtake me--I was sensible that there was no way for me to
be saved unless I came to _Christ_, and I could not come to Him: I
thought that it was impossible He should receive such a sinner as me.

The last night that I continued in this place, in the midst of my
distress these words were brought home upon my mind, _"Behold the Lamb
of God."_ I was something comforted at this, and began to grow easier
and wished for day that I might find these words in my bible--I rose
very early the following morning, and went to my school-master, Mr.
Vanosdore, and communicated the situation of my mind to him; he was
greatly rejoiced to find me enquiring the way to Zion, and blessed the
Lord who had worked so wonderfully for me a poor heathen.--I was more
familiar with this good gentleman than with my master, or any other
person; and found myself more at liberty to talk to him: he encouraged
me greatly, and prayed with me frequently, and I was always benefited by
his discourse.

About a quarter of a mile from my Master's house stood a large
remarkably fine Oak-tree, in the midst of a wood; I often used to be
employed there in cutting down trees, (a work I was very fond of) I
seldom failed going to this place every day; sometimes twice a day if I
could be spared. It was the highest pleasure I ever experienced to set
under this Oak; for there I used to pour out all my complaints to the
LORD: and when I had any particular grievance I used to go there, and
talk to the tree, and tell my sorrows, as if it had been to a friend.

Here I often lamented my own wicked heart, and undone state; and found
more comfort and consolation than I ever was sensible of
before.--Whenever I was treated with ridicule or contempt, I used to
come here and find peace. I now began to relish the book my Master gave
me, Baxter's _Call to the unconverted_, and took