but Israel shall thy name be called, Gen. xxxii. 28; again, "but thy name shall be called Abraham: and again, but she shall be called Sarah, Gen. xvii. 15; and again," thou art Simon the son of Jona, thou shalt be called Cephas," John i. 42. And, for my part, I cannot find that any man's name is fixed by a divine mandate, except God's shall is prefixt to it. I only drop this by the way, just to let my honest accusers know that there is refuge in scripture, as well as "hope in Israel concerning this thing;" though I do not intend to exculpate my offence by taking shelter here; because I know that my honest railers will reply that a man ought to regard the laws of his country, which is true; but, if a man breaks through a precept, which he is ignorant of both in judgment and conscience, you know that God allows an atonement for the sin of ignorance; and I think no law ought to be made to contradict those of the divine Legislator. If there are such laws, they will not be obeyed by my reader, if he be a Christian. There never was a martyr that suffered but what might have saved his life by some law or other: but, by transgressing the laws of their country, they kept their conscience to God.

But enough of this-I must go on in relating this dreadful circumstance, and that without any hope of reward for my honest relation; for envy allows of no praise; no, not even to grace itself.

The wise man asks, "Who is able to stand before envy?" and, if there is no standing in her presence, no good name can exist in her bosom.

It has been often observed that, as soon as I have delivered a discourse, some poor souls, that have been refreshed, have stepped up to some, who have appeared to be masters in Israel, with, 'How did you like the preacher?' The master's reply was, I should like him better if he had not changed his name.' The others have often laboured to justify me in this dreadful crime, by asserting that I went by the name of my proper father. Neither of these spoke truth; nor is it in the power of all my friends to wash this poor Ethiopian clean; and the reason is, because God himself has washed him; and I believe, too, keeps him clean in the eyes of some.

As I found that envy made the worst of a good matter, and charity the best of a bad one; in order to silence the former, and inform the latter, I said I would publish it myself; and that I also would shew my opinion, Job xxxii. 10; which I hope will be sufficient, as I am well known to be both an eye and an ear witness from the beginning; hoping likewise that this publication will take off one great part of my present useless labour; for when I am called by Providence to go into any strange place to preach, I have no sooner dismounted the rostrum, but a whole tribe of my master's children, like a

flight of doves, come down hovering about my name; informing me of the comfort they have got by reading my experience, and now in hearing me preach. But that the Rev. Mr. Somebody robbed them of all their comfort by a long and dreadful account, not about my person, nor about my wicked life, but about my name. Here I have had an hour's hard labour to unriddle this mystery to them; and, while I have been satisfying these poor souls with respect to my name, the fowls mentioned in the gospel, Matt. xiii. 4, have stolen away all the seed that I had endeavoured to sow in their hearts;-and thus the devil has gained a trifle by this name. But, as the name is of my own raising, I am determined to forestal his market, and make a penny of it myself. As for the devil's children, they are rich enough: and none, I think, can be offended at me for getting a trifle by my own name, for surely I have as just a right to gain by trading as he has.

When I have given an exact account of this puzzling mystery, I shall endeavour to appeal to all sorts of courts for justification; and, if any of my friends in disguise can point out any statute, divine or moral, that brings me in guilty either of death or of bonds, I hope they will point it out to me in answer to this, that I may have an opportunity of casting the lot on him for whose cause this storm is come upon us. So

much for the history and introduction;-now for the mystery and explication of this name.

Be it known, therefore, to all those to whom these informations shall come greeting, that, when I left Cranbrook, I went to Tunbridge Wells, where I first got into work; and after that I engaged with a man who kept a hearse and mourning coaches; but when the season was over I fell sick, and left my place; and, as money failed, I was obliged to lie in a stable with the ague and fever, until God was pleased to restore me to health, which happened just as the last half-guinea was called for by the doctor. After my recovery a person gave me a shilling; and with that sum I went to Lewes in Sussex the first day, from thence to Brighthelmstone, from thence to Shoreham, and crossed the Ferry from the sign of the Woolpack to Broadwater at twelve o'clock at night; and then, for the want of money, I lay down under a hedge. In the morning I arose, and walked to Arundel, where I got work, and wrought for a few days, and lodged with my master, who seemed very fond of me, and much pleased with my work; but, heart and head found no settlement, there was no settlement for my feet; and therefore it came suddenly into my mind one night, just before bed-time, to set out for Chichester. My master tried to dissuade me from it, but in vain; my head was at work, and my feet must work

as my

also; so I reckoned with my master, and I think I had a shilling and some few halfpence to take. With that stock I went to Chichester, and arrived at the city gates between eleven and twelve o'clock; but, as they were shut, I went into a field, in which was a hovel, and in that hovel there was a cart, into which I got, and slept till four o'clock in the morning; and then I arose, with little, and not much more feeling than a corpse. By the time I had recovered the use of my limbs the city gates were open, and into the city I went, walking about it as long as I thought proper, and then I refreshed myself with the shilling that I had saved. And with a few halfpence I set off, with an intent to come to London, which was no more than sixty-two miles: but, when I came to Guildford, I was in à great strait-I was cold, weary, and faint; my money was all gone; and I had nothing that I could part with but a very good handkerchief, which I gave to a woman that kept the sign of the Blue Anchor, just at the foot of the bridge, for one pint of beer, two pennyworth of bread ́and cheese, and a night's lodging. And on the strength of that supper I arrived the next day at Epsom, where I got work, and stayed for some months; when another wandering fit took me, and I then set off to Knockwell Beaches, adjacent to River-head in Kent, where I wrought a little while. After my departure from thence,