HER EARLY LIFE AND CHRISTIAN EXPERIENCE

 

I was born September the first, O.S., 1739, at Laytonstone, in Essex. From my earliest years I can remember the spirit of God striving with me, and offering my salvation; but I slighted these most gracious cells, and many times resisted the most tender invitations. One day, from a little circumstance which occurred when I was about four years old, I received such a conviction that God heareth prayer that it often administered much comfort to me in seasons of trial and danger. Of this I had the greater need, being by nature fearful even to a degree of folly. How much this effeminacy of disposition has cost me, in my Christian warfare, and what sufferings, as well as spiritual loss, I have sustained from it, is known only to my heavenly Father.

 

When I was five years old, I began to have much concern about my eternal welfare, am frequently inquired of those about me, whether such and such things were sins. On Sabbath evenings, my dear father used to instruct us in the Church catechism. At those seasons I can remem­ber asking many questions. I wished to know whether any ever did love God with all their heart, and their neighbor as themselves; and whether it was really the command of God that we should do so: also if the Bible really meant all it said It seemed to me that if it did, I was wrong, and all about me in danger; for there appeared to be a great difference between the description of a Christian given in the word of God, and those who walk under that name.

 

As I was a backward child, and of weaker understanding than the others, I was not well read in the Scriptures at that very early age, but sentences out of the word of God frequently occurred to my mind, and made a deep impression; such as, Thou shalt love the Lord thy God -with all thy heart. I would answer, But I do not love God at all; I do not know how to love him; and with respect to loving my neighbor thus, I am sure I do not; for though my sister is dearer to me than any body else, I do not love her as well as myself. Again, that word struck me much; St. Paul says, I have fought the good fight; and when I was baptized, the minister said I was to be “Christ’s faithful soldier and servant, and fight manfully under his banner.” This amazed me greatly. I thought, I am sure I do not fight, neither do I know what to fight against. But, above all, that sentence would follow me, Narrow is the way which leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it; and, If ye are not of the world, the world will hate you. I did not feel it a narrow way, neither did the world hate me; therefore I questioned often whether I was not quite out of the way, yet it was not with any terror: I believed if the Lord saw that I was wrong, he would make me right, and sometimes I prayed for it. At other times I was very careless; yet these reflections still dwelt on my mind, and often perplexed me.  I frequently asked questions about these subjects, but they were often very lightly treated. Those parts of Scripture were re­presented as very liable to be mistaken, and that they did not require obedience in all the strictness which I seemed to suppose. This well agreed with my carnal mind, and I thus soon quenched those tender convictions: so easy is it to drown the soft voice of the Spirit by carnal reasonings.

 

            I now drew the following reflections: if the Bible does mean all it seems to speak, with regard to the commands of God, certainly the same allowance may be made for its threatenings; so that I began to believe there was no hell at all, or at least not half so terrible as I had been taught to think. This thought raised in me a dislike to the word of God, and great coldness and carelessness throughout all my conduct. But my adorable Lord did not give me up to the hardness of my heart, but still fol­lowed me with his drawings. Often I thought, perhaps the Bible does mean what it says, and then I am not a Christian; and greatly did I wish to know what was the truth. My sister, who was nearly five years older than I, was also under a concern for her soul: she wished to know and do the will of God.

 

About this time there came a servant maid to live with my father, who had heard of, and felt some little of the power of inward religion. It was among the people called Methodists she had received her instructions. Seeing the uneasiness my sister was under, she took some opportunities of conversing with her. I was at this season with my grandmother. On my return home, my sister repeated the substance of these conversations to me. I well remember the very spot we stood on, and the words she spoke, which, though we were but a few minutes together, sunk so deeply into my heart, that they were never afterward erased. My reflections were suited to a child not seven years old. I thought if I became a Methodist, I should be sure of salvation; and determined, if ever I could get to that people, whatever it cost I would be one of them. But after a few conversations, and hearing my sister read some little books which this servant had given to her, I found out it was not the being joined to any people that would save me, but I must be converted, and have faith in Christ; that I was to be saved by believing; and that believing would make me holy, and give me a power to love and serve God.

 

The servant had now left our family, and we continued like blind persons groping our way in the dark; yet, though we had so far discerned the truth as to express it in the above manner, I could not comprehend it. My heart rose against the idea of being saved by a faith which I could not understand. One day, looking over the pictures in the Book of Martyrs, I thought it would be easier to burn than believe; and heartily did I wish that the Papists would come and burn me, and then I thought I should be quite safe. Yet these troubled thoughts were mixed with a degree of hope. I thought, God does love me, I believe, after all; and, perhaps, he will show me what it is to believe and be converted.

 

            When I was between seven and eight years old, musing one day on that thought, What can it be to know my sins forgiven, and to have faith in Jesus I felt my heart rise against God, for having appointed a way of salvation so hard to be understood; and with anguish of soul I said, if it were to die a martyr, I could do it; or to give away all I have; or when grown up to become a servant, that would be easy; but I shall never know how to believe. In that moment these words were applied with mighty power to my soul,

 

“Who on Jesus relies, without money or price,

The pearl of forgiveness and holiness buys.”

 

They were accompanied with a light and power I had never known before; and with joy I cried out, I do, I do rely on Jesus; yes, I do rely on Jesus, and God counts me righteous for what he bath done and suffered, and hath forgiven all my sins! I was surprised that I could not find out this before. I had thought every thing easier than to believe; but now I thought the way of believing       more easy than any other. A ray of light into the Gospel plan shone upon my soul, and I began to adore the wonders of redeeming love. But, alas! it was but as the drops before a shower; in a few days I lost the power in a great measure,* though not the light of this blessing. I can remember many promises, after this, being at times brought to my mind. Something also of a confidence in the Lord Jesus I ever retained; and when fears would spring up concerning the day of judgment, I used to comfort myself with this thought, Jesus is to be the judge, and I cannot be afraid of Jesus. But I had not yet learned that lesson,—

 

“Man for the simple life Divine

What will it cost to break

Ere pleasure soft, and wily pride,

No more within him speak”

 

* She was not favored at this time with Christian fellowship.  She had none to help her in the way of faith. - ED.

 

Some time after I had thus by faith “tasted of the powers of the world to come,” I fell into an uncommon lowness and weakness of nerves, which was accompanied with grievous temptations. I was oppressed beyond mea­sure with the fear of sin, and accused in almost every thing I said or did, so that I was altogether a heap of inconsistency. This was followed by temptations unspeakably afflicting.  It was continually suggested to my mind, I had blasphemed against the Holy Ghost. The conse­quent effect of these temptations on my temper, drew on me many grievous burdens, and exposed me to so much anger and reproach from my parents, as made me weary of life. It appeared to them that I was obstinate and disobedient; and my flesh has seemed ready to move on my bones, when I have heard my dear mother say, “That girl is the most perverse creature that ever lived; I can­not think what is come to her;“ and my heart used to sink like a stone, for I knew not what to do, and the grief of my mind quite destroyed my health. My grandfather and grandmother, who were to me the tenderest of parents, seeing me in such a poor way as to my body, (though they knew not the cause) desired to have me with these. I grew something better while I was there; but on my return home, I became as bad as ever.

 

This heavy season lasted, I think, nine weeks; when one day opening my mind to my sister, (as indeed I had often before attempted to do, but could not explain myself,) she providentially used these words in her answer, “Why, you do not mean to blaspheme, do you” A light immediately struck into my mind; I weighed the thought over and over, and, could truly say, Lord, thou knowest I do not mean to blaspheme. I then recollected that I had heard something about temptation, and often wondered what it was. I thought, it may be, Satan whispers this into my mind, like what we read about Christian in the Pilgrim’s Progress, going through the valley of the shadow of death. I then determined never to regard it more, but always answer with these words, I do not mean to blaspheme, I will acknowledge Christ for ever; and in a few days I was perfectly delivered. I am the more full on this head, because it has been a warning to me over since, not to be too severe in passing a judgment on the actions of children, whose reflections are far deeper, and their feelings much keener, than we are apt to imagine.

 

I was now, I believe, about ten years old, and can re­collect many comfortable moments in reading the word of God. The promises in Isaiah were, in a particular manner, applied to my soul, and I hardly ever opened the Bible but there was something for me; till one day I heard a person make this remark, that many people took promises to the themselves which did not belong to them Of some, she observed, they belonged to the Church; others to the Jews; such and such to the Gentiles, &c.; and then began to blame the presumption of those who applied them to their own souls! Such a thought had never entered my heart before. I knew the words were primarily spoke on particular occasions; but the Lord had led me to believe that his word was written to every soul, so far as they were willing to receive it by faith. But, from the above conversation, I was unhinged.* I knew not what to choose, or what to refuse: so that being cast into reasonings, I lost my love for reading the Scriptures, and sunk into a very cold and lifeless state. When I was twelve years old, we went to Bath for three months.

 

Here I met with many dissipations, and had, I may truly say, no enjoyment of religion; only when in the midst of the ball room I used to think, if I knew where to find the Methodists, or any who would show me how to please God, I would tear off all my fine things, and run through the fire to them: and sometimes I thought, if ever I am my own mistress, I will spend half the day in working for the poor, and the other half in prayer.

 

* Here again she felt the want of Christian fellowship.-ED.

 

When I was thirteen, the things of God began to return with more power on my mind. One day my sister, visiting Mrs. Lefevre** found her truly awakened, and in earnest to save her soul. She told me this news with great delight; for as our parents had no suspicion of her being a Methodist, we saw the Lord had opened us a door into that Christian liberty we so much longed after. At her house we got opportunities of conversation with religious persons, which a good deal strengthened our hands, though we often said to each other, These Methodists do not quite answer our expectations; though our time is short with them, they lose much of it before they begin to converse with us about our souls: the apostles would not have done so. But we must not form our judgment by the rich; let us wait till we get acquainted with some of the poor among them; perhaps they will be right Methodists, and more like the first Christians.

 

** Well known in the Methodist connection, by her admirable letters, published many years ago.

 

Sometimes that promise was brought powerfully to my mind, “Whatsoever ye shall ask, believing, ye shall receive:“ then, thought I, I may ask all the grace I will; I may ask power never to offend my God again. Faith sprung up in my soul, and I was much drawn out in prayer for holiness; till one day speaking of it to a particular person, she raised many objections to the thought of all sin being removed from the heart. I felt it as if cold water were thrown on a newly kindled fire, and the wings of my faith seemed clipped. Fearing lest I was wrong I prayed the Lord to answer for himself by his word. So taking up the Bible, with much prayer I opened it, and immediately cast my eyes on these words, “Behold, I am the Lord, the God of all flesh; is any thing too hard for me“ It came with power; my heart, as it were, leaped for joy; and I cried out, Now I will wrestle, and I shall prevail.

 

Toward the end of the following winter, there was a confirmation at St. Paul’s; and my father desired I should be confirmed. This was a very rousing ordinance to me: for some time before I had felt how unworthy I was of it; how unfit thus solemnly to devote myself to God, by re­newing that covenant I had so often broken. I read the order of confirmation, with the ministration of baptism, over and over, and besought my God to give me power to keep the charge of the Lord faithfully. For some months after, every time I approached the Lord’s table, I had a very peculiar sense of his presence, and sometimes I felt as if the Lord Jesus did from his own hand give me the

sacred emblems of his body and blood.

 

But the next year my mind again wandered after many things, and though I tasted, now and then, a little of the loving kindness of the Lord, yet in the general I was greatly under the power of my own will. Pride and perverseness got many times the upper hand, and there was nothing in my life or conversation which could adorn the Gospel; but I did not then see my conduct in that light. ‘While our love is small, our perceptions in spiritual things are very dark. Alas! I thought I walked as a Christian; but now that I see so much more of the holiness of God, I also discern more fully the depth of my fall, and am astonished that either God or man bore with me. While the carnal mind retained this power, I do not wonder my dear mother should not love me as the rest of her children; for I was not only more dull and indolent in every thing I had to learn, but I gave way to an insolent and disobedient spirit in such a degree toward the whole family, that the recollection has often seemed to draw blood from my heart. How perfectly do I feel these words my own,—

 

“Sink down, my soul, sink lower still,

Lie level with the dust.”

 

But the Lord did not forsake me. One night after spending some time in prayer, I cast my eyes on a book Mrs. Lefevre had given me, and read these words:

 

“I‘ll look into my Savior’s breast;

Away, sad doubt and anxious care,

Mercy is all that’s written there.

Jesus’ blood, through earth and skies,

Mercy, free boundless mercy cries.”

 

I saw, as it were, the Father of mercy opening his arms to receive me, and on that boundless love I had liberty to cast my whole soul. I was more and more thankful for my union with Mrs. Lefevre, and experienced in her the greatest comfort of my life.

 

About this season my ever honored grandfather and grandmother were taken from us. He was one of the excellent of the earth: his life, in many respects, was remarkable and singular. In his last illness he delighted much in these words, “My sheep hear my voice; I know them and they follow me,” &c. He was aged seventy-nine, and had lived with my grandmother forty-five years, in a union not usually to be met with. He was a pattern in many respects; plain in his dress, mortified in his food, and strictly conscientious in all his expenses. When many dishes were on his table, he scarcely ate of any thing but mutton, and that for many years, because he believed it most conducive to his health. His love and charity to the poor were uncommon. He esteemed it a reproach to any man to say he died very rich; adding, It is too plain a mark he has not made a good use of his income.

 

One day upon the Exchange, a gentleman who was by him said to another, “Sir John, I give you joy; they tell me you have completed your hundred thousand pounds.” The other replied, “I hope to double it before I die.” My grandfather, turning shortly said, “Then, Sir John, you are not worthy of it.” Once being at the table of a nobleman, he observed the guests drinking to excess, and conversing in a very unchristian manner. At first he tried to turn the conversation; but the torrent being too strong, he rose up and leaning over the back of his chair, he gave them a solemn reproof, joined to an affectionate warning, and then left the company. I have been with him in his chariot when he has suddenly stopped it to reprove pro­fane swearing on the road.

 

My grandmother was a woman of an uncommonly sweet temper; and having acquired a good deal of skill in physic, she so helped the poor, that they looked at her as a mother, a nurse, and a counselor. When my grandfather had been dead three months, she dreamed, one night, he came to her, and standing by the bedside, said she “should come to him shortly, till then his happiness was not as complete as it would be;” and added, “Study the Scriptures, study the Scriptures, in them ye think ye have eternal life.” From this time she applied to them daily, in a manner superior to what she had done before; though she had always a high veneration for the word of God. About three weeks after, she said to us one day, “Air that room; I will go into it, that I may die in the bed Mr. Dunster died in.” From the night she went into it, she came out no more; for she died within the week. As she did not appear any worse than usual, she was at first thought to be in no danger. She said to herself two or three times, “What a blessing I am dying, without pain! I have no more than I can very well bear!”

 

From this time we began to get rather more liberty, and one day, as my sister was on a visit at Mrs. Lefevre’s, Mr. Romaine came in, and began to speak of the sinfulness of attending the playhouse. She listened with great earnestness to all he said; which repeating to me on her return, it was as a nail in a sure place, and I began to cry for power to stand to the light which I had then received.

 

A few months after this my sister married, by which I was left alone.      I must observe, to this time my parents had very little suspicion of our having any intercourse with the Methodists, but thought, (when the before mentioned servant was put away, and our books taken from us,) that our religious impressions had worn off. I saw the time was come, when I must confess Christ before men, if I would wish him to confess me before his Father and the holy angels. I consulted some of my serious friends about the playhouse; but they said, “Were you older, we should know what to advise, but as you are but sixteen, if your parents insist on your going, we do not see how you can avoid it.” This answer did not fully satisfy me; and I was much distressed both ways. I saw the duty I owed to an absolute command from my parents in a very strong light; and, on the other hand, I remembered that my obedience to them was to be in the Lord. I sought ,direction in prayer, and endeavored to examine the question on both sides; but the more I searched, the clearer it appeared to me I must not comply. I considered the playhouse had a tendency to weaken every Christian temper, and to strengthen all that was contrary; to represent vice under the false color of virtue, and to lead in every respect into the spirit of the world, of which the apostle declares, The friendship of the world is enmity with God. When the time came, and my obedient compliance was required, I begged to be left at home. On a refusal, I laid open my whole heart to my father; apprizing him, I would not willingly be disobedient in any thing, unless where conscience made it appear to be my duty. We conversed on the subject with great freedom; for my dear father was a man of deep reason, calmness, and condescension. He replied, “Child, your arguments prove too much; and therefore are not conclusive. If what you say be true, then all places of diversion, all dress and company, nay, all agreeable liveliness, and the whole spirit of the world, is sinful.” I embraced the opportunity and said, “Sir, I see it as such, and therefore am determined no more to be conformed to its customs, fashions, or maxims.” This was a season of great trial, but the Lord stood by me: glory be to his holy name!

 

            I daily discerned a great difference between my manner of life, and that which the Bible described as the life of a Christian. I had often strong desires to be wholly given to the Lord. Much opposition I met with for having declared my sentiments; and what was very cutting to me, I was often debarred from the, pleasure of seeing my friend, Mrs. Lefevre. This was the consequence I much feared, if I should openly declare my mind; but I was thoroughly convinced, if I loved my friend more than God’s law, I should never know the power of true religion. It is my natural temper to be very anxious about those I love, and to fix too much of my confidence in them. This was the case with respect to Mrs. Lefevre. I saw and lamented it, beseeching the Lord to take away all idolatry out of my affections, and give me to love her as I ought.

 

            I dreamed one night I was in a church, and saw written on the wall, in letters of gold, these words: Thou shalt have no other gods but me. While I was looking on it, I saw the name of Mrs. Lefevre wrote under it. I was surprised, and presently beheld the following line, If this is your god, then what am I I awakened with a deep conviction that I had placed too much confidence on an arm of flesh. I knew it was the voice of God by this mark,—a great sweetness accompanied the reproof. This was the method the Lord has always used toward me; he held me up, with one hand, while he smote me with the other.

 

            In the month of June, 1756, I spent a day with Mrs. Lefevre. It was a profitable time: I found my heart very open, and told her, I believed I could give up even her to the will of God. She replied, “Nothing you could have said would have given me more satisfaction. For a long time I have thought that the thread of my life was nearly spun out. I have no clog upon my chariot wheels; but my greatest pain was for you, who have already so many trials surrounding you.”. This was her last address; for three days after I received a message that she was seized with a sudden illness, and in great danger. My mother kindly permitted  me to visit her; but I found her on the borders of eternity, into, which, after expressing with great difficulty, “I have comforts indeed!” her happy spirit took its flight. As my time was limited, I had returned home when I, received the news of her death. I went into a grove that was in our garden, to pour out my soul before the Lord. But what may seem strange, I was not permitted to feel at that time much pain, for the Lord met me with these words, which sprang up as living water in my soul,.—

 

“My star by night, my sun by day,

My spring of life, when parch’d with drought;

My wine to cheer, my bread to stay,

My strength, my shield, my safe abode,

My robe before the throne of God.”

 

I felt the Lord Jesus did answer all these characters to my soul, and by faith I beheld him as my robe before the throne of God.

 

When I was about seventeen tears old, my father and two brothers (younger than I) were going with some other company to see the Royal George, which was sixteen miles from the shore from whence we set out; my father desired me to accompany them. I knew not what to do, but at length believed I ought to obey. Indeed I thought I should have no farther cross than the going to the ship, and returning in the afternoon. But we had not been long in the vessel, before some of the company began to ridicule my overmuch religion. When we drew near the Royal George, the men said we must not attempt to go around her, for she was deep and very dangerous; but the gentlemen insisted they should row around the ship. While this was doing, we were in great danger, and the ladies, exceedingly alarmed, began to cry out. Some of them said, “Miss Bosanquet, why are you so calm “ I told them I saw the danger, but our business was to trust in God; I was quite ready either to sink or to be saved. My confidence in the Lord kept me secure in his providence. I had now an opportunity to speak, and they were ready to hear. When we got into the ship, it seemed like a town; such a vast variety of places like shops, were all around. We were met by Captain Burnet, who led us into a grand room; the place designed for us was pointed out by a lady that attended us. Captain Burnet proposed a dance, and after that a cold collation. Now I felt indeed. Several of the company fell upon me with, “Now, Miss Bosanquet, what will you do now you must dance; you cannot run away."  Knowing my help must have come from above, I lifted up my heart to the Lord, and cried to him for help. Presently a messenger in haste called far Captain Burnet. He ran down, but soon returned, with great disappointment in his countenance, saying, “O what shall we do The Prince of Wales and Admiral Anson are coming on board.” Never was any thing more welcome to me than this hurry of preparing for the prince—our present king, one year older than I. My heart praised the Lord for the timely interposition. The cannon put aside the dance, and we at length talked of returning. We were let down into our little vessel, and I was truly thankful to be on the way home. But another trial soon occurred. Some of the company proposed going to Vauxhall; this I refused. “Then,” said they, “you must stay in the vessel with the men.” I knew not what to do. As we drew near the part where our coaches were waiting for us, a strange disagreement took place between two of the gentlemen; one of them, my brother, rose up, and bid the man draw near to the steps; he got out, and I followed him. The rest went on to Vauxhall. I was truly thankful when we got into the coach. This was the last attempt of this kind.

 

But this peaceful frame did not last long. Some snares were presented before me, which dissipated my mind, and cooled the fervor of my affections. In this spirit I went to London in the winter. I was now about eighteen. As I had not yet had a clear conviction to throw aside dress, while in my father’s house I continued in my appearance like the company I conversed with, only I did not go with them to public diversions; and this winter I began to gain favor in their eyes, and felt myself in great danger of being carried down the stream. But the thought alarmed my soul, and caused me to look about for help. I cried to the Lord to bring inc acquainted with some of the excellent of the earth, that I might learn to walk in the narrow way which leads to life and glory, and into which I saw I was scarcely entered. One day I heard a conversation con­cerning an extraordinary work among the Methodists, that some of them spoke of such a change being wrought on their will and affections, that they found that word to be accomplished, “Old things are passed away, and all things are become new.” The remembrance of that text. “Is any thing too hard for me“ came with fresh power to my soul and some encouraging promises sprang up in my mind, and made me persevere in prayer. I told my serious friends, (who were not joined to the Methodists,) if they could procure mc an hour’s conversation with one of those pious women, I should esteem it a great favor; for I longed to see any one who would tell me of a deeper religion than I had known. I saw myself surrounded with snares, and often thought with tears on those words,—

 

“See where o’er desert wastes I err, And neither food nor feeder have,

Nor fold, nor place of refuge near, While no man cares my soul to save.”

 

 

At this time I became acquainted with a gentleman in some sense religious, though I fear not deeply so. He professed much affection for me, and my religious friends advised me to think of him, as it was likely to be very acceptable to my parents, and would open a door to more religious liberty. But I cannot say he was agreeable to me. Neither my understanding nor affection could approve the proposal; yet I was hurt by unprofitable reasonings. Sometimes I thought it might be of the Lord; at others, I could not see into it at all. While thus per­plexed, I received a message from Miss Furley, (now Mrs. Downes,) that on such a day Mrs. Crosby would be at her house. I went to meet her in the spirit of prayer and expectation. She simply related what God had done for her soul. The words she spoke were clothed with power, and my convictions of the necessity of holiness were much increased. The affair of the gentleman was obliterated from my mind ; and the prospect of a life wholly devoted to God drank up every other considera­tion. In a few hours 1 returned home to our country house on Epping Forest; but such a sweet sense of God, the greatness of his love, and willingness to save to the uttermost, remained on my mind, that if I but thought on the word holiness, or of the adorable name of Jesus, my heart seemed to take fire in an instant; and my desires were more intensely fixed on God than ever I had found them before.

 

A few days after I wrote to Mrs. Crosby. The following is an extract:-

 

“Forest House, May 17, 1757.

 

“The Lord hath indeed been merciful above all I can ask or think. I am more drawn to prayer. I find a more earnest pursuit of holiness than ever; but what most stirs me up is, I seem to hear the Lord calling to me in these words, ‘Depart ye, depart ye, go ye out hence, touch not the unclean thing; be clean, ye that bear the vessels of the Lord.’”

 

 

I now saw the path in which I ought to walk. I determined not to think about a married life, for my present light was to abide single. But the Lord seemed to call me to more activity, insomuch that I cried out, “Lord,

what wilt thou have me to do!” I would be given up, both soul and body, to serve the members of Christ. My firm resolution was to be wholly given up to the Church in any way that he pleased. I desired not to be idle, but employed as those described by St. Paul to Timothy, “If she have brought up children, if she have lodged strangers, if she have washed the saints’ feet, and dili­gently followed after every good work.” I can hardly express with what power these words would come to my mind. It seemed to me the Lord had planned out all my way; and I only wished so to walk.

 

The end of this summer brought me a great trial. My parents were going to Scarborough. My mother offered to take me with them, if I would do as they did, and not bring a reproach on them in a strange place. This seemed a reasonable request; but I could not comply, for the spirit of the world was as contrary to that of Christ in Scarborough as in London. I requested to be left with my sister; but it was appointed for me to spend most of my time at an uncle’s in London. They were exceedingly kind, and let me have much liberty. I had never before had the opportunity of a constant attend­ance on the means of grace; and I greatly feared abusing this talent. One of my acquaintance, being imprudent, pressed me never to be absent from any meeting, or preaching. By this means I am sensible I went too far.  I walked about more than my strength could bear, having been scare ever permitted to go out of our own grounds but in a carriage. But above all, I am pained when I think how little of Christian prudence appeared in my conduct. The kind family in which I was received could not but blame and condemn a conduct which, though the motive was upright, was in itself ­sometimes wrong.

 

During this season I cultivated an acquaintance for which I trust I shall for ever praise the Lord. It was with Mrs. Sarah Ryan, who (with a pious woman named Mary Clark) lived in a little house in Christopher alley, Moorfields. They both possessed the spirit of the primitive Church in an eminent degree. A few of the most lively souls in the London society were frequently gathered there. The more I saw of that family, the more I was convinced Christ had yet a pure Church below; and often, while in their company, I thought myself with the hundred and twenty that waited to be baptized by the Holy Spirit. It was at Mrs. Ryan’s house that Mrs.

Crosby boarded; and whenever I was from home, this was the place of my residence, and truly I found it to be a little Bethel.

 

The more I conversed with Mrs. Ryan, the more I discovered of the glory of God breaking forth from within, and felt a strong attraction to consider her as the friend of my soul. I told her the past sins, follies, and

mercies of my life, and received a similar account from her.

 

 

            The time now drew nigh for my parents’ return, and I went home to receive them. While in London, I had used more exercise than my constitution could bear. My mother was much surprised when she saw me appear so ill, and laid it all to my religion. A fever came on rapidly, and I was ordered to go to bed; but I could    scarcely keep on my feet while I ascended the stairs. When I was laid in bed, how shall I describe the posture of my mind Distracted by the fever; torn by fears and temptations; and deprived of those friends who at this time could have understood and comforted me! The loss of Mrs. Lefevre now also returned on my mind with great pain. My dear parents were not aware of the  nature of my illness, which was, as the apothecary afterward told them, a strong nervous fever. They thought it all arose from some trouble of mind I would not own, and told me one day, if I did not rouse myself out of that low state, my head should be blistered, and I should be shut up in a dark room. My father being present, I said, “Will you put me in a mad house, papa” he said, “No; but you must be shut up at home, if you do not strive against this lowness. The doctor says you have no pulse at all; he never saw a patient so low.” My mind became greatly depressed; I could find no comfort of any kind, either from God or outward things.

 

But the Lord graciously helped me in an extraordinary way. As I lay reflecting on my situation, and weeping before him on account of the darkness of my mind, I discerned an unusual brightness, (yet not dazzling,) and a voice came so powerfully, that I can only say, I heard and felt it with every faculty of soul and body, Thou shalt walk with me in white! An answer seemed to come from my heart, independent of myself,* “Lord, how can

that be, seeing I am not worthy“ It was spoken to me again, Thou shalt walk with me in white; I will make thee worthy. This was followed by those words, I will thoroughly purge away thy dross, and take away all thy ­tin! and

 

“Glory is on earth begun,

Everlasting life is won.”

 

* Who can account for this whole manifestation on common principles Yet what pious mind will not conclude it was help from the Lord in the time of need—ED.

 

 

To this day I have the most lively remembrance of that manifestation; and in the darkest moments I have since passed through, I could never doubt its being the voice of the Lord. My illness was long, and attended with many trials. Before my recovery, Mrs. Ryan was removed from London to Bristol, to be housekeeper at the room there; and much did I pray the Lord that we should be brought together again.

 

I was now about nineteen years of age, and soon after, my parents having an intention to go to Bath for a season, proposed that I should spend that time at Bristol, as I was now thought to be consumptive. I gladly embraced the offer, as a merciful providence. I accord­ingly went to Bristol, where I remained  seven weeks. Mrs. Downes (late Miss Furley) showed me much kindness. Indeed, I was in some sense committed to her care by my parents, who had for years been acquainted with her family. I spent much of my time with Mrs. Ryan and Mrs. Clark, and I trust in some degree partook of their spirit. After my return home, I clearly discovered that I still conformed too much in my appearance to the spirit and fashions of the world; but I plainly saw a renunciation of that conformity would give my relations great offence. I loved my parents, and feared to disoblige them. I sought for arguments to quench that little spark of light which was kindling in my soul, conscious they could not see in my light, and knowing that obedience to parents was one of the first duties. I did so far quench it, that I put on again many of the things I had thrown off. My acquaintance took much notice of me, and I was so afraid of losing their good opinion, that I had no power to reprove sin, or even to refrain from joining in light or trifling conversation when in company. But I soon discerned the danger consequent on their approval, and therefore determined to weigh well what was most likely to please God, and by that to abide.

 

I prayed for direction, and saw clearly that plainness of dress and behavior best became a Christian, and that for the following reasons:—

 

First. The apostle expressly forbids women professing godliness to let their adorning be in apparel; allowing them no other ornament than that of a meek and quiet spirit.

 

Secondly. I saw the reasonableness of the command, and proved it good or a proud heart to wear the plain and modest livery of God’s children.

 

Thirdly. It tended to open my month; for when I appeared like the world, in Babylonish garments, I had its esteem and knew not how to part with it. But when I showed, by my appearance, that I considered myself as a stranger and foreigner, none can know (but by trying) what an influence it has on our whole conduct, and what a fence it is to keep us from sinking into the spirit of the world. For there is no medium: they who are con­formed to the fashions, customs, and maxims of the world, must embrace the spirit also, and they shall find the esteem they seek: for the world will love its own. But let them remember also that word, The friendship of this world is enmity with God.

 

Fourthly. I saw myself as a steward, who must render an account for every talent, and that it was my privilege to have the smiles of God on every moment of my time, or penny of money which I laid out.

 

Fifthly. I saw clearly that the helping my fellow creatures in their need, was both more rational, and more pleasant, than spending my substance on superfluities; and as I am commanded to love my neighbor as myself, and to consider all done to the household of faith as done to Christ, surely I ought not only to suffer my superfluity to give way to their necessity, but also (as occasion may require) my necessities to their extremities.

 

Sixthly. But it is not only the talent of money, but of time, which is thrown away by conformity to the world, entangling us in a thousand little engagements, which a dress entirely plain cuts through at once.

 

Seventhly. The end usually proposed by young person ­in their dress is such as a devout soul would abominate. A heathen may say, It will promote my being comfortably settled in life; but I believe the Lord appoints the bounds of our habitation, and that no good thing shall be withheld from those who walk uprightly. I have therefore nothing to do, but to commend myself to God, in holy obedience, and to leave every step of my life to be guided by his will. I will therefore make it my rule to be clean and neat, but in the plainest things, according to my station; and whenever I thought on the subject, these words would pass through my mind with power, For so the holy women of old adorned themselves.

 

As soon as I saw my way clearly, I ventured to open my mind to my father concerning dress, as I had done before with regard to public places; entreating him to bear with me while I endeavored to show him my reasons for refusing to be conformed to the customs, fashions, and maxims of the world, He heard me with great patience; and as I loved him tenderly, it came very near me to oppose him. My trials increased daily. I was perplexed to know how far to conform, and how far to resist. I feared, on the one hand, disobedience to my parents, and on the other, disobedience to God.

            My dear mother had sometimes expressed a belief that it would be better for the family if I were removed from it, lest my brothers, who were younger than I, should be infected by my sentiments and example. Yet she did not see it clear to bid me go; but rather wished me I depart of my own accord. The furnace now became hot; but I did not dare to come out without the Lord. Indeed, could there have been any amicable agreement between us, and that I had my parents’ leave to live elsewhere, I would gladly have accepted it. I even made some distant proposals of this kind, but they never saw it good to concur. Providence thus overruled my desire for wise ends: and to run away from my father’s house, I could not think of. I was twenty-one years of age, and had a small fortune of my own. I saw myself on the verge of a material change, and it was easy to discern that my father’s house would not long be a refuge for me; but in what manner I should be removed, or what trials I might yet have to go through, I could not tell. The continual language of my heart was, I am oppressed: Lord, undertake thou for me.

 

One day my father said to me: “There is a particular promise which I require of you; that is, that you will never, on any occasion, either now, or hereafter, attempt to make your brothers what you call a Christian.” I answered, (looking to the Lord,) “I think, sir, I dare not consent to that.” He replied, “Then you force me to put you out of my house.” I answered, “Yes, sir according to your views of things, I acknowledge it; and, if I may but have your approval, no situation will be disagreeable.” He replied, “There are many things in your present situation which must be, I should think, very uncomfortable.” This I acknowledged, and added that if he would but say he approved of my removal, I would take a lodging which I had heard of at Mrs. Gold’s, in Hoxton-square; but that no suffering could incline me to leave him, except by his free consent. He replied with some emotion, “I do not know that you ever disobliged me willfully in your life, but only in these fancies; and my children shall always have a home in my house.” As I could not but discern a separation would take place,(though I knew not how nor when,) I judged it most prudent to take the lodgings, that in case I should be suddenly removed, I might have a home to go to; which I preferred to the going into any friend’s house as a visitor. I also hired a sober girl, to be ready whenever I might want her. I informed my mother, a short time after, of the steps I had taken. She gave me two beds, one for myself, and a little one for my maid; and appeared to converse on it in a way of approval. Something, how­ever, seemed to hold us, on both sides, from bringing it to the point.

 

For the next two months I suffered much; my mind was exercised with many tender and painful feelings. One day my mother sent me word, “I must go home to my lodgings that night.” I went down to dinner, but they said nothing on the subject; and I could not begin it. The next day, as I was sitting in my room, I received again the same message. During dinner, however, no­thing was spoken on the subject. When it was over, I knew not what to do. I was much distressed. I thought, if they go without saying any thing to me, I cannot go; and if they should not invite me to come and see them again, how shall I bear it My mind was pressed down with sorrow by this suspense. Just as they were going out, my mother said, “If you will, the coach, when it has set us down, may carry you home to your lodging.” My father added, “And we shall be glad to see you to dinner next Tuesday.”  This was some relief. I remained silent. When the coach returned, I ordered my trunk into it; and struggling with myself, took a kind of leave of each of the servants, as they stood in a row in tears, in my way out of the house. About eight o’clock I reached my lodging.

 

It consisted of two rooms, as yet unfurnished. I had neither candle nor any convenience. The people of the house I had never seen before, only I knew them by character to be sober persons. I borrowed a table and a candlestick, and the window seat served me as a chair. When bolting the door, I began to muse on my present situation.

 

I am, said I, but young—only entered into my twenty-second year. I am cast out of my father’s house. I know the heart of a stranger; but, alas! how much more of it may I yet have to prove! I cried unto the Lord, found a sweet calm overspread my spirit. I could in measure act faith on these words: “When thy father and thy mother forsake thee, the Lord shall take thee up.” The following reflections also arose in my mind: I am now exposed to the world, and know not what snares may be gathering around me. I have a weak understanding, and but little grace. Therefore, now, before any snare has entangled me, I shall form a plan for my future conduct, and endeavor to walk thereby.  First, I will not receive visits from single men and in order to evade the trial more easily, I will not get acquainted with any; I will, as much as possible, refrain from going into any company where they are. Secondly, I will endeavor to lay out my time by rule, that I may know each hour what is to be done: nevertheless, I will cheerfully submit to have these rules broken or overturned, whenever the providence of God thinks fit to do so. And thirdly, I will endeavor to fix my mind on the example of Jesus Christ, and to lead a mortified life; remembering, “He came not to be ministered unto, but to minister.”

 

The prejudices of education are strong, especially in those persons who have been brought up rather in high life. The being removed from a parent’s habitation seemed very awful. I looked on myself as being liable to a deep reproach, and trembled at the thought. But I re­membered that word, “He that loveth father or mother more than me, is not worthy of me.”

 

My maid being now come, and having lighted a fire in the other room, and borrowed a few things of the family, she begged me to come into it, as the night was very cold. And now my captivity seemed turning every moment. That thought, I am brought out of the world; I have nothing to do but to be holy, both in body and spirit, filled me with consolation. Thankfulness overflowed my heart; and such a spirit of peace and content poured into my soul, that all about me seemed a little heaven.

 

Some bread, with rank salt butter, and water to drink, made me so comfortable a meal, that I could truly say, I ate my meat with gladness and singleness of heart. As the bed was not put up, I laid that night almost on the ground, and the windows having no shutters, and it being a bright moonlight night, the sweet solemnity thereof well agreed with the tranquility of my spirit. I had now daily more and more cause for praise. I was acquainted with many of the excellent of the earth, and my delight was in them. Yet I was not without my cross; for every time I went to see my dear parents, what I felt when, toward night, I rose up to go away, cannot well be imagined. Not that I wished to abide there; but there was something in bidding farewell to those under whose roof I had always lived, that used to affect me much, though I saw the wise and gracious hand of God in all; and that he had by this means set me free for his own service. From my heart I thanked him as the gracious author, and them as the profitable instruments, of doing me so great a good. My mother was frequently giving me little things; and every renewed mark of kindness made the wound to bleed afresh.

 

There was, in the years sixty-one and sixty-two, a very great revival among the societies, both in London and many other places; and an earnest desire was stirred up in many hearts after full salvation. Prayer was made without ceasing by the faithful, “That the glory of God might go forth as brightness; and his salvation as a limp that burneth.” These prayers were answered in a very powerful manner, The Spirit was poured out on some in such a degree as can hardly be conceived, but by those who felt the Divine influence. Not only Mr. Wesley and Mr. Maxfield were in an uncommon manner blessed in their preaching; but many simple persons, both men and women, were lively harbingers of the approaching pente­cost, and cried aloud, The kingdom of heaven is at hand! The mighty power of God was seen on every 8ide! Christ was held out as a complete Savior; and represented to the eye of faith as crying out on this festal day, “If any man thirst, let him come unto me and drink; he that believeth on me, out of his belly shall flow rivers of living water.” These rivers did, indeed, flow from heart to heart. The gift of victorious faith was given to many, not only for themselves but others. A clear light shone on these truths: “They that are in Christ are new creatures; old things are passed away, and all things become new. The blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from all sin.”  The whole soul, with every faculty, shall be so brought into subjection to Christ, as to feel, I live not, but Christ liveth in me!

 

Some portion of this river seemed now to reach me also. The means of grace were as marrow to my soul; and often these words were applied: If thou canst believe, all things are possible to him that believeth, But I could not believe so as to give up my whole heart to the Lord. I knew him mine, but other things had yet life in me, though not dominion over me. I was now assured the blessing of sanctification (or, in other words, a heart entirely renewed) could not be received but by simple, naked faith;* and my soul groaned out its desire in these words :—

 

“That mighty faith on me bestow,

Which cannot ask in vain;

Which holds, and will not let thee go,

Till I my suit obtain.”

 

* By simple faith, I mean, taking God at his word without reasoning; and by naked faith, I mean, stripped of every other dependence but on Christ alone.

 

One day, as a few of us were praying together at brother Gilford’s, we were so drawn out, that we were, I think, four hours engaged, when I really thought we had not been above one; and this was frequently the case with us. Another day, as I was at a meeting for prayer at a friend’s house, when he had continued some time, I seemed as if I had lost all. Deep discouragement seized my spirit; but I wrestled on, and was in an agony to love God with all my heart. Brother Gilford was praying for me, when in a moment I felt a calmness overspread my spirit, and by faith I laid hold on Jesus, as my full Savior. I said in my heart, Thy will be done! Thy will be done! and in that I felt my rest. In the same moment brother Gilford changed prayer into praise, telling the Lord he had heard and answered: he had set me at liberty, and now he would praise him. This surprised me, as I had not given the least sign by either word or motion, of what I had felt within. He concluded his prayer with that act of praise. He asked me how I felt myself I answered, I could not fully tell; but that I found that the love of the will of God had brought an unspeakable peace into my soul: but that I did not feel joy; only a rest in that thought, The Lord reigneth, and his will shall be done. As I was walking home, I found the presence of the Lord to be with me. He seemed to say, Round thee and beneath thee are spread the everlasting arms. I felt they were so, and my faith seemed to gather strength continually.

 

Yet for some days I was much exercised with tempta­tion, and continually accused, that I had thought, said, or done something amiss.* But after a little time I found a more solid rest; and sensibly felt my will and affections were fixed on God, and most powerfully was I penetrated with these words: —

 

“Their daily delight shall be in his name,

They shall, as their right, his righteousness claim;

His righteousness wearing, and cleansed by his blood,

Bold shall they appear in the presence of God!“

 

One night I awaked with much of the presence of God, when these words were powerfully applied, Thou shalt call thy walls Salvation, and thy gates Praise. That promise also dwelt on my mind, In returning and rest shall ye be saved; in quietness and confidence shall be thy strength.

 

* A strong mark of the reality of the work. —ED.

 

I believe what I felt at this season was a low degree of pure love; or what we call a clean heart. But though it was in a small degree, yet did it evidence itself by a mighty change. I had many temptations, and not much joy. Yet did I never feel anything contrary to love; and in the temptations with which I was attacked, I felt a great difference. Satan never attempted to draw my affections, neither to move me to anger, for there I could have answered him, Thou hast nothing in me;** but I was followed with such a sense of sorrow as I cannot express. The fear of living to fall from grace, and sin against God, tore me at intervals, for some minutes, as one on a rack. Then a turn of the eye, by faith, on Jesus would make my enemies flee. Another cause of sorrow was something I am at a loss to describe, but it seemed most exquisite feelings were opened in my soul, such as I never knew before. If I saw or heard of the consequences of sin, I was ready to die! For instance,—if in the street I saw child ill used or slighted by the person who seemed to have the care of it, or a poor person sweating under an uncommonly heavy burden; or if I saw a horse, or a dog, oppressed or wounded, it was more than I could bear.

 

** His strength lay in applying the law to a conscience so tender. ED.

 

I seemed to groan and travail in birth, as it were, for the whole creation. Yet notwithstanding all these painful feelings, I had a solid peace. I always felt I committed my all to Jesus, and I lived on his faithfulness. As I observed before, anger seemed in my soul to know its place no more. Neither did I find an attachment to any creature or thing, but such as reflected from the will of God. Such a sense of purity dwelt on my soul as I can hardly describe. I often felt the power of those words, Unto the pure, all things are pure. I sometimes thought I should not care if my breast was as a window, and if every thought was without a covering to man as it was to God. A little degree of heavenly wisdom was also let down into my heart. Being fixed on a solid rock, I was not so easily shaken; and those words were powerfully applied, “Thou shalt not be afraid for any evil tidings, for thy heart standeth fast, believing in the Lord.” But above all, I felt such a simplicity, such a banging on the Lord Jesus, that self seemed annihilated, and Jesus was my all. The nothing into which I felt myself sunk, and the great salvation I seemed to possess in Jesus, were such as I cannot explain. I used often to say, It appears to me that unbelief cannot find a place in my soul to set its foot upon. And indeed it could not; for slavish fear seemed quite cast out. I could say, “I live not, but Christ liveth in me, and the life which I now live in the flesh, I live by faith in the Son of God.” I was truly nothing, and all my salvation came through faith in the Son of God. He was my soul’s delight; and I felt if I could have been saved any other way, I would not have accepted it. O how often was that word in my mouth and heart!

 

“Having done all, by faith I stand,

And give the praise, O Lord, to thee;

Thy holy arm, thy own right hand,

Hath got thyself the victory.”*

 

* Who can deny this great salvation without denying the truth and power of God But O! how few seek it! —ED.

 

All this time the Lord kept me, as to outward things, like an infant in its mother’s arms. I put in practice my first resolution, and had no other thought but of devoting myself to God in a single life: only I remember I sometimes thought, were I to be married to Mr. Fletcher,* would he not be rather a help, than a hindrance to my soul But it was only a thought, and had arisen from what some friends said to me on the subject.

 

* At that time Mr. Wesley’s assistant in London.

 

As I desired to be the Lord’s, and to spend all I had to his glory, I sometimes carried this desire too far, and did not allow myself quite what was needful. My exercises were greater than I had been used to, and I was seized with a complaint in my bowels. I thought if I had some spice boiled in water, and port wine with it, it would help me, but I was unwilling to get it. However my heavenly Father took care for that. He knows what we have need of before we ask; for at that very time a relation called, and brought me a quantity of spice as a present; and the very next day my father called in his chariot, and brought me a hamper of port wine, neither of them knowing anything of my wants! I therefore received it as immediately from the Lord.  And I could give a variety of instances of the same nature.  It seemed I could hardly think of a thing, but it was brought to me. O how true is that promise, “What is given up for God, shall be restored- manifold in this present life.” Before the Lord made me to wander from my father’s house, a particular person used to upbraid me with that reflection, “You will soon find the difference between your father’s house and such poking holes as you will live in. There you will not have one inch but the common street: whereas you have been used to large and fine gardens, in which you much delighted. And how tired you will be of such trash as you provide, instead of the plentiful provision of his table. Before you have lived so for six months, I will engage you will wish yourself back again, and your religion out of the way.”

 

But was it so O Lord, thou knowest! “Thou didst feed me as with the finest wheat flour, and with water out of the stony rock didst thou satisfy sue.”  All could want, all I could desire, was bountifully supplied. When I have sometimes been reflecting on my situation, inward and outward, I have remembered that word, The meek shall inherit the earth. Glory be to thee, O Lord, thou has ­meekened my spirit, and thou makest me to possess

things. Often I have said, in amazement, What can I fear I have no desire: the will of God swallows up all! My Jesus and my all! my Jesus and my all for ever!

The Life Of Mrs. Mary Fletcher - Part The Second

Chapter Two