Wednesday, December 10, 1735

We sailed from Cowes, and in the afternoon passed the Needles. Here the ragged rocks, with the waves dashing and foaming at the foot of them, and the white side of the island rising to such a height, perpendicular from the beach, gave a strong idea of “Him that spanneth the heavens, and holdeth the waters in the hollow of His hand!”

Today I spoke closely on the head of religion, to one I had talked with once or twice before. Afterwards she said, with many tears, “My mother died when I was but ten years old. Some of her last words were, ‘Child, fear God; and though you lose me, you shall never want a friend.’ I have now found a friend when I most wanted and least expected one.”

From this day to the fourteenth, being in the Bay of Biscay, the sea was very rough. Mr. Delamotte and many others were more sick than ever; Mr. Ingham, a little; I, not at all. But the fourteenth being a calm day, most of the sick were cured at once.

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