Nice visit at the Union on First-day. Congregation enlarged, notwithstanding subst.i.tution 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 G.o.d 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 rebellions.

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 amen.

_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 a.n.a.lyze 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 remembered.

TO A CACTUS FLOWER.

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; Th.o.r.n.y 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 ill.u.s.tration 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 G.o.d. "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 a.s.sociation.

The first is ent.i.tled 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, ent.i.tled "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 G.o.d 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 recommend.

_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 c.u.mbered 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 c.u.mbered 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 pa.s.sed 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 G.o.d 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 a.s.surance 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.