{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_8114/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_8114","id":"gutenberg_8114","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/8114","summary":null,"tags":["Authors, English -- 19th century -- Biography","Category: Biographies","Category: British Literature","Category: Essays, Letters & Speeches","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Charlotte Elizabeth, 1790-1846"],"text":"Produced by Charles Aldarondo, Tiffany Vergon, Tonya Allen,\nCharles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.\n\n\n\n\nPERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS\n\nBY CHARLOTTE ELIZABETH.\n\nABRIDGED, CHIEFLY IN PARTS PERTAINING TO POLITICAL AND OTHER\nCONTROVERSIES PREVALENT AT THE TIME IN GREAT BRITAIN.\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\nLETTER I.\n\nCHILDHOOD.--Reasons--Design--Martyrs' prison--Palace garden--Scenery--\nMusic--Study--Politics--A brother--Protestantism--The Bible--Judicious\nplan\n\nLETTER II.\n\nYOUTH.--Private journals--Romance--The drama--Poetical taste--Loss of\nhearing--Books--A change--Rural life--Stays--Tight-lacing--Ruinous\ncustom--The country\n\nLETTER III.\n\nEARLY DAYS.--Idling--Convictions--Anticipating evil--Mischievous errors\n--Unreal estimates--Fake views--A parting--Fraternal love\n\nLETTER IV.\n\nYOUTH.--A grandmother--Unfashionable taste--A bereavement--Changes--\nTravels--Punctuality--Ocean scenery--False confidence--A storm--Wonders\nof the deep--Recklessness--An Arab steed--A fragment--Escapes--\nHousewifery--Nova Scotia--Indians--Cosmopolitanism--Home\n\nLETTER V.\n\nIRELAND.--Oxford--Irishmen--The journey--The arrival--An escape--Dublin\n--St. John's eve--The dance--Paganism--Trials--Levying distress--\nConvictions--Terrors--Awakened conscience--God's teaching--Joy and peace\n\nLETTER VI.\n\nRELIGIOUS PROGRESS.--The church--Socinianism--Temptation--Metaphysics--\nAthanasian creed--An epoch--My first tract--A new friend--\"Hail Mary\"--\nChristian communion\n\nLETTER VII.\n\nKILKENNY.--A new residence--Another snare--Compromise--An apostate--\"End\nof controversy\"--The snare broken--Another attack--An argument--\nDiscussion--The result\n\nLETTER VIII.\n\nThe dumb boy.--A pupil--Jack's commencement--Inquiry--A dilemma--Dawning\nlight--Seasonings--A sunbeam--A soul born--A protester--Idolatry--\nFaithfulness--Summons--Superstition--National character--Confession--\nInfernal machinery\n\nLETTER IX.\n\nEngland.--The dumb boy--Jack's adventure--Departure from Ireland--Hannah\nMore--A carnal politician--Treachery--Afflictions--Jack's progress--\nPrayer--Mercies--A soldier--A home--False judgment--Tranquillity\n\nLETTER X.\n\nSandhurst.--A proposal--A snare--An incident--Papal fulmination--Jack's\npetition--Happy caution--Perseverance--Zeal--Testimonies--A contrast\n\nLETTER XI.\n\nSeparation.--Prejudices--Home--Forebodings--Danger--Trying scenes--\nQueries--Awful contrast--Cadets--Retrospections--A visitation--Sympathy\n--True feeling\n\nLETTER XII.\n\nEmployment.--Sabbath meetings--Boys--An event--Forgiveness--Prejudices--\nThe Irish language--St. Giles's--A project--The Irish church\n\nLETTER XIII.\n\nA sunset.--A termination--A sunset--Resignation--The red hand--Joy and\npeace--True wisdom--Sympathy--Earnestness--A dying protest--Sleeping in\nJesus\n\nLETTER XIV.\n\nA removal.--An appeal--Irish schools--Literary labors--Antinomianism--\nConclusion\n\nSUBSEQUENT LIFE AND DEATH OF THE AUTHOR\n\n\n\n\n\nPERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS\n\n\n\n\nLETTER I.\n\nCHILDHOOD.\n\n\nI have given my best consideration to the arguments by which you support\nthe demand for a few notices of events connected with my personal\nrecollections of the past. That which has chiefly influenced me is the\nconsideration, urged on what I know to be just and reasonable grounds,\nthat when it has pleased God to bring any one before the public in the\ncapacity of an author, that person becomes in some sense public\nproperty; having abandoned the privacy from which no one ought to be\nforced, but which any body may relinquish; and courted the observation\nof the world at large. Such individuals are talked of during life, and\nafter death become the subject, I may say the prey, of that spirit which\nreigned in Athens of old, and from which no child of Adam is wholly\nfree--the desire to hear and to tell some new thing. No sooner has the\nperson withdrawn from this mortal stage, than the pen of biography is\nprepared to record, and a host of curious expectants are marshalled to\nreceive, some fragments at least of private history. I wish I could\ndissent from your remark, that even godliness itself is too often sought\nto be made a gain of in such cases. Writers who are themselves wholly\nunenlightened by spiritual knowledge, and uninfluenced by spiritual\nfeeling, will take up as a good speculation what must to them be a\nmystery, and wrong the subject of their memorial while they injure the\ncause in which he labored. Even among those of better understanding in\nthe ways of truth, we do not often meet sound judgment, calm discretion,\nand refined delicacy, combined with affection for the departed and zeal\nfor the gospel. Private journals are sought out, confidential letters\nraked together, and a most unseemly exposure made alike of the dead and\nthe living.\n\nThis I have always seen and lamented; and being aware that my turn would\nprobably come to be thus exhibited, I have abstained from preserving\neven the slightest memoranda of events, thoughts, or feelings, that\ncould be laid hold on as a private journal: and I have most distinctly\nintimated to all those friends who possess any letters of mine, that I\nshall regard it as a gross breach of confidence, a dishonorable, base,\nand mercenary proceeding on their part, if ever they permit a sentence\naddressed by me to them to pass into other hands. Indeed, to such an\nextent have I felt this, that for many years past I have kept some\nfriends under a solemn pledge, that immediately after my death, they\nwill proclaim my having so guarded my correspondence, in order, if\npossible, to shame the individuals from a course with regard to me which\nI have never been inveigled into with regard to others. Looking on\nepistolary communications as a trust not to be betrayed, I have\ninvariably refused to deliver to the biographers of my departed friends\nany letters of theirs that I might possess: the first application for\nthem has always been the signal for committing the whole budget to the\nflames.\n\nThis you know; and you say that the very precautions I have used will\nleave my memory more completely at the mercy of ill-judging or ill-\ninformed survivors, who, in the absence of more authentic information,\nmay draw on their own invention, and do me injustice. This is the plea\nthat has prevailed with me now: the uncertainty of mortal life, with the\napprehension that if suddenly removed I shall become the heroine of some\nstrange romance, founded probably on the facts of a life by no means\ndeficient in remarkable incidents, but mixed up with a great deal of\nfiction; and the consciousness that others may be thereby wounded, whom\nI would not wish to wound--have decided me to act upon your suggestion,\nand to draw out a little sketch of such matters as can alone concern the\npublic in any way. Into private domestic History no person possessed of\na particle of delicacy can wish to intrude. It is melancholy to witness\nthe prying spirit that some are but too ready to cater to, for filthy\nlucre's sake: and grievous to reflect that the boasted immunity which\nmakes the cottage of the English peasant, no less than the palace of the\nEnglish noble, a castle--which so fences his domestic hearth that no man\nmay set foot within his door without his consent, or proclaim an untruth\nconcerning him without being legally compelled to render compensation,\nshould be withdrawn from his grave. I cannot tell you how I have blushed\nfor the living, and kindled with resentment on behalf of the dead, when\ncontemplating the merciless desecration of what may truly be called the\nsacredness of home, in some biographical notices.\n\nYou may therefore expect to find in these sheets a record of that mental\nand spiritual discipline by which it has pleased the Lord to prepare me\nfor the very humble, yet not very narrow, sphere of literary usefulness\nin which it was his good purpose to bid me move; with whatever of\noutward things, passing events, and individual personal adventure, as it\nis called, may be needful to illustrate the progress. Of living\ncontemporaries I shall of course not speak: of the dead no further than\nas I would myself be spoken of by them, had I gone first. Public events\nI shall freely discuss, and hold back nothing that bears on spiritual\nsubjects. Nobody shall ever need to be at the trouble of posthumously\nsearching out and proclaiming my opinions on any topic whatever, apart\nfrom personalities. I will not withhold, nor disguise, nor soften them\ndown; and if the charge of egotism be brought, let the accusers lay\ntheir hands upon their hearts, and declare that they would not have\nsanctioned another in performing for me, as a defunct writer, the office\nwhich nobody can fulfil half so well, because nobody can do it half so\ncorrectly, as myself.\n\nTo commence the task, in which I earnestly implore the Father of all\nmercies and Teacher of all truth to guide me, to guard me from\nmisstatement, to preserve me from self-seeking, and to overrule it to\nthe glory of his great name, I must remind you that my birthplace was\nNorwich; a fine old town, distinguished for its many antiquities, the\nbeauty of its situation on a rising ground, interspersed with a\nprofusion of rich gardens, and studded with churches to the number of\nthirty-five, including a majestic cathedral. Many years have elapsed\nsince I last beheld it, and perhaps the march of modern improvement has\nso changed its features, that were I now to dwell upon my recollections\nof that cherished home, they would not be recognized. But I cannot\nforget the early impressions produced on my mind by the peculiarities of\nthe place; nor must they be omitted here. The sphere in which it is my\ndearest privilege to labor, is the cause of Protestantism; and sometimes\nwhen God has blessed my poor efforts to the deliverance of some captive\nout of the chains of Popish delusion, I have recalled the fact of being\nborn just opposite the dark old gateway of that strong building where\nthe noble martyrs of Mary's day were imprisoned. I have recollected that\nthe house wherein I drew my first breath was visible through the grated\nwindow of their prison, and a conspicuous object when its gates unfolded\nto deliver them to unjust judgment and a cruel death. Are any of the\nprayers of those glorified saints fulfilled in the poor child who was\nbrought into the world on that particular spot, though at the distance\nof some ages? The query could not be answered, but the thought has\nfrequently cheered me on. The stern-looking gateway opening on St.\nMartin's plain, was probably one of the very first objects traced on the\nretina of my infant eye, when it ranged beyond the inner walls of the\nnursery; and often, with tottering step, I passed beneath that arch into\nthe splendid garden of our noble episcopal palace; and certainly, if my\nProtestantism may not be traced to that locality, my taste may; for from\nall the elaborate display of modern architecture, all the profuse\nluxuriance and endless variety of modern horticulture, I now turn away,\nto feast in thought on the recollection of that venerable scene. The\npalace itself is a fine specimen of the chaste old English style; but\nthe most conspicuous, the most unfading feature, was the cathedral\nitself, which formed the boundary of one-half of the garden; a mass of\nsober magnificence, rising in calm repose against the sky, which, to my\nawe-struck gaze and childish imagination, seemed to rest upon its\nexquisitely formed spire. Seated on the grass, busying my fingers with\nthe daisies that were permitted to spring around, I have been lost in\nsuch imaginings as I suppose not many little children indulge in, while\npermitting my eyes to rove over the seemingly interminable mass of old\ngrey stone, and then to fall upon the pleasant flowers around me. I\nloved silence, for nothing that fell on the ear seemed in accordance\nwith what so charmed the eye; and thus a positive evil found entrance in\nthe midst of much enjoyment. I acquired that habit of dreamy\nexcursiveness into imaginary scenes, and among unreal personages, which\nis alike inimical to rational pursuits and opposed to spiritual-\nmindedness. To a period so early as the middle of my fourth year I can\nrevert with the most perfect, most vivid recollection of my habitual\nthoughts and feelings; and at that age, I can unhesitatingly declare, my\nmind was deeply tinctured with a romance not derived from books, nor\nfrom conversation, but arising, as I verily believe, out of the singular\nadaptation to each other of my natural taste and the scenery amidst\nwhich it began to develop itself. Our abode was changed to another part\nof the city before this period arrived; but the bishop's garden was\nstill our haunt, and my supreme delight.\n\nAn immense orchard, shrubbery, and flower-garden were attached to my\nfather's new residence, to which he had removed on account of its\nproximity to the church of which he was rector. This, too, was an old-\nfashioned house, mantled with a vine, and straggling out, in irregular\nbuildings, along the slope of the garden. The centre of an immense\ngrass-plot, studded with apple, pear, and plum trees, was occupied by\nthe most gigantic mulberry I ever beheld, the thick trunk of which\nresembled that of a knotted oak, while in its forest of dark branches\nnestled a number of owls and hats. Oh, how I loved to lurk beneath its\nshadow on a summer evening, and await the twilight gloom, that the large\nowl might come forth and wheel around the tree, and call out his\ncompanions with a melancholy hoot; while the smaller bat, dipping lower\nin his flight, brushed by me, accustomed to my presence. I had entered\nbetimes upon the pernicious study of nursery tales, as they then were,\nand without having the smallest actual belief in the existence of\nfairies, goblins, or any such things, I took unutterable delight in\nsurrounding myself with hosts of them, decked out in colors of my own\nsupplying, gorgeous or terrible beyond the conception of my classic\nauthorities. The faculty of realizing whatever I pictured to myself was\nastonishingly great; and you must admit that the localities in which I\nwas placed were but too favorable to the formation of a character which\nI have no doubt the enemy was secretly constructing within me, to\nmislead, by wild, unholy fiction, such as should come within the range\nof its, influence. To God be all the glory that I am not now pandering\nwith this pen to the most grovelling or the most impious of man's\nperverted feelings.\n\nBut above all other tastes, all other cravings, one passion reigned\nsupreme, and that acme of enjoyment to me was music. This also was met\nby indulgence as unlimited as its cravings; for not only did my father\npossess one of the finest voices in the world, and the very highest\ndegree of scientific knowledge, taste, and skill in the management of\nit, but our house was seldom without an inmate in the person of his most\nintimate friend and brother clergyman, a son of the celebrated composer\nMr. Linley, who was as highly gifted in instrumental as my father was in\nvocal music. The rich tones of his old harpsichord seem at this moment\nto fill my ear and swell my heart; while my father's deep, clear, mellow\nvoice breaks in, with some noble recitative or elaborate air of Handel,\nHaydn, and the rest of a school that may be superseded, but never, never\ncan be equalled by modern composers. Or the harpsichord was\nrelinquished to another hand, and the breath of our friend came forth\nthrough the reed of his hautboy in strains of such overpowering melody,\nthat I have hid my face on my mother's lap to weep the feelings that\nabsolutely wrung my little heart with excess of enjoyment. This was not\na snare; or, if it might have been made one, the Lord broke it in time,\nby taking away my hearing. I would not that it had been otherwise, for\nwhile a vain imagination was fostered by the habit I have before\nadverted to, this taste for music and its high gratification most\ncertainly elevated the mind. I do firmly believe that it is a gift from\nGod to man, to be prized, cherished, cultivated. I believe that the man\nwhose bosom yields no response to the concord of sweet sounds, falls\nshort of the standard to which man should aspire as an intellectual\nbeing; and though Satan does fearfully pervert this solace of the mind\nto most vile purposes, still I heartily agree with Martin Luther, that,\nin the abstract, \"the devil hates music.\"\n\nBefore I had completed my sixth year, I came under the rod of discipline\nwhich was to fall so long and so perseveringly upon me ere I should\n\"hear the rod and who had appointed it.\" Enthusiastic in every thing,\nand already passionately fond of reading, I had eagerly accepted the\noffer of a dear uncle, a young physician, to teach me French. I loved\nhim, for he was gentle and kind, and very fond of me; and it was a great\nhappiness to trip through the long winding street that separated us, to\nturn down by the old Bridewell, so celebrated as an architectural\ncuriosity, being built of dark flint stones, exquisitely chiselled into\nthe form of bricks, and which even then I could greatly admire, and to\ntake my seat on my young uncle's knee, in the large hall of his house,\nwhere stood a very large and deep-toned organ, some sublime strain from\nwhich was to reward my diligence, if I repeated accurately the lesson he\nhad appointed. Thus between love for my uncle, delight in his organ, and\na natural inclination to acquire learning, I was stimulated to\nextraordinary efforts, and met the demand on my energies in a very\nunsafe way. I placed my French book under my pillow every night, and\nstarting from repose at the earliest break of dawn, strained my sleepy\neyes over the page, until, very suddenly, I became totally blind.\n\nThis was a grievous blow to my tender parents: the eclipse was so\ncomplete that I could not tell whether it was midnight or midnoon, so\nfar as perception of light was concerned, and the case seemed hopeless.\nIt was, however, among the \"all things\" that God causes to work together\nfor good, while Satan eagerly seeks to use them for evil. It checked my\ninordinate desire for mere acquirements, which I believe to be a bad\ntendency, particularly in a female, while it threw me more upon my own\nresources, such as they were, and gave me a keen relish for the highly\nintellectual conversation that always prevailed in our home. My father\ndelighted in the society of literary men; and he was himself of a turn\nso argumentative, so overflowing with rich conversation, so decided in\nhis political views, so alive to passing events, so devotedly and so\nproudly the Englishman, that with such associates as he gathered about\nhim at his own fireside, I don't see how the little blind girl, whose\nface was ever turned up towards the unseen speaker, and whose mind\nopened to every passing remark, could avoid becoming a thinker, a\nreasoner, a tory, and a patriot. Sometimes a tough disputant crossed our\nthreshold; one of these was Dr. Parr, and brilliant were the flashes\nresulting from such occasional collision with antagonists of that\ncalibre. I am often charged with the offence of being too political in\nmy writings: the fact is, I write as I think and feel; and what else can\nyou expect from a child reared in such a nursery?\n\nBut another consequence of this temporary visitation was an increased\npassion for music. The severe remedies used for my blindness frequently\nlaid me on the sofa for days together, and then my fond father would\nbring home with him, after the afternoon service of the cathedral, of\nwhich he was also a canon, a party of the young choristers. My godfather\nwould seat himself at the harpsichord; the boys, led by my father,\nperformed the vocal parts; and such feasts of sacred music were served\nup to me, that I have breathed to my brother in an ecstatic whisper the\nconfession, \"I don't want to see; I like music better than seeing.\"\n\nThat brother I have not before named; but that only brother was a second\nself. Not that he resembled me in any respect, for he was beautiful to a\nprodigy, and I an ordinary child; he was wholly free from any\npredilection for learning, being mirthful and volatile in the highest\ndegree; and though he listened when I read to him the mysterious marvels\nof my favorite nursery books, I doubt whether he ever bestowed an after-\nthought on any thing therein contained. The brightest, the sweetest, the\nmost sparkling creature that ever lived, he was all joy, all love. I do\nnot remember to have seen him for one moment out of temper or out of\nspirits for the first sixteen years of his life; and he was to me what\nthe natural sun is to the system. We were never separated; our studies,\nour plays, our walks, our plans, our hearts were always one. That holy\nband which the Lord has woven, that inestimable blessing of fraternal\nlove and confidence, was never broken, never loosened between us, from\nthe cradle to his grave; and God forbid that I should say or think that\nthe grave has broken it. If I have not from the outset included that\nprecious brother in my sketch, it was because I should almost as soon\nhave deemed it necessary to include by name my own head or my own heart.\nHe too was musical, and sang sweetly, and I cannot look back on my\nchildhood without confessing that its cup ran over with the profusion of\ndelights that my God poured into it.\n\nAbout this time, when my sight, after a few months' privation, was fully\nrestored, I first imbibed the strength of Protestantism as deeply as it\ncan be imbibed apart from spiritual understanding, Norwich was\ninfamously conspicuous in persecuting unto death the saints of the Most\nHigh, under the sanguinary despotism of popish Mary; and the spot where\nthey suffered, called the Lollard's pit, lies just outside the town,\nover Bishop's bridge, having a circular excavation against the side of\nMoushold-hill. This, at least to within a year or two ago, was kept\ndistinct, an opening by the road-side. My father often took us to walk\nin that direction, and pointed out the pit, and told us that there Mary\nburnt good people alive for refusing to worship wooden images. I was\nhorror-stricken, and asked many questions, to which he did not always\nreply so fully as I wished; and one day, having to go out while I was\ninquiring, he said, \"I don't think you can read a word of this book, but\nyou may look at the pictures: it is all about the martyrs.\" So saying,\nhe placed on a chair the old folio of Foxe's Acts and Monuments, in\nvenerable black-letter, and left me to examine it.\n\nHours passed and still found me bending over, or rather leaning against\nthat magic book. I could not, it is true, decipher the black-letter, but\nI found some explanations in Roman type, and devoured them; while every\nwood-cut was examined with aching eyes and a palpitating heart.\nAssuredly I took in more of the spirit of John Foxe, even by that\nimperfect mode of acquaintance, than many do by reading his book\nthrough; and when my father next found me at what became my darling\nstudy, I looked up at him with burning cheeks and asked, \"Papa, may I be\na martyr?\"\n\n\"What do you mean, child?\"\n\n\"I mean, papa, may I be burned to death for my religion, as these were?\nI want to be a martyr.\"\n\nHe smiled, and made me this answer, which I have never forgotten: \"Why,\nCharlotte, if the government ever gives power to the Papists again, as\nthey talk of doing, you may probably live to be a martyr.\"\n\nI remember the stern pleasure that this reply afforded me; of spiritual\nknowledge not the least glimmer had ever reached me in any form, yet I\nknew the Bible most intimately, and loved it with all my heart as the\nmost sacred, the most beautiful of earthly things. Already had its\nsublimity caught my adoration; and when listening to the lofty language\nof Isaiah, as read from his stall in the cathedral by my father in\nAdvent, and the early Sundays of the year, while his magnificent voice\nsent the prophetic denunciations pealing through those vaulted aisles, I\nhad received into my mind, and I think into my heart, that scorn of\nidolatry which breathes so thrillingly in his inspired page. This I\nknow, that at six years old the foundation of a truly scriptural protest\nwas laid in my character; and to this hour it is my prayer that whenever\nthe Lord calls me hence, he may find his servant not only watching but\nworking against the diabolical iniquity that filled the Lollard's pit\nwith the ashes of his saints.\n\nAnd now upon that all-important topic the Bible I would remark, that\namong the most invaluable blessings of my life I remember the judicious\nconduct of my parents in regard to it. We generally find that precious\nvolume made a book of tasks; sometimes even a book of penalties: the\nconsequence of so doing cannot but be evil. With us it was emphatically\na reward book. That identical book is now before me, in its rich red\ncover, elegantly emblazoned with the royal arms; for it is the very\nBible that was placed before queen Charlotte at her coronation in 1761;\nand which, becoming the perquisite of a prebendary of Westminster, was\nby his wife presented to my mother, to whom she stood sponser. This\nroyal Bible was highly prized; and it was with special favor that it was\nopened for us when we had been good, and were deemed worthy of some mark\nof approval. My father, then, whose voice made music of every thing,\nwould read to us the history of Abel, of Noah, of Moses, of Gideon, or\nsome other of the exquisite narratives of the Old Testament. I do not\nsay that they were made the medium of conveying spiritual instruction;\nthey were unaccompanied by note or comment, written or oral, and merely\nread as histories, the fact being carefully impressed on our minds that\nGod was the author, and that it would be highly criminal to doubt the\ntruth of any word in that book. * * * The consequences of this early\ninstruction, imparted as an indulgence, I have reason daily to rejoice\nin: it led me to search for myself the inspired pages; it taught me to\nexpect beauties, and excellences, and high intellectual gratification\nwhere God has indeed caused them to abound. As in the natural world we\nfind the nutritious fruit not lying like pebbles on the ground, but hung\non graceful trees and shrubs, heralded by fair and fragrant blossoms,\nembowered in verdant foliage, and itself beautifully shaped and tinted;\nso has the Lord arranged that the garden where grows the fruit of the\ntree of life, should abound in all that is most lovely to man's natural\nperception; and do we not slight this bounteous care for our mind's\nenjoyment while he makes provision for our soul's sustenance, when we\nneglect to point these things out to the notice of our children? The\nword was my delight many a year before it became my counsellor; and when\nat last the veil was withdrawn from my heart, and Jesus stood revealed\nas the Alpha and Omega of that blessed book, it was not like gradually\nfurnishing a vacant place with valuable goods, but like letting a flood\nof day into one already most-richly stored with all that was precious;\nthough, for lack of light whereby to discern their real nature, the gems\nhad been regarded but as common things. My memory was plentifully stored\nwith what it had been, my free choice to study; and when in the progress\nof this little narrative you learn how mercifully I have been preserved\nfrom doctrinal error in its various forms, through that full\nacquaintance with God's word, you will trace his marvellous workings in\nthus furnishing my mind, as it were, with an armory of ready weapons,\nand will be ready to echo with increased earnestness that emphatic\ndeclaration, \"The Bible, the Bible alone, is the religion of\nProtestants;\" and not only to echo, but also to act upon it.\n\nReligion, however, did at this early period of my life become a very\nimportant concern in my eyes; our mother had taken infinite pains to\nassure us of one great truth--the omniscience of an omnipresent God--and\nthis I never could for a moment shake off. It influenced us both in a\npowerful manner, so that if either committed a fault, we never rested\nuntil, through mutual exhortation on the ground that God certainly knew\nit, and would be angry if we added deceit to another error, we had\nencouraged each other to confession. We then went, hand in hand, to our\nmother, and the one who stood clear of the offence acknowledged it in\nthe name of the transgressor, while both asked pardon. Never did\nchildren more abhor a lie: we spurned its meanness, while trembling at\nits guilt; and nothing bound us more closely and exclusively together\nthan, the discoveries we were always making of a laxity among other\nchildren in this respect. On such occasions we would shrink into a\ncorner by ourselves and whisper, \"Do they think God does not hear that?\"\nSelf-righteousness, no doubt, existed in a high degree; we were baby\nPharisees, rejoicing in the external cleanliness of cup and platter; but\nI look back with great thankfulness on the mercy that so far restrained\nus: an habitual regard to truth has carried me safely through many a\ntrial, and, as a means, guarded me from many a snare. It cannot be too\nearly or too strongly inculcated; nor should any effort be considered\ntoo great, any difficulty too discouraging, any reprobation too strong,\nor, I will add, any punishment too severe, when the object in view is to\novercome this infamous vice in a child. Once I remember having been led\ninto a lie at the instigation, and through the contrivance of a servant-\ngirl, for whose benefit it was told. Suspicion instantly arose, from my\ndreadful embarrassment of manner; a strict investigation commenced; the\ngirl told me to face it out, for that nobody else knew of it, and she\nwould not flinch. But my terrors of conscience were insupportable; I\ncould ill bear my father's steady eye fixed on mine, still less the\nanxious, wondering, incredulous expression of my brother's innocent\nface, who could not for a moment fancy me guilty. I confessed at once;\nand with a heavy sigh my father sent to borrow from a neighbor an\ninstrument of chastisement never before needed in his own house. He took\nme to another room, and said, \"Child, it will pain me more to punish you\nthus, than any blows I can inflict will pain you; but I must do it; you\nhave told a lie--a dreadful sin, and a base, mean, cowardly action. If I\nlet you grow up a liar, you will reproach me for it one day; if I now\nspared the rod, I should hate the child.\" I took the punishment in a\nmost extraordinary spirit: I wished every stroke had been a stab; I wept\nbecause the pain was not great enough; and I loved my father at that\nmoment better than even I, who almost idolized him, had ever loved him\nbefore. I thanked him, and I thank him still; for I never transgressed\nin that way again. The servant was called, received her wages and a most\nawful lecture, and was discharged the same hour. Yet, of all these\nthings what sunk deepest into my very soul were the sobs and cries of my\nfond little brother, and the lamentable tones of his soft voice,\npleading through the closed door, \"O, papa, don't whip Charlotte. O\nforgive poor Charlotte.\"\n\nIt is sweet to know we have a Brother indeed who always pleads, and\nnever pleads in vain for the offending child; a Father whose\nchastisements are not withheld, but administered in tender love;\njudgment being his strange work, and mercy that wherein he delights, and\nthe peaceable fruits of righteousness the end of his corrections. The\nevent to which I have referred may appear too trivial a thing to record;\nbut it is by neglecting trivial things that we ruin ourselves and our\nchildren. The usual mode of training these immortal beings, the plan of\nleaving them to servants and to themselves, the blind indulgence that\npasses by, with a slight reprimand only, a wilful offence, and the\nmischievous misapplication of doctrine that induces some to let nature\ndo her worst, because nothing but grace can effectually suppress her\nevil workings; all these are faulty in the extreme, and no less\npresumptuous than foolish: this has produced that \"spirit of the age\"\nwhich, operating in a \"pressure from without,\" is daily forcing us\nfurther from the good old paths in which we ought to walk, and in which\nour forefathers did walk, when they gave better heed than we do to the\ninspired word, which tells us, \"Foolishness is bound up in the heart of\na child; but the rod of correction shall drive it far from him.\"\n\nAffectionately yours,\n\nC. E.\n\n\n\n\nLETTER II.\n\nYOUTH.\n\n\nI have long been persuaded that there is no such thing as an honest\nprivate journal, even where the entries are punctually made under\npresent impressions. There is so much of positive, active evil always at\nwork in the mind, that to give a fair transcript of idle unprofitable\nthoughts and corrupt imaginings, is out of the question: evil is dealt\nwith in generals, good in particulars, and the balance cannot be fairly\nstruck. Those confessions of indwelling sin that remorse will wring from\nus, and which perhaps are penned at the moment in perfect sincerity,\nbeing unaccompanied with, the specifications that would invest them in\ntheir naturally hideous colors, beneath the searching light of God's\nholy and spiritual law, wear the lovely garb of unfeigned humility. The\nreader, coming to such self-condemnatory clauses, is struck with\nadmiration at the saintly writer's marvellous self-abasement, only\nlamenting that he should, in the excess of his lowly-mindedness, have\nwritten such, bitter things against himself, at a time when he was\ngrieving, resisting, almost quenching the Holy Spirit within by\nobstinate transgression.\n\nAnd if the present, how much more is the past liable to be glossed over?\nTo be faithful here is next to impossible, for Satan helps us to deceive\nourselves and instructs us to carry out the deception to others. This\nconsideration might well cause the pen of autobiography to drop from a\nChristian's hand, did not an earnest desire to glorify God in his\nmerciful dealings, together with the consciousness that to no other\ncould the task he safely delegated, act as a counterpoise to the\ndiscouragement. I do desire to magnify the exceeding riches of God's\ngrace to me, if I may do so without increasing the charge of arrogant\nassumption. I know that among the diversity of gifts which he bestows on\nhis creatures, he granted me a portion of mental energy, a quickness of\nperception, a liveliness of imagination, an aptitude for expressing the\nthoughts that were perpetually revolving in my mind, such as to fit me\nfor literary occupation. I know that Satan, to whom such instruments are\nexceedingly valuable, marked me as one who would, if properly trained to\nit, do his work effectually within his own sphere; and I am not more\nsure of my present existence than I am of the fact that he strove to\nsecure me for that purpose, from the first expanding of those faculties\nwhich evidently lie exposed to his observation and open to his attacks,\nas far as God permits him to work. Can I feel all this, and not bless\nthe Lord, who so far baffled these designs, and deigned to appoint my\nfield of labor within the sacred confines of his own vineyard?\n\nThe visitation of which I have spoken had a powerful influence on my\nafter-life; it rendered the preservation of my newly-restored sight an\nobject of paramount importance, to which the regular routine of\neducation must needs be sacrificed. A boarding-school had never been\nthought of for me. My parents loved their children too well to meditate\ntheir expulsion from the paternal roof; and the children so well loved\ntheir parents and each other that such a separation would have been\ninsupportable to them. Masters we had in the necessary branches of\neducation, and we studied together so far as I was permitted to study;\nbut before it was deemed safe to exercise my eyes with writing\napparatus, I had stealthily possessed myself of a patent copy-book, by\nmeans of which, tracing the characters as they shone through the paper,\nI was able to write with tolerable freedom before any one knew that I\ncould join two letters; and I well remember my father's surprise, not\nunmixed with annoyance, when he accidentally took up a letter which I\nhad been writing to a distant relation, giving a circumstantial account\nof some domestic calamity which had no existence but in my brain;\nrelated with so much pathos too, that my tears had fallen over the slate\nwhereon this my first literary attempt was very neatly traced. He could\nnot forbear laughing; but ended with a grave shake of the head, and a\nremark to the effect that I was making more haste than good speed.\n\nAt this time, seven years of age, I became entangled in a net of\ndangerous fascination. One evening my brother was taken to the theatre,\nwhile I, on account of a cold, had to stay at home. To compensate for\nthis, I was permitted to read the play to him; and that play was, \"The\nMerchant of Venice.\" I will not dwell upon the effect. I had already\nbecome fond of such theatrical spectacles as were considered suitable\nfor children--pantomime and broad farce--and like a child I gazed upon the\nglitter, and enjoyed the bustle; but now, seated in a corner, all quiet\nabout me, and nothing to interfere with the mental world, I drank a cup\nof intoxication under which my brain reeled for many a year. The\ncharacter of Shylock burst upon me, even as Shakspeare had conceived it.\nI revelled in the terrible excitement that it gave rise to; page after\npage was stereotyped upon a most retentive memory without an effort, and\nduring a sleepless night I feasted on the pernicious sweets thus hoarded\nin my brain.\n\nPernicious indeed they were; for from that hour my diligence in study,\nmy docility of conduct, every thing that is usually regarded as\npraiseworthy in a child, sprung from a new motive. I wanted to earn a\nreward, and that was no longer a sweet story from the Bible, but\npermission to carry into my retreat a volume of Shakspeare. A taste so\nunusual at my age was hailed with applause; visitors questioned me on\nthe different plays, to ascertain my intimate acquaintance with the\ncharacters; but no one, not even my father, could persuade me to recite\na line, or to listen when another attempted it, or to witness the\nrepresentation of any play of Shakspeare. This I mention to prove what a\npowerful hold the enemy of all godliness must have expected to take on a\nspirit so attuned to romance. Reality became insipid, almost hateful to\nme; conversation, except that of the literary men to whom I have\nalluded, a burden. I imbibed a thorough contempt for women, children,\nand household affairs, intrenching myself behind invisible barriers that\nfew, very few, could pass. Oh how many wasted hours, how much of\nunprofitable labor, what wrong to my fellow-creatures, what robbery of\nGod, must I refer to this ensnaring book. My mind became unnerved, my\njudgment perverted, my estimate of people and things wholly falsified,\nand my soul wrapped in the vain solace of unsubstantial enjoyments\nduring years of after sorrow, when but for this I might have early\nsought the consolations of the gospel. Parents know not what they do,\nwhen from vanity, thoughtlessness, or overindulgence, they foster in a\nyoung girl what is called a poetical taste. Those things highly esteemed\namong men are held in abomination with God; they thrust him from his\ncreatures' thoughts, and enshrine a host of polluting idols in his\nplace.\n\nMy father, I am sure, wished to check the evil which, as a sensible man,\nhe could not but foresee; my state of health, however, won a larger\nportion of indulgence than was good for me. The doctors into whose hands\nI had fallen, were of the school now happily very much exploded: they\nhad one panacea for almost every ill, and that was the perilous drug\nmercury. With it, they rather fed than physicked me; and its deleterious\neffects on the nervous system were doubly injurious to me, as increasing\ntenfold the excitability that required every curb. Among all the marvels\nof my life, the greatest is that of my having grown up to be one of the\nhealthiest of human beings, and with an inexhaustible flow of even\nmirthful spirits; for certainly I was long kept hovering on the verge of\nthe grave by the barbarous excess to which medical experiments were\ncarried; and I never entertained a doubt that the total loss of my\nhearing before I was ten years old, was owing to a paralysis induced by\nsuch severe treatment. God, however, had his own purposes to work out,\nwhich neither Satan nor man could hinder. He overruled all for the\nfurtherance of his own gracious designs.\n\nShut out by this last dispensation from my two delightful resources,\nmusic and conversation, I took refuge in books with tenfold avidity. By\nthis time I had added the British poets generally to my original stock,\ntogether with such reading as is usually prescribed for young ladies;\nand I underwent the infliction of reading aloud to my mother the seven\nmortal volumes of Sir Charles Grandison. It was in the fulfilment of\nthis awful task that I acquired a habit particularly mischievous and\nensnaring--that of reading mechanically, with a total abstraction of\nmind from what I was about. This became the easier to me from the\nabsence of all external sound; and its consequences are exceedingly\ndistressing to this day, as experienced in a long-indulged, and\nafterwards most bitterly lamented wandering of the mind in prayer and in\nreading the Scriptures. In fact, through the prevalence of this habit,\nmy devotions, always very punctually performed, became such an utter\nlip-service, as frequently to startle and terrify my conscience, when I\nfound myself saying prayers and thinking idle songs or scraps of plays;\nbut I regarded such transient pangs of remorse as a satisfaction for the\nsin, and never dreamed of resisting the general habit.\n\nThus far I had led a town life, residing in the heart of a populous\ncity, enjoying indeed that noble garden, but daily more and more\nabsorbed in books of fancy. Happily, my health became so affected that a\nremoval into the country was judged necessary, and I forgave the doctors\nall their past persecution of me, in consideration of their parting\ninjunctions, which were, that I was to have unbounded liberty; to live\nentirely in the open air, save when the weather forbade; to be amused\nwith all rural occupations; and especially to frequent farm-yards, for\nthe purpose of inhaling the breath of cows. My father exchanged\nparochial duty with a friend, taking his village congregation, and\nengaging a house very near the church.\n\nThat tall white house, what a place it holds in my fond recollection. It\nwas perfectly an old parsonage, and behind it lay a garden larger than\nour city orchard, sloping gently down, with a profusion of fruit and\nflowers, bounded by high walls, and the central walk terminating in a\ndoor, beyond which lay the scene of our greatest enjoyment. A narrow\nslip of grass, fringed with osiers and alders and willows, alone\nseparated the wall from a very clear, lovely stream, which winding half\nround an extensive common, turned a mill. This small river abounded with\nfish, and we soon became expert anglers; besides which, on creeping to\nsome distance by a path of our own discovery, we could cross the stream\non a movable plank, and take a wide range through, the country. This\nremoval was a double resource: it invigorated my bodily frame, until I\noutgrew and out-bloomed every girl of my age in the neighborhood, while\nreally laying a foundation for many years of uninterrupted health, and a\nconstitution to defy the change of climate for which I was destined;\nwhile it won me from the sickening, enervating habit of sedentary\nenjoyment over the pages of a book, which, added to the necessary\nstudies and occupations, was relaxing alike the tone of the bodily and\nmental frame. From the polluted works of man, I was drawn to the\nglorious works of God; and never did bird of the air or beast of the\nfield more luxuriate in the pure bright elements of nature than I did.\nAll the poetical visions of liberty that had floated in my brain seemed\nnow realized; all pastoral descriptions faded before the actual\nenjoyment of rural life. Sometimes wreathing garlands of, wild flowers,\nreclined on a sunny bank, while a flock of sheep strolled around, and\nthe bold little lambs came to peep in our faces, and then gallop away in\npretended alarm; sometimes tearing our clothes to tatters in an ardent\nhunt for the sweet filberts that hung high above our heads, on trees\nwell fortified behind breastworks of bramble and thorn; sometimes\ncultivating the friendship while we quaffed the milk of the good-natured\ncows under the dairymaid's operation: all was freedom, mirth, and peace.\nOften would my father take his noble pointers preparatory to the\nshooting season, at once to try their powers and to ascertain what\npromise of future sport the fields presented. These were destructive\nexpeditions in one sense. I remember the following dialogue, repeated to\nme by my brother, when we made our appearance at home after a day's\ndemolition of wearing apparel.\n\n\"Mr. B. this will never do; that girl cannot wear a frock twice without\nsoiling it; nor keep it whole for a week: the expense will ruin us.\"\n\n\"Well, my dear, if I am to be ruined by expense, let it come in the\nshape of the washerwoman's and linen-draper's bills, not in those of the\napothecary and undertaker.\"\n\nMy dear father was right; and it would be a happy thing for girls in\ngeneral, if somewhat of appearance, and of acquirement too, was\nsacrificed to what God has so liberally provided, and to the enjoyment\nof which a blessing is undoubtedly annexed. Where, among females, do we\nfind the stamina of constitution and the elasticity of spirit which\nexist in those of our rural population who follow outdoor employment? It\npositively pains me to see a party of girls, a bonneted and tippeted\ndouble-file of humanity,\n\n    \"That like a wounded snake drags its slow length along,\"\n\nunder the keen surveillance of a governess, whose nerves would never be\nable to endure the shock of seeing them bound over a stream and scramble\nthrough a fence, or even toss their heads and throw out their limbs as\nall young animals, except that oppressed class called young ladies, are\nprivileged to do. Having ventured, in a fit of my country daring, to\nbreak the ice of this very rigid and frigid subject, I will recount\nanother instance of the paternal good sense to which I owe, under God,\nthe physical powers without which my little talent might have been laid\nby in a napkin all my days.\n\nOne morning, when his daughter was about eight years old, my father came\nin, and found sundry preparations going on, the chief materials for\nwhich were buckram, whalebone, and other stiff articles, while the young\nlady was under measurement by the hands of a female friend.\n\n\"Pray, what are you going to do to the child?\"\n\n\"Going to fit her with a pair of stays.\"\n\n\"For what purpose?\"\n\n\"To improve her figure; no young lady can grow up properly without\nthem.\"\n\n\"I beg your pardon; young gentlemen grow up very well without them, and\nso may young ladies.\"\n\n\"O, you are mistaken. See what a stoop she has already; depend on it\nthis girl will be both a dwarf and a cripple if we don't put her into\nstays.\"\n\n\"My child may be a cripple, ma'am, if such is God's will; but she shall\nbe one of his making, not ours.\"\n\nAll remonstrance was vain; stays and every species of tight dress were\nstrictly prohibited by the authority of one whose will was, as every\nman's ought to be, absolute in his own household. He also carefully\nwatched against any evasion of the rule: a ribbon drawn tightly round my\nwaist would have been cut without hesitation by his determined hand;\nwhile the little girl of the anxious friend whose operations he had\ninterrupted, enjoyed all the advantages of that system from which I was\npreserved. She grew up a wandlike figure, graceful and interesting, and\ndied of decline at nineteen; while I, though not able to compare shapes\nwith a wasp or an hour-glass, yet passed muster very fairly among mere\nhuman forms of God's moulding; and I have enjoyed to this hour a rare\nexemption from headaches, and other ladylike maladies, that appear the\nalmost exclusive privilege of women in the higher classes.\n\nThis is no trivial matter, believe me; it has frequently been the\nsubject of conversation with professional men of high attainment, and I\nnever met with one among them who did not, on hearing that I never but\nonce, and then only for a few hours, submitted to the restraint of these\nunnatural machines, refer to that exemption, as a means, the free\nrespiration, circulation, and powers both of exertion and endurance with\nwhich the Lord has most mercifully gifted me. There can be no doubt that\nthe hand which first encloses the waist of a girl in these cruel\ncontrivances, supplying her with a fictitious support, where the hand of\nGod has placed bones and muscles that ought to be brought into vigorous\naction, that hand lays the foundation of bitter sufferings; at the price\nof which, and probably of a premature death, the advantage must be\npurchased of rendering her figure as unlike as possible to all the\nmodels of female beauty, universally admitted to be such, because they\nare chiselled after nature itself. I have seen pictures, and I have read\nharrowing descriptions, of the murderous consequences of thus flying in\nthe face of the Creator's skill, and presuming to mend, to improve, his\nperfect work; but my own experience is worth a thousand treatises and\nten thousand illustrations, in bringing conviction to my mind. Once,\nwhen introduced, as it is called, to the public, through the medium of a\nballroom, I did join in persuading my father to allow of a fashionable\nlacing-up, though by no means a tight one. I felt much as, I suppose, a\nfrolicksome young colt feels when first subjected to the goading\napparatus that fetters his wild freedom. I danced, but it was with a\nheavy heart and laboring breath; I talked, under the influence of a\nstupefying headache, and on my return home flew to my apartment and cut\nthe goodly fabric in pieces; nor was I ever afterwards tempted so to\ntempt my all-wise Maker by saying to the frame that he had fashioned and\nsupplied with means of healthful growth, \"Hitherto shalt thou go and no\nfurther.\"\n\nCompressure of the feet was with equal strictness forbidden by my\njudicious father. This vain custom is perhaps not so fatal as the other,\nbut it produces many evils. Coldness of the extremities may certainly\nexist where nothing of the kind has been practised; but while rejoicing\nthat I, experimentally, know nothing of it, I cannot help recollecting\nthat the bounding pulse which plays so joyously through my veins was\nnever impeded in any part; and feeling this, I would no more expose a\ngirl to one infliction than I would to the other. Do Christian mothers\ntake a sufficiently serious and prayerful view of this subject, as\nregards their children? Do they weigh, in a balance of God's providing,\nthis necessary provision of clothing, to separate not only what is\nunseemly for the woman professing godly simplicity, but what is\nenervating to those physical powers which she is bound to devote to the\nLord, and the weakening of which is actual robbery of him? I fear we\nfemales are more ready to ask counsel one of another in this matter than\nof the Lord; or even of our husbands, who, in nine cases out of ten, no\ndoubt would decide against the foolish and pernicious custom. At least,\nin all my arguments with my own sex, I have found the men invariably\nsiding with me upon this topic.\n\nYou will be tired of these digressions, my dear friend, but I set out by\nforewarning you that my opinions would be freely stated; and while\ntouching on a period of mortal life, where the body no less than the\nmind usually takes its direction for the rest of our pilgrimage, I\ncannot pass by any thing that appears to me of real importance to\neither. We will now return to what poets have sung and citizens sighed\nfor, time out of mind--the delights of rural life.\n\nAll cramping is decidedly bad: wholesome restraints there are, which\nparents are bound to lay upon their children, and the latter to submit\nto; and among other things, I am sure a defined method and regular\nhabits in education, work, and play, together, with a most strict\nattention to scrupulous punctuality, are not only valuable but\nindispensable to a right government of the mind and conduct in after-\nlife. I have daily cause to lament the unavoidable neglect of such a\nsystem in my own case, during three important years; but unavoidable it\nwas, unless my life had been sacrificed to the maintenance of such\norder. Accordingly, mine was the life of a butterfly; and whatever of\nthe busy bee has since appeared in my proceedings must be ascribed to\ndivine grace alone. I often recall those days of summer sunshine to\nwhich I have alluded; and the scarcely less joyous winter season, when,\nploughing the light snow, we raced with our inseparable companion, the\nfavorite pointer, or built up a brittle giant for the glory of\ndemolishing him with balls of his own substance, or directed the soft\nmissiles against each other. Accompanied by our father, but never alone,\nwe made excursions upon our frozen stream; and very sweet it was to the\nfond hearts of my tender parents to watch the mantling glow of health,\nthe elastic vigor of increasing stature, and the unbounded play of most\nexuberant spirits, in the poor child whom they had expected to enclose\nin an early grave. How often, seated on the low wide brick-work corner\nof the immense fireplace in a neighboring farm-house, have I been smoked\namong hams and tongues, while watching the progress of baking a homely\ncake upon those glowing wood-embers, or keeping guard over a treasury of\napples, nuts, and elderberry wine, all streaming together in the\nlusciousness of a promised feast? Patriotism is with me no inert\nprinciple; it verily lives and acts and pervades my whole spirit; and I\nbelieve its energetic character, except as God deigns to work by his\nespecial influence, is traceable to that early acquaintance with what is\nmost purely English among us--the homes and the habits of our own bold\nyeomanry.\n\nCities may resemble one another, and the aping propensities of their\ninhabitants produce among them a rapid approximation of appearance and\nmanners; but where shall we look for the counterpart of a rural English\nHOME? The thing is as untransferable as the word is untranslatable. The\nantique village church, with its broad square tower or low spire, its\nstone porch and oak seats, its narrow casements and the many vestiges of\nthose abominations which the besom of the blessed Reformation swept from\nour services, though it could not, without demolishing the building,\nefface their relics from its walls; the churchyard surrounding its base,\nwith undulating hillocks of mortality clad in long, rich grass, where\nlie, half hidden, the old grey monumental stones that can no longer tell\nthe tale of bygone generations; the more modern sculpture, and the\nhomely grave-rail standing sentry over the last resting-place of the\npoor, while some venerable tree overshadows the ground, where it has\nprobably stood since the first stone of that modest temple was laid by\nour forefathers--all these are so endearingly English. The broad, rich\nfields, the hedgerow boundaries and stately lines of vigorous trees\nguarding their native soil; and above all, the manly bearing of a bold,\nan independent, and a peaceful peasantry, the humblest of whom knows\nthat his cottage is a chartered sanctuary, protected alike from the\naggressions of civil and of ecclesiastical tyranny--these, too, are\nEnglish, sacredly English; and they leave upon the heart that has once\nexpanded among them, an impress never to be effaced. Among national\nreformers, what a noble position would he occupy who should prevail upon\nour monied countrymen to exchange their habits of periodical vagrancy\ninto popish lands, for a sojourn in the moral districts of their own\nProtestant England, in the confidence that the climate which agreed with\ntheir fathers from generation to generation--as the dates and ages\ndecipherable on our monuments will testify--would not annihilate them;\nand that the sphere in which God had seen good to place them was that\nwherein he purposed them to move, to exert their influence, and to\noccupy for his glory, with the talents committed to their charge.\n\nI have told you how books of imagination had supplanted the Bible in my\nesteem; those books now, in a measure, yielded to the irresistible\nattraction of outdoor amusement; but my mind was so abundantly stored\nwith the glittering tinsel of unsanctified genius, as it shone forth in\nthe pages of my beloved poets, that no room was left for a craving after\nbetter studies. Yet the turn of my mind was devotional in the extreme;\nso much so, that had the Lord permitted me at that time to come in\ncontact with the wily fascinations of popery, I am sure I should have\nfallen, for a season at least, into the snare. God was really in all my\nthoughts; not as the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ--not as a\nbeing of purer eyes than to behold iniquity--not as He whom I was\nrequired to glorify in my body and in my spirit, being bought with a\nprice, to be no longer my own but his; no, my religion was a very\nattractive sort of Deism, which recognized the Creator of all those\nthings wherein I delighted, and thought to render him great honor by\nsuch recognition. Thomson's \"Hymn on the Seasons\" was my body of\ndivinity; and Pope's atrocious \"Universal Prayer\" would have become my\nmanual of devotion, had not my father denounced it as a most blasphemous\noutrage upon revelation, and charged me never to repeat what he deeply\nregretted that I had committed to memory. I hated profanity, and would\nnot have omitted the private repetition of a form of prayer, morning or\nevening, on any account, nor absented myself from public worship. A\nslighting expression applied to the Bible would kindle me into glowing\nresentment, expressed with no less sincerity than earnestness, and as a\nmatter of duty I devoted some time every Sabbath-day to the perusal of\nGod's word, with which I had become more extensively acquainted by\nreading it during sermon-time at church. I well know that even then, and\nat a much earlier period too, conviction of my own sinfulness was\nworking very deeply, though not permanently, in my mind: it was not an\nabiding impression, but a thing of fits and starts, overwhelming me\nwhile it lasted, but soon shaken off by diverting my thoughts to\nsomething else. These convictions were unquestionably the result of my\noccasional readings in God's book: they always occurred during or\nimmediately after such perusal, or when some passage was suddenly\nbrought to my recollection.\n\n\n\n\nLETTER III.\n\nEARLY DAYS.\n\n\nI grew up a healthy, active, light-hearted girl, wholly devoted to\nreading and to rural occupations. The latter, particularly gardening,\nserved as a counterpoise to the sedentary temptation that would have\nproved physically injurious; but laying in, as I daily did, a plentiful\nstore of romantic adventure or fascinating poetry for rumination when\nabroad, my mind was unprofitably occupied at all times, to the exclusion\nof better things. On Sundays, indeed, I made it a point of conscience to\nabstain from light reading; and, as far as I could, to banish from my\nthoughts the week's acquisition of folly. I went to church, and read the\nBible at home with a sermon of Blair's, or some similar writer wholly\ndestitute of gospel light; and I generally had a short fit of\ncompunction, on that day, for having been so wholly absorbed in worldly\nthings during the preceding six; for even then God was striving with me\nto bring me unto himself, and many a strong conviction did I forcibly\nstifle. The warmth of my natural feelings, the ardor with which I\nentered into every thing that interested them, and a sort of energy that\nalways longed to be doing where any cause that I considered good was to\nbe promoted--all these would have rendered me a working character, had I\nobeyed the gracious call to go into the Lord's vineyard. I say a call,\nbecause though as yet I know nothing whatever of the gospel, I could not\noverlook or misunderstand the reiterated injunctions of Scripture to\nseek spiritual wisdom, to ask for guidance, and to occupy with the\ntalent committed to my charge. I knew the promise, \"They that seek me\nearly shall find me,\" and more than once I trembled under such\nscriptures as the latter part of Proverbs 1; but my Sunday resolutions\nvanished before the Monday's dawning light, and I rushed again with a\nredoubled zest into the seductive regions of my imaginary world. Oh, how\ngreatly do they err who think that such studies may be safely engaged in\nby the young and excitable mind. Some indeed there are so phlegmatic as\nto be proof against all the charms of poesy, insensible to the highest\nillusions of romance; but their number is small, and the individuals\nhard to identify, because a very cold exterior is often like the snow-\ncapped heights of Etna, overspreading a hoard of volcanic elements of\nwhich the burst and blaze will some day be terrific. Such seem imbued\nwith the spirit of indifference, because they are abstracted and silent\nwhen the laugh and merry jest go round among their companions; whereas\nthis abstraction, from outward things results not from deadness of\nfeeling, but from the intensity with which the mind is brooding over\nsome phantom known only to itself. Nor do this class of dreamers always\nappear devoted to Books: a little reading goes far with them; and the\nquality rather than the quantity of their selections is to be looked to.\n\nI have known many parents and teachers argue that it is better to bring\nthe young acquainted with our standard poets and prose authors of a\nworldly cast, while they are yet under careful superintendence, so as to\nneutralize what may be unprofitable by judicious remark, and to avert\nthe dangers attendant on such fascinating introductions at a riper age,\nwhen the restraints of authority are removed. Against this, two reasons\nhave prevailed with me to exclude from my book-shelves all the furniture\nof a worldly library, and to watch against its introduction from other\nquarters. One is; the consideration that we are not authorized to\ncalculate on the continuance of any creature's mortal existence; nor can\nwe ever know that the being whom we are training for eternity will not\nbe called into it before such period of life as is here anticipated. In\nsuch a case, how sad to feel that we have needlessly forestalled an evil\nday, and even momentarily diverted the young spirit from a sacred path.\nThe other consideration is this: that as the flesh and the devil will\nassuredly do their parts without help from me, and the children of this\nworld, who are wiser in their generation than the children of light,\nwill certainly do the same; I may take a lesson of policy from them,\nusing my best endeavors to preoccupy the field with what is decidedly\ngood, and humbly hoping that the seed so sown may, through the operation\nof the Holy Spirit, take root before the tares are introduced, leaving\nlittle room for them to grow.\n\nOf all the errors into which the world has fallen, none is more fatally\nmischievous than the habit of overlooking the personality, the energy,\nthe power, the watchfulness, the deep cunning of the devil. By a\nconventional system, no doubt of his own suggesting, he is never to be\nnamed but in the act of worshipping God, or that of spiritual\ninstruction. Any other robber and murderer, who was known to be on the\nwatch to attack our houses, would be the subject of free discourse: his\nhabits, his haunts, his usual plans, his successful and his baffled\nassaults in former cases, would be talked over, and thus a salutary fear\nwould be kept alive, influencing us to bolt and bar, and watch and ward\nwith unfailing vigilance, to avert a surprise. But Satan seems to be a\nprivileged person: we learn, in the nursery, to fancy him a hideous\ncaricature of human nature, with horns, hoof, and a tail, inspiring\ndisgust, and a childish fear that wears off as we advance into youth,\nleaving an impression rather ludicrous than alarming of the ugly phantom\nthat, nevertheless, continues identified with him of whom we read in the\nBible. We then perhaps take up Milton, engrafting his poetical\nconception upon the original nursery stock, and make a devil half\nmonster, half archangel, invested with the ugliness of the first and the\nsublimity of the second, but still far removed from the scripture\ncharacter of that roaring lion who \"goeth about seeking whom he may\ndevour.\" We do not realize his existence, his presence, his devices;\nand so we often do his work from sheer ignorance or inexcusable\nthoughtlessness about it.\n\nWith me, as I have told you, the Bible did its work and conscience did\nhers; but a passion for the unreal proved too strong for both.\nUndoubtedly God could have wrought, as afterwards he did, to the casting\ndown of imaginations and every thing that exalteth itself against\nChrist. But how many years of sorrow might have been averted, or how\ngreatly at least might those sorrows have been mitigated, had not the\ninveteracy of a long-cherished disease required such sharp discipline to\nbring it under. Pride was the master-sin of my corrupt nature, a pride\nthat every child of Adam inherits, but which peculiarly beset me. It was\nnot what usually goes by that name: no one ever accused me of an\napproach to haughtiness, neither was I boastful or forward, as far as I\nknow; but I delighted to model my own character according to the\nstandard set forth in my foolish books, and by the contemplation of them\nI hoped to succeed. I loved to mark in others a mean, ungenerous,\nselfish, or malicious trait, and to contrast with it my own high-flown\nnotions of the opposite qualities. My memory was well stored with fine\nsentiments concerning human dignity, honor, virtue, and so forth; and\nwhile secretly applying them--for I was not inclined to make ill-natured\nremarks--in contrast to the failings of those around me, I naturally\nlearned to identify myself with the aforesaid sentiments, and to take it\nfor granted it was I who shone so brightly at other people's expense.\nThis is the inevitable consequence of measuring ourselves by ourselves,\nas all will do who are not led betimes to the standard appointed of God.\n\nAnd now, the chambers of imagery being well furnished, I became in\nthought the heroine of all the foolish, improbable adventures I met\nwith. Shakspeare and others having furnished me with dresses and\ndecorations, every day of my life had its drama. Adventures the most\nimprobable, situations the most trying, and conversation the most\nnonsensical among a visionary acquaintance of my own creating, became\nthe constant amusement of my mind; or if I took a fancy to any new\ncompanion, that individual was metamorphosed into something equally\nunreal, and was soon looked upon in the light, not of sober reality, but\nof fanciful extravagance. Of course my estimate alike of persons and of\nthings was egregiously false; and with a fair portion of common-sense\nnaturally belonging to me, I became most emphatically a fool. Even when\nemployed at the pencil, which I dearly loved, I could not trace a figure\non the paper or a landscape on the canvas, that did not presently become\nthe subject of a separate romance; and it never occurred to me that\nthere was danger, much less sin, in this. I loved dancing to excess, and\ntook much delight in all that was brilliant and beautiful; but upon the\nwhole I preferred the uninterrupted course of my own vain thoughts, and\nthen admired myself for being of a less dissipated turn than my young\nfriends. Of course, I am now speaking of the time when, according to the\nworld's usage, and rather earlier than usual, that is to say, at\nsixteen, I was introduced into society, by making my appearance at a\ngrand election ball; and moreover, publicly receiving the compliments of\nthe most polished and distinguished of our successful candidates, for\nsundry political squibs, said to be full of drollery and point, which\nhad been traced home to me. Alas for the girl who makes such a debut! We\nwere now again resident in the town, or rather within the precincts, as\nthey are called, surrounding that venerable cathedral which had been the\nobject of my babyish contemplations, and which is endeared to me beyond\nany other spot in my native place.\n\nMy beloved companion, my brother, had always manifested the most decided\npredilection for a military life. Often had he, in earliest childhood,\ntoddled away from the gate after the fife and drum of a recruiting\nparty; and often did he march and countermarch me, till I could not\nstand for fatigue, with a grenadier's cap, alias a muff, on my head, and\nmy father's large cane shouldered by way of a firelock. The menaced\ninvasion had added fuel to his martial fire, and when any other line of\nlife was pointed out to him, his high spirits would droop, and the\ndesire of his heart show itself with increasing decision. Our parents\nwere very anxious to settle him at home for my sake, who seemed unable\nto live without him; and I am sure that my influence would have\nprevailed even over his long-cherished inclination, so dearly did he\nlove me, but here the effect of that pernicious reading showed itself\nand forged the first link in a long chain of sorrows. I viewed the\nmatter through the lying medium of romance: glory, fame, a conqueror's\nwreath or a hero's grave, with all the vain merit of such a sacrifice as\nI must myself make in sending him to the field--these wrought on me to\nstifle in my aching bosom the cry of natural affection, and I encouraged\nthe boy in his choice, and helped him to urge on our parents this\noffering up of their only son, the darling of all our hearts, to the\nMoloch of war.\n\nFinding that he could not be dissuaded, my father gave a reluctant\nconsent; and let me here record an instance of generous kindness on the\npart of the bishop. He went to London, and by dint of personal,\npersevering importunity, obtained in a few days a commission in the\narmy, at a time when seven hundred applicants, many of them backed by\nstrong interest, were waiting for the same boon. The suddenness of the\nthing was quite stunning; we calculated on a delay of this sore trial;\nbut it was done, and he was ordered to repair immediately, not to the\nd\u00e9p\u00f4t, but to his regiment, then hotly engaged in the Peninsula. The\nbishop's kindness did not end here; he carried his generosity further in\nother ways, and likewise gave him introductions of great value. I love\nto record it of one whose public conduct as a Protestant prelate I am\ncompelled to lament, but whose private character was most lovely.\n\nUpheld by the intoxicating power of senseless romance, not by confidence\nin God, nor even by the reality of the patriotism that I persuaded\nmyself was at the root of it all, I bore to see that beloved companion\nof my life depart for the scene of most bloody conflict. He was not\nnearly full grown; a blooming beautiful boy, reared, and up to that time\ntenderly guarded under the parental roof, in almost exclusive\ncompanionship with me. There was indeed but one heart between us, and\nneither could fancy what it would be to rejoice or to suffer alone. Of\nthis I had given a proof in the preceding year. He took the measles and\nwas exceedingly ill, and great precautions were used to preserve me from\nthe infection; but, unable to brook a separation from him, I baffled\ntheir vigilance, burst into his apartment, and laying my cheek to his,\nresisted for a while all efforts to remove me. To my infinite delight I\nsickened immediately, and considered it an ample compensation for all\nattendant suffering, that I was allowed to sit constantly in the same\nroom with him.\n\nHow strong, how sweet, how sacred is the tie that binds an only sister\nto an only brother, when they have been permitted to grow up together\nuntrammelled by the heartless forms of fashion; unrivalled by alien\nclaimants in their confiding affection; undivided in study, in sport,\nand in interest. Some object, that such union renders the boy too\neffeminate and the girl too masculine. In our case it did neither. He\nwas the manliest, the hardiest, most decided, most intrepid character\nimaginable; but in manners sweet, gentle, and courteous, as they will be\nwho are accustomed to look with protecting tenderness on an associate\nweaker than themselves. And as for me, though I must plead guilty to the\ncharge of being more healthy, more active, and perhaps more energetic,\nthan young ladies are usually expected to be, still I never was\nconsidered unfeminine; and the only peculiarity resulting from this\nconstant companionship with one of the superior sex, was to give me a\nhigh sense of that superiority, with a habit of deference to man's\njudgment and submission to man's authority, which I am quite sure God\nintended the woman to yield. Every way has this fraternal tie been a\nrich blessing to me. The love that grew with us from our cradles never\nknew diminution from time or distance. Other ties were formed, but they\ndid not supersede or weaken this. Death tore away all that was mortal\nand perishable, but this tie he could not sunder. As I loved him while\nhe was on earth, so do I love him now that he is in heaven; and while I\ncherish in his sons the living likeness of what he was, my heart\nevermore yearns towards him where he is.\n\nParents are wrong to check as they do the outgoings of fraternal\naffection, by separating those whom God has especially joined as the\noffspring of one father and one mother. God has beautifully mingled\nthem, by sending now a babe of one sex, now of the other, and suiting,\nas any careful observer may discern, their various characters to form a\ndomestic whole. The parents interpose, packing off the boys to some\nschool where no softer influence exists to round off, as it were, the\nrugged points of the masculine disposition, and where they soon lose all\nthe delicacy of feeling peculiar to a brother's regard, and learn to\nlook on the female character in a light wholly subversive of the\nfrankness, the purity, the generous care for which earth can yield no\nsubstitute, and the loss of which only transforms him who ought to be\nthe tender preserver of woman into her heartless destroyer. The girls\nare either grouped at home, with the blessed privilege of a father's eye\nstill upon them, or sent away in a different direction from their\nbrothers, exposed through unnatural and unpalatable restraints, to evils\nnot perhaps so great, but every whit as wantonly incurred as the others.\nThe shyness, miscalled retiring modesty, with which one young lady\nshrinks from the notice of a gentleman as though there were danger in\nhis approach, and the conscious coquettish air, miscalled ease, with\nwhich another invites his notice, are alike removed from the reality of\neither modesty or ease. Both result from a fictitious mode of education\n--both are the consequences of nipping in the bud those sisterly feelings\nthat lay a fair foundation for the right use of those privileges to\nwhich she looks forward as a member of society; and if the subject be\nviewed through the clear medium of Christian principle, its lights will\nbecome more brilliant, its shadows more dark, the longer and the closer\nwe contemplate it.\n\n\n\n\nLETTER IV.\n\nYOUTH.\n\n\nHitherto you have not heard of any spiritually minded person connected\nwith my early life; yet there was one, I feel sure, though my\nrecollections are confused and imperfect on that point; and one to whose\nprayers, if not to her teaching, I surely owe something.\n\nMy father's mother was a fine, sprightly, robust old lady, rather small\nin stature, and already bending a little under the burden of years at\nthe time when I first recollect her as mingling in the visions of my\nchildhood, though I know that even from infancy I was the delight of her\nwarm honest heart. She was simplicity itself in manners, her blunt\nspeeches sometimes clashing a little with her son's notions of polish\nand refinement, as also did her inveterate antipathy to the reigning\nfashion, whatever that might be. I remember her reading me a lecture\nupon something novel in the cut of a sleeve, ending by this remark: \"I\nnever wore a gown but of one shape; and because I don't follow the\nfashion, the fashion is forced to come to me sometimes by way of a\nchange. I can't help that, you know, my dear; but I never was\nfashionable on purpose.\" She added some pious remarks on vanity and\nfolly, which I soon forgot; but the other dwelt on my mind because it\nchimed in with my own love of independence--a prominent characteristic\nwith me; too often carried to the excess of self-willed obstinacy.\nHowever, I dearly loved and exceedingly respected my grand mother, and\nused in my heart to glory in her smooth clean locks, half brown, half\ngrey, combed down from under a snowy cap of homely make, when she had\nsuccessfully resisted alike the entreaties and examples of contemporary\ndames, who submitted their heads to the curling-irons and powder-puff of\na _frizeur_, preparatory to an evening party. I used to stand\nproudly at her knee, admiring the high color of her cheek, and uncommon\nbrilliancy of her fine dark hazle eye, while her voice, remarkably rich\nand clear, involuntarily swelled the chorus parts of our magnificent\nmusic.\n\nShe was a Percy, not by name, for that had been lost in the female line\nsome generations before, but the pedigree in my possession shows how\njust was her vaunt in that respect. For vaunt it she did, to us at\nleast, often bringing it forward to check any tendency to behavior\nunbefitting those who claimed descent from\n\n    \"The stout earl of Northumberland,\"\n\nwith whom I ought to be well acquainted, for the singing of Chevy Chace\nin proper time and tune with her, was the only secular accomplishment in\nwhich my dear grandmother personally labored to perfect me, except\nknitting and curious old-fashioned needlework. The pride of ancestry\ntook strong hold of my mind, and such an ancestry accorded but too well\nwith my romance, innate and acquired. It stood me, many a time, in the\nstead of better things, when nerving myself to endure affliction and\nwrong; and therefore I notice it, to warn you against exposing your own\nchildren to the same snare.\n\nNext to the fashion, if not in an equal or superior degree, I think my\ngrandmother most abhorred the French. Indeed her strongest denunciations\nagainst the reigning modes were usually clinched with the triumphant\nassertion that they were \"French fashions.\" No marvel if her spirit was\nstirred within her by the horrors of revolutionary France, and her\nProtestantism strengthened by the butcheries of \"Ninety-eight.\" I knew\nthat she was a protester and a tory of no common stamp; and I knew that\nshe brought her Bible forward in support of every opinion that she\nuttered. Rarely did I visit her without finding her buried in the study\nof that blessed book; and I know that she strove to teach me much of its\nmeaning; but our change of residence proved a great bar to personal\nintercourse, and she never wrote letters. I sometimes trace impressions\non my mind, made in early life, which I am sure must have been through\nher means, and though the good seed died on the ground, while the weeds\ntook root and flourished, still, here and there a grain might sink below\nthe surface, to spring up after many days.\n\nAnd now I must record my first sorrow, although I cannot dwell upon it\nas on some other things. My brother had been nearly two years absent, on\nservice in the Peninsula, when an apoplectic attack arrested my lather\nin the midst of life and health and vigor, and every promise of\nlengthened years. The premonitory visitations of repeated strokes were\ndisregarded, for we could not, would not, realize the approach of such\nan event, and persisted in believing them nervous; but just when all\ncause for alarm seemed at an end, and I was rejoicing in the assurance\nof its being so, I was called from my pillow at midnight to see that\ntender and beloved parent die. The bereavement was terrible to me: I had\nalways been his principal companion, because no one else in the family\nhad a taste for those things in which he delighted--literature and\npolitics especially--and since my brother's departure, instead of\nseeking to replace him by friends of my own age, I had turned wholly to\nmy father, never desiring to pass an hour out of his society, and\nstriving to be to him both daughter and son. My mother was a perfect\ndevotee to household affairs, every thought occupied in seeking to\npromote the domestic comforts of her family; while I, indulging a\nnatural antipathy to all that did not engage the intellectual powers,\ngave her no help there, I was truly cumbering the ground, seeking only\nmy own gratification, and dignifying my selfishness with many fine\nnames, only because it was best indulged in my own dear home. From the\nperiod of my loss of hearing, music had been wholly banished; my father\nseemed to lose all relish for what could no longer minister enjoyment to\nme, and deeply I felt the force of that affection which could so\ninstantly and wholly overcome the ruling passion of his mind,\naccompanied as it was with such exquisite skill in that delightful\nscience as rendered him the admiration of all who came within its\ninfluence. It redoubled my devotion to him, and most bitter was the\nanguish of my heart when I beheld him taken away at a stroke.\n\nWas this affliction sanctified to me? Not in the least. I found a luxury\nin grieving alone, brooding on the past, and painting the probable\nfuture in any colors but those of reality. My father had enjoyed two\nlivings with a minor canonry in the cathedral, but the emolument was\nvery small, and his income had not allowed him, as yet, to make any\nprovision for us. A small annuity was all that my mother could depend\non, and I resolved to become a novel-writer, for which I was just\nqualified, both by nature and habits of thinking, and in which I should\nprobably have succeeded very well, but it pleased God to save me from\nthis snare. My brother's unexpected return on leave, with our subsequent\nchanges of abode, paying visits among friends, and keeping my thoughts\nconstantly unsettled, hindered the execution of the project; and when my\nbrother returned to Portugal, we repaired to London, to make a long stay\nwith some near relations. It was there that I met with the gentleman, an\nofficer on leave of absence, whose wife, at the end of six months, I\nbecame.\n\nI am longing to arrive at that period when the light of the glorious\ngospel of Christ first shone upon me through the darkness of many trying\ndispensations; therefore I pass by much that intervened, including my\ndear brother's marriage, who returned again to London with his bride and\nhis mother, to resume his staff situation there; and shall only take you\nwith me across the Atlantic, for a few Nova Scotian reminiscences,\nbefore proceeding to the scene of my most precious recollections, dear\nIreland. My husband had joined his regiment in Halifax, and sent me a\nsummons to follow him out without delay; in order to which I was obliged\nto embark in a large vessel taken up partially by government for the\nconveyance of troops, but in which there was a select party, occupying\nthe state cabin, and making their own terms with the captain for the\nbest possible accommodation and provision on the passage. Of this number\nwas I; and certainly a more select, polished and agreeable party of\nhighly bred gentlemen could not have been found. I went under the kind\ncare of one of these, with his wife, who had invited me to travel with\nthem.\n\nHave you ever been at sea? It is a question the answer to which will\nthrow very little light on the matter, unless you also state how it\nagreed with you: no two races on the earth can be more distinct than\nthose two are upon the water--the people who are sea-sick and the people\nwho are not. It was my happy privilege to belong to the latter class; I\nnever for a moment experienced even an unpleasant sensation from any\nmarine cause, but on the contrary enjoyed exemption from all physical\nannoyances during a five weeks' voyage, excepting that of hunger. An\nabundant supply of every thing that was nourishing, in the most\npalatable form, left no excuse for remaining hungry; nevertheless the\ndemand was incessantly kept up; and I appeal to all who have been\nsimilarly affected, whether the munching of hard sea-bread from morning\nto night under the pressure of a real sea appetite, is not a greater\nluxury than the choicest viands on shore. To me it certainly was; and\nsurely I had reason to be deeply thankful to the Lord, who, by means of\nthat delicious voyage, and its bracing exhilarating effects, prepared me\nfor a trying winter in the singular climate for which I was bound.\n\nEvery day, and all day long, be the weather what it might, I was\nstationed on deck, generally seated on the highest point of the ship's\nstern, directly over the rudder, to enjoy a full view of that most\ngraceful and exquisite spectacle, a large vessel's course through the\nmighty deep. Ours was a splendid one, a West Indiaman, almost rivalling\nthe sea-palaces of the East India Company, and manned in the first\nstyle. The troops on board, under the command of a field officer,\ngreatly added to the effect and comfort of the thing, for nothing is so\nconducive to the latter as military discipline, well and mildly\nmaintained. Although our party was perfectly distinct from those who\nwent out entirely at the charge of government, consisting of several\nofficers and their wives, yet we too were nearly all military, including\nthe commandant, and were strictly amenable to martial law. Of course\nthat soul of domestic and social comfort, punctuality, reigned\nparamount; every meal was regulated by beat of drum, subordination\ncarefully preserved, and decorum, to the most minute particular,\ninsisted on. No dishabille could appear, in the cabin or on deck; no\nlitter, not an article of luggage visible. All the sick people, all the\ncross people, and all the whimsical people were stowed away in their\nrespective berths, and such drawing-room elegance, combined with the\nutmost freedom of good-humor and the unrestrained frankness that results\nfrom a consciousness of proper restraint, pervaded our little select\ncoterie, amounting to seventeen gentlemen and two ladies, that it did\nnot need the miserable contrast which I afterwards experienced on the\nhomeward passage, to assure me we were among the most favored of ocean\ntravellers.\n\nHow very much do they err who consider the absence of order and method\nas supplying greater liberty or removing a sense of restraint. Such\nfreedom is galling to me; and in my eyes, the want of punctuality is a\nwant of honest principle; for however people may think themselves\nauthorized to rob God and themselves of their own time, they can plead\nno right to lay a violent hand on the time and duties of their neighbor.\nI say it deliberately, that I have been defrauded of hundreds of pounds,\nand cruelly deprived of my necessary refreshment in exercise, in sleep,\nand even in seasonable food, through this disgraceful want of\npunctuality in others, more than through any cause whatsoever besides.\nIt is also very irritating; for a person who would cheerfully bestow a\npiece of gold, does not like to be swindled out of a piece of copper;\nand of many an hour have I been ungenerously wronged, to the excitement\nof feelings in themselves far from right, when I would gladly have so\narranged my work as to bestow upon the robbers thrice the time they made\nme wantonly sacrifice. To say, \"I will come to you on such a day,\"\nleaving the person to expect you early, and then, after wasting her day\nin that uncomfortable, unsettled state of looking out for a guest, which\nprecludes all application to present duties, to come late in the\nevening--or to accept an invitation to dinner, and either break the\nengagement or throw the household into confusion by making it wait--to\nappoint a meeting, and fail of keeping your time--all these, and many\nother effects of this vile habit are exceedingly disgraceful, and wholly\nopposed to the scriptural rules laid down for the governance of our\nconduct one to another. I say nothing of the insult put upon the Most\nHigh, the daring presumption of breaking in upon the devotions of his\nworshippers, and involving them in the sin of abstractedness from the\nsolemn work before them, by entering late into the house of prayer. Such\npersons may one day find they have a more serious account to render on\nthe score of their contempt of punctuality, than they seem willing to\nbelieve.\n\nBut I have run away from my ship--yet not so; for as every thing shines\nout most by contrast, it was natural to think on the ugly reverse when\nrecalling the beautiful harmony and order of our regulations on board.\nWe were favored with most delightful weather, fresh and dry and warm;\nwith only one day's hard rain, during which the sea \"ran mountains,\" as\nthe sailors said. I was conducted on deck, \"just for one minute, that\nyou may be able to say you have seen such a sea,\" remarked the gentleman\nwho put a military cloak over me, and led me up the stairs. But who\ncould be satisfied with a momentary sight of any thing so stupendously\ngrand? I resisted all efforts to persuade me into retreating again, and\nit ended in my being lashed to the mizenmast by my friendly conductor,\nwho declared that his head, the best landsman's head on board, would not\nstand the giddy scene; in short, that he should be obliged to report\nhimself sick, and exchange our agreeable society below for the solitude\nof his berth. Of course I dismissed him, and was left among the\nmountains, alone, save when a sailor passed me on his duties among the\nrigging, and gave me a smile of approval, while the man at the wheel\nseemed to regard me as being under his especial patronage. The tars love\none who does not flinch from their own element.\n\nTruly, I saw that day the works of the Lord and his wonders in the great\ndeep. Imagine yourself in a ship, large among vessels, but a mere cork\nupon the waters of that mighty main. On every side, turn where you\nwould, a huge mountain of irregular form was rising-dark, smooth, of\nunbroken surface, but seeming about to burst from over-extension. How\ndid you come into that strange valley? how should you get out of it? how\navoid the rush of that giant billow that even now overhangs your bark?\nThese questions would inevitably rush through the mind; but in a second\nof time the huge body beside you sunk, you were on its summit, and\nanother came rolling on. Meanwhile the ship would reel, with a slow\nslanting movement that gradually lowered the tall masts till the yards\nalmost dipped in the brine, and you were either laid back on the frame-\nwork behind you, or well-nigh suspended, looking down upon the water\nover the ship's bulwarks. I soon discovered why my companion had so\ncarefully buckled the leather strap that held me to the mast; certainly\nI cannot recall the scene with such steadiness of nerve as I beheld it\nwith. Every now and then a small billow would burst upon the vessel's\nside, sending its liquid treasure across the deck, and more than one\nablution of the kind was added to the fresh-water drenching bestowed by\nthe clouds. Can you fancy the discomfort of such a situation? Then you\nwere never at sea, or at least you left your imagination ashore; for I\ndefy any person not well inured to it, to look on such a scene with so\nnegative a feeling as discomfort; it will excite either terror or\ndelight sufficient to engross the whole mind.\n\nI well remember that, when deeply affected by the grandeur of this and\nother aspects assumed by the majestic main, I found the highest flights\nof man's sublimity too low. They would not express, would not chime in\nwith my conceptions; and I was driven to the inspired pages for a\ncommentary on the glorious scene. It was then that the language of Job,\nof Isaiah, of Habakkuk, supplied me with a strain suited to the sublime\naccompaniment of God's magnificent work. Sunrise I could not witness,\nbecause at that hour no lady might appear on deck, and my cabin had not\na side-window; but sunset, moonlight, starlight, with the various\nphenomena of ocean's ever-varying appearance, these furnished an endless\ncontemplation with which nothing could accord but the language of Holy\nwrit. I did not bring forth my Bible, well knowing the bantering remarks\nto which it would have exposed me on the score of affectation, but my\nmemory served me equally well in that as in profane poetry; and many a\nprecious word of warning, exhortation, and promise did I recite,\nenchanted by the sublimity of what, as to its spiritual meaning, was\nstill an unknown tongue to me. Among these, the thirty-second of\nDeuteronomy, the fortieth of Isaiah, and other passages full of the\ngospel, were repeatedly called to mind; and above all, in blowing\nweather, the forty-sixth Psalm delighted me.\n\nYou may suppose that I could not wholly forget the fact of being where,\nin the strictest sense, there was but a step between me and death. The\nfirst day of our voyage some one had quoted the expression, \"There is\nbut a plank between us and eternity,\" not with any serious application,\nbut as a fine thought. I do not think that I was ever for a moment\nunmindful of this; the presence of actual danger was always felt by me:\nbut concerning eternity I had no fears whatever. A general reliance on\nthe boundless mercy of God, a recognition of Christ as having suffered\nfor our sins, and a degree of self-righteousness that easily threw my\nsins into the shade, while magnifying my supposed merits, these formed\nthe staff whereon I leaned; and when the most imminent and appalling\nperil overhung us, so that we expected to be ingulfed in the waves\nwithout hope of succor, I looked it boldly in the face, confident in my\nfalse hope. Although just then revelling in enjoyments best suited to my\nnatural taste, life had in reality no charms for me. From all that had\ngilded the sonny hours of youth I was completely severed, and the world\non which I had launched was a wilderness indeed in comparison with the\nEden I had left. I would not have made the slightest effort to escape\nfrom death in any form; and though I was not senseless enough to prefer\nan eternity of untried wretchedness to the fleeting sorrows of mortal\nlife, yet as my conscience was lulled to rest by the self-delusion that\nI suffered more than I deserved, and had therefore a claim on divine\njustice, and as I was willing to receive the supposed balance of such\ndebtor and creditor account in the world to come, I was perfectly\ncontent to be summoned to my reward. Blessed be God that I was not taken\naway in that hour of blind willingness.\n\nThe extreme peril to which I have alluded overtook us when within a\nshort distance of our destination; we were suddenly caught by a\ntremendous wind from the south, which blew us right in the direction of\nCape Sable, one of the most fatal headlands in those seas. Night closed\nupon us and the gale increased; sails were spread, in a desperate hope\nof shifting the vessel's course, but were instantly torn into ribbons.\nAt one time, for a moment, the rudder broke loose, the tiller-rope\ngiving way under the violent strain upon it; and the next minute the\nspanker-boom, an immense piece of timber, snapped like a reed. It was an\nawful scene: on the leeside the ship lay so low in the water that every\nthing was afloat in the sleeping cabins; and the poor ladies were\nscreaming over their terrified children, unheeded by the gentlemen,\nevery one of whom was on deck. The captain openly declared we were bound\nfor the bottom, if a very sudden and unlikely change of wind did not\ntake place. In the midst of all this, I was reported missing, and as I\nhad the privilege of being every body's care, because, for the time\nbeing, I belonged to nobody, a search was commenced. A young officer\nfound me, at last, so singularly situated, that he went and reported me\nto the captain. I had climbed three tiers of lockers in the state cabin,\nopened one of the large stern windows, and was leaning out, as far as I\ncould reach, enraptured beyond expression with the terrific grandeur of\nthe scene. The sky above was black as midnight and the storm could make\nit, overhanging us like a large pall, and rendered awfully visible by\nthe brilliancy of the waters beneath. I had heard of that phosphorescent\nappearance in the sea, but never could have imagined its grandeur, nor\ncan I essay to describe it. Even in perfect stillness the illuminated\nelement would have looked magnificent; what, then must it have been in a\nstate of excessive, tumultuous agitation, the waves swelling up to a\nfearful height and then bursting into sheets of foam; every drop\ncontaining some luminous animalcul\u00e6 sparkling with vivid, yet delicate\nlustre? We were going with headlong speed before the wind, and I hung\nright over the track of the rudder, a wild, mad eddy of silver foam,\nintermingled with fire. There was something in the scene that far\noverpassed all my extravagant imaginings of the terribly sublime. The\nhurry, the fierceness, the riot of those unfettered waters, the wild\nflash of their wondrous lights, the funereal blackness of the\noverhanging clouds, and the deep, desperate plunge of our gallant ship,\nas she seemed to rend her way through an opposing chaos--it was perfect\ndelirium; and no doubt I should have appeared in keeping with the rest\nto any external observer, for I was stretching out at the window, the\ncombs had fallen from my hair, which streamed as wildly as the rent\nsails; and I was frequently deluged by some bursting wave, as the dip of\nthe vessel brought me down almost to the surface. The peril of an open\nwindow was startling to those on deck, and the captain, hearing that I\nrefused to relinquish my post, sent the mate to put up the dead-lights;\nso I sat down on the floor, buried my face in my hands, and strove to\nrealize the magnificence thus rent from my sight.\n\nYes, God's works in the great deep are indeed wonders. Nothing landward\ncan possibly approach them: in the rudest tempest the ground remains\nfirm, and you feel that you are a spectator; but at sea you are a part\nof the storm. The plank whereon you stand refuses to support you, ever\nshifting its inclination; while the whole of your frail tenement is now\nborne aloft, now dashed into the liquid furrow beneath, now struck back\nby a head-sea with a shock that makes every timber quiver, now flung on\none side as if about to reverse itself in the bosom of the deep. No\ndoubt the sense of personal danger, the death-pang already anticipated,\nthe dark abyss that yawns before the sinner, and the heaven opening on a\nbeliever's soul, must each and any of them deaden the sense to what I\nhave vainly sought to describe; and I suppose this accounts for the\nastonishment expressed by the whole party at my singular conduct, when\nthe youth who was sent to warn me of the peril, described my half-angry,\nhalf-reproachful pettishness at the interruption: \"Can't you let me\nenjoy it in peace, Mr. J----? Shall I ever see any thing like it again?\nDo go away.\" \"But the captain says the window _must_ be shut.\"\n\"Then take me on deck, and you may shut it.\" \"That is utterly\nimpossible; no lady could stand for an instant on deck, your drapery\nwould bear you over the ship's side.\" \"Then I wont shut the window: so\ngo and tell Captain L---- not to tease me with messages.\"\n\nThis was downright recklessness. I wonder when recalling it to mind, and\nfeel that I could not have thus sported with death after I acquired a\ngood and solid hope of everlasting life. The act of dying had always\ngreat terrors for me, until, through adverse circumstances, I seemed to\nhave nothing worth living for, and then I could laugh at it in my own\nheart. Strange to say, that fearfulness of the passage through the dark\nvalley returned with double force when I had realized a personal claim\nto the guiding rod and the supporting staff, and the bright inheritance\nbeyond. But before this period of blessedness, of joy and peace in\nbelieving arrived, I had to pass through many waters of affliction, and\nto experience remarkable interpositions at His hand who was leading me\nby a path which I knew not.\n\nTwo of them I will mention. While at Annapolis and at Windsor, I had a\nhorse provided for me of rare beauty and grace, but a perfect Bucephalus\nin her way. This creature was not three years old, and, to all\nappearance, unbroken. Her manners were those of a kid rather than of a\nhorse; she was of a lovely dappled grey, with mane and tail of silver,\nthe latter almost sweeping the ground; and in her frolicsome gambols she\nturned it over her back like a Newfoundland dog. Her slow step was a\nbound; her swift motion unlike that of any other animal I ever rode, so\nfleet, so smooth, so unruffled--I know nothing to which I can compare\nit. Well, I made this lovely creature so fond of me by constant petting,\nto which I suppose her Arab character made her peculiarly sensitive,\nthat my voice had equal power over her as over my docile, faithful dog.\nNo other person could in the slightest degree control her. Our corps,\nthe seventh battalion of the sixtieth Rifles, was composed wholly of the\nelite of Napoleon's soldiers, taken in the Peninsula, and preferring the\nBritish service to a prison. They were principally conscripts, and many\nwere evidently of a higher class in society than is usually found in the\nranks. Among them were several Chasseurs and Polish Lancers, very fine\nequestrians, and as my husband had a field officer's command--on\ndetachments--and allowances, our horses were well looked after. His\ngroom was a Chasseur, mine a Pole; but neither could ride Fairy, unless\nshe happened to be in a very gracious mood. Lord Dalhousie's English\ncoachman afterwards tried his hand at taming her, but all in vain. In an\neasy quiet way, she either sent her rider over her head, or by a\nlaughable manoeuvre sitting down like a dog on her haunches, slipped him\noff the other way. Her drollery made the poor men so fond of her that\nshe was rarely chastised; and such a wilful, intractable wild Arab it\nwould be hard to find. Upon her I was daily mounted; and surely the Lord\nwatched over me then indeed. Inexperienced in riding, untaught,\nunassisted, and wholly unable to lay any check upon so powerful an\nanimal, with an awkward country saddle, which by some fatality was never\nwell fixed, bit and bridle to match, and the mare's natural fire\nincreased by high feed, behold me bound for the wildest paths in the\nwildest regions of that wild country. But you must explore the roads\nabout Annapolis, and the romantic spot called \"The General's Bridge,\" to\nimagine either the enjoyment or the perils of that my happiest hour.\nReckless to the last degree of desperation, I threw myself entirely on.\nthe fond attachment of the noble creature; and when I saw her measuring\nwith her eye some rugged fence or wild chasm, such as it was her common\nsport to leap over in her play, the soft word of remonstrance that\nchecked her was uttered more from regard to her safety than my own. The\nleast whisper, a pat on the neck, or a stroke down the beautiful face\nthat she used to throw up towards mine, would control her: and never for\na moment did she endanger me. This was little short of a daily miracle,\nwhen we consider the nature of the country, her character, and my\nunskilfulness. It can only be accounted for on the ground of that\nwondrous power which having willed me to work for a time in the vineyard\nof the Lord, rendered me immortal until the work should be done. Oh that\nmy soul, and all that is within me could sufficiently bless the Lord,\nand remember all his benefits.\n\nI was then unmindful of, and unthankful for his protection; I revelled\nin the delights of a freedom that none could share but my dog, who never\nleft the side of his associate. Shall I give you a sketch of the group,\nin some lines composed during one of those excursions? They may partly\ndescribe it. I found, them among some old papers.\n\n  \"I know by the ardor thou canst not restrain,\n  By the curve of thy neck and the toss of thy mane,\n  By the foam of thy snorting which spangles my brow,\n  The fire of the Arab is hot in thee now.\n  'Twere harsh to control thee, my frolicsome steed;\n  I give thee the rein--so away at thy speed;\n  Thy rider will dare to be wilful as thee,\n  Laugh the future to scorn, and partake in thy glee.\n  Away to the mountain--what need we to fear?\n  Pursuit cannot press on my Fairy's career;\n  Full light were the heel and well-balanced the head\n  That ventured to follow the track of thy tread,\n  Where roars the loud torrent and starts the rude plank,\n  And thunders the rook-severed mass down the bank,\n  While mirrored in crystal the far-shooting glow,\n  With dazzling effulgence is sparkling below.\n  One start, and I die; yet in peace I recline,\n  My bosom can rest on the fealty of thine:\n  Thou lov'st me, my sweet one, and would'st not be free,\n  From a yoke that has never borne rudely on thee.\n  Ah, pleasant the empire of those to confess,\n  Whose wrath is a whisper, their rule a caress.\n\n  \"Behold how thy playmate is stretching beside,\n  As loath to be vanquished in love or in pride,\n  While upward he glances his eyeball of jet,\n  Half dreading thy fleetness may distance him yet.\n  Ah, Marco, poor Marco--our pastime to-day\n  Were reft of one pleasure if he were away.\n\n  \"How precious these moments: fair freedom expands\n  Her pinions of light o'er the desolate lands;\n  The waters are flashing as bright as thine eye,\n  Unchained as thy motion the breezes sweep by,\n  Delicious they come, o'er the flower-scented earth,\n  Like whispers of love from the isle of my birth;\n  While the white-bosomed Cistus her perfume exhales,\n  And sighs out a spicy farewell to the gales.\n  Unfeared and unfearing we'll traverse the wood,\n  Where pours the rude torrent its turbulent flood:\n  The forest's red children will smile as we scour\n  By the log-fashioned hut and the pine-woven bower;\n  Thy feathery footsteps scarce bending the grass,\n  Or denting the dew-spangled moss where we pass\n\n  \"What startles thee? 'Twas but the sentinel gun\n  Flashed a vesper salute to thy rival the sun;\n  He has closed his swift progress before thee, and sweeps\n  With fetlock of gold the last verge of the steeps.\n  The fire-fly anon from his covert shall glide,\n  And dark fall the shadows of eve on the tide.\n  Tread softly--my spirit is joyous no more.\n  A northern aurora, it shone and is o'er;\n  The tears will fall fast as I gather the rein,\n  And a long look reverts to yon shadowy plain.\"\n\n\n      *       *       *       *       *\n\nThere is more of it, but nothing to the purpose of the present history.\nIt cost me something to transcribe this, so vividly is the past recalled\nby it. Would to God I might more fully devote to his service every day\nof the life so wonderfully preserved by him.\n\nIn addition to this continuous preservation on horseback, I experienced\nthe same interposing providence when violently upset in a gig. The road\nwhere it occurred was strewn with broken rocks on either side, for\nmiles; and scarcely one clear spot appeared, save that on which I was\nthrown, where a carpet of the softest grass overspread a perfect level\nof about twelve feet in length, and nearly the same in width. Here I\nfell, with no other injury than a contusion on the hip. The gig was\ncompletely reversed, the horse dashed on till he ran one of the shafts\ninto a bank, and set himself fast.\n\nMy sojourn in this interesting country was of two years' duration,\nmarked with many mercies, among the greatest of which was the\nuninterrupted enjoyment of perfect health, although my first winter\nthere was the most severe that had been known for thirty years, and the\nfollowing summer one of the most oppressively hot they had ever\nexperienced. The gradations of spring, autumn, and twilight, are there\nscarcely known, and the sudden transition from summer to winter is as\ntrying to the health of an European as that from day to night is\nuncongenial to the taste. Here, too, I repented at leisure, and amended\nwith no small difficulty and labor, my neglect of those accomplishments\nto which my dear mother had so often vainly solicited my attention. The\npencil was profitless; I had long thrown it by: books were no longer an\nadequate set-off against realities, even could I have conjured up a\nlibrary in the wilderness of Nova Scotia's inland settlement; but the\nculinary and confectionary branches were there invaluable, and in them I\nwas wofully deficient. Had I not coaxed the old French soldier who\nofficiated as mess-cook to give me a few lessons, we must have lived on\nraw meal and salt rations during weeks when the roads were completely\nsnowed up, and no provisions could he brought in. However, I proved an\napt scholar to poor Sebastian, and to the kind neighbors who initiated\nme into the mysteries of preserves and pastry. Young ladies cannot tell\ninto what situations events may throw them; and I would strongly\nrecommend the revival of that obsolete study called good housewifery.\nThe woman who cannot dispense with female servants, must not travel. I\nhad none for six months, keen winter months, in Annapolis; the only\npersons who could be found disengaged being of characters wholly\ninadmissible. The straits to which I was put were any thing but\nlaughable at the time, though the recollection now often excites a\nsmile. Indeed no perfection in European housekeeping would avail to\nguard against the devastations that a Nova Scotian frost will make, if\nnot met by tactics peculiar to that climate. How could I anticipate that\na fine piece of beef, fresh-killed, brought in at noon still warm, would\nby two o'clock require smart blows with a hatchet to slice off a steak;\nor that half-a-dozen plates, perfectly dry, placed at a moderate\ndistance from the fire preparatory to dinner, would presently separate\ninto half a hundred fragments, through the action of heat on their\nfrosted pores; or that milk drawn from a cow within sight of my\nbreakfast-table would be sheeted with ice on its passage thither; or\nthat a momentary pause, for the choice of a fitting phrase in writing a\nletter, would load the nib of my pen with a black icicle? If I did not\ncry over my numerous breakages and other disasters, it was under the\napprehension of tears freezing on my eyelids; and truly they might have\ndone so, for my fingers were once in that awful condition that must have\nended in mortification, but for the presence of mind of a poor soldier,\nwho, seeing me running to the fire in that state, drew his bayonet to\nbar my approach, and wrapping a coarse cloth round my lifeless hands,\nmuff-fashion, compelled me to walk up and down the spacious hall until\nthe circulation returned, which it did with a sensation of agony that\nwell-nigh took away my senses. This was a most signal escape, for I was\nwholly ignorant of my danger, and not a little perplexed and annoyed at\nthe insubordinate conduct of the veteran, who was a model of respectful\nhumility. Had he, poor fellow, known how busy those fingers would one\nday be against his religion--for he was a French Romanist--he might have\nbeen tempted to sheath his bayonet and give me free access to the\ntempting fire, the immense faggots of which would have sufficed to roast\na heretic.\n\nNova Scotia is, I firmly believe, the most generally and devotedly loyal\nof all our colonies: the attachment of its people to the mother-country\nis beautiful, and their partisanship in all questions between us and the\nStates most zealous. The only fault I had to find with them was their\nindifference towards the poor relics of the Indian race still dwelling\nin the woods, who were to me objects of the liveliest interest even\nbefore I had any feeling of Christian duty towards the heathen--or\ntowards such as those who are worse than heathen, being numbered among\nthe members of the Romish church, and utterly, wretchedly ignorant even\nof such little truth as remains buried under the mass of antichristian\nerror, to make its darkness more visible. The Indians are wholly\ndespised; scarcely looked on as beings of the same race, by the\ngenerality of the colonists. Where Christian principle prevails, they\nbecome of course important in the highest degree; but I speak of what I\nsaw, when vital godliness was little known among them, and I can aver\nthat even Lord Dalhousie scarcely could succeed in stirring up a\nmomentary interest for the dispersed aborigines. That excellent nobleman\ndevoted himself very warmly to the work of attempting their\ncivilization; and told me that if a few would join him heartily and\nzealously in the effort, he should succeed; but that, between,\nlukewarmness on the one side and suspicion on the other, he found\nhimself completely baffled. It was not to be wondered at that the\nIndians had a lurking dread of experiencing again the hardships, not to\nsay the treachery and cruelty, inflicted on their fathers. I enjoyed a\nhigh place in the affection and confidence of those interesting people,\nthe origin of which may help to prove at how light an estimate the poor\ncreatures were generally rated by their white brethren. My claim on\ntheir attachment consisted in nothing more than the performance of a\nbounden duty in sheltering for a few weeks one of their number who had,\nin a most unprovoked and cruel manner, been wounded by a party of our\nsoldiers and left to perish in the woods.\n\nHow beautiful do the white cliffs of Albion appear in the eyes of the\nreturning wanderer who has learned by a foreign sojourn to estimate the\ncomforts, the privileges, the blessings of this island home. No place\ncould be more thoroughly English in feeling, habits, and principles,\nthan Nova Scotia; but it was not England. The violent transition of\nseasons, so different from the soft gradations by which, with us, winter\nbrightens into summer, and summer fades into winter, marked a contrast\nfar from pleasing; and the intensity of cold, the fierceness of heat,\nalike unknown in our temperate climate, forced comparisons far from\nagreeable. Thus, on the lowest ground of a wholly selfish feeling, the\napproach to nay native shore could not be otherwise than delightful; but\nviewed as the mother-land, as the great emporium of commerce, the chief\ntemple of liberty, the nurse of military prowess, the unconquered\nchampion of all that is nationally great throughout the world, the sight\nof our free and happy isle is indeed an inspiring one to those who can\nappreciate moral grandeur. How much more, in the eyes of the Christian,\nis she to be esteemed as the glory of all lands, as possessing the true\nknowledge of God, and laboring to spread that knowledge throughout the\nworld; the land of Protestantism, the land of the Bible.\n\nI really cannot understand the meaning, nor fancy what may be the\nfeeling, of those who profess to have merged their patriotism in\nsomething of universal good-will to the household of faith all over the\nworld. It seems to me every whit as unnatural as that the member of a\nChristian family should forego all the sweets of conjugal, parental,\nfilial, fraternal love, in the determination to feel an equal regard for\nhis neighbor's wife, husband, etc., as for his own; and, moreover, to\ntake an equal concern in the affairs of his neighbor's kitchen as in his\nown household matters. This sort of generalizing regard would throw our\nrespective establishments into singular confusion, and might betray\nourselves into sundry false positions, and very awkward predicaments.\nHowever, the comparative extinction of natural affection would form the\nmost prominently reprehensible feature in the case; and I cannot but\nthink that the boasted cosmopolitanism of some good people would wear an\naspect not very dissimilar, if rightly and soberly viewed. Certainly I\ncould no more tear the love of country from my heart, than I could the\nlove of kindred; and when my step again pressed the English strand, it\nwas with a sensation almost resembling the fabled invigoration of the\nTitans, who derived new life, new strength, new enterprise, from coming\nin contact with their mother earth.\n\nEngland, indeed, contained little that was personally endearing to me,\nexcept my beloved surviving parent; but it was a joyous thing to embrace\nher once more, after the deep roll of the ocean had separated us for\nnearly three years; during a portion of which she had been learning to\nprize her native land, in a disgusting region of all that is most\ndirectly opposed to liberty, civil or religious--to honorable feeling,\njust conduct, honest principle, or practical decency. In short, she had\nbeen in Portugal.\n\n\n\n\nLETTER V.\n\nIRELAND.\n\n\nI now arrive at an epoch from which I may date the commencement of all\nthat deserves to be called life, inasmuch as I had hitherto been living\nwithout God in the world. My existence was a feverish dream of vain\npleasure first, and then of agitations and horrors. My mind was a chaos\nof useless information, my character a mass of unapplied energies, my\nheart a waste of unclaimed affections, and my hope an enigma of confused\nspeculations. I had plenty to do, yet felt that I was doing nothing; and\nthere was a growing want within my bosom, a craving after I know not\nwhat--a restless, unsatisfied, unhappy feeling, that seemed in quest of\nsome unknown good. How this was awakened, I know not; it was\nunaccompanied with any conviction of my own sinfulness, or any doubt of\nmy perfect safety as a child of God. I did not anticipate any\nsatisfaction from change of place; but readily prepared to obey a\nsummons from my husband to follow him to Ireland, whither he had gone to\nengage in a law-suit. To be sure I hated Ireland most cordially; I had\nnever seen it, and as a matter of choice would have preferred New South\nWales, so completely was I influenced by the prevailing prejudice\nagainst that land of barbarism. Many people despise Ireland, who, if you\ndemand a reason, will tell you it is a horrid place, and the people all\nsavages; but if you press for proofs and illustrations, furthermore such\ndeponents say not.\n\nOn a dull day in April I took my place, a solitary traveller, in the\nShrewsbury coach, quite ignorant as to the road I was to travel, and far\nless at home than I should have been in the wildest part of North\nAmerica, or on the deck of a ship bound to circumnavigate the globe. We\nrattled out of London, and the first thing that at all roused my\nattention was a moonlight view of Oxford, where we stopped at midnight\nto change horses. Those old grey towers, and mighty masses of ancient\nbuilding, on which the silvery ray fell with fine effect, awoke in my\nbosom two melancholy trains of thought; one was the recollection of my\nfather, whose enthusiastic attachment to his own university had often\nprovoked warm discussion with the no less attached Cantabs of our old\nsocial parties, and who often held out to me, as the greatest of earthly\ngratifications, a visit with him to that seat of learning which he would\ndescribe in glowing colors. But where was my father now? His poor girl,\nthe delight of his eyes and treasure of his heart, was in Oxford, with\nnone to guide, none to guard, none to speak a cheering word to her. I\nshrunk back in the coach, and grieved over this till a sudden turning\nonce more threw before me the outline of some magnificent old fabric\nbathed in moonlight, and that called up a fit of patriotism, calculated\nto darken, yet more the prospect before me. This was England, my own\nproud England; and these \"the cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous\npalaces,\" that distinguished her seats of learning above all others, I\nwas bound for Ireland. What English young lady had ever studied the\nhistory of that remote, half-civilized settlement, called Ireland? Not\nI, certainly, nor any of my acquaintance; but I took it for granted that\nIreland had no antiquities, nothing to distinguish her from other\nbarbarous lands, except that her people ate potatoes, made blunders, and\nwent to mass. I felt it a sort of degradation to have an Irish name, and\nto go there as a resident; but comforted myself by resolving never in\none particular to give in to any Irish mode of living, speaking, or\nthinking, and to associate only with such as had been at least educated\nin England.\n\nThe next day's rising sun shone upon Stratford-on-Avon; and here revived\nin some degree my Shakspearian mania, to the still higher exaltation of\nmy English stilts, and the deeper debasement of all \"rough Irish\nkernes.\" At Shrewsbury we parted with a kind old lady, who had shown me\nsome good-natured attentions, and I was left with only an elderly\ngentleman, bound also for Dublin, who told me we must start at three\no'clock the following morning for Holyhead. I was dreadfully dejected,\nand told him I hoped he would not think the worse of me for being so\nutterly alone, and that he would excuse my retiring to my own apartment\nthe instant we had dined. He took pencil and paper, and with a glow of\nbenevolent feeling expressed his anxious desire to take the same care of\nme that he would of his own daughter, and to look on me as his especial\ncharge, until he should give me into the hands of my lawful protector. I\nthanked him with true English reserve, and a coldness that seemed rather\nto grate on his warm feelings; and having owned that his seeing my\nNewfoundland dog well fed and lodged would be a great obligation, I\nwithdrew to fret alone over my exile to this foreign land. You may call\nthis an exaggeration, but it is no such thing. I delight in dwelling\nupon my reluctant approach to the land that I was to love so fondly.\n\nNext day my miseries were alleviated by the enchanting beauties of the\nWelsh country through which we passed; and my regard for Mr. D----\ngreatly increased by the compassionate care he took of a poor sickly\nwoman and her ragged infant, whom he descried on the top of the coach,\nand first threw his large cloak to them, then, with my cordial assent,\ntook them inside, and watched them most kindly until he fell asleep. I\npeeped into his kind, benevolent face, and inwardly confessed there\nmight be some nice people in Ireland.\n\nAt the inn where we dined, I made another acquaintance. A younger, but\nmiddle-aged man, whose vivacity, combined with Welch mutton and ale,\nquite raised my spirits. Hearing from Mr. D---- with what enthusiasm I\nhad admired the scenery of Llangollen, he volunteered to hand me in at\nthe coach window, a note of every remarkable place we should approach\nduring the rest of the journey; adding, \"I know the road pretty well,\nhaving traversed it at least twice a year for sixteen years, passing to\nand from my Irish home.\" He was a legal man, a finished gentleman, and\nanother sad drawback on my perverse prejudices. Mr. F---- proved an\nexcellent descriptive guide, punctually reaching to me from the roof of\nthe coach his little memoranda, in time for me to take a survey of the\nobject concerned; and also most assiduously aiding in the care of my\nluggage and dog when we were all put into the ferry-boat.\n\nThere was then no bridge over the Menai, and I being in total ignorance\nof the route was not a little dismayed at the embarkation, forgetting\nthat Holyhead was in Anglesea, and that Anglesea was an island. At\nlast, when the boat pushed off, the opposite shore being hidden under\nthe mist of deepening twilight, I addressed the ferryman in a tone of\nremonstrance that infinitely diverted the whole party, \"Surely you are\nnot going to take me over in this way to Ireland?\"\n\n\"No, no,\" said Mr. F----, \"you shall have a good night's rest, and a\nbetter sea-boat, before we start for the dear green isle.\"\n\nSteamers were not then upon the packet station, and the wind being\nunfavorable, we had a passage of seventeen hours, not landing until two\nin the morning of Easter Sunday. Nothing could exceed my discomfort, as\nyou may suppose, when I tell you that after paying my bill at Holyhead,\nI, in a fit of abstraction, deposited it very safely in my purse, and in\nits stead threw away my last bank-note. The mistake was not suspected\nuntil in mid-voyage I examined the state of my finances, and found the\nsum total to amount to one shilling. This was an awful discovery; my\npassage was paid, but how to reach Dublin was a mystery, and such was\nthe untamed pride of my character that I would sooner have walked there\nthan confessed to the fact, which might have been doubted, and laid\nmyself under the obligation of a loan which I was sure of repaying in a\nfew hours, even to good old Mr. D----. When I stepped from the deck of\nthe packet upon the plank that rested against the pier of Howth I had\nnot one single halfpenny in my pocket, and I experienced, without the\nslightest emotion, one of the most hairbreadth escapes of my life.\n\nThe water was very low; the plank of course sloped greatly, and as soon\nas I set my foot on it began to slide down. In another second I should\nhave been plunged between the vessel's side and the stone pier, without\nany human possibility of rescue; and already I had lost my balance, when\na sailor, springing on the bulwarks, caught me round the knees, and at\nthe same instant Mr. F----, throwing himself on the ground, seized and\nsteadied the plant, until I recovered my footing and ran up. I shudder\nto recall the hardened indifference of my own spirit, while the kind,\nwarm-hearted Irishmen were agitated with strong emotion, and all around\nme thanking God for my escape. Each of my friends thought I had landed\nunder the care of the other; while one had my dog and the other my\nportmanteau. I received their fervent \"cead-mille-failthe\" with cold\npoliteness, and trod with feelings of disgust on the dear little green\nshamrocks that I now prize so fondly.\n\nWe went to the hotel, and Mr. D---- proposed my retiring to a chamber\nuntil the coach started; but my empty purse would not allow of that, so\nI said I preferred sitting where I was. Refreshments were ordered; but\nthough in a state of ravenous hunger, I steadily refused to touch them,\nfor I would not have allowed another person to pay for me, and was\nresolved to conceal my loss as long as I could. I was excused, on the\npresumption of a qualmishness resulting from the tossing of the ship;\nand most melancholy, most forlorn were the feelings with which I watched\nthrough the large window the fading moonbeams and the dawning day. To my\nunspeakable joy, the two gentlemen proposed taking a postchaise with me\nto Dublin, the expense being no more and the comfort much greater than\ngoing by coach; and having requested Mr. F---- to keep an exact account\nof my share in the charges, I took my seat beside them with a far\nlighter heart; my dog being on the footboard in front of the carriage.\n\nAway we drove, our horses being young, fresh, and in high condition. It\nwas a glorious morning, and vainly did I strive not to admire the\nscenery, as one after another of the beautiful villas that adorn the\nHowth road gleamed out in the snowy whiteness that characterizes the\nhouses there, generally embosomed in trees and surrounded by gardens on\nthe rising grounds. We were descending the hilly road very rapidly, when\nby some means the horses took fright, and broke into a full-gallop,\ncrossing and re-crossing the road in a fearful manner. The driver was\nthrown on the footboard, poor Tajo hung by his chain against the horses'\nlegs, and our situation was most critical. I had suffered from one upset\nin America, and resolved not to encounter another; so quietly gathering\nmy long riding-habit about me with one hand, and putting the other out\nat the window, I opened the door, and with one active spring flung\nmyself out. You know the extreme peril, the almost certain destruction\nof such a leap from a carriage at full speed; I did not, or certainly I\nwould not have taken it. However, at that very instant of time, the\nhorses made a dead stop, and the chaise remained stationary only a few\npaces in advance of me.\n\nWas not the hand of God here? Oh, surely it was, in the most marked and\nwonderful manner. No cause could be assigned for the arrest of the\nanimals; the driver had lost the reins, and no one was near. I had\nfallen flat on the road-side, just grazing my gloves with the gravel and\ngetting a good mouthful of the soil, with which my face was brought into\ninvoluntary contact. In a moment I sprung to my feet, and blowing it\nout, exclaimed with a laugh, \"Oh well, I suppose I am to love this\ncountry after all, for I have kissed it in spite of me.\" I then ran to\nhelp my dog out of his disagreeable state of suspension, and returned to\nmy friends, who were frightened and angry too, and who refused to let me\ninto the chaise unless I positively promised not to jump out any more.\nTo shorten the tale, I reached the Hibernian hotel, where my husband\nwas, seized some money, and paid my expenses without any one having\ndiscovered that I was a complete bankrupt up to that minute.\n\nI have been very prolix here; for I cannot overlook a single incident\nconnected with this eventful journey. Never did any one less anticipate\na blessing or look for happiness than I in visiting Ireland. I cannot\nenter into more particulars, because it would involve the names of\nfriends who might not wish to figure in print; but if these pages ever\nmeet the eyes of any who gave me the first day's welcome in Dublin, let\nthem be assured that the remembrance of their tender kindness, the\nglowing warmth of their open hospitality, and their solicitude to make\nthe poor stranger happy among them, broke through the ice of a heart\nthat had frozen itself up in most unnatural reserve, and gave life to\nthe first pulse that played within it of the love that soon pervaded its\nevery vein--the love of dear, generous Ireland.\n\nMy first journey into the interior was to the King's county, where I\npassed some weeks in a house most curiously situated, with an open\nprospect of ten miles pure bog in front of it. Being newly built,\nnothing had yet had time to grow; but its owner, one of the most\ndelightful old gentlemen I ever met with, had spared no cost to render\nit commodious and handsome. He was a fine specimen of the hospitable\nIrish gentleman, and took great pleasure in bringing me acquainted with\nthe customs of a people and the features of a place so new to me. Indeed\nit was my first introduction to what was really Irish, for Dublin is too\nmuch of a capital to afford many specimens of distinct nationality. On\nthat great festival of the peasantry, St. John's eve, Mr. C---- resolved\non giving his tenants and neighbors a treat that should also enlighten\nme on one of their most singular relics of paganism. It is the custom at\nsunset on that evening to kindle numerous immense fires throughout the\ncountry, built like our bonfires to a great height, the pile being\ncomposed of turf, bog-wood, and such other combustibles as they can\ngather. The turf yields a steady, substantial body of fire, the bog-wood\na most brilliant flame; and the effect of these great beacons blazing on\nevery hill, sending up volumes of smoke from every point of the horizon,\nis very remarkable. Ours was a magnificent one, being provided by the\nlandlord as a compliment to his people, and was built on the lawn, as\nclose beside the house as safety would admit. Early in the evening the\npeasants began to assemble, all habited in their best array, glowing\nwith health, every countenance full of that sparkling animation and\nexcess of enjoyment that characterizes the enthusiastic people of the\nland. I had never seen anything resembling it, and was exceedingly\ndelighted with their handsome, intelligent, merry faces; the bold\nbearing of the men, and the playful but really modest deportment of the\nmaidens; the vivacity of the aged people, and the wild glee of the\nchildren. The fire being kindled, a splendid blaze shot up, and for a\nwhile they stood contemplating it, with faces strangely disfigured by\nthe peculiar light first emitted when bog-wood is thrown on; after a\nshort pause, the ground was cleared in front of an old blind piper, the\nvery beau ideal of energy, drollery, and shrewdness, who, seated on a\nlow chair, with a well-replenished jug within his reach, screwed his\npipes to the liveliest tunes, and the endless jig began.\n\nAn Irish jig is interminable, so long as the party holds together; for\nwhen one of the dancers becomes fatigued, a fresh individual is ready to\nstep into the vacated place quick as thought, so that the other does not\npause, until in like manner obliged to give place to a successor. They\ncontinue footing it, and setting to one another, occasionally moving in\na figure, and changing places with extraordinary rapidity, spirit, and\ngrace. Few indeed among even the very lowest of the most impoverished\nclass have grown into youth without obtaining some lessons in dancing\nfrom the travelling dancing-masters of their district; and certainly, in\nthe way they use it, many would be disposed to grant a dispensation to\nthe young peasant, which they would withhold from the young peer. It is,\nhowever, sadly abused among them, to Sabbath-breakings, revellings, and\nthe most immoral scenes, where they are congregated and kept together\nunder its influence; and the same scene enacted a year afterwards would\nhave awoke in my mind very different feelings from those with which I\nregarded this first spectacle of Irish hilarity, when I could hardly be\nrestrained by the laughing remonstrances of \"the quality\" from throwing\nmyself into the midst of the joyous group and dancing with them.\n\nBut something was to follow that puzzled me not a little; when the fire\nhad burned for some hours and got low, an indispensable part of the\nceremony commenced. Every one present of the peasantry passed through\nit, and several children were thrown across the sparkling embers; while\na wooden frame of some eight feet long, with a horse's head fixed to one\nend and a large white sheet thrown over it, concealing the wood and the\nman on whose head it was carried, made its appearance. This was greeted\nwith load shouts as the \"white horse;\" and having been safely carried by\nthe skill of its bearer several times through the fire with a bold leap,\nit pursued the people, who ran screaming and laughing in every\ndirection. I asked what the horse was meant for, and was told it\nrepresented all cattle. Here was the old pagan worship of Baal, if not\nof Moloch too, carried on openly and universally in the heart of a\nnominally Christian country, and by millions professing the Christian\nname. I was confounded, for I did not then know that Popery is only a\ncrafty adaptation of pagan idolatries to its own scheme; and while I\nlooked upon the now wildly excited people with their children, and in a\nfigure all their cattle, passing again and again through the fire, I\nalmost questioned in my own mind the lawfulness of the spectacle,\nconsidered in the light that the Bible must, even to the natural heart,\nexhibit it in to those who confess the true God. There was no one to\nwhom I could breathe such thoughts, and they soon faded from my mind:\nnot so the impression made on it by this fair specimen of a population\nwhom I had long classed with the savage inhabitants of barbarous lands,\npicturing them to myself as dark, ferocious, discontented, and\nmalignant. That such was the reverse of their natural character I now\nbegan to feel convinced; and from that evening my heart gradually warmed\ntowards a race whom I found to be frank, warm, and affectionate, beyond\nany I had ever met with.\n\nMy interest in them, however, was soon to be placed on another and a\nfirmer basis. I took up my permanent abode in a neighboring county; and\nwithin six months after that celebration of St. John's eve, I\nexperienced the mighty power of God in a way truly marvellous. Great and\nmarvellous are _all_ his works, in creating, in sustaining, in\ngoverning this world of wonderful creatures; but Oh, how surpassingly\nmarvellous and great in redeeming lost sinners, in taking away the heart\nof stone and giving a heart of flesh, and making his people willing in\nthe day of his power! I have carefully abstained from any particulars\nrespecting myself that could either cast a reproach on the dead or give\npain to the living; I shall do so still, and merely remark, that as far\nas this world was concerned, my lot had no happiness mingled in it, and\nthat my only solace under many grievous trials consisted in two things:\none was a careful concealment of whatever might subject my proud spirit\nto the mortification of being pitied when I desired rather to be envied;\nand the other a confident assurance, that in suffering afflictions\nsilently, unresistingly, and uncomplainingly, I was making God my debtor\nto a large amount. What desperate wickedness of a deceived and deceitful\nheart was this! The very thing in which I so arrogantly vaunted myself\nbefore God was the direct result of personal pride, in itself a great\nsin; and thus I truly gloried in my shame. I never looked beyond the rod\nto Him who had appointed it; but satisfying myself that I had not\nmerited from man any severity, my demerits at the hand of the Most High\nwere wholly put out of the calculation. Thus, of course, every stroke\ndrove me further from the only Rock of refuge, and deeper into the\nfastness of my own vain conceits. Added to this, I was wholly shut out\nfrom all the ordinary means by which the Lord usually calls sinners to\nhimself. There was no gospel ministry then within my reach; nor could I,\nif it were provided, have profited by it, owing to my infirmity,\n(deafness.) Into Christian society I had never entered, nor had the\nleast glimmer of spiritual light shone into my mind. My religion was\nthat of the Pharisee, and my addresses to God included, like his, an\nacknowledgment that it was by divine favor I was so much better than my\nneighbors. Reality had so far chased away romance, that my old favorite\nauthors had little power to charm me; and the hollowness of my affected\ngayety and ease made society a very sickening thing. * * *\n\nAt the time I am now to speak of, I was living in perfect seclusion, and\nuninterrupted solitude. Captain ---- was always in Dublin, and my chief\noccupation was in hunting out, and transcribing and arranging matter for\nthe professional gentlemen conducting the lawsuit, from a mass of\nconfused family papers and documents. Our property consisted of a large\nnumber of poor cabins with their adjoining land, forming a complete\nstreet on the outskirts of the town, which was greatly in arrear to the\nhead landlords, and a periodical \"distress\" took place. On these\noccasions a keeper was set over the property, some legal papers were\nserved, and the household goods--consisting of iron kettles, wooden\nstools, broken tables, a ragged blanket or two, and the little store of\npotatoes, the sole support of the wretched inhabitants--were brought\nout, piled in a long row down the street, and \"canted,\" that is, put up\nto sale, for the payment of perhaps one or two per cent. of the arrears.\nThis horrified me beyond measure: I was ashamed to be seen among the\npeople who were called our tenants, though this proceeding did not\nemanate from their immediate landlord; and every thing combined to\nrender the seclusion of my own garden more congenial to me than any\nwider range.\n\nIt was then that I came to the resolution of being a perfect devotee in\nreligion: I thought myself marvellously good; but something of monastic\nmania seized me. I determined to emulate the recluses of whom I had\noften read; to become a sort of Protestant nun; and to fancy my garden,\nwith its high stone-walls and little thicket of apple-trees, a convent\nenclosure. I also settled it with myself to pray three or four times\nevery day, instead of twice; and with great alacrity entered upon this\nnew routine of devotion.\n\nHere God met and arrested me. When I kneeled down to pray, the strangest\nalarms took hold of my mind. He to whom I had been accustomed to prate\nwith flippant volubility in a set form of heartless words, seemed to my\nstartled mind so exceedingly terrible in unapproachable majesty, and so\nvery angry with me in particular, that I became paralyzed with fear. I\nstrove against this with characteristic pertinacity; I called to mind\nall the commonplace assurances respecting the sufficiency of a good\nintention, and magnified alike my doings and my sufferings. I persuaded\nmyself it was only a holy awe, the effect of distinguished piety and\nrare humility, and that I was really an object of the divine complacency\nin no ordinary degree. Again I essayed to pray, but in vain; I dared\nnot. Then I attributed it to a nervous state of feeling that would wear\naway by a little abstraction from the subject; but this would not do. To\nleave off praying was impossible, yet to pray seemed equally so. I well\nremember that the character in which I chiefly viewed the Lord God was\nthat of an Avenger, going forth to smite the first-born of Egypt; and I\nsomehow identified myself with the condemned number. Often, after\nkneeling a long time, I have laid my face upon my arms, and wept most\nbitterly, because I could not, dared not pray.\n\nIt was not in my nature to be driven back easily from any path I had\nentered on; and here the Lord wrought on me to persevere resolutely. I\nbegan to examine myself, in order to discover _why_ I was afraid;\nand taking as my rule the ten commandments, I found myself sadly\ndeficient on some points. The tenth affected me as it never had done\nbefore. \"I had not known lust,\" because I had not understood the law\nwhen it said, \"Thou shalt not covet.\" A casual glance at the declaration\nof St. James, \"Whosoever shall keep the whole law, yet offend in one\npoint, he is guilty of all,\" alarmed me exceedingly; and on a sudden it\noccurred to me that not only the ten commandments, but all the precepts\nof the New Testament, were binding on a Christian; and I trembled more\nthan ever.\n\nWhat was to be done? To reform myself, certainly, and become obedient to\nthe whole law. Accordingly I went to work, transcribed all the commands\nthat I felt myself most in the habit of neglecting, and pinned up a\ndozen or two texts around my room. It required no small effort to enter\nthis apartment and walk round it, reading my mementos. That active\nschoolmaster, the law, had got me fairly under his rod, and dreadful\nwere the writhings of the convicted culprit, I soon, however, took down\nmy texts, fearing lest some one else might see them, and not knowing\nthey were for myself, be exasperated. I then made a little hook, wrote\ndown a list of offences, and commenced making a dot over against each,\nwhenever I detected myself in the commission of one. I had become very\nwatchful over my thoughts, and was honest in recording all evil; so my\nbook became a mass of black dots; and the reflection that occurred to me\nof omissions being sins too, completed the panic of my mind. I flung\naway my book into the fire, and myself into an abyss of gloomy despair.\n\nHow long this miserable state of mind lasted, I do not exactly remember;\nI think about two weeks. I could not pray. I dared not read the Bible,\nit bore so very hard upon me. Outwardly, I was calm and even cheerful,\nbut within reigned the very blackness of darkness. Death, with which I\nhad so often sported, appeared in my eyes so terrible, that the\nslightest feeling of illness filled my soul with dismay. I saw no way of\nescape: I had God's perfect law before my eyes, and a full conviction of\nmy own past sinfulness and present helplessness, leaving me wholly\nwithout hope. Hitherto I had never known a day's illness for years; one\nof God's rich mercies to me consisted in uninterrupted health, and a\nwonderful freedom from all nervous affections. I knew almost as little\nof the sensation of a headache as I did of that of tight-lacing; and now\na violent cold, with sore throat, aggravated into fever by the state of\nmy mind, completely prostrated me. I laid myself down on the sofa one\nmorning and waited to see how my earthly miseries would terminate; too\nwell knowing what must follow the close of a sinner's life.\n\nI had not lain long, when a neighbor hearing I was ill, sent me some\nbooks just received from Dublin, as a loan, hoping I might find some\namusement in them. Listlessly, wretchedly, mechanically, I opened one;\nit was the memoir of a departed son, written by his father. I read a\npage describing the approach of death, and was arrested by the youth's\nexpressions of self-condemnation, his humble acknowledgment of having\ndeserved at the Lord's hand nothing but eternal death. \"Ah, poor\nfellow,\" said I, \"he was like me. How dreadful his end must have been; I\nwill see what he said at last, when on the very brink of the bottomless\npit.\" I resumed the book, and found him in continuation glorifying God\nthat though _he_ was so guilty and so vile, there was ONE able to\nsave to the uttermost, who had borne his sins, satisfied divine justice\nfor him, opened the gates of heaven, and now waited to receive his\nransomed soul.\n\nThe book dropped from my hands. \"O, what is this? This is what I want:\nthis would save me. Who did this for him? Jesus Christ, certainly; and\nit must be written in the New Testament.\" I tried to jump up and reach my\nBible, but was overpowered by the emotion of my mind. I clasped my hands\nover my eyes, and then the blessed effects of having even a literal\nknowledge of scripture were apparent. Memory brought before me, as the\nHoly Spirit directed it, not here and there a detached text, but whole\nchapters, as they had long been committed to its safe but hitherto\nunprofitable keeping. The veil was removed from my heart, and Jesus\nChrist, as the Alpha and Omega, the sum and substance of every thing,\nshone out upon me just as he is set forth in the everlasting gospel. It\nwas the same as if I had been reading, because I knew it so well by\nrote, only much more rapid, as thought always is. In this there was\nnothing uncommon; but in the _opening of the understanding, that I\nmight_ UNDERSTAND _the scriptures_, was the mighty miracle of\ngrace and truth. There I lay, still as death, my hands still folded over\nnay eyes, my very soul basking in the pure, calm, holy light, that\nstreamed into it through the appointed channel of God's word. Rapture\nwas not what I felt; excitement, enthusiasm, agitation, there was none.\nI was like a person long enclosed in a dark dungeon, the walls of which\nhad now fallen down, and I looked round on a sunny landscape of calm and\nglorious beauty. I well remember that the Lord Jesus, in the character\nof a shepherd, of a star, and above all, as the pearl of great price,\nseemed revealed to me most beautifully: that he could save every body I\nat once saw; that he would save me, never even took the form of a\nquestion. Those who have received the gospel by man's preaching may\ndoubt and cavil; I took it simply from the Bible, in the words that\nGod's wisdom teacheth, and thus I argued: \"Jesus Christ came into the\nworld to save sinners: I am a sinner; I want to be saved: he will save\nme.\" There is no presumption in taking God at his word: not to do so is\nvery impertinent: I did it, and I was happy.\n\nAfter some time I rose from the sofa, and walked about. My feelings were\ndelicious. I had found HIM of whom Moses in the law, and the prophets\ndid write; I had found the very Paschal Lamb whose blood would be my\nsafeguard from the destroying angel. Oh, how delicious was that\nparticular thought to me. It was one of the first that occurred, and I\nlaughed with gladness. Indeed my feeling was very joyous, and I only\nwanted somebody to tell it to. I had two servants, one a young woman,\nthe other a little girl, both papists, both loving me with Irish warmth.\nThey were delighted to see me so well and happy on a sudden; and in the\nevening I bade them come to my room, for I was going to read a beautiful\nbook, and would read it aloud. I began the gospel of St. Matthew, and\nread nine chapters to them, their wonder and delight increasing my joy.\nWhenever I proposed leaving off, they begged for more; and only for my\npoor throat, I think we should have gone on till day. I prayed with\nthem, and what a night's rest I had! Sleep so sweet, a waking so happy,\nand a joy so unclouded through the day, what but the gospel could\nbestow? Few, very few, have been so left alone as I was with the\ninfallible teaching of God the Holy Ghost by means of the written word,\nfor many weeks, and so to get a thorough knowledge of the great\ndoctrines of salvation, unclouded by man's vain wisdom. I knew not that\nin the world there were any who had made the same discovery with myself.\nOf all schemes of doctrine I was wholly ignorant, and the only system of\ntheology open to me was God's own. All the faculties of my mind were\nroused and brightened for the work. I prayed, without ceasing, for\ndivine instruction; and took, without cavilling, what was vouchsafed. On\nthis subject I must enter more largely, for it is one of immense\nimportance.\n\n\n\n\nLETTER VI.\n\nRELIGIOUS PROGRESS.\n\n\nI am standing before you now in the character of one who, having been\nbrought under conviction of sin into utter self-despair, had found in\nChrist Jesus a refuge from the storm of God's anger. I felt myself safe\nin him; but as the revelation which God had made to man was not confined\nto the sole point of a _satisfaction_ for the sins of men, I felt\nit my bounden duty to search for all that the Most High had seen good to\nacquaint his people with. At the same time I found myself a member of a\nchurch calling itself Christian; but I too had called myself a\nChristian, while as yet wholly ignorant of Christ, therefore I could not\ndepend upon a name. I knew that there were other churches, each putting\nin a claim to a higher and purer standard than its neighbors, and it\nbehooved me to know which of them all was in the right, I had no books\nof a religious character--not one; no clergyman among my acquaintance,\nno means of inquiry, save as regarded my own church, whose Liturgy and\nArticles lay before me. I resolved to bring them first to the test of\nscripture, and if they failed, to look out for a better.\n\nHow I commenced the work and pursued it, I need not state. I tried every\nthing, as well as I could, by the Bible; and my satisfaction was great\nto find the purest, clearest strain of evangelical truth breathing\nthrough the book which I had used all my life long, as I did the Bible,\nwithout entering into its real meaning. How I could possibly escape\nseeing the doctrines of faith, regeneration, and the rest of God's\nrevelation in them both, was strange to me; but I understood that the\nnatural man receiveth not the things of the Spirit of God, and mourned\nover the darkness that I supposed universal.\n\nI found it distinctly stated by our Lord, that \"except a man be _born\nagain_, he cannot see the kingdom of God;\" and this served as a key\nto many passages in the epistles and other parts of scripture\nillustrative of the same solemn truth. I had never understood, never\nthought of this. Did my church hold it? Yes; it was not only laid down\nas a fundamental doctrine in her Articles, but constantly put into the\nmouths of her congregation, either expressed or clearly implied. Again,\nI found that _not by works but by faith_ I was to be justified\nbefore God; and this also ran through the prayer-book, with unvarying\ndistinctness; though with that book in my hand and its contents on my\nlips I had been hitherto attempting to scale heaven by a ladder of my\nown forming.\n\n\n      *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe Athanasian creed brought to my recollection a circumstance that had\noccurred a few years before, the importance of which had never been\nknown to me until I was brought acquainted with the saving truths of the\ngospel. I now looked back upon it with trembling joy and gratitude to\nhim who had preserved me from a snare into which the pride of intellect,\njoined to spiritual ignorance, would have been sure to lead me, but for\nthe watchful care of my heavenly Father, still working by means of my\nblind but sincere reverence for his word. In my native town, Socinianism\nflourished to a fearful extent; it has long been a very hotbed of that\nfatal heresy, the holders of which are found among many leading\ncharacters of wealth, influence, and high attainments. I knew no more of\nit than that it was one of the many forms of dissent with which I had\nnothing to do. I was acquainted with several of its disciples; but as\nreligion formed no part of our social intercourse, its peculiarities\nwere wholly unknown to me.\n\nNot long before my trip to America I had been staying in Norwich, in the\nsame house with a most clever, intelligent, and amiable woman, of whom I\nwas very fond. I knew her to be a dissenter, and that was all. One\nevening she drew me into a conversation, the commencement of which I\nforget, but it soon arrived at a denial, on her part, of the Godhead of\nChrist, which exceedingly astonished me, for I never supposed that could\nbe called in question. I ran for the Bible, saying, I would soon show\nher it was not to be disputed; and she in return asserted that I could\nnot prove it out of the _inspired scriptures_. After pondering for\na while, I recollected the first chapter of Revelation, which, for its\nsublimity, I ranked among the highest of my poetical gems, and that it\nunequivocally proclaimed the divinity of our glorious Lord. I opened at\nit, on which she burst into a laugh, saying, \"You are not so weak as to\nfancy that book of riddles any part of God's word!\" \"Why it is in the\nBible, you see,\" replied I, half indignantly. \"And who put it there?\nCome, you are a person of too much sense to believe that the binding up\nof certain leaves between the two covers of the Bible makes them a part\nof it. You must exercise the reason that God has given you, and in so\ndoing you will discover so many interpolations and deceptions in that\nversion of yours, that you will be glad to find a more accurate one.\"\n\nShe continued in the same strain for some time. I was greatly agitated;\nI closed the great Bible, and leaning on it with folded arms, my heart\nbeating violently against the bright red cover, I gave heed to all she\nsaid. My love of novelty, passion for investigation, and the\nmetaphysical turn that had sometimes made my father quite uneasy about\nme, when he saw me at eight years old poring over abstruse reasonings\nwith the zest of an old philosopher, were all in her favor. I felt as if\nthe foundation of my faith was giving way, and I was being launched on a\nsea of strange uncertainty. When she concluded, I laid my forehead on\nthe book in most deep and anxious thought. I did not pray: God was found\nof one who sought him not, for surely he alone dictated my answer. I\nstarted up, and with the greatest vivacity said, \"Mrs. ----, if you can\npersuade me that the book of Revelation is not inspired, another person\nmay do the same with regard to the book of Genesis, and so of all that\nlie between them, till the whole Bible is taken away from me. That will\nnever do; I cannot part with my dear Bible. I believe it all, every word\nof it, and I am sure I should be miserable if I did not.\" Then, kissing\nthe precious volume with the affection one feels for what is in danger\nof being lost to us, I carried it back to its shelf, and declined any\nfurther discussion on the subject. She told some one else she was sure\nof having me yet; but the good providence of God interposed to remove me\nfrom the scene of danger.\n\nThat metaphysical turn I omitted to mention among my early snares; my\nfather checked it, although it was a great hobby of his own. He had seen\nits fearful abuse in the origin of the French revolution, and regarded\nit as one of the evil spirits of the age. I recollect the mixture of\nmirth and vexation depicted in his face one morning, when on his\nremarking that I did not look well and inquiring if any thing ailed me,\nI replied, \"No, but I could not get any sleep.\"\n\n\"What prevented your sleeping?\"\n\n\"I was thinking, papa, of '_Cogito, ergo sum_'--'I think,\ntherefore I exist'--and I lay awake, trying to find out all about it.\"\n\n\"'_Cogito, ergo sum!'_\" repeated my father, laughing and frowning\nat the same time; \"what will you be at twenty, if you dabble in\nmetaphysics before you are ten? Come, I must set you to study Euclid;\nthat will sober your wild head a little.\" I took the book with great\nglee, delighted to have a new field of inquiry, but soon threw it aside.\nMathematics and I could never agree. Speculative and imaginative in an\nextraordinary degree, carrying much sail with scarcely any ballast, what\nbut the ever watchful care of Him who sitteth upon the circle of the\nearth could have preserved from fatal wrecking a vessel so frail, while\nyet without pilot, helm, or chart?\n\nIt was the recollection of my short encounter with the Socinian that\nsatisfied me respecting the Athanasian creed. I felt that had I taken up\nits bold assertions and established every one of them, as now I did, by\nscripture, no sophistry could have staggered my faith, though it had\nbeen but a reasoning, not a saving faith, in that high doctrine of the\ncoexistent, coequal Trinity. I did not then know--for of all church\nhistory I was ignorant--that its original object was not so much to\nestablish a truth, as to detect and defeat a falsehood. The damnatory\nclauses, as they are called, did not startle me. I saw clearly the fact\nthat God had made a revelation of himself to man, which revelation man\nwas not at liberty to receive or to reject, and as without faith it is\nimpossible to please God, and that alone is faith which implicitly\nbelieves the record that he hath given of his Son, the deductions in\nquestion were perfectly fair and orthodox. I frequently wondered, when\nsubsequently brought into the arena of various controversies, at the\nease with which, aided by the Bible alone, I settled so many disputed\npoints; and as it really was by the Bible I settled them, man's teaching\nhas never yet on any subject altered my views. * * *\n\nWhether it be regarded as presumptuous or not, I must thankfully avow\nthat during the weeks when I was left alone with my Bible, I obtained a\nview of the whole scheme of redemption and God's dealings with man,\nwhich to this hour I have never found reason to alter in any one\nrespect, save as greater light has continually broken in on each branch\nof the subject, strengthening, not changing those views. You will see in\nthe progress of my sketch, how complete a bulwark against error in\nnumberless shapes I have found in this simple adherence to the plain\nword of truth--this habit of bringing every proposition \"to the law and\nto the testimony;\" fully persuaded that \"if they speak not according to\nthis word, it is because there is no light in them.\"\n\nI now proceed to an interesting epoch in my life: the commencement of my\nliterary labors in the Lord's cause. It marks very strongly the\noverruling hand of Him who was working all things after the counsel of\nhis own will; and I will give it you without curtailment, together with\nmy introduction, through it to the Christian community of the land.\n\nMy life, as I told you, was solitary and retired; my time chiefly passed\nin writing out documentary matters for the lawyers. The circumstance of\nmy using the pen so incessantly became known, and I was looked on as a\nliterary recluse. One day a lady personally unknown to me, but whose\nindefatigable zeal was always seeking the good of others, sent me a\nparcel of tracts. With equal wonder and delight I opened one of them, a\nsimple, spiritual little production; and the next that I took up was an\ninducement to distribute tracts among the poor. From this I learned that\nsome excellent people were engaged in a work quite new to me; and, with\na sigh, I wished I had the means of contributing to their funds.\nPresently the thought flashed upon me, \"Since I cannot give them money,\nmay I not write something to be useful in the same way?\" I had just then\nno work before me, and a long winter evening at command. I ordered large\ncandles, told the servants not to interrupt me, and sat down to my novel\ntask. I began about seven o'clock, and wrote till three in the morning;\nwhen I found I had produced a complete little story, in the progress of\nwhich I had been enabled so to set forth the truth as it is in Jesus,\nthat on reading it over I was amazed at the statement I had made of\nscriptural truth, and sunk on my knees in thankfulness to God. Next\nmorning I awoke full of joy, but much puzzled as to what I should do\nwith my tract. At length, in the simplicity of my heart, I resolved to\nsend it to the bishop of Norwich, and busied myself at the breakfast-\ntable in computing how many franks it would fill. While thus employed, a\nnote was put into my hands from Miss D----, apologizing for the liberty\ntaken, saying she had sent me, the day before, some tracts, and as she\nheard I was much occupied with the pen, it had occurred to her that I\nmight be led to write something myself; in the possibility of which she\nnow enclosed the address of the secretary to the Dublin Tract Society,\nto whom such aid would be most welcome.\n\nI was absolutely awe-struck by this very striking incident. I saw in it\na gracious acceptance of my freewill offering at His hands to whom it\nhad been prayerfully dedicated; and in two hours the manuscript was on\nits way to Dublin, with a very simple letter to the secretary. A cordial\nanswer, commendatory of my tract and earnestly entreating a continuance\nof such aid, soon reached me, with some remarks and questions that\nrequired a fuller communication of my circumstances and feelings. He had\nrecommended frequent intercourse with the peasantry, of whose habits and\nmodes of expression I was evidently ignorant, and I then mentioned my\nloss of hearing as a bar to this branch of usefulness, His rejoinder was\nthe overflowing of a truly Christian heart, very much touched by an\nartless account of the Lord's dealings with me; and greatly did my\nspirit rejoice at having found a brother in the faith thus to cheer and\nstrengthen me.\n\nBut alas, a few days afterwards, Miss D----, whom I had still never\nseen, wrote to apprize me that this excellent man had ruptured a blood-\nvessel and was dying. Still he did not forget me, but after lingering\nfor some weeks, on his death-bed commended me to the friendship of his\nbrother, who from that period proved a true and valuable helper to me.\n\nMeanwhile I was beginning to take a view of popery, under the light of\nthe gospel. As yet, I knew nothing of it spiritually; and my retired\nlife kept me from observing how it worked among the poor people around.\nMy attention was first directed to it by a conversation with the younger\nof my two servants; she slept in my apartment, and I remarked that while\nkneeling at her devotions she not only uttered them with amazing\nrapidity, but carried on all the while the operation of undressing, with\nperfect inattention to what she was saying. I asked her the purport of\nher prayers; she told me she said the \"Our Father,\" and then the \"Hail\nMary:\" at my request she repeated the latter, and I gave her a gentle\nlecture on the irreverence of chattering to God so volubly, and of\nemploying herself about her clothes at the same time; adding that she\nshould be devout, deliberate, and quiet while speaking to God; but as\nfor the Virgin Mary it was no matter how she addressed her, if address\nher she would, for being only a dead woman she could know nothing about\nit. This, I am ashamed to say, was the extent of my actual protest at\nthat time. The girl took it all very readily, and ever after, during her\naddress to God, she knelt with her hands joined, repeating the words\nslowly and seriously; but the moment she commenced the \"Hail Mary,\" to\nmake up for lost time she prattled it so rapidly, and tore open the\nfastenings of her dress with such bustling speed, that I could scarcely\nrefrain from laughing. A little reflection, however, convinced me it was\nan act of idolatry, and no laughing matter; and from that time I\ninquired as deeply as I could into their faith and practice; constantly\nshowing them from the scriptures how contrary their religion was to that\nof the gospel. Still it was but a very partial and superficial view that\nI could as yet obtain of the great mystery of iniquity through these\nignorant and thoughtless girls; and to this must be attributed my sad\nfailure in not warning them more distinctly to come out of Babylon. I\nrather tried to patch up the old, decayed, tattered garment with the new\npiece of the gospel, as many more have done; and so made the rent worse,\ninstead of replacing the vile article with one of God's providing.\n\n\n      *       *       *       *       *\n\nWhen that excellent man, Mr. D----, was committed to the grave, his\nyounger brother visited me on his way back to Dublin. That interview I\nshall never forget; he talked to me out of the overflowings of a heart\ndevoted to Christ, and left me pining for more extended enjoyment of\nChristian society. I was not long ungratified; within three days an\nunexpected summons took me to Dublin, and on the very evening of my\narrival Mr. D---- introduced me to a party of about thirty pious\nfriends, assembled to meet a missionary just returned from Russia.\nRemember these were the frank, unrestrained, warmhearted Irish, of all\npeople the most ready at expressing their zealous and generous feelings;\nand imagine, if you can, my enjoyment, after such a long season of\ncomparative loneliness, when they came about me with the affectionate\nwelcome that none can utter and look so eloquently as they can. I\nthought it a foretaste of heavenly blessedness; and yet I often longed\nfor those seasons when I had none but my God to commune with, and poured\nout to him all that now I found it delightful to utter to my fellow-\ncreatures. Then, my tabernacle was indeed pitched in the wilderness, and\nthe candle of the Lord shone brightly upon it; now, the blending of many\ninferior lights distracted my mind from its one object of contemplation,\nand broke the harmony that was so sweet in its singleness.\n\nA few months after this, the lawsuit being ended, my husband was ordered\nabroad. I declined to cross the Atlantic a second time, and from this\nperiod I became chiefly dependent on my own exertions. My mother had\njoined me in Ireland, having been made a partaker in the like precious\nfaith and hope with myself. * * *\n\n\n\n\nLETTER VII.\n\nKILKENNY.\n\n\nWe took up our abode in the town of Kilkenny, so richly blessed with\ngospel privileges, and so far removed from the annoyances to which I was\nexposed while trying to fulfil the landlord's part over a property\ninextricably involved, and now also placed in the hands of trustees. I\nhad sought the maintenance of that character for the sake of the poor\ntenants, whose affection, for me was very great, and among whom I had of\nlate been frequently allowed to read the scriptures. The necessity,\nhowever, of providing for myself, and the hopeless perplexities of my\nnominal office, between head-landlords, under-tenants, trustees, a\nreceiver, and all the endless machinery of an embarrassed little Irish\nestate, compelled me to seek a more quiet sphere; and in Kilkenny I\nfound all that could combine to encourage me in the pursuit of honest\nindependence in the way of usefulness. I finished \"Osric,\" which formed\na good-sized volume, and commenced the pleasant task of writing penny\nand twopenny books for the Dublin Tract Society, who paid me liberally,\nand cheered me on my path with all the warmth of Christian affection. It\nwas indeed a delightful task, and God had raised up to me also a friend\nto whose truly paternal kindness I owe more than ever can be told, Mr.\nGeorge Sandford, now Lord Mountsandford, who, from our first\nacquaintance, entered with a father's interest into all that concerned\nme. Thus encouraged, I held on my way, and tasted the sweets that I hope\nto enjoy to the end of my days--those of the original curse brightened\nby the irreversible blessing: \"In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat\nbread;\" \"Be ye steadfast, unmovable, always abounding in the work of the\nLord, forasmuch as ye know that your labor shall not be in vain in the\nLord.\"\n\nI have already told you my escape from the snare of Socinianism; and now\nI am to narrate a trial of faith and doctrine which by the mercy of God\nproduced effects just the reverse of what was intended. This was no less\nthan a vigorous attempt to convert me to Popery. I had not yet bestowed\nany great attention on the details of that abominable device, but was\nmost fully persuaded of its being a system of idolatrous delusion, the\nworking of which was strikingly manifested in the wretchedness, the\nimmorality, the turbulence and degrading superstitions of the poor\ncreatures around me. It never had been my practice to tamper with or to\ncompromise what I knew to be wrong; therefore I had not suffered\ncuriosity to lead me within the walls of a mass-house, nor in any way to\nput on the semblance of an agreement which cannot really exist between\nthe temple of God and idols. I believed Popery to be the Babylon of the\nApocalypse, and I longed for resolution to proclaim to the deluded\nvictims, \"Come out of her, my people,\" This I had never done, but on the\ncontrary fell cheerfully in with the then cautious policy of my friends,\nand so framed my little books and tracts as to leave it doubtful whether\nthey were written by a Protestant or not. Paul to the Jews became as a\nJew, that he might gain the Jews: I, by a false process of reason,\nthought it allowable to become as an idolater to the idolaters, that I\nmight gain the idolaters. An awful, presumptuous sin! The Jew possesses\nthe fair blossom of gospel truth, which by kindly fostering is to be\nexpanded and ripened into the rich fruit: the Papist holds in his hand\nan apple of Sodom, beneath the painted rind of which is a mass of ashes\nand corruption. He must be induced to fling it away, and to pluck from\nthe tree of life a wholly different thing.\n\nMy Protestant principles, such as they were, withheld me from visiting\nthe convent which formed a principal attraction to the military and\nother strangers in Kilkenny. Many sought to draw me thither, adducing\nthe examples of Christian ministers and other spiritual people, who did\nnot scruple to go; but in vain. At length a lady came to me with an\nearnest request from \"the most interesting nun in the establishment,\" to\ngive her some information on the best mode of conveying instruction to a\npoor little girl in their school, deaf and dumb. Here was a call of\nduty: I knew it could not be effectually done unless in person; and to\nthe surprise of my friend, I volunteered to accompany her to the\nconvent.\n\nThe nun was indeed a most engaging young lady; in personal appearance,\nin manner, in feeling, realizing the visions of my girlish romance, when\nreading idle stories in novels on such topics. She had, moreover, all\nthe animated warmth of a genuine Irishwoman, and her fine countenance\nbeaming with benevolent joy at our successful beginning, and with\naffectionate gratitude for my services, quite won my heart. I promised\nto repeat the visit shortly, and on doing so accompanied her to walk\nround the garden, at the other extremity of which stood a building which\nI took for their school, and unhesitatingly mounted the stairs with my\nsweet conductor. Judge what was my dismay when, on passing the folding\ndoors, I found myself in a splendid Popish chapel, opposite the altar,\nover which shone a richly gilt cross, while my poor nun was prostrated\nin the lowliest adoration, touching the ground with her forehead before\nthe senseless idol. I was confounded, and unable to say any thing; but\nafter a hasty glance at the fine trappings, left the place secretly\npraying for grace and strength to protest openly against the abomination\nfrom which my soul revolted with unspeakable horror from the moment of\nmy witnessing the act of idolatrous homage rendered to a thing of wood\nand stone. On leaving the convent, I met a person who informed me that\nmy poor nun was a Protestant lady of high respectability, sprung from\none of those iniquitous mixed marriages, her mother belonging to the\nestablished church, her father a Romanist, who, however, honestly\nadhered to the terms of the wicked covenant by which the sons were to be\neducated in his, the daughters in her persuasion. A family of daughters\nwere born to them, who, with their mother, continued nominally\nProtestant; but after his death, when the house was filled with Romish\npriests, performing for a week together their mummeries over the corpse,\nthese poor females had become a prey to the subtle perversions of the\necclesiastics, and had openly apostatized, all save my new friend, who\nwith a better informed mind and more scriptural knowledge withstood\ntheir sophistries, until sundry mock miracles performed by means of\nsaintly relics and a well-contrived nocturnal visitation from the ghost\nof her father whom she fondly loved, had so unnerved and frightened her\nthat she too fell a prey to the delusion. They ended by admitting her\ninto the sisterhood of this convent, excusing the payment of the large\nsum usually demanded; and as her darkness was now great in proportion to\nthe measure of light against which she had sinned, they found her a\nvaluable decoy-bird to draw others into the snare. I did not learn all\nthese particulars at the time, nor until after her decease, when I met\nwith a near family connection of hers who told them to me. I simply\ngleaned the fact of her apostasy, with that of her abounding zeal in the\nantichristian cause.\n\nWith all my heart I loved the gentle, affectionate, elegant nun, and\nearnestly did I pray for help in bringing her back, as I was resolved to\ndo, from the path of destruction; and while I deliberated on the best\nmeans of commencing the work, the difficulty was removed by her openly\nattempting to convert me. To this end she urged on me a strict inquiry\ninto the real doctrines and tenets of her church, for myself and by\nmyself, promising to lend me books of the most candid character, if I\nwould engage to read them. I agreed, stipulating that I was freely to\nwrite out my remarks on them for her consideration; and with this mutual\nunderstanding, I brought home from the convent as a loan Dr. Milner's\n\"End of Controversy,\" furnished for my especial benefit by a seminary of\nJesuit priests, located near the town: and thus was I become the object\nof a combined attack from the forces of great Babylon.\n\nTrue to what I considered a tacit engagement to study the matter alone,\nI read the book. Never shall I forget the effect it produced on me. I\nseemed to be holding communion with Satan himself, robed as an angel of\nlight, the transparent drapery revealing his hideous form but baffling\nmy endeavors to rend it away. Such sophistry, such impudence of\nunsupported assertion, such distortion of truth and gilding of gross\nfalsehood, I never met with. I tried in vain to find an answer to things\nthat I saw and felt to be antiscriptural and destructive; but this \"End\"\nwas the beginning of my controversy, for I was wholly new to it, and\nignorant of the historical and other facts necessary to disprove the\nreverend author's bold assumptions. At last I burst into tears, and\nkneeling down, exclaimed, \"O Lord, I cannot unravel this web of\niniquity: enable me to cut it in twain.\" I was answered; for after a\nlittle more thought, a broad view of the whole scheme of man's salvation\nas revealed in the holy Scriptures appeared to me the best antidote for\nthis insidious poison. I read through the New Testament with increased\nenjoyment, and casting from me the wretched fabric of lies, with all its\nflimsy pretences, I resolved, instead of attempting a reply to what I\nsaw to be falsehood, to set forth a plain statement of what I knew to be\ntruth. Indeed it is indescribable how disgusting the painted face, the\ngaudy trappings, and the arrogant assumptions of the great harlot\nappeared in my eyes, when thus contrasted with the sublime simplicity,\npurity, and modesty of the chaste spouse of Christ.\n\nI wrote; and in reply got another and a smaller book, containing the\npretended reasons of a Protestant for embracing Popery. They were of\ncourse artfully put, and made a formidable exhibition of the peril of\nheresy. I thought I could not do better in return, while writing my\ndissent, than to enclose some small books of my own to the nun, inviting\nher comments thereon. This brought a letter which was probably written\nby stealth, though so cautiously worded as to be safe if intercepted.\nShe said she did not wish to leave me under a wrong impression, and\ntherefore told me that she was not permitted to read any of my letters,\nor the little books I had sent, as those who watched over her spiritual\ninterests and whom she was bound to obey, thought it wrong to unsettle\nher mind by reading any thing contrary to the true faith which she held.\nHere was a pretty exposure of one-sided honesty. I thanked God for the\nfurther insight given me into the mystery of iniquity, and from that day\ndevoted all my powers to the investigation of that against which I had\nbecome a stanch protester.\n\nIn the midst of our proceedings, a nun had taken the veil at the\nconvent. Every body almost, to their shame be it spoken, was trying for\ntickets to the unhallowed show. My poor friend sent us two, informed me\nthat two of the best front seats would be reserved for us, and\naccompanied her kind note with a programme of the ceremony and a\ntranslation or transcription of the service, all in her own handwriting.\nI felt deeply the pain of hurting her, and perhaps for a moment the\nworkings of natural curiosity, but the hesitation was short. I sent back\nboth books and tickets, with a grateful but decided refusal to be\npresent. In all Kilkenny I did not find a person who could go along with\nme in my objections; but it is a matter of great joy to me to this hour,\nthat I kept myself wholly unpolluted by any participation in these\nidolatrous doings; and I do believe that a double blessing has attended\nmy efforts against Popery in consequence of it.\n\nThe affair of the little deaf mute at the convent led me to turn my\nattention to some poor children similarly circumstanced in the streets\nof Kilkenny; and while prosecuting that work the Lord brought to me that\ndear dumb boy whom you well remember as the brightest, most lovely of\nChristian characters. He was then very little, and had a brother of\nsixteen, one of the most genuine paddies I ever beheld. This lad was\nliving very idly; a fine, sensible, shrewd fellow, who could read and\nwrite, and very soon made great proficiency in the finger language by\nhelping me to instruct Jack. No one above Pat's own rank had ever taken\nany interest in him; I did, a strong one, and as he was much with me,\nand of a character most intensely Irish, he became attached to my with a\nwarmth of devotion rarely met with among any other people.\n\nOne day Pat made his appearance with an important look, his brogues\nstamping the carpet with unwonted energy, his fine bare throat stiffened\ninto a sort of dignified hauteur, and his very keen hazel eyes sparkling\nunder the bushy luxuriance of chestnut curls that clustered about his\nface and fell on his neck. The very beau ideal of a wild Irish youth was\nmy friend Pat. Seating himself as usual, he began--and here I must\nobserve that my chief knowledge of the phraseology and turn of thought\nso peculiar to the Irish peasant was derived from this source. Whenever\nPat came \"to discourse me,\" I got rich lessons in the very brogue\nitself, from the fidelity with which his spelling followed the\npronunciation of his words--\"I wouldn't like,\" said he, \"that you would\ngo to hell.\"\n\n\"Nor I either, Pat.\"\n\n\"But you are out of the thrue church, and you wont be saved, and I must\nconvart ye.\"\n\n\"That is very kind of you, my good lad. If I am wrong, you cannot do\nbetter than set me right.\"\n\n\"Sure and I will.\"\n\n\"But how?\"\n\n\"With this,\" said he, pulling out a small pamphlet nothing the cleaner\nfor wear. \"You must learn my catechism, and it's you that will be the\ngood Catholic.\"\n\nDelighted with the boy's honest zeal, I asked him where I should begin;\nand he no less pleased at my docility, desired me to read it all, and\nthen get it all by heart. I promised to do the first at any rate; and Oh\nwhat a tissue of falsehood and blasphemy that \"Butler's Catechism\" was.\nNext morning my teacher came early: \"Well, Pat, I have found out what\nmakes you anxious about me: here it is said that none can be saved out\nof the true church.\"\n\n\"That's it, sure enough.\"\n\n\"But I do belong to the true church, and I'll show you what it is;\" so I\npointed out to him two passages, and added, \"Now, I do love our Lord\nJesus Christ in sincerity, and therefore I am one of those to whom St.\nPaul wishes grace and peace; and do you think an apostle would send his\nblessing to any body who was not of the true church?\"\n\nPat shook his head: \"That's _your_ catechism, not mine.\"\n\n\"Very true. Dr. Butler wrote yours, and God wrote mine,\" holding up the\nBible; \"which is best?\"\n\n\"That is not the real Bible,\" persisted Pat; \"my priest has the true\nBible.\"\n\n\"Then ask him to lend you his.\"\n\n\"I wouldn't get my ears pulled, would I?\" said he, smiling: \"but if he\nlent me his Bible he must lend me a car to bring it home in, for it's as\nbig as this table. Yours is too little, and doesn't hold half the truth.\nThat is why you are so ignorant.\"\n\nI soon proved, by showing him Matthew. Henry's Commentary, that the word\nof God would lie in a very small compass, the great bulk of the book\nbeing man's work. I also urged on him the absolute necessity of reading\nwhat God had given for our learning, and the danger of resting on man's\nassertion.\n\nPat stood his ground most manfully, astonishing me by the adroitness\nwith which he parried my attacks, while pursuing, as he hoped, the good\nwork of my conversion. For many a day was the controversy carried on,\nButler _versus_ the Bible, without any other effect than that of\nbringing Pat to read the sacred book for himself; but it opened to me\nthe awful wiles of darkness by which the poor and ignorant are blinded,\nwhile for the more educated class such polished sophistry as Milner's is\ncarefully prepared. I reaped the fruit, however, six years afterwards,\nwhen, in a little English church, Pat kneeled beside me and his brother,\na thankful communicant, at the Lord's table.\n\n\n\n\nLETTER VIII.\n\nTHE DUMB BOY.\n\n\nI turned my attention to the deaf and dumb children, whose situation was\ndeplorable indeed: I took four out of the streets to instruct them, of\nwhom one proved irreclaimably wild and vicious; two were removed by a\npriest's order, lest I should infect them with heresy: the fourth was to\nme a crown of rejoicing, and will be so yet more at \"that day.\" * * *\n\nJohn, or Jack as we always called him, was a puny little fellow, of\nheavy aspect, and wholly destitute of the life and animation that\ngenerally characterize that class, who are obliged to use looks and\ngestures as a substitute for words. He seemed for a long while unable to\ncomprehend my object in placing before him a dissected alphabet, and\nforming the letters into words significant of dog, man, hat, and other\nshort monosyllables; and when I guided his little hard hand to trace\ncorresponding characters on the slate, it was indeed a work of time and\npatience to make him draw a single stroke correctly. His unmeaning grin\nof good-natured acquiescence in whatever I bade him do, was more\nprovoking than downright rebellion could have been; and I secretly\nagreed with my friends that the attempt would prove a complete failure,\nwhile impelled, I hardly could tell how, to persevere with redoubled\nefforts. Jack's uncouth bristly hair fell in a straight mass over one of\nthe finest foreheads ever seen, and concealed it. I happened one day to\nput aside this mass, for the benefit of his sight, and was so struck\nwith the nobly expansive brow, that I exclaimed to a friend then in the\nact of dissuading me from the work, \"No; with such a forehead as this, I\ncan never despair of success.\"\n\n\n      *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt was by a sudden burst that the boy's mind broke its prison and looked\naround on every object as though never before beheld. All seemed to\nappear in so new a light to him; curiosity, in which he had been\nstrangely deficient, became an eagerly active principle, and nothing\nthat was portable did he fail to bring to me, with an inquiring shake of\nthe head, and the word \"what?\" spelled by the fingers. It was no easy\nmatter, before we had mastered a dozen common substantives and no other\nparts of speech, to satisfy his inquisitiveness, which I always\nendeavored to do, because it is wrong to repress that indication of\ndawning reason in a child, and Jack at eleven years old was in the\npredicament of a mere infant. More especially was I puzzled when his\n\"what?\" was accompanied by a motion pointing first at the dog, then to\nhimself, to learn wherein consisted the difference between two\ncreatures, both of whom, as he intimated, could eat, drink, sleep, and\nwalk about, could be merry or angry, sick or well; neither of whom could\ntalk; and yet, that there was a very great difference, he felt. The\nnoble nature of man, was struggling to assert its preeminence over the\nirrational brute, which he, nevertheless, loved and feared too; for\nBarrow was a splendid dog, and used to assist me very cleverly in\nkeeping my little wild Irish crew in order. Oh what a magnificent wreck\nis man! I do love to watch the rapid approach of that glorious time\nwhen, the six thousand years of his degradation beneath the reign of\nSatan being fulfilled, he shall rise above the usurper's power, and\nresume his high station among the brightest works of God.\n\nI do not remember exactly how long after his first coming to me it was\nthat Jack began to inquire so diligently about God. He seemed full of\ngrave but restless thought, and then approaching me, pointed towards the\nsun, and by a movement of the hands as if kneading something, asked me\nwhether I made it. I shook my head. Did my mother? No. Did Mr. Roe, or\nMr. Shaw--two Protestant clergymen--or the priest? He had a sign to\nexpress each of these. No. Then \"What? what?\" with a frown and a stamp\nof fretful impatience. I pointed upwards, with a look of reverential\nsolemnity, and spelled the word \"God.\" He seemed struck, and asked no\nmore at that time, but next day he overwhelmed me with \"whats,\" and\nseemed determined to know more about it. I told him as well as I could,\nthat He of whom I spoke was great, powerful, and kind; and that he was\nalways looking at us. He smiled, and informed me he did not know how the\nsun was made, for he could not keep his eyes on it; but the moon he\nthought was like a dumpling, and sent rolling over the tops of the\ntrees, as he sent a marble across the table. As for the stars, they were\ncut out with a large pair of scissors, and stuck into the sky with the\nend of the thumb. Having thus settled his system of astronomy, he looked\nvery happy, and patted his chest with evident self-applause.\n\nI was amused, but of course not satisfied: my charge was necessarily an\nAtheist, and what I had told him was a very bare sort of Deism indeed.\nTo communicate more, however, seemed utterly impossible, until we should\nhave accomplished considerable things in the way of education. We had\nnot above a dozen of the commonest words--all names of things--to which\nhe could attach a meaning; and our signs were all of his own contriving,\nwhich I had to catch and follow as I might. So said reason, but reason\nis a fool. \"Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that\nproceedeth out of the mouth of God.\" \"For my ways are not your ways,\nneither are your thoughts my thoughts, saith the Lord.\" It pleased him\nto enlighten the mind of the boy; and instead of that work being\ndependent on human wisdom, all that human wisdom could do was to creep\nafter it at a modest distance.\n\nNext day, Jack came to me in great wrath, intimating that my tongue\nought to be pulled out. This was his usual mode of accusation where a\nlie had been told. So I looked innocent and said, \"What?\" He reminded me\nof yesterday's conversation, telling me he had looked everywhere for\nGod: he had been down the street, over the bridge, into the churchyard,\nthrough the fields, had peeped into the grounds of the castle, walked\npast the barrack-yard, and got up in the night to look out at the\nwindow. All in vain; he could not find God. _He saw nobody big enough\nto put up his hand and stick the stars into the sky_. I was \"bad,\" my\ntongue must be pulled out; for there was \"God, NO.\" And he repeated\n\"God, no,\" so often that it went to my heart.\n\nI considered, prayerfully. My view of the scriptures told me that\nwithout divine help none could really seek after God: and also that when\nhe vouchsafed to give the desire, he would surely increase knowledge.\nHere was a poor afflicted boy getting out of his bed to look by night\nfor one whom he had vainly sought all the day: here was Satan at work to\nstrengthen unbelief: I was commanded to resist the devil, and surely\nthere must be some way of resisting him. I sat silent on the opposite\nside of the fire, and a plan having struck me, I looked at Jack,\nshrugged my shoulders and seemed convicted of a deception. He shook his\nhead at me, frowned, and appeared very much offended at my delinquency.\nPresently I seized a small pair of bellows, and after puffing at the\nfire for a while, suddenly directed a rough blast at his little red\nhand, which hung very near it. He snatched it back, scowled at me, and\nwhen again I repeated the operation, expressed great displeasure,\nshivering, and letting me know he did not like it.\n\nI renewed the puff, saying, \"What?\" and looking most unconscious of\nhaving done any thing; he blew hard, and repeated that it made his hands\ncold; that I was very bad, and he was very angry. I puffed in all\ndirections, looked very eagerly at the pipe of the bellows, peering on\nevery side, and then, explaining that I could see nothing, imitated his\nmanner, saying, \"Wind? no!\" shaking my head at him, and telling him his\ntongue must come out, mimicking his looks of rebuke and offended virtue.\nHe opened his eyes very wide, stared at me and panted; a deep crimson\nsuffused his whole face, and a soul, a real soul shone in his strangely\naltered countenance, while he triumphantly repeated, \"God like wind! God\nlike wind!\" He had no word for \"like;\" it was signified by holding the\ntwo forefingers out, side by side, as a symbol of perfect resemblance.\n\nHere was a step, a glorious step, out of absolute atheism into a perfect\nrecognition of the invisible God. An idea, to call it nothing more, new,\ngrand, and absorbing, took possession of his mind. I numbered seven\nyears of incessant care over him from that day; and I will fearlessly\nassert that in his head and in his heart God reigned unrivalled. Even\nbefore he knew him as God in Christ, the Creator and Preserver were\nenthroned in his bosom; and every event of the day, every object that\nmet his view, gave rise to some touchingly simple question or remark\nconcerning God. He made me observe that when trying to look at the sun\nhe was forced to shut his eyes, adding, \"God like sun.\" An analogy not\nvery traceable, though strictly just; for the glory that dazzled his\nmind was not visible. He was perpetually engaged in some process of\nabstract reasoning on every subject, and amazed me by explaining its\nresults; but how he carried it on without the intervention of words, was\nand is a puzzle to me.\n\nPreviously he had been rather teasing to the dog and other inferior\ncreatures, and had a great desire to fish; but now he became most\nexquisitely tender towards every living thing, moving his hand over them\nin a caressing way, and saying, \"God made.\" At first he excepted the\nworms from this privilege, remarking that they came up through holes\nfrom beneath the earth, while God was above, over the sky; therefore\nthey were not made by him; but I set him right, and he agreed that they\nmight be rolled up in the world, like meat in a pudding, and bite their\nway out. Thenceforth, woe to the angler whom Jack detected looking for\nlive bait!\n\nWhen my first pupil from being irregular in his attendance fell off more\nand more, until he wholly discontinued coming, and the others were\nwithdrawn for fear of heretical infection, I became more anxious lest\nthis dear boy might also leave me before he had received the knowledge\nof Jesus Christ. I had, at his earnest entreaty, taken him into the\nhouse altogether, his home being at some distance; but I knew not how\nlong he might be permitted to stay. The ravages of a dreadful fever\namong the poor, increased my solicitude to see my devout little Deist a\nChristian. I have, in a small memoir of this \"Happy Mute,\" related the\nmanner of his receiving the gospel, but I must not pass it over here. To\nthe glory of God's rich grace it shall be recorded, as one of the most\nsignal mercies ever vouchsafed to me. As before, the boy was led to open\nthe way, and in the faith of the Lord's willingness to reveal himself to\nan inquiring soul, I followed it up.\n\nJack had noticed the number of funerals passing; he had occasionally\nseen dead bodies placed in their coffins, and one evening he alluded to\nit, asking me by significant gestures if they would ever open their eyes\nagain. Considering that he had often been present at the interment of\nthe dead, and had also witnessed the decay of animals cast out to\nperish, it struck me as a singular question, plainly indicating that the\nconsciousness of immortality is natural to man, and unbelief in a future\nstate foreign to his untaught feelings. On the present occasion, my\nheart being then lifted up in prayer for divine assistance on this very\npoint, I caught at the encouragement, and instantly proceeded to improve\nthe opportunity, I sketched on paper a crowd of persons, old and young;\nnear them a pit with flames issuing from it, and told him all those\npeople, among whom were we, had been \"bad\" and God would throw us into\nthe fire. When his alarm was greatly excited, I introduced into the\npicture another individual, who I told him was God's Son; that he came\nout of heaven; that he had not been bad, and was not to go in the pit;\nbut that he allowed himself to be killed; and when he died, God shut up\nthe pit; so the people were spared. This seemed to myself too strange,\nvague, meagre, to convey any definite idea to the boy's mind; but how\neffectual does the Lord make our poorest efforts when HE wills to work!\nAfter a few moments' deep thought, Jack astonished me by an objection\nthat proved he saw the grand doctrine of a substitute for sinners, which\nI was so hopeless of bringing before him. He told me the rescued people\nwere many; he who died was one, and his earnest \"What?\" with the\neloquent look that now peculiarly belonged to his once stupid\ncountenance, showed his anxiety for a solution of this difficulty.\n\nWith unutterable joy in my heart, but great composure of manner, I rose,\nand taking from a vase a bunch of dead flowers, inadvertently left\nthere, I cut them into small bits, laid them in a heap on the table, and\nbeside them my gold ring: then pointing to each, with the words \"many-\none,\" I asked which he would rather have? He struck his hand suddenly to\nhis forehead, then clapped both hands, gave a jump as he sat, and with\nthe most rapturous expression of countenance intimated that the one\npiece of gold was better than the room full of dead flowers With great\nrapidity he applied the symbol, pointing to the picture, to the ring, to\nhimself, to me, and finally to heaven. In the last position he stood up\nand paused for some time, and what a picture he would have made! A smile\nperfectly angelic beaming on his face, his eyes sparkling and dancing\nwith delight, until, with a rush of tears that quite suffused them, he\ngazed at me, then again raised them to the ceiling, his look softened\ninto an expression of deep awe and unbounded love, while he gently\nspelled on his fingers, \"Good ONE, good ONE!\" and ended by asking me his\nname.\n\n\"How sweet the name of Jesus sounds In a believer's ear!\"\n\nJack was not to hear that name with his bodily ears until the voice of\nthe archangel and the trump of God should call him from sleeping in the\ndust of the earth; but he received it into his mind, and the gospel, the\nglorious, everlasting gospel, into his soul, and the Holy Spirit into\nhis heart, without the intervention of that sense. In that hour it was\ngiven unto him to believe, and from that hour all things were his--the\nworld, life, death, and a bright immortality. Never but once before had\nI laid my head on the pillow with such an overwhelming sense of perfect\nhappiness. The Lord had indeed shown me his glory, by causing his\ngoodness to pass before me.\n\nHenceforth I had a Christian brother in my little dumb charge: his love\nto Jesus Christ was fervent and full; his thoughts about him most\nbeautiful. By degrees, I gave him some knowledge of our Lord's mortal\nbirth, his infancy, work, death, resurrection, and ascension; together\nwith his coming to final judgment at the end of the world. * * *\n\nVery great indeed was Jack's emotion when he discovered that the Saviour\nin whom he was rejoicing was the object represented by the image he had\nbeen taught to bow down before. He resented it deeply: I was quite\nalarmed at the sudden and violent turn his feelings took against Popery.\n* * * He spurned the whole system from him, as soon as the light of the\ngospel fell upon its deformities.\n\nReturning from the chapel one day, soon after this, he came up to me\nunder great excitement: he took up a clothes-brush, set it on one end,\nand with a ludicrous grimace bowed down before it, joining his hands in\nthe attitude of prayer and chattering after his fashion; then asking the\nbrush if it could hear him, waiting in an attitude of attention for its\nreply, and finally knocking it over and kicking it round the room,\nsaying, \"Bad god, bad god!\" I guessed pretty well what it was all about;\nbut as he concluded by snapping his fingers exultingly and seating\nhimself without further remark, I spoke on other subjects.\n\nNext morning, Jack was very animated, and came to me with an evident\nbudget of new thoughts. He told me something very small came out of the\nground, pointing in opposite directions; it grew: and then two more\npoints appeared. I found he was describing the growth of a plant, and\nexpecting some question, was all attention; but Jack was come to teach,\nnot to learn. He soon showed that his tree had reached a great height\nand size; then he made as if shouldering a hatchet, advanced to the tree\nand cut it down. Next came a great deal of sawing, chopping, planing,\nand shaping, until he made me understand he had cut out a crucifix,\nwhich he laid by, and proceeded to make a stool, a box, and other small\narticles; after which he gathered up the chips, flung them on the fire,\nand seemed to be cheering himself in the blaze. I actually trembled at\nthe proceeding; for where had he, who could not form or understand half\na sentence, where had _he_ learned the Holy Spirit's testimony as\nrecorded by Isaiah?\n\nThe sequel was what I anticipated: he feigned to set up the imaginary\ncrucifix, and preparing to pray before it, checked himself, saying,\n\"No;\" then with animated seriousness reverted to the springing up of the\nlittle seedling, saying, \"God made;\" and as it grew, he described the\nfashioning of the trunk and branches and leaves most gracefully, still\nsaying \"God made;\" he seemed to dip a pencil in color, to paint the\nleaves, repeating, \"God made beautiful!\" Then, that God made his hands\ntoo; and he came to the conclusion that the tree which God made, cut out\nby his hands which God made, could not be God who made them. Then he got\nvery angry, and not satisfied with an unsubstantial object for his holy\nindignation to vent itself upon, he ran for the clothes-brush, and gave\nit a worse cuffing and kicking than before; ending with a solemn inquiry\nwhether I worshipped crosses, etc., when I went to church.\n\nI trembled to give the encouragement I longed to bestow. However, I\ndistinctly intimated my detestation of idolatry, and confirmed his\nstrong repudiation of it. He told me he would not go any more to chapel,\nbut I told him, as well as I _could_, the almost certain\nconsequences, and he then remembered that other boys had told him those\nwho ate meat on Fridays would go to hell. He became greatly distressed\nas the next Sabbath approached, but contrary to all my expectations\nreturned from mass in excellent spirits. Pat told me, laughing, that\nJack was become so musical he insisted on going to sit by the organ,\nthat he might feel the vibration; and when alone with me, Jack joyfully\ntold me that he had run up the stairs from the outer door to the organ-\nloft, and so escaped even the necessity of bowing down to the cross.\nThis plan he persisted in from that day. Some years afterwards I asked\nhis brother if he had any suspicion at the time of the boy's object in\nso doing: he answered, None at all; and that if he had, he would have\nforced him into the body of the mass-house, and compelled him to\nprostrate himself.\n\n\n      *       *       *       *       *\n\nEarly in the summer of 1824, I received a summons to return to England.\nIt was most unwelcome, for my heart was knit to Ireland, and to share\nthe lot of her devoted people was its earnest desire. At home I had many\nold friends; but what were they to the beloved brethren and sisters in\nChrist, who had been my fellow-helpers for the last four years in the\nwork of the Lord? All ties were weak to that, save one, the tie that\nbound me to my beloved brother. Him I had not seen for nine years: he\nhad continued on the staff of the Portuguese army until the\nestablishment of the Cortes, who dismissed all British officers; and\nthen he settled in the interior of that country, cultivating some of the\nland which he had gallantly fought to rescue. It was a subject of\ncontinual sorrow to me that he was residing in the heart of an\nexclusively Popish country, far from every means of grace; not even a\nplace of worship within many leagues, and wholly shut out from Christian\nintercourse. I knew that he had been equally dark with myself on the\nsubject of religion; and truly can I say, that from the very hour of my\nbeing enabled to see the truth as it is in Jesus, my life had been a\nconstant prayer for him, that God would make him a partaker in the like\nprecious faith. There was now a prospect of his returning, and this\nadded to the summons I have mentioned, made my way plain. The state of\nJack's mind, too, on the subject of Popery, helped to reconcile me,\nsince I had made up my mind to take him with me if his parents would\nagree to it. There was no difficulty in bringing them to do so; they\ngave a willing, a grateful consent. His mother's words, while tears\nrolled down her cheeks, were, \"Take him; he is more your child than\nours.\" His father remarked, \"Why shouldn't we let him go with you,\nseeing he would grieve to death if you left him behind?\" When I began to\nstate that I could not promise he would not openly embrace my religion,\nthey interrupted me, repeating that he was my child more than theirs,\nand could never come to any harm under my care. Coward as I was, I did\nnot use the opportunity then given to set before them their own danger,\nand commend the pure faith that I knew their child held. I had\noccasionally talked in a general way, and once very strongly, when the\nmother told me of the dreadful penances she had done, walking on her\nbare knees over a road strewed with pebbles, glass, and quicklime, to\nmake her sufferings greater, in order to obtain from God and the saints\nthe restoration of the boy's hearing and speech. She was then pleading\nthe power and holiness of her clergy, and their superiority to all the\nrest of the world. I looked from the window, and said, \"See, there goes\nyour bishop; now do you think this bright sun warms him more than it\ndoes any Protestant walking beside him?\" \"Troth, and I am sure it does,\"\nanswered she. \"What, do you think he has any particular advantage over\nother men in things that are common to all?\" \"That he has, being a holy\nbishop.\" \"Well, now, if I call him up, and we all put our fingers\ntogether between these bars, do you think the fire would burn him less\nthan us?\" She hesitated; her husband burst into a laugh, and archly\nsaid, \"I'll engage his reverence wouldn't try that same.\"\n\nI was now to bid adieu to my pleasant haunts, chief among which was the\nlordly castle of Kilkenny, where I had passed so very many delightful\nhours. Its noble owners were abroad, but by their favor I had a key to\nthe private door beside the river, and full access to every part of the\ncastle and its beautiful grounds. It was there I used to muse on days of\nIreland's bygone greatness, though not then well read in her peculiar\nhistory, and gradually I had become as Irish as any of her own children.\nHow could it be otherwise? I was not naturally cold-hearted, though\ncircumstances had, indeed, greatly frozen the current of my warm\naffections, and I had learned to look with comparative indifference on\nwhatever crossed my changeful path; but no one with a latent spark of\nkindly feeling can long repress it among the Irish. There is an ardor of\ncharacter, an earnestness in their good will, a habit of assimilating\nthemselves to the tastes and habits of those whom they desire to please\n--and that desire is very general--that wins on the affections of those\nwho possess any, a grateful regard, and leaving on the scenes that have\nwitnessed such intercourse, a sunshine peculiar to themselves. Reserve\nof manner cannot long exist in Irish society. I have met with some among\nthe people of the land, who were cold and forbidding, insensible and\nunkind, but these were exceptions, establishing the rule by the very\ndisagreeable contrast in which they stood out from all around them; and\nI never found these persons in the humbler classes, where the unmixed\nIrish prevails. Hospitality is indeed the polestar of Ireland; go where\nyou will, it is always visible; but it shines the brightest in the poor\nman's cabin, because the potato that he so frankly, so heartily, so\ngracefully presses upon your acceptance is selected from a scanty heap,\nbarely sufficient to allay the cravings of hunger in himself and his\nhalf-clad little ones. In this, as in all other particulars, a change\nfor the worse has come over the people of late; priestly authority has\ninterposed to check the outgoings of kindness from a warm-hearted people\nto those who are indeed their friends, and a painful, reluctant\nrestraint is laid upon them; but the evil had not become evident at the\ntime of my sojourn there, and I can only speak of them as the most\nrespectful, most courteous and hospitable peasantry in the world.\n\nAt the same time they were in many respects the most degraded. Nothing\ncould equal the depth of their abasement before an insolent priesthood,\nexcept the unblushing effrontery with which the latter lorded it over\nthem. For any infraction of their arbitrary rules, the most cruel and\nhumiliating penances were imposed. I knew an instance of a young woman,\na Romanist, who engaged in the service of a Protestant family, and went\nout with them to America. While there, she was led to join in family\nworship, but without any intention of forsaking her own creed; neither\nhad they attempted to draw her out of the net. On her return to Kilkenny\nshe went to confession, and among other things divulged the fact of\nhaving heard the Bible read, and prayed in company with heretics. This\nwas an enormity too great for the priest to deal with alone; so he\nordered the girl off, fasting, to her original confessor, who then\nofficiated in a chapel seven good Irish miles distant. On hearing the\ncase, he ordered her to go thrice round the chapel on her bare knees,\nand then to set off, still fasting, and walk back to Kilkenny, there to\nundergo such additional penance as his reverend brother should see good\nto impose. The poor creature scarcely reached the town alive, through\nfatigue, exhaustion, and terror; she was ill for some time, and on her\nrecovery subjected to further discipline. These particulars I had from\none of her own friends and a bigoted Papist to boot, who told it in\norder to convince me that the girl had committed a very great sin.\n\nI once asked a young man how he got on at confession--whether he told\nall his sins. He replied, \"Sometimes I disremember a few, and if the\npriest, suspects it, he pulls my hair and boxes my ears, to help my\nmemory.\" \"And how do you feel when you have got absolution?\" \"I feel all\nright; and I go out and begin again.\" \"And how do you know that God has\nreally pardoned you?\" \"He doesn't pardon me directly; only the priest\ndoes. He, the priest, confesses my sins to the bishop, and the bishop\nconfesses them to the pope, and the pope sees the Virgin Mary every\nSaturday night, and tells her to speak to God about it.\" \"And you really\nbelieve this monstrous story?\" \"Why shouldn't I? But it is no affair of\nmine, for, once I have confessed, all my sins are laid on the priest,\nand he must do the best he can to get rid of them. I am safe.\" Of such\nmaterials is the net composed that holds these people in bondage; and\nwho can marvel that such prostration of mind before a fellow-mortal\nshould lead to an abject slavery of the whole man, body, conscience, and\nunderstanding? We see the effects, and abhor them; but we do not go to\nthe root of the matter.\n\nThe priest himself is equally enslaved; his oath binds him to an\nimplicit blind reception of tenets which he is not permitted to\ninvestigate, and which make him the pliant tool of a higher department\nof this detestable machinery. He receives his cue from the bishops, and\nthey are wholly governed by the Propaganda at Rome, whither each of them\nis bound periodically to appear for personal examination and fresh\ninstructions. The Propaganda is, of course, the _primum mobile_ of\nthe system, set agoing by Satan himself. Hence the mischief that is\nperpetrated by the unhappy beings who form the operative section of this\ncunning concern--the handicraft men of blood. It is an awful spectacle,\nand one that we cannot long avert our eyes from contemplating with the\ndeep interest that personal peril excites. All is preparing for a burst\nof persecution against the people of the Lord, and happy is he who shall\nbe found armed with watching.\n\n\n\n\nLETTER IX.\n\nENGLAND.\n\n\nWe started for Dublin with sorrowing hearts, for it was likely to be a\nlong, if not a last farewell to friends who were endeared as well by a\nparticipation in danger as in feeling. * * *\n\nJack had never before been beyond the environs of his native town, and I\nexpected to see him much astonished by the splendid buildings of Dublin.\nHe regarded them however with indifference, because, as he said, they\nwere not \"God-mades;\" while the scenery through which we had travelled,\nparticularly the noble oaks on Colonel Bruen's fine demesne, and the\ngroups of deer reclining beneath their broad shadow, roused him to\nenthusiasm. It was wonderful to trace the exquisite perception of beauty\nas developed in that boy, who had never even been in a furnished room\nuntil he came to me. His taste was refined, and his mind delicate beyond\nbelief: I never saw such sensitive modesty as he manifested to the last\nday of his life. Rudeness of any kind was hateful to him; he not only\nyielded respect to all, but required it towards himself, and really\ncommanded it by his striking propriety of manner. He was, as a dear\nfriend once remarked, a \"God-made\" gentleman, untainted with the\nslightest approach to any thing like affectation or coxcombry: indeed he\nridiculed the latter with much comic effect: and the words \"Dandy Jack,\"\nwould put him out of conceit with any article of apparel that drew forth\nthe remark. He would answer the taunt with a face of grave rebuke,\nsaying, \"Bad Mam, bold Mam; Jack dandy? no; Jack poor boy.\" He had not,\nindeed, arrived at so copious a vocabulary when we left his home; but he\nwas rapidly acquiring new words.\n\nIt was beautiful to see him at prayer. He had never kneeled down with us\nat Kilkenny; for any Romanist who had detected him doing so must have\ninformed, and the priest would have commanded his removal. In Dublin he\nvolunteered to join us, and as he kneeled with clasped hands, looking up\ntowards heaven, the expression of his countenance was most lovely. A\nsmile of childlike confidence and reverential love played over his\nfeatures, now becoming most eloquent; his bristly hair had begun to\nassume a silky appearance, and was combed aside from a magnificent brow,\nwhile a fine color perpetually mantled his cheeks and changed with every\nemotion; his dark hazel eyes, large, and very bright, always speaking\nsome thought that occupied his mind. He was rather more than twelve\nyears old. In profile, he much resembled Kirke White when older; but the\nstrongest likeness I ever saw of him is an original portrait of Edward\nVI., by Holbein, in my possession.\n\nIt was taken after consumption had set its seal on the countenance of\nthat blessed young king, as it did on that of my dear dumb boy.\n\nIn Dublin, he had one adventure that afforded him much enjoyment. I went\ninto an extensive toy-shop to make some purchase, and Jack, enchanted\nwith the wonders around him, strolled to the further end, and into a\nlittle adjoining recess, well filled with toys. A great uproar in that\ndirection made us all run to inquire the cause, and there was Jack,\nmounted on a first-rate rocking-horse, tearing away full gallop, and\nabsolutely roaring out in the maddest paroxysm of delight, his hat\nfallen off, his arm raised, his eyes and mouth wide open, and the\nsurrounding valuables in imminent peril of a general crash. The mistress\nof the shop was so convulsed with laughter that she could render no\nassistance, and it was with some difficulty I checked his triumphant\ncareer, and dismounted him. He gave me afterwards a diverting account of\nhis cautious approach to the \"good horse;\" how he ascertained it was\n\"bite, no; kick, no:\" and gradually got resolution to mount it. He\nwanted to know how far he had rode, and also if he was a God-made? I\ntold him it was wood, but I doubt whether he believed me. Thenceforth\nDublin was associated in his mind with nothing else; even at nineteen\nyears of age he would say, if he met with the name, \"Good Dublin, good\nhorse; small Jack love good Dublin horse.\" The shipping pleased him\ngreatly, and many of his beautiful drawings were representations of\nsailing vessels.\n\nI had now been in Ireland five years and three months; and with what\ndifferent feelings did I prepare to leave its green shores from those\nwith which I first pressed them. Unfounded prejudice was succeeded by an\nattachment founded on close acquaintance with those among whom I had\ndwelt, contempt by respect, and dislike by the warmest, most grateful\naffection. I had scorned her poverty, and hated her turbulence. The\nfirst I now knew to be no poverty of soil, of natural resources, of\nmind, talent, or energy, but the effect of a blight, permitted to rest\nalike on the land and people, through the selfishness of an unjust,\ncrooked policy, that made their welfare of no account in its\ncalculations, nor would stretch forth a hand to deliver them from the\ndark dominion of Popery. Their turbulence was the natural fruit of such\npoverty, and of their being wholly under the influence of a party\nnecessarily hostile to the interests of a Protestant state, and bent on\nsubverting its ascendency. What Ireland was, I too plainly saw: what she\nmight be, I clearly understood; and the guilt of my country's\nresponsibility lay heavy on my heart as I watched the outline of her\nreceding coast.\n\nBristol was our destination; and for the ensuing year, Clifton became\nour abode. This period of my life was one of severe trial, which it is\nnot necessary to particularize. Incipient derangement, which afterwards\nbecame developed, in a quarter where, if I did not find comfort and\nprotection, I might expect their opposites, occasioned me much alarm and\ndistress, while my brother's protracted absence increased the trial.\nMuch secluded, I pursued my literary avocations, and watched the\nprogress of Jack's growth in knowledge and in grace. * * *\n\nMy sojourn at Clifton brought me into personal acquaintance with that\nvenerable servant of God, Hannah More. We had for some time\ncorresponded, and she had afforded me great encouragement in my humble\nlabors, taking an especial interest in my attempts to instruct the deaf\nand dumb children. I had now the pleasure of showing her the progress\nmade with Jack, who delighted her greatly, and who, to the last day of\nhis mortal existence, most fondly cherished the memory of that sweet old\nlady. She was, indeed, one of the excellent of the earth, permitted long\nto beautify the church which she had so mainly helped to strengthen and\nadvance, and to be an honor to the land where she had nobly stood forth\nto repel the assaults of revolutionizing impiety. I often wonder that so\nlittle stress is laid upon this branch of Mrs. More's extensive labors.\nWe hear much of her schools, her charities, her letters, her devotional\nand educational publications, and all of these deserve the full\ncelebrity that they have attained. But England should especially bear in\nmind her effective championship of the good cause, by means most\nadmirably adapted to its furtherance among the most dangerous, and\ngenerally speaking the most unapproachable class--a class who\ncongregated in ale-houses to hear the inflammatory harangues of\nseditious traitors, while as yet Bibles were scarce, religious tracts\nnot in existence, and district visiting unthought of. In a lady of\nrefined taste, and rare accomplishments in the higher style of writing,\nto volunteer in a work so new, and to furnish the press with a series of\nplain truths dressed in a most homely phrase, rendered attractive by\nlively narrative and even drollery, and the whole brought down to the\nlevel of coarse, uninformed minds, while circulated in a form to come\nwithin the narrow means of the lowest mechanics--this was an enterprise\nworthy especial note, even had not God openly blessed it to the turning\nof that formidable tide. When I looked upon the placid but animated\ncountenance of the aged saint, as she sat in her bow-window looking out\nupon the fair fields, the still inviolate shores of her beloved country,\nI thought more of her \"Cheap Repository Tracts\" than of all her other\nworks combined. There lay the Bristol Channel, that noble inlet to our\nisle, by which the commerce of the world was even then finding its\npeaceful way to the great mart of Bristol; and there sat the aged lady,\nso long the presiding spirit of the place, with one hand, as it were,\ngathering the lambs of the flock into green pastures among the distant\nhills, that formed a beautiful feature in the landscape; with the other\nvigorously repulsing the wolf from the field. If I could have\ndiscovered, which I could not, a single trait of consciousness that she\nwas a distinguished being, exalted into eminence by public acclaim, I\nmust have conceived her to be dwelling upon this branch of her many\nprivileges, that she had been a Deborah where many a Barak shrunk from\nthe post of honor and skulked behind a woman. She took that lively\ninterest in the public, secular affairs of her country that Jeremiah and\nEzekiel did of old; and on the same plain ground--that where the state\nprofesses to be modelled and the executive to act on principles of God's\ninstilling, with a view that peace and happiness, truth and justice,\nreligion and piety, may be established among us, nothing done by the\nstate can be indifferent to the church, or unworthy the anxious watchful\nregard of Christians. To be called a carnal politician by those whose\nminds, at least on religious subjects, could contain, but one idea, was\ncertainly a light affliction to balance against the joyous consciousness\nof having materially aided in preserving those cavillers' homes from the\nhand of the spoiler, and their Bibles from that of the Atheist.\n\nWhen I saw Hannah More, she was really at ease in her possessions; and\nnone who loved her less than the Lord himself did, would have laid a\nsorrow upon her grey hairs. Man would have decreed that such a full-ripe\nshock of corn should be brought into the garner without further ruffling\nor shaking. She had suffered exceedingly from rheumatism and other\nailments, and yet more from the tongue of calumny and the hand of\ningratitude. She was an illustration of that striking couplet,\n\n  \"Envy will merit as its shade pursue,\n  And, like the shadow, prove the substance true.\"\n\nShe had, however, triumphed over all by meekly committing her cause to\nHim who judgeth righteously; and now she seemed to be placed beyond the\nreach of further molestation, and about to end her useful life in peace.\nBut she had another lesson to give to the people of God, another fire in\nwhich to glorify him: and not long after I saw her reclining in that\nlovely retreat which had grown up about her, a perfect bower from slips\nand seeds of her own planting, as she delighted to tell us, she was\nactually driven out of her little paradise, compelled to leave the\nshadow of her nursling trees, and to cast a tearful farewell look on the\nsmiling flowers, and to turn away from the bright sea and the waving\nline of her Cheddar hills, to find a lodging in the neighboring town;\nand all through treachery, domestic treachery against her whose whole\nlife had been a course of unsparing beneficence towards others. Hannah\nMore perhaps needed to be again reminded, that she must do all her works\n\"as to the Lord,\" looking to him alone for acceptance of them; or if she\nneeded it not, others did; and often since she entered into her\nSaviour's presence, \"to go no more out,\" has the scene of the last trial\nto which her generous, confiding, affectionate spirit was subjected,\nbeen blessed to the consolation of others. God's children find that it\nis good for themselves that they should be afflicted; but they do not\nalways remember how good it is for the church, that they should be so.\nThey look within, and seeing so much there daily, \"justly deserving\nGod's wrath and condemnation,\" they lie still in his hand, willing and\nthankful to have the dross purged out, and the tin taken away. Their\nfellows look on, and not seeing the desperate wickedness of their\nhearts, but fondly believing them to be as near perfection as human\nfrailty will permit, they argue, \"If such a saint as ---- be thus\nchastened and corrected, what must a sinner like me expect?\" So they\nlearn watchfulness and fear in the day of prosperity; and when adversity\ncomes, they are enabled more lovingly to kiss the rod. Oh, if we could\nsee but a little of the Lord's dealings, in all their bearings, how\nshould we praise him for his goodness and the wonders that he doeth unto\nthe children of men. What profit, what pleasure has he in afflicting us?\nSurely it is, so to speak, more trouble to correct than to leave us\nalone; and he would not twine the small cords into a scourge, unless to\ncleanse and sanctify his temple.\n\nI have said that my brother's return home was delayed. A hurt received\nin shooting, with its consequences, detained him in Lisbon nearly a\nyear; but his family came over, and I had a new delicious employment, a\nsolace under many sorrows, an unfailing source of interest and delight,\nin teaching his eldest surviving boy the accomplishments of walking and\ntalking. I almost expected Jack to be jealous of such a rival, but I\nwronged him: nothing could exceed his fondness for \"baby boy,\" or the\nzeal of his Irish devotion to the little gentleman. Knowing that in the\nevent of my removal, Jack must earn his bread by some laborious or\nservile occupation, I had kept him humble. He ate in the same room with\nus, because I never suffered him to associate with servants; but at a\nside-table; and he was expected to do every little household work that\nbefitted his age and strength. A kind shake of the hand, morning and\nevening, was his peculiar privilege; and the omission a punishment too\nsevere to be inflicted, except on occasions of most flagrant\ndelinquency, such as rebelling against orders, or expressing any angry\nemotion, to which he was constitutionally liable, by yells and howls\nthat almost frightened our hosts from their propriety. He had, of\ncourse, no idea of the strength of his own lungs, nor of the effect\nproduced by giving them full play in a fit of passion; but the commotion\ninto which it threw the whole house seemed to flatter his vanity, and he\nbecame a vocalist on very trifling occasions. This neither agreed with\nour dear invalid landlady, nor was a fitting example for \"baby boy,\" who\nspeedily tried his own little treble in admiring imitation of Jack's\ndeafening bass; and recourse was at last had to the aid of a young\nfriend, who bestowed a few gentle raps on his head with the bent end of\na hooked cane, and then locked him up in a dark kitchen for half an\nhour, saying to me, rather regretfully, \"I suppose my popularity is at\nan end now. Poor fellow, I shall be sorry to lose his affection.\" But\nthis was so far from being the case, that to his closing scene Jack\nretained a grateful remembrance of the proceeding. He used to say, \"Good\nMr. W----; good little stick beat Jack's head; made bad Jack good. Jack\nlove good Mr. W----.\" At the very time, as soon as he saw his kind\ncorrector after the business, he very gracefully and cordially thanked\nhim, kissing his hand, with a bow, and saying, \"Jack no more cry;\" and\nas he really was hardly touched, and full well knew we had not the heart\nto be severe, it was a proof of that openness to rebuke which is a\nlovely mark of true Christianity.\n\nMontgomery beautifully says,\n\n  \"Prayer is the Christian's vital breath,\n  The Christian's native air.\"\n\nAnd so it eminently was with the dumb boy. Under every form of condition\nand circumstance, in health and sickness, in joy, in grief, in danger,\nin perplexity--over his food, his studies, his work, his amusements, he\nwas ever turning a look of peculiar sweetness on me, with the two words,\n\"Jack pray.\" He always smiled when so engaged, and a look of\ninexpressible eagerness, mingled with satisfaction and the triumph of\none who feels that he has taken a secure stand, told me when he was\npraying, without any change of position, or looking up. There was always\na mixture of anxiety in his aspect when he tried to make himself\nunderstood by his fellow-creatures; this gave place to something the\nreverse of anxiety when he was \"talking to God,\" as he sometimes\nexpressed it. He oftener looked down than up; and very often did I see\nhis eye fixed upon the \"baby boy,\" when, as his looks bespoke, and as he\nafterwards told me, he was \"tell God\" about him, and that he was too\nlittle to know about Jesus Christ yet. Many a prayer of that grateful\ndumb boy even now descends in blessings on the head of my brother's\n\"baby,\" and long may the hallowed stream continue to flow down, until\nthey rejoice together before the throne of the Lamb.\n\nOne of Jack's lovely thoughts was this: he told me that when little\nchildren began to walk, Jesus Christ held them by the hand to teach\nthem; and that if they fell, he put his hand between their heads and the\nground to prevent their being hurt. Then, as if he saw this proceeding,\nhe would look up, and with the fondest expression say, \"_Good_\nJesus Christ, Jack very much loves Jesus Christ.\" I hope you are not\ntired of Jack; I have much to tell about him. God made me the humble\nmeans of plucking this precious brand from the burning; and I owe it to\nthe Lord to show what a tenfold blessing I reaped in it. Jack was not\nthe only one of whom He has, in the dispensations of his providence,\nsaid to me, \"Nurse this child for me, and I will give thee thy wages.\" I\nhave found him a noble Paymaster.\n\nAnd now I come to a period of my life that I have scarcely courage to go\nover. Many and sharp and bitter were the trials left unrecorded here;\nand shame be to the hand that shall ever DARE to lift the veil that\ntender charity would cast over what was God's doing, let the instruments\nbe what and who they might. It is enough to say, that even now I know\nthere was not one superfluous stroke of the rod, nor one drop of bitter\nthat could have been spared from the wholesome cup. Besides, he dealt\nmost mercifully with me; those two rich blessings, health and\ncheerfulness, were never withdrawn. I had not a day's illness through\nyears of tribulation; and though my spirits would now and then fail, it\nwas but a momentary depression; light and buoyant, they soon danced on\nthe crest of the wave that had for an instant ingulfed them.\n\nIt is of joy I have to tell: safety, peace, prosperity, under the\nrestored sunshine that had made my early career so bright. Never did a\nsister more fondly love a brother; never was a brother more formed to be\nthe delight, the pride, the blessing of a sister. He was of most rare\nbeauty from the cradle, increasing in loveliness as he grew up, and\nbecoming the very model of a splendid man; very tall, large, commanding,\nwith a face of perfect beauty, glowing, animated, mirthful--a gait so\nessentially military, that it was once remarked by an officer, \"If B----\nwere disguised as a washerwoman, any soldier would give him the salute.\"\nHe had also served in the Peninsula with the highest possible credit,\nregarded by those in command as one of the best officers in the service,\nand most ardently loved by the men under him. Many a bloody battle-field\nhad he seen; but never did a wound reach him. On one occasion--at\nAlbuhera--his gallant regiment went into action 800 strong, and on the\nfollowing day only 96 men were able to draw rations. He became on the\nfield a lieutenant, from being the youngest ensign; and alike in all\ncircumstances he shone out as an honor to his profession. He had also\nbeen an especial favorite with John VI. of Portugal, and the high polish\nof a court was superadded to all the rest, without in the smallest\ndegree changing the exceedingly playful, unaffected joyousness of the\nmost sunshiny character I ever met with.\n\nTen years' absence had produced the effect on my sisterly love that\nBurns describes:\n\n  \"Time but th' impression stronger makes,\n  As streams their channels deeper wear.\"\n\nI had also many personal reasons for looking forward to his return with\npeculiar anxiety; and its uncertainty increased the feeling. I had been\nspending the day with a sick friend, and ran home at night to the\nlodging occupied by my mother and myself, and there I found my brother.\nWhat a dream those ten years' trials appeared!\n\nWe remained but a short time in Clifton, and soon bent our way towards\nthe metropolis, where he expected, as is usual, to dance a long and\nwearisome attendance on the Horse Guards, for a regimental appointment.\nHe had refused that of aid-de-camp to king John, with any military rank\nand title that he might desire; preferring a half-pay unattached company\nin the British, to any thing that a foreign service could offer; but he\nwas mistaken: his merits were well known to the Duke of York, and before\nhe could well state to Sir Herbert Taylor his wishes, that estimable man\ntold him he had only to select out of two or three regiments lately\nreturned from foreign service, and he would be gazetted on the following\nTuesday. He chose the 75th, and was immediately appointed to it, with\nleave to study for two years in the senior department of the Military\ncollege at Sandhurst, the better to qualify himself for a future staff\nsituation.\n\nA sweet cottage, standing isolated on the verge of Bagshot-heath,\nsheltered by tall trees and opening on a beautiful lawn, with a distant\nbut full view of the college, became our abode. A delightful room was\nselected for me, with an injunction to sit down and make the most of my\ntime while he was in the halls of study, that I might be at leisure to\nwalk, to ride, to garden, to farm with him--my brother--my restored\nbrother, whose eye beamed protection, and whose smile diffused gladness,\nand whose society was what in our happy childhood it had ever been, just\ninstead of all the world to me. If one thing was wanting, and wanting it\nwas, to knit us in a tie more enduring than any of this world's bonds\ncould possibly be, that very sense of want furnished a stimulus to more\nimportunate prayer on his behalf. Some of the good people who for lack\nof a relay of ideas borrow one of their neighbors and ride it to death,\ntreated me to a leaf from the book of Job's comforters, when the\ncalamity fell on me of that precious brother's death, by telling me I\nhad made an idol of him. It was equally false and foolish. An idol is\nsomething that either usurps God's place, or withdraws our thoughts and\ndevotions from him. The very reverse of this was my case. I had an\nadditional motive for continually seeking the Lord, not only in prayer\nfor the enlightening influences of the Holy Spirit on behalf of one so\ndear, but also for grace to walk most circumspectly myself, lest I\nshould cast any stumbling-block in his way, or give him occasion to\nsuspect that my religious profession was a name, and not a reality. That\nwas surely a profitable idol which kept me always prayerful before God,\nwatchful over myself, diligent in the discharge of duties, and in\ncontinual thanksgiving for the mercies I had received. Do I repent\nloving my brother so well? I wish it had been possible to love him\nbetter. These warm affections of the heart are among the sweetest relics\nof a lost Eden, and I would sooner tear up the flowers that God has left\nto smile in our daily path through a sin-blighted wilderness, far sooner\nthan I would cease to cherish, to foster, to delight in the brighter,\nsweeter flowers of domestic love, carried to the full extent of all its\nendearing capabilities.\n\nThe Lord knoweth our frame; he deals with us not according to what we\nare not, but according to what we are. He sets before us various duties,\nand to the end that we may the better fulfil them, he gives us aids not\ncontrary to, but accordant with our natural feelings. Men set up a\nstandard, often a just and scriptural one, to which they sorrowfully\nconfess that because of the weakness of their nature they cannot\nthemselves attain; but according to which they sternly judge their\nneighbors. A person has a path assigned to him, a steep ascent strewed\nwith thorns and crowded with obstacles, before which he often pauses and\nwaxes faint. God gives him a companion for his way, even as he sent\nforth the disciples two and two, and the pilgrim is cheered. He quickens\nhis pace; another besides himself will be benefited by his progress, and\nif he fails, another will suffer in his loss. So he goes on thankful,\nrejoicing, and endued with double energy for the toilsome achievement.\nBut he sees a neighbor to whom the Lord has also granted help through\nhuman means, perhaps not exactly similar to that which he has received;\nhe sees his neighbor likewise openly rejoicing in the possession of such\na staff; and bringing him to the tests of that perfect law which\nrequires an entire devotedness to and dependence on the Lord, he raises\na cry of \"mixed motives,\" \"the arm of flesh,\" \"idolatry,\" and so forth.\nNo doubt he is so far right, that perverse humanity will ever abuse\nGod's gifts, and often make them occasions of sin; but this outcry of\nthe beam against the mote, which is so grievously prevalent in the\nreligious world, is very unseemly. Oh, how infinitely more tender is the\nLord to us than we to one another.\n\nHitherto, many impediments had been thrown in the way of my literary\nlabors. Anxiety, apprehension, and the restlessness of feeling resulting\nfrom a continual change of abode, had broken the train of thought, and\nrendered my work very uncertain. Indeed, it would often have been wholly\ninadequate to my support, but for the watchful kindness of friends whom\nthe Lord raised up to me, foremost among whom always stood the estimable\nMr. Sandford, who never ceased to regard me with paternal affection and\ncare. To he wholly independent was the first earthly wish of my heart;\nand now a fair opportunity was given of testing my willingness to labor\ndiligently. The result was so far, satisfactory, that in the course of\nthe two years and two months of my residence under my brother's roof, I\nwrote the Rockite, the System, Izram, Consistency, Perseverance, Allen\nMcLeod, Zadoc, and upwards of thirty little books and tracts, besides\ncontributions to various periodicals. I was going on most prosperously,\nwhen an attempt was suddenly made from another quarter to establish a\nclaim to the profits of my pen. The demand was probably legal, according\nto the strict letter of existing statutes, though circumstances would\nhave weighed strongly in my favor. But it greatly reduced the value of\nmy copyrights for the time being, and I found myself checked in my\ncareer at a juncture when it was especially my desire to go on steadily.\nThis brought upon me two temptations, the force of which was greatly\nincreased by the circumstances under which they found me.\n\n\n\n\nLETTER X.\n\nSANDHURST.\n\n\nWhen I first began to write, it was with a simple desire to instruct the\npoor in the blessed truths of the gospel. My own situation soon rendered\nit needful to turn the little talent I possessed to account. This I did,\nstill keeping in view the grand object of promoting God's glory; and my\nattempts having been well received, I found a ready market for whatever\nI wrote, so that the name was considered a sufficient guarantee for the\nbook. Now, I could no longer safely use that name, and anonymous writing\nbecame the only feasible plan. A friend, who did not look upon the main\nsubject in the light that I did, made, through my brother, a proposal\nthat I should become a contributor to the most popular magazine of the\nday, supplying tales, etc., the purport of which was to be as moral as I\npleased, but with no direct mention of religion. The terms offered were\nvery high: the strict _incognito_ to be preserved would secure me\nfrom any charge of inconsistency, and coming as it did when my regular\nsource of income was suddenly closed, and when the idea of being\nburdensome to my generous brother with his increasing family was hardly\nsupportable, it was thought I could not demur.\n\nNevertheless, I did; the Lord in his gracious providence had said to me,\n\"Go work to-day In my vineyard,\" and I had for upwards of four years\nenjoyed that blessed privilege. It was now withdrawn, certainly not\nwithout his permission; and how did I know that it was not to try my\nfaith? The idea of hiring myself out to another master--to engage in the\nservice of that world the friendship of which is enmity with God--to\ncause the Holy One of Israel to cease from before those whom by the pen\nI addressed--to refrain from setting forth Jesus Christ and him\ncrucified to a perishing world, and give the reins to an imagination\never prone to wander after folly and romance, but now subdued to a\nbetter rule--all this was so contrary to my views of Christian\nprinciple, that, after much earnest prayer to God, I decided rather to\nwork gratuitously in the good cause, trusting to Him who knew all my\nnecessity, than to entangle myself with things on which I could not ask\na blessing. The conflict was indeed severe; no one attempted to oppose\nmy resolve; but as yet no one could at all understand its real ground;\nand it was a very trying position in which I stood, thus seemingly\nspurning an honorable means of independence and leaving myself\ndestitute. But the trial was short: my first friends, the Christian\n\"Dublin Tract Society,\" exercising that faith which has distinguished\nall their acts, determined to brave the consequences, and still publish\nmy little books. This, though, the profit was not then very good, I\nhailed as a gracious intimation of the Lord's purpose still to continue\nme in his service; and I was the more strengthened to meet the second\ntrial, which coming at a time when the sum proffered would he doubly\nacceptable, and the refusal involving the loss of a very old and kind\nfriend, was rather a sharp one; more especially as the offence given\nwould and did alienate him from others who had no share in the\nproceeding, and whose interests were far dearer to me than my own.\n\nMany years before, that friend had published a novel: not a flimsy love-\nstory, but of a class above the common run. I had, as a girl, been very\nfond of it, and often delighted the amiable author by expressing an\nadmiration that was not general; for the work had failed, and was\nunsold. Now, finding I had been myself successful with the pen, and\nfull, even, in old age, of natural love for his literary offspring, he\nhad formed a plan, in which he never dreamed of encountering opposition.\nHe wished me to rewrite it, to cast the characters anew, enliven the\nstyle, add variety to the incidents, and, in short, make a new work out\nof his materials. Still it was to be a novel; and as it had been\noriginally published in his name, it was to be so now. My share in the\nwork would never be known; and as he was abundantly wealthy, and equally\ngenerous, a _carte blanche_ as to terms was before me.\n\nOn the former occasion I had paused, and thought much: on this I did\nnot. The path was plain before me, but dreadfully painful to pursue. A\nhundred pounds just then would have been more to me than a thousand at\nanother time; and private feeling was most distressingly involved, both\nas regarded myself and others. It was in an agony of prayer, and after\nmany bitter tears, that I brought myself to do what, nevertheless, I had\nnot a wish to leave undone. I wrote a faithful letter to the friend in\nquestion, most unequivocally stating the ground of my refusal--the\nresponsibility under which I conceived we all lay before God for the\napplication of talents committed by him; the evils of novel-reading;\nand, as far as I could, I declared the whole gospel of Christ to one\nwhom I had no reason to consider as taking any thought whatever for his\nsoul. I heard no more from him to the day of his death, which took place\nten years after. I had reason to believe that his intentions towards me\nwere very liberal in the final distribution of his property; for he had\nknown and loved me from my cradle, and he had no family; but my\nconscience bore a happy testimony in the matter; and I am fully\npersuaded that the whole was a snare of Satan to betray me into an\nacceptance of unhallowed gains, by catering to the worldly tastes of\nthose who forget God. No doubt, the business would have been a\nprofitable one, and the inducement to persevere made strong in\nproportion as I sacrificed principle to lucre. \"All these things will I\ngive thee, if thou wilt fall down and worship me.\" I should neither do\njustice to the Lord's rich goodness nor to the honored instrument of his\nbounty if I omitted to add, that, shortly after, my munificent friend\nMr. Sandford sent me a gift that left me no loser by having done my\nduty.\n\nWhile on the subject of my books, I will record an incident that\noccurred about the same time, and on which I always look with feelings\nof indescribable delight. I did not know it until, some years\nafterwards, the story was related to me by the principal actor in it--\nthe abetter of my heretical pravity. Little did I dream, when writing my\nhumble penny books, that they would be advanced to the high honor of a\nplace in the Papal Index Expurgatorius.\n\nThe lady in question took to the continent a sweet, only daughter: a\nlovely little girl of ten years old, the joy of her widowed bosom, who\nwas fast sinking in decline. I was exceedingly fond of that child, who\nreturned my affection from the depths of an Irish heart; and who, out of\nlove for its author, selected one of my small penny books to translate\ninto Italian during her last stage of suffering. She did not live to\ncomplete it; but with her dying breath requested her mother to do so, in\nthe earnest hope of its being made useful to the ignorant people around\nthem. Bessie was a lamb of the Lord's fold; and to lead other children\ninto the same blessed shelter was her heart's desire. As soon as the\nbereaved mother could make any exertion, she betook herself to the task\nassigned by her departed darling, and found such satisfaction in it that\nshe extended her labors, and translated several more. Being a lady of\nrank and affluence, she was enabled to carry it on to publication, and\nto insure the circulation of the little books among many. One of them,\n\"The Simple Flower,\" a sixpenny book, thus translated, fell into the\nhands of an Italian physician, a man of highly cultivated mind;\nnominally a Romanist; and like all thinking Romanists, in reality an\ninfidel. The book contains not a word on controversy; not an allusion to\nPopery--it is plain gospel truth, conveyed in a very simple narrative.\nGod blessed it to this gentleman, and he became a Christian. The\ncircumstance excited much remark: curiosity led many to read that and\nothers of the series, and a great number were circulated in the\nneighboring districts. This was actually within the papal states, under\nthe jurisdiction of the archbishop of Sienna, to whose knowledge came\nthe astounding fact that pennyworths of heresy were circulated within\nthe range of his pastoral charge: the matter was reported at head-\nquarters, taken up with due seriousness, and a Sunday appointed, on\nwhich, no doubt, I was quietly worshipping in the college chapel at\nSandhurst, wholly unconscious that my name was then being proclaimed at\na hundred Italian altars, with a denunciation against all who should\nread, circulate, or possess any book, tract, or treatise penned by me.\nOne instance was particularized: a poor priest had himself given numbers\nof these translations to his flock; and after mass, he stood before them\ndeeply moved, telling them he had a painful duty to perform. That he had\nreceived from the highest authority a command to proclaim what he held\nin his hand, and which he proceeded to read to them--a copy of the\nfulmination above-mentioned. Having done so he folded the paper, and\nresumed, saying he had given and recommended the little books to them,\nbecause he had read them himself and found nothing but what was good in\nthem: however, the church, which they were all bound to obey, judged\notherwise; \"and now.\" he added, \"you must bring them back to me, or burn\nthem, or in some other way destroy them wholly: nevertheless, I declare\nin the sight of God I found no evil in those dear little books, but the\ncontrary--they are full of good.\" He burst into tears, and many wept\nwith him; and not a few of the proscribed productions were wrapped up\nand buried in the earth, or otherwise put away till the search should be\nover. Who knows but that very priest was led to the Bible and to Christ\nthrough such humble means? I would not exchange for the value of the ten\nkingdoms ten times trebled, the joy that I feel in this high honor put\nupon me--this rich blessing of being under the papal curse. * * *\n\nWith what fondness does memory linger over those delightful days of\nsojourn under the sheltering roof of my brother, so soon, to be for ever\nparted in this world. Another boy had been added to our happy little\ncircle, and Jack's warm heart seemed to receive an accession of love,\nthat he might have it to bestow on the \"beautiful baby small,\" which\nclaimed so much of his thoughts and prayers. Indeed, his thoughts were\nalways prayers, for God was in all. He made but little progress in\nlanguage, having a great dislike to learning beyond what was needful for\ncommunicating his thoughts to me, and as he was then obliged to be more\nwith servants than I liked, I was not anxious to extend his facilities\nof communicating with them; nor did he at all desire their society. He\nhad a little room of his own, to his great delight, over the coach-\nhouse; and when not employed in his work, or talking with me, he was\nmost happy with the pencil. He gave a strong and beautiful proof of the\ndread with which God inspired him as to ensnaring company; and I cannot\npass it over.\n\nMy brother declared his intention of keeping a horse, and of course a\ngroom. Jack came to me with an earnest entreaty that he might be the\ngroom, saying he could do it so well. The reason he gave to me,\nconfidentially, was, that men were very wicked; that the man-servant\nwould often shake hands with the devil--his usual mode of expressing\nwilful sin--and that if Jack shook hands with him, he would some day\ndraw his hand till he got it into the devil's; meaning, that an evil\ncompanion would by degrees induce him to become evil too. He also said,\nCaptain B---- was very kind to Mam, and that a servant would cost him\nmoney, and eat a great deal; but Jack would take no money, and only eat\n\"small potato, small meat,\" because he loved Captain B----. When I\ncommunicated the request to my brother he laughed, saying such a boy\ncould never groom a horse; but Jack had been privately to a kind friend\nof his, a retired non-commissioned officer of cavalry, who had the care\nof some horses, and got him to give him instruction, succeeding so well\nin his attempt that the serjeant told my brother he really thought him\ncompetent to the office. He consented to try; and having purchased his\nhorse, tied him up at the stable-door for Jack to commence operations,\nwhile we all assembled to see him. I was apprehensive of a total\nfailure, but he did it admirably, and my brother declared he only wanted\na few inches in height to be one of the best grooms in the kingdom.\nJack's exultation was very great. When we were alone, he went up to the\nhorse, kissed it, and after telling me how pleased he saw his master\nlook, he added, \"No man; all one Jack. Devil cry--go, devil!\" and\nsnapped his fingers at the invisible enemy.\n\nHis greatest security next to his love of God was his constant fear of\nSatan. Yet it was rather a fear of himself, lest he should yield to his\ntemptations, for he was perfectly aware Satan would not force him to do\nany thing. Hence his extreme caution as to what associates he had, and a\nreserve with those whom he did not know to be Christians, which was\nsometimes mistaken for pride. He invariably asked me, of every person\nwho came to the house, whether that person loved Jesus Christ; and if I\ncould not give a positive answer in the affirmative, he stood aloof,\nalways most courteous, but perfectly cold, and even dignified in\nrepelling any advance to sociability beyond common politeness. He did\nnot know the meaning of a single bad word, and God kept him so that the\nwicked one touched him not. I used every means, of course, to this end.\nI watched him most narrowly, and always interposed if he was required to\ndo any thing, or to go to any place, in which I apprehended danger. My\nvigilance extorted smiles from those who considered it must all be in\nvain when he grew a little older; but no obstacle was placed in my way;\nand I bless God I never relaxed that care, nor did the boy ever depart\nfrom his holy caution; and he died at the age of nineteen, a very tall\nand fine-looking young man, with the mind of a little babe as regards\nthe evil that is in the world. Oh that parents knew the importance of\nthus watching over their boys.\n\nSoon after the first horse was established in his stall, my brother\npurchased a second for my riding, saying he should now, of course, get\nan assistant in the stable; but Jack burst into tears, and himself\npleaded with him for leave to do all. My brother greatly delighted in\nhis broken language, and caught exactly his phraseology, so that they\nconversed together as well as with me; and he told me he could not stand\nJack's entreaties. \"He is a fine little fellow,\" said he, \"and if you\nwill watch and see that he is not overexerting himself, he may try for a\nwhile: he will soon be tired.\" But far from it; Jack was proud of his\ntwo horses; and none in the place were better kept. When a cow was\nadded, a young person came to milk her; but Jack was outrageous, talked\nof his mother's \"Kilkenny cows,\" and \"cow's baby,\" and expressed such\nsovereign contempt for the stranger's performance, and such downright\nhostility against the intruder, that we had no peace till he got the cow\nalso under his especial care. Often afterwards did he talk of that time,\nsaying he was \"well Jack,\" when he had two horses and a cow, and almost\ncrying over his loss. He grew rapidly, and the doctors told me that such\na life would have kept him strong to any age.\n\nOne day he came and asked me to let him have a large hoop, to make him\ngo faster on messages. I thought it childish, and did not regard it; so\nhe went to my brother with the same request, who inquired his reason.\nJack told him the stage-coaches that passed our gate went very fast,\nbecause the four horses had four large hoops, meaning the wheels, and if\nhe had a large hoop he could go as fast as the horses. Diverted beyond\nmeasure at such an original idea, my brother sent to Reading for the\nlargest and best hoop that could be got; and many a laugh we had at\nseeing Jack racing beside the London coaches with his wheel, nodding\ndefiance at the horses, and shouting aloud with glee. He often went six\nmiles with his wheel, to bear messages and notes to our valued and much-\nloved friend General Orde, whom he idolized almost, and who looked on\nhim as one of the most lovely instances of divine grace he had ever met\nwith. On the first formation of the British Reformation Society, General\nOrde wrote to me, with a prospectus of the intended work. I told it to\nJack, who in rapturous delight gave me his whole worldly fortune of two\nshillings, bidding me give it to put it in their pockets, and to bid\ngood General Orde tell gentlemen to send much Bibles to Kilkenny, that\nhis father and mother and all the poor people might learn to break the\ncrucifixes, and love Jesus Christ. I wrote this to the general, who sent\nto me for the identical two shillings, which Mr. Noel produced on the\nplatform, with the dumb boy's message, and I believe it drew many a\npiece of gold from the purses of those who saw the gift, which stands\nenrolled the very first in the accounts of that noble society's\nreceipts. Jack often prayed for the Reformation Society, and I believe\nhis blessing helped them not a little; there was so much faith in all\nthat he did, such as God alone could give, and he never seemed to\nentertain a doubt of obtaining what he asked. Many a sweet instance of\nhis childlike confidence in the Lord is engraven on my memory, at once\nto stimulate and to shame me. His whole experience seemed to be an\nillustration of the word of promise, \"Ask, and ye shall receive.\"\n\nOne of the things that struck me as being referable to nothing but the\nteaching of the Holy Spirit, was the interest manifested by this boy for\nthe Jews. His active Protestantism was easily accounted for; but to give\nhim an idea of Judaism would have been impossible. He could not read.\nHis knowledge of language did not go far enough to enable him to\nunderstand the construction of a sentence; and though he spelled\ncorrectly, and wrote readily whatever he wished to say, and his mode of\nexpression was generally quite intelligible to others, he did not\ncomprehend what was spoken or written in the ordinary way. Accustomed to\nattach a distinct meaning to every word, and acquainted with very few\nbesides nouns and a few verbs, which he only used in the present tense,\nindependent of the pronouns, and without reference to number, he was\nquite lost among the other parts of speech. For instance, if I had\nwanted to say, \"You must go to the village and buy me a small loaf of\nbread,\" I should have expressed it thus: \"Jack, go village, money, bread\nsmall, one.\" Grammatically expressed, the order would have been\nunintelligible to him: but few would have misunderstood it in the\nuncouth phrase last instanced. He would have gone to the shop, and\nwriting down, \"Bread small, one,\" would have held out the money, and\nmade a sign to express what size he wanted. It was this very fact of the\nimpossibility of conveying to his mind any clear notion of things\ninvisible and spiritual, that so gloriously manifested the power and\ngoodness of God in causing the light to shine into his heart. To a\nreader who never witnessed the attempts of an intelligent, half-taught\ndeaf mute to express his meaning and to catch that of others, much of\nwhat I state respecting Jack may and must appear, if not incredible, at\nleast unintelligible; yet none who ever saw and conversed with him would\nfail to substantiate it, and they were very many. That zealous\nmissionary, Dr. Wolff, visited my brother's cottage when he and I were\nboth absent, and no one could assist Jack in conversing with him; yet so\ngreat was his delight, that he wanted to take him to Palestine, to\ninstruct the deaf and dumb in the doctrine of Christ. The Rev. H. H.\nBeamish is another who cannot, without emotion, recall his intercourse\nwith that dying Christian. General Orde, who saw him very frequently,\nregarded him as a wonder of divine grace; and the Rev. W. Hancock, his\nbeloved pastor, who for four years observed him closely, often said he\nderived greater encouragement from the experience and the prayers of\nthat poor boy, than from almost any other earthly source. Unbelievers\nwill doubt; but those who know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ will\nadore.\n\nStill it will be evident that Jack could not read the Bible. He took\ngreat delight in copying it out, dwelling on such words as he knew; but\nI have seen him turn over two leaves and go on wholly unconscious, of\nany mistake: and I have found among his papers whole pages, composed of\nhalf sentences and single epithets from Scripture, put together in\nunbroken paragraphs, without any meaning. With all this, he was ardently\nattached to the Jewish cause, and always told me \"Jesus Christ love poor\nJew; Jew soon love Jesus Christ.\" When speaking of them, he would look\nvery tender and sorrowful, moving his head slowly from side to side, and\nhis hand as if stroking some object in a caressing way. At such times it\nwas curious to mark the effect of naming a \"priest Roman\" to him. In a\nmoment his aspect changed to something ludicrously repulsive: he stuck\nhis hands in his sides, puffed out his cheeks to their full extent,\nscowled till his brows overhung his eyelids, and generally finished by\nappearing to seize a goblet and drain off the contents to the last drop,\ninflating his body, stroking it, smacking his lips, and strutting about.\nThis he did, not as imputing drunkenness to the priesthood, but their\ndenying the cup to the laity, and swallowing the contents themselves.\nThough his acting was laughably comic, his feeling was that of serious\nand severe indignation; and he would reprove us for the laughter it was\nutterly impossible to restrain, saying, with triumphant confidence, \"God\nsee.\" * * *\n\n\n\n\nLETTER XI.\n\nSEPARATION.\n\n\nThe two shortest years of my life were now drawing to a close. My\nbrother had completed his studies, passed his examination, and was under\norders to join his regiment in Ireland. Oh how my heart rose in prayer,\nthat where I had found a spiritual blessing he also might receive it. I\ncould not understand the state of his mind on the most vital of all\npoints: he had imbibed a prejudice so strong against the class of people\ncalled evangelical, that nothing but his generous affection for us would\nhave induced him to receive under his roof two of that proscribed body,\nto say nothing of Jack. He confessed to me, laughing, not long after we\nbecame his inmates, that he supposed we should be falling on our knees\nhalf a dozen times a day, singing psalms all over the house, and setting\nour faces against every thing merry or cheerful. He had never been\nacquainted with any serious person before going to Portugal, nor during\nhis short leaves of absence at home: none of that class ever crossed his\npath abroad, and he came home prepared to believe any thing that was\ntold him of the supposed fanatics, whom he understood to be a sort of\nranting dissenters. At Clifton, extremes then ran far; the gay people\nmost violently denouncing their sober neighbors, and making up all sorts\nof scandal concerning them. Hannah More was pointed out as \"queen of the\nMethodists,\" and a most infamous lie, wholly destructive of her moral\ncharacter, circulated among a narrow but dissipated clique as a known\nfact; while the small fry of fanatics were disposed of by dozens in a\nsimilar way. The faithful clergyman, whose ministry we attended, was\nabsolutely persecuted; and his congregation could expect no better at\nthe same hands. I am very far from charging this upon the generality of\neven worldly people there; but it did exist, visibly and sensibly; and\nmy dear brother evidently had fallen in with some of these wholesale\ncalumniators, before he could possibly judge for himself. A visit to\nBarley Wood, and a very prolonged interview with the \"queen,\" greatly\nstaggered his prejudices; he was perfectly charmed with her, and\nremarked to me that if all her subjects were like her, they must be a\nvery agreeable set of people. Still he apprehended an outbreak of\nextravagance when we should be fairly installed in his abode; and though\nhe soon became undeceived, and learned to take the greatest delight in\nthe society of General Orde, Mr. Sandford, and others equally decided;\nthough he punctually attended the faithful ministry of Mr. Hancock at\nthe college chapel, besides his regular appearance at the usual military\nservice, and would not allow one disparaging word to be uttered in his\npresence of that zealous preacher or his deeply spiritual discourses;\nthough he chose from among his brother officers a bold, uncompromising\nChristian as his most intimate associate, and gave many unconscious\nindications that he had received the doctrine of man's total corruption,\nand the nothingness of his best works; though he became the warm\nadvocate of a scriptural education for the youthful poor, whom he had\nalways before considered most safe and happy in total ignorance--still,\nwith all this, I could not see even in his beautiful devout bearing in\npublic worship where the reverse so sadly prevailed, and where every\nthing approaching to seriousness became a matter of suspicion, that he\nwas really seeking God. In fact, I had been too much in the trammels of\na system which lays down arbitrary rules, and will not admit that God is\nworking unless his hand be immediately and openly apparent to all. I\nwould not believe that what looked green and beautiful was a blade of\ncorn, just because it had not yet grown to an ear: and I refrained from\nspeaking when perhaps speech on such subjects would have been more\nwelcome than he wished to acknowledge, lest the remarks that I longed to\nutter might prove unpalatable, and produce the contrary effect to what I\ndesired. He was only going for a little while: an appointment on the\nhome-staff was promised, and then I was to live with him again, and I\nwould zealously pursue the work. Alas, what a rod was prepared for my\nunbelief and presumption! The present was slighted, in the confident\nexpectation of a future that was never to arrive.\n\nWe were almost always together out of his college hours. My window\ncommanded a view of the distant building, and when I saw the preparatory\nmovement to breaking up, I rose from my desk, tied on my bonnet, and ran\noff in sufficient time to meet him very near the college. Both let loose\nfrom six hours' hard work, we were like children out of school, often\nracing and laughing with all the buoyancy of our natural high spirits.\nThe garden, the poultry-yard, and all the little minutiae of our nice\nfarming establishment, fully occupied the afternoon, while the children\ngambolled round, and Jack looked on with smiles, often telling me how\nmuch he loved \"beautiful Captain B----,\" as he constantly called him. At\nten o'clock we parted for the night, I to resume the pen till long after\nmidnight; he to rest, whence he always rose at four o'clock, devoting\nfour or five hours to study before we met in the morning. We visited\nvery little, domestic retirement being the free choice of every one of\nus; and nothing could have induced my brother to banish his children\nfrom the parlor or drawing-room. Few things excited his indignation more\nthan the nursery system: his little ones were the pride of his heart,\nthe delight of his eyes, the objects of his fondest care. He often said\nhe intended his boys to be gentlemen, and therefore would not allow them\nto imbibe the tastes and habits of the kitchen. The consequence is that\nhis boys are gentlemen.\n\nThus dwelling in love, united in every plan and pursuit, our time fairly\ndivided between diligent work and healthful recreation amid the delights\nof rural life, do you marvel that I call this period my two shortest\nyears? Had no previous circumstances given tenfold brilliancy to these\nlights by casting a depth of black shadow behind them, or no menacing\nfuture hung over the present enjoyment, still there was enough to make\nit indeed an oasis; but it was more. I cannot doubt that the Lord\nmercifully gave me a foreboding of what was to come, in the intolerable\nanguish of what seemed to be but a very short parting, with a delightful\nprospect of renewed domestic comfort just beyond. Yet so it was: I\nalmost died under the trial of that farewell; and for three weeks\nbefore, and as long after, I never had a night's rest. Visions of terror\nwere constantly before me, among which a scene of drowning was so\nperpetually recurring that I have often started from my bed under the\nvivid impression. This was the more strange because we had always been\nso fearlessly fond of the water: in our early days we had a little boat,\njust big enough for him to row and me to steer, in which we used to take\nexcursions on the river Wensum, and never thought of danger. At\nSandhurst too we were frequently upon the lake, and had both become\nfamiliarized with ocean, until of all perils those of the water were\nleast likely to daunt me, either for myself or him: yet in most imminent\nperil we had once been placed; and at this time it would recur to my\nmemory with tormenting frequency.\n\nI was about seven years old, and he though younger was much the larger\nof the two, a stout hearty boy, and I a very frail delicate little\ncreature, thanks to the doctors and their pet drug. Our parents went out\nfor a day's excursion with a friend, and of course we accompanied them.\nThe place was one celebrated for good fishing, and the gentlemen having\nenjoyed a long morning's sport, remained in the house with my mother,\nsending us out to play. We had strict charge not to go too near the\nwater, nor on any account to get into a boat, of which there were\nseveral on the river. We strolled about, and at last came to the brink\nof this river, to admire a barge or wherry which lay close to the little\npier; for it was a public ferry, and the depth very great. A small boat\njust by attracted my brother's attention, who wished to get into it,\nuntil I reminded him of the prohibition, when he said, \"I wont get into\nit, Char., but I will sit down here and put my two feet in the little\nboat.\" He did so: the boat moved, and in his alarm trying to rise, he\nfell and disappeared.\n\nI perfectly remember the scene; I have also heard it described many a\ntime by others, but I cannot understand how it was that I, stooping from\nthe shore, with nothing to hold on by way of support, seized the little\nfellow by the collar as he rose, and firmly held him in my grasp. He did\nnot struggle, but looked up in my face, and I down in his, and as I felt\nmy puny strength rapidly failing, the resolution was firm on my mind to\nbe drawn in and perish with him. There was not a question about it; I\ncan recall the very thought, as though it was of yesterday, and I am\npositively certain that I should have tightened my hold in proportion as\nthe case became more desperate. It pleased God that, just then, some men\nreturning from work descried the figure of a little child stooping in a\nmost dangerous position over the deep water: they ran up, and while one\nheld me the other rescued the boy. My grasp was not unloosed until they\nhad him safe on shore: he was then insensible, and I lost every\nrecollection until I found myself still in the arms of the man who had\ncarried me in, while my mother and the rest were stripping the rescued\nboy and chafing his limbs before a fire. It was much talked of, and many\na caress I got for what they considered heroism beyond my years; but\nwhat heroism is like love? \"Many waters cannot quench love, neither can\nthe floods drown it; if a man would give all the substance of his house\nfor love, it would utterly be contemned.\"\n\nWhen my brother departed for Ireland, we left that sweet cottage and\nwent to reside in the village, in one better suited to the size of our\ndiminished family party. I had several young friends among the cadets,\nin whom I took a warm interest, and whose occasional visits I endeavored\nto make as profitable to them as might be. It is a sad thing to see a\nboy, perhaps most carefully brought up by tender, and even Christian\nparents, watched and kept as far as possible from all evil\ncommunication, then thrown at once into a large public institution, and\nexposed to every danger that can assail the youthful mind. A little\ninsight into human nature must show any candid person the extent of\nmischief to be expected. Rarely do we find a case of conversion, with\nestablishment in grace, very early in life; and where it exists as\nremarkably as in Jack, we may learn from his excessive dread of exposure\nto temptation how vigilantly the young plant should be guarded. Let us\njust suppose, what is indeed no sketch of imagination, but a slight\nsketch of acknowledged reality--let us suppose a boy at the age when\nthey are eligible for those places, acquainted with the truth,\naccustomed to Christian instruction, taught to look into the word of God\nfor daily direction, and to seek in prayer the daily supply of needful\ngrace: consider him as having remained under the eye of Christian\nparents, or a schoolmaster who regards those committed to his care as\nimmortal beings, for whose well-doing while under his charge he is\nresponsible to God, and who therefore counsels them well, and banishes\nto the utmost of his power, vice and profaneness from among them;\naffording them the usual domestic means of grace, and seeing that they\nare not neglected:--thus prepared, the lad enters upon a new scene,\nwhere he finds himself surrounded by a large number of youthful\ncompanions, all busy in qualifying themselves for a future career, we\nwill say in the service of their country. The first thing done is to try\nthe mettle of the new comer by putting upon him some insult, which if he\nresents and offers to fight his way, he may be looked on with some\nrespect; but if he appear timid, or reluctant to retaliate, he may be\nassured of becoming the object of a most harassing persecution for the\namusement of the thoughtless and the gratification of the cruel. In\neither case, he passes an ordeal of great severity, particularly during\nthe night, when nothing is deemed too rough or alarming for the poor\nstranger to encounter. I appeal to those who have passed it, whether\nthis is not enough to turn the brain of a weak-minded youth, or to\ninjure severely the body of a delicate one: I have myself known an\ninstance, in a great public seminary, wherein derangement and death\nfollowed.\n\nSupposing this well got over, the lad then finds that if there be any\namong his new comrades disposed to keep up the practice of reading the\nScriptures and praying, they must do it as secretly as they would commit\na murder, and find it more difficult to accomplish than any crime that\ncould be named. There always will be a large proportion of ruffianly\ncharacters among many boys; some naturally so, others made so by\nexample. These have the ascendency of course, and they will use it to\ncheck and to stifle whatever might shine in contrast to themselves;\nwhile, what with those unstable characters who always row with the\nstream, and prudent ones who will not provoke hostility, and timid ones\nwho dare not, they meet with little if any opposition, but rule the\nwhole mass for evil. The youth, we will believe, sincerely desires to\npreserve his integrity; but what can he do? Man in his best estate is a\nfrail, inconsistent being, liable to be blown about by every breath of\ntemptation, even when unfettered, and in full possession of all gospel\nprivileges; and what are we to expect from a boy who has never yet been\nleft to himself, or deprived of countenance and support? He sees none\nwatching over him, he hears no kind admonitory voice inviting him to\nseek the way of peace and purity. His nature is corrupt, his heart is\ndeceitful, his soul cleaves to the dust, and he finds that by following\nthe bent of this perverse nature, by gratifying its lowest propensities,\nand revelling in unhallowed things, he shall best purchase the good-\nfellowship of those who have it in their power to make his life\nmiserable if he thwarts their will. His conscience loudly protests, and\ncalls on him to pray; but if he would do so, where is he to retire for\nthat purpose? Alone he cannot be; he has no separate apartment, and let\nthose who have tried it say what would be the consequence of his\nkneeling down publicly to worship God. He may do it silently and\nundiscovered in his bed; yes, if he can lift up his heart, and realize\nthe presence of the God of heaven, while the language of hell resounds\non every side. Even so, he has an enemy within, striving against the\nright principle, and responding to all that his better feeling\nrepudiates. Then, too, wherewithal shall the young man cleanse his way,\nif not by ruling himself according to the word of God? And how is he to\nstudy that word? Does the parent who puts a Bible in his boy's\nportmanteau know that the most blasphemous tissue of ribaldry and all\nabomination, would be a more suitable gift, if it is intended that he\nshould exhibit it? These are awful questions, to be well considered by\nthose who are wavering as to the destination of a youth; and they apply\nvery widely throughout the land.\n\nWe all know the case of him whose heart has been swept and garnished;\nand how much the last state is worse than the first, when Satan re\u00ebnters\nwith his seven new companions. The very checks of conscience render the\nfretted mind more restive; and the longer restrained, the more headlong\nis the wild gallop into which the chafed spirit at last breaks. He who\ntrembled at a profane word, becomes an accomplished swearer; he whose\nmodesty was most retiring is foremost to glory in early depravity; he\nwhose hand was ever ready to relieve the poor, while his heart\nsympathized in their sorrows, becomes the wanton spoiler and marauder\nfor the sake of a bold vaunt; he who shrunk from the approach of\nprofligate misleaders, now volunteers to harden new comers in the ways\nof sin. The youth who with noiseless step trod the courts of the Lord's\nhouse, and bent with lowly reverence in prayer, and listened with fixed\nattention to the teacher's voice, now delights in shaming others out of\nthe semblance of devotion, and feigns, if he does not fall into it, the\nprofound sleep of a wholly uninterested actor in the tedious show of\npublic worship. Perchance some friend whose proximity to the place\nadmits of it may stretch out a helping hand, or lift an admonitory\nvoice, or proffer a little encouragement to strengthen the things that\nremain, and which are ready to die: if so, both the helper and the\nhelped will be marked out for ridicule and reviling, if for nothing\nworse.\n\nHonorable men, after this world's course, who are themselves wholly in\nthe dark, verily believing that religion would turn a youth's brain and\nunfit him for the active business of life, will feel it a part of their\nduty to oppose every possible obstacle to such attempts at reclaiming\nthe young wanderers under their charge. I knew, and knew right well, an\ninstance wherein a lady who strove to do good to the souls of some young\nlads whose parents she knew to be praying people, had a sort of ban put\nupon her, by the publication of an express order that they should not be\nagain permitted to visit her; and when a nobleman who well knew that she\nhad not done any thing to merit such public condemnation, asked the\nprincipal of the institution the reason for so harsh a proceeding, he\nreceived this answer: \"My lord, I was sorry to do it; I felt it a\npainful duty, but an imperative one. The fact is, she got hold of some\nof the most promising lads under my care, and so infected them with her\nown gloomy notions that, I give you my word, they were seen walking\nalone, with Bibles in their hands.\" So much wiser are the children of\nthis world in guarding those committed to them from the entrance of\nspiritual good, than are the children of light in protecting their\ndearest treasures from the contamination of most deadly evil.\n\nBut to return to my cadets at Sandhurst. I had two young friends there,\nboth Irish, who were known to me from childhood; both greatly attached\nto my brother; both loving me dearly; and many a happy hour we passed,\nstrolling over the wild heath, or enjoying the cheerfulness of my\ncottage home. On those two, among many, I looked with especial\nsolicitude as to their future course; and I have had to rejoice, in\ndifferent ways, over them both. One was early taken to his rest; he died\nin the faith, looking simply to the Lord Jesus, and finding perfect\npeace in him. The other was long away on foreign service, and when next\nI saw him it was as the deliverer, under God, of a whole town, and\nprobably through that of the whole kingdom, from a scene of\nrevolutionary carnage. He commanded the gallant little body of troops at\nNewport who, on the 4th of November, 1839, quelled the Chartist\ninsurrection, and broke the formidable power that menaced a general\noutbreak. I cannot pass over this event, it was so delightfully\ngratifying to me.\n\nA third of those in whom I took a lively interest was Alexander Count\nCalharez, the eldest son of the Duc de Palmella. He was a most elegant\nyouth, of fine mind, delicate feelings, and the sweetest manners\npossible. Devotedly attached to Romanism, he constantly attended mass at\nthe house of the old abb\u00e9, who added to his professorship in the Royal\nMilitary College the duties of a Popish priest. It was a sore grief to\nme to see Calharez pursuing his solitary way to that house, while we\ntook the road to the college chapel, and met him half-way. I longed to\nenter a solemn protest against his delusion, but I never did it in\ndirect terms, though very often dwelling, in his presence, on the\npeculiar truths of Christianity, opposed as they are to the lie in which\nhe trusted. I hoped to have enjoyed many future opportunities of\nconversing with him, for he always sought our society in preference to\nmany things that appeared more attractive, and took a lively interest in\nJack. But the college did not suit his taste; he left it soon and\naccompanied his father to Portugal. He died at the Azores; and I have\nbeen told that his hope at the last was one which maketh not ashamed. He\nwas the subject of many prayers; the last day will tell whether they\nwere answered.\n\nBut I cannot hasten through the heaviest part of my task; it is the\nrending open of a wound never to heal until the leaves of the tree of\nlife shall be laid upon it; and if by any means I do attain to that\nresurrection from among the dead in which none but the Lord's children\nshall partake, surely the dear object of all this sorrow will be there\nbeside me.\n\nSix months had passed since my brother's departure to Ireland, and all\nhis letters were full of cheerfulness and pleasant anticipation. On the\nsubject where I most wished to know his feelings, he was silent; but a\npassage in one of his letters struck me greatly. I had been suffering\nfrom a slight local pain, which one of my medical friends erroneously\npronounced to be a disease of the heart; and in communicating this to\nhim I had noticed, that I must live in momentary expectation of sudden\ndeath. His reply was very affectionate. He said it had given him a great\nshock, but on a little reflection he was convinced of its being\naltogether a nervous sensation; adding, \"If not, why should you shrink\nfrom sudden death? For my own part, I should desire it, as a short and\neasy passage out of this life.\" A tremor came over me as I read these\nwords; but again I thought, \"Surely there is something on his mind to\nbrighten that passage, or he would not so express himself;\" and the\nthought of many perils surrounding him quickened me to redoubled prayer\nthat God would set his feet upon the Rock of ages.\n\nIt was on a bright Sabbath morning at the end of June, that having\nrather overslept myself, I found, on awaking, the letters brought by\nearly post lying on my pillow. I took one: it was the Horse Guards\nenvelope, in which his letters usually came; and in my eagerness to open\none from him, I did not even put up a prayer. Full of smiling\nanticipation, I unfolded the enclosure, which was from a most dear and\nvalued friend at the Horse Guards; and after some tender preparation,\nwhich the sudden reeling of my terrified brain prevented my\ncomprehending, came the paralyzing sequel: A letter had been received\nfrom Mullingar--he was on the lake fishing--the boat overset. I could\nnot understand the meaning of the words; but I understood the thing\nitself.\n\nI sprung to my knees to cry for mercy on him--but Oh, that dreadful,\ndreadful thought that pierced through my inmost soul--\"He is beyond the\nreach of prayer.\" I fell back as if really shot. But what avails it to\ndwell on this? I bore it as God enabled me; I felt crushed, annihilated\nas it were, under the fierce wrath of the Lord; for to aggravate the\nblow, I had no power to believe or to hope. It was a light thing to have\nlost him, my all in this cold, dreary world, who from early infancy had\nbeen as the light to my eyes, and the life-blood to my heart--him who\nhad so very lately been restored, as if to show that while he remained\nall I could desire of earthly happiness was within my reach--him who had\nbeen to me instead of every other mortal blessing, and to whom I looked\nfor all that I dared hope of future comfort. It was a light thing to\nhave lost him, and to look upon the anguish of his widowed mother, to\nwhom he had ever been more of a ministering angel than a son, and upon\nthe tears of his little daughter, who had lost a father indeed. All this\nwas a small matter compared with the overwhelming horrors of that\nfearful thought, that _he_ had lost his soul.\n\nI had fallen much into the common, dangerous error of looking to my own\nfaith rather than to the object of it for salvation; and I did in my\nheart, exceedingly glory in this supposed faith of mine. The dreadful\ndispensation under which I was laid showed me at once, that of faith I\nhad not to the value of a grain of mustard-seed; and now I felt the\ndesolation of spirit which none can know who have not been so compelled\nto make such a discovery. I did not rebel; I owned the justice of God:\nnay, the very first words I could find breath to utter broke forth in\nthe confession, \"Righteous art thou, O Lord; just and true are thy ways,\nO King of saints!\" But it was a fearful trembling beneath the hand that\nhad smote me; and as for being contented to have it so, I was not: I do\nnot wish that I had been contented to believe my brother was lost; I do\nnot understand that feeling, nor wish to understand it; for surely while\nwe remain in the flesh, we cannot divest ourselves of what God has\ninterwoven with our very nature, nor cease to feel for the spiritual,\nthe eternal interests of those most fondly endeared to us--a solicitude\nas great, aye, much greater, than what we, in our unconverted state,\nonce knew in regard to their temporal concerns. I speak of those\ninstances where, after being ourselves brought to know the Lord, we have\nlabored and prayed perseveringly for others, and then have suddenly lost\nthem. I was not content to think that my prayers had been cast out: I\nwanted some token that they had been answered. Blessed be the God of all\nmercies, I was not disappointed. * * *\n\nMeanwhile, what a tenfold recompense for all the care bestowed on him\ndid I reap in the beautiful sympathy of the dumb boy. When I came down\nstairs that dreadful morning, he met me with a face of such wild dismay\nas even then arrested my attention. He uttered an audible \"Oh!\" of most\ntouching tone, and thus expressed the impossibility he felt of realizing\nthe tidings: \"Jack _what_? Jack asleep? Jack see, no--think, no.\nJack afraid, very. Beautiful Captain B---- gone?--dead? _What_?\"\nand he stamped with the impatience of that fearfully inquisitive\n_what_. I answered, \"Captain B---- gone; water kill--dead.\" Tears\nstole down his loving face as he responded, \"Poor mam! Mam one;\" meaning\nI was now alone in the world. \"God see poor mam one; Jesus Christ love\npoor mam one.\" With a feeling of bitter agony I asked him, \"What? Jesus\nChrist love Captain B----?\" \"Yes,\" he replied, after a moment's solemn\nthought on the question, \"Yes, Jack much pray; mam much pray; Jesus\nChrist see much prays.\" This was true comfort; all the eloquence of all\nthe pulpits in England could not have gone to my heart like that\nassurance, that Jesus Christ had _seen_ his many dumb prayers on\nbehalf of that lost--Oh, I could not, even in the depth of my\nunbelieving heart, say, \"lost one.\" I again asked the boy, \"Jack\n_much_ prays?\" He answered with solemn fervency, \"Very, very much\nprays. Jack pray morning, pray night; Jack pray church, pray bed. Yes,\nJack many days, very, pray God make\"--and he finished by signs, that\nwings should be made to grow from my brother's shoulders, for him to fly\nto heaven, adding, _Jesus Christ must make the wings;_ and then,\nwith a burst of delighted animation, he told me that he was a \"very tall\nangel, very beautiful.\"\n\nI have repeated this conversation to show the broken language carried on\nbetween us; and also how powerfully he expressed his thoughts. Soon\nafter, when I was nearly fainting, a glass of water was held to my lips.\nI am ashamed to say, I dashed it down, exclaiming, \"That murderer!\" Jack\ncaught my eye, and echoing my feelings, said, in a bitter way, \"Bad\nwater!\" then with a look of exulting contempt at the remaining fluid, he\nadded, \"Soul gone water? No!\" This idea, that the soul was not drowned,\nelectrified me; so good is a word spoken in due season, however trite a\ntruism that word may be.\n\nThat night I pretended to go to bed, that others might do so too; and\nthen I left my room, went to my little study, which was hung round with\nJack's sweet drawings, and sat down, resting my elbows on the table, my\nface on my hands, and so remained for a couple of hours. Day had\nscarcely broken, brightly upon me, about two in the morning, when the\ndoor opened softly, and Jack entered, only partially dressed, his face\ndeadly pale, and altogether looking most piteously wretched. He paused\nat the door, saying, \"Jack sleep, no; Jack sick, head bad--no more see\nbeautiful Captain B----.\" I could only shake my head, and soon buried my\nface in my hands again. However, I still saw him through my fingers; and\nafter lifting up his clasped hands and eyes in prayer for me, he\nproceeded to execute the purpose of his visit to that room. Softly,\nstealthily, he went round, mounting a chair, and unpinned from the wall\nevery drawing that contained a ship, a boat, or water under any form of\nrepresentation. Still peeping at me, hoping he was not observed, he\ncompleted this work, which nothing but a mind refined to the highest\ndegree of delicate tenderness could ever have prompted, and then\nstopping at the door, cast over his shoulder such a look of desolate\nsorrow at me, that its very wretchedness poured balm into my heart. Oh\nwhat a heavenly lesson is that, \"Weep with them that do weep,\" and how\nwe fly in its face when going to the mourner with our inhuman, cold-\nblooded exhortations to leave off grieving. Even Job's tormenting\nfriends gave him seven days' true consolation while they sat silent on\nthe earth weeping with him.\n\nBut God put into the dumb boy's heart another mode of consolation, which\nI must recount as a specimen of his exceedingly original and beautiful\ntrain of thought. He used to tell his ideas to me as if they were things\nthat he had seen: and now he had a tale to relate, the day after this,\nwhich riveted my attention. He told me my brother went on the lake in a\nlittle boat, and while he was going along the devil got under it, seized\none side, pulled it over, and caught my brother, drawing him down to the\nbottom, which, as he told me, was deep, deep, and flames under it. Then\nJesus Christ put his arm out of a cloud, reached into the water, took\nthe soul out of the body, and drew it into the sky. When the devil saw\nthe soul had escaped, he let the body go, and dived away, crying, Jack\nsaid, with rage, while the men took it to land. The soul, he continued,\nwent up, up, up; it was bright, and brighter, \"like sun--all light,\nbeautiful light.\" At last he saw a gate, and inside many angels looking\nout at him; but two very small angels came running to meet the soul; and\nwhen he saw them, he took them up into his arms, kissed them, and\ncarried them on towards the gate, still kissing and caressing them. I\nwas amazed and utterly at a loss, and said, \"Two angels? What? Mam not\nknow; what?\" He looked at me with a laugh of wonder; pointed to my head\nand the wooden table, and replied--his usual way of calling me stupid--\n\"Doll mam! Two small boys, dead, Portugal.\" My brother had lost two\nbabes in Portugal; and thus exquisitely, thus in all the beauty of true\nsublimity, had the untaught deaf and dumb boy pictured the welcome they\nhad given their father on approaching the gate of heaven.\n\nA day or two after, some kind, sympathizing relations and friends being\nassembled at the dinner-table, something cheerful was said, which\nexcited a general smile: Jack was in the act of handing a plate; he\nlooked round him with a face of stern indignation, set down the plate,\nsaid, \"Bad laughing!\" and walked out of the room, stopping at the door\nto add to me, \"Mam, come: no laughing! Gone; dead.\" I had not smiled;\nand this jealous tenaciousness of such a grief, on the part of an\nexceedingly cheerful boy, was the means of soothing more than any other\nmeans could have done it, the anguish of that wound which had pierced my\nvery heart's core. These were a small part of the munificent wages that\nmy Master gave me for nursing a child of his.\n\nMy first act had, of course, been to adopt my brother's son--the \"baby\nboy\"--now five years old, who had been since he first showed his little\nround face in England, my own peculiar treasure. I begged him as a\nprecious boon, and for his sake bore up against the storm of sorrow that\nwas rending me within. Jack fell into a decline, through the depression\nof his spirits in seeing me suffer; for to conceal it from one who read\nevery turn of my countenance was impossible; and I should have been well\ncontent to sink also, but for the powerful motive set before me. Under\nGod, who gave him to me, you may thank your young friend for what little\nservice I may have rendered in the cause you love, since 1828; for the\nprospect which by the Lord's rich mercy is so far realized, of seeing\nhim grow up a useful, honorable member of society, with right\nprinciples, grounded on a scriptural education, was what enabled me to\npersevere against every difficulty and every discouragement that could\ncross my path. I set up a joyful Ebenezer here; and I ask your prayers\nthat the blessing may be prolonged, increased, perfected, even to the\nday when we shall all meet before the throne of God. * * *\n\n\n\n\nLETTER XII.\n\nEMPLOYMENT.\n\n\nHow is it that Christians so often complain they can find nothing to do\nfor their Master? To hear some of them bemoaning their unprofitableness,\nwe might conclude that the harvest indeed is small, and the laborers\nmany. So many servants out of employ is a bad sign; and to obviate the\ndifficulty complained of, I purpose showing you two or three ways in\nwhich those who are so inclined may bestir themselves for the good of\nothers. What a blessing were a working church! and by a church I mean,\n\"the company of all faithful people,\" whosoever and wheresoever they be.\n\nIn the village where I lived, there was a very good national-school,\nwell attended; also a Sunday-school; and the poorer inhabitants\ngenerally were of a respectable class, with many of a higher grade, such\nas small tradesmen, and the families of those in subordinate offices\nabout the Military College. I always took a great interest in the young;\nand as love usually produces love, there was no lack of affectionate\nfeeling on their part. It occurred to me, as the Sunday was much devoted\nby most of them to idling about, that assembling such of them as wished\nit at my cottage would afford an opportunity for scriptural instruction;\nand without any thing resembling a school, or any regular proposal, I\nfound a little party of six or seven children assembled in the\nafternoon, to hear a chapter read, answer a few questions upon it, and\njoin in a short prayer. Making it as cheerful and unrestrained as\npossible, I found my little guests greatly pleased; and on the next\nSabbath my party was doubled, solely through the favorable report spread\nby them. One had asked me, \"Please, ma'am, may I bring my little\nsister?\" and on the reply being given, \"You may bring any body and every\nbody you like,\" a general beating up for recruits followed. In three or\nfour weeks my assemblage amounted to sixty, only one half of whom could\nbe crowded into the parlor of my small cottage. What was to be done? The\nwork was rather arduous, but as I too had been complaining not long\nbefore of having little to do for the Lord, except with the pen, I\nresolved to brave a little extra labor. I desired the girls to come at\nfour, the boys at six, and allowing an interval of half an hour between,\nwe got through it very well. A long table was set across the room, from\ncorner to corner; round this they were seated, each with a Bible, I\nbeing at the head of the table. I found this easy and sociable way of\nproceeding highly gratified the children: they never called, never\nthought it a school--they came bustling in with looks of great glee,\nparticularly the boys, and greeted me with the affectionate freedom of\nyoung friends. A few words of introductory prayer were followed by the\nreading of one or more chapters, so that each had a verse or two; and\nthen we talked over the portion of Scripture very closely, mutually\nquestioning each other. Many of the girls were as old as sixteen or\nseventeen, beautiful creatures, and very well dressed: and what a\nprivilege it was so to gather and so to arm them in a place where, alas,\ninnumerable snares beset their path. We concluded with a hymn; and long\nbefore the half-hour had expired that preceded the boys' entrance, they\nwere clustering like bees at the gate, impatient for the joyous rush;\nand to seat themselves round their dear table, with all that free\nconfidence without which I never could succeed in really commanding the\nattention of boys.\n\nOur choice of chapters was peculiar. I found they wanted stirring\nsubjects, and I gave them Gideon, Samson, Jonathan, Nehemiah, Boaz,\nMordecai, Daniel, all the most manly characters of Old Testament\nhistory, with the rich gospel that lies wrapped in every page of that\nprecious volume. Even in the New Testament I found that individualizing\nas much as possible the speaker or the narrative produced, great\neffects. Our blessed Lord himself, John the Baptist, Paul--all were\nbrought before them as vividly as possible; and I can assure those who\ntry to teach boys as they would teach girls, that they are pursuing a\nwrong method. Mine have often coaxed an extra hour from me; and I never\nonce saw them willing to go, during the fifteen months of our happy\nmeetings. If the least symptom of unruliness appeared, I had only to\ntell them they were my guests, and I appealed to their feelings of\nmanliness, whether a lady had not some claim to forbearance and respect.\nNothing rights a boy of ten or twelve years like putting him on his\nmanhood; and really my little lads became gentlemen in mind and manners,\nwhile, blessed be God, not a few became, I trust, wise unto salvation.\nTheir greatest temptation to disorderly doings was in the laughable,\nauthoritative style of Jack's superintendence. He was now rapidly\nfading, but in mind brighter than ever. Seated in a large chair, a\nlittle to the rear of me, he kept strict watch over the party, and any\ndeviation from what he considered correct conduct was noticed with a\nthreat of punishment, conveyed by pinching his own ear, slapping his own\nface, kicking out his foot, and similar indications of chastisement,\nwith a knowing nod at the offender. But if he saw an approach to levity\nover the word of God, his manner wholly changed. Tears filled his eyes,\nhe looked all grief and entreaty, and the words, \"God see,\" were\nearnestly spelled on his uplifted hands. No one could stand the appeal;\nand very rarely had he occasion to make it. I am sure his prayers helped\nforward the work mightily. It was wonderful to see thirty-two robust,\nboisterous fellows, from nine to seventeen years old, sitting in perfect\ndelight and perfect order, for two and even three hours, on a fine\nSunday evening, never looking dissatisfied till they were told to go.\n\nI cannot help recording an event on which I look back with great\nthankfulness, though it was a terrible trial to me at the time. Two of\nmy boys had a quarrel one week-day. One of them was very teasing, the\nother very passionate. The latter ran to a butcher's window close by,\nseized the large knife, and plunged it into the left side of his\ncompanion. Most mercifully the wound was not dangerous: the keenness of\nthe knife was in his favor; it penetrated to within a short distance of\nthe heart, but separated no large vein, and within a few days the boy\nwas out again. The Sunday after it occurred my party were exceedingly\nmoved; they expressed great anger, and not a few threats were, uttered\nagainst the culprit, whose parents had locked him up. On the following\nSabbath I resolved to make an effort to avert bad consequences, and also\nto arrest the poor boy in his dangerous course. He had rather justified\nhimself than otherwise, and had shown a spirit sadly unsubdued, and\nunthankful for his escape from a deadly crime and its awful\nconsequences. I sent word to him to come to my party: he replied he\nwould not. I repeated the summons, saying I should be exceedingly hurt\nif he did not. No answer was returned. The place next but one to me\nbelonged to the wounded boy, that below it to his assailant; and the\nformer was present, pale, indeed, but well. I lost no time in announcing\nto them that I expected P----, which occasioned a burst of indignation,\nsome saying they would not stay in the room with him, and the rest\nseeming to assent. \"Then,\" said I, \"you must go, for he wants\ninstruction most: and the very feeling that makes you shrink from\nassociating with him proves that you are better taught. So if you will\nleave me, do; I must admit him.\" Just then P---- was seen coming down\nthe little garden: he entered, his walk very erect, his eyes\nunflinching, and his dark brows knitted. The looks of my young lads were\nvery eloquent; his bold bearing exasperated them much. My heart seemed\nbursting its boundary with the violent palpitation of alarm, and other\nemotions which I could scarcely suppress; but I motioned to P---- to\ntake his usual place, and instantly rising offered up the usual prayer,\nwith a petition for the spirit of mutual compassion, forgiveness, and\nlove. I ceased, all remained standing, and certainly it was a period of\nmost fearful interest. I looked imploringly at the wounded boy; he\nhesitated a moment, then suddenly turned, and with an air of noble\nfrankness, held out his hand to P----, who took it directly. I then\noffered him mine; he grasped it, and burst into tears. A delightful\nscene followed, each pressing to seal his forgiveness in the same\nmanner, while Jack's countenance shone with almost heavenly beauty on a\nspectacle so congenial to his loving heart. We had a most happy\nevening, and I could not but tell my dear boys how much I rejoiced over\nthem. Whatever may have been the effect on the characters of those\nconcerned, I know not. I am persuaded the proceeding was a means of\naverting much mischief. Boys are noble creatures when placed on their\nright footing; but they are pugnacious animals and require prudent\nmanagement. News was brought me one evening, while they waited for\nadmission, that two of them had stripped off their jackets to fight, the\ndispute being which loved their teacher most. \"Exclude them both to-\nnight,\" said a friend, \"and threaten to expel them.\" Instead of which, I\nsent word that the one who first put on his jacket loved me most, and\nthat I was ready to begin. In they both came, smiling, and they got\ntheir lecture in due time, when a passage in point came before us.\n\nNow, who complains of non-employment while there are so many neglected\nchildren, and so many who, in the dull routine of a school, get only a\nmechanical knowledge of what would deeply interest them if brought\nbefore them with the help of a little personal condescension and care?\nIt is a branch of Christian duty for which all are competent who know\nthe gospel; and two, three, or four young people invited to come in for\nan hour or so at stated times, to sit down at a table and _talk_\nover the passages of Scripture which may appear best calculated to\nengage their pleased attention, may often prove the foundation for a\nnoble work. * * * Ladies do not like to instruct boys: they are very\nwrong. Female influence is a powerful thing, and freely exerted for\nevil--why not for good? We brought sin into the world, involving man in\nthe ruin he was not the first to seek; and it is the least we can do to\noffer him a little good now. I never yet met with a boy--and thanks be\nto God I have taught many--who would be rude to a female earnestly and\nkindly seeking his welfare, without attempting to crush that\nindependence of spirit which is man's prerogative, and which no woman\nhas a right to crush.\n\nI need not say that in the foregoing, and in all similar works where the\nLord permitted me to engage, I labored diligently to make my young\nfriends something more than nominal Protestants. To omit this, in giving\ninstruction, is the very madness of inconsistent folly and cruelty.\n\nA few weeks after the commencement of my weekly assemblages, I was\ncalled to the metropolis in search of medical aid for a dear little\nchild of my brother's. I found it, and all that Christian kindness could\nadd to render it doubly valuable, at the hands of an estimable\nphysician, near whom I resolved to stay for a few weeks; and while\nsecretly lamenting that here, at least, I should find nothing to do, an\nanswer was given to my unbelief that might well shame it. To the same\nend I will record this also, the circumstances being already well known,\nbut not the delightful encouragements that are afforded when a project\nis entered upon in single, simple reliance on the help of Him for whose\nglory his people desire to work. Unbelief in his willingness--for we\ndare not doubt his power to prosper our poor attempts--is the real bar\nto our success. Such mistrust is infinitely dishonoring to him.\n\nSix years had elapsed since I left Ireland, but my affection for the\ncountry and people was unchanged, unchangeable. The very centre of the\nisle had become the grave of my beloved brother, and this only added\ntenfold to the touching interest excited by the very mention of that\nland. Strange to say, I had never heard of the Irish Society, nor\nconsidered of what vast importance it would be to make the language of\nthe natives a medium of conveying spiritual instruction to them. The\nannual meeting was about to be held, and among the Irish clergymen\nforming the deputation to London, was the Rev. Charles Seymour, the\nvenerable and every-way estimable pastor under whose ministry my brother\nhad been placed at Castlebar, and from whom I had received letters,\nfully confirmatory of my sanguine hope that he had indeed and wholly\nembraced the gospel of Christ. Longing to see Mr. Seymour, I went to him\non the morning of the meeting; and most sweet was the testimony he had\nto give; most tender the sympathy he evinced in all my sorrow and all my\ngladness. After a conversation that left me overflowing with gratitude\nfor the blessings vouchsafed to my precious brother, he asked me to\nattend the meeting, and I went prepared to take a lively interest in\nwhatever might be said respecting Ireland. How great was my astonishment\nwhen, for the first time, I heard the story of Bishop Bedell, of the\nIrish Bible, and of the good work in rapid progress among the aborigines\nof the land. The extent and inveteracy of the disease, I well knew; but\nthe suitability of the remedy had never been set before me. In fact, I\nhardly knew that the Irish was a written language; and strange it\nseemed, to have passed three years in a part of the country where it is\nextensively spoken, and in the house of one who always conversed in that\ntongue with the rustic frequenters of her shop, yet to be so grossly\nignorant of all relating to it. I resolved to become an active partisan\nof the Irish Society in Ireland; but a different turn was soon given to\nmy sympathies. Mr. Seymour spoke after the others: he said much\ncalculated to prove the power of the language in preaching the gospel;\nbut suddenly reverting to the state of the many thousands of his poor\ncountrymen congregated in London, he drew a most affecting picture of\ntheir destitute, degraded condition. He appealed to us as Christians;\nand reminding us of our many privileges, bade us take care that the\nsouls of his poor countrymen did not rise up in judgment to condemn us\nfor allowing them to perish in the heart of our metropolis. \"Open,\" he\nsaid, \"a bread-shop in St. Giles's; deal forth a little of the bread of\nlife to their starving souls. Ye English Christians, I appeal to you for\nthem: Oh, pity my poor lost countrymen, open but a bread-shop in St.\nGiles's!\" Tears ran down his venerable face, as he lifted his clasped\nhands, and bent towards us. The effect of his words on me was electric:\nI looked at him, and silently but fervently said, \"So God help me as I\nwill open you a bread-shop in St. Giles's, if He does but permit!\" Again\nand again did I repeat the pledge; and when Lord Roden spoke--the first\ntime of my seeing that noble Irishman--and heartily seconded the appeal,\nI renewed the secret promise, with such purpose of heart as rarely fails\nto accomplish its object.\n\nFor some days I tried in vain to do any thing towards it; but on the\nSunday, passing from Great Russell-street to Long-acre, through the\nworst part of St. Giles's, I saw the awful state of that district, and\ndeclared to my companion, himself a devoted Irishman, my fixed resolve\nto have a church there. He warmly encouraged it, extravagant as the idea\nappeared; and I began to pray earnestly for direction from above. Two\nnights after, a thought struck me; I wrote an appeal on behalf of the\nmiserable Irish Papists in that place, likening their case among us to\nthat of Lazarus lying at the rich man's gate, and imploring means to\ngive them the gospel in their own tongue. This I had printed, and sent\ncopies as I could to various friends. Some smiled at my enthusiasm;\nothers pointed out the work among distant heathen as far more important.\nMany wished me success; a few rebuked me for desiring to proselytize the\nmembers of another church; and still fewer gave me money. At the end of\na fortnight's hard begging, I had got just seven pounds towards building\na church! This was slow work. One day, dining at the table of my dear\nfriend Dr. P----, he heard many bantering me for being so sanguine, and\nsaid, \"You remind me of Columbus going to the cathedral of Seville to\nask a blessing on his romantic project of discovering a new world.\nEverybody laughed at him. Nevertheless, Columbus succeeded, _and so\nwill you_.\" At that moment a gentleman sitting next me laid a\nsovereign on my piece of bread; and the coincidence of the gold and the\n\"bread-shop,\" combined with the doctor's confident prediction, put new\nlife into me, and I boldly said, \"I WILL succeed.\"\n\nWith the sum of seven pounds in hand, I wrote to the bishop of Lichfield\nand Coventry, begging him to ask the bishop of London if he would\nlicense my Irish church and an Irish clergyman, if I provided both. Lord\nMountsandford took this letter to him, and the next day he brought me\nthis rather startling message: \"The bishop of London will license your\nchurch: Lichfield sends his love to you, and desires you will summon the\ngentlemen who are assisting you in this undertaking--half a dozen or so\n--to meet him in Sackville-street on Saturday next, and be there\nyourself. He will see what can be done to forward it.\" Half a dozen\ngentlemen! where was I to find them? My only helpers were Mr. Maxwell,\nDr. Pidduck, and Lord Mountsandford himself. However, I went to work,\npraying incessantly, and solacing myself with that beautiful text, \"Go\nup to the mountain, and bring wood and build the house; and I will take\npleasure in it, and I will be glorified, saith the Lord.\" I suppose I\nrepeated that verse a hundred times a day, in my solitude, attending the\nsick child and writing letters till I nearly fell from my seat with\nexhaustion.\n\nSaturday arrived: I had no idea how far my applications might have\nsucceeded; but if I had as many gentlemen there as pounds in my\ntreasury, namely, seven, it would be sufficient. I went trembling with\nhope and fear, accompanied by two warmhearted young Irish barristers\nwhom my good friend Mr. Maxwell had pressed into the service. Oh what\ncould I render unto the Lord for all his goodness to me, when I saw the\nglorious spectacle presented to my view at the hour appointed! There sat\nthe good Bishop Ryder in the chair; beside him the bishop of Bath and\nWells; lords Lorton, Lifford, Bexley, Mountsandford, and Carberry; and\nof other clergymen and gentlemen upwards of forty. \"Let us ask a\nblessing,\" said the bishop of Lichfield; and when, we all kneeled down\nto commit unto the LORD a work so new, so strange, and to poor human\nreason so hopelessly wild as this had appeared two days before, I\nthought I might as well die then as not; I could never die happier.\n\nAll was zeal, love, unanimity; they placed it on a good basis, and my\nseven pounds were multiplied by more than seven before we broke up. They\ndid not take the work out of my hands, but formed themselves into a body\nfor aiding in carrying it on: the rector of St. Giles's came forward\nvoluntarily to give his hearty consent, and ten pounds; and if there was\na pillow of roses in London that night, I surely slept on it. In six\nweeks my memorable seven pounds swelled to thirteen hundred; a church\nwas bought, a pastor engaged; and a noble meeting held in Freemason's\nHall, to incorporate the new project with the Irish Society. I went back\nto Sandhurst elated with joy, and lost no time in putting up, most\nconspicuously written out on card, over my study fireplace, the lines\nthat I had so often repeated during the preceding two months:\n\n  \"Victorious Faith, the promise sees,\n    And looks to God alone;\n  Laughs at impossibilities,\n    And says, 'IT SHALL BE DONE!\"\n\nIn the following November the Irish Episcopal church in St. Giles's was\nopened for divine service on Advent Sunday, the Rev. H.H. Beamish\nofficiating. A more eloquent and fluent preacher, a more gifted and\ndevoted man, the whole church of God could not have supplied. He\npreached the whole gospel in Irish to the listening, wondering people,\nwho hung with delight upon accents so dear to them; and he attacked\ntheir pestilent heresies with the bold faithfulness of one who meant\nwhat he said, when vowing to drive away all erroneous and strange\ndoctrines from those under his charge. God blessed most richly his\nministry: many were awakened, several truly converted to Christ, and not\na small number fully convinced of the falsehood of their own\nsuperstition, which they forsook. We had forty communicants from among\nthe most wretchedly ignorant and bigoted of the Irish Romanists, before\nMr. Beamish left his post; and one of them had even endured a cruel\nmartyrdom for the truth's sake. A bread-shop in deed it was: and the old\nChristian, whose fervent appeal had given rise to its establishment,\nhimself preached there in Irish to a delighted congregation, before the\nLord took him to himself. * * *\n\n\n\n\nLETTER XIII.\n\nA SUNSET.\n\n\nI come now to the period of my delivering up a sacred trust into the\nhands of Him who committed it to me. Jack had lingered long, and sunk\nvery gradually; but now he faded apace. His eldest sister, a very\ndecided Romanist, came over for the purpose of seeing him, and to take\ncare that he had \"the rites of the church.\" Had the abb\u00e9 remained, it is\nprobable we should have soon found ourselves deep in controversy; for,\nas priest, he never should have crossed my threshold, to bring upon my\nhouse the curse attached to idolatrous worship: and there was happily no\nother within reach. Jack requested me to promise him in his sister's\npresence that no Romish priest should come near him: I willingly did so;\nand moreover informed her that if she was herself dying and asked for\none, he would not be admitted under my roof. The abomination that maketh\ndesolate stands in many places where it ought not, but where I have\nauthority it never did, nor by God's grace ever shall. I have toleration\nfull and free for every form of Christianity, but none for antichrist,\ncome in what form he may.\n\nIt may be possible to describe a glorious summer sunset, with all the\nsoftening splendor that it sheds around; but to describe the setting of\nmy dumb boy's sun of mortal life is impossible. He declined like the orb\nof day, gently, silently, gradually, yet swiftly, and gathered new\nbeauties as he approached the horizon. His sufferings were great, but\nfar greater his patience; and nothing resembling a complaint ever\nescaped him. When appearing in the morning, with pallid, exhausted\nlooks, if asked whether he had slept, he would reply, with a sweet\nsmile, \"No, Jack no sleep; Jack think good Jesus Christ see poor Jack.\nNight dark; heaven all light; soon see heaven. Cough much now, pain bad;\nsoon no cough, no pain.\" This was his usual way of admitting how much he\nsuffered, always placing in contrast the glory to be revealed in him,\nand which, seemed already revealed to him. Knowing that his recovery was\nimpossible, I refrained, with his full concurrence, from having him\ntormented with miscalled alleviations, such as opiates, bloodletting,\nand so forth. All that kindness and skill could effect was gratuitously\ndone for him, and every thing freely supplied by our medical friends;\nbut they admitted that no permanent relief could be given, and I always\nhold it cruel to imbitter the dying season with applications that in the\nend increase the sufferings they temporarily subdue. This plan kept the\nboy's mind clear and calm; the ever-present Saviour being to him instead\nof all soothing drugs. Sometimes when greatly oppressed, he has had\nleeches; and I remember once half a dozen were put on his side, at his\nown request. The inflammation was very great; the torture dreadful as\nthey drew it to the surface; and I was called to him, as he sat grasping\nthe arm of a chair, and writhing convulsively. He said to me, \"Very,\nvery pain; pain bad, soon kill;\" and he seemed half wild with agony.\nLooking up in my face, he saw me in tears; and instantly assumed his\nsweetest expression of countenance, saying in a calm, leisurely way,\nthat his pain was much, but the pain the Lord suffered much more: his\nwas only in his side; the Lord suffered in his side, his hands, his\nfeet, and head. His pain would be over in half an hour, the Lord's\nlasted many hours; he was \"bad Jack,\" the Lord was \"good Jesus Christ.\"\nThen again he observed the leeches made very little holes in his skin,\nand drew out a little blood; but the thorns, the nails, the spear, tore\nthe Lord's flesh, and all his blood gushed out--it was shed to save him;\nand he raised his eyes, lifted his clasped hands, turned his whole face\nup towards heaven, saying, \"Jack loves, loves, very loves good Jesus\nChrist!\" When another violent pang made him start and writhe a little,\nhe recovered in a moment, nodded his head, and said, \"Good pain, make\nJack soon go heaven.\"\n\nHis sublime idea of the \"red hand\" was ever present. He had told me some\nyears before, that when he had lain a good while in the grave, God would\ncall aloud, \"Jack!\" and he would start, and say, \"Yes, me Jack.\" Then he\nwould rise, and see multitudes standing together, and God sitting on a\ncloud with a very large book in his hand--he called it \"Bible book\"--and\nwould beckon him to stand before him while he opened the book, and\nlooked at the top of the pages, till he came to the name of John B----.\nIn that page he told me, God had written all his \"bads,\" every sin he\nhad ever done: and the page was full. So God would look, and strive to\nread it, and hold it to the sun for light, but it was all \"no, no\nnothing, none.\" I asked him in some alarm if he had done no bad. He said\nyes, much bads; but when he first prayed to Jesus Christ _he_ had\ntaken the book out of God's hand, found that page, and pulling from his\npalm something which he described as filling up the hole made by the\nnail, had allowed the wound to bleed a little, passing his hand down the\npage so that, as he beautifully said, God could see none of Jack's bads,\nonly Jesus Christ's blood. Nothing being thus found against him, God\nwould shut the book, and there he would remain standing before him, till\nthe Lord Jesus came, and saying to God, \"My Jack,\" would put his arm\naround him, draw him aside, and bid him stand with the angels till the\nrest were judged.\n\nAll this he told me with the placid but animated look of one who is\nrelating a delightful fact: I stood amazed, for rarely had the plan of a\nsinner's ransom, appropriation, and justification, been so perspicuously\nset forth in a pulpit, as here it was by a poor deaf and dumb peasant\nboy, whose broken language was eked out by signs. He often told it to\nothers, always making himself understood, and often have I seen the\ntears starting from a rough man's eye as he followed the glowing\nrepresentation. Jack used to sit silent and thoughtful for a long time\ntogether in his easy-chair, when too weak to move about, and then\ncatching my eye, to say with a look of infinite satisfaction, \"Good red\nhand.\" I am persuaded that it was his sole and solid support; he never\ndoubted, never feared, because his view of Christ's all-sufficiency was\nso exceedingly clear and realizing. It certainly never entered his head\nto question God's love to him. One night a servant went to his room,\nlong after he had gone to bed: he was on his knees at the window, his\nhands and face held up towards a beautiful starlight sky. He did not\nperceive the servant's entrance: and next morning when I asked him about\nit, he told me that God was walking above, upon the stars; and that he\nwent to the window and held up his head that God might look down into it\nand see how very much he loved Jesus Christ.\n\nAll his ideas were similar--all turned on the one theme so dear to him;\nand their originality was inexhaustible. What could be finer than his\nnotion of the lightning, that it was produced by a sudden opening and\nshutting of God's eye--or of the rainbow, that it was the reflection of\nGod's smile? What more graphic than his representation of Satan's malice\nand impotence, when, one evening, holding his finger to a candle, he\nsnatched it back, as if burnt, pretending to be in great pain, and said,\n\"Devil like candle.\" Then with a sudden look of triumph he added, \"God\nlike wind,\" and with a most vehement puff at once extinguished the\nlight. When it was rekindled he laughed and said, \"God kill devil.\"\n\nHe told me that God was always sitting still with the great book in his\nhand, and the Lord Jesus looking down for men, and crying to them,\n\"Come, man; come, pray.\" That the devil drew them back from listening,\nand persuaded them to spit up towards him, which was his sign for\nrebellion and contempt; but if at last a man snatched his hand from\nSatan, and prayed to the Lord Jesus, he went directly, took the book,\nfound the name, and passed the \"red hand\" over the page; on seeing which\nSatan would stamp and cry. He gave very grotesque descriptions of the\nevil spirit's mortification, and always ended by bestowing on him a\nhearty kick. From seeing the effect, in point of watchfulness, prayer,\nand zeal, produced on this young Christian by such continual realization\nof the presence of the great tempter, I have been led to question very\nmuch the policy, not to say the lawfulness, of excluding that terrible\nfoe as we do from our general discourse. It seems to be regarded a\nmanifest impropriety to name him, except with the most studied\ncircumlocution, as though we were afraid of treating him irreverently;\nand he who is seldom named will not often be thought of. Assuredly it is\na great help to him in his countless devices to be so kept out of sight.\nWe are prone to speak, to think, to act, as though we had only our own\nevil natures to contend with, including perhaps a sort of general\nadmission that something is at work to aid the cause of rebellion; but\nit was far otherwise with Jack. If only conscious of the inward rising\nof a sullen or angry temper, he would immediately conclude that the\ndevil was trying to make him grieve the Lord; and he knelt down to pray\nthat God would drive him away. The sight of a drunken man affected him\ndeeply: he would remark that the devil had drawn that man to the ale-\nhouse, put the cup into his hand with an assurance that God did not see,\nor did not care; and was now pushing him about to show the angels he had\nmade that wretched being spit at the authority of the Lord. In like\nmanner with all other vices, and some seeming virtues. As an instance of\nthe latter, he knew a person who was very hostile to the gospel, and to\nthe best of his power hindered it, but who nevertheless paid the most\npunctual regard to all the formalities of external public worship. He\nalmost frightened me by the picture he drew of that person's case,\nsaying the devil walked to church with him, led him into a pew, set a\nhassock prominently forward for him to kneel on, put a handsome prayer-\nbook into his hand; and while he carefully followed all the service kept\nclapping him on the shoulder, saying, \"A very good pray.\" I told this to\na pious minister, who declared it was the most awfully just description\nof self-deluding formality, helped on by Satan, that ever he heard of.\nWhen partaking of the Lord's supper, Jack told me that his feeling was\n\"very, very love Jesus Christ; very, very, _very_ hate devil: go,\ndevil!\" and with holy indignation he motioned, as it were, the enemy\nfrom him. He felt that he had overcome the accuser by the blood of the\nLamb. Oh that we all may take a lesson of wisdom from this simple child\nof God.\n\nDuring the winter months he sunk daily: his greatest earthly delight was\nin occasionally seeing Mr. Donald, for whom he felt the fondest love,\nand who seemed to have a presentiment of the happy union in which they\nwould together soon rejoice before the Lord. Jack was courteous in\nmanner, even to elegance; most graceful; and being now nineteen, tall\nand large, with the expression of infantine innocence and sweetness on a\nvery fine countenance, no one could look on him without admiration, nor\ntreat him with roughness or disrespect: but Donald's tenderness of\nmanner was no less conspicuous than his; and I have watched that noble-\nminded Christian man waiting on the dying youth, as he sat patiently\nreclining in his chair--for he could not lie down--and the grateful\nhumility with which every little kindness was received, until I almost\nforgot what the rude unfeeling world was in that beautiful\ncontemplation. How much the fruit in God's garden is beautified by the\nprocess that ripens it.\n\nJack labored anxiously to convert his sister; and as she could not read\nat all, the whole controversy was carried on by signs. Mary was\nexcessively mirthful, Jack unboundedly earnest; and when her playful\nreproaches roused his Irish blood, the scene was often very comic. I\nremember he was once bringing a long list of accusations against her\npriest, for taking his mother's money, making the poor fast while the\nrich paid for dispensations to eat, inflicting cruel penances, drinking\ntoo much whiskey, and finally telling the people to worship wooden and\nbreaden gods. To all this Mary attended with perfect good-humor, and\nthen told him the same priest had christened him and made crosses upon\nhim. Jack wrathfully intimated that he was then a baby, with a head like\na doll's, and knew nothing; but if he had been wise he would have kicked\nhis little foot into the priest's mouth. The controversy grew so warm\nthat I had to part them. His horror of the priests was solely directed\nagainst their false religion; when I told him of one being converted, he\nleaped about for joy.\n\nAt the commencement of the year 1831 he was evidently dying; and we got\na furlough for his brother to visit him. Poor Pat never went to bed but\ntwice during the fortnight he was there, so bitterly did he grieve over\nthe companion of his early days; and many a sweet discourse passed\nbetween them on the subject of the blessed hope that sustained the dying\nChristian. He only survived Pat's departure four days. On the third of\nFebruary the last symptoms came on; the death-damps began to ooze out,\nhis legs were swelled to the size of his body, and he sat in that state,\nincapable of receiving warmth, scarcely able to swallow, yet clear,\nbright, and tranquil, for thirty hours. The morning of the last day was\nmarked by such a revival of strength that he walked across the room with\nlittle help, and talked incessantly to me, and to all who came near him.\nHe told me, among other things, that once God destroyed all men by rain,\nexcept those in the ark; and that he would soon do it again, not with\nwater but with fire. He described the Lord as taking up the wicked by\nhandfuls, breaking them, and throwing them into a fire; repeating, \"All\nbads, all bads go fire.\" I asked if he was not bad; \"Yes, Jack bad\nvery.\" Would he be thrown into the fire? \"No; Jesus Christ loves poor\nJack.\" He then spoke rapturously of the \"red hand,\" of the angels he\nshould soon be singing with, of the day when Satan should be cast into\nthe pit, and of the delight he should have in seeing me again. He prayed\nfor his family, begged me to teach Mary to read the Bible, to warn Pat\nagainst bad example, to bring up my brother's boys to love Jesus Christ,\nand lastly he repeated over and over again the fervent injunction to\nlove Ireland, to pray for Ireland, to write books for \"Jack's poor\nIreland,\" and in every way to oppose Popery. He called it \"Roman,\"\nalways; and it was a striking sight, that youth all but dead, kindling\ninto the most animated, stern, energetic warmth of manner, raising his\ncold, damp hands, and spelling with them the words, \"Roman is a lie.\"\n\"One Jesus Christ, one,\" meaning he was the only Saviour; \"Jack's one\nJesus Christ;\" and then with a force as if he would have the characters\nimpressed on his hands, he reiterated, as slowly as possible, his dying\nprotest, \"Roman is A LIE!\" Very sweetly he thanked me for all my care;\nand now he seemed to bequeath to me his zeal against the destroyer of\nhis people. The last signs of removal came on in the evening; his sight\nfailed, he rubbed his eyes, shook his head, and then smiled with\nconscious pleasure. At last he asked me to let him lie down on the sofa\nwhere he had been sitting, and saying very calmly, \"A sleep,\" put his\nhand into mine, closed his eyes, and breathed his spirit forth so\ngently, that it was difficult to mark the precise moment of that joyful\nchange.\n\nI still hope to throw into a volume the numerous particulars that remain\nuntold concerning this boy; and I will not now dwell upon the subject\nlonger. God had graciously kept me faithful to my trust; and I\nsurrendered it, not without most keenly feeling the loss of such a\ncompanion, but with a glow of adoring thankfulness that overcame all\nselfish regrets. Thenceforth my lot was to be cast among strangers, and\nsorely did I miss the comforting, sympathizing monitor who for seven\nyears had been teaching me more than I could teach him; but all my\nprayers had been answered, all my labors crowned; and with other duties\nbefore me I was enabled to look at the past, to thank God, and to take\ncourage.\n\n\n\n\nLETTER XIV.\n\nA REMOVAL.\n\n\nCircumstances led me to decide on removing nearer the metropolis; and\nwith reluctance I bade adieu to Sandhurst, where I had resided five\nyears. Jack was buried under the east window of the Chapel of Ease at\nBagshot, there to rest till roused by the Lord's descending shout, the\nvoice of the archangel, and the trump of God. I am very certain he will\nrise to glory and immortality. It was a severe trial to part with my\nschool, to dispose of the endeared relics that had furnished a home\nblessed by my brother's presence, to bid farewell to many kind friends,\nand cast myself into the great wilderness of London. The feeling that\noppressed me was a conviction that I should there find nothing to do;\nbut I prayed to be made useful, and none ever asked work of a heavenly\nMaster in vain. The dreadful famine in the west of Ireland had called\nforth a stream of English liberality, and collections were made\neverywhere for relief of the suffering Irish: one was announced at Long-\nAcre chapel; but before the day arrived, the committee put forth a\nstatement that they had abundant funds and required no more. I was then\nresiding in Bloomsbury, daily witnessing the wretchedness of St.\nGiles's: and on learning this I wrote to Mr. Howels, begging him to say\na word to his congregation on behalf of those Irish who were starving at\ntheir doors, whose miserable destitution I laid before him as well as I\ncould. He returned me no answer; but on the Sunday morning read my\nletter from the pulpit, asked his flock to contribute, and collected\nupwards of fifty pounds, which he gave to me.\n\nKnowing the character of the people so well, and longing to make the\nrelief of their bodily wants subservient to a higher purpose, I resolved\nto visit in person every case recommended to my notice. Many of my\nfriends stood aghast at the proposal: I should be insulted, murdered, by\nthe Irish savages; no lady could venture there, their language was so\ndreadful: no delicate person could survive the effects of such a noxious\natmosphere. To this I replied that, happily, I could not hear their\nconversation; and as for the unwholesomeness, it could not be worse than\nSierra Leone, or other missionary stations, where many ladies went.\nInsult had never yet been my lot among the Irish; and as to murder, it\nwould be martyrdom in such a cause, of which I had little hope. So I\nturned my fifty pounds into bread, rice, milk, meal, coals, and soup,\nresolved to give no money, and on the very next day commenced the\ncampaign against starvation and Popery in St. Giles's.\n\nFor four months I persevered in the work, devoting from four to six\nhours every day to it; and though I never in the smallest degree\nconcealed or compromised the truth, or failed to place in the strongest\nlight its contrast with the falsehoods taught them, I never experienced\na disrespectful or unkind look from one among the hundreds, the\nthousands who knew me as the enemy of their religion, but the loving\nfriend of their country and of their souls. Often, when I went to visit\nand relieve some poor dying creature in a cellar or garret, where a\ndozen wholly unconnected with the sufferer were lodged in the same\napartment, have I gathered them all about me by speaking of Ireland with\nthe affection I really feel for it, and then shown them, from the\nScriptures, in English, or by means of an Irish reader sometimes\naccompanying me, the only way of salvation, pointing out how very\ndifferent was that by which they vainly sought it. My plan was to\ndiscover such as were too ill to go to the dispensary for relief, or to\nselect the most distressed objects whom I met there, and to take the\nbread of life along with the bread that perisheth into their wretched\nabodes. I was most ably and zealously helped by that benevolent\nphysician who had always been foremost in every good and compassionate\nwork for the Irish poor; and to whose indefatigable zeal it is chiefly\nowing that at this day the poor lambs of that distressed flock are still\ngathered and taught in the schools which it was Donald's supreme delight\nto superintend. I cannot pass over in silence the devotion of Dr.\nPidduck, through many years, to an office the most laborious, the most\nrepulsive, and in many respects the most thankless that a professional\nman can be engaged in--that of ministering to the diseased and filthy\npopulation of the district. But many a soul that he has taught in the\nknowledge of Him whom to know is life eternal, will be found to rejoice\nhim in the day when their poor bodies shall arise to meet the Lord.\n\nThe schools in George-street, to which I have alluded, are the main\nblessing of the place: they were established long before the gospel in\nIrish was ever introduced there; and they survive the Irish ministry\nwhich, alas, has been withdrawn from the spot where God enabled me to\nplant it. Those schools are a bud of promise in the desolate wilderness,\nwhich may the Lord in his own good time cause to blossom again. * * *\n\nDuring a sojourn of some years a little to the north of London, I\ndevoted myself more to the pen, and found less opportunity for other\nusefulness than in Sandhurst and London; yet much encouragement was\ngiven to labor among the poor neglected Irish, who may be found in every\nneighborhood, and to whom few think of taking the gospel in their native\ntongue--still fewer of bearing with the desperate opposition that Satan\nwill ever show to the work. We make the deplorable state, morally and\nphysically, of the Irish poor, an excuse first for not going among them\nat all, and then for relinquishing the work if we do venture to begin\nit. In both cases it ought to plead for tenfold readiness and\nperseverance. I always found it a perilous task to attack the enemy in\nthis strong-hold: not from any opposition encountered from the people\nthemselves; far otherwise; they ever received me gladly, and treated me\nwith respect and grateful affection; but Satan has many ways of\nassailing those whom he desires to hinder, and sometimes his chain is\ngreatly lengthened for the trial of faith, and perfecting of humility\nand patience, where they may be sadly lacking. There are spheres of\nundeniable duty where the Christian may often almost, if not altogether,\ntake up the apostle's declaration, and say, \"No man stood by me.\" This,\nto the full extent, has never yet been my experience; but I have often\nfound many against me, both without and within, when earnestly bent on\ndealing a blow at the great antichrist. It is no good sign when all goes\non too smoothly.\n\nIn 1834 I was induced to undertake what seemed an arduous and alarming\noffice, that of editing a periodical. I commenced it in much prayer,\nwith no little trembling, and actuated by motives not selfish. That it\nwas not laid down at the end of the second year, was owing to the great\nblessing just then given to my appeals on behalf of the cruelly\noppressed and impoverished Irish clergy through its means: and\nrecommencing, at the beginning of the third year, with an ardent desire\nto promote more than ever the sacred cause of Protestantism, I found the\nLord prospering the work beyond my best hopes; and by his help I\ncontinue it to this day. * * *\n\nIt was my blessed privilege, four years since, to abridge into two\nmoderate sized volumes the English Martyrology, as recorded by Foxe. In\nthe progress of this work I became better acquainted with the true\ndoctrines of the Reformation than ever before: I compared them, as I am\nwont to do every thing, with what God has revealed; and I am satisfied\nthat they are perfectly accordant with Scripture: if they were not so, I\nwould reject them. By the same standard let us prove all things, that we\nmay hold fast that which is good.\n\nI have not particularized the trial of my scriptural principles when\nexposed for a short time to the pernicious doctrines of a subtle and\npersuasive Antinomian teacher. At first he only appeared to me to insist\nvery strenuously on the doctrine of free, sovereign grace; and greatly\nto magnify God in the saving of souls, wholly independent of aught that\nman can do: but a little further investigation convinced me that the\nvilest system of moral licentiousness might be built on such a\nfoundation as he laid; and I found the discourses of Peter and of Paul,\nas recorded in the Acts, especially conclusive against his perverted\nnotions. Antinomianism is a most deadly thing; and I believe all\nextremes in doctrines where good men have much differed to be dangerous;\nwhile at the same time they are very deluding, for we all love to go far\nin an argument, or under the influence of party spirit. * * *\n\nOf myself, I have now no more to say than that, \"by the help of my God,\nI continue to this day\" anxiously desirous to devote my little talent to\nhis service, as he may graciously permit. I have coveted no man's\nsilver, or gold, or apparel, but counted it a privilege to labor with my\nhands and head, for myself and for those most dear to me. Many trials,\nvarious and sharp, have been my portion; but they are passed away, and\nif I have not enlarged upon them it is from no reluctance to declare all\nthe Lord's wonderful doings, but from a desire to avoid speaking harshly\nof those who are departed. The Lord has accepted at my hand one\noffering, in the case of the precious dumb boy, received into glory\nthrough his rich blessing on my efforts; and he mercifully gives me to\nsee the welfare of two others, committed to me as the offspring of my\nbrother, over whose early years I have been permitted to watch, and in\nwhose growing prosperity my heart can rejoice. He has been a very\ngracious Master to me; he has dealt very bountifully, and given me now\nthe abundance of domestic peace, with the light of his countenance to\ngladden my happy home. Yet the brightest beam that falls upon it is the\nanticipation of that burst of glory when the Lord Jesus shall be\nrevealed from heaven, to reign in righteousness over the world that\nshall soon, very soon, acknowledge him the universal, eternal King: and\nthe most fervent aspiration my heart desires to utter is the response to\nhis promise of a speedy advent. \"Even so, Lord Jesus; come quickly.\nAmen.\"\n\n\n      *       *       *       *       *\n\nNOTE. Charlotte Elizabeth was born in October, 1790, and wrote the\nPersonal Recollections near the close of 1840, when fifty years of age.\nShe continued her active Christian beneficence, and the brilliant and\nunceasing labors of her pen, in editing the Protestant Magazine, and\nother writing for the press, until the very close of life. \"Immediately\nafter breakfast,\" says a brief sketch of her remaining years, \"she went\nto her desk, locking the door to exclude interruptions; and when her pen\nwas laid aside, her garden afforded ever new delight; and with her,\ngardening was no light occupation. She smiled at lady gardeners who only\nenjoyed the labors of others. From the moment the gravel-walks and beds\nwere formed, all was the work of her own hands; and the most laborious\noperations were to her refreshment and enjoyment. Each plant, each bed\nwas familiar to her. She knew their history, their vicissitudes, and the\ngrowth and expansion of each became a source of lively and never-failing\ninterest. The emotions produced in her mind by the brilliant tints of\nflowers, can only be compared to those of music to others, and this love\nof color was regulated by the most delicate sense of harmony in their\ndisposition and arrangement. The writer wears at this moment a small\ndiamond ring, which she kept in her desk, and would place on her finger\nonly when engaged in writing; the occasional flashing of the brilliants\nas the light fell upon them, producing most pleasurable sensations in\nher mind, and greatly assisting the flow of her thoughts and\nimagination. Her countenance, at such moments, would light up with\nanimation, and if an inquiring glance were turned to her, she would\nsmile, and add, 'Oh, it was only the diamonds.'\n\n\"Often would she lay down her pen in the midst of some work requiring\nthe whole energy of her mind, and much concentration of thought, and go\nto her garden for half an hour; and while apparently wholly absorbed in\npruning or transplanting, she was really engaged in her work; and the\napparent loss of time was amply repaid by the rapidity with which she\nwrote out the ideas conceived and matured during this healthful\nrecreation. A word, however, spoken to her at such times, would have\ncaused a most painful interruption in the current of her thoughts--she\ncompared the effect to a stone thrown into a quiet running brook--and\nwould utterly disable her from writing during the rest of the day, a\ncircumstance not easy to impress on the minds of servants. Even those\nwho would most carefully refrain from addressing her when they knew she\nwas actually writing, could hardly understand that like care was needful\nwhen she was thus employed over her flowers.\n\n\"All communication was held with her by means of the finger alphabet,\nbut so quick was her appreciation of what was thus said, and so easy was\nit for those about her to acquire great rapidity in this art, that her\ntotal deafness was hardly felt to be an inconvenience; sermons,\nspeeches, conversations even of the most voluble speakers, were conveyed\nto her with the greatest ease, and with hardly the omission of the\nsmallest word.\"\n\nIn 1841 she married Mr. L.H.J. Tonna, who held an office in London under\nthe British government, and who prepared the sketch from which the above\npassage is quoted. Having in 1836 removed from Edmonton, (page 242,) she\nresided at Blackheath till 1845, when she removed to London. About the\nend of 1844, she found that a small swelling near her left shoulder was\nindeed a cancer, which would doubtless terminate life; but she continued\nher literary labors till a vary short time before her death, which was\none of peace and humble trust in her Redeemer, and occurred at Ramsgate\non the sea-side. The following epitaph, dictated by herself, is\ninscribed on her tombstone:\n\nHERE\n\nLIE THE MORTAL REMAINS\n\nOF\n\nCHARLOTTE ELIZABETH,\n\nTHE\n\nBELOVED WIFE\n\nOF\n\nLEWIS HYPOLYTUS JOSEPH TONNA,\n\nWHO\n\nDIED ON THE 12TH OF JULY,\n\nMDCCCXLVI,\n\nLOOKING UNTO JESUS.","title":"Personal Recollections: Abridged, Chiefly in Parts Pertaining to Political and Other Controversies Prevalent at the Time in Great Britain","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":61382}