reluctance to it, which convinced me, it requires less grace in some
cases, to _give_ than to _receive_. However, laying it before the
Lord in prayer, I saw it was his will, and consented. So on Tuesday,
February 1, it was put up in the passage-room, with this inscription,
“For the maintenance of a few poor orphans, that they may be brought up
in the fear of the Lord.” A few days after we took out 2s. 7d. but no
more for a great while. During this time we were much straitened, not
having the nursery furnished, nor the necessaries for the children. It
was now strongly suggested, “You see you have done wrong, and God will
not help you any more.” But having recourse to prayer, our faith was
strengthened.
Soon after, the following thought was much imprest on my mind. If
Christ was now upon earth, and in want of food and raiment, should
I be afraid to give him mine, lest I should want it myself? Should I
not rather say, “Let all I have be offered, for the necessities of my
Lord. He is well able to repay it, and if he is not, then let us want
together.” I saw the case with the children was the same, and that
_what was done to one of these, was done to him_. A light broke in upon
my mind which quite satisfied me, and constrained me to say, “Lord, thy
word is enough, thou hast said, _Love one another as I have loved_ you:
let their wants be mine, my substance theirs.”
We were now not only in want of the things above-mentioned, but of
money to keep the house. Just then a guinea was put into the box, and
soon after, another: in a few days one brought us thirty shillings,
saying, “Fear not: only believe.” About the same time we received four
guineas from another hand, which helped us through that quarter. To
avoid tediousness, I pass over many other helps which we received from
time to time; confining myself to those wherein the hand of the Lord is
more eminently to be observed.
*Some time since, being obliged to pay a sum of money in a day’s time,
and having none in the house, nor any due, I attempted to borrow it of
a friend, but could not. I tried another, and was disappointed there
also. Not knowing what to do, I went up stairs and waited before the
Lord, telling him I would yet _trust_ him and _praise_ him. Opening the
last volume of sermons, I cast my eye on this sentence, “Christ charges
himself with all our temporal affairs, when we charge ourselves with
those that relate to his glory.” It was applied to my heart with such
a power, as I had very seldom felt. And such a sense of the immediate
presence of God seized my soul as almost overwhelmed it. O what a
freedom of spirit did I feel! I could truly say,
“All my care on thee is cast.”
In the evening, a person desired to speak with me, and brought me a
little above the sum.
*In Spring we were again reduced to about one penny, and expected a
bill of two or three pounds to be brought in every hour. We looked
to the Lord, and found him again to be a present help. For while we
were consulting what to do, a basket came which one had sent us from
_London_, with some provisions, and a little parcel, in which were four
pounds, three shillings and ninepence.
In August we had an hour of trial again. The children being increased
to ten, we were in great want of linen; but how to procure it for
them we could not tell. I was unwilling to run farther in debt, having
already spent the two next quarters before they came in, nor was that
enough to pay what was owing. And I had nothing in the house. So we
agreed to lay it before the Lord together. While I was alone, it was
violently suggested, “there is so much of _self_ in all you do, that
God is rather dishonoured than glorified thereby.” I said, “Lord, I am
the purchase of thy blood. I plead that only. And I believe thou wilt
not leave me, nor forsake me.” Afterwards I felt much peace. Rising
from my knees, I opened the bible on the following words. _Acquaint
thyself now with him, and be at peace; thereby shall good come unto
thee. Then――the Almighty shall be thy defence, and thou shalt have
plenty of silver――thou shalt also decree a thing, and it shall be
established, and the light shall shine on thy ways._
I felt my soul instantly strengthened. And every word was so opened and
applied, that to this day it seems new whenever I read it: particularly
that promise, _Thou shall decree a thing, and it shall be established,
and the light shall shine on thy ways_. Indeed the whole appeared more
full and strong than I have words to express.
Two or three days after we received five guineas; the same day three
more, and two from another hand. In a little while we received four
more, with a promise of the same yearly. O my God, who would not trust
thee? Who would not take thee at thy word?
Perhaps some will wonder, how one who has so great an income as I, can
ever experience want. But _you_ know what I have. You know likewise,
that before I took any children, I every year spent more than my income,
trusting that God would supply what was lacking. Others may wonder at
my present _imprudent_ way of proceeding; but I _know in whom I have
believed_. Indeed had I sought the praise of men, I should have taken
care of myself rather than of others. For I know, _so long as thou dost
well unto thyself, men will speak well of thee_. But we have chose the
cross for our portion, and we cannot give it up.
A few days since having paid the week’s bill, my friend said, “We have
but a few shillings left.” The Tuesday following I received two letters.
Opening one of them I was a little surprised, to find a guinea inclosed,
with the following lines from one I had never conversed with.
_November 5, 1764._
“My dear child,
With much pleasure I heard your charitable design, which I pray God to
bless and succeed. Be never discouraged, though divine wisdom should
exercise you at times, even with many, great and alarming difficulties:
for this is frequently the way in which God leads his children, in
order to improve their faith and patience. But even supposing he should
not succeed this affair, according to your present plan, yet he will
never fail to bless those, who sincerely endeavour to promote his
honour, the kingdom of the Lord Jesus, and the good of souls.
“I desire that you would accept of the inclosed, and that you would set
me down as an annual contributor of the same sum. May the Lord Jesus
Christ be with all of us: forget us not in your prayers. I am, with
much respect and regard.
Your very affectionate friend.”
These lines were greatly blest to me, and I found much thankfulness.
In the other letter was another guinea inclosed, with these few words:
“I have felt your burden, and should be thankful you had more help. But
perhaps it is rather the will of God concerning you, to give you day
by day your daily bread. I pray him to be with you.” The same night one
brought half a guinea from a person unknown, who desired to be set down
as an annual contributor of two Guineas.
When a yearly subscription was first proposed, I was averse to it,
fearing it might give offence, till a very particular friend, mentioned
it to a few of her acquaintance, unknown to us. Afterwards I was
convinced, it was of God. It now amounts to about fourteen pounds a
year.
Our family at present consists of sixteen: eleven children, one teacher
for them, one servant, ourselves, and one lame with the palsy.
When I look back to last Christmas, I am astonished at the
loving-kindness of my God! What he hath done for us, and what he hath
brought us through, I can easier bless him for, than repeat! One thing
more I ask of him: And in this also he will hear me: that he would
restore sevenfold into the bosom of those he has made helpful to us,
either by prayer, by word, or by deed. And if a cup of cold water is
not forgotten before him, surely not one of these shall lose their
reward.
O Sir, we have so many mercies, I know not how to leave off recounting
them. _Now_ I see that design of God, in joining sister _R._ and me
together. It would have been impossible for me to have gone through
my present undertaking alone. I know I have neither grace for the
spiritual, nor capacity for the temporal part. It is therefore in the
greatest tenderness, that our Lord has given her to us as a mother. I
trust, both this and every blessing, shall have the effect which God
designed in it.
I am,
_M. B._
An EXTRACT of
LETTERS.
By Mrs. L****.
To the READER.
THE person who published these letters about twelve years ago, observes,
the writer of them, “never supposed they would be made public, but
put down the sentiments of her heart, in the confidence of friendship.
This may excuse the inaccuracies some may find: besides they are not
recommended as patterns of polite, epistolary correspondence. Their
merit is of another kind. It consists neither in the fineness of
the language, nor in the elegance of the manner.”――I really think
it does, as well as “in the goodness of the sentiment.” I am not
ashamed to recommend them, as “patterns of truly polite, epistolary
correspondence:” expressing the noblest sentiments in the most elegant
manner, in the purest, yea, and finest language. Yet undoubtedly even
the beauty of the language is nothing compared to the spirit which
breathes throughout. Happy they who both _taste_ her spirit and are
partakers of it: who _walk in the light as he is the light_, and know
that _the blood of Jesus Christ his Son cleanseth from all sin_.
J. W.
* * * * *
LETTERS
To Mrs. ****.
YOUR letter, my ever dear friend, has been a great blessing to me; that
you should write in the style you now do, filled me with such a sense
of mine own unworthiness, and of the goodness of God to me, that it
melted my stony heart, and drew tears from mine eyes. Oh would the God
I adore enable me to be of any help to you, how would my soul dilate in
thankfulness? Blessed Redeemer, draw us both, and so will we run after
thee. Oh Spirit of truth, descend on thine unworthy servants, and make
us _fully_ sensible of the seal of our redemption! Convince us still
more deeply of our sins, and make us still more fully to know, that
they are washed away by the blood of Jesus. Thou knowest the burdens we
labour under, the dissipations of our thoughts, our wandrings in prayer,
our spiritual sloth, and all the hardness of our hearts. Stir us up
earnestly to seek after the things of God, and fix our inconstant minds.
Thou knowest that we desire (for this desire comes from thee) that the
love of the Father may abide in our hearts. We beg thine assistance
that we may eagerly seek after this love. Oh teach us the prayer of
faith, and enable us constantly and undauntedly to press forward toward
the mark of the prize of our high calling! Be thou our guide, be thou
our comforter for ever and for ever. _Amen, Amen._
*What a task have you laid upon me? I watch over you! I your guide!
This quite overcomes me. I cannot bear it. Oh, my love, there is no
one so much wants a guide and a director as I do. Sure this letter
of your’s was particularly designed by providence to humble me; but
unworthy as I am, I will by the grace of God strive to do every thing
you desire of me: but then you must return the same to me, and take
me into the number of those you watch over. Let us go hand in hand
in these paths which lead to everlasting life. What shall I say to
quicken your steps? It was said to me since I saw you, by Mr. **** “I
hope still to have a great deal more pleasure from you, by seeing you
_press forward_.” Think these words were addressed to you by the same
person. Oh what a blessing of God accompanies the words of one who is
uniformly a Christian, of one who spends and is spent for the service
of his master, of one who has no view but the glory of God and the
salvation of souls! Who would not strive earnestly to follow so bright
an example? The very sight of such a person animates the soul in its
warfare. O what soul, which is the least alive to God, would not even
_agonize_ to be perfectly renewed after the image of Christ? Is your
heart, is my heart so dead, that this will not affect it?――Alas, I
grieve for mine own――may God give me to rejoice for your’s.
I have time for no more. May the blessing and influence of the
ever-adorable Trinity, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, be continually
with your soul.
_I am your ever-affectionate_, &c.
* * * * *
_My dear Friend_,
I THINK you are now through divine grace, strong enough to bear what
I am going to say to you, that I have long seen a mixture of pride and
vanity even in the best of your performances. But I could hardly allow
myself to believe it. What! have I often said, shall I judge so of her,
whom every body admires for her surprising modesty and humility? Is
it not because she is more excellent than myself, and therefore I am
seeking to find some fault in her? Then I have often prayed to God, not
to suffer my soul to be deceived by any sinister views, and to perfect
in you what was wanting. And this I trust he will do for us both, if
we keep the longing eye of our souls steadily fixed upon him. Oh for
holiness of heart! Let us labour, my dear companion, for holiness, as
a dying sinner labours for life.
I had yesterday a most delightful letter from Mr. ****. It sent me to
my knees so convinced of my black ingratitude to my heavenly Father,
that I could neither find words nor thoughts sufficient to express my
unworthiness; yet at the same time my heart was full of thanksgiving,
under a sense of his unbounded mercies. O help me, my dear friend, to
be more and more thankful! Such advantages――dearest Jesus, how justly
great must be my condemnation, if I do not make suitable improvements.
Take the latter part of Mr. ****’s letter, apply it to yourself
constantly, every minute if possible. “You have need therefore to
watch and pray always, and then especially when you might seem to have
least need. You have reason to fear always: for your enemies are always
watching. But you have reason likewise to rejoice always, because he
that keepeth you never sleeps.”
* * * * *
_My dear Friend_,
I HAVE read your letter with tears, and earnest prayers to God for you,
and for myself. We are both unworthy creatures; indeed, my love, we are
_more_ unworthy than we can either express or conceive. O let us fly to
the blood of sprinkling. There and there alone can we find help.
Thanks be to God, that you have a clear view of your own heart. This
is a most profitable prospect, though a most dreadful one. Think me not
cruel, when I wish that the holy Spirit may _deeply_ wound your soul
with a sense of its corruptions. The deeper the conviction, the firmer
the peace that follows.
*I hardly know how to believe you, when you tell me you are hurried
away by desires after worldly happiness. Is it possible? Alas, my
friend, pardon the harshness of the expression, if the love of the
world is in your heart, you are only a _painted sepulchre_, beautiful
indeed outwardly, but within――――. My dear creature, I cannot bear to
think this――a Christian to be hurried away with desires and endeavours
after worldly happiness! If St. _Paul_’s character of a Christian is
right, how far are you from being a Christian? “Ye are dead,” says he,
“and your life is hid with Christ in God.”
May not these violent ragings of pride, vanity, &c. you speak of, be
some of the last struggles of a dying enemy? When the strong man armed
keepeth his house, his goods are in peace. But when there is a stronger
comes upon him to overcome him, and to take from him that armour in
which he trusted, no wonder the house is in a tumult. And this I hope
is your present case. But beware, my dear soul, of thinking, that you
never should be otherwise. Limit not the grace of God. He has only to
say, _Peace, be still_, and immediately the winds and seas obey him.
“But how to obtain this peace?” Oh my dear friend, will you follow
the advice of the meanest and most unworthy of the servants of Christ?
Look upon yourself as being only _now_ fully convinced of your guilt
and dreadful condition. Look upon yourself as a _poor, lost, helpless,
miserable creature_. Set before your eyes your sins, with all their
aggravations; and when your soul is weighed down to the dust under
a sense of your own vileness, then throw yourself at the foot of the
cross: there lie as a loathsome leper before the almighty healer:
there let your parched soul _gasp_ (with the utmost stretch of all your
faculties) after those life-giving streams which flowed from Christ’s
hands, his feet, his pierced side; and there keep the eye of your mind
fixed, until the still small voice be heard in your soul――“Be of good
cheer, thy sins are forgiven thee.”
* * * * *
I WAS in hopes, my dear, that I had cause to think you had gained
ground; but if I was mistaken, am very sorry. God forbid however that
you should have gone back: I must not for my own ease believe that.
*The reason for your not finding so much comfort as usual flowing from
the cross, is because you lay yourself too much out upon _outward_
things. I doubt not but your own will is indeed very powerful, and it
will ever be so, while you indulge yourself in castle-building. Let
your schemes be ever so good, they are (unless God had given you the
means and power to perform them) merely the creatures of your own will;
and I don’t know any thing that self-will more delights in, than in
these imaginary good projects. Believe me, my dear soul, I speak from
experience. There is nothing more encourages self-will, pride, and
every temper we ought to subdue, than these schemes. For God’s sake
strive to get the better of this folly. I know your temper is naturally
inclined to it, and therefore you ought to be more particularly
watchful. Cannot you, my love, keep your thoughts fixed on the present
moment, in a constant dependance on the leadings of the Spirit of God,
and only wishing that every succeeding moment may bring a new accession
of grace to your soul, without fixing on the particular means, by which
you would have it come? When the will is in this total resignation to
God, it brings a peace to the soul, which cannot be described.
I don’t like your going to _Vauxhall_, I think you ought to try every
possible means, to get off. Suppose you were to be sincere, and own it
was against your conscience. Pray God direct you what to do. If you are
really _forced_ to go, God will preserve your heart from the pollutions
of the place. If this is the case, I think you will be in less danger
of being hurt there, than in your visit to Mrs. ****: for in this visit
you will lie exposed to the worst enemy you have, that is, _yourself_.
With those good people, whom you love and admire, and who love and
admire you, you will without the most constant watchfulness, be
continually falling into self-seeking and self-applause.
I fear, my love, you will soon think me too plain in my speaking; but I
cannot answer it to my conscience, since what has past between us, not
to warn you of every thing which seems to me to prevent your progress
in grace. Don’t imagine though, that I wish you would not make this
visit to Mrs. ****; quite the contrary; but I wish you to keep the most
constant guard upon your own heart, that what should be for your health,
be not unto you an occasion of falling.
_I am your ever sincere and affectionate_, &c.
* * * * *
*I THANK God, that you now see the danger of wandring imaginations in
a clearer light; but I cannot guess what schemes a heart like yours
(which I should hope was desirous of nothing but what immediately
tended to increase in it the love ♦of God) can pursue, which are not
for what we call doing good. Depend upon it, my dear, if you can by
an act of your will waste a thought on any future view of happiness,
that regards only your situation in this world, you are yet far
from the kingdom of God. To a soul, that has but the _lowest_ sense
of the pardoning love of God, every thing that does not lead to a
greater sense of this love is insipid. Outward things, according to the
present circumstances we are in, ought to be attended to with prudence,
though not with anxiousness; but that soul which runs out after them
in _future_, ought to _tremble_. My dear creature, are we not every
moment on the brink of eternity, and may plunge in the next, for ought
we know? What then have we to do, but every moment to grasp after new
degrees of grace, new power over sin, a still higher sense of the love
of God shed abroad in our hearts? “Without holiness no man shall see
the Lord”――Alas! what is a life of sixty or seventy years (supposing we
could be certain of so many) to attain universal holiness? And shall we
lose a moment? Outwardly we must a great many: but still our hearts may
be gaining ground in the steady pursuit of that end, for which we were
created, and to which we have such glorious encouragements. What! shall
Christ cry out to us in vain, “Give me thy heart?” Or shall we dare
to divide that heart, which cost him so dear? O my friend, be jealous
for your redeeming God. Suffer not that soul, for which he shed his
precious blood, to stray one moment from him.
♦ missing word “of” inserted
I am sorry you found pleasure at _Vauxhall_. I could not have believed
it, had you not told me so yourself. I see, my love, I have thought
far too highly of you. What a frightful distance is there still between
you, and a Christian! Could any one who had the mind which was in
Christ have felt pleasure, where they saw God dishonoured, and their
fellow-creatures running headlong to destruction? You had reason indeed
to be ashamed, and thank God that you was so. The curiosity in regard
to the astronomical instruments might distract your mind for a longer
time, but your taking delight in these did not shew such an excessive
depravity of heart, as the other: for astronomy is only _accidentally_
made a means of dishonouring God, and hurting the souls of men; but
_Vauxhall_ is _necessarily_ so.
_I am your ever affectionate_, &c.
* * * * *
*I WRITE, my love, to you to thank you for the pleasure you gave me
last Thursday, and still to urge you more and more continually to press
forwards. Young as you are, you may perhaps be very near the end of
your course, and the time given you to work in _may_, for ought you
know, be very nearly elapsed. That form of yours, which now delights
the eyes of your friend, and seems to promise a long continuance of
health and vigour, may soon perhaps become defaced and loathsome meat
for crawlings worms, and that soul, that precious and immortal soul
of yours, which is now far from loving its Creator as it ought to do,
may soon stand naked in the sight of that God, to whom it has been
ungrateful――its day of probation past――and its lot cast for a whole
eternity. Oh my friend, my dearest companion in my pilgrimage, I
conjure you by all your heart holds dear, that you lose not a moment!
Oh may that God, who is love itself, so inflame your soul with a sense
of his love, as may consume all its dross, and make it through Christ
an acceptable sacrifice to himself! I think the last time I saw you I
had the satisfaction of observing less of _self-seeking_ in you, than
I ever did before. Sure God will give me greatly to rejoice in you.
Farewel. Whenever, my love, I think too well of you, fail not to tell
me, and take shame to yourself for deceiving me.
_I am your’s_, &c.
* * * * *
_My dear Friend_,