Madeley, Sept. 30, 1816.
My dear Armstrong,
I SUPPOSE that you are aware, that, as resident curate, I am entitled to
the use of the vicarage-house. During Mrs. Fletcher’s life, I waved my
claim in her favour: but after her decease, I applied to the vicar, and
now that it has been put into pretty extensive repair, we have taken up
our abode in it, and a most holy happy spot we do indeed find it. In the
room where I am now writing, some of my older parishioners state, that
they have frequently taken their tea with both Mr. and Mrs. F., and well
remember the happy seasons they enjoyed. In the room in which we
commonly sit, they both of them departed in the Lord. In a third
chamber, Mr. F was accustomed to retire for more private and wrestling
prayer, and, as we read in his life, the wall of which was stained with
his breath while importunately pleading. Another room has the bureau at
which he was accustomed to write, and which, with many other things, he
left in his will for the use of his successors, that the house might not
be the worse for his having had it. In a word, almost every spot and
fixture reminds us pleasingly of those exalted characters who have
preceded us, and call forth many an earnest prayer, and many a private
ejaculation, that those who follow them may drink deeper and deeper into
their blessed spirit, and tread more and more closely in their pious and
spiritual steps.
Dear Mrs. Fletcher once mentioned to us, that one day, shortly after her
coming to Madeley, she remarked to Mr. F., as they were entering upon
their premises, that she did not know how it was, but that she always
felt a measure of divine influence whenever she entered within the gate.
The holy man answered that he was not surprised to hear her say so, for
that there was not a single brick or a stone in the whole premises which
had not been sanctified by prayer. I feel somewhat in the same way with
Mrs. F—, and though I am aware that God is everywhere present, and that
all spots may equally share in this his glorious presence, yet I cannot
but think that some places are privileged beyond others, and though,
perhaps, my Honduras friend may smile at his Madeley enthusiast, yet I
must frankly confess to you, that I consider it as no small privilege
that I dwell in the house, as well as labour in the parish, of one so
peculiarly devoted to God. The days I have already spent here have been,
without any exception, the happiest I have spent upon earth. Week after
week has rolled round in the peaceful enjoyment of the presence of the
blessed God. My most painful and laborious duties have been not only
easy, but a source of thankfulness and joy far beyond any of my former
experience. In a word, I seem to have known some _little_, at least, of
what is so beautifully described in one of my favourite hymns:—
“Far above all earthly things,
While yet my hands are here employed;
Sees my soul the King of kings
And freely talks with God.”
Pray for me, my dear Armstrong, that these feelings may not be
transitory, but abiding and ever increasing. I too often rest contented
with the mere husks of religion, instead of feeding on the substantial
and the nourishing corn. I am too generally satisfied with the outward
life of the Christian, the regulation of my conduct, temper, disposition,
pursuits, and so on; while that inward life of God within the soul, that
communion with the Father of spirits and the Son of his love, is too
commonly overlooked. I want a _deep work_ of his grace within my soul,
and this I am now endeavouring in my poor feeble way to pray for, if so
be that I may eventually obtain; but my unbelieving heart tells me, that
I never was cut out for anything like spirituality. One text of
Scripture, however, still encourages me, “This is the will of God even
your sanctification;” and therefore though faint, I would still be
persevering.
To-morrow evening, being the first Tuesday after quarter-day, our _church
classes_ hold their quarterly meetings for the second time. The first
time of their meeting was a season which will long be remembered by me
with gratitude. My heart quite melted to hear so many declare, that,
under God, they owned their first religious good to my poor feeble
ministrations, and when in the fulness of their hearts they could not
refrain from thanking the good Lord who had brought me among them. And I
felt the more astonished and thankful inasmuch as I never had a fourth
part of the like success in all the former years put together in which I
had been labouring elsewhere. Oh, what shall I render to the Lord for
all his benefits conferred upon me? I will take the cup of salvation and
call upon the name of the Lord—still call upon him for his future help
and blessing, for without this I feel I can do nothing. Our little
classes, I am thankful to state, are gradually increasing. I think we
reckon sixty-seven in all. As to one or two, I feel constrained to stand
in doubt, but the rest I trust are sincere souls. But, while I thus
number my little flock, I feel that there is necessity to guard against
the spirit of David: I endeavour to do this, and to sink down before God
under a continual sense of my own nothingness; but pride is a subtle
enemy, and, as Dr. Watts so correctly observes,
“We cannot make his glories known,
But self-applause creeps in.”
* * * * * * * *
I remain yours very truly,
G. M.