Wednesday, August 30 1758

Came home in the morning about 6:20… 0h, how do I lament my misconduct! Sure I must be one of the worst of fellows, so often as I have been overtaken in liquor, that I still must remain so silly as I know even the smell of liquor almost makes me drunk–that I should have no more resolution. What shall I do? I am even as it were drove to distraction. It is true my trouble is very great in regard to family misunderstandings, that when I am a-drinking my thoughts are elevated to such a degree that I have no guard upon my actions, But still this is making that which is already too bad worse, and at the same time it is what I so much detest and abhor. Oh, how unhappy am I that I have no more resolution! How much greater is the glory to have a just command of one’s actions than all the knowledge in the world besides. Oh, how frail are mortal beings! How much do we stand in need of the divine assistance of grace, and how do we by our manifold transgressions grieve the Holy Spirit! Oh, the torments of a wounded conscience! How can I expect mercy that have so often broken my resolution of becoming a better Christian, and especially when I think of the goodness of God to me that I have never lost my life in such a condition? Let me ever and incessantly implore the divine grace to guide my weak and frail endeavors that I may overcome sin and that wicked one which too, ah! too plainly dwells in me. Oh, much should my meditation be taken up in meditating on and bewailing my sinful course of life. I hope I may yet with the assistance of divine grace one day conquer my unruly passions, for without that I am sensible I can do no good thing.

Dame Durrant dined with us on a hare roasted… My wife a-picking of hops for Joseph Fuller in the afternoon, and I drank tea at Mrs Weller’s. Oh, the insuperable burden of a wounded conscience!

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