O England, England! will this reproach never be rolled away from thee? Is there anything like this to be found, either among Papists, Turks, or heathens? In the name of truth, justice, mercy, and common sense I ask, 1) Why do men lie for lying sake? Is it only to keep their hands in? What need else of saying it was the port of London when everyone knew the brandy was landed above three hundred miles from thence? What a monstrous contempt of truth does this show, or rather hatred to it! 2) Where is the justice of swelling four pounds into five hundred and seventy-seven? 3) Where is the common sense of taking up fourteen sheets to tell a story that may be told in ten lines? 4) Where is the mercy of thus grinding the face of the poor? thus sucking the blood of a poor, beggared prisoner? Would not this be execrable villainy if the paper and writing together were only sixpence a sheet, when they have stripped him already of his little all and not left him fourteen groats in the world?

Sunday, 5. -- Believing one hindrance of the work of God in York was the neglect of field-preaching, I preached this morning at eight, in an open place near the city walls. Abundance of people ran together, most of whom were deeply attentive. One or two only were angry and threw a few stones; but it was labor lost; for none regarded them.

Sunday, 12. -- I had appointed to be at Haworth; but the church would not nearly contain the people who came from all sides. However, Mr. Grimshaw had provided for this by fixing a scaffold on the outside of one of the windows, through which I went after prayers, and the people likewise all went out into the churchyard. The afternoon congregation was larger still. What has God wrought in the midst of those rough mountains!