narrative. By this time Dickory's speech began to falter, which his
sister observing, put him in mind that he would do well to make some
declaration of his faith and principles of religion, because some
reflections had been made upon him upon the account of his neglect, or
rather his refusal, to appear at any place of public worship.

"Dear sister," says he, "you observe very well, and I wish the
continuance of my speech for a few moments, that I might make an ample
declaration upon that account. But I find that cannot be; my speech
is leaving me so fast that I can only tell you that I have always
lived, and now die, an unworthy member of the ancient catholic and
apostolic church; and as to my faith and principles, I refer you to my
papers, which, I hope, will in some measure vindicate me against the
reflections you mention."

He had hardly finished his discourse to his sister and her two friends,
and given some short directions relating to his burial, but his speech
left him; and what makes the thing the more remarkable, it went away, in
all appearance, without giving him any sort of pain or uneasiness.

When he perceived that his speech was entirely vanished, and that he was
again in his original state of dumbness, he took his pen as formerly and
wrote to his sister, signifying that whereas the sudden loss of his
speech had deprived him of the opportunity to speak to her and her
friends what he intended, he would leave it for them in writing, and so
desired he might not be disturbed till the return of his fit, which he
expected in six hours at farthest. According to his desire they all left
him, and then, with the greatest resignation imaginable, he wrote down
the meditations following: