and taking various rounds and turnings, I found myself at Stratford, in Essex, a few weeks before Christmas. And here I wandered after employ until my money was all gone again, and I was obliged to lodge under a hay-rick, at Lower Layton, in very cold frosty weather: and during this frost I was obliged to fast three whole days and three nights; and I think, had I fasted a little while longer, it would have put a final stop to my wandering. But God had designed me for other work; and grace was to appear when it was truly needful.

I have not mentioned the above circumstance with a view to move Envy to pity; no, if I can put her to shame, and stop her mouth, it is all that I expect. I have mentioned it chiefly to let my friends know that I had in a measure paid for my folly before they began to pay me off with the scourge of the tongue. After that long fast, Providence opened a door for me to get bread. I went to work in digging up potatoes, in the company of threescore Irishmen, and wrought for a farmer whose name was Moles.

The next wandering motion took me to Danbury, where I worked till I fell sick, as is related in my Bank of Faith. From thence I went to Malden, and from thence back to Danbury; from thence to Chelmsford; from thence to Billericay; from thence to Hornden on the Hill; from thence to Tilbury Fort, and over to Graves

end; and from thence to Greenhithe, where I got work, at making a new kitchen-garden for a gentleman, whose name was Colcraft.

And now I have brought my reader to the very spot where this wretched name first took its rise; and I intend to be as punctual as possible in the recital of it, that every word may be established.

Having got work at Greenhithe, I walked out by myself, and considered matters in the following manner:-I said, 'I am in danger here -this place is not above twenty-eight miles from the place where that little son and heir of mine lives, that has caused me all this wandering.—I am now going to work not far from the main road that leads to the town from whence I came

-I shall certainly be seen by somebody, who will gladly report the matter.-If I could have paid the quarterly money, I would not have left my native place, which was at that time so dear to me.-And, had I but clothes now, fit to be seen in, and money in my pocket, I would most gladly go back to my native place, and discharge the whole affair; but this ague following me perpetually, will render it an impossibility for me ever to appear decently clothed, or able to pay the money.-But is there any hope of marrying the woman?-No.-The father refusedthe overseers refused-and the magistrates refused. And, if the father denied me his daughter

when I was well dressed, and had a little money, will he consent now, seeing I am all in rags?No; there is no ground of hope there. And suppose the officers were to come after me-I have no money.-True; but, according to the report of some, there is such a thing as lying in jail a whole year. Well, be it so that confinement would not be much worse than my present liberty. But then consider how you would be dragged about from one Justice of peace to another, in your present dishabille; and what a figure you would make in all your ragged tattered condition! True-that indeed would be worse than death itself; there is no ground for hope here; therefore the best step that I can take is, to keep out of the way-No catch me, no have me. And, if ever I should get up and prosper in the world, I will carry the money down, and pay it off with honour. But, alas! here is another evil started; and that is, I am informed that people advertise the names of persons on such occasions, and promise a reward to the informer; and, if this should be the case, there are enough that would bear tidings for ten shillings, if not for ten pence. This, said I, is a weighty point, and ought to be well considered. And, if I change my name, I fear there is danger in it. Here I need both counsel and caution which course to steer, so as to escape all these dangers. My parent's name is Hunt, and the

man who is my real father, his name is Russel. -But then he has got sons in good circumstances, and they may sue me for assuming his name, though their father never disowned me.— If I change my name, the law may follow me for that; and, if I let the present name stand, I may by that be traced by means of the newspapers. There is but one way for me to escape, and that is by an addition; an addition is no change, and addition is no robbery.' This is the way that iniquity creeps out of so many human laws. When the thoughts of an addition started up, 'Well thought on,' said I, 'it is i, n, g, t, o, n, which is to be joined to H, u, n, t,; which, when put together, make Huntington.' And thus matters were settled without being guilty of an exchange, or of committing a robbery; for the letters of the alphabet are the portion of every And from that hour it was settled; nor did I ever make a single blunder for any body to find it out. The wisdom and assiduity that I shewed in the contrivance and quick dispatch of this business, are a sharp reproof to the sluggishness of my informers; for there are some hundreds of them that have been labouring for years in pulling this name to pieces, and they have not removed one letter of it yet; when I, though a very indifferent compiler, fixed it in less than an hour.

man.

With this name I was born again, and with

this name I was baptized with the Holy Ghost; and I will appeal to any man of sense, if a person has not a just right to go by the name that he was born and baptized with.—I had no name before my first birth; the name was conferred on me afterwards; but I had the name of Huntington before I was conceived the second time, and was born again with it: and thus "old things are passed away, behold, all things are become new."-But there are some who want to patch an old name on a new creature, which they have no express command from God for.

I suppose my reader is desirous of knowing whether my first-born son be alive or not; to which I answer, Yes, he is; and, if God should enable me, I intend, when I can spare a little money, to take a present in my hand, and go down and see my son before I die. He is, I believe, at this time in the twenty-second year of his age, and lives with a reputable farmer at Tenterden, eight miles from Cranbrook, in the Weald of Kent: and those, who pretend to be skilful in family likenesses, say that he is so exact a copy of his father, both in humour and in person, that it is impossible the image of the parent can be extinct while the son liveth. What name he goes by I know not, nor have I had time to inquire, I have had so much to do about my own.

But perhaps my reader may desire to know