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A Brief Memoir with Portions of the Diary, Letters, and Other Remains, by Eliza Southall

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of mine, which has on this occasion been brought,
as it were, in _contact_ with some of the honorable
and anointed messengers, with that which is good?
And yet it is possible that contact may not produce
_penetration_, and that _penetration_ may not produce
_assimilation_. I can unhesitatingly say, the first and
second have been produced; but then these are but
transactions of the time, not abiding transformations;
and if these are all? But, surely, it cannot be;
surely, when my heart melted within me, especially
on Second-day morning, and I heard the word "and
anon with joy received it," some depth of central
stone was fused into softness; some actual change,
effected, that I might not have altogether "no root"
in myself. Sometimes predominated a fear that intellectual
interest interfered with spiritual simple
reception of good, that _this_ would vanish when _that_
was over; sometimes the responsibility of being thus
ministered to was truly a weighty thought; for never
more than on that morning did I so understand, "Go
preach, baptizing." Sometimes I thought that God
had indeed brought me to this Yearly Meeting to
make me then and there his own; and when I heard
of passing by transgressions as a cloud, I was ready
to think my own were indeed dissolving as one. I
felt strongly the superiority of religion to every
other thing, not merely for its external aim, God,
but for its internal power on self, how these masterpieces
of the human creation were not only made the
most of by religion, but that _it_ alone can make any
thing of the _whole man_. How strongly do we feel,
when with a clever, talented, irreligious man, that he
has a latent class of moral powers which have not
been called into action, that on this point he may be
inferior to the veriest child; but God, who has made
man for himself, has made in every man a royal
chamber, for himself spiritually to dwell in; and if
this be not reappropriated to him, (which is religion,)
his capacity for the Divine is not exercised, and he
is not only not made the most of, but his best nature
is not even made use of. What a privilege to have
intercourse with those in whom the very reverse is
the case! What a stimulus to the little mind, to
become not equal to the great, but proportionally
Christianized--_i.e._ equally devoted! and this is
Christian perfection; not to have arrived at the
highest attainment of intercourse with God ever
granted to man, but to have the will thoroughly willing
God's will. This is, indeed, better far than a
mere knowledge of what that will is. But in some
whom I have seen, there is a beautiful union of a
high degree of this knowing and willing; and these
are they to whom it is given to edify the Church.

* * * How shall I enough praise and thank the
Lord, who has so condescended to my weak and
sinful condition, that though my head perhaps knew
all before, and my heart was disobedient, He has so
brought me under the mighty ministry of His Word
of life, that for a while _all_ seemed melted and subjected,
and my heart longed to accept Him and his
reconciliation to me on the blessed terms, _not_ the
harsh terms, but the privileged terms, of my being
reconciled to Him. Oh, what an error to think any
thing harsh or hard in the requirements of the gospel!
It is a mercy beyond man's conception, that we
are commanded, "Be ye holy, for I am holy."

_6th Mo. 12th_. Yesterday my twenty-third birthday.
In the evening a song of praise seemed to fill
my heart for the vast mercy shown me of late. God,
who is rich in mercy for His great love wherewith He
loved me when I was dead in sins, has truly begun
to quicken my heart.

_6th Mo. 12th_. Had a note from ---- of kind
spiritual interest; but I think she mistakes my want,
which is more of practical than of theoretical faith.
Have ventured to tell her, in a note, what I feel and
have felt. I think many who have left Friends, and
become more decidedly serious since, remembering
that when Friends, the gospel was not precious to
them, fancy it is undervalued by the Society. My
note is as follows:--

My dear --- will, I hope, believe that I was not disposed
to receive her affectionate lines in any other than
that spirit of love in which they were written, and in
which, I am persuaded, it is the will of our blessed
Saviour for His disciples "that they all may be one."
Yes, my dear ----, I believe there is not a sentence in
thine in which I do not heartily join; and while we are
both seeking to believe, as thou says, "with the heart"
in Christ our Saviour, "in whom we have redemption,
through His blood, even the forgiveness of sins," let us
say not only, "Here is a point on which we can unite,"
but here is the one bond of fellowship, which unites the
whole ransomed Church, throughout the world, and
especially those who love each other, as I trust we do.
If we were more willing to let Christ be our all in all,
surely we should more realize this blessed truth. Disputations
on theoretical differences seem to me like disputes
on the principles of a fire-escape among those
whose sole rescue depends on at once committing themselves
to it, since the most perfect understanding of its
principles is utterly in vain if they continue mere
_lookers-on;_ while others, with perhaps far less _head-_knowledge,
are safely landed. This, it seems to me, is
the distinction between head-knowledge and heart-knowledge,
between dead creed and living faith; and every
day, I think, more convinces me that it is "with the
_heart_ that man believeth unto righteousness." As thou
hast so kindly spoken of myself, and thy kind interest
for me, may I add that what I have known, small though
it be, of this faith, has been all of grace; nor do I hope
or wish but that it may be, from first to last, of grace
alone. If I love Christ, it is because He first loved me:
because God, who is rich in mercy, has shown me the
great love wherewith He loved me, when I was dead in
sins; nor should I have had one glimpse "of the knowledge
of the glory of God, in the face of Jesus Christ,"
had not God, who "commanded the light to shine out of
darkness," shined into my heart. And dark and sad
has ever been the view of myself bestowed by that grace
which brings salvation, long shining as it were to make
my darkness visible; but this do I esteem one of His rich
mercies, who will have no rival in His children's hearts,
and teaches us our own utter depravity and sinfulness;
that we may, without any reserve, fly to Him, "who has
borne our sins in His own body on the tree, that we might
be saved from wrath through Him." And if it is of
grace, that while we were yet sinners, "we were reconciled
to God by the death of His Son," it is by grace also,
that "being reconciled, we shall be saved by His life."
It is "not by works of righteousness which we have
done, but according to His mercy He saveth us, by the
washing of regeneration and renewing of the Holy
Ghost." And here I find abundant need to take heed
that I "receive not the grace of God in vain;" for truly
Christ cannot be ours, if we will not be his. But though
I have to lament many a revolt, and many a backsliding,
and many a denial in heart of Christ my Saviour, yet
the Lord, who turned and looked on Peter, has not forsaken
me; the fountain set open for sin has been, I
believe, set open for me; and still does He continue to
"heal my backslidings, and to love me _freely_." For
the future I have sometimes many a fear, because of
this deceitful heart of mine; and at others I can trust
it in His hands, whose grace will be sufficient for me to
the end,--that end, when I may realize, what I now
assuredly believe, that the "_gift_ of God is eternal life
through Jesus Christ our Lord." And now, my dear
----, are we not one, essentially one, both one in Christ?
I know that, uniting in the acknowledgment, and, above
all, I trust, in the experience, of the great truths of the
gospel, we differ in their applications and influences on
subordinate points, and I believe this must be expected
to be often the case while "we see through a glass
darkly;" but we shall, I trust, "see eye to eye, when
the Lord shall bring again Zion;" and He will keep that
which we have committed unto Him against that day.
The Lord's "commandment is _exceeding broad_," and it
is no wonder that our narrow minds cannot adequately
appreciate the whole, or that, while we believe the same
things, we sometimes view them in different order and
proportion, often being nearer each other than we are
aware. I fear much good is not done by discussing differences;
at least, _I_ find it calls up feelings which are
not good, and I lose more practically than I get or give
theoretically. May the Lord bless us both in our pilgrimage,
and guide us in a plain path to a city of final
habitation, where we shall not want sun, or moon, or any
other thing than the glory of God and the Lamb, to be
our everlasting light.

I could not be satisfied without replying to thy kind
remarks and inquiries about myself and my hopes; but
now, having said so much, I hope thou wilt not think it
strange that I cannot _argue_ on things about which we
differ. I have not adopted opinions without reflection,
and it has fully satisfied myself; but I have nothing to
spend in controversy, which I always find does me a
great deal of harm. I hope we now know enough of
each other to rejoice in each other's joy.

_6th Mo. 16th_. Last evening alone in the plantation.
Sought the Lord. It was beautiful. Was not
nature meant by Him to work in concert with His
spirit on our hearts? Or is the calming and soothing
power a thing confined to sense and sensibility? I
suppose the latter, but that religion appropriates these
as well as all other faculties and parts of man's nature,
and, where he would have praised nature, bids him
praise God, his own God in Christ.

_6th Mo. 18th_. I have thought this summer a time
of critical importance for my soul, for eternity. I
have felt, and sometimes spoken, strongly, but always,
I believe, honestly, unless I have imposed upon myself.
Thought I had accepted Christ. I thought He
was my salvation and my all. "Yet once more" will
the Lord shake not my earthly heart, but also my
heaven, my hopes, my expectations, in Him. Will
He convict me still of holding the truth in unrighteousness?
How else can I explain to myself the
pride which revolts from censure, the touchy disposition,
the self-justifying spirit, the jealousy of my reputation,
the anxiety to keep up my character? How
else can I explain the inaptitude for the divine, the
unwillingness to have the veil quite lifted from my
heart, to display it even to my own eyes? Ah! is it
not that there is still a double mind and instability in
all my ways, still a want of that simplicity of faith,
that humility, and poverty, and meekness of spirit,
that can accept the gospel, still the self-righteousness
(worse than "I am of Paul") which assumes to itself
"_I_ of Christ"? Ah! if I may yet lift my eyes
through Him who hath borne even the iniquity of
our holy things, keep me, O Lord, from a wider
wandering, till Thou bring me fully into the fold,
the "little flock," to whom it is Thy good pleasure to
give thy kingdom.

_7th Mo. 5th_. * * * It is useless to conceal from
myself that I have felt grieved at some, whom we
might suppose grounded in the faith long since, appearing
to keep the expression of sole reliance on the
mercy of God in Jesus Christ, as a sort of death-bed
confession. I know full well that religion must be an
actual transformation of soul; but then the ground
of our hope that this will be _perfectly_ effected ere
we depart, is the mercy of God in Christ, quite as
much as our hope of forgiveness of actual sin, and
final salvation. Oh, some do separate things too much,
as if it were possible to err by too full a reliance
on Christ; as if there was a danger that He or
we should, by _that_ means, forget the work of grace.
Grace is grace throughout, not of works, but of Him
that calleth. Still, I believe there must and will be
variations in our modes of viewing the great gospel,
the "exceeding broad" commandment. May we, as
S. Tuke so beautifully said, "know one another in
the one bond of brotherhood, 'One Lord, one faith,
one baptism;'" without entering into nice distinctions
and metaphysical subtleties. And may I, to
whom temptations of this kind are naturally so accessible,
be preserved in my own spirit from the snares
of death, cleansed "from secret faults," kept from
"presumptuous sins," and hidden in the Lord's
pavilion from the strife of tongues.

_7th Mo. 9th_. I have been thinking much of the
young women at the Union, and yesterday went to
see them. A sad spectacle; but they seemed willing
and glad to be visited, and I hope to go once a week
to read to them, and to teach a few of them to read.
Oh that my life were more useful than it is!

_7th Mo. 18th_. Oh, why was I induced to allow
thoughts and reasonings to supplant worship! How
they plead their own utility, and how like good is the
thought about good! but then the dry, barren, unsatisfied
unrest of soul that followed! Strange, that
thought employed to so little purpose at other times
should pretend to be so edifying in meetings. Reveries
on probability, as being a mere relation between a
cause and a spectator, or bystander; not between cause
and effect. Thought it important touching free will
and foreknowledge. God is certain of futurity--we
are uncertain. Futurity is certain in relation to God,
uncertain in relation to us--probable or improbable in
relation to us, neither in relation to God; but neither
the certainty nor the probability exists in future non-existent
fact, therefore I take it they do not influence
the fact. This, perhaps, is profitless; but I am glad
to find that thought on this point always tends to confirm
what I believe is the true scriptural doctrine in
opposition to Calvinism. This was a natural reaction
on the minds of reformers from the Romish doctrine
of justification by works. They no sooner found that
man cannot make his own salvation, than they fancied
he could not reject it. They learned that it was freely
given to some, and fancied that it could not have been
freely offered to all.

_7th Mo. 20th_. Mere carnal conscientiousness is a
poor substitute for love of God. The constant inquiry,
"What must I do to keep an easy conscience?"
is no proof of high Christian attainment; rather
says the Christian, "What can I render for all His

_7th Mo. 30th_. A visit to J. Harvey's corpse. [A
poor man whom she had frequently visited.] I have
been much concerned about him in days past, and
now can a little rejoice in his exceeding joy. An
emaciated, sallow countenance, but speaking perfect
rest. He spoke scarcely at all for some days. I saw
him three days before his death, and could but commend
him to one of the "many mansions;" but he
could scarcely answer.

A few passages about this period, record Eliza's desire for a
friendship with some sympathizing mind out of her own family,--some
one whose views, whilst tending to the same point as her own, would
yet have the freshness of an altogether different experience. Not
that she undervalued home affections, for that would have been quite
contrary to her nature, but, after alluding to them warmly, she says,
"At the same time, we want a friendship for the rest of our faculties
and minds; and it cannot be, I believe, that _one_ family should
supply to any one of its members all that it is capable of
appreciating and experiencing in the way of friendship." Another entry
states, "I have a new friendship with M.B., which promises substantial
comfort. Just the thing I have wished for all my life. We have
exchanged two letters on each side." This acquaintance ripened into
a connection which was afterwards steadily maintained,--although
the intercourse of the two friends was principally by letter. That
circumstance, however, has caused the preservation of thoughts and
sentiments which otherwise would have been unrecorded; and, as the
letters offer much of an interesting character, copious extracts from
them are hereafter given:

_8th Mo. 2d_. Letter to M.B.

* * * Surely, whoever is not a true friend to himself
and to his own best interests cannot be such to
another. Here, indeed, if I may hope to have part or
lot in the matter, the thing aimed at is high; but this
does not insure its attainment, and there is great cause
for care that the humiliating discovery of the discrepancy
between the two, does not lead us to lower the one rather
than seek to elevate the other. I have a strong belief
of the importance of self-scrutiny and honesty with one's
own heart, of real willingness to know and feel the
worst of one's self, and sincerity of application to the
true means of remedy. Perhaps the very sense of deficiency
in this particular, makes me believe the more its
value; but I dislike what I think to be the false humility
of some persons, who, while seeming to claim the
_blessings_ of religion, would think it presumption to profess,
or even expect, conformity to its standard. The
presumption always seems to me on the other side; and
yet who is free from it altogether? Very long it takes
some persons--of whom I am one--to get through the
seventh chapter of Romans. Many a time they get to
the twenty-fourth verse, and stick in the twenty-fifth,
looking wishfully over the barrier which divides them
from the eighth chapter; and yet, if thoroughly willing
to know the worst of themselves, they would perhaps
find that it is because a _part_ of a man's nature may go
so far, while it requires the _whole_ spirit to make this
last transition. I think I long for true humiliation in
the evidence of my own deficiency here.

* * * * *

I did, indeed, enjoy the Yearly Meeting's Epistle: it
is a wholesome one in these days. How refreshing is
it in thought, to abstract ourselves from the words and
doings of men, and think of that _one_ eternal unchanging
truth, which can never be inconsistent with itself and
which, though hid from the wise and prudent, is revealed
to babes! Here I think the belief of the identity
of our own character hereafter, comes in well, and
should lead us to consider whether we love truth absolutely,
and not only relatively to the circumstances
which will not exist then; and whether we can be happy
in a land where righteousness and peace forever kiss
each other. And may I, without vanity and just in
illustration, quote from a rhyme of my own?--

While thus we long, in bonds of clay,
For freedom's advent bright,
Upbraid the tardy wheels of day,
And call the slumbering light,

Do we no willing fetters wear
Which our own hands have made,
No self-imposed distresses bear,
And court no needless shade?

While our departed friends to meet
We often vainly sigh,
To hold in heaven communion sweet,
Communion large and high,

Do we, while here on earth we dwell,
Those pure affections show
For which we long to bid farewell
To all we love below?

For no unhallow'd footstep falls
Upon that floor of gold;
Those pearly gates, those crystal walls,
No earthly hearts enfold.

And if our voice on earth be strange
To notes of praise and prayer,
That voice it is not death's to change,
Would make but discord there.

_8th Mo. 10th_. Strange vacillations of feeling; at
one time on the point of trusting the Lord for
eternity, at another, cannot trust him even for time.
At one time would cast my whole soul on him; at
another, will bear the weight of every straw myself,
till I become quite overloaded with them. Oh,
what a spectacle of folly, and weakness, and sin!
A soul immortal spending all her powers, wasting
her strength in strenuous idleness!

_8th Mo. 16th_. Very busy making things tidy,
and resolved, almost religiously, to keep them so.
I think I would not, for any consideration, die with
all my things in disorder. Disorder must be the
result of a disordered mind, and not only so, it
reacts on the mind and makes it worse in turn.

_8th Mo. 18th_. People do not say enough of the
need of _consistency_, when they speak of trusting in
Providence instead of arms. It was consistent in
William Penn, but it would not have been consistent
in his contemporaries, who took the Indians'
land for nought. Providence is not to be made a
protector of injustice, of which arms are the fitting
shield. Oh that consistency, earnestness of character,
were more valued!

_8th Mo. 23d_. Some true wish, may I say prayer,
that Christ may now, _now_, blot out as a cloud my
sins, even on his own terms, which, I am more convinced,
do not consist of things required of us to
give in exchange for his mercy, but are a part of
that mercy, a part of that redemption. Yes, when
sin becomes thoroughly a burden, as sin, then we see
that grace would be indeed imperfect, if it was not
to be a deliverance from the _power_, as well as the
punishment, of sin; and if we ask for grace, and yet
cherish sin, truly we know not what spirit we are
of, we wish not for complete salvation while we are
asking for it. Mercy is a broader thing than our
most earnest prayers suppose; yea, it is "above all
that we can ask or think."

_8th Mo_. Letter to M.B.

* * * How little it avails to know the theory of
wisdom and folly, right and wrong, etc., just so as to
occupy only the perceptive and reasoning faculties!
What we want, what the world wants, I think, is the
_Christian_ version of the present so fashionable idea of
_earnestness_, or, as I have thought it may imply, _consistency_
of character. We get ideas and opinions in a _dead_
way, and then they do not _pervade_ our characters; we
have but half learned them; they have influenced not
our feeling, but only our knowing faculties, and then
perhaps it had been better not to have known the way
of truth. A full response is in my heart to the difficulty
of keeping things in their right places, neither can I at
all agree to the idea "that where the love of the world
perverts one, the fear of it perverts ten;" at least, understanding
the world to mean "whatever passes as I
cloud between the mental eye of faith and things unseen."
Many a time has the book-shelf and the writing-desk
been made a substitute for the oratory. As to
friendship taking this place, surely the whole idea of a
_Church_ is based on that of Christian fellowship in its
strict sense. Be it ours to know what _that_ means, and
then, if our love to Christ is the main bond of union,
while that continues, we shall love him the more rather
than the less on that account. But I know that friendship
includes various other elements, and may we be
sensible that if these are made the main things in our
esteem, not only our faith, but our friendship too, becomes

Respecting the seventh and eighth chapter of Romans,
a believe I agree with thee; but lately I have had
stronger feelings than I used to have about the distinction
between _defective_ religion and _infant_ religion.
The full feeling of our corruption must certainly precede
the full reception of the Christian's joy; and I believe
we ought not to be too anxious to reduce to regular
theory what is so much above our finite understandings
as the work of the Holy Spirit in the heart. Still, I
think there is, when it goes on as it ought to do, unobstructed,
a completeness in all its stages. There may
and ought to be a perfect infant, then a perfect youth,
then a perfect man, and I don't know how to apply to
the advanced stage only; that blessed declaration which I
sometimes think expresses the sum of Christian liberty,
"There is, therefore, now no condemnation to them which
are in Christ Jesus." Still, it will be quite time enough
to reason about this when we have attained such an entirely
childlike state; nor, I suppose, shall we be long
in discovering the privilege of which we shall then be in
possession--"Of such is the kingdom of heaven." Then,
doubtless, we shall be furthest from reasoning at all.

We have been much interested with the last volume
of D'Aubigne. The imperfection of all the instruments
is strikingly shown. Luther's obstinate transubstantiation
or consubstantiation doctrines, Melancthon's timid
concessions to the Papists, and Zwingle's carnal warfare,
ending in the tragedy of Cappel, and, as it seems, in the
long delay of the establishment of the Reformation in
Switzerland. D'Aubigne appears very sensible of this
inconsistency: even the loss of Ecolampadius by a peaceful
death he represents as a happy encouragement to
the Church after the blow it had received; but I don't
think D'Aubigne a thorough peace advocate. He makes
so much distinction between the Churchman and Statesman,
that I fear he would allow of _mere_ rulers and
magistrates taking up arms on _merely_ secular affairs,
though he does not wish the Church to be defended by
such. I should like to know thy impression of the early
Christians' opinion on war. Neander allows that a _party_
objected to it, as in the case of Maximilian, A.D. 229;
but says that very sincere Christians were soldiers in
the Roman army, till Galerius required all soldiers to
take part in the heathen ceremonies.

_8th Mo. 26th_. Oh, how shall I set forth His
tender compassion, who has blessed me this evening
with, I was going to say, the abundance of peace
and truth? Oh, how near He has been, helping me
to cast my all on Him, helping me to leave the
things that are behind, yes, and the things that are
before too, as far as self is concerned, and commit
my future way and safety to Him! When His love
has been made known, how have I been grieved by
fears of future folly, fears, too, that have been grievously
fulfilled. What a pretest this for harassing
myself with fears that it will be so again! But, oh,
these fears are very far from that fear which the
Lord will put into His children's hearts, that they
shall not depart from Him. They have no preserving
power over me; they are "of the earth, earthy," and
solely come from distrust of that grace which is ever-sufficient;
from a desire to have a share myself in
that victory which is Christ's alone. Oh, if my incessant
regards were to Him alone, He would take
all care on Himself. "He is the same yesterday, to-day,
and forever," and His faith _is_ "the victory
which overcomes the world." Humility, true watchfulness,
and self-distrust are diametrically opposed
to this careful spirit: their language ever is, "I am
nothing, Christ is all."

_8th Mo. 27th_. Changed indeed; not any light to
be seen in my dark heart. Yet I look up, I trust
singly, to Him from whom it came yesterday; and
thither may I look till again the day break. Can I
say, in full sincerity, "_more_ than they that watch
for the morning"? Alas that I am so versatile!
Christian and worldling within a day. Oh for a
deeper sense that I am not my own,--that I have no
right to disturb the sanctuary of my own spirit
when God has made it such,--that there is no other
way than whole-hearted and honest-hearted Christianity
to attain the heavenly kingdom!

_9th Mo. 9th_. Letter to M.B.

* * * Our wily foe finds every thing which produces
strong emotion and commotion of mind a good
opportunity for trying new temptations, and, at any
rate, tries hard to keep us from committing all to a
better hand than ours. I feel quite ashamed of the
measure of his success with me; but surely we want a
new sanctification every day,--a new recurrence to the
grace that will _set_ "all dislocated bones," as J. Fletcher
calls unsanctified feelings and affections. I was much
pleased with this comparison, which I found in his life
the other day. I think it is an admirable exemplification
of the uneasiness and pain of mind they cause.
But how very uncertain our frames of feeling are;
sometimes thinking there is but _one_ thing which we have
not _quite_ given up to God, and sometimes, with perhaps
correcter judgment, lamenting, "_all my bones_ are out
of joint." May we, my dear M., encourage each other
in seeking help of Him who received and healed all
that had need of healing.

_9th Mo. 20th_. Finished most interesting review
of John Foster's life. * * * Foster was a very
deep thinker. He thought the boundary of the
knowable wider than the generality do. This may
be; but I fancy he does not always admit sufficient
weight in his arguments to the manifest relations
and actings of the unknown upon the known. He
was Calvinistic; this, joined to a strong view of the
moral perfection and benevolence of God, led him
to the natural result of denying _eternal_ punishments.
Could he have seen more of the essence of a human
spirit, as he doubtless now sees it, I venture to think
that that mysterious personality, by virtue of which
man may be said to choose his destiny, _i.e._ to embrace
destruction, or to submit to be saved by the Saviour
in his own way, that the perception of this personal
image of God in man might vindicate the Divine
perfection and benevolence, and make it evident that
our "salvation is of God, and our destruction is of

_10th Mo. 2d_. Oh to be permitted any taste of
that grace which is free--ever free; which brings a
serene reliance on eternal love; which imprints its
own reflection on the soul! Oh, be that reflection
unbroken by restless disquiets of mind; be that
image watchfully prized, and waited for, and waited in.

_10th Mo. 5th_. Some sweetness in thinking how
much akin is "having nothing" to "possessing all

_10th Mo. 14th_. Talk with James Teare on the
immorality of drinking. Query:--Is it _per se_ a _sin_
to drink a little? He does not affirm it in pure
abstract, but says that no _action_ can be purely
abstract; and that as to uphold an immoral system
is immoral, as the drinking system is immoral, as
moderate draughts uphold the drinking system, and,
in fact, cannot be drunk by the community without
giving birth to drunkenness--_ergo_, moderate drinking
is an immoral practice. He does not at all judge
those who do not see it; only says they ought to
accept light and knowledge, and he cannot doubt
what would then be the result.

_10th Mo. 17th_. The above talk with J. Teare was
a great satisfaction to me; we went that evening to
his meeting, and after two hours of deep interest in
a crowded meeting I signed the pledge, with a hand
trembling with emotion. I could not trust myself to
tell S. that the pleasure he expressed was but a faint
reflection of mine. I have been expending two days
in a letter to the _Friend_ on "Distillation," which I
ardently hope to get inserted.

_11th Mo. 3d_. Last evening sweetly realized in
some degree being in the Lord's own hands; and
this morning again enabled to cease from my own
vain attempts and trust the Lord. Oh, the folly of
the long trials I have made to _do_ something, when I
come before Him! It is all in vain. If I am ever
saved it will be His doing, His _free grace_; and this
moment can I call Jesus _my_ Saviour. On Fifth-day
I read Barclay's fifth Proposition--pleased and
satisfied almost entirely with it.

_12th Mo. 5th_. I have got my letter inserted in
the _Friend_; the editor says my zeal has carried me
too far as to _means_; he agrees as to the evil of the
system. Oh that it were seen as it deserves! But
how talk of abolition by _law_, and keep spirit-merchants
in the Church? [See _Friend_, vol. iv. page

_12th Mo. 11th_.--Letter to M.B.

* * * _Nothing_, I think, loses by its foundation
being tried. We see that in yet higher things it is needful
and right often to try whether principle is firm; and,
though sometimes we may tremble lest faith should fall
in the trial, perhaps it would be more just to fear lest
the trial should merely show it already to have fallen.
What thou sayest about laying aside reasoning is very
true; but how hard to do so! Saul's armor doubtless it
is, as says the little tract. How easy, comparatively, to
let any want go unsatisfied, rather than that imperious
reason which urges its claim with so many good pretences,
which tells us truth will always bear investigation,
and that if we cannot explain by our small faculties
experiences in which the highest mysteries are involved,
the experiences must have been fallacious! How different
is _this sort_ of voluntary and almost presumptuous self-investigation
from submitting all to the unerring touchstone!
It is, indeed, very instructive to observe that our
Saviour's rejoicing in spirit was not over the subjects of
some wondrous apocalypse, or over those endowed with
miraculous power, but over "babes;" and that in the
same way His lamentation was not that the Jews had
refused His offers of any thing of this kind, but that
they "would not" be "gathered" by Him as "chickens
under their mother's wing."

It was the fault of my obscure expression, that when
I spoke of my "painful reason" I did not make it apparent
that I meant it of the _faculty_ of reason, which
has been a very unquiet occupant of my mind for some
years past, and which has led me to the conclusion that
our mental atmosphere, the whole system of feelings,
affections, hopes, doubts, fears, perplexities, etc., is one
which it is dangerous _needlessly_ and wilfully to disturb.
When once we have carelessly wrought up a storm it is
not in our own power so quickly to lay it, and the poor
mind is almost compelled to endure passively the disturbance
till these unruly elements spontaneously subside,
or something better interferes for its help. Surely,
if there has been any resting-place given us, if our eyes
have ever seen the "quiet habitation," we ought to fear
the excitement of any thing which, naturally breaks the
equilibrium. I believe some people think _imagination_
the unruly member among the mental parts; but with
me it is the aforesaid offender decidedly. I hope I do
not tease thee about teetotalism: it lies near my heart,
and has done so for a long time; and though I too find
it an effort sometimes to give up an evening to a meeting
of that sort, it is such a comfort to be able to do any thing
to show on which side I am, that I think I ought not to
mind that.

_1st Mo. 4th_, 1847. Yesterday, and the day before,
gently blest in spirit with having things placed more
in their right position in my heart than for some
time before. One evening I had toiled long in vain,
could not overcome a sad sense of spiritual deficiency.
It occurred to me that this might be the very best
thing for me: then I opened my heart and welcomed
it; and, oh, how did a smile of compassion beam
upon me, and the grace that would not be purchased
came in full and free! But it is infinitely important
to watch for more.

Thus experiencing both "how to be abased" and "how to abound," she
learned to be satisfied with poverty, and recognized in barrenness,
as well as in richness of joy and love, a guiding and purifying grace,
leading on to the perfect life in Christ.

_1st Mo. 10th_. Letter to M.B.

* * * Oh for that simple faith which thou speaks
of as mastering mountains of difficulty, and that not by
might or power, but by its intrinsically victorious
nature! I have sometimes been struck by the way in
which this is asserted in the text, "This is the victory
which overcometh the world, even our faith." It is
taken for granted that there will be a contest and a
victory; but if there is true faith the world will certainly
be overcome: I mean provided the faith is held fast. It
may be abandoned, or foes within may betray the
citadel; but it will not otherwise yield to pressure from
without. May we, if possible, encourage one another
not to let go that small, and, it may be, famishing and
almost expiring confidence, which _hath_, not only is promised,
great recompense of reward. I little thought to
come to any thing so encouraging when beginning a sort
of lamentation over myself. But really there is so
much that is deceptive in the deceptive heart; so many
things, even our humility, that we once thought of the
right kind, turn out to have been some refined manifestation
of spiritual pride, that we may daily find, at least
I do, that the question "Who can cure it?" follows its
judgment as "desperately wicked," with emphasis full
as great as that of "Who can know it?" is prompted by
the discovery that it is "deceitful above all things."

* * * Job Thomas's death-bed has long been an
interesting one to me; and I think his parting address,
especially seeing it is a translation from Welsh, conveys
remarkably the impression of a mind beginning to be
shone upon from the other world. On the other hand,
death-beds of opposite characters, such as "Altamont"
in Murray's Power of Religion, carry a no less convincing
evidence of the dark realities to come. When
my father was in America he was much interested with
hearing from a friend, a female connection of whom had
lived in the house with Tom Payne, some account of the
last hours of that wretched man, who appears to have
become so fully sensible of his fatal errors as to have
written a recantation, which some of his infidel friends
destroyed. The account they gave to Cobbett was entirely
false; as the friend related that he expressed to
her the greatest sorrow for the harm that he had done,
and, on hearing that she had burned some of his books,
he expressed a wish that all had done the same.[2]

[Footnote 2: For a farther account see Life of Stephen Grellet,
vol. i. p. 163, Amer. edit.]

* * * Total abstinence, as well as many other good
Causes, and _the_ good cause, have lost a noble advocate in
our honored and lamented friend J.J. Ghirney. It is
hard to reconcile one's mind to so sudden a summons;
so little time for his sorrowing friends to receive those
ever valuable and precious legacies, "dying sayings."
We have heard of nothing of that kind; and perhaps he
was not conscious of the approach of death at all. So
much the brighter, doubtless, the glad surprise of the
transition. Oh, how one longs for permission to look
in at heaven's opened door-way after the entrance of
such souls!

_1st Mo. 23d_. To-day, writing rhyming Irish,
appeal. It got the upper hand and made me sin--so
unhappy about it. When I believe sincerely
desiring to offer it up to the Lord's, will, I grew
easy to continue it. Perhaps it was a selfish and
self-pleasing influence, but I think not so. I felt
very glad afterwards to be able to ask to have all
my heart consecrated by the Lord's spirit; and I do
believe that to rectify, not extinguish, the beat of
oar facilities, is religion's work.

This appeal on behalf of the poor Irish was
never made public. It had occupied her
thoughts very deeply, and, had she seen fit to
publish it, might have been an auxiliary to the
material efforts on behalf of the sufferers in
which she, in common with many others at that
period, was warmly engaged.

Many visits to poor people. In some I felt able
to talk to them of heavenly things. I believe it is
right to speak in love and interest, but never to out-strip
our feelings. "I was sick, and ye visited me,"
refers to a duty; and surely, when we are blessed
with a knowledge of the way of salvation, and feel
anxious for the salvation of others, it is right to do
our endeavors; at the same time well knowing that
God only can touch the heart. I believe that indifference
and indolence do much shelter themselves
under pretence of leaving God's work to Himself.
I have often learned salutary lessons in doing my

_2d Mo. 19th_. I have been musing upon "_my
sorrow was stirred_." Can it be that every heart is a
treasury of sadness which has but to be stirred up
to set us in mourning? Is it proportionate to the
amount of evil? Does a certain amount of evil
necessarily bring a certain amount of sorrow soon or
late? Do we suffer only by our own fault, unless
a grief is actually inflicted upon us? I think not.
There may be mental storms, over-castings of cloud
in the mind's hemisphere, independent of the exhalations
from the soil.

_2d Mo. 23d_. Letter to M.B.

* * * The truth is, that I was once fonder of reading
than of almost any thing else. * * * I don't
know how to tell thee about the strangely sad impression
that has followed, that "this also is vanity." I
know it is our duty to improve our minds, and I wish
much that mine had been better cultivated than it has
been, and yet some utilitarian infirmity of mind has so
often suggested, "What use is it?" while I have been
reading, that my zest for the book has been almost destroyed,
and the very thought of the volume has been
saddened by remembering what I felt while reading it.
So that what E. Barrett says of light reading is true to
me of Schiller and some others:--

"Merry books once read for pastime,
If we dared to read again,
Only memories of the last time,
Would swim darkly up the brain."

I hope these feelings are not infectious, or I certainly
would not inflict on thee the description. But do not
take this as a _general_ picture of me. It is a morbid
occasional state of things; consequent, by reaction, on
the exclusiveness of aim with which those things were
followed. I learned sooner than I suppose many do,
the earnestness, coldness, reality of life; and there has
come an impression of its being _too late_ to prepare for
life, and quite time to live. However imperfectly, I have
learned that to live _ought_ to be to prepare to die; but,
without stopping to describe how that idea has acted, a
secondary purpose of being of some use to others has. I
might almost say, tormented my faculty of conscientiousness.
Don't suppose that this is any evidence of religion
or love. I believe it rather argues the contrary. Every
attempt to do good ought to spring naturally from love
to God and man; not from a wish merely to attain our
_beau-ideal_ of duty. Now, though I so much like reading,
I did not seem able to make any use of it; for
strangely confused were long my ideas of usefulness,
and there has followed many a conflict between these
two unsanctified tendencies. Perhaps they have done
some good in chastening each other and chastening their
owner. Do not think I prospered in either, for I have,
as I said, a poor memory; and then I wanted to see
fruits of my labors, and spent a great deal of time in
making charts; one of the history of empires, one of
the history of inventions and discoveries; the latter,
especially, was not worth the labor. I have had a taste
of many things, and yet, to speak honestly, excel in
hardly any thing: the reason of this is partly a great
want of order. I never attempted any thing like a
"course of reading:" but, when I began a book, _the_
_book_ was the object more than my own real improvement.
I read often D.E.F., before I had read A.B.C.,
and so grew confused, and then, if it is to be confessed,
the childish pride of having read a book was not without
its influence. Poetry in modern times has certainly
become diluted in strength and value; but,
though I have not at all a large acquaintance, I think
there are many good modern poets. I much admire
Wordsworth's "Intimations of Immortality," as well as
many of his shorter and simpler pieces--"The Longest
Day," for instance. There is a great deal of good
instruction, as well as deep thought, in his poetry; but
there is not, I think, very clearly an evangelical spirit;
indeed, the "Excursion," which is beautiful, is unsatisfactory
to me in this respect. Longfellow I think not
_clearly_ influenced by religious principle, but I do not
see any thing contrary to it. Some of his short pieces
are like little _gems_,--so beautifully _cut_, too. Elizabeth
Barrett's [Browning] deep thoughts, rich poetical ideas,
and thoroughly satisfactory principles, when they appear,
[1846] make her a great favorite with me and with us
all. Even her fictions, though so well told, are not
wrought up, or full of romantic incident; but the tale
is plainly used merely as a thread on which to string
rich thoughts and lessons. How much this is the case
with the "Lay of the Brown Rosary!" Even the sad
pieces, such as the "Lost Bower," end generally with a
gleam of light, not from a mere meteor of passion or
sentiment, but from a day-spring of Christian hope.
Perhaps I am too partial, for I know that taste, which in
me is particularly gratified with E. Barrett, will influence
our judgment. Some of Trench's poems, too, I think,
are worth learning; his "Walk in the Churchyard" I
particularly like.

_3d Mo. 25th._ Letter to M.B.

* * * But, oh, I do believe that if people did but
accustom themselves to view small things as parts of
large, moments as parts of life, intellects as parts of men,
lives as parts of eternity, religion would cease to be the
mere adjunct which it now is to many. * * * I am
convinced that till it be made _the one_ object of our
earnest love and endeavors, till we have an _upright_
heart, till the leader of the fir-tree points direct to
heaven, and all lateral shoots not merely refrain from
interfering, but mainly grow in order to support, nourish,
and minister to it, we shall never have that perfect
peace, that rest of spirit, that power to "breathe
freely,"--conscious that we are _as_ if not _all_ that we
ought to be,--which constitute the happiness of a
Christian. But enough of this: don't think I pretend
to any such attainment, though I can sometimes say, "I
follow after."

I much admired that part of Jane Taylor's "Remains"
which describes her cheerful and unmurmuring
acceptance of a humble quiet life, and her dislike of
mere show and machinery in benevolence. I do not
think the best public characters are those who accept
formally, and for its own sake, a prominent station, but
those who, following their individual duty, and occupying
their peculiar gifts, are _thereby_ made honorable in the
earth. To them, I fancy, _publicity_ is often an accident
of small moment; and they who walk in the light of
heaven mind little whether earthly eyes regard or disregard
them. I do not, however, _covet_ for any one whom
I love a conspicuous path. There must be many thorns
and snares.

_4th Mo. 4th_. Much interested with Hester
Rogers's life. The Methodist standard of holiness is
full as high as Friends'--_viz_. the gospel standard.
Struck with the accordance with G. Fox's experience.
He was asked if he had no sin, and answered, "Jesus
Christ had put away his sin, and in Him (Jesus) is
no sin." This was a young man. He grew much
afterwards, doubtless, in faith and knowledge. What
would be thought of a person, especially young, who
should profess so much now? Is the gospel changed?
It is, or we lack faith in its principle. We do not
_perseveringly_ seek, _determinately_ seek, to know for
ourselves what this high attainment is.

Nice visit at the Union on First-day. Congregation
enlarged, notwithstanding substitution of Bible
for Tract, and very quiet. Cornelius, a helpless sick
man, seeming near death, melted my heart with his
talk. I felt quite unfit to be called a "sister" by
such a saint.

_4th Mo. 10th_. "To have had much forgiven" is,
I can joyfully yet reverently record this evening, my
blessed portion; and in the sense, which as a cloud
of warmth and light now dwells in my heart, of the
loving-kindness and tender mercy of God in Christ
Jesus, I have been ready to say, in effect, "Bless the
Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me, bless his
holy name," "who forgiveth all thine iniquities,
who healeth all thy diseases, who redeemeth thy life
from destruction, who crowneth thee with loving-kindness
and tender mercies." How is all given me
gratis, without money and without price! Nothing
is mine but confusion of face for my oft-repeated

Oh, it is not that we can get salvation for ourselves;
it is that we hinder not, refuse not, turn not
from, but accept, wait for, pant for the free gift of
our Saviour's grace. "To Him who is able to do
exceeding abundantly," the work belongs. He can
cause that even as sin hath reigned, so shall grace
reign; and that as death hath triumphed, so shall
spiritual and eternal life triumph also. Amen and

_4th Mo. 17th_. How short-lived were the feelings
I recorded at the close of last week! I believe an
earnest talk with a chatty caller on minor matters,
recalled my heart that same evening from its happy
abiding-place. I have thought of the words, "Jesus
Christ _the end_ of your conversation," and fear he is
but a _by-end_ of mine. It is hard to analyze our
feelings: perhaps when discomfort from excitement
and discontent is greatest, my sin is no greater than
when in listless apathy and earthly-mindedness my
thoughts are bounded by the seen and the temporal.

_5th Mo. 24th_. A solemn warning from Uncle R.
on Fifth-day did me good. I was blessed with some
degree of ability to use the words, "Into Thy hands
I commit my spirit," and though I feared to add,
"Thou hast redeemed me, O Lord of truth," in its
full sense, yet I have felt how precious were the
words, "as unto a _faithful_ Creator." Oh, does He
not say in _these_ days, "Open thy mouth wide, and I
will fill it"? Is His hand shortened at all? Can
we not have faith in our principles?

The following lines were written about this, time, in allusion to the
marriage of her eldest, sister, and the funeral of John Wadge, an old
and valued friend of the family. It was hoped that the cactus which
had belonged to J.W. would have blossomed in time for the wedding; but
the first flower only opened a fortnight afterwards, on the morning of
his own funeral: and when, in a few years, the marriage of the beloved
writer of the lines was so speedily followed by her own decease, the
striking appropriateness of these touching verses could not fail to be


Firstling blossom! gayly spreading
On a long-nursed household tree,
What unwonted spell is shedding
Thought of grief on bloom of thee?

For a morning bright and tender
They had nursed thee glad and fond;
Nay, the bud reserved its splendor
For a funeral scene beyond.

Who shall tell us which were meeter,--
Marriage morn, or funeral day?
What if nature chose the sweeter,
Where her blooming gift to lay?

Set in thorns that flower so tender!
Marriage days have poignant hours;
Thorny stem, thou hast thy splendor!
Funeral days have also flowers.

And the loftiest hopes man nurses,
Never deem them idly born;
Never think that deathly curses
Blight them on a funeral morn.

Buds of their perennial nature
Need a region where to blow,
Where the stalk has loftier stature
Than it reaches here below.

Not like us they dread the bosom
Of chill earth's sepulchral gloom;
They will find them where to blossom,
And perhaps select a _tomb_.

Yes, a _tomb_; so thou mayst deem it,
With regretful feelings fond;
_Not_ a _tomb_, however, seems it,
If thou know'st to look _beyond_.

10th of 7th Month, 1847.

_8th Mo. 8th_. We alone. Pleasant and quiet
schemes have arisen (partly from reading Pyecroft,
partly from having felt so much my own deficiencies)
for thoroughly industrious study, and for keeping, if
possible, externals and mentals in more order. Order,
I believe, would enable me to do much more than I
do in this way, without lessening those little "good
works" which my natural, unsanctified conscience
requires as a sedative; (alas that this is so nearly
all!) but I have got such an impression of selfishness
in sitting down to read to myself, that this, added to
unsettlement from company, etc., almost puts study
out of sight.

_8th Mo. 16th_. Letter to M.B.

* * * Though not only inability for, but even
natural repugnance to good thoughts is often a prominent
feeling, let us not think this a "discouraging
experience." What will be discouraged by it, except
that self-confidence and self-reliance which are the bane,
the very opposite, to the idea of faith? Surely it is for
_want_ of such a feeling, and not _because_ of it, that faith
is feeble. It is because we try to make those good
thoughts and holy feelings of which Thomas Charles
says so truly, "we are no more capable than we are of
creating worlds." I hope I do not presume too much in
writing thus. How little can I say of the blessings of a
contrary state! But how much would my heart's history
tell of the exceeding vanity and folly, and may I not add
_presumption_, of attempting to do what Divine grace alone
can do! How many a painful and gloomy hour might
have been cheered by the Sun of Righteousness, but for
my obstinacy in trying to light farthing candles! But
I believe there are generally _other_ obstacles at the same
time. We _will_ have some beloved indulgence, some
pleasures, of which perhaps the _will_ is the chief sin,
and which, if but willingly resigned, might be
reconsecrated for our use and enjoyment; and then darkness
and gloominess of mind follow, and we light matches
and farthing candles to comfort us, while these very
resources keep us back from seeking the radical remedy.
How easy it is to write or tell the diagnosis of such a
case! but to be reconciled to the true mode of treatment,
the prognosis, as doctors say, _there_ is the difficulty, while
I doubt not Cowper speaks the truth:--

"Were half the breath thus vainly spent
To heaven in supplication sent,
Your cheerful song would oftener be,
Hear what the Lord hath done for me."

I have been much interested with Thomas Charles's
life; such an example of spiritual-mindedness, faith, and
love. Dr. Payson's death-bed is indeed a deeply interesting
history. How we should all like to choose such
an one! and yet, if but prepared to go, whether we depart
as he did, or as poor Cowper, how true are the words
of the latter, "What can it signify?" I have often thought
these words very significant.

Of phrenology I have heard such conflicting opinions
that only my own small experience would satisfy me of
its general truth. I think only very weak minds need
be led by it to fatalism. The very fact of so many propensities
and sentiments balancing each other seems to
show that the result is to be contingent on some other
thing than themselves, as the best-rigged vessel on an
uncertain sea, in varying winds, is under the control of
the helmsman and captain, and may be steered right or
wrong; and surely no vessel is built by an all-wise Hand
which cannot be steered aright with grace at the helm.

_8th Mo. 19th_. Solemn thoughts yesterday in
reading that solemn tract, "The Inconvenient Season."
In visiting I met with another affecting
illustration of the unfitness of old age for beginning
religion, in the senseless self-righteousness of poor
old Mary N. She says every night and morning the
prayers she learned when a child, which she evidently
thinks an abundant supply of religion,--saying, "if
people only do the best they have been brought up
to, that is all they can need; and she never did any
harm to any one." Then there was poor Alice, who,
notwithstanding her rank Calvinism, seemed refreshing
in comparison. She knew she could not do any
thing for herself; it was all grace; but then,
"whatever I am, or whatever I do," she said, "I am safe,
unless I have committed gross sin, which I never
shall." Then poor M.L., whose only fault, she seems
to think, is not having learned to read, though she
knows she is a great sinner, but then as good as says
she never did any thing wrong. It was a sweet
change to E.S., with her thankful and trustful
spirit, and poor S., with his deep experience in the
things of God. "It is a long time to suffer," he
said, "but the end must come, the time must wear
away. I hope I shall have patience to the end, and
I have great need to ask that the Lord will have
patience with me. I hope I shall be fully purified
before He calls me away." He spoke solemnly on
the tares and the wheat, as showing the mixture of
good and evil growing _together_; that our being
outwardly among the righteous will not secure our not
being tares.

_9th Mo. 2d_. Went to see a poor woman at the
Workhouse; she is full of joy in the hope of heaven,
and possession of the present mind of Jesus. I said,
"Many wish for it who have it not;" she said,
"Perhaps they are not enough in earnest: it costs a
few groans, and struggles, and tears, but it is sweet
to enjoy it now." Could the stony heart in me help
melting, seeing her exceeding great joy?

Pleased with the sweet spirit that was in poor
Alice, her trust, I think, in Christ alone, amid all her
(as I think) mistaken thoughts of the church, sacrament,
certain perseverance, &c. &c. I did not argue,
but wished for us both the one foundation.

Of a peculiarly sensitive disposition herself, Eliza's heart abounded
with sympathy for the trials and sufferings of the poor. She was a
welcome visitor at their cottages, where her kind and gentle though
timid manner generally found access to their hearts; and whilst
herself receiving lessons of instruction at the bedside of the sick
and the dying, she was often the means of imparting sweet consolation
to them.

In her desire to promote the spiritual welfare of others, she wrote
two tracts, which were printed by the York Friends' Tract Association.
The first is entitled Richard Nancarrow, or the Cornish Miner, and
traces the Christian course of a poor man whom she had frequently
visited, and who had claimed her anxious solicitude as she watched his
slow decline in consumption. In the second, entitled "Plain Words,"
she endeavored to convey the simplest gospel truths in words adapted
to the comprehension of even the least educated. She was warmly
interested in the Bible Society, in connection with which, for some
years, she regularly visited a neighboring village, besides attending
to other objects of a similar character nearer home.

_9th Mo. 10th_. Letter to M.B.

* * * Setting our affection above is indeed the
first thing of importance; and yet how utterly beyond
our own power! We are so enslaved to sense and sight
till He, who alone is able, sets us "free indeed," that
things around us can take that disproportionate hold on
our hearts which makes work for the light of heaven to
reduce things to their proper proportion in our view. I
have thought often of the text, "Thy will be done on
earth as _it is in heaven_." Oh, how much that implies,
both of love and joyfulness to be aimed at in our service
of our heavenly Father _on earth_. How high a standard!
Can we hope ever to attain it? Surely we are to ask it,
not as a millennial glory for the world only, (if at all,)
but also as our own individual portion. It is more to be
lamented that we do not realize this than that we do not
realize Foster's idea of the world to come, in which we,
yes, we, our very selves, will be actually concerned.
But I believe the two deficiencies are more connected
than we are sometimes aware of; and perhaps the joys
of a happy death-bed, the foretaste of heaven, of which
we sometimes hear, are as much connected with the
completeness of religious devotedness, often not till then
attained, as with the nearness in point of _time_ to a world
of purity and joy. How striking is the earnestness
shown in John Fletcher's "Early Christian Experience,"
in seeking mastery over sin, not as "uncertainly," or as
"beating the air," but as one resolved to conquer in the
might of that faith which "_is_ the victory;" and how
wonderfully was his after-life an example of "doing the
Divine will as it is in heaven"!

_9th Mo. 17th_. Distress in the country great.
What will all issue in? Surely in this, "the Lord
sitteth on the flood; yea, He sitteth King forever."
Oh! if He be King in our hearts we shall not be
greatly moved. There is comfort to the Christian,
immovable comfort, in having his affections, his
_patriotism_, in heaven. My own heart, I ardently
hope, is not a totally devastated land. There is a
rudiment still there which God looketh upon, and
perhaps, though I know it not, his eyes and his
heart are there perpetually. It is not meant to
remain a rudiment: oh, no; as "sin hath reigned,
even unto death, _so_ grace should yet reign, even to
eternal life."

_9th Mo. 27th_. Perplexed about Irish knitting,
because it is slave-grown cotton. It does not seem
consistent to buy it; and yet I don't know what to

_9th Mo. 30th_. Another month is at an end. Oh
that I knew whereabouts I stand in the race! "'Tis
a point I long to know." Sometimes I have joy of
heart, and then I tremble lest it be not rightly
founded; sometimes tenderness of heart, and then
I fear it is only natural feeling; sometimes fervent
desires after good, and then I fear lest they are only
the result of fear of punishment; sometimes trust in
the merits of Jesus, and can look to Him as a sacrifice
for sin; then I fear lest it is only as an escape
from danger, not deliverance from present corruption;
sometimes wish to fulfil actively my duties, then
these same duties have stolen away my heart. Oh,
how do I get cumbered with cares and many things,
entangled with perplexity, or elated with cheer! I
think I have honestly wished to be fed with convenient
food. Oh to be at the end of the race, or so
near it as dear E. Stephens, by whose bed of pain
and joy I could not but mingle tears. But why
thus? Surely, O Lord, Thou hast heard the desire
of thy poor creature. Thy help must have been
with me when I knew it not, or life had been quite
extinct ere now. Extinct it _is_ not; and for this will
I bless Thee, even that I am not yet cast out as an
abominable branch, though so unfruitful. I fear it
can be only by much tribulation that the enemy of
my own house will ever be quelled; and perhaps salutary
pains are sent, in the very perplexities of things
which might be more ensnaring if all went on smoothly.
I have declined more cotton goods from Ireland, and
asked for woollen, which is one burden gone.

_10th Mo. 7th_. I believe study and taste must be
kept very subordinate to duty. Enough, yea, heaven
is this, to do my Father's will, if it were but as it is
done in heaven--all willing, loving, joyful service! Oh
to be more like my Saviour! Surely I love Him!

_10th Mo. 20th_. If Martha should not have been
cumbered with the outward attention to Christ Himself,
cares for others on plea of duty can never be
enough excuse for a peaceless mind. "They which
believe _do enter_ into rest." Oh for rest this hour
in Jesus' bosom!

_10th Mo. 21st_. This book will present no fair
account of my state if I write only in hours of comfort.
I have passed through dark and sinful days--no
hope, no love. I thought I must have wearied
out the Saviour--that He had given me up for lost.
Perhaps some self was in the feelings described in
my last, and so this faithless sorrow came to teach me
what I am. Oh that nothing impure might mix in
the consolation which has visited me last evening
and this morning, when the gracious regard of my
all-merciful Saviour has been witnessed, some blessed
sight of "the water to cleanse and the blood to
atone." Oh, how fervently I wish to be _kept_ by faith
in Him, in still deepening humility!

_11th Mo. 27th_. What would be my present
condition but for the unchangeable faithfulness of my
God and Saviour? Ah! how well may He say,
"Thou hast destroyed thyself," and yet how constantly
add, "but in me is thine help." Yes, though
we ofttimes believe not, yet "He abideth faithful, He
cannot deny Himself;" and so, where there is any
thing of His own left in a wandering heart, again
and again returns, "upbraiding not," or else only
in accents of the tenderest love: "O thou of little
faith!" Often have I admired not only His great
love as shown in the main features of redemption,
but, if such a word is allowable, His _minute_ loving
kindness. Kindness--such a tender regard for the
comfort and peace of the soul. Oh, the spiritual
sorrows are far more from ourselves, our own wilful
work, than from Him whose language is, "I the Lord
do keep it, lest any hurt it."

_12th Mo. 4th_. Yesterday, in going to Plymouth
with father and mother, read in my Testament of
the Prodigal Son. Had no time to read before setting
out, and was dull. Thought it no use to take out
the book; but, oh, such a sweet contrition came over
me, such a sense of being invited to return to my
Father's house, such a soft and gentle peace!

_1st Mo. 15th,_ 1848. On the First-day before N.
and F. left us, we had a sweet address (in meeting)
from Uncle Rundell, on the grace which had been
his "morning light, and which he trusted would be
his evening song;" ending with his hope that all
would be willing to "bear the cross," that finally
they might "wear the crown," for it is the end that
crowns the action. We thought it a farewell-sermon;
and the joyful assurance in which it was uttered is
precious to think of. On Third-day he walked with
me in the meadow, but on Fourth-day sickness confined
him to bed, and on Fifth-day he had lost all
power of standing. Since then, he has been a patient
helpless invalid, and constant and most interesting
has been our occupation by turns, in waiting on him,
gathering up his really precious words, and witnessing
the yet more precious example and evidence of
all-sufficient grace. Never may this season be forgotten
by me, though not privileged to witness its close.
To visit F., I left home in the First month, after
a farewell to our precious uncle, which is not to be
forgotten. He asked me if I was going the next
day. I said yes, and that I was very sorry to leave
him. He said, "Well, as thou art enabled, pray for
me." I said, "And I hope thou won't forget me."
He replied, "It is not likely." In the evening, as
he sat by the fire, and spoke of my going to N. and
F., he said, "Desire them, as they are enabled, to
pray that I may be favored with patience and resignation
to the end." When I said I must try to bid
him farewell, hard as it was, he said, "May the Lord
go with thee. Keep to the cross; despise not the
day of small things. The Lord may see meet to
employ thee in His service, and I wish that every gift
that He dispenses to thee may be faithfully occupied
with." A loving farewell followed, and I left--doubtless
for the last time--our honored patriarch.

At Neath I spent more than three weeks, enjoying
the great kindness of my brother and sister, and
the beauty of the country, then dressed in its winter
garb, and the feeling of being in some measure useful.
I was also blessed, at the beginning of my visit,
with more than a common portion of spiritual blessing;
and I think the first meeting I was at there
was a time never to be forgotten--silent; but my
poor soul seemed swallowed up of joy and peace such
as I had never before known, at least so abidingly.
The calmness and peace, and the daily bread, with
which I was blessed in my little daily works and
daily retirements for some days, make the time sweet
to look back on, but grievous that I kept not my
portion, and again wandered from mountain to hill,
forgetting my resting-place.

She afterwards accompanied her brother and sister to their new home at

From a letter to one of her sisters.

Ipswich, 3d Month.

My mind has been so full of you to-day that, though
it is First-day evening, I must spend a few minutes in
this way before I go to bed. The thought of father's
going homewards to-morrow and seeing you all, seems a
stirring up and drawing tight of the interests and connecting
bonds of our scattered race. Oh, I do dearly
love you in my inmost heart,--though some of my letters
may seem as if I had lost some home affections to root
amongst strangers; but surely the new scenes of life
which I have witnessed, since that cold frosty morning
when I left you, have tended to make me value more
than ever that precious treasure of household love. Oh,
what were life without it? a wilderness indeed! and
well is it worth all the pangs which it may cost us in
this cold world. It is cheering to think of them as
caused by contact of something warm within, as with
the cold without; and far better it is to bear, than to be
cooled down to the temperature of earth's raw air. Thou
wilt wonder perhaps at my writing in this way; but with
me, though I may seem cold and dull in the common
way, there comes a day, every now and then, when I find

"New depths of love, in measure unsuspected,
Ties closer than I knew were round my heart."--

And though they are saddened by many a regret for
neglects and omissions and commissions toward you all,
and that old petrifying selfishness which only grace can
cure, I would not be without such days, and almost
thank "each wrench which has detected how thoroughly
and deeply dear you are." I can hardly tell you what
the thought of leaving N. and F. is to me, but this dark
day begins to shadow itself.

* * * Poor dear old A.G.! What a change from
her dark corner to everlasting day!--but not less from a
kingly palace, if we knew the truth; and her shadowy
abode had more light than many a palace, if we knew
the truth of that too.

She remarks in her Journal, after her return home:--

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

_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

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

"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

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

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