I stayed at Ipswich three weeks after the birth
of my precious little niece, Frances Elizabeth; rejoicing
in her daily growth, and calm trustful fearlessness--a
lesson which nothing ever preached to
me so loudly before. Respecting my spiritual state
at Ipswich, I would say that great blessings, and I
would fear great ingratitude, must be acknowledged.
Some evening hours in my chamber were exceeding
sweet, and some meetings solemn indeed. * * *
I returned in rich and flowing peace. Many a lesson
I had through my four months' absence, but none
like that which awaited my return. My father met
me at Plymouth; we reached home about eleven
o'clock at night, and went at once to the chamber,
where four months previously I last heard the voice
of my uncle, and, though he still breathed, I was
not to hear it again. He had sunk gradually for
weeks, and now, though his lips moved a little, a
word could not be heard. His face was sunk and
pallid, his breathing uneasy, and his eyes were closed.
After a short time we left, and at four o'clock in the
morning, without a struggle, his spirit passed quietly
away to his "eternal inheritance." "They that turn
many to righteousness shall shine as the stars for
ever and ever." I never, I believe, shall forget how
forcibly came to my mind, as I sat beside his lifeless
form, the words, "To this end Christ both died, and
rose, and revived, that He might be Lord both of
the dead and the living," and my thoughts turned
on many a solemn and blessed trust implied in them.
Her uncle, Samuel Rundell, died on the 4th of 5th Month, 1848, at the
age of eighty-five. In the _Annual Monitor_ for the following year is
a short Memoir of his life.
It had been for some years a frequent occupation with Eliza, together
with her sisters and cousins, to spend the long winter evenings with
her aged uncle and aunt, and after the decease of the former these
attentions were more constantly needed by the survivor. It was
striking to notice Eliza's cheerful alacrity to relinquish, when her
turn came round, her favorite pursuits, often for some weeks together,
in order to comfort and enliven the declining days of this aged
relative.
_7th Mo. --th_. My mental condition a quiet but
not painless one. I had been much favored, though
in pain and trouble, amidst which I had a kind note
from J.T., who says, "When at Liskeard, and since,
I have believed that it might be said unto thee, 'The
Master is come, and calleth for thee;' and I wish, if
thou hast been made sensible of this, it may be thy
very earnest concern to sit at His feet in great humility
of mind, that thou mayst hear from season to
season the gracious words that may proceed as out
of His mouth. It may be that in the ordering of
His gracious designs, He may see fit, as He has done
with many others, to allure thee and bring thee into
the wilderness; but I have no doubt that He will
also give thee vineyards from thence, and thou wilt
be made sensible that indeed it is His own right
arm that has and will bring salvation unto thee"
Though at present incapable of feeling as I have
done, yet, being desirous of finishing up my Journal,
I must acknowledge that great and gracious have
been the dealings of my heavenly Father with me,
causing me to rejoice in Him who has done for me
"exceeding abundantly above all that I could ask
or think," chiefly in the way, which I have found a
very blessed way, of enabling me to give up my own
will to His, and to be subject in things little and
great to Himself. As far as I have known the yoke
of Christ, it is indeed a sweet and easy yoke; and
the chiefest sorrow which I have found during my
endeavor to bear it has been from my aptness to
throw it off. The worst of snares are the most
secret.
We are now quietly and unexcitedly at home; and
I wish industriously to do my little duties, and follow
my little callings: of these the Workhouse women supply
one of the most satisfactory to myself. They are a
sad sight; but I feel that my small labors with them
are not rejected, but desired, and I hope to a few at
least they may be of some use. On First-days I now
first read a short tract, then read in the Testament
two or three chapters, verse by verse, with the women,
then hear them say hymns,--which three or four learn
gladly: this fills the hour. And once in a week I like
to go in and try to teach those who cannot read. I
have much felt, lately, that it is vain to try as a mere
satisfaction to conscience to do these things, because
we _ought_: it must be from a better motive--true
keeping of the "first and great commandment," and
the second, which "is like unto it." No busy doings
at home or abroad will ever do instead.
_8th Mo. 5th. 7th-Day_. I must in thankfulness record
free and great mercies this week. First-day was
a happy one. In the morning rain and a cough kept
me at home. I read the crucifixion and resurrection
in different Evangelists, and cannot tell how meltingly
sweet it was. Surely I did love Jesus then because
He had first loved me. Sundry sweet refreshing
brooks have flowed by my wayside, and some dry lonely
paths I have trodden, (since,) but think He who is
alone the foundation and corner-stone, immovable
and undeceiving, has become more precious. Oh, how
shall I be enough careful to trust him alone? I have
got on a little with Gibbon's Rise and Fall, and have
begun Neander on the Emperors, finished one volume
of Goethe with L., and begun Milton with M., and
English history with R.
_9th Mo. 2d_. The week tolerably satisfactory; but
how truly may we say, "A day in thy courts is better
than a thousand"! This evening's unexpected, unsought,
unasked, free, gratuitous mercy has made the
last two hours worth more than some whole days of
this week. Oh, how kind is He who knows how to
win back and attract to Himself by imparting ineffable
desires after what is good, even to a heart that has
grown dry and dead and worldly! I have thought
that some measure of our growth in grace may be found
in the degree in which our carnal natural reluctance
to receive Christ back into our vessel, come how He
may, is diminished. How full of significance is the
inquiry, "To whom is the arm of the Lord revealed?"
Blessed revelation; and well is it for those who feel
ready to adopt the prayer, "Awake, awake, O arm of
the Lord," if they know the way of its coming. Oh,
how does its acceptance presuppose an experience of
something of the kind, so awfully set forth as from
Omnipotence Himself!--"I looked, and there was no
man, therefore mine own arm brought salvation unto
me." Yes, it is when He sees that we have no human
expectance or confidence left, and are, as it were,
at our wits' end; it is then that His own arm brings
salvation, that He says, "Stand still, and see the salvation
of God; for the Lord shall fight for you, and ye
shall hold your peace." Oh, how great the condescension
which has given me a glimpse of "so great
salvation"! But I have remarked that it never has
been in answer to any questionings or searchings of
my own. Some great perplexities I have had lately,
being so unable to satisfy myself how far religion or
its duties should be the act of ourselves--so confused
about prayer, etc. Difficulties, hardly capable to be put
into words, put me in real distress; but the good seems
to be _revealed_, if I may use such a word, to another
part of me; or, as I. Pennington would say, "to
_another eye_ and _ear_ than those which are so curious
to learn." The Lord grant that I may at last become
an obedient and truly teachable child; for that faculty,
whatsoever it be, that asks vociferously, seems not to
be the one which, as I.P. says, "_graspingly receives,"_
but is rather a hinderance to its reception.
_10th Mo. 14th_. Outwardly, the chief variety in my
experience has been an interesting visit with my
mother at Kingsbridge and Totness. A solitary walk
in the garden at Totness, on First-day afternoon, I
think I can never forget. No sunshine--though not
mere darkness--was upon me during nearly all the
week: yet I wondered to find that at Kingsbridge,
though visiting was a constant self-denial, in withdrawing
me from the earnest search in which I was
engaged, I got on more easily than common, and felt
much more love than usual to my friends. The first
gleam of sunshine did not come through any man's
help, but in my lone matin the day after our return.
I tried to cast my care on God, and on Seventh-day
morning was favored with a blessed evidence that He
did care for me. Since then it has not been repeated;
but earnest have been my cries in secret to my heavenly
Father, whose mercies indeed are great; and
my lonely hours have been employed mostly in seeking
Him, having little taste for reading of any general
kind. One morning in particular, at Trevelmond, in
the plantation, waiting for my father, was my heart
poured out to God. Calmness has often succeeded;
and then I dread the coming of indifference and coolness.
Oh, this is surely the worst of states! I had
rather endure almost any amount of anguish.
Yesterday, the probability that my course on earth
may be short occurred forcibly. I recurred to the
words quoted by J.T., "The sting of death is sin,"
with encouragement to hope for "the victory." However,
the future is not my care. May I be the care
of Him whose care the future is, and then----
_10th Mo. 22d_. At home with a cold, and may
just record my poor spirit's lowness and poverty
amid, as I trust, its honest desires to become wholly
the Lord's. "Ye ask, and have not, because ye ask
amiss, that ye may consume it upon your lusts," is
surely true of spiritual food. We should desire it
that we "may grow thereby," not from mere spiritual
voluptuousness; and, oh, in my own desires for the
will of God to be done, how often have I not known
what spirit I was of! How often have I been tenaciously
standing on the very ground that I was asking
to have broken up and destroyed! A short lone
meeting in the parlor, blest chiefly with humiliation,
and this I would regard as a blessing.
Letter to ----.
I am tempted to spend a few lonely minutes in thanking
thee for thy truly kind salutation, advice, and encouragement;
though I fear to say much in reply. I hope
and trust thou art not altogether mistaken in me: in one
respect I know thou art not,--that I have seen of the
mercy and love of a long-suffering Saviour, whom I do
at times desire to love and serve with all my heart; and
not the least of His blessings I esteem it that any of His
children should care for me for His sake. I dread depending
on any, even of these, which, as well as the fear
of man, I have found does bring a snare; and as far as
experience goes, I seem to have tasted more of the "tree
of the knowledge of good and evil" than of the "tree
of life;" which, however, I would fain hope, "yielding
its fruit every month," has some for the wintry season
of darkness and of frost. Yes, my dear friend, thou hast
rightly judged in this also, that the winter is sometimes
very cold, and the night very dark. May thy desires
for me be accomplished, that these may indeed work for
my good; much as the utter absence of feeling would
sometimes tempt me to think it the result of that worst
of all sentences, "Let her alone;" to which the added
memories of many a "mercy cast away" are very ready
to contribute. Am I in this repining? I hope not; for
every day brings fresh cause to acknowledge that because
my enemies, though lively and strong, "do not
quite triumph over me," therefore I may still trust that
He favoreth me. It is seldom that I write or speak in this
way of myself. May we learn more and more of the
utter insufficiency of any earthly thing, or of any power
of our own to do what is essential for our salvation, and
then, when we hang solely and entirely on the Lord
Jesus, we shall be safe. Of this I feel no doubt or fear:--the
fear is of having confidence in any thing besides, of
spiritual pride, of self-sufficiency. Yes, I find self
has many lives, and the very sorrows and humiliations
of one day, if we do not beware, may become the idols
of the next. "We have eaten and drunk in thy presence:"
can such a language ever be used in vain-glory,
while we remember "the wormwood and the gall," which
we now see to have been administered in fulfilment of
His own words, "Ye shall indeed drink of my cup"?
Indeed, it seems to me that nothing is too high, too good,
or too pure for Satan to make use of, if he can but get
us and it into his hands. May the Lord be pleased to
rebuke this devourer for our sakes, and give at length to
the often-desponding heart to know that Himself hath
promised, "when the wicked are cut off, thou shalt see
it," and that the "God of peace shall bruise Satan under
our feet."
_12th Mo. 4th_ To the same.
* * * I am sorry for thy physical state, yet doubtless
it is but the inverted image of a counterbalancing
mental good, which is, or is about to be, perhaps to signify
that
"God doth not need
Either man's works or His own gifts; who best
Bear His mild yoke, they serve Him best;
They also serve who only stand and wait."
It is surely not for the value of the service itself, that
He calls for it so long and so repeatedly, till at last the
iron sinew gives way: no, but for the sake of bending
the iron sinew itself, and when it _is_ bent in one direction,
I conclude He does not mean to stiffen it there, but
would have it bend perhaps back to the very same position
as at first it was so hard to bend it _from_, with this
one wide difference, that in the first case it was so in its
own will, but now in His will. Perhaps thou thinkest I
am darkening counsel: I do not wish to do so, but write
just how things have happened to me in my small way.
Ought we not to be willing to be bent or unbent any
way? and if a bow is to "abide in strength," it must be
unbent when it is not wanted. But as we have all different
places to fill, and different dispositions and snares,
and besetments, we must not measure ourselves among
ourselves.
It is indeed very good, as thou sayest, to be sometimes
alone, and at times I trust I have found it so; but it has
its dangers also, especially to me, who am perhaps more
apt to make self of too much importance than to shrink
from "due responsibility and authority." Indeed, this
latter word belongs not to me at all, and if I may but
keep life in me, (or have it kept,) well indeed will it be.
Oh, till we have grace enough willingly to do the smallest
matters, thankfully to "sit in the lowest room," meekly
and patiently to be put out of our own way, and see our
plans and intentions frustrated, and find ourselves of
small account or value in the Church or in the world,
yes, till we have grace enough to forget self altogether,
"content to fill a little space, so thou art glorified," I
know not where is our claim to be followers of Him
"who made Himself of no reputation." I am very far
from this. Couldst thou have seen how much hold the
many small duties of my lonely week have taken on my
mind, how little time I have found for the purpose for
which we both value solitude, and how much my "lightly
stirred" spirit has been hurried about from one object to
another, I fear thou wouldst scarcely think even this
note other than presumptuous. Oh, how should I be rebuked
by the thought,
"One thing is needful, and but one:
Why do thy thoughts on many run?"
_12th Mo. 30th_. To-day ends the week, and to-morrow
the year. Very unfit am I to speak of it as I
would. I have felt very happy on some occasions,
yet I have feared lest what should be on a good
foundation is yet but built of "hay and stubble."
If so, who can tell the fierceness of the fire that
burns between me and my wished-for rest? There
is no way to true safety but through it; and, oh, to
part with all combustibles is very hard; but why
waste a thought on the hardness, could it but be
speedily and simply done? My old difficulty--what
is duty when the sensible help of grace is out of
sight--renews its strength. Doubtless to wait for it,
and perhaps ask for it also; but how? Oh that I
had crossed the great gulf from myself to my
Saviour! Oh that I were in His hands and out of
my own!
_2d Mo. 3d_, 1849. I have been sorely tried with
apparent desertion and darkness; "yet not deserted"
is my still struggling faith; and some consoling
thoughts have visited me of days still I trust in
store, when, "as one whom his mother comforteth,"
the Lord will comfort me. Dear J.T.'s counsel has
seldom been absent from my thoughts; but, manifold
as have been my heavenly Father's instrumental
mercies, I never was more impressed with the absolute
need of His immediate preserving care.
"Can I trust a fellow-being?
Can I trust an angel's care?
O thou merciful All-Seeing,
Beam around my spirit there."
And not less _here_, in this shady vale of life, than in
the deep of death. Oh, how desirable, how infinitely
sweet, to sleep in His arms, on His bosom! An early
translation, if it were His will, would indeed be a
blessed portion; but I do not expect such indulgence,
and desire not to wish it. It is enough if I may
know that "to live is Christ," and that to die will
at length be "great gain."
_2d Mo. 13th_. Seldom does any appeal to my heavenly
Father seem more fitting than this, "Thou
knowest my foolishness;" and, oh, may His arm of
mercy and compassion be one day revealed.
_3d Mo.--th_. Letter to ----.
* * * Oh, how desirable it is to be willing to be
made of much or of little use!
"And careful less to serve thee much,
Than to please thee perfectly:"
and, very far back as I feel in the race, and insensible of
advance, I think we may be encouraged to believe that
we make some approaches to the "mark for the prize,"
if we have a clearer and more desirous view of the yet
far-distant goal. "Thine eyes shall see the King in his
beauty, they shall behold the land that is very far off,"
must have been addressed to one still "very far" from
the promised land. Thus I scribble to thee the musings
with which, in my now shady allotment, I try to encourage
myself to hope; and which perhaps are as incorrect
as the lament which the beautiful spring will sometimes
prompt, "With the year seasons return, but not to me."
It would, however, be most ungrateful to complain. To
live at all is a _great_ favor--an undeserved and unspeakable
favor; and though it be a life of pain and weariness,
and even grief, may it never become a life of
thankless ingratitude! We who have tried our heavenly
Father's patience so long, dare we complain of waiting
for Him?
_4th Mo. 13th_. Letter to M.B.
* * * However high be the capacity of the mind,
it is humiliating to find what small things can distract
it, if its anchor-hold be not truly what and where it
ought to be; and who does not find the need of this
being often renewed and made fast? The little experience
I have had, that even a life comparatively free
from trial, except as regards its highest significance, "is
but vanity," and the belief that it is so infinitely surpassed
by another, has much modified to me the feeling
of witnessing (might I venture to say of _anticipating?)_
the transition for others or for myself. I nevertheless
cannot say much from experience; for it has not yet
been my lot to lose one of my own intimate or nearly
attached friends, except where the course of time had
made it a natural and inevitable thing; and I know
there must be depths of sorrow in such events only
fathomed by descending to them.
_4th Mo.--th_. Letter to M.B.
What a privilege it is to be permitted to
expect and look for a better guidance than our own
judgment or inclination, even in the small things of our
small lives; small though they are, compared with the
great events which are ruled by our heavenly Father's
will, how much is involved in them as far as _we_ are concerned!
and we need not measure the controlling care
of Providence by the abstract greatness or littleness of
any event. Compared with His infinity, the fate of an
empire would be not more worthy of His care than the
least event of our lives; but it is _love_--the same wonderful
love that can comfort and bless the dying-pillow of
a little one, in which we want more practical faith for
our safe conduct through this uncertain life. Did we _live_
in such a faith, it would be sweet and easy to _die_ in it.
_4th Mo. 30th. Bristol_. Yesterday was a memorable
day to me; the evening meeting found me very
sad and burdened; when I thought I was made sensible
of something like an offer from One who is infinite
in power and love, to take this burden away,
to bear it Himself, and to do in me His own will.
There seemed something like a covenant set before
me, that all this should be done for me on condition
of my acquiescence with and subjection to that
supreme will, that I should refuse neither to suffer
His own work within me nor to do His manifested
will. It may be that I stamp too highly what was
most gently and calmly spread before my heart. It
may be that the relief, the peaceful calm, which
followed my endeavor to unite with this precious proposal,
was a mistaken thing; but I believe not.
Strikingly in unison with all this was the evangelical
and practical sermon of S. Treffry which followed,
and my feelings in returning home and sitting down
alone for a few minutes to seek a confirmation, were
like a seal to all that I had heard in meeting. This
morning I am far from rich or lively, but seem
bound neither to doubt nor to complain; but only
and constantly to endeavor to submit every thought
of my heart to my dear Saviour's will; and thus,
after many a tossing, I have been enabled to say,
"I rest my soul on Jesus,--
This weary soul of mine."
There may I ever be, O Lord.
_5th Mo. 13th. First-day evening_. Oh that here
I might once more set up my Ebenezer, and say,
"Hitherto Thou hast helped me, O Lord." "My
Father's arms, and not my own, were those that held
me fast." Ah! my own hold in the last fortnight
has often relaxed, though many a heart-tendering
evidence have I had that "He is faithful that hath
promised." Yesterday morning when I awoke, dead
as ever in myself, some sweet whisper of goodness at
hand saluted my ear, and, oh, it was but a sound of
the abundance of heavenly rain that soon made my
heart overflow.
_8th Mo. 4th_. Letter to ----
* * * At our Monthly Meeting, only a few words
from ----, advising young ones to be patient and submissive.
And surely we may well be thankful to learn
so wholesome a lesson, seeing how many sorrows we
have often brought upon ourselves by the contrary disposition,
and how faithful is the promise that "the
meek He will guide in judgment and teach His way."
How contemptible, as well as sinful, that rebellious spirit
sometimes appears (when we honestly weigh it) that
wants to make in its own special favor exceptions to
the wise management of our kind and gracious heavenly
Father! Oh, why should we prolong our woes by such
perversity, when we feel at times as if it would be our
highest joy to be what He would have us to be, and our
very meat and drink to do His will?
_8th Mo. 13th_. This evening we had a precious
meeting indeed. A solemn silence, in which much
had been felt, was followed by a fervent prayer from
----. Truly my heart's response was, "Let thine
own work praise thee." Do I write too much if I
record the blessing of ability to crave for myself this
evening an increased knowledge of and obedience to
the Shepherd's voice, and that no disguise of Satan
may ever impose on me for this?
_9th Mo. 7th_. Letter to M.B.
* * * I often wonder at the attractions so many
find in merely following the multitude in their recreations.
* * * Do we not sometimes find, if our
honest wish is to refresh ourselves for duty, and not to
escape from it, that even our rest and recreation is
owned by a blessing to which one would not for all
the world be strangers? How kind was He who had
welcomed back his faithful twelve from their labors for
others, when He said, "Come ye _yourselves_ apart into a
desert place, and rest a while; for there were many coming
and going, and they had no leisure so much as to
eat." But even then they were to learn no selfish indolence,
and rest was quickly laid aside to share their
morsels with thousands. If we were always His companions,
did "all our hopes of happiness stay calmly
at His side," how would our sitting down to rest and
rising up to toil be alike blessed! And then, when the
scene is changed, and sorrow and care become our portion,
the same who was our joy in prosperity will be
our refuge in adversity; and "because thou hast made
the Lord thy habitation, there shall no evil befall thee."
I write my wishes for us both; may it be thus with
thee and me, and when it is well with thee, think of
one who longs sometimes to know these things for herself.
But how well it is that our safety is in other
hands than ours! how often, had it depended even on
our continued desire for that which is good, had all been
over with us!
"Thy parents' arms, and not thy own,
Were those that held thee fast."
_11th Mo. 4th_. "Hunted with thoughts," as J.
Crook so truly describes it, "up and down like a
partridge on the mountains," often feeling in meeting
as if nothing could be compared with the joy
of _resting_ in Jesus, a rest to which I am still much
a stranger; no more able to command the mob of
unquiet thoughts than to hush the winds. At other
times, as this evening in my chamber, a sort of
strained anguish of soul, wherein my desire has been
that my eyes might he ever toward the Lord, that
He, in His own time, may pluck my feet out of the
net. The mental pain I have passed through makes
_some_ escape seem most desirable. If to lay down
the body were all I needed to escape, and I were fit
for it, how willingly would I accept such an invitation!
But I dare not ask it, nor any other thing,
but only that He who alone can, may make me in
His own time what He would have me to be; and
this evening I have been thinking that the painful
feelings I suffered might be the means appointed for
freeing me from the bondage of the worldly mind,
and from those tormenting, hurrying thoughts. Oh,
be it so; whether by means utterly incomprehensible
to me, or not, be the needful work done. I trust the
comprehension is not needed; and that the simplicity
and submission which _are_ needed may be granted
me; and that still [if] my enemies be expelled, as I
hope they will be by "His own arm," (as dear J.T.
said,) their presence will not be laid to my charge.
Alas, that I am so often guilty of dallying with
them! What wonder that the wilderness is so long
and tortuous, when I reckon the molten calves, the
murmurings, the fleshly desires?
_1st Mo. 17th_, 1850. Letter to M.B.
* * * Canst thou feel any sympathy or compassion
for one who pleads guilty to the folly of a flurried
mind, "wasting its strength in strenuous idleness," and
that, too, with open eyes, seeing its own weakness and
despising it? One of the worst things such a folly includes
is that it allows no leisure to the mind; whereas,
I believe well-ordered minds, however much care may
be placed upon them, can throw this aside, when not
necessarily engaged, and repose in the true dignity of
self-command. This is, I believe, some people's natural
gift; but it surely ought, by supernatural means, to be
within every one's reach if only the government were
on the shoulders of the "Prince of Peace." Oh, how
much that means! What "delectable mountains!"
What "green pastures!" What "still waters!" What
"gardens enclosed!" What "south lands," and "springs
of water," are pictured in that _beau-ideal_ "on earth as
it is in heaven"! Well my second page has spoken of a
land very far off from the haunted region described in
the first; but to "turn over a new leaf" is easier in a
letter than in a life. Thy idea of the next ten years
altering us less than the last will perhaps prove true;
but, oh, the painful doubts that force themselves on me,
whether the present channel is such that we can peacefully
anticipate it only as deepening, and not as having
an utter change of direction! How much harder to live
in the world and not be of it than to forsake it altogether!
So lazy self says; and, in turning from present duty,
tries to justify itself by the excuse that it would willingly
leave this world for another.
_2d Mo. 4th. First-day evening_. Little as I have
felt inclined to put pen to paper of late, I thought
this evening that some small memento might be left,
as it were, at this point of the valley, just to say,
Here were the footsteps of a weary halting pilgrim at
such a time--one that brought no store of food or
raiment, no supply of wisdom or subtlety, no provision
for the way, nothing but wounds and weaknesses,
household images, secret sins; but by favor
of unspeakable long-suffering, continuing unto this
day--and, as she would fain hope, not deserted. A.
troop of thoughts doth grievously overcome her, and
faint is her hope that she shall overcome at the last;
yet does she desire to set up the Ebenezer, if not of
rejoicing, which as yet cannot be, yet of humble hope,
in a cloudy and dark day, that He who has said,
"Light and gladness are sown for the upright in:
heart," will yet verify His promise in the day-spring
of the light of His countenance, if any measure of
integrity remain within. Oh, that He may keep, as
the apple of His eye, that which a troop of robbers
are watching to spoil, and may provide it with a
hiding-place in His pavilion of love! And for one
thing is my earnest wish directed to Him, that, unable
as I am to direct my own steps aright, He would
provide a leader for me, and a willing heart within
me, and grant me _enough_ of His guidance to keep
me in the way, and enough of a willingness to walk
therein and not stumble.
_3d Mo. 7th_, Letter to M.B.
* * * I know well that impatience will sometimes
put on the pretence of something much better, and that
we shall never run to good purpose unless we "run with
patience." Unhappily, a slow gradual progress is sadly
opposed to my inconstant nature, and after one of the
many interruptions it meets with, how prone am I to
wish for some flying leap to make up for the past! It
seems so hard a thing to get transformed, and therefore--strange
inconsistency indeed--one would be translated.
But truly it might be said, "Ye know not what ye ask."
* * * I have been interested with reading the early
part of "No Cross, no Crown," and especially the chapter
on lawful self, where the receiving back again, as
Abraham did Isaac, the lawful pleasures which had been
resigned to the Divine will, is so nicely spoken of; and I
do believe it explains the cause of half the gloom of
would-be Christians. They do not quite refuse, nor
quite resign their hearts, and so they are kept, not only
without true peace, but without the enjoyment of those
earthly goods which have been called for, not to deprive
their owners of them, but to be restored in _this life_ "an
hundredfold." How is it to be wished that these half
measures were abandoned, and that if we have put our
hand to the plough, we might not look back, as we so
often have done, to the unfitting ourselves for that kingdom
which is not only righteousness, but peace and joy.
"That your joy may be full," is plainly the purpose of
our Saviour towards His children; and yet how many,
as Macaulay says, "have just enough religion to make
them unhappy when they do wrong, and yet not enough
to induce them to do right."
_5th Mo. 28th_. It is an unspeakable blessing to be
permitted and enabled to pray. How can I be sufficiently
thankful that it has been mine? Last night
my heart was fervently engaged towards my God;
and this evening, though the sense of my utter destitution
and weakness was very painful, was it not a
blessing if it led me to Him? I have thought of the
test, "In quietness and confidence shall be your
strength." There is danger in fleshly confidence;
yet there is no strength, but a new danger in fleshly
fear. Oh, I would be stripped of _all_ fleshly dispositions
of whatever kind, or however specious: they
war against the soul; but because mine enemy has
not quite triumphed over me, may I not believe that
_He_ favoreth me in whose favor is life, and whose is
a faithful love? Oh for its perfect dominion in me!
His will is my sanctification, my perfection. It is
His "good pleasure to give me the kingdom"--even
to me. Amazing grace! What in me but my greatest
foe could hinder the full adoption of the prayer,
"Thy will be done"?
_6th Mo. 3d_. The little measure of faith I have is
not worn out, but rather purified and strengthened;
but, oh, when I think of the reality, the momentous
import, of the change of nature from sin to holiness,
which has to be effected, what a baptism may I not
have yet to be baptized with, and what perils to pass
through! Oh, if it might please my heavenly Father
to shorten and hasten the process, and deliver me
from earth and its dangers into a changeless state of
safety and peace in His dear presence! But I do
believe He would rather be glorified by living Christians
than by only dying penitents. A watchful,
holy life is His delight. Oh that this high calling
may not be slighted or cast away! The near approach
of my birthday has led me to look back over
the brief notes of twelve months. The interesting
details we have received of the Yearly Meeting
remind me of what I felt at the conclusion of the
last. The Lord has again been with the Church's
gathering, faithful as of old, and, where seats were
vacant, hath filled His people with joy.
_6th Mo. 5th_. I wish simply to record how last
night, when in bed, I was favored with a calm, watchful
frame, and lay enjoying the mental repose till
long after my usual hour of sleep. This morning at
breakfast-time it was renewed, with a sweet sense of
the willingness of our heavenly Father to enable His
children to serve Him. He made them for that end:
it is His will that they should do so. It cannot be
that He will refuse them the indispensable assistance.
How sweet was this feeling! but hurry, and too much
care about little things, sadly dissipated me in the
day. This evening I have had a gracious gift of
some of those _Sabbath_ feelings again, after reading
the seventeenth chapter of Jeremiah. The verses
referring to the Sabbath-day, and bearing no burden
therein, were solemnly instructive. The utter inability
of my natural heart to attain or retain such a
state shows me the necessity of all being done for
me through faith in Divine power, "His name,
through faith in His name." Oh for watchfulness
unto prayer continually, and that the cumber of
earth may be cast away! "Take heed that your
flight be not in the winter," has been my watchword,
though how imperfectly obeyed! and if, through
infinite mercy, the season be changing, if He who
has faithfully kept me from utter death there-through
is beginning to give me more of rest, oh,
let me never forget the solemn addition, "neither on
the Sabbath day."
_6th Mo. 13th_. * * * I wish now to record
the very solemn and encouraging visit of James
Jones from America to our meeting this day. How
wondrously did he speak of trials and afflictions, and
the necessity of entire resignation through all!
Though oceans of discouragement and mountains of
difficulty loom up before thee, thou wilt be brought
through the depths dry-shod, and be enabled to
adopt the language, "What ailed thee, O thou sea,
that thou fleddest, and ye mountains, that ye skipped
like rams?" Thou wilt be "led through green pastures,
and beside still waters," speaking of the call
to service in the Church, which he believed was to
some in an especial manner in the early stages of
life. I heard all; but such was my dejection that I
seemed to _receive_ little, though I could not but feel
the power. I seemed incapable of taking either
hope or instruction to myself. J.J. left us after
dinner, and, on taking leave, took my hand in a very
solemn manner, and, after a few minutes silence,
said, tenderly, but authoritatively, "If the mantle
falls on thee, wear;" words which will long live
in my heart. Would that the power which sent
them may fulfil them! None other can.
_7th Mo. 1st_. Last week at Plymouth Quarterly
Meeting. An interesting time. I trust that which
silenced and solemnized my spirit was something
better than myself. What could I do but endeavor
to lie down in passiveness under it, and crave that
nothing might interfere to mar the work of the
Lord? Much was said to encourage the hope that
those who truly love the Lord will at length be
brought into more peace and liberty in Him; that
He will qualify them to fill just that place He designs
for them in His house. Oh, how I long to
become that, and that only, which pleases Him, that
neither height nor depth might separate me from
His love! And when I think of the deceitfulness of
my heart, the danger of being lifted up seems so
appalling that the former deliverance seems yet
greater than the latter.
_7th Mo. 23d_. I have been glad to be released
from some of my charges and cares, as well as to
share the loving interests of home with all my dear
sisters, and trust it is not all laziness which makes
me shrink from engaging in new though useful
objects. I seem to have much need of quiet, and
have enjoyed many hours with dear F.'s precious
children. Often, as now, I am very destitute, and
sometimes very sad; but sometimes, though rarely,
"all is peace." Long shall I remember a moonlight
half-hour, on Sixth-day, in the fields and garden,
where I sat down to enjoy the cool of the day, and
for a time all sorrow was far away, and the very
"Prince of Peace" did seem to reign. Then did I
feel I had not followed "a cunningly-devised fable,"
and the precious words did comfort me, "If children,
then heirs." But, oh, how otherwise I often am!
how utterly destitute! This day we have had a
sweet little visit from ----. His encouragement to
the tribulated children saluted my best life, overborne
as it felt with the burden of unregenerate
nature--ready to say, "Who shall deliver me from
the body of this death?" and, amid many a giving
way to the worryings of earthly thoughts, struggling
to say, "Lord, I believe: help thou mine unbelief."
Often have I remembered dear Sarah Tuckett's
encouraging words, "But through all, and underneath
all, will be the everlasting Arms." Amen, and
amen.
_8th Mo. 4th._ Still, still amen, says my poor weak
spirit, in the remembrance of "goodness tried so
long," of the faithful love of my heavenly Father,
which melted my spirit on the morning of Fifth-day
week, with the blessed hope that I had not followed
"a cunningly-devised fable" in seeking a nearer
union with my Saviour. I little thought what was
awaiting me that day--a very important proposal
from ----, put into my hands by my father. After
glancing at the contents, I laid it aside, to seek for
a little calmness before reading it, and needed all
that morning's manna to strengthen my conviction,
"Thou art my Father." Into _His_ hands I have
sought to commit myself and my all, trusting that a
covenant with everlasting love will not be marred by
aught beneath the skies. Some precious feelings
have I since enjoyed; "And one of them shall not
fall to the ground without your Father," "Ye are of
more value than many sparrows," have been almost
daily in my heart. On Sixth-day, after spending
the afternoon in the country with a cheerful party,
before going to bed, such a blessed sense of my
heavenly Father's presence and love was vouchsafed
me, that every uneasy thought was swallowed up
in-the precious conviction, "I know in whom I
have believed." This love did indeed appear the
"pearl of great price," and all else as "dust in the
balance."
_8th Mo. 20th_. Last week I was once or twice
favored with a precious feeling of Divine love. At
one time my earnest sense of need and desire to seek
Him to whom I could appeal amid many a recollection
of past transgressions, in the words, "Thou
knowest that I love thee," was most sweetly followed
by the remembrance of the words, "I remember
thee, the kindness of thy youth, the love of thine
espousals; when thou wentest after me in the wilderness,
in a land that was not sown." At another
time the precious promise, "Because thou hast made
the Lord thy habitation, there shall no evil befall
thee," came livingly before me, and then I felt how
far short of the terms I had fallen. Oh, how preciously
did I feel the worth of an atonement! how
my Saviour's pardon did not only remove the burden
of guilt, but really reinstate me in the privileges
which my backslidings had forfeited, so that the
promise of safety was still mine! * * *
_9th. Mo. 20th_. [Alluding to a visit from some
friends.] How precious are these marks of our Father's
love! His eye is surely on us, and His hand
too, for good. May we never, may _I_ never, do any
thing to frustrate His merciful designs! Very various
has been my state--so dead and earthly, sometimes,
that I may indeed feel that in me "dwelleth no
good thing," but now and then so filled with desires
after God, that I feel assured that they come from
Himself.
_9th Mo. 26th_. This afternoon, in a lonely walk,
my sorrow was stirred, and I hope I prayed for
mercy; but it has been hard to keep any hold of
the anchor. But what! shall I leave my only Helper
because of my evil case--my only Physician because
of my desperate disease? I can take comfort in the
thought that He knows the worst, and that He has
sworn eternal enmity to sin. Then, if He loves me,
a sinner, He must be willing and able to save me;
and Jesus Christ is the mediator between God and
man, that He may be the perfect divider between
the sinner and his sin. Oh, what a work is this--which
none but Omnipotent grace can do! Oh, be
it done for me.
_11th Mo. 20th_. Letter to M.B. [Alluding to
her prospect of marriage.]
* * * How does such an occasion teach one the
weakness of human nature, and our utter dependence
on our heavenly Father's preserving care, who "knows
our frame and remembers that we are but dust." And
if we can in truth say, "If Thy presence go not with
me, carry me not up hence," and endeavor to decide in
His fear. I hope we may trust, that if it be not of Him,
something will be provided for our rescue, and that if
it be, He will remember His ancient promise, "My presence
shall go with thee, and I will give thee rest."
_1st Mo. 4th_, 1851. So very much has happened
since I made my record here, that I scarcely know
where to begin. Never did a year end thus with
me. I had almost called it the most important of
my life; and certainly it is so as regards time, and
also a very important one as regards eternity. Now
I find my hopes, my interests, my anticipations, my
every feeling and affection, have a strong reference to
another than myself--one whom I believe the
Providence of a merciful, heavenly Father has led
me to regard with esteem and love, as a sharer in the
future portion of the path, of life.
Surely it has been a serious thing, much as I have
fallen short in the duties of my present favored and
sheltered lot, to consent to undertake responsibilities
so weighty and untried; and yet I have cause to
hope in the mercy of Him who has helped me
hitherto, whose covenant is an everlasting covenant,
even a covenant of peace, that shall never be removed
by any earthly change. Oh that it may never
be forsaken by me! Oh that every breach may be
forgiven me! Oh that the wisdom that is from
above may be my safeguard and director! How has
it comforted me, in thinking of leaving such dearly-loved
ones behind, to feel that one Friend above
all others, whose love has been the most precious
joy of my life, will go with me, and be with me
forever, and, I trust, bind in that bond of heavenly
love, even more and more closely, the spirits He, I
trust, has brought together, and make us one another's
joy in Him!
Now that we are at home in the quiet round of
duties and employments which have filled so many
(outwardly at least) peaceful years, and that perhaps
my continuance among them reckons but by months,
oh for a truly obedient, affectionate, filial spirit,
both to my heavenly Father and the precious guardians
of my childhood! I have strongly felt that my
highest duty towards him with whom my future lot
may be linked, as well as my own highest interest,
is to live in the love and fear of God. Many deficiencies
I shall doubtless be conscious of! but if I
may live, and we may be united in the love and fear
of God, all, all will be well. Oh, then, to be watchful
and prayerful!
_1st Mo. 25th_. Letter to M.B.
* * * There is much, very much, connected with
any experience in these matters calculated to teach us
that this is not our rest; and often have I thought, when
pondering the uncertain future, that but for the small
degree in which the hope of things beyond, steadfast
and eternal, keeps its hold, I should be ready to sink;
and then I think of kind rich promises on which I try
to lay hold, "Thy shoes shall be iron and brass," and
"As thy day, so shall thy strength be." And so, dear
M., I trust it will be with us all, if our trust be but
rightly placed; and in this I fear I have sometimes, perhaps
often, been mistaken. I am sure it is well to have
this sifted and searched into, and none of the pains
which must attend such a process are in vain. When
we have learned more fully what and how frail we are,
then we can better appreciate the help that is offered,
and the abundant blessing of peace when it does come.
The depth of our own capacity for suffering is known to
few of us; and when we have made a little discovery of
it, some short acquaintance with the dark cold caverns
of hopeless woe into which it is possible to fall, even
when all externally is bright and apparently prosperous,
how thankful then should we feel for the daylight of
hope!
Perhaps I am using strong language. I would not use
it to every one, but I think thou knowest that words are
feeble rather than strong to express what may be the
real portion of one whom spectators look on as very
happy; and I do feel sure that not a grief that can befall
us even in this hidden world of ours, but _may_ be the
stepping-stone to a joy with which also a stranger doth
not intermeddle; and how shall we sooner find it than
by "casting all our care on Him who careth for us"?
"He knoweth our frame, and remembereth that we are
dust, and is touched with a feeling of our infirmities."
_3d Mo. 14th_.--Letter to M.B.
* * * I am abundantly convinced that if we can
find the right place and keep it, and endeavor to fulfil
its duties, whatever they may be, _there_ is our safety, and
_there_ is our greatest peace; and what a blessing to know
in any degree where the knowledge and the power are
both to be obtained! * * *
_6th Mo. 21st_. After a fortnight's visit to my dear
aunts, I followed Louisa to Tottenham. Many an
occasion of deep instruction was offered to us at the
Yearly Meeting; and yet from all this what remains?
A solemn inquiry for all; and how much so for me,
now that every principle of the heart and mind
must prepare to encounter unwonted exercise and
trial, now that I daily need all that I can have in
a peculiar manner, and now that the future, amid
the hopeful calm which it sometimes assumes, will
sometimes almost frown upon me with lowerings of
fear? Fear it is, not of others, but of myself, and
fear of the ignorance or precipitancy of my yet but
very partially regulated mind. Oh for that other
fear which only "is a fountain of life, preserving
from the snares of death!" Oh for that love which
casteth out the slavish fear, and maketh one with
what it loves--first with that God from whom it
comes, and then with those in whom it dwells!
Dwell, oh, that it may, in our two hearts, their best,
their first, their strongest, dearest bond, and dwell,
too, in the hearts of those I leave behind, and cause
that still and henceforth we may be "together though
apart"!
The responsibility of having so important an office
to fulfil towards any fellow-being as that of sharing
in, influencing, and being influenced by all his wishes,
actions, and tendencies, has felt very serious. * *
* * Never before had I so strong a sense of the
identity of our highest duty towards ourselves and
towards each other; and that _to live_, and _to be as_ and
_what_ we ought, in the best sense, is the chief requisite
for influencing one another for good.
_6th Mo. 24th_. Though I have this morning been
helped and comforted, I must confess much unsubdued
evil has manifested itself even within these few
days. The bitter waters within, the tendency to what
is evil, the corrupt root, have sadly appeared.--Oh,
there is the one cause, not minding enough the good
part which shall not be taken away, and so disquieted
at the loss or disturbance of lower things. "How
shall we escape if we _neglect_ (not only _reject_) such
great salvation?" I was made mercifully sensible,
last night and this morning, that such is our Father's
love, that His aim is chiefly to bestow, our duty to
receive, that He calls and invites; but it is not that
we may work a performance of our own, but receive
His own good things. Oh, the folly, the ingratitude,
of being inattentive to such a blessing! Oh, the rebellious
pride of choosing our own self-will, and our
own way, when the privilege may be ours of becoming
the obedient and loving children of God--of receiving
from Him the willing and the obedient heart
which we may offer up to Him again, and which He
will accept!
_6th Mo. 30th_. Letter to M.B. [Alluding to
various engagements.]
* * * These "fill the past, present, and future"
of these last months at home with many and various
occupations and meditations. It is a blessing not to be
more disturbed within, if it be but a safe calmness. Oh,
that is a large condition; but how unsafe is all calmness
resulting from shutting our eyes from the truth of our
worst side! Yet I think when we can really be glad at
the thought that our worst side is seen and known, there
is some hope of remedy and of peace, and (may I not
say?) _alliance_ with the Physician who has all power and
skill. Then only can we welcome any thing, however
trying, which we can believe comes from His hand, or
may tend to make us any nearer the pattern we strive
for, or any more likely to fulfil rightly the serious part
we have to take in life.
_7th Mo. 16th_. I hope I do sincerely desire to seek
for strength to cast my many burdens on Him who
careth for me; and, oh, if I did but live in the spirit,
and walk in the spirit, more faithfully, surely I should
know more of what it is to "be careful for nothing,"
but in every thing to make known my requests unto
God. Quiet is most congenial. Oh that the few
weeks remaining to me here, may all be given to Him
who alone can bless! But this desperate heart--might
it not well be despaired of? I trust I have
got to this point, "God be merciful to me a sinner."
"Let me fall now into the hands of the Lord, for
His mercies are great," and not into-human hands,
nay, _not my own_. I thought I saw some sweetness
in the words, "By His stripes ye are healed."
_7th Mo. 17th_. Why do I not feel that nothing I
can _do_ is so important as what I _am_, and that things
without had better be ever so much neglected, than
things within set wrong for their sake?
_7th Mo. 21st_. Had very comfortable feelings
yesterday in meeting. Oh, it was joyful to believe
that God was near to bless and to forgive. This
evening, I have longed to commit my soul and its
keeping into my Father's hands. Oh for a little
more faith in His infinite, everlasting mercy! To
come even boldly to the throne of grace, is the high
calling even of those most in need of mercy.
_7th Mo 26th_. Letter to C.B.C.
* * * I hope that so far I have been favored with
a measure of real help and good hope, though often
sensible of multiplied difficulties and dangers, amid the
desire to maintain such a state of mind and feeling as I
ought. Perhaps the strong light in which I have often
perceived how the best earthly hope may be blighted or
blasted, even when all seems outwardly favorable, is a
true blessing; and would that it might lead me oftener
where all our wants can be best and only supplied! I
know that _self_ is the foe to be dreaded most, and that is
so ever near, sticks so close, that there can be no remedy
effectual that is not applied with the penetrating power
and all-wise discretion which are no attributes of ours.
And yet how often do we vainly try to help ourselves!
Two days after this, she wrote to her friend M.B. and alluded
very feelingly to the prospect of leaving her old home and its
associations. Ever taking a humble view of herself and of her fitness
for the duties she was expecting to assume, she writes of
"feeling increasingly my deep unfitness and lack
of qualification for so very responsible an undertaking
as sharing in and influencing and being influenced
by all that concerns another. May I be permitted
the privilege of which thou hast spoken, that the
Lord's presence may go with us, and give us rest, and
be to us a little sanctuary wheresoever we may come.
_Then_ all will be right. * * * So thou seest
just where I am,--in need of faith and hope, and
sometimes wanting all things, even amid circumstances
which I can find no fault with. Farewell,
dear M.; and if thou nearest that I get on well, or
am in any way made happy or useful, one conclusion
will be very safe, respecting thy unworthy friend,--that
it is not in _me_."
This closes a correspondence which appears to have been attended with
much comfort and profit to the two friends.
_8th Mo. 11th_. The time flies, and then the place
that has known me will know me no more, except
as a sojourner and pilgrim to my father's hearth;
and yet I cannot realize it: could I, how should I
bear it? This day, much as before, weak in body,
death-like in mind; but this evening had such a desire
for retirement--so undesired before--and such
precious feelings then. Oh, I could go through much
with _this_ to sustain me, but I cannot command it for
one instant; and, oh, how I felt that He alone can
keep my soul alive, whose is every breath, natural and
spiritual! Oh, what a joy to feel His Spirit near,
the thick, heavy wall of separation melted away.
Would that the way could, be kept thus clear to God--my
life, my strength, my joy, my all!
Much that is very interesting has passed,--chiefly
a visit from T.E. and his wife, of Philadelphia. The
day they left us, we sat in silence round the dinner-table,
till he said that words seemed hardly needful
to express the precious feeling of union that prevailed.
* * * It was very sad to lose them; and yet I
never felt before so strongly how the individual
blessing to each soul is not a merely being present,
and recognizing, and rejoicing in such times as these.
How the words of one that hath a heavenly spirit
and a pleasant voice may be heard in vain!
_8th Mo. 20th_. How can I describe these eventful
days? One lesson may they teach me, that God is
love, and that whatever good thing I am blessed with
is not in me. He has been so kind, so gracious, and
I so very perverse, frequently so distrustful, so easily
wounded; but He, as if He will not take offence,
again and again has pity on me. How was I met
and saluted with the words, "_By Myself have I
sworn_," as part of some promise! Then I felt and
rejoiced in His faithfulness to all in me and in all
the universe that is His. _By Himself_, then _He_ will
never fail; and I hope I shall be preserved by Him.
_8th Mo. 21st_. I was so grievously stupid last
week, so unable to realize any thing--feared when
I should come to myself that it would be terrible;
but no, it is not so: I have love for all, and I hope
it will grow for all and take in all. It is not that
one love swallows up another, as one sorrow does:
yet I am very weak, and need daily help. Oh that
it may not be withheld!
With this record her Journal concludes; and, in reflecting upon it as
a whole, the reader can scarcely fail to observe the evidence it gives
of progress in the Divine life, of growth, as it were, from the
blade to the full corn in the ear, now early ripened for the heavenly
garner; and perhaps in nothing is this progress more discernible than
in the manner in which through many fluctuations she was enabled
to look away from the suggestions of unresting self, which were so
painful to her sensitive and conscientious spirit, and to stay her
mind on her Saviour, entering into that rest which the apostle says
is the portion of those who believe,--"a rest which remaineth for the
people of God," and which they only realize in its fulness who have
accepted Christ as all sufficient for every need of the soul, not only
pardon of past sins, but also of daily recurring transgressions, and
whose trials and provings of spirit have led to the blessed result of
increased oneness with their heavenly Father.
_8th Mo. 21th_. To her sister F.T. she writes, the day before her
marriage,--
"I am still a wonder to myself,--so thankful for dear
mother's cheerfulness, and for the kindness and love of
all around. I have taken leave of nearly all. Last
evening we had a nice walk. Then for the first time I
felt as if the claims of past, present, and future were
perfectly and peacefully adjusted, to my great comfort."
The walk to which this allusion refers is very fresh in the
remembrance of her sister and of her (intended) husband, who
accompanied her. Her manner was strikingly calm and affectionate; and
as they returned home, after a pause in the conversation, she said,
taking a hand of each,--
"I have heard of some people when they are
dying feeling no struggle on going from one world to
the other; and I was thinking that I felt the same
between you. I don't know how it may be at last."
Strangely impressive were these words at the time; and when we
remember that she never saw that sister again after the morrow, can we
doubt that this preparation was permitted to soften the bitterness
of the time, so near at hand, when this should have proved to be the
final parting on earth?
In looking back to this time, there is a sweet conviction of the peace
which was then granted her, which did seem something like a foretaste
of the joys of the better home which was even then opening before her
and upon which her pure spirit had so loved to dwell.
She was married, at Liskeard, to William Southall, Jr., on the 28th
of 8th month, 1851. She was anxious that the wedding-day should be
cheerful; and her own countenance wore a sweet expression of quiet
satisfaction and seriousness; and the depth of feeling which prevailed
in the whole party during that day was afterwards remembered with
satisfaction, as being in harmony with what followed.
In a tenderly affectionate note, written from Teignmouth the same
evening, she says, "I can look back without any other pang than the
necessary one of having stretched, I must not say broken, our family
bond;" and then she adds the sincere desire for herself and her
husband, "Oh that we may be more humble and watchful than ever before,
and that my daily care may be to remember those sweet lines which
helped me so this morning,--
"When thou art nothing in thyself,
Then thou art close to me."
A fortnight spent among the lakes of Westmoreland and Cumberland was
a time of much happiness. It was her first introduction to mountain
scenery; and her letters to the home circle she had just left, contain
animated descriptions of the beauties around her. A few extracts from
these, showing the healthy enjoyment she experienced, and the cheerful
and comfortable state of her mind, particulars which acquire an
interest from the solemn circumstances so soon to follow, may not be
unsuitably inserted:--
BOWNESS, 9th Month, 1st, 1851.