The Life of Mrs. Mary Fletcher - Part the Second

HER REMOVAL TO LAYTONSTONE.

 

I experienced daily more and more of the tender care of the Almighty; and often felt these words with power:-

 

"No fondest parent's anxious breast

Yearns like thy God's to make thee blest."

 

Every want was supplied before I could ask it; - nay, many times before I was conscious of the want. My maid was but dull and ignorant, though a good girl; and I knew little more of the world than she did, having been used to so different a way of life. My health, and many concerns, needed a care that I did not know how to take. But if at any time such an idea would offer to my mind, I checked it in a moment with that thought,-I have the Gospel: I have freedom to serve God: I have spiritual blessings. What more can I need? And truly I rather saw than felt my wants. Nevertheless, now and then I have said, Would not a steady faithful friend be a great advantage to me? One who could lead me into a deeper acquaintance with God? But I sought it not: all my cares on him were cast, and in his will I found my resting place, and in quietness and confidence was my strength.

 

At this juncture I received a letter from Mrs. Ryan, informing me she was coming up to London. She had left Bristol Room some lime before, her health not permitting her to continue in that place. She informed me she was settled, in a lodging, but she saw it her duty to come up to London a few months for my sake; "for I reap (said she) of your substance, and so do many; but the Lord shows me that at present you suffer for the want of a friend, (referring to what I had written to her,) and I think he has ripened and confirmed that solid spark of friendship, which was so long ago kindled in our breasts towards each other. It seems to me as if the Lord had laid your burden on me, as he once committed the care of Mary to Joseph, and afterward to the favorite disciple." She concluded:-

 

"Jesus, to thy preserving care

My choicest blessing I commend;

Receive, and on thy bosom bear

The soul whom thou hast made my friend."

 

I spread my friend's letter before the Lord, and praised him for laying my burden on the heart of one whom I knew to be a favorite of Heaven. I answered that I should be very glad to see her. She had not been long at her sister's before she was seized with a violent disor­der, which we thought would end in death. I visited her often, and with much profit. Mrs. M. being taken ill also, and only one servant to attend them both, I believed it my duty to be with her night and day; and the Lord gave me such strength and ability for it as I had never found before. I felt his peculiar smile on my employ­ment those words which bad formerly made such an impression on my mind were now continually before me:-

 

"O that ray Lord would count me meet

To wash his dear disciples' feet;

After my lowly Lord to go,

And wait upon his saints below;

Enjoy the grace to angels given,

And serve the royal heirs of heaven."

 

As she slept little, we conversed much; and our hearts were united as David's and Jonathan's. The spirit of community which reigned in the Church at Jerusalem I felt a taste of; and from that time to her death, the cold words of mine and thine were never known between us. A circumstance which now occurred unexpectedly con­strained her to remove. I took her home with me, but not till I had inquired of the Lord, well knowing how much the progress of the Divine life depends on our pri­vate connections. Unless much caution is used between persons living together, they are often a great hindrance to each other.

After a time the Lord was pleased to restore her to health; and having one heart, one mind, and one purse we agreed that one habitation also would be most profitable. The Lord had given us to feel that union which even death itself could not dissolve. I have often thought on those words of Solomon, "A faithful friend is the medicine of life; and he that fears the Lord shall find him." Some however objected: "Your income is as yet but small; you wish to be useful; why then did you not choose, as a friend, one who had some fortune to unite with your own, and that might have enlarged your sphere." I answered, I did not choose at all. I stood still, saw, and followed the order of God. And if my means had been enlarged in money, and lessened in grace, what should I have gained by that? I acknowledge I neither gained honor, gold, nor indulgence to the flesh, by uniting myself to a sickly persecuted saint; but I gained such a spiritual helper as I shall eternally praise God for. Many are the advocates of friendship. Many will say, with Dr. Young,

 

"Poor is the friendless master of a world.

A world in purchase for a friend is gain."

 

But they refuse the sacrifice demanded by that friendship, and forget the following lines:-

 

"But for whom blossoms this elysian flower?

Can gold gain friendship? Impudence of hope!

As well mere man an angel might beget.

Love, and love only, is the loan for love.

Delusive pride repress,-

Nor hope to find a friend, but who hath found

A friend in thee."

 

We continued together at Hoxton some time. When I was about twenty-three, the people of Laytonstone were much laid on my mind. I had both my birth and maintenance from that place, and I could not help thinking I owed something to their souls. Yet I saw the way very difficult. My parents permitted me to be often with them, and seemed pretty well reconciled to my manner of life, while at a distance. But how, thought I, will it appear in their eyes to bring the preachers they so much object to, within a mile of their house? I thought I should not now be called to offend them any farther. Cannot the Lord, if he sees good, send the Gospel to those people some other way? Thus I put it from my mind again and again; yet a strange love for those souls in that place would spring up in my heart; and when I said, Lord, send by whom Thou wilt send, but not by me! those words again presented themselves, "He that loveth father or mother more than me, is not worthy of me."

 

About this time a house of my own at Laytonstone became untenanted. My friend as well as myself saw many reasons for our removing to that place. We prayed much about it, and I asked the Lord to show us clearly his will; and at length felt from the Lord, first, a liberty to believe that if my father did absolutely forbid my coming, I was not required to do it. Secondly, I knew God did not require impossibilities: I had not yet an income sufficient for living in that place. I asked, there­fore, as a farther mark, the settling an affair which kept me out of part of my fortune, occasioned by a flaw in the making of my grandmother's will. I had taken some pains about this affair before, but to no purpose. However, I slightly mentioned it again, and it was settled directly. Then I made known to my father my thought about living at Laytonstone. I used no deception; but told him plainly the end I proposed in so doing, my mother being present. He made not the least objection, only added with a smile, "If a mob should pull your house about your ears, I cannot hinder them." We waited before the Lord, believing it was his call, and held ourselves in readiness for immediate obedience. One night I dreamed I was in one of my houses there, in company with all kinds of people, rich and poor, most of whom appeared very ungodly. It was strongly impressed on my mind to speak to them, but I started from the thought, and said, with emotion, Lord, what do I here among this people;  for they are not thy people, and what am I to do with them? I then beheld the Lord Jesus stand as just before me. The awful majesty of his presence had such an effect on me as I cannot express! It seemed to me I sunk down before him as if I were sweetly melting into nothing. I saw no shining brightness, or any thing dazzling to the eye. He appeared only as a man clothed in white; yet to my mind there was what I cannot put into words. It was a sense of his purity! It was the glory of holiness which so overcame me! There seemed but about one yard distance between my Savior and. me-when he spoke, with a voice clear and distinct, these words: "I will send thee to a people that are not a people, and I will go with thee. Bring them unto me, for I will lay my hand upon them, and heal them. Fear not, only believe!"

 

When the immediate presence of my Lord was with­drawn, I thought that I repeated with tears to the people what he had spoken to me. Many mocked and derided; but a few expressed a desire of being separated from the others to hear the word. I endeavored to find a place to meet them in, and in order to do so, I was constrained to walk over a piece of building, where the floor did not seem thicker than a wafer. When I had passed it, I looked back, and said, Not a splinter has given way under my feet. Turning my face toward the lane, I saw a funeral, and awaked with that word powerfully applied, The mouth of the Lord hath spoken it. I found myself in a sweet delightful peace. Soul and body seemed all attracted into a Divine harmony. When sufficiently come to myself to speak, I told sister Ryan, (who slept with me,) all that had passed. She replied: "This night, both sleeping and waking, I have been much occupied with these words: I will go before you, and humble the great ones of the earth."

 

This was in the year sixty-three. On March the 24th, the same year, we removed to Laytonstone. From the first hour we found much of the presence of God; and stood still to see his salvation. In order to supply the want of public means, (which we could not have but when we went to London,) we agreed to spend an hour every night together in spiritual reading and prayer. A poor woman, with whom I had formerly talked, came to ask if she might come in when we made prayer? We told her, at seven every Thursday night she should be welcome. She soon brought two or three more, and they others, till in a short time our little company increased to twenty-five. One night, just before the time of meeting, a poor woman called with a basket of cakes to sell. On our refusing to buy any, she stood still a long time at the gate. We began to converse with her about her soul, when she expressed a great desire to stay to the meeting; and in so doing was so greatly blessed, that she would fain have left us part of her goods in return. We now thought it would be well to converse with each in particular, and that the time was come for it. Some few were offended, and came no more; but most appeared under conviction, and those we appointed to meet on Tuesday night, re­serving the Thursday for the public meeting, which still kept increasing, and in which we read a chapter, and sometimes spoke from it.

 

The first time we met on Tuesday night two were set at liberty. We now thought it expedient to apply to Mr. Wesley for a preacher. He approved our plan, and sent Mr. Murlin the next Sunday; and within a fortnight we had twenty-five joined in society. Much opposition now arose from all sides, (though more from the rich than the poor,) and one Thursday night, as I was speaking to a pretty large company in my own kitchen, the bell at the fore gate was rung very hard. Our servant, who was a pious woman, went to see who was there. In the meantime four shabby looking men, with great sticks in their hands, came in at the back door, and so into the kitchen. The servant soon returned with some emotion, and whispered me: "It is Mr. W., who is come to inform you, you must if you please break off, for here is a great mob coming; and the ringleaders are four men with clubs." Turning to the people, I answered her aloud, "O, we do not mind mobs, when we are about our Mas­ter's business." Greater is he that is for us, than all that can be against us. I then went on till I had concluded my subject. Having a few of the rules of the society which I intended to disperse that night, I addressed my­self first to the four men, who stood before me, explain­ing what they were, and asked if they would choose to accept one? They received them with a respectful bow, and went out. Who they were, and what was their purpose, I know not to this day. We heard no more of the mob. At this time the hand of the Lord was much with us, supporting and comforting us under every trial. There was only my friend Ryan, myself, the maid, and Sally Lawrence, a child about four years old, whom I had just before taken from the side of her mother's coffin into our house. On one side it was open to the forest, and I know not that one of the awakened people lived within a mile of us. We were as on a desert alone; but the Lord was with us, and preserved us beneath his love's almighty shade. The enemy came, however, to the length of his chain. Sometimes on Sundays, when the nights were dark, after the society meeting, a mob used to collect at the gate, and throw dirt at the people as they went out; and when they were gone, they used to come into the yard, break some trifles they found there, and putting up their faces to a window which had no shutters, roar and howl like wild beasts.

 

And now another dispensation was opening before us. From the time I was seventeen, some drawing toward the care of children had dwelt on my mind. I felt the same desire now as at that time to become in every sense a servant to the Church. Those words were still with me: "If she have lodged strangers; if she have brought up children; if she have relieved the afflicted; and diligently followed after every good work." Yet I was truly sensible no work was good but as being done in the will and the order of God. We therefore entreated the Lord to dis­cover to us all his sacred will from day to day, and not suffer us in any degree to err therefrom. Various leadings of Providence, both inward and outward, drew us to think of the rising generation with more than common tenderness. Our abilities were small; yet perhaps a few children we could educate, without interrupting the order of God in our call toward the grown people. We determined, however, to take none but destitute orphans, that no one might interrupt our plan of education. We were not unconscious that to change the heart belongs to God, but at the same time we remembered there was a blessing promised to "the training up a child in the way it should go," and that a degree of knowledge, with a capacity of getting their bread in an honest way, has, under God, rescued many from destruction. Some such objects now presented themselves, and we received them, one after another, in the name of the Lord. We however, refused many, taking only those concerning whom there appeared a particular call of Providence.

 

For a good while, our family consisted of one servant, six orphans, and ourselves; but we found it took up too much of our time to have the whole care of them alone; especially as my friend Ryan was often confined by illness. We therefore took a pious young woman, named Ann Tripp, who desired to devote herself to God, in a closer walk than the generality of believers. She was placed as governess over the children, whose number continued to increase. Some serious women were also added to our household, and each had their duties and employ­ments assigned them. In the whole we received thirty-five children, and thirty-four grown persons, but not all at one time.

 

We now found work enough on our hands, and wished to free ourselves from all needless cares. As well, there­fore, to answer that end, as to avoid conformity to the world, we thought it best to have but one dress. We fixed on a dark purp1e cotton, of which we had many pieces stamped; and ourselves with the whole family wore nothing else. We had a large hall, and in it a table five yards long, at which we ate together. There also we assembled for morning and evening devotion, and on several other occasions. But, in general, the children were in the nursery, and the other sisters in their own apartments.

 

When my family began thus to increase, I must ac­knowledge it was by no means proportionate to my income, but it appeared to me I had a peculiar call from the Lord to take the steps I did; and we began with a degree of the same spirit which is expressed in a book entitled, "The Footsteps of Divine Providence;" giving an account of the orphan house at Halle, in Germany, raised by Professor Francke.

 

This plan I would advise none to follow, unless they felt what I did; for certainly justice goes before charity; and there is very seldom a real call from God to give more than we have. But it must be observed, though my income was inadequate to the undertaking, I had a consider­able capital. So that I was not at present in danger of debt. The risk I ran was, of spending my capital, and being left without a maintenance. But the Lord seemed to assure me I should not thus be deserted, and that by many and various ways.

 

We now set ourselves to inquire of the Lord, how we should train up these children to his glory: and a few out of many reflections which occurred to my mind, I will en­deavor to set down. But I must observe, first, as most of our children were naked, full of vermin, and some af­flicted with distempers, the first thing was to clean and clothe them, and attend to their health; which usually was followed with much success. At the same time, we

endeavored to bring them to an outward conformity of manners to the rules of the house, and to some courtesy of behavior. This was not difficult, as a child naturally falls in with what it sees in others. The second attempt was, to fix on their minds that we had no motives in re­ceiving them into our house, but that of love; love to their souls and bodies. We wished to save their bodies from misery, and their souls from eternal destruction.

 

With respect to the strangers, we endeavored to lead them to a view of the love of God, observing it was his love which caused ours. He put it into our heart, he brought them in our way, and from his hand came their every blessing. That the end of the Lord in bringing them into our house, was to learn that great truth that they should never die. Their bodies must die, and rest in the grave; but they themselves would be forever alive, and hear, see, think, and know; feel pleasure, or pain, and that forever. We inculcated that the end of their earning this lesson was to make them happy, and prevent their being miserable, since in a very short space of time they must enter into the one or the other state, and that to all eternity.

 

We continually impressed on the minds of the children, that the only way to be happy was to be like God; to love what he loved, and to hate what he hated; but that was not their present state. They were now like the devil, and loved what he loved. If they were injured, they loved to revenge, and could hardly forget the offence anyone offered them. When angry, they would cry and sob, and be almost choked; but when did they find themselves so affected in thinking about the Lord Jesus? Did his love and sufferings come again and again to their mind, so that they could not forget them? And when did they cry and sob, because they Lad sinned against so good a God? It was plain, therefore, they were as yet the devil's children, and their minds and affections obeyed him only. We there­fore declared, that whenever we saw these marks of the devil's power on their hearts, we would tell them of it; but if they would still obey him rather than God, we would then add unto our words correction; making them feel pain, that the impression might be strong, and more last­ing; and that they must never resent nor resist those corrections, for it was more painful for us to give, than it could be for them to receive them. But seeing it was for their profit, and our duty to do it, they must take each correction not only with patience, but thankfulness; for we should make it a point of conscience, never to correct, or even to contradict them, but with consideration and prayer, having always that lesson before our eyes,

 

"That mercy I to others show,

That mercy show to me."

 

Nor were these observations altogether without fruit; for I do not remember one child I ever had, that if we ordered her to receive correction by the rod, (which was not often,) would not lie down in silence as a lamb, and afterward, yea, immediately after, come and kiss us. We observed, that all our instructions would avail them nothing, unless their hearts were changed; and that none but Jesus Christ could do that; but he was ready and willing, and assuredly would do it, if they cried to him for it.

 

From the above hints, various occasions presented to point out the nature of salvation through Christ alone, and the necessity of a renewed nature, in order to be ca­pable of the enjoyment of heaven.

 

One day a little beggar girl, whom we had taken in about a week before, showed some of the vicious disposi­tions which had been nursed up in her by evil company. On repetition, she received correction. When the children were alone, (as they thought,) she began to complain of her hard fate, saying, "If they love us, why do they whip us?" A little one about six years old replied, "Why, it is because they love us, and it is to make us remember what a sad thing sin is; and God would be angry with them if they did not do so. Do you not remember the chapter my mistress read about Eli? Indeed I had various proofs that it is not so hard a thing to convince the judgment of children as some may think; and a right judgment is a good step toward right affections.

 

As we intended them to work for their bread, either as servants or in little trades, we endeavored as early as possible to inure them to labor, early rising, and cleanliness. The eldest of the children arose between four and five, the younger not much later. At half an hour after six we had family prayer. At seven, we breakfasted to­gether on herb tea, or milk porridge. The small children then went into the garden till eight. At eight the bell rang for school, which continued till twelve. Then, after a few minutes spent in prayer, they came down to us; at which time we either walked out with them, or, if the weather did not permit, we found them some employment in the house, endeavoring at the same time to give them both instruction and recreation. We invented various employments for those hours, in order to remove the appearance of idleness, as from the first we endeavored to impress that lesson on their minds: "An idle person is the devil's cushion, on which he rolls at pleasure." Like wise, that in the choice of their employments, they should always prefer those that were most useful, and be always able to render a reason for every thing they did. At one we dined; about two the bell rang again for school, and at five they returned to us, and were employed as before till supper time. Then, after family prayer, they were washed, and put to bed by eight. Four or five of the bigger girls were each week kept out of the school by turns, and employed in housework, cooking, etc., that they might be accustomed to every sort of business; and there was work enough in so large a family. Several of the chil­dren were very young, though I do not remember we had any under two years, except one of about a month old, which was laid, very neatly dressed, one night late at our door; but it lived only a fortnight, being full of humors, too probably derived from its parents.

 

We now found a great need of wisdom and patience. We had, I think, never more than ten grown persons in the family at one time, who were not invalids; nor do I ever remember above five or six altogether in health. The children, also, for the first few years, labored under vari­ous disorders; for we did not refuse either old or young on account of being sick and helpless: in the end all re­covered who came in infirm. We sometimes had much to do; for the care of the sick, the management of eighteen or twenty children, with various meetings, and the needful attention to the work of God in a new raised society; with the reception of the number of strangers who visited us on spiritual accounts, occasioned those of us who had the work of God at heart, a good deal of labor and suffering.

 

Various reproaches now began to roll upon us. It was reported that we intended to bring up these children for nuns; that we were too rigid and exact to our own rules. Some objected, it is all carnal wisdom; you cannot change ­their hearts, and education will only make, them more guilty before God. Others, that we were idle, and buried ourselves alive, because we did not live at London. But the reproach that came the nearest to me was this-She talks of the poverty of the holy Jesus, (alluding to a little book I had printed,)-let us see her work at a trade as he did, and that would make her fortune go farther. Would any one with such a capital live only on the interest, when by trade they might double it every year? Several came and talked with me on the subject; saying, If you do not go into some business, you will be brought to the parish in your old age. I replied, I understand no business; and I fear to lose what I have, instead of increasing it. They replied again, Then ask light of them who do understand it. Take some partner; let such have the care, and you find the money. I was wearied with letters and disputes on this head. However, I laid it before the Lord; and felt I was willing, if it would glorify him, to sweep the kennels. It may seem strange why any thus interfered in our affairs; but our undertaking was new, and quite out of the common way. This drew all sorts of company, of various sects and denominations. Some loved me, and wished to bring me over to what they thought the better way. Others were moved by curiosity; some by the love of dispute, others by interest, offering their assistance; and some, perhaps, by that spirit which the seed of the serpent will always manifest. But another, and perhaps the chief reason was, I believe, the order of a wise and gracious Providence. I was called to walk wholly by faith; indeed it appeared a strange call, and, humanly speaking, could end no way but in a prison. I was therefore permitted to have every kind of discouragement, and to be brought into many and deep perplexities, that the faithfulness of God might shine more conspicuous, as will be seen in the sequel.

 

But to return to the children. When actual sin was committed at any time, (minor faults were generally overlooked,) it was set down on paper by sister Tripp, and presented in a meeting held every Friday at twelve o'clock. The whole family were called together at that time, and after praying for the light and presence of the Lord, we entered into a consultation how to prevent a relapse into the same crime; and that the displeasure of the Almighty might be removed, we always endeavored to make our reasons appear clear before we either acquitted or condemned. Very frequently there appeared a spirit of repentance, so that the exhortation was followed by forgiveness. We then spent some time together in a family meeting, of which I will speak more particularly in another place.

 

One day a sweet little child, about seven years old, (who I hope at this time both fears and loves God,) had stolen something. We consulted what must be done to prevent a repetition of her sin. At these times we always adapted our conversation to the capacity of the little criminal.. One said, I have read in the Bible, that the offending member ought to be cut off, and cast away. This gave rise to several useful reflections; after which we agreed there were but three ways, either to cut off the offender from the family, or to pray to God to bring her to repentance, or leave her in her sins. After some con­versation with her, the second was agreed on; and we joined in prayer that the Lord would graciously interpose and save her. The meeting being that day in the evening instead of the usual time, as soon as it was over they were sent up to be washed in order to go to bed. (This was on June the 7th, 1764.)  Betty Lawrence, about eleven years old, had been much affected while we were talking to H. O., the child above mentioned. She had shown some concern a few days before, when I was speak­ing of the spirituality of the commandments The children being alone, and not knowing they were overheard, Betty said, "Let us pray for Hannah's soul!" She then prayed in a very affecting manner. Afterward, one about eight years old pleaded much for the forgiveness of Hannah's sin; but added, Lord, do not let us think so much about her sin an to forget our own. Lord, do not let us laugh and trifle, and talk of foolish things as soon as we rise off our knees; but make us Christians. Another then thanked God for their good corrections and teachings, and said, It we are not Christians, we shall be more punished than others. After some time sister Tripp went in to see them to bed; but first went to prayer with them for a few minutes. The spirit of conviction now fell on Betty Law­rence in an extraordinary manner. We came up, and found her in a great agony; she was the very picture of terror. The veins of her neck were as if they would burst. She wrung her hands, and cried with a bitter cry, O my sins! my sins! I believe more than a hundred times. She then broke out into such a confession of her original corruption and actual sins as quite amazed us; adding, O! I have never done any thing to please thee in all my life. I have broken all thy laws; I have not kept thy commandments; Lord, I have kept the devil's commandments! May such a wretch come to thee, Lord? Wilt thou receive me, Lord? Wilt thou pardon me! Wilt thou make me a Christian? Tell me, Lord, shall I go to heaven or hell? Wilt thou make me a Christian? Wilt thou pardon all my sins? She then paused awhile, her eyes fixed upward, and her face as in a flame; then added, but with a softer voice, Yes, he will, he will! But wilt thou~ Lord? Yes, thou wilt, thou wilt! Mr. Dornford being that night with us, gave out a hymn; she now seemed quite calm. The horror which before appeared on her countenance was gone, and had left a sweet smile. After remaining some time in this posture, she said, Jesus is smiling upon me! She afterward told us, she had a view as of Christ upon the cross, smiling upon her, and Saying, "I have pardoned all your sins, and if you pray, I will give you abundant love." She then broke out, O! what a sweet Savior he is! He hath forgiven me all my sins! All, all, Lord! Thou hast, thou wilt forgive them. But, O Lord, let them be perfectly forgiven. But shall I ever sin again! Shall I ever sin again? O! do not let me sin again! O! what a sweet Savior thou art! What sweet love is thine! O! more such love as thine! More such love as thine! But do not let me sin again! Fill me with love, that I may not sin again! We were the more surprised at this, because she was a child of a re­markably dull apprehension, and had no liberty in expressing herself on any subject. But striking as the scene was, (far more so than I can describe,) it was nothing to the change that followed. She was naturally of a very bad temper, but now it might indeed be said,-

 

"Love made her willing feet

In swift obedience move." -

 

So great was the change, in both understanding and will, as plainly declared the hand that had wrought it.

 

The Lord was pleased at this season to give his word success, both among the people who attended the preaching, and in the family. But our house was too strait, and needed some enlargement, and a good deal of repairs. It therefore occurred to my mind, as we had so many visitants, to take another step, and put up a poor's box, like Professor Francke, in Germany. But I found some difficulty. I thought, my relations will object to it; and, in short, I found it more easy to give than to receive. But I saw the order of God in the plan, and that was enough. Accordingly we put it up in the hall, with this inscription, "For the maintenance of a few poor orphans, that they may be brought up in the fear of the Lord." Diffi­culties now began to gather as clouds about us. Workmen must be paid; a family far too large for my income to support; with a variety of expenses in carrying on the work, assisting their poverty, &c. One Jay it was suggested, Surely I am wrong; God will not appear for me in this undertaking. I told my mind to some friends, who said, "This is the very thing we always saw; you will find in the end it is all a delusion. In two or three years you will turn out all these people and children to the wide world; and in your old age you will be without the necessaries of life." I heard them with attention, and only replied, "If it be a delusion, I meant well, believing it to be the will of God."

 

I carried it to the Lord in prayer, when the following thoughts were impressed on my mind: If Christ was now upon earth, and in want of food and raiment, should I be afraid to give him mine, for fear of wanting it myself! Should I not rather say, Let all I have be brought out as a sacrifice to my Lord; he is well able to repay me; and if he do not see it best to do so, then let us suffer together. I saw the case with the poor was the same, (as far as he had called me to help them,) and that my Lord had said, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto them, ye have done it unto me! Here a light broke into my mind, which quite satisfied me, and dispelled every cloud. I cried out, "Lord, thy will is enough! Thou hast bid me love my neighbor as myself; be it so. Their wants be mine; my substance theirs." Rising from my knees, I took up the Bible, when opening on Job, chap. xxii, verse 23, I found from that verse to the end of the chapter, several parts come as a message from Heaven. "If thou return to the Almighty thou shalt be built up, thou shalt put away iniquity far from thy tabernacles. Then shalt thou lay up gold as the dust, and the gold of Ophir as the stones of the brook. Yea, the Almighty shall be thy defense, and thou shalt have plenty of silver. Thou shalt decree a thing, and it shall be established unto thee; and the light shall shine on thy path." These words were wrote as with a diamond pen upon my heart; and in all my trials I could never give up the confidence I then received, that I should one day see them accomplished.

 

Sister Ryan one day said to me, "We shall have such a sum to pay on Saturday night. Had we not better borrow it of such a friend, till your half year comes in?"  We attempted so to do, but were disappointed. Being on my knees at prayer, I opened a book before me on the table, and cast my eyes on these words, "Christ charges himself with all your temporal affairs, while you charge yourself with those which relate to his glory. I closed my eyes, and continued praying; when to the eye of my mind, it seemed as if the Lord Jesus stood just by me, and spoke again those words to my heart, with such a power as wiped away every care. Before I got off my knees, I was called down to speak to a man, who asked for me; and who; through a providence too long to repeat, brought me just the sum I wanted.

 

The box began now to be helpful to us; and this year, in the midst of our great expenses, an uncle gave me two hundred and fifty guineas. Once, on opening the box, we found a guinea wrapped up in a letter; its contents were as follows:-

 

"My Dear Child,-With much pleasure I have heard of your charitable undertaking, which I pray God to bless and to succeed. Be never discouraged, though Divine providence should exercise you at times, even with many great and alarming difficulties; for this is frequently the way in which God leads his children, in order to prove their faith and patience. But even supposing he should not succeed this affair, according to your present plan, yet he will never fail to bless those who sincerely endeavor to promote his honor, the kingdom of the Lord Jesus, and the good of souls. I desire you will accept the enclosed, and that you would set me down an annual contributor of the same sum. May the Lord Jesus Christ be with all of us! Forget us not in your prayers.

"I am, with respect and regard,

"Your very affectionate friend,

                                                            "V. P."

 

In another paper was a guinea enclosed, with these words: "I have felt your burden, and should be thankful had you more help. But perhaps it is the will of God concerning you, to give you day by day your daily bread. I pray him to be with you."

 

Indeed we daily experienced many mercies. We had a household as a flock of sheep. Sometimes when we were sitting down to table, that word would come sweetly to our minds :-

 

"Part of his family are we,

His family of love."

 

But above all other temporal goods, I saw the blessing of my friend Ryan. It would have been impossible for me to have acted this part alone; I had neither grace nor ability for it; but the Lord gave her to me as a mother. In all the active part of this undertaking, she was the main spring. It is true, the light in forming the plans was given to me; but had it not been for her resolution and diligence, they would never have been brought into execution. Notwithstanding her ill health, it is amazing what she went through, both in overlooking and working with her own hands. She was truly devoted to God; and though I saw her at that time as a most precious gift of Heaven to me, I was not sufficiently sensible of her inestimable worth.

 

About this time a young lady, with, whom I had been acquainted, came to board with us. After residing about half a year, she had a great desire to make a new will, in order to leave me a large sum of money; and asked me to recommend a lawyer to do it, as we then intended to visit Bath. I told her, I could not see it right that she should do so, as she was at a distance from her rela­tions; had not sufficiently proved us; and might after­ward change her mind. But my strongest objection was, she had told me that in her present will she had left the bulk of her estate (which was large) to charitable uses; and I had no desire to monopolize the riches of another, since my gracious Lord had given me a ready mind to part with all that was my own. She had two children under her care, whom she desired should be brought into our house; we accordingly received them. Several other expenses we entered into on her account; and she wrote a codicil to her will, leaving me two thousand pounds, adding, if she lived to return to her father the following spring, she should do much more. I freely consented to the codicil, as I then thought it but reasonable, my ex­penses on her account being considerable. But in October, 1766, she grew suddenly very ill, and her death seemed near. The codicil then lay much on our minds. I thought God's cause may be reproached through this; and what is two thousand pounds, or two hundred thou­sand, when compared to the honor of my God? Had it been done unknown to me, I should not have scrupled it. But as I had consented, I thought it would not be right to let it stand. Sister Ryan thought the same. We therefore prevailed on her to let us burn it. She was very unwilling, saying, "Had I lived to have made my will, I should have given you much more, for I know God is with you."

 

She had been some years awakened, and joined to the Methodist society. After she had found the love of God, she walked in the way of self-denial and devotedness to God, according to her clearest light, for some time; and was in many things a striking pattern. She then sunk into a state of conflict, God revealing the inbred sin of her heart; and her spirit being oppressed by a constant bodily disorder, (supposed to be a polypus in the heart,) she often lost her shield, and was ready to think she had never had any work of God on her soul. About four months before her death, Satan assaulted her with many temptations. Sister Ryan advised her to take one hour every day for prayer, whether she should feel power attend her words or not; adding, My soul for yours, if you persevere, you shall shortly see the salvation of God. She received the word as from the Lord, and began the work in good earnest, but to her own feeling she grew darker and darker. Nevertheless we could discern a change. She grew more open, and told us of some snares which beset her, and which she had even thought of giving way to, adding, she saw herself worse and worse, till she was taken with her last illness, which continued but three days. Her soul seemed then very dark, and greatly did she lament the loss of that assurance she had formerly enjoyed. Yet she was not without hope; but still cried out, "O that I had but lived closer to God! I see I have not used my privileges as I ought. O what a work have I now to do! O it is hard work to do in sickness,-it is bad work to do in sickness!" Sister Ryan said, "My dear, I have no doubt but that God will finish his work." "O," replied she, "but I cannot believe it, I do not believe it for myself. O sister Ryan, I have had a thought in my heart,-If I had taken a certain step, to have laid the blame on you; for I thought, as you are so much under reproach among the half-hearted, I should be more readily believed, and now that stares me in the face." Some time after she said, "O my soul! my soul! I do not know where my soul is going!" Sister Ryan said, "My dear, I believe the Lord will come to your help this night: I feel such an impression of it, I think I must sit up and 'wrestle for you all night." She looked at her, and was silent. A few minutes after she cried out, "O what a sweet word is come to me! I have not had such a word a long time. When you said you would stay and wrestle for me all night, I found a little comfort, but now it comes, The effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much.

 

We were greatly affected, and sat by her in solemn silent prayer. She appeared to continue in a waiting posture for about half an hour, when she broke out in the following manner, (but with such a sweet and awful reverence as I cannot express,) "O now I know I shall be with Christ for ever! Yes, I shall, I shall come to thee, Lord. I shall be with thee for ever! O for ever! for ever! for ever! Yes! I shall be with thee for ever!" After recovering her breath a little, she addressed herself to the young women who were in the room, exhorting them to know and use their privileges. "You are," said she, "in a good situation, you will never be in a better. O my dears, be open, be open! Cover no temptation, and be all in earnest. I was a fool, and a double fool, that I did not live closer to God, and use more self-denial. I see great degrees of glory I have lost." After a little rest, she said, "O! how good is God! If I had strength I would write it all. How vile I have been, and what a salvation I now feel!" Then turning to me, she added, "But sister Bosanquet, do it; and I charge you cover nothing; in particular my unkind thoughts of sister Ryan. I charge you, I charge you!-Well," she added, "I shall see you all in heaven. I trust I shall see, I know I shall see you there. O take courage, my dear, take courage; do not be cast down at the difficulties of your situation. Fear nobody; God will stand by you. O he will take care of this family." About ten o'clock at night she said, "I shall be happy! I know I shall be as happy as I am capable of being! But I see great degrees of glory I have stopped short of. O that I had laid up more treasure in heaven!" She then cried out, "O my money! my cursed money! what an account shall I have to give of that! But Jesus has washed away all." This seemed the more strange, as she had from the first been a most liberal giver. But she explained herself to mean, with respect to the choice of objects which she had laid it out upon. She lamented much she had not altered her will, saying, "I wish you had ten or twelve thousand pounds. I know it would glorify God, and if I were able, I would do it now. But God will take care of you." We left her a few hours in the night, when she said to the sisters who sat up with her, "Give me pen and paper, I cannot die easy, unless I write something of my mind concerning sister Bosanquet having the two thousand pounds." She did so, which was a striking instance of her love. This paper I saw it right not to destroy, and informed her relations of it; but it was not regarded, and we were well contented. About twelve the next day she seemed to change for death, and appeared just gone. I said, "Is Jesus precious?" She did not answer. One present observed, "Perhaps she is not sensible." After a few minutes she came  to herself, and smiling, said, "Yes, I was sensible; but just as you spoke, I had a great struggle with Satan; at last these words were spoken, as if through my heart :-

 

'Nature's last agony is o'er,

And cruel sin subsists no more.'

 

But yet I do not know that the work is done. But I know it will be done. I am sure God will finish his work. Yes, I think I can believe. Yes, I will hold the Lord to his promise." She continued much the same for six hours, now and then saying, "I know he will finish his work. But I do not know it is done. Yet is there any sin? I do not know there is. Sometimes I feel," said she, with a smile, "as if I did not like to leave you all; is that sin? I do not know that it is." She added, "When I am dying, if I cannot speak, ask me any question, and if I mean yes, I will hold up my hand, for I would wish to praise God to the last." In the evening she seemed just departing. One present said, "Is your soul in peace?" She did not make the sign. I said, "Are you sensible, love?" She held up her hand. Some time after, we said, "Is all clear now?" She lifted up both her hands above her head.  Sister Crosby said, "The blood of Jesus hath cleansed you from all sin." She lifted them up again, and smiled with such an expression of joy as I cannot describe. She appeared as in a rapture, and strove much to speak, but we could only understand that word, "He is my only portion." Then throwing herself back, she lifted up her eyes, and spreading her hands with great delight, made many signs upward. I said, "Is glory open before you?" She lifted up her hands pointing with one finger, and strove to speak, but we could only make out the word "Glory ;" but the joy of her countenance was beyond all words, and in this posture she in one moment breathed her last.

 

Such a sense of God and glory rested on us as I can­not describe. For several days it seemed to me as if I was continually sensible of the presence of the heavenly spirits; and so slender did the veil appear which divides the Church militant from that which is triumphant, that I saw myself surrounded with the innumerable company, and as if I heard them hail the happy saint on her arrival, in these words, which followed me continually:-

 

Ah! what were all thy sufferings here,

Since Jesus counts thee meet

With that enraptured host t' appear,

And worship at his feet?*

 

*              This glorious scene will be accompanied with some pain to pious readers, and in some it will excite much curiosity. It will be asked, What were those "snares" that induced so strong a temptation, in such a devoted mind, thus to deviate from truth and love, according to the above agonizing confession. I cannot gratify such inquirers. Mrs. Fletcher thought it her duty to re­cord the fact, and I have thought it my duty to let it appear: but I know no more. One thing is plain: Miss Lewen did not fall into the temptation; but it is also plain, she did not resist it, steadfast in the faith. Hence her deep sense of her evil nature, in having listened to it for a moment. When heavenly purity shone upon her soul, and that she found that purity was just about to be bestowed upon her for ever, how dreadful appeared the mental deviation! If we may hazard a conjecture, was it not some attach­ment of a worldly nature, on account of which she was tempted, and felt an answerable inclination to depart from a community so strictly evangelical I That thought was, perhaps, presented to her, viz., That that very strictness would excuse her to "the half­hearted;" and that to Mrs. Ryan would be chiefly imputed the rigidity which had forced her from this retreat. This was probably the root of that agonizing conviction; especially when she saw that the person whom she had thought of, as thus to have borne her sin, was ready to risk her own tender life to help her through her last conflict! Miss Lewen, however, overcame at last; and verified Mr. Wesley's account of her.-See his Journal: (Works vol. iv:) "Friday, the 31st October, at my return to London, I found it needful to hasten to Laytonstone. But I came too late. Miss Lewen died the day before, after an illness of five days. Some hours before she witnessed that good confession,-

 

'Nature's last agony is o'er,

And cruel sin subsists no more.'

 

So died Margaret Lewen; a pattern to all young women of for­tune in England; a real Bible Christian. So she rested from her labors, and her works do follow her."

 

Mrs. Ryan was, as Mrs. Fletcher has said, "a sickly, persecuted saint." She was poor, (though not destitute,) and hence was more liable to be the butt of the half-hearted. Miss Bosanquet, her twin soul, was a lady of birth and fortune, and on that ac­count, rather too large for their grasp. Mrs. Ryan proved the whole of the eight beatitudes, as appears from Mr. Wesley's ac­count of her in the Arminian Magazine, and from his admirable letters to her. (See his Works, vol. vi.) In one of them he says, "it is expedient for you to go through both evil and good report. The conversing with you either by speaking or writing, is an unspeakable blessing to me. I cannot think of you without thinking of God. Others often lead me to him, but it is, as it were, going around about. You bring me straight into his presence."-ED.

 

 

Some time after this one of our young women had a desire to take a journey, which we thought would be dangerous to her, and warned her much to beware of the love of the world. Several nights she had had remarka­ble dreams, warning her to beware that no man took her crown. We told her all our fears; and in particular to watch against the love of money. She said, "My light is so clear, that if I now do any thing unbecoming my profession, I shall be guilty, and doubly guilty." Sister Ryan said, "I feel I cannot give you up, but I am led to entreat the Lord, if you should be about to depart from him, that he would cut short the thread of your life, and take you to himself, and I believe he has heard me." She had not been from us many days, before the golden baits of pleasure and profit began to gain luster in her eyes, and the little spark of light and life to decline out of her soul. The Lord stepped in, laid her on the bed of death, and gave her to acknowledge she had left the fountain head of bliss, and stooped to creature happiness. She was very desirous to see us, if it could have been; but a dear child of God attended her constantly, and wrestled much with God in her behalf. A little before her death she declared, "The Lord hath forgiven me. I shall be saved, but I shall suffer loss." Repeating the name of Jesus, her spirit returned to God, just four weeks from that day on which she left our house.*

 

*              Was not this extraordinary dispensation an instance of what St. John calls a sin unto death,-a sin which God punishes by the death of the body? It was not a little thing in his sight, to leave such a house without a special call of his providence. Those, however, who form and govern such a house, should beware of any approach to the confinement of the cloister. There was nothing of that kind here.-ED.

 

 

"O! what is death? 'tis life's last shore,

Where vanities are vain no more."

 

In the beginning of the year 1767, the Lord was pleased to exercise us with some little trials of another kind. Various reproaches were cast upon us. It was confi­dently affirmed, I had forced the before mentioned young lady (Miss Lewen) to make a will when she was dying, and leave me all her estate, and that I had thus wronged her relations. Some religious professors said that I had wronged the poor; and that I had killed my friend by rigorous mortification: that I had driven her into despair, and caused her to die in darkness: with a variety of stories as ridiculous as false. The truth is, I had not gained one penny by her, but was many pounds out of pocket. However, these accounts were so industriously spread, and even to distant parts, that a gentleman from a place about a hundred miles off, told me some years after, he verily believed, had I walked through that town at one time, the mob would have stoned me! But the Lord is a God of judgment, and by him actions are weighed.

 

A little time before this the Lord was pleased to remove my dear parents. My father had a long and painful ill­ness of three years; and my mother lived but nine months after. I was now permitted to be a good deal with them. One day my dear honored father spoke to me with great tenderness concerning some of my former trials, and ex­pressed much sorrow that my fortune was not left as much in my power as that of the other children, saying, "If you desire it, I will alter my will now. But your uncle knows my mind; and if you marry a man to make you happy, it is all I wish. I do not care whether he has money or not. But whether you marry or not, you ought to have your fortune as well as the rest. If you desire it I will have it  so altered;" with many more expressions of paternal affection, which, though I do not think it proper to insert them here, will ever have a place in my heart. I begged him to make himself quite easy, and not to attempt the alteration of any thing; as I saw it must greatly disturb his peace, for several reasons. I assured him I saw myself safe in the hands of my heavenly Father, and knew I should never want any thing that was for my good; and that if I was favored with seeing the salvation of his soul, I had no more to ask: God would take care of me. I was led thus to speak. From what be had said to me, however, I expected to have found in his will far less than he had really given me.

 

Immediately after the death of my father, my dear mo­ther entered into her last illness. I found much love to her, and of consequence much pain. She expressed a tender kindness toward me during her illness, and showed her tender care, by augmenting the sum my father had left me.

 

During the illness of my dear parents, I suffered much, not only for them, but for my weak friend at home, and the weight of so great a family. Her increasing illness was an unspeakable exercise to me. She had some time before been brought near to death, but many promises of recovery were then brought to her mind with power; and after being so reduced as to be given over, she recovered as it were suddenly, and beyond all expectation, and remained in pretty good health for a year. But now she grew daily worse; and for three years her sufferings were great and frequent. I plainly saw she decayed fast, and all my nature shrunk at the thought of being left alone at the head of such an undertaking; and what added to my trial, we had increased our family with some whose spirit did not suit our house, so that jars and a divided interest sometimes arose, which till very lately we had not known. But the heaviest of all my yokes, was the galling yoke of unbelief. I remembered the time when I could say, "Unbelief has not a place in my soul to set its foot upon."  But now I had slipped back from that constant act of faith. I had admitted cares and fears,* and by insensible degrees I was sunk again into my own will, and the strivings of evil tempers. Indeed, there was a confidence, a degree of union with God, which I never totally lost, neither did his fear depart out of my heart; yet I had inwardly departed from that pure love which I possessed. I had left off to delight myself in God, as heretofore, and accepted of many other things in his place; so that my trials were greater than I can well describe.

 

*              Was this painful state heaviness through manifold temptations, (1 Peter I, 6) or a real departure from the Lord? I believe some things will incline the serious reader to conclude it was the former.- ED.

 

One day, as I was attending my sick friend, almost inconsolable, site said, "My dear, I hardly know how to rejoice in the prospect of death, because I see no way for you. I shall leave you in the hands of enemies, but God will stand by you."  I said, "My dear love, can you think of any way, for me? It is sometimes presented to my mind, that I should be called to marry Mr. Fletcher.* She replied, "I like him the best of any man, if ever you do take that step. But unless he should be of a very tender disposition toward you, you would not be happy: but God will direct you." It pleased God, however, in a measure to remove her disorder again; so that for some months she was enabled to act as a leader and a helper among us.

 

*              The pious reader will not be displeased to see that such an impression was made on such a mind, preceding the union of that admirable couple. The impression was mutual. In a letter of Mr. Fletcher to Mr. Charles Wesley, (see Mr. Fletcher's Works, vol. iv,) we find the following sentiments: "You ask me a singular question,-I shall answer it with a smile, as I you asked it. You might have remarked that for some days I set off for Madeley, I considered matrimony with a different eye to what I had done; and the person who then presented my imagination was Miss Bosanquet. Her image pursued me for some hours the last day, and that so warmly, that I should, per­haps, have lost my peace, if a suspicion of the truth, of Juvenal's proverb, Veniunt a dote sagittae, (The arrows come from the portion, rather than from the lady,) had not made me blush, fight, and flee to Jesus, who delivered me at the same moment from her image and the idea of marriage." There will be some regret, perhaps, felt, that a long and suffering time should intervene before that union. But it was all ordered for the good of both,-for an eternal union,-for time marriage of the Lamb!-ED.

 

We are now pretty well settled; our meetings were quiet and comfortable; the number of hearers increased, and some of our little flock were gone triumphantly to glory. My income being now larger, I thought a more easy path lay before me; and I found much attachment to the place. Yet we were sickly, and the house was too small for such a family as ours. We had no land to it, (mine being all let off before to the other house,) and not having cows, such a number of children occasioned much inconvenience. Frequently I was advised to remove into some part of Yorkshire, and take a farm; that otherwise it was impossible to bring up the children to every branch of needful business; and that my income would go as far again in such a situation. I must here observe, though my income was increased, it was still not equal to our expenses, which were great on many accounts: I had also undertaken, in union with the young lady before mentioned, some charitable affairs, which now all fell on me, and many of them I could not throw off for some years. The box did not yield us as much by half as in the first year; for like the manna in the wilderness, which ceased when the Israelites got corn, so that provision, which had been exceedingly useful to us, seemed now to be suspended. Yet I felt very averse to the thought of business; I feared the armor I had not proved, and thought I should perhaps lose the little maintenance I had, rather than gain more.

 

One day, my friend being a little better, and all things at that time pretty comfortable, my own heart being also drawn with an unusual sweetness toward the Lord, I was walking in the garden,-when looking around me, it appeared as a paradise. I thought how sweet is my situa­tion! I dwell among my own people, a few who love me, and whom I love. The family is getting more and more as I could wish; and as to our circumstances, I can freely trust my God farther than I can see, so that all my care on him is cast, and here I hope to end my days. Immediately a thought presented itself,*-But suppose God should call you from this place; and there should be yet some bitter cups for you to drink? I started at the thought; but said, Give me power to say, Thy will be done.

 

*              It is by no means clear that this was from the Lord.-ED.

 

About this time Richard Taylor came from Yorkshire, being driven from thence by misfortunes. He left a wife and young family, and came to London in hopes of settling with his creditors. Sister Crosby (who was now a mem­ber of my family) had known him in Yorkshire, and Mr. Dornford and Mr. Murlin recommended him to me, and proposed his staying for a time at our house. He seemed (and I believe he then was) a devoted man. We were much interested in his behalf. When we sat down to dinner, the thought that his wife and children were in trouble and distress, would often so overwhelm him, he could not take a morsel, he appeared a man of prayer, and one of the excellent of the earth.

 

Various circumstances occurred which seemed plainly to call us to seek another habitation, and Yorkshire was the place most likely. Yet such a call did not seem desirable to me. My reason seemed to point that way; my inclination was to remain where I then was. One morning, however, as I was reading in my turn to the family, I came to these words, "Come out from thy kin­dred and thy country, and come into a land which I will show thee." I felt myself penetrated with resignation, I felt my strong attachment to the place, as being the place of my birth, quite removed, and I seemed free to follow the leading of the Spirit of God to any corner of the earth.*

 

*              Whether this leading was really of the Spirit of God or not, her submission to him made her more than conqueror.-ED.

 

 

My friend and I began seriously to consider whether our work was not done at Laytonstone: whether, after spending about five years at this place, we were not now called to another spot. A physician had told us, if there were any hopes of sister Ryan's recovery, it would be by a journey. She had unexpectedly recovered at Bath before, and it might be so again. At this time she was very bad.  I objected, however, to the moving her in so weak a condition; to which she answered, "If the Lord see fit to spare me, probably that is to be the means of raising me up; and if he has otherwise determined, I should be glad to see you settled first; for if you are left without me here, I think you will have great difficulty, from several circumstances; and probably such an exchange of place and situation would put it in your power to alter and remove those difficulties."

 

My relations and Christian friends seemed all to approve, and we believed our way was plain for taking a journey to Leeds, and some adjacent places, in order to judge better whether they were suitable, and whether we could meet with a habitation that would answer our great family.

 

            Accordingly, on June the seventh, 1768, I set out with my friend Ryan, and sister Crosby. Brother Taylor, who was now to return home, accompanied us on horseback.* It may be supposed we had a troublesome journey and aching hearts, for my dear sister Ryan was so ill as to be carried in arms in and out of the chaise, and to be watched with every night; and the bringing down so large a family two hundred miles, was attended with no little difficulty. We went first to Mr. Taylor's wife's parents, where we found a family of serious persons. The old man and woman were patterns of industry and seriousness; and the wife a person with whom I found much fellowship of spirit. We stayed with them seven weeks, until we could find a house which for the present would suit our purpose,-which we at length did at Gildersom, in the West Riding of Yorkshire.

 

*              All those who have read, with pious interest, the beginning and progress of the house, of God at Laytonstone, must regret its dissolution. Had it been favored with any successors of the same spirit, we might rejoice that those who had, as the salt of the earth, been the savior of life to that people, were about to season other places. But that was not the case. There were no such successors; and it is by no means clear, that there was such a call of Divine Providence as was sufficient to justify these chosen in­struments in departing from a place so divinely visited, and in dissolving an establishment so owned of the Lord. Mr. Wesley's sentiments concerning that establishment, are very decisive. In his Journal (see his Works, vol. iv) he says, "Thursday, Decem­ber 12, 1765, I rode over to Laytonstone, and found one truly Christian family. This is what that at Kingswood should be and would, if it had such governors." Again, "Thursday, Feb­ruary 12, 1767, I preached at Laytonstone. O what a house of God is here! Not only for decency and order, but for the life arid power of religion. I am afraid there are very few such to be found in all the king's dominions." Ought not the call to be clear and even imperative, that led to the dissolution of such a house?  We have indeed heard the blessed woman who was at the head of it, observing with grief, "We had increased our establishment with some whose spirit did not suit our house, so that jars and a divided interest arose." And could she think the devil had fallen asleep, or that he would not take the old way-that he would not sow tares among the wheat? Such persons should have been dis­missed, after all long-suffering had been manifested. We should add to our loving faith, courage, knowing for whom we are to act. As this way, it seems, was not taken, we cannot wonder that the leaven should win its way, aria a cloud overspread the once illuminated mansion. In such a dark day, it is no wonder that "cares and fears" should assault her devoted heart, so that she hardly knew her own stale, and had almost given up her confidence. A new way seemed to open, of which Mr. Taylor was the harbinger,- a way entangled with briers and thorns, that there seemed, at length, hardly any hope of deliverance. But the Lord knoweth how to deliver the godly out of temptation: and until then,

 

"Darkly safe with God, thy soul

His arm still onward bears,

Till through each tempest, on the whole,

A peace Divine appears!"

 

This was the blessed result. The Lord turned her captivity, and filled her month with laughter, and her tongue with praise.-ED.

 

 

My dear companion now began to sink daily; but as the account of her last scene is included in her life, I will not enter into any particulars of it here, only add that on the seventeenth of August, 1768, she experienced, in reality, what she had seen in her dream, viz., that

 

"He would kiss her raptured soul away."

 

She departed this life in the forty-fourth year of her age. Thus passed the dreaded moment which I had for seven years so painfully apprehended. But she had often in her illness said to me, "My dear friend, I have obtained for you of the Lord that you shall not be overcome of sorrow; therefore fear not, for I know he heard me." Her prayer was, in a great degree, answered; I was not overcome of sorrow. The thought of her long suffering, and present happiness, much alleviated the bitter cup which I had tasted of occasionally for some years. My great affliction did not come at once. The Lord treated me as we do a child; he put one thing into my hand to take away another. I thought I saw some comfortable prospects before me in life, and a veil was drawn over the many and great crosses which were to follow. I prayed I might be kept close to the will of God, and preserved from turning to the right hand or to the left, now that I had lost my spiritual mother. But I did not wish to die, neither could I get my heart into that spiritual frame I had enjoyed in the year 1762, and therefore being min­gled with earth, I felt all my ties were not cut through. I had sometimes conversed with her on the subject of departed spirits having communion with us, and she used to say, "If it be the will of my heavenly Father, I should rejoice to communicate some comfort to you, either in a dream or any other way." But I never had even the slight­est remembrance of her in any dream for some months, though she possessed so great a share in my waking thoughts. I often wondered at this, till one night, I think six months after her death, I thought she was ho­vering over me, as in a cloud, and from thence spoke in her own voice some lines in verse; but I could only re­tain the latter part, which were these words :-

 

"Mingle with earth we can no more

But when you worship God alone

We then shall mutually adore."

 

By which I understood she meant, I was not in that purity which was requisite for communion with heavenly spirits; but it raised in my heart an expectation that such a sea­son would come.

 

My invaluable friend was buried in Leeds old church­yard; where to her name and age were added only these words:-

 

"Who lived and died a Christian."