Fittleworth, 30 July 1840.
Dear W. B.,
Let me kindly ask you, Why are you so deadly silent? If the devil can bind you hand and foot, no doubt he will; but why believe him more than God's word? The Lord has put you into a desperate place, and you cannot get out of his hand; there is nothing left for you but prayer. Perhaps you are not aware that all who have been made partakers of mercy, and have at any time obtained any hope, have passed through the same sad place, and know the confusion that attends it. When I am travelling, and have lost my way, I ask somebody that knows the country to direct me; for I feel I dislike to have to go miles back for want of asking. But I believe the devil tells you it is no use; so he tells me, but I don't see it any use to believe his lies. Is it of use to know Christ, whom to know is eternal life? If you come to the borders of eternity (and you are not very far off), you will find you cannot face that without help. It will then appear whether you wanted Christ, or a name to live; why you left college, and why you hear Mr. Burrell, and why you allow me to write the truth to you. Trees do not always continue in blossom; corn does not always be in the ground; there must be a reaping time and an in-gathering. Take heed; we read, "The harvest is past, the summer is ended, and we are not saved." May the Lord help you.
Your affectionate friend, J. B.