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 SOME 
 
 ACCOUNT 
 
 OF 
 
 CIRCUMSTANCES 
 
 IK THE 
 
 LIFE OF MARY PENNINGTON, 
 
 FROM HER 
 
 LEFT FOR HER FAMILY. 
 
 onD0n : 
 
 PRINTED FOR HARVEY AND DARTOX, 
 GRACECHURCH-STREET. 
 
 1821. 
 '
 
 
 ' 
 

 
 PREFACE. 
 
 . 
 
 THE following interesting narrative, contain- 
 ing some of the most remarkable occurrences 
 and spiritual conflicts in the life of that pious 
 worthy, in her day, MARY PENNINGTON, widow 
 of Isaac Pennington, written by herself, is 
 thought worthy of being published, for the 
 general benefit of the present and succeeding 
 generations ; as it displays her character better 
 than the pen of another would be likely to do. 
 Honourable mention is made of her husband, 
 Isaac Pennington, and of herself, by Thomas 
 
 
 
 Elwood. They were his valuable and faithful 
 friends, and he took a part in the education of 
 their children. He relates the affecting cir- 
 cumstance of the death of their second son, 
 Isaac Pennington, a promising youth, who, on 
 
 2030167
 
 iv PREFACE. 
 
 his return from a voyage to Barbadoes, was 
 lost, by accidentally falling overboard. This 
 was in the year 1670. 
 
 Mary Pennington was born in 1616. Her 
 first husband, Sir William Springett, died about 
 the year 1643. She married Isaac Pennington 
 in 1654. He died in 1679. His widow sur- 
 vived him nearly three years, and departed this 
 life at Worminghurst, 18th of 7th month, 1682. 

 
 A brief account of some of my exercises, 
 from my childhood, left with my dear 
 daughter, Gulielma Maria Penn. 
 
 Mary Pennington. 
 
 THE first scripture I remember to have 
 taken notice of was, " Blessed are they 
 that hunger and thirst after righteousness, 
 for they shall be filled." This I heard 
 taken for a text when I was about eight 
 years of age, and under the care of people 
 who were a kind of loose Protestants, that 
 minded no more about religion than to go 
 to their worship-house on first days, to 
 hear a canonical priest preach in the morn- 
 ing, and read common prayers in the af- 
 B
 
 .2 
 
 ternoon. They used common prayers in 
 the family, and observed superstitious 
 customs and times, days of feasting and 
 fasting, Christmas, (so called,) Good Fri- 
 day, Lent, &c. About this time I was 
 afraid, in the night, of such things as run 
 in my mind by day, of spirits, thieves, &c. 
 When alone in the fields, and possessed 
 with fears, I accounted prayers my help 
 and safety; so would often say (as I had been 
 taught) the Lord's Prayer, hoping thereby 
 to be delivered from the things I feared. 
 
 After some time I went to live with some 
 that appeared to be more religious. They 
 would not admit of sports on first days, 
 calling first day the sabbath. They went 
 to hear two sermons a-day, from a priest 
 that was not loose in his conversation : 
 he used a form of prayer before his sermon, 
 and read the common prayer after it. I 
 u as now about ten or eleven years of age. 
 A maid-servant that waited on me and the 
 rest of the children, was very zealous in 
 their way : she used to read Smith's and 
 Preston's sermons on first days, between
 
 the sermon times. I diligently heard her 
 read, and at length liked not to use the 
 Lord's Prayer alone, but got a prayer- 
 book, and read prayers mornings and 
 evenings; and that scripture of "howling on 
 their beds," was much on my mind : by it I 
 was checked from saying prayers in my 
 bed. 
 
 About this time I began to be very se- 
 rious about religion. One day, after we 
 came from the place of public worship, the 
 maid before mentioned read one of Preston's 
 sermons, the text was : " Pray continually." 
 In this sermon much was said respecting 
 prayer : amongst other things, of the ex- 
 cellency of prayer, that it distinguished a 
 saint from a sinner ; that in many things 
 the hypocrite could imitate the saint, but 
 in this he could not. This thing wrought 
 much on my mind. I found that I knew 
 not what true prayer was ; for what I 
 used for prayer, an ungodly person could 
 use as w.ell as I, which was to read one 
 out of a book; and this could not be the 
 u 2
 
 prayer he meant, which distinguished a 
 saint from a wicked one. My mind was 
 deeply exercised about this thing. When 
 she had done reading, and all were gone 
 out of the chamber, I shut the door, and 
 in great distress I flung myself on the bed, 
 and oppressedly cried out : " Lord, what 
 is prayer !" 
 
 This exercise continued so on my mind, 
 that at night, when I used to read a 
 prayer out of a book, I could only weep, 
 and remain in trouble. At this time I had 
 never heard of any people that prayed any 
 other way than by reading prayers out of 
 a book, or composing themselves. I re- 
 member one morning it came into my mind 
 that I would write a prayer of my own 
 composing, and use it in the morning as 
 soon as I was out of bed ; which I did, 
 though I could then scarcely join my let- 
 ters, I had learnt so little a time to write. 
 The prayer I wrote was something after 
 this manner: " Lord, thou commandest 
 the Israelites to offer a morning sacrifice, so 
 I offer up the sacrifice of prayer, and de-
 
 sire to be preserved this day." The use of 
 this prayer for a little while gave me some 
 ease. I soon quite left my prayer-books, 
 and used to write prayers according to my 
 several occasions. The second that I 
 wrote was for the assurance of the pardon 
 of my sins. I had heard one preach, 
 *' that God of his free grace pardoned 
 David's sins." I was much affected by it, 
 and, as I came from the worship place, I 
 thought it would be a happy thing to be 
 assured that one's past sins were pardoned. 
 I wrote a pretty long prayer on that sub- 
 ject, and felt, that as pardon came through 
 grace, I might receive it, though very un- 
 worthy of it. In said prayer I used many 
 earnest expressions. 
 
 A little time after thisj several persons 
 spoke to me about the greatness of my 
 memory, and praised me for it. I felt a 
 fear of being puffed up, and wrote a 
 prayer of thanks for that gift, and desired 
 to be enabled to use it for the Lord, and 
 that it might be sanctified to me. 
 
 These three prayers I used with some
 
 ease of mind, but not long, for I began 
 again to question whether I prayed aright 
 or not. I was much troubled about it, not 
 knowing that any did pray extempore; 
 but it sprung up in my mind, that to use 
 words descriptive of the state I was in, was 
 prayer, which I attempted to do, but could 
 not. Sometimes I kneeled down a long 
 time, and had not a word to say, which 
 wrought great trouble in me. I had none 
 to reveal my distress unto, or advise with ; 
 so, secretly bore a great burden a long 
 time. 
 
 One day as I was sitting at work in the 
 parlour, one called a gentleman (who was 
 against the superstitions of the times) came 
 in, and looking sadly, said " it was a sad 
 day: that Prynne, Bastwick, and Burton, 
 were sentenced to have their ears cut, 
 and to be banished." This news sunk 
 deep into my mind, and strong cries were 
 raised in me for them, and the rest of the 
 innocent people in the nation. I was un- 
 able to sit at my work, but was strongly 
 inclined to go into a private room, which I 

 
 did, and shutting the door, kneeled down 
 and poured out my soul to the Lord in a 
 very vehement manner. I was wonderfully 
 melted and eased, and felt peace and ac- 
 ceptance with the Lord; and that this was 
 true prayer, which I had never before 
 been acquainted with. 
 
 Not long after this an account was 
 brought to the house, that a neighbouring 
 minister, who had been suspended by the 
 bishops for not being subject to their 
 canons, was returned to his flock again, 
 and that he was to preach at the place 
 where he did three years before, (being 
 suspended so long.) I expressed a desire 
 to go thither, but was reproved by those 
 that had the care of my education, they 
 saying that it was not fit to leave my 
 parish church. I could not be easy with- 
 out going, so I went. When I came 
 there, he prayed fervently (he was one 
 called a Puritan) and with great power. 
 Then I felt that was true prayer, and what 
 my mind pressed after, but could not come 
 at in my own will, and had but just tasted
 
 of it the time before mentioned. And 
 now I knew that this alone was prayer, I 
 mourned solely because I kneeled down 
 morning after morning, and night after 
 night, and had not a word to say. My 
 distress was so great, that I feared I should 
 perish in the night, because I had not 
 prayed; and I thought that by day my 
 food would not nourish me, because I could 
 not pray. 
 
 I was thus exercised a great while, and 
 could not join in the common prayer that 
 was read in the family every night ; nei- 
 ther could I kneel down when I came to 
 the worship-house, as I had been taught 
 to do ; and this scripture was much in my 
 mind: "Be more ready to hear, than to 
 offer the sacrifice of fools." I could only 
 read the Bible, or some other book, whilst 
 the priest read the common prayer. At 
 last I could neither kneel nor stand up to 
 join with the priest in his prayer before the 
 sermon ; neither did I care to hear him 
 preach, my mind being after the Noncon- 
 formist, the Puritan already mentioned.
 
 9 
 
 By constraint I went with the family in 
 the morning, but eould not be kept from 
 the Puritan preacher in the afternoon. I 
 went through much suffering on this ac- 
 count, being forced to go on foot between 
 two and three miles, and no one permitted 
 to go with me ; except sometimes a ser- 
 vant, out of compassion, would run after 
 me, lest I should be frightened going alone. 
 Though I was very young, I was so zea- 
 lous that all the tried reasonings and 
 threatenings could not keep me back. In 
 a short time I refused to hear the priest of 
 our parish at all, but went constantly, all 
 weathers, to the other place. Tn the 
 family I used to hear the Scripture read ; 
 but if I happened to go in before they had 
 done their prayers, I would sit down 
 though they were kneeling. 
 
 These things wrought me much trouble 
 in the family, and there was none to take 
 my part ; yet at length two of the maid- 
 servants were inclined to mind what I said 
 against their prayers, and so refused to 
 u 3
 
 10 
 
 join them, at which the governors of the 
 family were much disturbed, and made me 
 the subject of their discourse in company, 
 saying that I would pray with the spirit, 
 and rejected godly men's prayers; that I 
 was proud and schismatic ; and that I 
 went to those places to meet young men, 
 and such like. At this time I suffered, 
 not only from those persons to whose care I 
 was committed by my parents, (who both 
 died when I was not above three years of 
 age,) but also from my companions and 
 kindred; yet, notwithstanding, in this zeal 
 I grew much, and sequestered myself from 
 my former vain company, and refused 
 playing at cards, &c. I zealously kept the 
 sabbath, not daring to eat or be clothed 
 with such things as occasioned much trou- 
 ble, or took up much time on that day, 
 which I believed ought to be devoted to 
 hearing, reading, and praying. I disre- 
 garded those matches proposed to me by 
 vain persons, having desired of the Lord, 
 that if I married at all, it might be a man 
 that feared him. I had a belief, that
 
 11 
 
 though I then knew of none of my out- 
 ward rank that was such a one, yet that 
 the Lord would provide such a one for 
 me. 
 
 Possessed of this belief, I regarded not 
 their reproaches, that would say to me, 
 that no gentleman was of this way, and 
 that I should marry some mean person or 
 other. But they were disappointed, for the 
 Lord touched the heart of him that was 
 afterwards my husband, and my heart 
 cleaved to him for the Lord's sake. He 
 was of a good understanding, and had cast 
 off those dead superstitions; which, that 
 they were dead, was more clearly made 
 manifest to him in that day, than any other 
 person that I knew of, of his rank and 
 years. He was but young, compared to 
 the knowledge he had attained in the 
 things of God. He was about twenty 
 years old. We pressed much after the 
 knowledge of the Lord, and walked in his 
 fear; and though both very young, were 
 joined together in the Lord; refusing the 
 use of a ring, and such like things then
 
 12 
 
 used, and not denied by any that we knew 
 of. 
 
 We lived together about two years and 
 a month. We were zealously affected, 
 and daily exercised in what we believed to 
 be the service and worship of God. We 
 scrupled many things then in use amongst 
 those accounted honest people, viz. singing 
 David's Psalms in metre. We tore out of 
 our Bibles the common prayer, the form of 
 prayer, and also the singing psalms, as 
 being the inventions, of vain poets, not 
 being written for that use. We found 
 that songs of praise must spring from the 
 same source as prayers did ; so we could 
 not use any one's songs or prayers. We 
 were also brought off from the use of bread 
 and wine, and water baptism. We looked 
 into the Independent way, but saw death 
 there, and that there was not the thing our 
 souls sought after. 
 
 In this state my dear husband died, 
 hoping in the promises afar off, not seeing 
 or knowing him that is invisible to be so 
 near him ; and that it was he that showed
 
 18 
 
 unto him his thoughts, and made manifest 
 the good and the evil. When he was 
 taken from me, I was with child of my 
 dear daughter Gulielma Maria Springett. 
 It was often with me that I should not be 
 able to consent to the thing being done to 
 my child, which I saw no fruit of, and 
 knew to be but a custom which men were 
 engaged in by tradition, not having the 
 true knowledge of that scripture in the 
 last of the Galatians, of circumcision or 
 uncircumcision availing nothing, but a new 
 creature. This was often in my mind, 
 and I resolved that it should not be done 
 to my child. When I was delivered of 
 her, I refused to have her sprinkled, which 
 brought great reproach upon me; so I be- 
 came a by -word and a hissing among the 
 people of my own rank in the world ; and 
 a strange thing it was thought to be, among 
 my relations and acquaintance. Such as 
 were esteemed able ministers, (and I for- 
 merly delighted to hear,) were sent to per- 
 suade me ; but I could not consent and be
 
 14 
 
 clear. My answer to them was: " He that 
 doubteth is damned." 
 
 After some time I waded through this 
 difficulty, but soon after I unhappily went 
 from the simplicity into notions, and 
 changed my ways often, and ran from one 
 notion into another, not finding satisfaction 
 nor assurance that I should obtain what 
 my soul desired, in the several ways and 
 notions which I sought satisfaction in. I 
 was weary of prayers, and such like ex- 
 ercises, finding no peace therefrom ; nor 
 could I lift up my hands without doubting, 
 nor call God father. In this state, and for 
 this cause, I gave over all manner of re- 
 ligious exercises in my family and in pri- 
 vate, with much grief, for my delight was 
 in being exercised about religion. I left 
 not those things in a loose mind, as some 
 judged that kept in them; for had I found 
 I performed thereby what the Lord re- 
 quired of me, and was well pleased with, I 
 could gladly have continued in the prac- 
 tice of them; I being zealously affected 
 about the several things that were ac-
 
 15 
 
 counted duties; a zealous sabbath-keeper, 
 and fasting often ; praying in private, 
 rarely less than three times a day, many 
 times oftener ; a hearer of sermons on all 
 occasions, both lectures, fasts, and thanks- 
 giving. Most of the day was used to be 
 spent in reading the scriptures or praying, 
 or such like. I dared not to go to bed till 
 I had prayed, nor pray till I had read scrip- 
 ture, and felt my heart warmed thereby, 
 or by meditation. I had so great a zeal 
 and delight in the exercise of religious du- 
 ties, that when I questioned not but it was 
 right, I have often in the day sought re- 
 mote places to pray in, such as the fields, 
 gardens, or out-houses, when I could not 
 be private in the house. I was so vehe- 
 ment in prayer, that I thought no place too 
 private to pray in, for I could not but Ire 
 loud in the earnest pouring out of my 
 soul. Oh ! this was not parted with but 
 because I found it polluted, and my rest 
 must not be there. 
 
 I now had my conversation among a 
 people that had no religion, being ashamed
 
 16 
 
 to be thought religious, or do any thing 
 that was called so, not finding my heart 
 with the appearance. And now I loathed 
 whatever profession any one made, and 
 thought the professors of every sort worse 
 than the profane, they boasted so much of 
 what I knew they had not attained to ; I 
 having been zealous in all things which 
 they pretended to, and could not find the 
 purging of the heart, or answer of accept- 
 ation from the Lord. 
 
 In this restless state I entertained every 
 sort of notion that arose in that day, and 
 for a time applied myself to get out of them 
 whatever I could ; but still sorrow and 
 trouble was the end of all, and I began to 
 conclude that the Lord and his truth was, 
 but that it was not made known to any 
 upon earth ; and I determined no more to 
 enquire after Him or it, for it was in vain 
 to seek Him, being not to be found. For 
 some time, pursuant to my resolution, I 
 thought nothing about religion, but minded 
 recreations as they are called, and ran into 
 many excesses and vanities ; as foolish
 
 ir 
 
 mirth, carding, dancing, singing, and fre- 
 quenting of music meetings; and made 
 many vain visits at jovial eatings and 
 drinkings, to satisfy the extravagant ap- 
 petite, and please the vain mind with curio- 
 sities; gratifying the lust of the eye, the lust 
 of the flesh, and the pride of life. I also 
 frequented other places of pleasure, where 
 vain people resorted to show themselves, 
 and to see others in the like excess of folly 
 in apparel; riding about from place to 
 place, in the airy mind. But in the midst 
 of all this my heart was constantly sad, and 
 pained beyond expression; and after a 
 pretty long indulgence in such follies, I 
 retired for several days, and was in great 
 trouble and anguish. 
 
 To all this excess and folly I was not 
 hurried by being captivated with such 
 things, but sought in them relief from the 
 discontent of my mind ; not having found 
 what I sought after, and longed for, in the 
 practice of religious duties. I would often 
 say to myself, What is all this to me ? I 
 could easily leave it all, for my heart is not
 
 satisfied therewith. I do these things be- 
 cause I am weary, and know not what else 
 to do: it is not my delight, it hath not 
 power over me. I had rather serve the 
 Lord, if I knew how acceptably. 
 
 In this restless, distressed state, I often 
 retired into the country, without any com- 
 pany but my daughter and her maid; and 
 there I spent many hours each day in be- 
 moaning myself, and desiring the know- 
 ledge of the truth ; but was still deceived, 
 and fell in with some delusive notions or 
 other, that wounded me, and left me with- 
 out any clearness or certainty. One night, 
 in this retired place, I went to bed very 
 disconsolately and sad, through the great 
 and afflicting exercise of my mind. I 
 dreamed that night that I saw a book of 
 hieroglyphics of religion, of things to come 
 in the church, or a religious state. I 
 thought I took no delight in them, nor felt 
 any closing in my mind with them, though 
 magnified by those that showed them. I 
 turned from them greatly oppressed, and it 
 being evening, went out from the company
 
 19 
 
 into a field, sorrowing, and lifting up my 
 eyes to heaven, cried : " Lord, suffer me 
 no more to fall in with any wrong way, but 
 show me the truth." Immediately I 
 thought the sky opened, and a bright light, 
 like fire, fell upon my hand, which so 
 frightened me that I awoke, and cried out 
 so that my daughter's servant, who was in 
 the room, not gone to bed, came to my 
 bed-side to know what was the matter with 
 me. I trembled a long while after, yet 
 knew not what to turn to ; or rather be- 
 lieving there was nothing manifest since 
 the apostles' days, that was true religion; 
 for I knew nothing to be so certainly of 
 God, that I could shed my blood in the 
 defence of it. 
 
 One day, as I was going through Lon- 
 don, from a country-house, I could not pass 
 through the crowd, it being the day the 
 Lord Mayor was sworn: I was obliged to 
 go into a house till it was over. I, being 
 burdened with the vanity of their show, 
 said to a professor that stood by me: 
 " What benefit have we from all this blood-
 
 20 
 
 shed, and Charles being kept out of the 
 nation, seeing all these follies are again 
 allowed? 1 ' He answered: "None, that he 
 knew of, except the enjoyment of true 
 religion." I replied, " that it is a benefit 
 to you that have a religion to be protected 
 in the exercise of, but it is none to me." 
 
 But here I must mention a state that I 
 then knew, notwithstanding all my dark- 
 ness and distress about religion, which 
 was in nothing to be careful, but in all 
 cases to let my requesti be known to the 
 Lord in sighs and groans; and help he was 
 graciously pleased to afford me in the most 
 confused disquieted estate I ever knew; 
 even in that day when I had no religion I 
 could call true. Wonderful is the remem- 
 brance of his kindness ! If I wanted to 
 hire a servant, or remove to any place, or 
 do any other thing that concerned my 
 condition in this world, I always retired 
 and waited upon the Lord, to see what the 
 day would bring forth; and as things pre- 
 sented to me I would embrace them, with- 
 out making much enquiry after accommo-
 
 21 
 
 dations of that kind ; but was in all things 
 else in a dissatisfied, hurried condition ; for 
 I thought the beloved of my soul was nei- 
 ther night nor day with me. Yet in the 
 anguish of my soul I would cry to Him, 
 and beseech that if I might not come to 
 Him as a child, not having the spirit of 
 sonship, yet, as he was my Creator, I 
 might approach him as the beasts that 
 have their food from him : " For, Lord, 
 thou knowest I cannot move or breathe as 
 thy creature, without thee: help is only 
 in thee. If thou art inaccessible in thy 
 own glory, yet I can only have help where 
 it is to be had, and thou only hast power 
 to help me." 
 
 O, the distress I felt at this time ! 
 Having never dared to kneel down to pray 
 for years, because I could not in truth call 
 God father, and dared not mock or be 
 formal in the thing. Sometimes I should 
 be melted into tears, and feel inexpressible 
 tenderness; and then, not knowing from 
 whence it proceeded, and being ready to 
 judge all religion, I thought it was some
 
 22 
 
 influence from the planets that governed 
 the body, and so accounted for my being 
 sometimes hard, and sometimes tender, as 
 being under such or such a planet ; but 
 dared not to own any thing in me to be 
 of God, or that I felt any influence of his 
 good spirit upon my heart ; but I was like 
 the parched heath, and the hunted hart 
 for water, so great was my thirst after 
 that which I did not believe was near me. 
 My mind being thus almost continually 
 exercised, I dreamed that I was sitting 
 alone, retired and sad ; and as 1 was sit- 
 ting, I heard a very loud, confused noise : 
 some shrieking, yelling, and roaring in a 
 piteous, doleful manner; others casting 
 up their caps, and hallooing in a way of 
 triumph and joy. I listening to find out 
 what the matter was, it was manifested to 
 me that Christ was come ; and the differ- 
 ent noises I heard were expressive of the 
 different states the people were in at his 
 coming some in joy, some in extreme 
 sorrow and amazement. I waited in much 
 dread to see the issue; at length I found
 
 23 
 
 that neither the joying nor sorrowing part 
 of the multitude were they that truly knew 
 of his coming, but were agitated by a false 
 rumour. So I abode still in the room soli- 
 tary, and found I was not to join with 
 either party, but to be still, and not affect- 
 ed with the thing at all, nor go forth to 
 enquire about it. Sitting thus a while, all 
 was silent. Remaining still in the same 
 place, cool and low in my mind, all this 
 distracted noise being over, one came in, 
 and speaking in a low voice said : " Christ 
 is come indeed, and is in the next room ; 
 and with him is the bride, the Lamb's 
 wife." At this my heart secretly leaped 
 within me, and I was ready to get up to 
 go and express my love to him, and joy at 
 his coming ; but something within me 
 stopped me, and bade me not to be hasty, 
 but patiently, coolly, softly, and soberly go 
 into the next room, which I did, and stood 
 just within the entrance of a spacious hall, 
 trembling and rejoicing, but dared not to 
 go near to him, for it was said unto me : 
 " Stay and see whether he will own thee,
 
 24 
 
 or take thee to be such an one as thou 
 lookest upon thyself to be." So I stood 
 still at a great distance, at the lower end of 
 the hall, and Christ was at the upper end, 
 whose appearance was that of a fresh, 
 lovely youth, clad in gray cloth, very plain 
 and neat, (at this time I had never heard 
 of the Quakers or their habit,) of a sweet, 
 affable, and courteous carriage. I saw him 
 embrace several poor, old, simple people, 
 whose appearance was very contemptible 
 and mean, without wisdom or beauty. 
 I seeing this, concluded within myself, that 
 though he appeared young, his discretion 
 and wisdom were great ; for he must be- 
 hold some hidden worth in these people, 
 who to me seem so mean, so unlovely and 
 simple. At last he beckoned to me to 
 come near him, of which I was very glad. 
 I went tremblingly and lowly ; not lifted 
 up, but in great weightiness and dread. 
 
 After a little while it was said: "The 
 Lamb's wife is also come;" at which I 
 beheld a beautiful young woman, slender, 
 modest, and grave, in plain garments, be-
 
 25 
 
 coming and graceful. Her image was 
 fully answering his, as a brother and sis- 
 ter. After I had beheld all this, and joyed 
 in it, I spoke to Thomas Zachary, (whom 
 I then knew to be a seeker after the Lord, 
 though tossed, like myself, in the many 
 ways, yet pressing after life,) saying: 
 " Seeing Christ is come indeed, and few 
 know it; and- those that in the confusion 
 mourned or rejoiced, know it not, but 
 Christ is hid from them ; let us take the 
 king's house at Greenwich, and let us 
 dwell with and enjoy him there, from 
 those that look for him and cannot find 
 him." Without receiving any reply, I 
 awoke. 
 
 Several years after this, I had another 
 dream about Friends in their present state, 
 which I shall relate in the close. 
 
 In the situation I mentioned, of being 
 wearied in seeking and not finding, I 
 married my dear husband, Isaac Penning- 
 ton. My love was drawn towards him, 
 because I found he saw the deceit of all 
 c
 
 26 
 
 nations, and lay as one that refused to be 
 comforted by any appearance of religion, 
 until he came to His temple, " who is truth 
 and no lie." All things that appeared to be 
 religion and were not so, were very mani- 
 fest to him; so that, till then, he was sick 
 and weary of all appearances. My heart 
 became united to him, and I desired to be 
 made serviceable to him in - his disconso- 
 late condition ; for he was as one alone and 
 miserable in this world. I gave up much 
 to be a companion to him in his suffering 
 state. And oh! the groans and cries in 
 secret that were raised in me, that I might 
 be visited of the Lord, and come to the 
 knowledge of his way; and that my feet 
 might be turnecj into that way, before I 
 went hence, if I never walked one step in it, 
 to my joy or peace; yet that I might 
 know myself in it, or turned to it, thougli 
 all my time were spent in sorrow and ex- 
 ercise. 
 
 I resolved never to go back to those 
 things I had left, having discovered death 
 and darkness to be in them; but would
 
 27 
 
 rather be without a religion, until the 
 Lord taught me one. Many times, when 
 alone, did I reason thus: " Why should I 
 not know the way of life ? For if the 
 Lord would give me all in this world, it 
 would not satisfy me." Nay, I would cry 
 out : " I care not for a portion in this life : 
 give it to those who care for it> I am 
 miserable with it : it is acceptance witli 
 thee I desire, and that alone can satisfy 
 me." 
 
 Whilst I was in this state I heard of a 
 new people, called Quakers. I resolved 
 not to enquire after them, nor what prin- 
 ciples they held. For a year or more after 
 I heard of them in the north, I heard 
 nothing of their way, except that they 
 used thee and thou; and I saw a book 
 written in the plain language, by George 
 Fox. I remember that I thought it very 
 ridiculous, so minded neither the people 
 nor the book, except that it was to scoff 
 at them and it. Though I thus despised 
 this people, I had sometimes a desire to 
 C2
 
 28 
 
 go to one of their meetings, if I could, un- 
 known, and to hear them pray, for I was 
 quite weary of doctrines ; but I believed 
 if I was with them when they prayed, I 
 should be able to feel whether they were 
 of the Lord or not. I endeavoured to 
 stifle this desire, not knowing how to get 
 to one of their meetings unknown; and if 
 it should be known, I thought it would be 
 reported that I was one of them. 
 
 One day, as my husband and I were 
 walking in a park, a man, that for a 
 little time had frequented the quakers' 
 meetings, saw us as he rode by, in our 
 gay, vain apparel* He cried out to us 
 against our pride, &c. at which I scoffed, 
 and said he was a public preacher indeed, 
 who preached in the highways. He 
 turned back again, saying he had a love 
 for my husband, seeing grace in his looks. 
 He drew nigh to the pales, and spoke of 
 the light and guace which had appeared to 
 all men. My husband and he engaged in 
 discourse. The man of the house coming 
 up, invited the stranger in : he was but
 
 29 
 
 young, and my husband too hard for him 
 in the fleshly wisdom. He told my hus- 
 band he would bring a man to him the 
 next day, that should answer all his ques- 
 tions, or objections, who, as I afterwards 
 understood, was George Fox. He came 
 again the next day, and left word that the 
 friend he intended to bring could not well 
 come ; but some others, he believed, would 
 be with us about the second hour ; at which 
 time came Thomas Curtis and William 
 Simpson. 
 
 My mind was somewhat affected by the 
 man who had discoursed with us the night 
 before; and though I thought him weak in 
 managing the arguments he endeavoured 
 to support, yet many scriptures which he 
 mentioned stuck with me very weightily: 
 they were such as showed to me the va- 
 nity of many practices I was in ; which 
 made me very serious, and soberly inclined 
 to hear what these men had to say. Their 
 solid and weighty carriage struck a dread 
 over me. I now knew that they came in 
 the power and authority of the Lord, to
 
 30 
 
 visit us, and that the Lord was with 
 them. All in the room were sensible of 
 the Lord's power manifest in them. Tho- 
 mas Curtis repeated this scripture : " He 
 that will know my doctrine, must do my 
 commands." Immediately it arose in my 
 mind, that if I would know whether that 
 was truth they had spoken or not, I must 
 do what I knew to be the Lord's will. 
 What was contrary to it was now set before 
 me, as to be removed ; and I must come 
 into a state of entire obedience, before I 
 could be in a capacity to perceive or disco- 
 ver what it was which they laid down for 
 their principles. This wrought mightily 
 in me. Things which I had slighted 
 much, now seemed to have power over 
 me. Terrible was the Lord against the 
 vain and evil inclinations in me, which 
 made me, night and day, to cry out; and if 
 I did but cease a little, then I grieved for 
 fear I should again be reconciled to the 
 things which I felt under judgment, and 
 had a just detestation of. Oh! how I did 
 beg not to be left secure or quiet till the
 
 evil was done away. How often did this 
 run through my mind : " Ye will not come 
 to me, that ye may have life." "It is 
 true I am undone if I come not to thee, 
 but I cannot come, unless I leave that 
 which cleaveth close unto me, and I can- 
 not part with it." 
 
 I saw the Lord would be just in casting 
 me off, and not giving me life ; for I would 
 not come from my beloved lusts, to him, for 
 life. Oh! the pain I felt still. The wrath 
 of God was more than I could bear. Oh ! 
 in what bitterness and distress was I in- 
 volved ! A little time after the friends' 
 visit before mentioned, one night on my 
 bed it was said unto, me: " Be not hasty 
 to join these people called Quakers." I 
 never had peace or quiet from a sore ex- 
 ercise for many months, till I was, by the 
 stroke of judgment, brought off from all 
 those things, which I found the light made 
 manifest to be deceit, bondage, and vanity, 
 the spirit of the world, &c. and I given up 
 to be a fool and a reproach, and to take up 
 the cross to my honour and reputation in
 
 32 
 
 the world. The contemplation of those 
 things cost me many tears, doleful nights 
 and days; not now disputing against the 
 doctrine preached by the Friends, but ex- 
 ercised against taking up the cross to the 
 language, fashions, customs, titles, honour, 
 and esteem in the world. 
 
 My relations made this cross very heavy; 
 but as at length I happily gave up, divested 
 of reasonings, not consulting how to pro- 
 vide for the flesh, I received strength to 
 attend the meetings of these despised peo- 
 ple, which I never intended to meddle 
 with, but found truly of the Lord, and my 
 heart owned them. I longed to be one of 
 them, and minded not the cost or pain ; 
 but judged it would be well worth 
 my utmost cost and pain to witness 
 such a change as I saw in them 
 such power over their corruptions. I had 
 heard objected against them, that they 
 wrought not miracles; but I said that they 
 did great miracles, in that they turned 
 them that were in the world and the fel- 
 lowship of it, from all such things. Thus, 
 by taking up the cross, I received strength
 
 33 
 
 against many things which I had thought 
 impossible to deny; but many tears did I 
 shed, and bitterness of soul did I experi- 
 ence, before I came thither; and often 
 cried out: "I shall one day fall by the 
 overpowering of the enemy." But oh! 
 the joy that filled my soul in the first meet- 
 ing ever held in our house at Chalfont. 
 To this day I have a fresh remembrance of 
 it. It was then the Lord enabled me to 
 worship him in that which was undoubt- 
 edly his own, and give up my whole 
 strength, yea, to swim in the life which 
 overcame me that day. Oh ! long had I 
 desired to worship him with acceptation, 
 and lift up my hands without doubting, 
 which I witnessed that day in that assem- 
 bly. I acknowledged his great mercy and 
 wonderful kindness ; for I could say, 
 " This is it which I have longed and waited 
 for, and feared I never should have experi- 
 enced." 
 
 Many trials have I been exercised with 
 since, but they were all from the Lord, 
 who strengthened my life in them. Yet, 
 c 3
 
 34 
 
 after all this, I suffered my mind to run 
 out into prejudice against some particular 
 Friends. This was a sore hurt unto me : 
 but after a time of deep, secret sorrow, the 
 Lord removed the wrong thing from me, 
 blessing me with a large portion of his 
 light, and the love and acceptance of his 
 beloved ones. And he hath many times 
 refreshed my soul in his presence, and 
 given me assurance that I knew that estate 
 in which he will never leave me, nor suffer 
 me to be drawn from all which he has gra- 
 ciously fulfilled ; for though various infir- 
 mities and temptations beset me, yet my 
 heart cleaveth unto the Lord, in the ever- 
 lasting bonds that can never be broken. 
 In his light do I see those temptations and 
 infirmities: there do I bemoan myself unto 
 him, arid feel faith and strength, which 
 give the victory. Though it keeps me 
 low in the sense of my own weakness, yet 
 it quickens in me a lively hope of seeing 
 Satan trodden down under foot by his all- 
 sufficient grace. I feel and know when I 
 have slipped in word, deed, or thought ;
 
 35 
 
 and also know where my help lieth, who 
 is my advocate, and have recourse to him 
 who pardons and heals, and gives me to 
 overcome, setting me on my watch-tower: 
 and though the enemy is suffered to prove 
 me, in order more and more to wean me 
 from any dependance but upon the mighty 
 Jehovah, I believe he will never be able 
 to prevail against me. Oh ! that I may 
 keep on my watch continually : knowing, 
 the Lord only can make war with this 
 dragon. Oh! that I may, by discovering 
 my own weakness, ever be tender of the 
 tempted ; watching and praying, lest I also 
 be tempted. Sweet is this state, though 
 low ; for in it I receive my daily bread, and 
 enjoy that which he handeth forth conti- 
 nually ; and live not, but as he breatheth 
 the breath of life upon me every moment. 
 
 POSTSCRIPT. After I had written the 
 foregoing, it lay by me a considerable time. 
 One day it came into my mind to leave it 
 with Elizabeth Walmsby, to keep till after 
 my decease, and desire her then to show
 
 36 
 
 it to such as had a love for me. So one 
 day I desired her to meet me at John 
 Mannock's, at Giles-Chalfont. There I 
 spoke to her about it, read it to her, and 
 desired she would write it out, (intending 
 to leave it with her,) but it afterwards 
 went out of mind. It was in the year 
 1668 that I made this proposal ; it is now 
 almost 1672, when I found it among some 
 other writings, and reading it over, found 
 it was a true, though brief account, of 
 many passages from my childhood to the 
 time it was written. I am now willing to 
 have it written over fair, for the use of my 
 children, and some few particular friends 
 who know and feel me in that which hun- 
 gereth and thirsteth after righteousness, 
 and many times being livingly satisfied in 
 God my life, 
 
 MARY PENNINGTON, 
 
 I now come to relate a dream that I had 
 at Worminghurst, between twenty and 
 thirty years after the foregoing, mentioned
 
 37 
 
 in page the 25th. I insert it here, because, 
 at the close, I dreamed that I related a 
 part of the foregoing one. 
 
 Being at Worminghurst, at my son 
 Penn's, 30th of the 7th Month, 1676, at 
 night, in bed and asleep, I dreamed I was 
 with two other persons in an upper room ; 
 (who the persons were I do not perfectly 
 remember ;) I looking out of the window, 
 saw the sky very black and dismal, yea, 
 the appearance of it to me, and the rest 
 that beheld it, was very dreadful ; but 
 keeping cool and low in our spirits, to see 
 what would follow, at length the sky 
 grew thinner, and began to clear ; not by 
 the descending of rain, in the usual way, 
 but by one great vent of water, issuing out 
 of the midst of these thick clouds, which 
 seemed quite driven away, divided into 
 heaps, and a great clearness left in the 
 midst ; out of which clearness appeared a 
 very bright head, breast, and arms, the 
 complete upper part of a man, very beauti- 
 ful, (like pictures I have seen to represent 
 an angel form,) holding in his hand a long,
 
 38 
 
 green bough ; not so green as a laurel, but 
 of a sea, or willow-green colour, resem- 
 bling a palm. This palm or bough he held 
 over his head, which to us was such a sig- 
 nification of good, that both by voice and 
 action we made acclamations of joy ; ut- 
 tering forth, through fulness of joy and 
 sense, indistinct sounds, expressive of being 
 overcome with the greatness of our sense, 
 which we could not set forth in words : 
 sounds something like, oh ! oh ! ah ! ah ! in 
 an astonished manner; spreading our hands, 
 and running swiftly about the room, with 
 constant acclamations of admiration and 
 joy; signifying, by our manner, a being 
 likely to burst with astonishment and joy, 
 and our tongues or voice unable to deliver 
 us of what we were so big with. After a 
 little while there appeared lower in the 
 element, nearer the earth, in an oval, 
 transparent glass, a man and a woman, 
 (not in resemblance, but real persons ;) the 
 man wore a greater majesty and sweetness 
 than 1 ever saw with mortal : his hair was 
 brown, his eyes black and sparkling, his
 
 89 
 
 complexion ruddy; piercing dominion in 
 his countenance, blendid with affability, 
 great gentleness, and kindness. The wo- 
 man resembled him in features and com- 
 plexion; but appeared tender and bashful, 
 yet quick-sighted. 
 
 After having beheld these heavenly 
 forms awhile, we, in a sense of their ma- 
 jesty and dominion, did reverence to them, 
 falling on our faces in a solemn, not in a 
 disturbed, confused manner, crying glory! 
 glory! glory I glory! glory! at which the 
 man ascended, but the woman came down 
 to us, and spoke to us with great gravity 
 and sweetness; the words I have forgotten, 
 but the purport of them was, that we 
 should not be formal, nor fall out. Then 
 she disappeared, and we looked one at ano- 
 ther, after a melted, serious manner ; arid 
 I said to them : " This is a vision, to signify 
 to us some great matter and glorious ap- 
 pearance ; more glorious than the Quakers 
 at their first coming forth. I added, that 
 I had a distinct vision and sight of such 
 state in a dream, before ever I heard of a
 
 40 
 
 Quaker ; but it was in a more simple, plain 
 manner than this. For I then saw Christ 
 like a fresh, sweet, innocent youth, clad in 
 light gray, neat, but plain; and so, like- 
 wise, was the bride, the Lamb's wife, in 
 the same manner : but under this plain ap- 
 pearance, there was deep wisdom and dis- 
 cernment; for I saw him own and embrace, 
 such as I could not see any acceptable thing 
 in ; such as I thought Christ would not 
 own, being old, poor, and contemptible wo- 
 men. But now," said I, "his counte- 
 nance and garb are altered : in the former 
 was united to sweetness, majesty; in the 
 latter, to plainness and neatness is joined 
 resplendence." Without any further con- 
 versation I awoke. 
 
 I shall now proceed to make an addition 
 to the foregoing narrative. After my dear 
 husband and I had received the truth of 
 God's faithful servants, to the light and 
 grace in the heart, we became obedient to 
 the heavenly voice, receiving the truth in 
 the love of it, and took up the cross to the
 
 41 
 
 customs, language, friendships, titles, and 
 honours of this world ; and endured, pa- 
 tiently, despisings, reproaches, cruel mock- 
 ings, and scornings, from relations, ac- 
 quaintances, and neighbours ; those of our 
 own rank, and those below us, nay, even 
 our own servants. To every class we were 
 a by-word : they would wag the head at 
 us, accounting us fools, mad, and bewitched. 
 As such, they stoned, abused, and impri- 
 soned us, at several towns and meetings 
 where we went. This not being enough 
 to prove us, and work for us a far more 
 exceeding weight of glory, it pleased the 
 Lord to try us by the loss of our estate, 
 which was wrongfully withheld from us, 
 by our relations sueing us unrighteously. 
 Our own tenants withheld what the law 
 gave, and put us into the Court of Chan- 
 cery, because we could not swear. Our re- 
 lations also taking that advantage, we 
 were put out of our dwelling-house, in an 
 injurious, unrighteous manner. Thus we 
 were stripped of my husband's estate, and 
 a great part of mine,
 
 42 
 
 After this, we were tossed up and down 
 from place to place, to our great weariness 
 and charge. We had no place to abide in, 
 near our former habitation at Chalfont, 
 where our meetings used to be held ; yet 
 were we pressed in our spirits to stay 
 amongst the gathered flock, if a place 
 could be found any way convenient, though 
 but ordinarily decent. We sought within 
 the compass of four or five miles, but could 
 find none ; yet we had such a sense that 
 was our proper place, that we had not 
 freedom to settle any where else. So we 
 boarded at Waltham Abbey, for the sake 
 of having our children accommodated at 
 a school there, and desired our friends to 
 enquire after, or provide a place for us, 
 at a Friend's house, to winter in, hoping to 
 be provided with a house against the en- 
 suing summer. 
 
 All the time we were seeking for a place, 
 we never entertained a thought of buying 
 one to settle ourselves in ; not choosing to 
 be cumbered with either house or land by 
 purchase, as we both desired a disentan-
 
 43 
 
 gled state. I, seeing no provision likely 
 to be made for us in this country, near 
 Friends, told my husband, that, if we must 
 leave them, I should choose to go to my 
 own estate in Kent; which proposal he 
 did not approve of, objecting against the 
 badness of the air, and dirtiness of the 
 place. 
 
 I was now greatly perplexed about what 
 to do : my husband's objections, together 
 with my own extreme unwillingness to 
 leave those people whom we had been in- 
 strumental in gathering to the truth, and 
 who had known our unjust sufferings re- 
 specting our estate, and many others of 
 our trials, and had compassionated us : (we 
 had suffered together, and had been com- 
 forted together :) I say, these considera- 
 tions, and to be obliged to go, and not to 
 go to my own estate, was cause of sore ex- 
 ercise to me. How irksome was it to 
 think of going among strangers ! The 
 people in our neighbourhood knew of our 
 former affluence, and now pitied us for 
 being so stripped ; and did not expect
 
 44 
 
 great things of us, suitable to our rank in 
 the world ; but wondered how it was that 
 we could still support a degree of decency 
 in our way of living, and were able to pay 
 every one their own. We contentedly 
 submitted to mean things, and so remained 
 honourable before them. 
 
 Whilst I was thus distressed, and we 
 had nearly concluded on going to Waltham 
 Abbey, R. T. came to see us, and much 
 bewailed our going out of the country, and 
 having no place near them to return to. 
 At length he asked why we did not buy 
 some little place near them? I replied, 
 that our circumstances would not admit of 
 it ; for we had not one hundred pounds, 
 beside rents becoming due; and, that to do 
 that, we must sell some of my estate. He 
 said he had an uncle, that had a little place 
 that he would sell for about thirty pounds 
 a year, that stood about a mile from the 
 meeting-house, in a healthy situation ; that 
 there was a house on it, which might be 
 trimmed up, and made habitable for a 
 Uttle expense. My husband wqs not there
 
 45 
 
 when mention was made of this place. 
 Soon after T. B. came in : I told him of 
 the proposal made by R. T. He encou- 
 raged the thing, saying, he had heard there 
 were some rooms in the house that might 
 serve. That night Thomas Elwood came 
 out of Kent, and told me he had much to 
 do to come back without selling my farm 
 at Westbeer. 
 
 I laid all these things together, and 
 said : " I think our best way is to sell 
 Westbeer, and purchase this place which 
 R. T. has mentioned ; and, with the over- 
 plus of the money, put the house in a con- 
 dition to receive us." For I now saw no 
 other method for our remaining in the 
 country. Next day I took Anne Bull 
 with me, and went on foot to Woodside, 
 to John Humphrey's house, to view it and 
 its situation. We came in by Hill's Lane, 
 through the orchard. The house appeared 
 in such a ruinous condition, so unlikely to 
 be fitted up, that I did not go into it ; and 
 we gave over all thoughts about it, till we 
 were disappointed of a house at Beacon's-
 
 46 
 
 field, which my husband was in treaty 
 about. Upon this we were pressed to go 
 and see the house, which T. E. H. B. and 
 I did. Whilst I went about the house, 
 they viewed the grounds. In less than 
 half an hour I had the whole thing clearly 
 in my mind, what to pull down, and what 
 to add; and thought it might be done with 
 the overplus money of the sale of Westbeer, 
 that being valued at fifty pounds a year, 
 and this at thirty. I was quite reconciled 
 to the thing, and willing to treat about it. 
 The day we went to see it, we walked to 
 Chalfont, and took my son Penn's coach 
 thither, desiring him to make enquiry re- 
 specting the title, &c. and let us know at 
 Waltham; which he did, and sent us word 
 that the title was clear, but that it was 
 judged fifty pounds too dear. 
 
 After reading this information, my mind 
 was much retired to the Lord, desiring 
 that if this was the place we ought to settle 
 in, he would be pleased to order it for us. 
 Seeing we had now lost all but my estate, 
 and had no other provision for ourselves or
 
 47 
 
 children, and were so tossed about, with- 
 out having any dwelling-place, I requested 
 my husband to give me leave to engage for 
 it ; for my mind was quite easy so to do. 
 I told him he should not be troubled about 
 the building ; that should be my care, (he 
 being very averse to building.) At length 
 he, considering that the estate was mine, 
 that he had lost all his own, and had been 
 the innocent cause of bringing great suf- 
 ferings upon me, he willingly consented 
 that I should use my own mind about it ; 
 adding, that it was, and ever should be his 
 delight, to gratify me in every respect. So 
 I sent to desire my friends to conclude for 
 it ; saying, I did not mind fifty pounds, if 
 they thought it would answer for us in 
 other respects. The bargain was con- 
 cluded. I often prayed, with tears, that I 
 might be kept free from entanglements 
 and cumber, and that it might prove such 
 a habitation as would manifest that the 
 Lord was again restoring us, and had re- 
 gard unto us. I went cheerfully and in- 
 dustriously about the business of making
 
 48 
 
 alterations, entreating the Lord that I 
 might go through it in his fear, keeping 
 my mind from cumber or darkness. Every 
 difficulty seemed to vanish, and I went on 
 to plant, and make provision for the build- 
 ing; but I was put out of my own way by 
 surveyors, who were for raising from the 
 ground a new part. My husband falling 
 in with it, I would not contend about it ; 
 though it brought great trouble upon me, 
 for I could not see my way about the busi- 
 ness as before ; nor could I see the end of 
 it, it being far beyond my own proposal ; 
 and I thought I could not compass it, on 
 account of the great charge. I took no 
 pleasure in doing any thing about it : I 
 fell ill, and could not look after it. Great 
 was my exercise : one while fearing the 
 Lord did not approve of our undertaking, 
 and another while that I did wrong in con- 
 senting to it. I would often say : ** Lord, 
 thou k no west I did not seek great things 
 for myself: I desired not a fine habitation." 
 As I intended doing it, it would have 
 been very ordinary. When I first con-
 
 49 
 
 sented to the addition, the very great ex- 
 pense was not discerned by me. The 
 Lord knew my earnest prayers, close ex- 
 ercise, and honest intent. 
 
 After a while I felt freedom to go on, 
 and was freed from care or disquiet. The 
 building was wholly managed by me, with 
 great ease and cheerfulness. Part of the 
 old house undesignedly fell down. I was 
 most remarkably preserved from being 
 hurt thereby, yet the loss was a little trial 
 to me ; but after that all things went on 
 well, and whenever I had occasion to pay 
 money, I never wanted it. Having con- 
 tracted our family greatly ; the rents 
 coming in; and having sold some old 
 houses, bark, and several other things, in- 
 stead of pain, I had now pleasure in laying 
 out my money. Indeed, my mind was so 
 daily to the Lord in this affair, and I was 
 so constantly provided with money, that I 
 often thought, and sometimes said, that it 
 1 had lived when building houses for the 
 service of the Lord was accepted and bless- 
 
 D
 
 50 
 
 ed, I could not have had a sweeter, stiller, 
 and pleasanter time. I set all things in 
 order in the morning, before I went to 
 meeting, and so left them till my return ; 
 rarely finding them rise up in my mind 
 when going to, coming from, or whilst sit- 
 ting in meeting : so my mind was merci- 
 fully kept in a sweet, savoury frame. 
 
 My chief care about my business in 
 hand, was, by my own eye, to prevent any 
 waste; which was done without any dis- 
 quiet, fretting, or anger. I lay down 
 sweetly, and rested pleasantly, and awoke 
 under a grateful sense of the Lord's good- 
 ness to me. The labour of my body kept 
 it healthy, and my mind was easy. In 
 less than four years the building was com- 
 pleted, except the wash-house part. I 
 could have compassed it in much less time, 
 but then I should have been straitened for 
 money: my doing it by degrees, made it 
 steal on undiscerned, in point of expense ; 
 the whole of which amounted, in planting, 
 building, &c. to but about one hundred 
 pounds. During this expensive time, we
 
 51 
 
 did not omit being helpful, by giving or 
 lending to such as were in distress. 
 
 And now the Lord has seen good to 
 make me a widow, and leave me in a de- 
 solate condition, by depriving me of my 
 dear companion ; yet, through his mercy, 
 I am quite disentangled, and in a very 
 easy state as to outward things. I have 
 often desired the Lord to make way so for 
 me, as that I might continually wait upon 
 him, without distraction or the cumber of 
 outward things. I most thankfully, and 
 gratefully, and humbly, under a deep sense 
 of the Lord's kind and gracious dealing 
 with me, receive the disposal of my lands 
 from his hands. Through his kindness I 
 have cleared off great part of the mort- 
 gage that was upon them, and paid most 
 of my bond debts; and can now very 
 easily manage the land in my hands. 
 And in this 4th month, 1680, I have 
 made my will, and disposed of my estate, 
 which is clear of any considerable debt. I 
 have left a handsome provision for T. P. 
 D 2
 
 52 
 
 M. P. and enough for my younger chil- 
 dren, to put them out to trades or decent 
 callings; and also provision for the pay- 
 ment of my legacies and debts. I call my 
 children's a handsome provision, consider- 
 ing it is all out of my own inheritance, 
 having nothing of their father's to provide 
 for them with. 
 
 And now I am mourning for the loss of 
 my dear, worthy companion, and exercised 
 with the great sickness and weakness of 
 my children ; but my outward situation 
 and habitation is to my heart's content. I 
 have no great family to cumber me, am 
 private, and have leisure to apply my heart 
 unto wisdom, in the numbering of my days 
 to be but few ; holding myself in readiness 
 to bid farewell to all transitory things. In 
 reference to my outward affairs, having 
 set my house in order, I am waiting, sen- 
 sible of the approach of death ; having no 
 desire after life, enjoying the satisfaction 
 that I shall leave my children in an orderly 
 way, and having less need of me, than 
 when things were less contracted and
 
 53 
 
 settled. I feel that death is a king of ter- 
 rors, and know that my strength to tri- 
 umph over him, must be given me by 
 the Lord, at the very season when the 
 trying time cometh. My sight to-day of 
 things beyond the grave, will be insuffi- 
 cient in that hour, to keep me from the 
 sting of death when he comes. It is the 
 Lord alone will then be able to stand by 
 me, and help me to resist the evil one, 
 who is very busy when the tabernacle is 
 dissolving: his work being at an end "when 
 the earthen vessel is broken." O Lord, 
 what quiet, safety, or ease is there in any 
 state but that wherein we feel thy living 
 power. All desirable things are in this ; 
 and nothing but sorrow, amazement, an- 
 guish, distress, grief, perplexity, woe, and 
 misery, and what not, out of it. O let 
 me be helped by thy power, and in it walk 
 with thee, in thy pure fear ; and then I 
 matter not how low, how unseen I am in 
 this world, nor how little friendship, or 
 any pleasant thing I have in it. I have 
 found thy power to be sufficient for every
 
 54 
 
 i 
 
 good word and work, when stripped of 
 every pleasant picture, or acceptable, or 
 other helpful thing. O Lord, thou 
 knowest what I have yet to go through in 
 this world ; but my hope is in thy mercy, 
 to guide and support. Aided by thee, I 
 need not be doubtful or concerned about 
 what is to come upon me. 
 
 Thus far I wrote before I went to 
 Edmonton, which was in the sixth Month, 
 1680. It appeared as if I was to go thi- 
 ther, on purpose to put all the foregoing 
 things in practice, and to be proved by 
 the Lord according to what I have before 
 written ; and to be exercised by him in all 
 the things that were in my view when I 
 set my house in order, and that I was to 
 return no more. In about a week after 
 my arrival, it pleased the Lord to visit me 
 with a violent burning fever. It was the 
 sorest bodily affliction I had ever expe- 
 rienced since I was born : indeed, it was 
 very tedious and trying to me, insomuch 
 that I made my moan in these doleful 
 words: "distress! distress!" finding these
 
 55 
 
 words comprehended all my feelings, which 
 were sickness, uneasiness, want of rest, 
 lowness of spirits, &c. besides ill accommo- 
 dations in the house, it being at a school. I 
 was greatly disturbed, and but a little at- 
 tendance was to be had. 
 
 All these things made it very heavy 
 upon me; far from my own house, where 
 I might have needed nothing. All this 
 was attended with many aggravations. 
 My two youngest children lay sick in the 
 same room, one of them in the same bed 
 with me ; my elder children many miles 
 from me, ignorant of my melancholy situ- 
 ation, now most desperate ; my physician 
 and others about me believing I could 
 never recover. In all this illness I had 
 scarcely one quarter of an hour wherein I 
 should have been able to $lo any thing 
 about my outward affairs, if I had then 
 had it to do ; but such was the eminent 
 kindness and mercy of the Lord to me, 
 that he put it into my heart to consider 
 that it may be, I might never return home 
 again, as he did into the heart of my dear
 
 56 
 
 husband. So I had nothing to do in this 
 sickness, but to suffer patiently, waiting 
 upon the Lord; and, if it had been his 
 will, to lie down this body without distrac- 
 tion about outward concerns. 
 
 These memorable, merciful dealings of 
 the Lord with me, I now recount, the 3d 
 day of the 9th Mo. 1681, in an humble 
 sense of his mercy, being still in bed, un- 
 recovered of the forementioned illness, it 
 being eight months since. And now it is 
 in my heart, in the holy fear of the most 
 High, to declare to you, my dear children, 
 of what great service it was to me in my 
 illness, to have nothing to do but to die, if 
 it had been his holy will : for the Lord was 
 pleased to assure me of his favour, and 
 that I should not go down to the pit with 
 the wicked, but should have a mansion, 
 according to his good pleasure, in his holy 
 habitation. This assurance left me in a 
 quiet state, out of the feelings of the sting 
 of death, not having the least desire to live. 
 Though I did not witness any great mea- 
 sure of triumph or joy, yet I could say:
 
 57 
 
 " Lord, it is enough : I am quiet and still, 
 and have not a thought about any thing 
 that is to be done in preparation for my 
 going hence. Though thou afflictest, thou 
 makest me content both night and day." 
 
 In about fourteen days my fever was 
 abated, and in about a month I came 
 from Edmonton to London, favoured with 
 some degree of strength. After having 
 been absent about seven weeks, the Lord 
 brought me home again to my own house. 
 That very night I was smitten with a dis- 
 temper, from which I remain weak and low 
 in body to this day; on which morning, it 
 springs in my mind to express something 
 of the dealings of the Lord with me in my 
 present sickness and exercises. 
 
 On the 27th of the 4th Mo. in the 
 morning, as I was waiting upon the Lord 
 with some of my family, I found an incli- 
 nation to mention the continuation of my 
 illness to this day, which, from the time 
 of my being visited, is near a year ; in all 
 which time, such was the goodness of the 
 Lord to me, that as it was said of Job,
 
 " In all this he sinned not, nor charged 
 God foolishly," so I may say, (through 
 the power of his might,) in all this time I 
 have been a stranger to a murmuring, com- 
 plaining mind; but this hath been my con- 
 stant language : " It is well I have no very 
 grievous thing to undergo," except some 
 severe fits of the stone, which have been 
 full of anguish and misery. And the 
 Lord hath graciously stopped my desires 
 after every pleasant thing, that I have not 
 been at all uneasy at my long confinement, 
 for the most part to my bed ; and to this 
 present day to my chamber, where I 
 have very little comfort from sleep, or 
 pleasantness from food, or any thing of that 
 kind. Yet I have not found in my heart 
 to ask of the Lord to be restored to my 
 former health and strength, that I might 
 have the pleasure of natural sleep, and 
 eating my food with acceptation to my 
 palate, or be able to attend to my out- 
 ward affairs, or go abroad in the air to 
 view the beautiful creation ; but all I have 
 desired respecting my house of clay is, that
 
 59 
 
 the Lord would be mercifully pleased to 
 make my future fits of my distemper less 
 severe than the former ones were; in 
 which I have cried earnestly to the Lord 
 for help, or that he would be pleased to 
 direct me to some outward means that 
 would lessen my anguish. Except in these 
 violent fits, I have not asked any thing of 
 the Lord concerning life or health, but 
 have rather felt pleasantness from being 
 debarred from those things which are ac- 
 ceptable to the senses ; because thereby 1 
 have been drawn nearer to the Lord, and 
 have waited upon him with much less dis- 
 traction than when in my health. I have 
 many times said, within myself: " Oh ! 
 this is sweet and easy. He makes my bed 
 in my sickness, and withholds my eyes 
 from sleeping, to converse with him." 
 
 Death hath many times been presented 
 to me, which I have rather embraced than 
 shrunk from; for the most part finding a 
 kind of yielding up in my spirit to die, like 
 as it is said : " He yielded up the ghost." 
 Even before I came to be settled in the
 
 60 
 
 truth, I entertained an awful sense of death, 
 and was in subjection to the fear of it. 
 But now that fear of death, and the state 
 of death is removed ; but there remaineth 
 still a deep sense of the passage from time 
 to eternity, how strait, hard, and difficult 
 it is ; and even many times to those on 
 whom the second death hath no power, yet 
 subjected to such feelings as were our dear 
 Lord's and Saviour's, when in agony he 
 cried out: "My God! my God! why hast 
 thou forsaken me!" 
 
 Another striking instance is that of my 
 certainly blessed husband, whose mind 
 was constantly with the Lord in his last 
 illness; yet, when the last breath was 
 breathing out, his groans were dreadful. 
 1 may call them roarings, as it seemed to 
 be, through the disquiet of his soul at that 
 moment. Indeed, this hard passage of 
 his hath so deeply affected me, that I have 
 often since said : " If it be thus with the 
 green tree, how will it be with me, who am 
 to him but as a dry tree."
 
 A 
 
 LETTER 
 
 FUOM 
 
 MARY PENNTNGTON, TO HER GRANDSON, 
 SPRINGET PENN. 
 
 Written aUut the Year 1680. 
 Left to be delivered to him after her decease. 
 
 As thou bearest the name of thy worthy 
 grandfather Springet, as he left no son, I 
 have often felt a desire that his name or 
 memory might not be forgotten, but kept 
 up by thee; not in the vain way of the 
 world, who keep up the name of a family 
 for what they call the honour of it : but 
 what inclineth me to make mention of this 
 good man is, a desire that thou mayst pre- 
 serve the memory of this just one, by setting 
 him, in many things, as a pattern for thee; 
 that, by imitating and following him, as he 
 followed Christ, thou mayst continue his 
 name in the family, not only by being 
 called after it, but more especially by
 
 62 
 
 walking in his footsteps, and partaking of 
 his renown, by being the virtuous offspring 
 of this truly honourable sire. Well, dear 
 child, I shall now proceed to give thee 
 some account about him. 
 
 Thy dear mother's father was born of 
 religious parents. His father, (though a 
 lawyer,) I have heard, was religious, and 
 strict in those things wherein administra- 
 tion of that time consisted: zealous against 
 popery; scrupled against putting his money 
 to use; was of a very sober conversation ; 
 and in the frequent exercise of what, in 
 that dim daylight, were accounted holy 
 duties ; praying often, (though in a form,) 
 reading the scriptures in private and in his 
 family, more especially on that day which 
 they called their Sabbath. 
 
 He died of a consumption, leaving thy 
 great grandmother with two sons, and 
 with child of a daughter. She was mar- 
 ried to him about three years, and left a 
 widow about two or three and twenty. 
 She was a most excellent woman, having 
 great regard to the well-being of her chil-
 
 63 
 
 dren, both here and hereafter ; and because 
 she might the tetter discharge her duty 
 respecting them, lived a retired life, and 
 refused many good offers for a second mar- 
 riage. I have heard her say, that she suf- 
 fered hard things from her husband's two 
 brothers, Sir Thomas Springet and ano- 
 ther, (who were left executors,) through 
 their jealousy, that she, being so very 
 young, would marry again. They refused 
 her the education of her children, which 
 put her upon sueing for it. She obtained 
 the suit with great charge, after some 
 years doubting about it. She lived a very 
 virtuous life ; constant in morning and 
 evening prayer in private, and often 
 with her children ; and caused them to re- 
 peat what they remembered of sermons and 
 scriptures. 
 
 I lived in the house with her, from nine 
 years of age till after I was married to her 
 son. And after he died, she came and lived 
 with me, and died at my house, in all 
 which time I do not remember ever to 
 have seen or heard one immodest, indis-
 
 creet, or evil word or action by or from 
 her. She spent her time very ingeniously, 
 and in acts of bounty; bestowing great 
 part of her fortune on the poor, in physic 
 and surgery. She had about two hundred 
 and forty pounds a year. She kept a 
 brace of geldings, a man, and a maid ; and 
 boarded at her only brother's, Sir Edward 
 Partridge's. She kept several poor wo- 
 men employed in summer, simpling for 
 her ; and in winter procuring for her such 
 things as she wanted in surgery, physic, 
 and sore eyes. She had excellent judg- 
 ment in all these, and admirable success ; 
 which made her famous, and sought unto 
 out of several counties, by persons of the 
 first rank, as well as those of other classes. 
 She daily employed her servants in making 
 oils, salves, balsams, drawing of spirits, dis- 
 tilling of waters, making syrups and con- 
 serves, lozenges and pills. 
 
 She was so famous for taking off spots 
 and cataracts from the eyes, that Ste- 
 phens, the great oculist, sent many to her, 
 when the case was difficult, and likely to
 
 take up more time to perfect the cure, 
 than he could well spare. She cured, to 
 my knowledge, many desperate burns, 
 and cuts, and dangerous sores that came 
 by them, and broken limbs ; also, many of 
 the king's evil, after having taken out 
 several bones. One very remarkable cure 
 of a burn I shall mention. A child's head 
 was so burnt, that its skull was like a coal : 
 she brought it to have skin and hair, and 
 invented a thin pan of beaten silver, co- 
 vered with bladder, to preserve the head 
 in case of a knock or fall. Some people 
 have come some hundreds of miles to her, 
 and have lodged at a neighbouring village, 
 sometimes a quarter of a year, from 
 their families. Perhaps she would have 
 twenty patients of a morning, to administer 
 to. T have heard her say, she spent half 
 her income after this sort ; and never re- 
 ceived a penny for any thing of that kind, 
 but often returned valuable presents. To 
 her pa-ients that were in good circum- 
 stances, she would give a note of what 
 things they should buy, and bring to her,
 
 and then she made up the medicines. Her 
 man spent great part of his time in writing 
 directions, &c. 
 
 As to her profession of religion, since 
 the wars in the latter part of her time, she 
 was called a Puritan; but lately an Inde- 
 pendent, and kept an Independent preacher 
 in the house, and gave liberty for people 
 to come twice a week to hear him preach. 
 Every seventh day, all her family must leave 
 all their occasions, and assemble to hear 
 this man preach to, and pray for them, by 
 way of preparation for the morrow. 
 
 She was a most tender and affectionate 
 mother to thy grandfather, and always 
 showed great kindness to me. Indeed, 
 she was truly honourable in counselling 
 her son not to marry for an estate, and 
 put by many great offers of persons with 
 many thousands ; urging him weightily to 
 consider what would make him truly happy 
 in his choice. She proposed to him his 
 marrying me ; saying, we knew one ano- 
 ther well, having lived together from chil- 
 dren, ever since he was twelve years old,
 
 67 
 
 and I nine. She often discoursed with 
 him about it ; saying, she knew me well, 
 and preferred me for his wife before any 
 she knew with a great portion, if I had 
 had none ; for other reasons beside our 
 equality in rank and years. She lived to 
 see thy mother three or four years old, 
 was exceeding fond of her, and much de- 
 lighted to see her increasing wisdom. 
 
 Now to come to thy dear grandfather. 
 His mother having educated him in the 
 fear of the Lord, according to the know- 
 ledge given in that day, and taken great 
 care in placing him at school, and at the 
 university, she sent him to Cambridge, be- 
 cause they were thought more sober there 
 than at Oxford. He was settled in a Pu- 
 ritan college, called Katharine's Hall. 
 The master of the house was a very grave, 
 tender, sober man: so was the tutor, one 
 Ellis, a Puritan, whom she had brought up 
 from his youth, and got him the preferment 
 of a fellow in that college. Thy grand- 
 father came from Cambridge young, and 
 was placed at the Inns of court ; but being
 
 68 
 
 religiously inclined, staid not long there, 
 but came into Kent, where his mother was. 
 He absented himself from the public wor- 
 ship, and went to hear one Wilson, who 
 had been suspended for not conforming 
 to the bishops, for about three years. He 
 was an extraordinary man in his day. 
 
 When thy grandfather was between 
 twenty and twenty-one, we married 
 without a ring ; and, by his desire, many 
 of the usual, dark, formal words were left 
 out of the ceremony. He was so zealous 
 against the common prayer, and all super- 
 stitious customs, that he became a proverb 
 and a reproach among his relations and ac- 
 quaintance. To dishonour him, they re- 
 ported many false things about him; as 
 that he would say he never asked God 
 forgiveness but for two sins : one was for 
 going to church, and the other for saying 
 the Lord's Prayer. Indeed, he was so very 
 sensible of their blind superstition concern- 
 ing the house they called the church, that 
 sometimes he would use disdainful words 
 about it, and talk of putting their church-
 
 69 
 
 timber to very common uses, to show his 
 abhorrence of their placing holiness in it. 
 When our child was born, he would not 
 suffer the midwife to use the usual prayers; 
 but prayed himself, and gave the Lord 
 thanks in a very sweet, melted manner, 
 which was cause of great amazement to 
 some present. He would use no form of 
 prayer in the house ; but prayed, morning 
 and evening, in our chamber, with me and 
 our servants, which wrought great discon- 
 tent in the family. 
 
 We boarded with his uncle, Sir Edward 
 Partridge. He would not let the parish 
 priest sprinkle the child; but, when he was 
 eight days old, had him carried in arms, 
 five miles, to this Wilson before men- 
 tioned. There was great seriousness and 
 solemnity in the doing this thing ; for we 
 then believed it to be an ordinance of God. 
 Notes were sent to the professing people 
 round, more than ten miles distant, de- 
 siring them to come and seek a blessing 
 from the Lord upon his ordinance. None 
 of the superstitious customs were observed,
 
 70 
 
 as having gossips, or any person to hold 
 the child; but his father, whom the 
 preacher spoke to when he came, to hold, 
 as being the fittest person to take the 
 charge of him. It was a great cross to 
 him, and a new thing, and cause of great 
 amazement, to see such a very young 
 man, in the face of such a great assembly, 
 hold the child in his arms, and receive the 
 charge of his education, the preacher de- 
 claring to him his duty towards the child. 
 
 It is not strange that our proceedings 
 were cause of great astonishment to the 
 people : we were the first of quality in that 
 country, that objected to the performance 
 of that ceremony in the usual way. In his 
 zeal against dark formality and supersti- 
 tion, he took the Scottish covenant oath 
 against popery and popish innovations, and 
 also the English engagement. When his 
 child was about a month old, he had a 
 commission sent him for colonel of a regi- 
 ment of foot. When the fight was at 
 Edgehill, he raised, without beat of drum, 
 eight hundred men, most of them profes-
 
 sors and professors' sons. There were 
 near six score volunteers in his own com- 
 pany; himself also going a volunteer, tak- 
 ing no pay. 
 
 He was afterwards made a deputy lieu- 
 tenant for the county of Kent; in which 
 employment he was so diligent and zealous 
 for the cause, that many thought he was 
 mad, because he reproved their carnal wis- 
 dom in managing their affairs ; telling 
 them it was God's cause, and they should 
 trust him in it, and do their utmost, con- 
 sistent with the covenant they had made, 
 and the engagement they had entered into, 
 which was, to oppose, with their lives, 
 popery and popish innovations. Within a 
 few days after his regiment was raised, 
 there was a rising, in the vale of Kent, of 
 many thousands; to the suppressing of 
 which, he and his new-gathered, undisci- 
 plined soldiers, were commanded, from 
 their rendezvous at Maidstone ; where, it 
 was said, the vain people of the town de- 
 signed to do them an injury by gunpow- 
 der,
 
 72 
 
 He, having placed his men in the best 
 order their inexperience and the short* 
 ness of the time would permit, came to 
 take his leave of me before he encountered 
 the enemy. When he came, he found 
 there was a danger of my being put out of 
 the house, if the enemy should come so 
 far. It was a great surprise to him to 
 find me in such danger. What added 
 greatly to his distress was, his being so 
 straitened in point of time ; for he had 
 that morning received orders to march 
 with his regiment, in company with some 
 others, to guard a pass where it was sup- 
 posed Prince Rupert intended coming 
 over, to join the risers. How to provide 
 for my safety, and return to his regiment at 
 the time appointed, he was at a loss ; how- 
 ever, his affection for me, aided by a quick 
 capacity, soon pointed out an effectual 
 method. He sent for a stage-coach from 
 Rochester, (which was about seven miles 
 off Maidstone,) in which parish I was, and 
 in the night carried me and my child, (to 
 whom I gave suck,) and my maid-servant,
 
 73 
 
 to Gravesend, and there hired a barge to 
 take us to London. He took a solemn 
 leave of me, never expecting to see me 
 again in this world, and rode post to his 
 regiment. When I came to London, the 
 whole city was in arms. Nothing to be 
 heard but the noise of drums and trum- 
 pets, and the clattering of arms, and cry- 
 ing, "arm! arm!" for the enemy was near 
 the city ; and it proved to be the bloody 
 fight between the king's forces and the 
 parliament's, on Hounslow Heath. 
 
 Not many days after the risers being 
 dispersed in Kent, he came to London, 
 having behaved himself very appro vedly, 
 by endeavouring to get restored the cattle 
 and horses to the people who had been 
 plundered by the risers, for they had taken 
 great numbers; but, by their being dis- 
 persed, they were now in possession of the 
 parliament's soldiers. Thy grandfather 
 was advised with about what place they 
 should secure the said cattle in, till the 
 owners came and claimed them. He 
 E
 
 74 
 
 pointed to what they called the church. 
 Into it they were accordingly driven, by 
 his orders. Being applied to by the 
 owners, about their cattle, he went with 
 them to said place ; but when they came, 
 found the cattle were driven away by a 
 colonel of that county, into an island of 
 his own ; accounting them his spoil, for his 
 service. 
 
 This event turned to the honour of thy 
 grandfather; who, though he had no less 
 share in the suppression of the risers than 
 the other, made no such claim, but ap- 
 plied himself to the relief of such as had 
 been oppressed by plunder, whilst the 
 other endeavoured to enrich himself. 
 
 He afterwards went with his regiment 
 on several expeditions; as to the taking of 
 the Lord Craven's house, in Surry, and 
 where several of his own company of vo* 
 lunteers, men's sons of substance, were of 
 the forlorn hope. He was also at the fight 
 at Newbury, where he was in imminent 
 danger ; a bullet hitting him, which came 
 from so great a distance, that its force was
 
 too weak to enter. He lay some nights 
 in the open fields, having neither time nor 
 conveniency for pitching his tent, which 
 he had with him. Sometimes he lay in 
 the Lord Roberts's coach. They had 
 scarcity of salt, and so would not venture 
 to eat flesh ; but lived some days on candied 
 green citron, and biscuit. 
 
 After being in several other engage- 
 ments, he went, with his regiment, back 
 into Kent. The last service he was in was 
 at Arundel, in Sussex, where he died, as I 
 may further give thee an account; but I 
 am not willing to let slip taking notice to 
 thee, of his gallant and true English 
 spirit. He opposed all arbitrarinesss in the 
 discipline of an army ; for which purpose 
 he claimed his right, as a colonel, to sit in 
 their councils of war; which was refused, a 
 selfish cabal engrossing the management of 
 secret designs to themselves, which he 
 gave testimony against, saying it was con- 
 trary to all military laws. Those of the 
 cabal were one Merrick, and a Scotchman, 
 
 E2
 
 76 
 
 whose name was . He had his eye 
 
 so much upon them, and discovered so 
 much of their intending to make a trade 
 by their engagement, or at least a compli- 
 ance with the king for their own advan- 
 tage, that he constantly expressed his dis- 
 approbation of it ; insomuch that he was 
 cautioned, by several of his intimates, to 
 take care that no mischief was done him, 
 if his life was not attempted. He imbibed 
 such feelings from those cabals, and secret, 
 selfish management of affairs, that he 
 almost concluded that the cause was lost, 
 which he had engaged in, and endeavoured 
 to maintain by every effort in his power. 
 He reflected on the expense and inconve- 
 niency brought on us, he feared, to no pur- 
 pose, and therefore resolved to go forth no 
 more; and so returned, with his regiment, 
 into Kent. 
 
 But not long after, his own native 
 county, Sussex, was in danger of being 
 spoiled by the cavalier party, who had 
 taken Arundel, and fortified the town and 
 castle. Sir William Waller commanded in
 
 77 
 
 chief against them, to whose assistance the 
 associated counties were sent for ; amongst 
 others, thy grandfather's regiment was 
 invited. He, looking upon this engage- 
 ment as a particular service to his own 
 county, with great freedom and cheerful- 
 ness went to Arundel. There they held 
 a long siege before the town. After they 
 had taken it, they besieged the castle : it 
 proved a very difficult, hard task. When 
 it was taken, thy grandfather and Colonel 
 Morley had the management and govern- 
 ment of the castle committed to their 
 charge. 
 
 But a few weeks after, the disease, 
 which the soldiers that were in the town 
 and castle had, called the calenture, seized 
 on him, at his quarters, at one Wade's, 
 near Arundel; whither he sent for me in 
 the depth of winter, (hard frost and great 
 snow,) from London. To go was a great 
 difficulty upon me, being great with child 
 of thy mother ; and the waters were out at 
 Newington. Several places on the high- 
 ways they were obliged to row in boats,
 
 78 
 
 and take with us all the things out of the 
 coach : the horses were led by strings tied 
 to their bridles. In some places both 
 coach and horses swam. All these diffi- 
 culties were so well known by the people 
 in London, that all, but one, refused to 
 lend me a coach. She was a widow wo- 
 man, who had had a great deal of our 
 money, and had a great respect for us. She 
 at length was prevailed on to let me have 
 one, though she knew she hazarded both 
 coach and horses. I agreed to give her a 
 great price (twelve pounds) to carry me 
 down. It was a very tedious, trying jour- 
 ney to me : we were benighted, and over- 
 turned in the dark, into a hedge-trough. 
 When we came to come out of it, we 
 found we had scarcely room enough, with- 
 out danger of falling down a very steep 
 precipice on the other side. If the coach 
 had turned on that side, we had certainly 
 been dashed to pieces. Our guide was the 
 messenger from thy grandfather to me, 
 who, riding on a white horse, was the only 
 rule we had to follow.
 
 79 
 
 When late, we coming by a garrison, the 
 colonel required the guard to stop the 
 coach, and give him notice who it was; 
 which he did. Immediately the colonel 
 came down, and kindly invited me to stay 
 till morning; and, to induce me to it, said 
 my husband was likely to mend, and beg- 
 ged me to consider my situation, and not 
 hazard my life. Upon which the coach- 
 man would almost have forced me to 
 stay and lodge in the garrison ; saying, 
 that his horses would not hold out, and 
 that they would be spoiled. To which I 
 replied, that if that should happen, I was 
 obliged to pay for all of them ; and that I 
 was resolved not to go out of the coach, 
 unless obliged to it by some accident, 
 until I came so near my husband, that I 
 could complete the journey on foot. So 
 he, finding me resolved, put on. When we 
 came to Arundel, we met a most dismal 
 sight. The whole town was depopulated : 
 all the windows broken by the great guns : 
 all the shops? and lower rooms converted 
 by the soldiers into stables. So we passed 
 through towards his quarters. When we
 
 80 
 
 came within a quarter of a mile of the 
 house, the horses stood still : we knew not 
 the reason of it, but waited whilst our 
 guide went down to the house to get a 
 candle and lantern. He coming back to 
 our assistance, found one of the wheels 
 fast stuck in the root of a tree : it was a 
 considerable time before it was disen- 
 gaged. 
 
 The guide's going to the house, caused 
 it to be reported to my husband that I 
 was come. He told them they were mis- 
 taken, for he knew I could not come, I 
 was so near my time ; but they affirming 
 that it was so, he desired them to set him 
 up in the bed, " that I may see her," said 
 he, " when she does come." It was about 
 twelve o'clock when I arrived. As soon 
 as I put my foot into the hall, (there be- 
 ing a pair of stairs leading from thence 
 to his chamber,) I heard him say, " Why 
 will you lie to me ? If she is come, let 
 me see her, and hear her voice;" which 
 struck me so, that I had not strength of 
 my own to carry me up the stairs ; but,
 
 81 
 
 being assisted by two, I got up. When he 
 saw me, he in a manner sprung up, as if 
 he would have come out of the bed, say- 
 ing, " Let me embrace thee before I die. 
 I go to thy God and my God." I found 
 most of his officers about him, attending 
 on him with great tokens of affection, and 
 sorrow for the condition he was in. The 
 purple spots came out the day before, but 
 now were struck in ; and the fever got 
 into his head : upon which they caused 
 him to keep in bed, having not been pre- 
 vailed on before to keep it, in the day- 
 time, since his illness, (till that day,) which 
 had been five days before the spots ap- 
 peared. They seeing his great danger, 
 (for many Kentish men, both commanders 
 and others, had died of that distemper, 
 within a week, near his quarters,) con- 
 strained him to keep his chamber, from 
 his first seizure ; but such was his active 
 spirit and stout heart, that he knew not 
 how to yield to confinement, and engaged 
 to shoot birds out of the window with his 
 cross-bow, which he continued to do till 
 E 5
 
 the fever took his head, and the spots 
 went in. After which, he being so young 
 and strong, and his blood so hot, (being 
 but about twenty-three years of age,) the 
 fever was so violent, that they were 
 obliged to sit round his bed to keep him 
 in it ; or else they must have tied him. 
 All this time he used no unguarded ex- 
 pression, though delirious ; but spoke seri- 
 ously about his dying, to the doctor I 
 brought down with me ; and ordered him 
 what medicines to give him, saying, 
 " What you do, do quickly : if that does 
 not do, nothing will help me." He spoke 
 very affectionately to me, and wittily to 
 his officers, about keeping their prisoner, 
 making up the breaches, and keeping the 
 watch; alluding to himself about getting 
 out of bed, which he often attempted to 
 do, putting out his legs, arms, &cc. His 
 breath "was so very hot and scorching, 
 that it made his lips chap. He, perceiving 
 my lips were cool, would hardly permit 
 me to take them off to breathe, but would 
 often cry out, " Oh ! don't go from me."
 
 83 
 
 The doctor, my own maid-servants, and 
 his attendants, were greatly troubled at 
 my being so much with him; thinking 
 that thereby I endangered both my own 
 and child's life, by constantly drawing in 
 his infected breath. 
 
 The medicine which he ordered being 
 administered, he observed the manner of its 
 operation to be a signification of death, 
 and called out to the doctor in these 
 words : " This will not do : I am a dead 
 man." The doctor had drawn the same 
 conclusion, from the same sign, though he 
 said nothing about it. 
 
 He grew still and fell asleep, which they 
 that were about him observing, begged me 
 to consider my condition; and entreated 
 me to go to bed, and leave with him one 
 of my maids, who might bring me an ac- 
 count about him when he awoke. I was 
 at length prevailed on to go to bed. When 
 he awoke, he seemed much refreshed, and 
 sensible ; for he took much notice of my 
 maid, saying, " You are my wife's o\vn
 
 maid; (for it was she that waited upon 
 me in my chamber.) Where, where is my 
 wife ? how does my boy do ?" And many 
 particulars he inquired of her concerning 
 me. At last he said, " Go to my wife, and 
 tell her I am almost ready to embrace her 
 and talk to her ; I am so refreshed with 
 my sleep." 
 
 She came up and gave me this ac- 
 count: upon which I was willing to go 
 down to him. But she persuaded me not 
 to go, saying, he would go to sleep again 
 if I were not there to hinder him. So I 
 sent her down with a message to him, and 
 lay till late, thinking, from the description 
 she had given me of him, that there was a 
 possibility of his recovery ; but when I 
 went down, I perceived a great alteration 
 in him, and sadness upon all faces about 
 him, which exceedingly shocked me, I 
 having let in the flattering hope of his re- 
 covery. 
 
 He spoke very affectionately to me, 
 and dropped several serious, weighty
 
 85 
 
 expressions. At last he called to me, say- 
 ing, " Come, my dear, let me kiss thee 
 before I die;" which he did, with such 
 eagerness as if he would have left his 
 breath with me ; and after said, " Come, 
 my dear, once more let me kiss thee, and 
 take my leave of thee;" which he did in 
 the same manner as before : then cried 
 out, " Now no more, never no more," 
 which having said, he fell into a great 
 agony. 
 
 He had been ill but seven days ; his 
 strength, to appearance, no ways im- 
 paired ; but his spirits heightened, and 
 blood inflamed by the violence of the 
 
 Oh ! this was a dreadful sight and 
 sound to me : my very heart-strings seem- 
 ed ready to break, and let my heart fall 
 from its wonted place ; whilst the bed 
 shook under him, as if it would have 
 fallen to pieces. 
 
 The doctor, my husband's chaplain, 
 and the chief officers that were about
 
 86 
 
 him, observing the violent condition 
 he was in, consulted together whether 
 any thing could be done for him. Re- 
 collecting that he fell into this violent 
 agitation on taking leave of me, they con- 
 cluded that they must either persuade me, 
 or take me from the bed by force ; saying, 
 they believed his great affection for me, 
 and the seeing me there, were the occasion 
 of it. Upon which they came to me, and 
 desired me to go from the bed-side to the 
 fire; saying, my being there occasioned his 
 great agony, and that whilst I staid there 
 he could not die. 
 
 The sound of the word die had such 
 an effect upon me, that, like an astonish- 
 ed, amazed creature, I stamped with 
 my foot, and cried, "Die! die! must 
 he die ? I cannot go from him." Upon 
 which two of them gently lifted me in 
 their arms, from the bed to the fire, which 
 was at a pretty great distance from the 
 bed ; and there they held me from going 
 to him again: at which time I wept not,
 
 but stood silent and amazed, frozen with 
 grief. Soon after I was brought from the 
 bed he lay still ; and when they thought 
 his sight was gone, that he could not 
 see me, they suffered me to go to the bed- 
 side. I looked on him, and saw the most 
 amiable, pleasant countenance I ever be- 
 held ; smiling like an infant, when (as the 
 saying is) they see angels. He lay about 
 an hour in this position. Towards sun- 
 set he turned quickly about, and called 
 upon a kinsman of his, saying, " Come, 
 Anthony ; come quickly." At which very 
 instant he rode into the yard, being come 
 many miles to see him. Soon after this 
 he departed, it being in the twelfth month. 
 As soon as the breath left him, they took 
 me into another chamber, and suffered me 
 no more to see him, lest the fright should 
 prove of bad consequence in my present 
 condition. I now got the relief of tears. 
 
 The next morning early he was put 
 into a coffin, and earned away privately, 
 in his own ammunition-waggon, to Ring- 
 more, the parish in which he was born,
 
 88 
 
 and where some of his ancestors lay. By 
 my desire, his body was accompanied only 
 by his own officers and soldiers; not choos- 
 ing that his funeral should be according 
 to the usual formalities and manner of 
 one of his rank in the army, which was 
 expected and intended by the regiment ; 
 and, in order thereto, his attendant officers 
 had sent notice to the others and the 
 soldiers, to hold themselves in readiness 
 against the time. 
 
 When I returned to London, and his 
 will was opened, it was found his circum- 
 stances were such, that such an unneces- 
 sary expence, (which would have been 
 several hundreds,) would have been very 
 imprudent ; for he died above two thou- 
 sand pounds in debt, most of it contracted 
 to maintain the war. Three hundred 
 pounds went to the Irish business ; five to 
 the Guildhall; a large sum for the pur- 
 chase of all waggons, tents, furniture, and 
 other accommodations for him in several 
 engagements ; besides going out a volun- 
 teer, and keeping a table, at Arundel, for
 
 89 
 
 all those of their own company that were 
 volunteers. He had expended such large 
 sums in these concerns, that, with the rest, 
 my portion was spent, (which was sixteen 
 hundred pounds.) His Michaelmas rents 
 were paid him in at Arundel ; yet, when 
 he died, he had but twelve pounds in his 
 trunk; and many large sums were due at 
 his head-quarters at Arundel, and several 
 other places on their march thither, and 
 where the soldiers had lain : such as 
 smiths' bills, provision-bills for the horses 
 that attended his person and carriages ; 
 wages to his grooms, waggoners, and such 
 like, that attended him in the army, hav- 
 ing pay for none of them. He had taken 
 up a mortgage on his farm called Chund- 
 ler's on the Downs, of about three hundred 
 pounds. He also mortgaged another part 
 of his land to one Banks of Maidstone, 
 treasurer to the Kentish regiment, for two 
 hundred pounds, (taken up but a few days 
 before he marched to Arundel,) for his 
 present use, his Michaelmas rents not then 
 being paid. He had also entered into an
 
 90 
 
 engagement with Captain Courtrop, (who 
 had a lease, of twenty-one years, of his 
 woods at the Frith,) to pay him, at the ex- 
 piration of his lease, five hundred and sixty 
 odd pounds, for standards to he left in the 
 woods; which, upon the non-payment of 
 the money, he was to have power to cut 
 down. This became payable within a year 
 after his death ; and those that understood 
 things of this kind, thought that there was 
 a necessity for its being paid. AH that I 
 had then in the world to pay with, was 
 about two hundred pounds, with which I 
 paid Captain Courtrop in part, to prevent 
 him from destroying the trees. 
 
 And now, my dear child, having re- 
 lated what I can now remember of his 
 parents, education, marriage, going into 
 the wars, his transactions and death there, 
 though not in battle, (yet of the disease in 
 the castle of Arundel after it was taken,) 
 I will give thee some hints respecting the 
 many excellent qualities that he was emi- 
 nently exemplary for ; as, zeal, generosity, 
 compassion, charitableness, justice, affabi-
 
 91 
 
 lity, ingenuity, activity and industry, and 
 courage without harshness or cruelty. 
 
 To mention first his zeal for the Lord 
 and his cause; (for that it truly was which 
 he engaged in in his day.) He began very 
 early to see the superstitions, follies, and 
 fruitless devotion of the times, respecting 
 both the ministry and whole form of wor- 
 ship in the church of England. He ab- 
 horred their manner of making bishops, 
 and ordaining other ministers and eccle- 
 siastical officers (so called,) the common 
 prayer-book, their surplices, and the ad- 
 ministration of their sacraments called 
 baptism and the Lord's supper. His dis- 
 tant view of things proceeded from a 
 glimpse of the dawning of that day, 
 wherein prayer was to be put up with the 
 spirit and with the understanding : he 
 saw there was a spirit of prayer and sup- 
 plication, in which all that had it would 
 find acceptance with God ; nay, that the 
 very sighs and groans which went forth 
 from that spirit, would make intercession 
 with the Father. He also, in that little
 
 92 
 
 measure of light, according to the dispen- 
 sation of that day, saw that the priests 
 were not to preach for hire, but were to 
 be sent of the Lord and reach the con- 
 science. These things being made mani- 
 fest to him, he declined the established, 
 false, dead forms, and joined in heart to 
 such as feared the Lord, and therefore, in 
 that dark day, went by the nick-name of 
 Puritans. He delighted to be united with 
 these people, in their " chaste conversation 
 coupled with fear," and be exercised with 
 them in the worship of God. In all com- 
 pany he stood boldly against many points 
 of doctrine preached by the church of 
 England ; and, that he might have argu- 
 ments to overturn them in their own de- 
 vices, and to manifest to the tender the 
 truth of his own arguments, he diligently 
 studied the Scriptures, and kept a common- 
 place book in his pocket, wherein he en- 
 tered such scriptures as proved what right 
 worship was, and reproved their dark, 
 formal way of worship. In the zeal of the
 
 Lord, he engaged in the Scotch Protestation, 
 against all popery and popish innovations. 
 
 As is before said, he received a colonel 
 of foot's commission, under the earl of 
 Essex, about the time of Edghill fight, and 
 was afterwards made a deputy lieutenant 
 for the county of Kent. In every employ- 
 ment he expressed great zeal against su- 
 perstition ; encouraging and requiring his 
 soldiers to break down all idolatrous sta- 
 tues and pictures, and crosses ; going into 
 steeple-houses, and taking away the priest's 
 surplices, and distributing them to poor 
 women. When he was upon the service of 
 searching popish houses, whatever cruci- 
 fixes, beads, and such like trumpery he 
 found, if they were ever so rich, he de- 
 stroyed them, without ever reserving one 
 of them for its beauty or costly workman- 
 ship ; nor ever saved any other thing for 
 his own use. 
 
 I find freedom to mention one particular 
 passage, in his pursuit of destroying popish 
 pictures and relics. A member of the 
 House, an active man in the parliament's
 
 94 
 
 cause, a deputy lieutenant for the county, 
 (whose wife was a very zealous Puritan,) 
 was my husband's intimate companion, 
 and very assistant to him in searching 
 popish houses, and destroying their vain 
 trumpery; Thy grandfather came one day 
 to their house, to visit them ; and passing 
 through the hall, he espied several large, 
 fine, superstitious pictures; as of the cruci- 
 fixion of Christ, of his resurrection, &c. 
 They were thought very ornamental to 
 the hall, though removed thither out of 
 the parlour, by way of manifesting their 
 neglect of them. But my dear husband 
 thought it a very inconsistent, unequal 
 thing, to destroy those things in popish 
 houses, and leave them in the houses of 
 their opposers. He, therefore, with his 
 sword, cut them all out of the frames, and 
 putting them thereon, carried them into 
 the parlour ; and the woman of the house 
 being there, he said, " What a shame it is 
 that thy husband should be such a perse- 
 cutor of the Papists, and yet spare such 
 things as these in his own house! But,
 
 95 
 
 (said he,) I have acted impartial judg- 
 ment, by destroying them here." 
 
 His zeal was blended with judgment 
 and mercy. He converted none of their 
 estates to his own use ; nay, refused to buy 
 any of the goods that were plundered from 
 them ; nor ever made use of one pound's 
 worth, I dare aver, of any thing belonging 
 to them. He had very great offers from 
 those in power, of houses and goods be- 
 longing to those called Delinquents. These 
 offers were made him, in consideration that 
 his diligent attendance on the parliament's 
 affairs, caused his family to be much in 
 London. All which he refused; rather 
 choosing to give twenty shillings a week 
 for lodgings, than to touch with any of 
 those things. One remarkable instance of 
 his steady adherence to his principles was, 
 his refusal of Leeds Castle in Kent, after 
 it was taken by the parliament, and made 
 a garrison of, and he intended to be made 
 chief commander of it. He was greatly 
 pressed to have his family live in it, and 
 make use of the goods. He also refused
 
 96 
 
 another well-furnished house, at Holling- 
 born, within a few miles of said castle, 
 giving them an answer to this purpose : 
 " I dare not make use of any man's estate 
 or goods, or dwell in any man's seques- 
 tered house, much less this that was my 
 uncle's," (Sir Thomas Culpeper's.) He was 
 so merciful in administering justice, that 
 I never heard of any man that could charge 
 him with being unmerciful to any of the 
 persons he was concerned with, in the 
 cause he was engaged in. The whole of 
 his mind, temper, and course of life, was 
 in the exercise of compassion and charity; 
 of which truth there have been many in- 
 stances given me, by persons who observed 
 his ways where he was engaged and quar- 
 tered ; besides what I myself have seen, 
 having had converse with him from twelve 
 years old to his dying day. Of his charity 
 I shall mention one instance, which I had 
 from the mayor of Maidstone in Kent. 
 After my husband's decease, he brought 
 me a bill of three pounds, with my 
 husband's hand to it, telling me that, as
 
 9T 
 
 they were walking the street together, 
 they met a poor man, making most piteous 
 moan, whom the bailiffs were taking to 
 prison ; whereat, thy grandfather stopped 
 the bailiffs, and inquired what he was going 
 to prison for. They answered, for debt. 
 At which he said, " You shall not cany 
 him. Mr. Mayor, please to lay down the 
 money, and I will see you discharged." 
 
 He was grateful in his returns of kind- 
 ness, generous in assistance, and frequent 
 in almsdeeds, especially at the time the 
 Irish Protestants came over, upon the 
 massacre there ; also to the plundered 
 ministers, and maimed soldiers that were 
 wounded in the wars. He rarely gave 
 less than a twenty-shilling piece at a 
 time, at private fasts, where their suffer- 
 ings were presented before him, constantly 
 once a week, and sometimes twice. 
 
 I shall here mention a very remarkable 
 instance of his charity to the Irish. We 
 were at a fast in Milk-street, London, 
 where one Thomas Case, a Puritan 
 
 F
 
 98 
 
 preacher, set forth, in a very moving man- 
 ner, the great distress the Irish Protestants 
 were in, and the need they stood in of as- 
 sistance, to get over to England. He re- 
 lated the affair so affectingly, that it 
 pierced my husband greatly; and as he 
 was writing the sermon after him, he felt 
 an engagement on his mind to give twenty 
 pounds. Afterwards he considered, that 
 this was determined on when he was 
 warmed with a sense of their misery, and 
 that, perhaps, as he grew cooler, he might 
 be drawn from the engagement of his 
 mind; therefore, to prevent the non- 
 performance of it, he took his book, and 
 wrote in it a solemn promise, (setting his 
 name to it,) before the Lord, to fulfil it 
 when he came home; adding these words: 
 " If I do not, my hand-writing shall be a 
 witness against me, when all is over." 
 Two men of quality, who were appointed, 
 stood at the door .with basins, to receive 
 the collections for the Irish Protestants; 
 and some other officers, those for the 
 maimed soldiers. As my husband passed
 
 99 
 
 out, he put five pieces of gold into the 
 hisli, and one piece into the other basin. 
 So we went away, and he said nothing to 
 me of his future intention ; but when we 
 came to our lodgings, he refused to sup, 
 but went up stairs to writing. After some 
 time he called to me, and desired me to 
 fetch him fifteen pounds in a bag. When 
 I brought it, and he had taken it, he spoke 
 to me to this purpose: " Now I have made 
 sure of the thing, I will acquaint thee with 
 what I intend to do with it." So he told 
 me the whole affair, and read to me the 
 engagement in his book, and the letter he 
 iiad written to said Thomas Case, giving 
 him an account of how it was with him; but 
 did not put any name to it, declaring he 
 had given it to the Lord, and desired to 
 be unknown, and untaken notice of. His 
 foot-boy was sent off with this letter, and 
 money sealed up, with orders to turn his 
 coat wrong-side out, to deliver what was 
 >cnt into the hands of Thomas Case, and 
 not to stay to be asked any questions. 
 
 F 2
 
 100 
 
 These precautions were taken to prevent 
 his knowing from whom the gift came. 
 Next day, those that received the col- 
 lections came to Thomas Case's house, 
 telling him how very bountiful one young 
 gentleman had been, in putting in five 
 pieces. On which he told them, that late 
 last night he received fifteen pounds from 
 the same person, letting him know, by 
 letter, that he had determined on giving 
 twenty pounds ; but last night he had no 
 more gold about him that he could spare. 
 The next first day, or soon after, Thomas 
 Case provoked the people to enlarge their 
 bounty, by this young gentleman's ex- 
 ample ; relating the whole affair to the 
 congregation, but chiefly took notice of 
 his endeavours to conceal himself. 
 
 His manner and deportment were cour- 
 teous and affable towards all. He was 
 most ingenious from a very lad, carving 
 and forming things with his knife, for 
 tools : so industriously active, that he was 
 scarcely ever idle. But when he could not 
 employ himself abroad, in shooting at a
 
 101 
 
 mark with guns, pistols, cross-bows, or 
 long-bows; or managing his horses, (all 
 which he brought up and managed him- 
 self, teaching them courage and boldness, 
 in charging, against the day of battle,) 
 then he would fence within doors, and 
 make cross-bow strings. He would use 
 the bow with such accuracy as if it had 
 been his trade ; casting bullets of all sorts ; 
 feathering of arrows for his carabines ; 
 pulling his watch to pieces, and mending 
 any defect in it ; or taking the house-clock 
 to pieces to clean ; or training himself and 
 servants to the postures of war, by books 
 he had for that purpose. He was also a 
 great artist in shooting and fishing, and 
 making lines; ordering baits for the pur- 
 pose. He was a great lover of coursing, 
 and managed the dogs himself. 
 
 I have mentioned these things, to show 
 thee his ingenuity : for the vanity of them, 
 his mind was weaned from, when he be- 
 came engaged about religion. He was 
 most affectionately tender to me and the 
 child, beyond what I had ever observed
 
 102 
 
 by any other, or could expect from him, 
 his youth, gallantry, and active mind con- 
 sidered ; which created him so much other 
 business, as one would expect would 
 scarcely admit of his thinking so much 
 about us ; but, on the contrary, I do not 
 remember that ever he let an opportunity 
 slip, when absent, of acquainting me with 
 his situation, either by letter or verbal 
 message. He hath often wrote letters 
 to me at the places where he baited, on 
 purpose to send by travellers that he 
 might meet on the road. When he was 
 engaged at the fight at Newbury, after 
 the battle was over, he gave the mes- 
 senger that was sent to the parliament 
 to acquaint them with the issue of it, a 
 twenty-shilling piece, only just to knock at 
 the door of my lodgings, in Blackfriars, 
 and leave word that he saw him well 
 after the battle was over : he had time 
 to send no more. This message was left 
 me between three and four in the morn- 
 ing; at the hearing which joyful news, 
 the oppression seemed to roll off my
 
 spirits and stomach, like the removal of 
 a great stone, and the measles came al- 
 most immediately out. 
 
 To repeat and sum up, in few words, 
 his many excellencies ; which were, sweet- 
 ness of disposition, compassion, affability, 
 and courtesy; courage, without harshness 
 or cruelty; undaunted in a good cause; 
 generous, liberal, and bountiful. He de- 
 lighted much in entertaining those that 
 were engaged in the same cause with 
 him ; not in excess, but with great free- 
 dom, cheerfulness, and heartiness. His 
 entertainments were always seasoned with 
 savoury and edifying discourse; in which 
 he would encourage others, and rejoice in 
 their being encouraged, (seeing that the 
 Lord went out with their hosts and re- 
 turned with them,) to make mention of 
 his gracious dealings with them. 
 
 Thy loving, affectionate, 
 
 Grandmother, 
 MAIIY PENNING TON. 
 
 Printed by Harvly, Darton, and Co. 
 Gructchurch-ttrttt) London.
 
 SKETCHES OF PIETY, 
 
 IN THE 
 
 LIFE AND RELIGIOUS EXPERIENCES 
 
 EXTRACTED FROM HER OWN MEMORANDUM^, 
 
 SECOND EDITION 
 
 gorfe: 
 
 PUBLISHES AND SOLD BY WM. ALEXANDER 
 
 SOLD AL30 BY 
 
 BARTON, HARVEY, AND Co., WM. PHILUPS, 
 W. DA&TON, JUN., LONDON. 
 
 1819.
 
 frinttd "by JIargrov c, Gaulhorp, and CcZ>?, 
 U<ratd-Office, York.
 
 INTRODUCTION, 
 
 v T HEN those we loved and looked up to In life ^re 
 taken from us, whatever belonged to them becomes 
 enhanced in its value. When their Christian example 
 is withdrawn, to the circumstances of their consci- 
 entious lives, we often thoughtfully return : when, 
 we can no longer listen to their cheering conversa-. 
 tion, to their affectionate sayings we tenderly recur 3 
 and when we hear no more, their religious exhorta-* 
 tions, to the written records of their devout minds 
 Sve are glad to have recourse, as precious monu 
 ments of departed piety. v 
 
 These observations, which will ' no doubt accord 
 with many minds, will apply with propriety to JANE 
 PEARSON, the subject of this short memoir. In 
 her last letter to the writer, she expressed a desire 
 that he might look over her Papers Avhcn she was 
 gone, and dispose of them as he thought best. The 
 use he is now about to make of them, if he is not 
 mistaken, the Reader will approve. These memo- 
 
 A2
 
 *V INTRODUCTION. 
 
 randums of her pious mind, were all in her own 
 hand-writing, and appear to have been penned under 
 lively impressions. 'Among her Papers were also 
 found several copies of verses ; and as it will pro- 
 bably be acceptable to the Reader, a specimen or 
 two will be given in the memoir. 
 
 Of her religious experience, an opinion 
 formed from her writings ; and of her religious 'ser- 
 vices, from the testimony of Pardshaw Monthly 
 Meeting, which is introduced at the close of her 
 own memoirs ; yet some Readers may be inclined 
 to know more of her general character, and how 
 she appeared daily amongst us.. 
 
 As a reverence for the Divine Being was the lead- 
 ing feature of her mind, so the solemnity of religion 
 was never lowered in her conversation. To some she 
 might appear reserved ; for as she has told me, when 
 in her walks she met with acquaintances, she could 
 not, like many, stop and hold a discourse with them 
 which meant nothing. From these and other cir- 
 cuiristances, her deportment might sometimes ap- 
 pear distant and restrained ; but in the circles of her 
 friends, there were few that unbended more freely.
 
 INTRODUCTION. V 
 
 * ' . 
 
 On such occasions, her sentiments, and even the 
 tone of her voice, had as much the hearty express 
 sion of sincere good-will, as any one I ever met 
 with : whilst her innocent cheerfulness with youth, 
 and her entering most kindly with them, into their 
 little concerns, endeared her to this class, both like a 
 mother and a chosen companion. She was, how- 
 ever, qualified for a companion in the foremost ranks 
 of virtuous society ; yet to those in the humblest 
 sphere, she spoke with attention and kindness : in- 
 deed I have rarely met with one hi whose deport- 
 ment were united such dignity and sweetness. 
 
 She seemed to retire from a thoughtless world, to 
 live in sweet seclusion with her Maker ; yet those 
 who were set forward on their heaven-ward journey, 
 she hailed as fellow-travellers towards Zion : to 
 her sisters in religious fellowship, who went forth 
 in humility and simplicity, to advocate the cause of 
 righteousness amongst men, she held out the lan- 
 guage of endearing encouragement. 
 
 Of her own ministry it might be said, that it was 
 plain, powerful, baptizing, and new. When I say 
 new, I hope none will suppose I mean that she had
 
 $' r$TR015UCTIO?f. 
 
 any new doctrine to preach ; for the ministers- of 
 Christ nave no new principles to set forth. I mean 
 by new, that her ministry was in the fresh opening* 
 of life. I do not covet abundance in our meetings ; 
 
 m 
 
 a few wholesome crumbs, a little fresh water from 
 the pure spring, would satisfy me; yet I do not 
 wish to avoid the piercing of that Divine Power, 
 wjiich would divide between those things that 
 please the Almighty, and those which please him 
 not; since such, a division must take place, or 
 Heaven will not be our portion. But to return ta 
 my friend. 
 
 Her disposition was modest and retired ; yet the 
 Reader will find in the following psges, that, for 
 his instruction and encouragement, she has, in the 
 sincerity of her heart, spread before him some of 
 her mental trials. The conscientious mind, longing 
 to be united to Divine purity, has sometimes sore 
 conflicts with the*- evil principle within ; but when, 
 through the. power of the good principle, the grace 
 of God, evil is overcome, the conflict is succeeded 
 by unspeakable joy. This, I trust, Christian state- 
 ment, it will appear, was verified in the experience 
 <>f our beloved friend.
 
 INTRODUCTION. \U 
 
 That a truly religious mind is assailed with trials, 
 we see from her own open and undisguised account. 
 These trials arise from various circumstances ; per- 
 haps, at times, to prove the foundation of our faith;- 
 at other times, from a fear of not obtaining what if 
 of all things most desirable, acceptance with the 
 Almighty. But it may be, that the greatest of all 
 are the trials which are needful, when a vigorous 
 understanding and warm affections, are to be turned 
 from their natural tendencies into pure obedience to 
 the Almighty ; to become fit instruments for pro- 
 claiming his Divine will. This is like death ; like 
 the breaking up of nature, that the soul may be- 
 come free, and prepared for entering the holiness of 
 Heaven. This, at the time, is awful, and hard to 
 be endured ; but it is followed by joy, peace, and 
 unspeakable satisfaction; for surely, above all els.e 
 to be experienced here, is the enjoyment of Divine 
 favour on a pure mind. 
 
 The Reader will find something of all this .set forth, 
 in the following pages ; and may read therein a pro- 
 fitable lesson in spiritual religion; though, with 
 myself, he may not have attained to the assurance of 
 
 A *
 
 Vlll IKTRODUCTION. 
 
 acceptance, like her whose work is done ; yet let us 
 not forego our confidence; but, in humility, en- 
 deavour to continue steadfast in the faith. This will 
 be like an anchor to our minds ; so that when others 
 Sire tossed with the troubles of this world^ we may 
 be favoured to hold our lot in peace. 
 
 It appears from the testimony of those who knew 
 JANE PEARSON, during the greater part of her life, 
 that a solicitude for the glory of God, joined to a 
 care for her immortal part, and the future well-being 
 cf her fellow creatures, was, with her, paramount to 
 *U other considerations. This is true piety. To 
 these ends she laboured in public and in private ; 
 and dared not to shrink from her testimony for God 
 and his righteous law, by suppressing what came 
 before her. Though of a tender and affectionate 
 disposition, she did n.ot withhold the just denuncia- 
 tions of truth against iniquity. She did indeed pity 
 the individual, but she sounded the alarm in the ear 
 of the .transgressor; yet to those who were awakened 
 to a sense of their sins, she joyfully announced the 
 tovms of reconciliation.
 
 INTRODUCTION. *X 
 
 Early in life she married John Pearson, of Cray- 
 southen, by whom she had three sons and four 
 daughters; whom she watched over with the tender- 
 ness of a mother ; anxious that they should walk in 
 'the paths of innocence and virtue, and in the holy 
 religion of our dear Redeemer. Two of her chil- 
 dren died before her husband, and the others fol- 
 lowed him to the silent grave, while she remained 
 to mourn with many tears. Deprived of the at- 
 tention and support of her husband and of all her 
 children, it might have been supposed she would sit 
 sorrowful and alone under her afflictions ; but her 
 age was cheered by two affectionate grand- daughters; 
 and, with a mind reconciled to the dispensations of 
 Providence, her disposition was not soured by trials, 
 but even at the latest period of her age, which ex- 
 ceeded eighty years, in the company of intimate 
 friends, her conversation and manners partook of 
 the pleasantness and cheerfulness of her prime. Her 
 letters too were occasionally lively ; but more fre- 
 quently fraught with deep instruction. 
 
 The Compiler was but a youth when lie first sd w 
 his excellent friend.; which was in a meeting at a 
 
 A3
 
 JC INTRODUCTION. 
 
 northern yearly meeting, when her ministry inrw- 
 pressed his youthful mind. Several years elapsed 
 before he ever spoke to her ; and he little thought 
 that a faithful friendship would spring up between 
 them. She had then an uncommonly fine person ;. 
 but it may be said, that her mind was superior, be- 
 i ig concerned for the'glory of her Maker, and intent, 
 on fulfilling his Divine will. Her labours are now 
 closed, and we may believe she is receiving her re- 
 ward, in that state of purity and peace> after which 
 her soul longed while on earth. 
 
 It is a serious consideration with the Compiler,, 
 who is often doubtful whether he has passed " the 
 strait gate which leads to life," to trace the steps of 
 our piou& friend, into the valley of humiliation and 
 discouragement, or to pursue her way in the ascent 
 to the heavenly Jerusalem, and set forth the Divine- 
 prospects she beheld there. Diffident of his own 
 judgment, how far these things are within his pro- 
 vince, he forbears to enlarge, leaving her own re- 
 marks to speak for themselves ; but on another point 
 he is inclined to express his opinion more freely. 
 There may be some minds disposed to doubt the
 
 INTRODUCTION . i 
 
 foundation of what is advanced in some parts of the 
 following pages ; to such the Compiler would say, 
 he has long been fully of the persuasion, that imme- 
 diate revelation has not ceased. He believes that 
 the same Almighty Power who presided at the time 
 of Pentecost, who visited Zacharias, Ananias, and 
 Cornelius, continues to manifest himself to this day. 
 Believing this, and knowing the superior mind and 
 uprightness of the individual, concerning whom he 
 is now writing, he has no difficulty in believing 
 what she has recorded. He now closes j and if any 
 praise is due, let it not be ascribed to her, but to 
 
 \ 
 
 Him who is the Author of all good : This was the- 
 fervent desire of our departed friend, in which she 
 is followed by 
 
 THOS. WILKINSON. 
 
 , Tth Month, 1816.
 
 Sketches of Piety^ 
 
 SECTION I. 
 
 
 Her reasons for writing some memoirs of herself- Her birtft 
 
 and parentage The state of her mind in very early life 
 Her resolution not to open- her mouth in the Ministryr 
 Her marriage The deep inward conflicts she endured 
 for njot resigning herself to Divine disposal, till she waf 
 made willing to obey Her first offering in the Ministry 
 Her remarks on this important office. 
 
 XT has long remained with weight upon my 
 mind, to leave a few remarks respecting the 
 Lord's dealings, when he was pleased to lay 
 his hand in judgment upon me, for my back- 
 slidings ; hoping it* may be of service to some 
 poor, tossed, afflicted, disconsolate, tempted, 
 bewildered mind ; for I do believe it would 
 have been of service to me, in my painful mo- 
 ments, to have beheld the footsteps of others, if;
 
 14 LIFE OF JANE PEARSOK. 
 
 I had had stability to read, or quietness of mind 
 to be instructed ; which fofr-.a time I had not, 
 being -feeble and sore broken, bemoaning my- 
 self by reason of the disquietude of my heart. 
 
 I was born at Newtown, near Carlisle, of 
 sober, religious parents. My father dying when 
 I was young, I had more experience of my 
 mother's religious care in our tuition. She was 
 left with four of us to bring up ; and her zeal 
 and care for her offspring abated not ; so that I 
 have a good account to give of her pious solici- 
 tude and concern for us. She, on that account, 
 hired a schoolmaster into the house, to teach 
 her children ; to prevent our being corrupted, 
 or learning the improper customs of the people 
 amongst whom we dwelt ; so that we were 
 kept, more than many others of our age, from 
 associating with those of other persuasions. 
 
 Now it pleased the Lord by his good Spirit, 
 to work in my heart, in my young years ; which 
 brought a godly sorrow over me, and a fear 
 lest I should be taken away in my childish fol- 
 lies. When the bell used to toll for those of 
 other persuasions, oh ! the awe and inward fear 
 attendant on these occasions ! I would say in
 
 LIFE OF JANE PEARSON. 1 
 
 my heart : These are now called off the stage 
 of this world, and fixed as for ever it must be." 
 Yea, my solicitude did at times so far prevail, 
 that I was desirous of knowing the age of the 
 deceased, and whether they were of ages similar 
 to myself; and if they were, it undoubtedly 
 added to my fears, which, at that time, were 
 piercing. But if they were further advanced, 
 I endeavoured to appease these fears by con- 
 sidering myself young, and that I might escape 
 such a removal in youth ; for oh ! I was afraid 
 to die; and that awful "for ever and ever " 
 brought sadness over me. 
 
 I loved to read the scriptures, especially the 
 new testament ; and when I read the passage, 
 where our blessed Lord is described as having 
 suffered so much, from the high professors, A\ho 
 dcspitefully treated him and crucified him, it 
 afflicted me deeply \ and I believed I should 
 not have done this : so my heart became melted 
 and tendered under a sense of it. 
 
 About this time it pleased the Lord to send 
 Mary Kirby, of Norfolk ; and she being alone, 
 requested me to accompany her. My mother 
 gave me up, and it was a time of reading some
 
 16 LIFE OF JANE PEARSOK. 
 
 advantage; for when I returned home, I felt 
 my heart, in a good measure, cleansed and 
 emptied of the old inhabitants; my stiff will 
 being measurably subdued ; and loving retire- 
 ment. I was drawn from my old companions. 
 
 I then witnessed a state ef deep porverty of 
 spirit, which caused me thus to address the Al- 
 mighty : " Lord ! what wouldst thou have me 
 to do ?" For at that time I did not know there 
 was anything that displeased Him ; but his word 
 in me was ; " I must not only, cease to do evil, 
 but I must learn to do well." Thus I experi-? 
 enced, when the unclean spirit is gone out, we 
 walk through dry places^ seeking rest but find- 
 ing none. Oh ! that this time of drought and 
 emptiness was but patiently abode in ! but when 
 all the old inhabitants are .cast out,, the crea- 
 turely part is apt to catch at something, to make 
 up the loss it has sustained : for how hard is 
 it to live without life, in the creatures or exter- 
 nals ! The senses are continually seeking for 
 something to heal this deadly wound ; and to 
 replace somewhat in an emptied mind ; for it is 
 hard thus to die to self. Therefore many are 
 apt to connect themselves again with those 
 worse than themselves; and their last state is- 
 worst than the first..
 
 LIFE OF JANE PEARSOTT. 17 
 
 I now feel such heavenly -serenity in my en- 
 deavours to bring together these few remarks, 
 which have long lain among my papers, that I 
 have no doubt it is right for me to leave them 
 to posterity ; having a living hope in my heart, 
 that these faithful sayings will, under Provi- 
 dence, tend more to reach and reduce the un- 
 circumcised philistine nature, in the perusal, 
 than I, though mercifully aided, ever did in my 
 life-time. The infirmities attending my family 
 in my younger years, kept me mucb at home ; 
 and now my own weakness and infirmities are 
 great and many. Nevertheless my love is true 
 to the great and good cause, and I should be 
 willing to go the world over to edify the body ; 
 and promote the reformation of mankind, and 
 the redemption of their souls, through Jesus 
 Christ, 
 
 I now return to this deep sense of privation 
 and emptiness. I was sitting in our women's 
 meeting for discipline, at Carlisle, when it ap- 
 peared clear to me, that if 1 continued thus in- 
 ward with God, J should soon have to speak to 
 others. This intimation that I was to be drawn 
 to do well, was so far from humbling me, that 
 J did not even desire to, be excused, or pray
 
 18 LIFE OF JANE PEARSON. 
 
 the Divine Master to hare patience with ine.; 
 but I resolutely said : " I never will do so." I 
 started aside like a broken bow, and I believe 
 went into greater alienation from the life, than 
 I had ever done before ; anAjust it would have 
 been, if Infinite Wisdom had cut me off in my 
 disobedience. I was guilty of many wrong 
 things, which brought heavy judgment on me ; 
 and living with an aunt at Carlisle, was much 
 exposed ; she keeping a shop, and I being from, 
 under the strict eye of my mother. 
 
 I was now about the 17th or 18th year of myj 
 age. Through every dispensation, I had a 
 great love for good friends; and they often ma- 
 nifested love for me ; owning the valuable part 
 in' me, and overlooking that which was rebuk- 
 able, I doubt not, in the faith that the Lord 
 would carry on his own work ; and their open, 
 carriage towards m?, was so far from begetting 
 disesteem in me, or inducing me to account 
 them undiscerning, that it wrought upon the 
 better part; for indeed I could have washed 
 the saints' feet. Ministering friends lodged at 
 my mother's, and I sometimes got the blessing, 
 whioh i fresh with me to this day.
 
 LIFE OF JANE FEARSON. 13 
 
 At the age of between one and two and 
 twenty, I was married to John Pearson, a 
 sober, religious young man. About a year after 
 my marriage, my false rest was broken ; though 
 I was rightly married, and, 1 trust, in best wis- 
 dom. United to a choice husband, I swimmed 
 as in an ocean of pleasure ; but I witnessed, in- 
 stead of peace on earth, a heart-piercing sword : 
 My undone condition was present with me day 
 and night, when awake. Indeed I slept but 
 little ; -sleep departed from my eyes, and slum- 
 ber from my eye-lids ; so that when night came, 
 I wished for morning. And though preserved 
 from gross evils, so heavy was the Lord's hand 
 in judgment against the sinful, impure part m 
 me, that there was sufficient work for his heart- 
 piercing sword, which divides betwixt the pre- 
 cious and the vile, that which serves him, awl 
 that which serveth him not. 
 
 case now, in my own view, was exceed- 
 ingly deplorable ; so tbat I neither eat nor slept 
 much, which occasioned a visible decline in my 
 health. Indeed I was just a wonder to behold ; 
 the people wondering what had befallen me. 
 'The enemy followed me closely with most 
 grievous besetrnents ; thing's that my very soul
 
 20 LIFE OT JANE PEARSON. 
 
 loathed, would he charge upon me to be my 
 own : and I, not having strength to resist, with 
 a " Get thee behind me. Satan ;" or, on the 
 other hand, experience to distinguish what 
 proceeded from the enemy and his grievous 
 insinuations, and what arose from the weak- 
 ness of nature ; every thing appeared out of 
 order, and a confused mass it was. I did be- 
 lieve none ever was in such a state before ; nor 
 have 1 ever read of any of our friends that I 
 thought had gone through such various trying 
 dispensations ; what if I say for two sabbaths of 
 years, in which I feared 1 should never get to 
 the -better side. 
 
 I ate my bread weeping, and mingled my 
 drink with my tears ; 1 was as amongst fiery 
 serpents, and as in the jaws of a devouring ad- 
 f ersary, who was exulting, and darting into my 
 mind, that the next temptation would sweep me 
 away : and things were hurried into tnyymnd, 
 one after another, as swift as thought, and as 
 dark as the darkest night. Oh I that my trou- 
 bles were written with an iron pen, and lead in 
 the rock for ever ! For surely a hundredth part 
 is far beyond my power of description. And 
 bad not mercy been extended td me in this try-
 
 LIFE OF JANE PEARSON. 21 
 
 ing season, truly I had fallen ; for the dispen- 
 sation was so severe, that I could not tell how 
 to live under it x ; so that I wished the Almighty 
 would, by an act of his power, snatch me from 
 mortals, though it might he by an accidental 
 death ; for I still believed that if he did take 
 me, it would be in mercy. So earnest was I 
 after holiness and virtue, that I often besought 
 Him, that he would never suffer me to sin against 
 him ; that I might not be eternally ranked with 
 unclean and abominable spirits ; which my very 
 soul loathed. 
 
 I now abhorred myself as in dust and ashes ; 
 because the enemy was thus permitted to assault 
 me. But through all, my intellects were pre- 
 served clear, and my reason sound. 
 
 About this time 1 was much drawn inward in 
 prayer ; for truly my tempted, bewildered state 
 called for it ; and for a time, I believe I prayed 
 without ceasing : and yet, the Lord knew what 
 J needed, to lit me for his work and service. 
 And now, for ray further refinement, the Al- 
 mighty permitted the enemy to come still 
 nearer ; although I rai^ht say with one for- 
 merly : " Why doth he yet find fault, for who
 
 ^22 LIFE OF JANE PEARSON. 
 
 iiath resisted his will r" And this was one of 
 the closest trials I ever met with ; so that one 
 evening when the enemy accused me of evil, 
 and I turned in prayer to the Judge of all the 
 earth, making my appeal that He knew I was 
 not wicked, beseeching that he would rebuke 
 the devourer for my sake, and set me at liberty 
 to serve him : it was darted as quick as light- 
 ning : " There is no God !" Oh ! then how 
 did I mourn 1 Believing there was none who had 
 the least remains of good, that was ever tried 
 in this manner. I thought I was now sinning 
 Against the Holy Ghost, and that I was the 
 most wretched creature upon earth ; the enemy 
 followed hard with his bitter whispering : " To 
 what dost thou pray ? There is no God." 
 
 I never opened my case, under this dispen- 
 sation, to any one ; for I believed whoever I 
 opened my mind to, would believe I had been 
 guilty of some gross thing, and therefore was a 
 castaway ; and I thought if I met with discou- 
 ragement, I should not be able to bear the 
 Lord's hand in judgment ; because I had sin- 
 ned against him. At length I witnessed the 
 truth of that declaration": "When thy judgments 
 are in the earth, the inhabitants of the world will
 
 1.IFE OF JANE PEARSOtf. 2 
 
 }earn righteousness ;" for truly I did experience 
 inward purity of heart and cleanness of hands ; 
 and in the Lord's own time he gave access to 
 liis throne ; and the spirit of prayer and sup- 
 plication was poured out upon me, with a "Ve- 
 rily there is a God that judgeth in the earth :" I 
 then felt a holy sense of this truth : " The Lord 
 liveth ;" and " because he lives, I live also." 
 
 This dispensation, when it had prepared the , 
 way of the Lord, and made his paths straight, 
 passed away, and I had now to say ; the Lord 
 liveth, and I speak not falsely, because I know 
 what that precious knowledge of God has cost 
 me. I note these things for the help of any that 
 may have been tried as I have been ; for if I 
 had met with any such account, it would have 
 relieved me. Theremight be some testimonies of 
 friends in the accounts of their lives, somewhat 
 similar ; but I had not read them, or they had 
 gone from me. Nor could I believe that any 
 who were under the Divine notice, or the turning 
 of the holy hand, were suffered to abide so long 
 a time under such dark bewildering suggestions. 
 
 May all who are thus proved, believe that 
 way will be made for their escape ! Do not 4e-
 
 24 LIFE OF JANE PEARSON, 
 
 spond nor cast away your confidence ! I feel 
 united to the suffering seed, wherever they are, 
 or of whatever society they may be : 1 moura 
 \\ith those that mourn, compassionating their 
 distress. My commiseration and tender feeling 
 is towards these ; and I can address them, not 
 from any degree of experience to boast of ; but 
 from the depth of humility, can say : " Trust 
 in God. He can set his seed at liberty, and 
 will <lo it." 
 
 I now began to have great scruples respect- 
 ing my wearing apparel, as also that of my 
 children, the furniture of our house, &c., &c. I 
 coveted to have all things enough in the simpli- 
 city. I thought of John's rayment of camel's 
 hair, a leathern girdle about his loins, and his 
 meat locusts and wild honey. There was no 
 delicacy here, either in eating or apparel. And 
 now, whatever the strong will hi me seemed to 
 loath, or have an aversion to, into that very 
 thing, in the cross, was I led ; though it seemed, 
 an indignity to my very frame and disposition, 
 which was not thoroughly redeemed from nicety, 
 and a desire to be somewhat in the eyes of the 
 world. Thus I was led till 1 had no will; and 
 was simple enough, through being mortified
 
 LIFE OF JANE PEARSON. 25 
 
 every moment ; for I had always some scruple 
 upon my mind whether things were right or not, 
 till I wus rendered flexible and docile, ready to 
 take any impression the Lord would stamp upon 
 me ; an.i I pray it may be that of holiness, du- 
 ring my stay in mutability; and afterwards may 
 I join the triumphant church, praising the .Lord 
 God and the Lamb for ever and ever. 
 
 About this time, I began to have some light 
 and life about me. I could not have believed 
 that I should have been so clear of the bitter 
 whisperings and insinuations of the crooked, 
 piercing serpent ; it being natural to conclude, 
 when things are so out of order, and the ad- 
 versary has effected such an inroad into the 
 mind, making a prey of it, that things will be 
 liard to set to rights ; but it is the Lord's work, 
 and he shall have the praise ; for all is duii to 
 Him, and nothing is due to the creature. 
 
 I measurably witnessed an overcoming, and 
 a little getting of the victory ; the head of the 
 serpent being bruised, ami the accuser cast 
 down, and his accusations silenced, being ac- 
 quitted of his false high charges against me ; 
 and, in Jiou thereof, 1 obtained a precious feel-
 
 LIFE OF JANE PEARSON. 
 
 ing of justification : all old things being done 
 away by that baptism which saves, all things 
 became new, and all things of God. I now 
 began again to have some view, that I must tell 
 to others, what the Lord had done for my soul ; 
 how he had plucked me out of the horrible pit, 
 out of the mire and clay ; letting me feel the 
 sure foundation, and see that I was to keep upon 
 it, and proclaim the new song that He would 
 put into my mouth. 
 
 This was a day of close trial ; for I was 
 brought to the test, whether I would keep my 
 covenant that I had made with the Lord, in the 
 days of my deep distress ; which was, that if he 
 would but set me clear of the enemy, command 
 what he pleased, I would obey, let it be what 
 it would. Frequently in assembling with the 
 Lord's people, (and ah ! it was a favour to me 
 that I was amongst a living people !) our meet- 
 ings were often favoured with lively testimonies. 
 On such occasions, scripture sentences would 
 impress my mind with some degree of life and 
 power ; and according to my infant state and 
 inexperience, I felt some concern of mind to 
 declare it to the audience, though the evidence 
 was not so full and clear, as my diffident mind
 
 rrir OF JANE PEARSON. 27 
 
 requested, and really needed ; for I was desi- 
 rous that I might be preserved from saying : 
 "the Lord saith ; albeit, he had not spoken." 
 
 Now this caused a strong 1 conflict, a trying of 
 the fleece wet and dry ; my n itural timidity, 
 closely adhering to a corresponding care not to 
 cast untimely fruit, which soon comes to decay. 
 This made me very wary and cautious, as I 
 believed many had taken the preparation for 
 this office to be the commission, and so had 
 been dwarfs. Oh the other hand, the covenant 
 that I had made with the Lord, in the days of 
 ray sore bondage and deep captivity, and my 
 now not answering his requirings, made this a 
 time of deep wading for me. In meetings, mat- 
 ter would arise and spread in my/mind towards 
 the people, and yet I felt not the command. 
 Oh ! if any should be thus tried, if they are re- 
 signed, and have minxls devoted; to such I 
 would say : " Fear not, but the time will come, 
 when you will not doubt respecting the Lord's 
 will." 
 
 I was about nine months under this trying- 
 dispensation. A5i ! this wore down the bodily 
 strength ; my knees were weak ; my flesh failed, 
 
 B2
 
 28 LIFE OF JANE 1 PEARSON. 
 
 though not with refraining from food ; my face 
 Mas often foul and sorrowful, through much 
 weeping ; and on my eye-lids sat the shadow 
 of death, through these winnowing, sifting sea- 
 sons. And yet through all, I had a little hope, 
 which as an anchor stayed my soul, and raised 
 a holy belief, that He who was my confidence, 
 would, in his own time, unfold the mysteries of 
 his kingdom, and give an undoubted evidence, 
 with unsullied clearness, that it was his will 
 that the candle lie had lighted, should be set on 
 the candlestick, to give light to those around; 
 and thanks be to his ever worthy name, for He 
 fulfilled it ; so that when the right time came, 
 in which I was to open my mouth in public, I 
 had no doubt of its being his mind and will : 
 yet, through fear, I reasoned it away, but was 
 not severely chastened for it, as my heart was 
 steadily purposed to serve Him ; the will to do 
 good was present, but in the performance I felt 
 weak; so the Lord forgave me, and my mind 
 enjoyed good till next meeting-day. I then, 
 in great fear, went to our little meeting at Gray- 
 southen. A few words presented lively, and I 
 well remember the subject ; the purport of them 
 was, that if we were, but more inward in meet- 
 ings, they would be more favoured than we
 
 LIFE OF JANE PfiAttSON, 20 
 
 often found them to be. And is not this a truth 
 at the present day ? 
 
 My being thus cautiously led in the begin- 
 ning 1 , has been helpful to me through the re- 
 maining part of my life, as to the ministry ; in 
 "watching against false views and representa- 
 tions, or taking the imaginary part for (he 
 revealed will of God. Oh ! the peace that I 
 felt that night, after that short testimony. It 
 would have been acceptable to have been dis- 
 solved, and to have been with Christ, which is 
 far better. 
 
 And now I had great peace of mind, so that 
 instead of my heart being a place for dragons, 
 for owls, and for screech owls ; for cormorants, 
 and for bitterns ; there began to be a melody in 
 my heart, as it were the voice of the Son of 
 God, whose countenance is comely ; and the 
 myrtle, box, and piiie, sprang up in that heart 
 which had been a breeding-place for nettles. 
 This is the change that is wrought in man, by 
 being born again of the incorruptible seed and 
 word of God. This was the change that was 
 wrought in me. 
 
 B3
 
 30 ., LIPE OF JANE PEA.R8OJ*. 
 
 I had now frequently to speak in meetings, 
 and had satisfaction in so doing ; and friends 
 did not discountenance me in my little child- 
 like movings ; hut approved, though with a 
 godly care. And, through abundant mercy, I 
 moved in my gift in simplicity, and did not 
 choose for myself, nor sought for openings, nor 
 dressed my matter according to the creatureiy 
 will ; neither dared I to restrain openings, all 
 which is unsavory. The Lord taught me to 
 let it go just as it came ; though with blushing, 
 I may acknowledge I lay very near a right- 
 Land error, if 1 may so term it. Great was my 
 care and fear, in joining wilh first prospects, 
 although oft* n they might be such that I might 
 conclude : " Surely the Lord's anointed is be- 
 fore me ;" yet they have passed by, and a query 
 has arisen : " Are all thy children here ?" A 
 proper query this; for those who labour for the 
 good of others, ought to have an especial care 
 over their own household. 
 
 It often happens, that the anointing is wit- 
 nessed on the lesser appearance ; a single, 
 seemingly a poor sentence, scarcely worth rank- 
 ing with sublime unfoldings high in sta> re, 
 jioi produced till the last ; ail the rest passing 1
 
 LIFE OF JANE PEARSON. 3l 
 
 by : " Send and fetch him, for we will not sit 
 clown till he come." Oh, then the holy com- 
 mand goes forth ! " Arise, anoint him, for this 
 is he ;" and at some of these seasons, the horn 
 has been filled with oil. But this care, though 
 laudable, yet prevailed often, so as to keep 
 lively openings, till the tide of good was receding 
 to the fountain or source whence it sprung ; 
 and so the testimony was not so demonstrative 
 and explicit, as otherwise it might have been ; 
 producing a half strangled though living offer- 
 ing. Read, you that can understand, and 
 escape this rock on the right hand ; for by this 
 conduct, I often broke our ranks in the ministry; 
 mine that should have gone first, was last. 
 Little vessels floating sooner than those of deep 
 service and heavy burdens, by getting out of 
 their way, make their passage easier and safe. 
 If any were forwarder than myself, then they 
 opened the door, and I, through an unavailing 
 trying of the opening, would close it, and be 
 excused from meddling. 
 
 As I had a great love and care for the blessed 
 cause, that it might not suffer through weak ] 
 advocates espousing it, so I always thought " 
 lowly of myself, and thus I became the author 
 
 B4
 
 ' 
 3*2 LIFE OF JANE PEARSON. 
 
 of confusion and disorder, and the people were 
 not so edified, nor I so comforted, a% might have 
 been expected, from the conflict I had under- 
 gone. Now I believe this had some foundation, 
 in wanting to have a form of sound words, that 
 none could condemn : for though I did not seek 
 openings, or dress them as 1 pleased, yet all 
 must have a mode of expression suiting the 
 matter, and to convey to the audience their 
 sentiments on religious things. On this ground, 
 I wished to have the little matter set in order, 
 for I feared being taken to task for misquoting 
 or misapplying the Holy Scriptures. But I 
 was led clearly to discover that the ministers of 
 C'hrist must rise, when but perhaps a word is 
 given them, and minister according to the abi- 
 lity with which they are favoured, not at all 
 fearing man, whose breath is in his nostrils, 
 but serve and fear the Lord only.
 
 SECTION II. 
 
 Her family Loss of two children Decease of her husband'-' 
 Her testimony concerning him Decease of her only ) c- 
 maining son Firstjourney in the work of the ministry- 
 Decease of her mother, father-in-law, and daughter Han- 
 nah Visits Lancashire, Cheshire, c., and some Western 
 Counties Decease of her second daughter Removal to 
 IFItitehaven, 1791 Decease of her youngest daughter 
 Observations at various times, to the year 1795 Her 
 exercise respecting vocal supplication in meetings. 
 
 _L NOW began to have great outward trials, 
 when there was an abatement in the inward. I 
 had an affectionate husband, who, in my infant 
 state, bore part of my sufferings. 1 had seven 
 fine children, four girls and the youngest boys. 
 Till this time, the Lord had made a hedge 
 about us and all that we had. Though we had 
 not much to begin the world with, we increased 
 fast in temporals. It pleased the Lord to re- 
 move two of my youngest children by the small- 
 pox, in a natural way, as we could not be free to 
 inoculate for it. I grieved much that a breach 
 
 135
 
 34 LIFE OF JANE PEARSON. 
 
 was made upon us ; indeed I fretted too much. 
 There was then a language proclaimed to my 
 inward ear, if I did not cease inordinate griev- 
 ing, I should have more troubles. The affec- 
 tionate part was strong, yet I trust I did not 
 murmur against the dispensations of unerring 
 wisdom. In the next year, my beloved husband 
 was taken from me ! Oh, how I could then 
 have parted with all my children, to have had 
 him spared ; for in him I was so bound up, 
 that I believed if he died, I could not live. He 
 was my outward strength ; and on him I relied 
 for every thing in this workL I now seem in- 
 clined to give forth a testimony to his worth, 
 as the widow's mite, to her children, or chil- 
 dren's children, that when we are gone, they 
 may see from what kind of stock they have 
 sprung. For their welfare, my very soul is 
 moved within me, and causes me to go bowed 
 down, imploring that Divine assistance may be 
 their aid through this vale of tears. 
 
 PEARSON'S tetstimony concerning Her 
 dear deceased husband, John Pearson, who 
 
 departed this life the 14th o/Qth month, 1774 : 
 
 
 He was born of believing parents, who gave 
 
 him a tolerable education ; and I believe } ac-
 
 LIFE OF JANE PEARSON. 85 
 
 cording to the best of their ability, trained him 
 up in the nurture of the Lord. He was reli- 
 giously inclined from his youth, so that in some 
 sense, he was aNazarite from his birth; giving 
 full proof that he sought a better country than 
 that of this world ; in which he had various 
 struggles, being more exposed than many 
 others, as his business was a linen-manufac- 
 turer ; yet he conducted himself with honour 
 through all his engagements, and gained a 
 handsome subsistence for his family ; and I may 
 say, without doubt, he retained the better part 
 through all. 
 
 He was a man of an innocent life and con- 
 versation, as also of a meek disposition, readier 
 to take harsh treatment than to give it, and 
 would suffer wrong, rather than resent an in- 
 jury. He was temperate even to abstinence. In 
 the relation of a husband, he was unexception- 
 able. When I consider his tenderness towards 
 me and his family, lean scarcely but lament; 
 yet I believe he is removed to the haven of rest; 
 for I thought it was demonstrable, that the 
 grave would have no victory at hi dissolution. 
 His illness was tedious, but he was quite re- 
 signed, whether life or death should be his
 
 56 LIFE OF JANE PEARSON. 
 
 portion; and he frequently said, he longed to 
 be gone, and that he scarcely thought it uould 
 have been possible to have been so willing to 
 leave us. 
 
 A friend coming in the day before he died, 
 had an opportunity with him, and an accept- 
 able time it was. The friend expressed to him 
 that he might yet get a little better. He an- 
 swered : " I had rather go ; I have felt the pains 
 of death ; oh let me go !" Thence it appeared 
 he was quite reconciled to the grave ; and I 
 said : " Oh then, my dear, thou must be satis- 
 fied thy change will be well ?" He answered : 
 " Yes, I believe so ;" speaking with a becoming 
 humility. The day before he died, he felt his 
 pulse steadily three times, in order to know how 
 near his change was ; and inquired of the 
 doctor, how long he might continue ? I desired 
 he might not ask that question, and he, lamb- 
 like, did not repeat it. 
 
 I am satisfied he had an assurance of accept- 
 ance with the Almighty, which declared itself 
 in that heavenly fortitude and serenity, that 
 accompanied him to his last moments. His 
 mother, who was an aged person, and under
 
 LIFE OF JANE PEARSON. 37 
 
 -,t infirmities, being brought in to take her 
 leave of 'him, he, in a prophetic manner, told 
 her he should go first, but she would soon fol- 
 low after ; and accordingly it proved so, for as 
 he expired, she began to show symptoms of her 
 dissolution, and continued but about two hours 
 after him ; so they nearly finished their course 
 together. 
 
 Oh! my loss is inexpressible! His kindness, 
 his nearness, in a religious sense, cannot be set 
 forth by me ; for indeed I had gone through 
 various and deep provings ; many weary years 
 had passed over my head, whilst I was under 
 the preparing hand of my God ; but his com- 
 passion, his patience towards me, his con- 
 descension to my' weakness, in my infant state, 
 cannot be penned. His memory is blessed; 
 and his excellent virtues ascend to the Father 
 of Spirits, and resemble the prayers and alms- 
 deeds of Cornelius, had in everlasting re- 
 membrance. 
 
 I have endeavoured not to be swayed by af- 
 fection, in this my summary account, but have 
 just related what I think the spirit in me bears 
 witness to the truth of; neither >yas I easy with-
 
 58 LIFE OF JANE P^EARSOM. 
 
 out doing it. He departed without any strug- 
 gle, as one falling into the sweetest of slumbers, 
 and was decently buried in Friends' burying- 
 ground at Graysouthen, aged 49 years, 
 
 , JANE PEARSON. 
 
 The Lord was now about to divest me of my 
 beloveds ; and the next year, he took nay eldest 
 son in a fever, so that I had no son. He now also 
 made it manifest to me, that it was his requiring 
 that I should travel a little in the service of 
 truth. I gave up, and my friends favoured me 
 with a certificate. I set off on my journey, with 
 my much honoured friend Hannah Harris : I 
 accompanied her th/ough Lancashire, and then 
 my dear friend Barbara Drewry met me at 
 Settle. We visited Yorkshire, except Rich- 
 mond monthly meeting. Then feeling a strong 
 draught hoice, 1 returned, and found my family- 
 well, my dear mother who resided with me ex- 
 cepted. She was a little on the decline, yet not 
 so as to be much noticed ; but in about two 
 or three weeks, she fell sick and died. I men- 
 tion this, that friends may attend ta their feel- 
 ings and drawings, as to returning home ; for 
 had she departed in my absence, I should have 
 been in danger of letting in the reasoner. Oh A
 
 LIFE OF JANE PEARSON. 39 
 
 the kindness of God ! that prolonged her life 
 till my return. 
 
 I was now left with ray father-in-law, who 
 was a valuable man, and my four daughters. 
 The youngest but one, an amiable young wo- 
 man, of about nineteen, going a little abroad, 
 lost her health. She continued in a state of 
 great weakness, for about three years, and de- 
 parted this life, 1784*, my father-in-law dying 
 a little before her. 
 
 * The Compiler of these Memoirs, has stated in the 
 introduction, that the subject of them, occasionally wrote a 
 few verses. On the event just mentioned., the poured fortfr 
 her mater nql feelings, nearly as follows, without any k view to 
 their insertion here ; but perhaps the introduction of them 
 may not be deemed improper. 
 
 LINES 
 
 ON MY BELOVED DAUGHTER, HANNAH 
 
 A widow'd mother while I sit, 
 In silence and dismay, 
 
 J feel a spirit-stirring power, 
 
 That prompts the sorrowing lay.
 
 40 LIFE OF JANE PEARSON. 
 
 I was now left with three daughters. The 
 family sits solitary that was full of people ; but 
 the Lord has been exceedingly kind to me. 
 When I mourned for the loss of my connexions, 
 my husband especially, condescending kindness 
 vouchsafed thus to plead with me : " What have 
 I done to thee ? I have taken thy beloveds to a 
 mansion of rest, called them to a better life ; 
 and I will remove, as it pleaseth me, the residue 
 >* 
 
 Then from a mother's bosom let 
 
 The mournful numbers flow ; 
 The ear of pity will forgive, 
 
 My mingling Jiope and wo. 
 
 There are who hold that life is but 
 
 A shadow or a flower ; 
 My soul aspires to higher good, 
 
 Than bounds the present hour : 
 
 That good my Hannah sure has reach'd 
 
 And will for ever prove : 
 Her bosom was tli' abode of peace* 
 
 Of- innocence, and love. 
 
 For those whom evil tongues traduc'd, 
 
 She felt compassion rise ; 
 While innocence, the richest gem ! 
 
 Sat lovely in her eyes.
 
 LIPE OF JANE PEARSON. 41 
 
 of thy family; and then you will meet, never 
 more to part." At this moment I had a hope, 
 a precious faith, that the Lord would mercifully 
 preserve me and mine, till the conclusion, in a 
 degree of innocence. 
 
 I may acknowledge, I had suffered a strong 
 persuasion to prevail in my mind, that the Lord, 
 in displeasure, had removed my husband from 
 
 Strict modesty around her form, 
 
 Was like a mantle cast ; 
 Her features beam'd intelligence, 
 
 Butthese from earth are past ! 
 
 Then who can tell the loss of her t 
 
 Or number up my tears ? 
 1 live : but ah ! a sadness hangs 
 
 O'er my declining years. 
 
 My dearest contort died again 
 
 In Hannah's parting breath : 
 
 
 My days are spent in grief, for who 
 
 Has known so much of death ? 
 
 Sweet were thy words, my beauteous child ! 
 
 That thou to me express'd, 
 When, watchmg thy declining strength, 
 
 J hung upon thy breast * '.
 
 42 LIFE OF JANE PEARSON. 
 
 me; because I had not faithfully discharged 
 myself in the ministry, or that something was 
 wrong with me ; and I was even so weak as to 
 require a sign from him, although he had before 
 fully satisfied me, it was not in displeasure to 
 either of us : but oh ! i* was with me a time of 
 great dejection. What I asked at that time 
 was, that he would cause some of his servants, 
 with whom I had never corresponded, to write 
 to me, and I would take it as a sign. Well, he 
 had chastened in his mercy, and now seemed to 
 be entreated ; for that valuable friend, Mabel 
 Wigham, addressed me in tender sympathy, 
 
 And in the anguish of my son], 
 To God prefer'd my prayer, 
 
 That, in compassion, yet thy life, 
 He would be pleas' d to spare. 
 
 Thou meekly answer'dst " Mother dear J 
 
 I'd rather go than thee, 
 If such the righteous will of God ; 
 
 For best that will must be : 
 
 " Tho' parted for a little space, 
 Well hope to meet again." 
 
 6ch resignation gave me strength, 
 The anflict to sustain.
 
 LIFE OF JANE PEARSON, 43 
 
 and communicated her feelings that my husband 
 was removed in mercy, and that I and my chil- 
 dren would he preserved. I note this, that 
 friends may be faithful in all respects, for it did 
 me much good. 
 
 I had now a draught or concern of mind, and 
 I think it had been before me for some years, 
 to visit the meetings of friends in the western 
 part of this nation. Cornwall pressed very 
 close, that had I had wings, I could have flown 
 to it for rest* I informed some of my friends, 
 who encouraged me, and united with me in my 
 
 Can I describe the setting eye ? 
 
 The faultering tongue restore ? 
 The trembling hand ? the ehorten'd breath? 
 
 1 cease For all is o'er. 
 
 Fair as a lily, and as sweet^ 
 
 My lovely Hannah grew 5 
 But soon she from the garden here, 
 
 To Paradise withdrew. 
 
 Ye sister lilies ! keep like her, 
 
 Your innocence and love, 
 When gather'd from the earth, you'll tfetft, 
 
 In beauty rise above.
 
 prospect. I then acqainted the moulhly meet- 
 ing, and had its certificate ; and J had my dear 
 friend, M. Haworth, of Haslingden, for a com- 
 panion. We visited most meetings in Lan- 
 cashire, Cheshire, Shropshire, Worcestershire, 
 Somersetshire, Devonshire, and Cornwall. 
 
 I had a close concern to visit a friend that 
 had been low for some time ; I mentioned it to 
 some friends^ but way was not made suitable to 
 my diffidence. When I got as far back as Ply- 
 mouth, I did not know but I must have re- 
 turned ; for, if I may be allowed the expres- 
 sion, the furnace was hot, which made my an- 
 guish inexpressible ; it made all my bones to 
 shake, and affected my health for the remainder 
 of the journey, which till then had been good. 
 Ah ! friend* had need be careful how they 
 turn back diffident minds, that are not like 
 the offspring of Sceva, taking upon them, in 
 their own strength, to call over unclean spirits. 
 The Lord wrought mightily in me towards the 
 distressed. I had passed through much afflic- 
 tion, and was thereby rendered very susceptible, 
 readily catching a sense of sorrow wherever I 
 found it.
 
 LIFE OF JANE PEARSON. 45 
 
 I believe the friends were backward of giv- 
 ing encouragement, wishing* to conceal the 
 infirmities that had overtaken so valuable an in- 
 strument as she had been : and besides all this, 
 many, much more worthy, had visited her, with 
 whom, indeed 1 aua not tit to be ranked. But I 
 am what I am, by the grace of God; and tis he 
 worketh wonders by mean low instruments, he 
 may work through such to others, if he please. 
 I must, however, own, that they gave permis- 
 sion to me, but not to my companion, and an 
 allowance differs from a hearty concurrence; 
 yet I have felt judgment for the omission, but 
 believed before I left the place, that deliverance 
 would come from another source ; and I have 
 lived to know and be thankful for it. I missed 
 several meetings in my way home, being poorly, 
 and believing it safe and lawful for me to re- 
 turn. I found my family well, and had tiie evi- 
 dence of peace answering my obedience. 
 
 I have now arrived at the 56th year of my 
 age ; and still afflictions abide me. My second 
 daughter being removed by death, I have but 
 two remaining. She was an innocent, virtuous 
 young woman, bore a lingering illness with pa- 
 tience and resignation ; and I believj is gathered 
 IA mercy.
 
 46 LIFE OF JA-NE PEARSON. 
 
 In 1791, I moved to Whitehaven to reside, 
 before the death of my youngest daughter ; to 
 whose marriage, with a friend belonging to that 
 meeting, I had consented. Our going there, 
 was also much the mind of both my daughters. 
 My daughter that resided with me was desirous 
 of living there, in order to be helpful to her 
 married sister, whose family was increasing. 
 Oh, the close exercise I have had in this meet- 
 ing ! truly it has worn me down, with other try- 
 ing circumstances which befel me at that place. 
 Many a bitter cup have I and my poor children 
 drunk of there. If it has but tended to our re- 
 finement, it is well ; for surely our bodies were 
 enfeebled thereby. I did my best under the 
 heavy trials I met with. The Lord knows my 
 prayers were almost incessant, while under the 
 weight of unpleasant things. 
 . 
 
 My youngest daughter was a religious, pious 
 young woman, and died in child- bed the year 
 we removed. She was exceedingly delicate, of 
 a meek disposition, and tender spirited ; and yet 
 she had waded through difficulties, so that in 
 her dying moments she expressed, that streams 
 of tears had run down her cheeks ; and that if 
 she died then, which she was not afraid to do,
 
 LIFE OF JANE PEARSON. 47 
 
 she died innocent; for that she had never done 
 ill to any one. And she often said encourag- 
 ingly : " The Lord knows what is best for us." 
 She had a strong apprehension, during her 
 lying-in, that she should die ; but from a sweet 
 prospect of good that I had had in our meeting 
 a little before, in my low wading respecting 
 her, I did believe all would be well ; and from 
 this discovery, I caught a hope that she might 
 recover ; which she remarked during her illness. 
 " Mother," said she, " thou hast been mis- 
 taken :" I answered : " My dear, I saw some- 
 thing so comfortable about thee, I believed all 
 would be well ;" she answered : " All will be 
 well," and added : " I have often thought of 
 that friend from Manchester, who pointed out 
 to us in a family sitting, that some had not 
 long to stay ; but the state he spoke to, seemed 
 too good for me to accept of. I was \ulling 
 to put it to another in the company, who at 
 that time was indisposed." During the time 
 of her pregnancy, she often inquired after this 
 friend, who was unwell ; but she recovered, 
 and my precious child was taken. She left 
 three fine children in charge to surviving 
 relations.
 
 48 XI FE OF JANE PEARSON. 
 
 Though it is my lot often to sit silent at meet- 
 ings in the place where I now reside ; yet I 
 have precious openings and divine intimations, 
 on my return home from them, even respecting 
 individuals. But hardness of heart has crept 
 into the minds of some, that it may be right to 
 let them alone. 
 
 2cf ofQth Month, 1793. I know not what I 
 am held at this place for, except it be faithfully 
 to suffer with the suffering seed here. I have 
 renewedly felt a precious union with our dear 
 Lord in his crucified state, in the hearts of pro- 
 fessors. Oh, the plungings witnessed in our 
 meetings! There is an active spirit got in, 
 that takes its food upon the surface, or catches 
 at it flying in Ihe airy regions. With iood of 
 this nature, some seek to feed and be led. I 
 have painfully and recently sat under some tes- 
 timonies, when it seemed clear to me, sin held 
 it's empire : and what was delivered, though 
 sound truths, yet did not slay the man of sin: 
 but I am alluding to none belonging to our 
 meeting ; and there is a precious seed in this 
 place, with which, in a great measure, I can 
 unite.
 
 OF JANE PEARSON. 4> 
 
 \t of 5th Month, 1791. I have been at 
 meeting 1 this clay, which was heavy ; Oh, it was 
 heavy! I felt clouds gathering thick, sun and 
 moon darkened, the greater and lesser lights 
 withdrawn*, that in my deeply trying, inward 
 labour, 1 saw no light in the horizon, and very 
 confidently believed the bitterness of death was 
 around. I struggled in silence till my gracious 
 master gave me to see, that where He was, his 
 servant should be also. I derived some inward 
 consolation therefrom ; reposing in a belief that 
 1 was of the .suffering seed, though the least 
 member in the body, or the meanest in the Fa- 
 ther's house. I think I have had in this meet- 
 ing, such diversity of feelings, that perhaps I 
 have experienced the two extremes of happiness 
 and wo. At one time in silence, there was an in- 
 ward confirming language ; and, though a poor 
 worm, I had hopes it might be applied to mv- 
 self. It was : " My presence shall go with 
 thee, and I will give thee rest;" under which, 
 I was ready to sing the song of Moses, the ser- 
 vant of the Lord, and the song of the Lamb. At 
 another time, my mind was so overshadowed with 
 the power of truth, that the season was too so- 
 lemn for any vocal voice to be heard, the cloud 
 and glory so great, that none could minister. 
 
 O
 
 50 LIFE OK JANE PEARSON. 
 
 Qth Month. I am now returned from 
 Broughton, where I have been nine weeks, on 
 account of my only surviving daughter's weak 
 state of health. I felt comfortable whilst there, 
 and much enlargement of heart towards the few 
 friends belonging to that place. Oh, may they 
 be profited ! Truly it was free mercy handed to 
 them, and not for works of righteousness that 
 they have done ; for I think them deficient in 
 that great 4uty of attending religious meetings. 
 Hew sorrowful it is, when, elders and overseers 
 stay at home by their stuff, while others are 
 wading deep for the promotion of truth! 
 
 Whitehaven, 8/i Month, 1794. This day 
 our monthly meeting has been a very favoured 
 season to me. My soul arose above all its 
 troubles, under a precious sense, that in my so- 
 journing thus far through life, the Lord has 
 always eyed me for good, and has watched my 
 goings; and though I cannot say I never made 
 one false step, yet he who knows my heart, 
 knows it to be weakness. Oh, how weak are 
 we, when divested of his saving help ! Yet he 
 has in mercy fully forgiven all, and deigned to 
 give me a foretaste of the joys of his kingdom : 
 a sense indeed that has uo feeling of sorrow ;
 
 LIFE OF JANE PEARSON. 51 
 
 ivo more sighing;, no weepings, but a joy with- 
 out alloy. In this state, I have been ready to 
 think the days of my mourning are nearly ended, 
 having a strong " desire to depart and to be with 
 Christ ;" feeling all my soul's enemies subdued, 
 so that I could pray for them that have despita- 
 fully used me. In this heavenly place in Christ 
 Jesus, it is good for us to abide. This day I 
 was silent ; the fullness of glory too great to 
 minister. 
 
 22rf, 1794. Have been at meeting. Oh, thn 
 sifting I have, hi regard to the ministry I am 
 gifted with ! Though I believe I was rightly 
 called, that I entered at the right time, and have 
 all along moved with godly fear in it, not choos 
 ing my own way, nor carving for reyself, yet 1 
 am so low, as to think I have never been of use, 
 I opened my mouth this day, as I thought, from 
 a small impulse, or the moving of prophetic 
 instruction, out of my little to bake a cake first. 
 Here is no redundancy now, but a grain ol faith 
 that a supply may be afforded, answering my 
 need. I ventured my offering in the simplicity, 
 so far as I know; but oh, the huifrting at my 
 return home truly it was bitter ! 
 
 C 2
 
 52 LIFE OF JANE PEARSON. 
 
 I am now arrived Hear th^ 60th year of my 
 age ; and my bodily strength is much impaired : 
 I am grown very weak. 1 do not expect it will 
 be long, before the narrow confines of the silent 
 grave will inclose me. Happy moment ! when 
 I shall be freed from the sight and voice of the 
 oppressor : for although some might be sensK 
 ble I have undergone hard things, yet none 
 have known the anguish of my heart ; it is be- 
 yond all description ; but it is known to God. 
 I have often had to remember holy Job, and 
 to quote him in the exercise of my gift, in honest 
 labor among the people, and to say : " Even 
 to-day is my complaint bitter, my stroke is hea- 
 vier than my groaning ;" and so has mine been, 
 even at this late period of my life. He also 
 declares, he cried out of wrong, but was not 
 heard, yea, cried aloud, but there was no 
 judgment. 
 
 I ventured to conclude this day, as at some 
 former seasons, that I would preach no more in 
 this place ; for the spring. of the gospel is much 
 shut : and I now find if I speak, my grief is not 
 assuaged ! if I forbear, what am I eased ! For 
 I have tried from meeting to meeting what si- 
 leuce would do for me. I search myself to find
 
 LIFE OF JANE PEARSON. 53 
 
 the cause, that I am not lively in ray ministry, 
 as in the days of my youth : for truly I conclude 
 there is no life in me ; so that I now most ear- 
 nestly wish for the lodging of a wayfaring man 
 in the. wilderness, where I might go from my 
 people and leave them. I feel weary of these 
 suffering seasons ; they arc more than my frame 
 can well bear. 
 
 4th Monih, Sth, 1795. I was at our week- 
 day meeting, in which I beheld that we are 
 born to trouble, as the sparks fly upwards ; 
 that the human mind at seasons, was like a 
 sponge, sucking or drinking affliction, till it 
 sinks in deep waters : yea, they flow into the 
 soul. Oh ! the perplexities experienced in this 
 space of time ! Few and evil have been our 
 days, 'and we have not attained to the years of 
 our progenitors. In this state, condescending 
 kindness vouchsafed to lead me to the rock that 
 is higher than I ; and mine eyes saw with un- 
 speakable astonishment, that we fret for things 
 unworthy the notice of a redeemed mind ; and 
 that if I, or my friends with whom I sat, were 
 but called upon, to take leave of every thing 
 below the sun, all these perplexing anxieties 
 would vanish like an atom in the whiihvind, 
 
 C 3
 
 .5,4 UFE OF JANE PEARSON. 
 
 and bo of no \veigbt at all. We should then 
 only lament that \vc ha<l not looked above these 
 momentary' afflictions, and fixed our confidence 
 ou the invisible arm, and invincible power of 
 Omnipotence. But oh ! how is the natural 
 part attracted by visible objects ! while that 
 which is born from above, suffers through our 
 riot adhering to the invisible. 
 
 In this meeting also, I desired that I might 
 be favoured with an extraordinary visitation, 
 v hereby I might be made willing to give up to 
 any requirings, having long had an exceedingly 
 great dread upon my spirit, in regard to pray- 
 ing in public assemblies. Ah ! this broke the 
 creaturely pan in me, and laid me in the dust. 
 I could be willing to breathe mentally the length 
 of a meeting : but when I should have fallen 
 upon my knees, oh, the reasonings that I had ! 
 As that the cup of favour was not full enough : 
 that I had not come so near to his seat ; or was 
 not sufficiently clothed with the garment of 
 praise ; that fervent desire for my friends, was 
 not arrived at full height ; or that I had not 
 f-uough of the in-dwelling of God's pure spirit, 
 to enable me, in this awful gift of prayer, to 
 keep so close to his precious, directing, all-
 
 LIFE OF JANE PEARSON. 5* 
 
 saving power, as to be preserved from ever of- 
 fering one word in prayer, of whicli He was not 
 the author and requirer. 
 
 Although this is a pinching dispensation, and 
 I may now appear very like a weakling, just en- 
 tered into the service ; yet I have at different 
 times been prevailed upon in public, to call upon 
 the name of the Lord but such searching of 
 heart after ! lest I should have made the 
 smallest deviation or sally from the precious 
 life, whilst immediately concerned ; that now, 
 nature is like to fail at the appearance and ap- 
 proach of intercession. May the Lord help 
 me I Perhaps this little delineation, may be as 
 face ansAvcring face in a glass, to some, Avlio 
 are very conscientious in every movement, espe- 
 cially prayer : and may that always be offered 
 ". with a right understanding, seasoned with 
 grace." 
 
 C4
 
 SECTION III. 
 
 Carlisle Quarterly Meeting, 1797 Dream Verses written 
 under trial Illness in 1800 Prospect of a religious 
 visit, respecting which, the will was accepted for the deed 
 Observations Remark-able vision Illness of her only 
 remaining daughter Her decease and burial, 180G or 7 
 Observations in 1807 and 8, on entering her 75/A year, 
 and in subsequent parts of 1810 Extract frcm Piety 
 Promoted*. 
 
 20th of llfh Month, 1796--J. HAVF^fVlt a desire 
 this morning to be thoroughly washed, until I 
 be made clean ; so as no fuller on earth could 
 make more white. Many are made willing- to 
 bear the spiritual baptisms, provided they are 
 assured it is Jesus that is dipping them. But 
 so uncertain and seemingly casual, are the occa- 
 sions of their pliingings, they believe not that 
 Uc is the author of their immersion j or that it 
 is his holy hand that is washing and bathing 
 them for their imperfections. Sin being^ mer- 
 cifully done away, how can these that are dead 
 to sjn, live any longer in it !
 
 LIFE OF JANE PEARSON. 57 
 
 3d Month, 28fc, 1797 I was favoured once 
 more to attend our quarterly meeting at Car- 
 lisle, very near the place of my nativity, and 
 the meeting I belonged to for many years. The 
 meeting of ministers and elders was a favoured 
 season ; I had the evidence of peace in my lit- 
 tle labours ; and indeed all the meetings were 
 more or less owned with the heart solacing pre- 
 sence of Zion's kingi It was like taking my 
 leave; and I was helped to be faithful : so that 
 in my'return, for many miles, my cup ran over, 
 and I seemed anointed with th.e oil of gladness. 
 Great was my pea^e ; such a full foretaste of 
 heavenly joy, as I. have not before experienced, 
 except when I first opened my mouth in testi- 
 mony. There'sccmed nothing betwixt my souK 
 and its blessed Redeemer. At that time, my 
 joy was so full, that I did long to be dissolved, 
 feeling nothing but purity and holiness about 
 me ; or at least, I had the sense of full accept- 
 ance with the Father, in my endeavours to 
 obey. . 
 
 , At Carlisle, T felt an engagement to suppli- 
 cate God on behalf of the people : oh ! I felt 
 love for them ; and some of the ciders and mi- 
 aisters were near my best life. Indeed 1 i:ad 
 
 r >
 
 OS t.lFE OF JA-NE PEARSON. 
 
 never found more openness to plead with them, 
 than in the select opportunity for ministers and. 
 elders ; and had great peace in so doing. IQ 
 the time of supplication, which was at the close 
 of the last meeting, I thought I found near 
 access to the Almighty ; which if I had not, I 
 durst nat vocally have called upon his ever 
 blessed and worthy name. During the awful 
 an<i solemn season, {it was so to me,) I sup- 
 ported myself on one knee, my other having no 
 strength in it, which hindered my continuing so 
 long in intercession, as might have tended to my 
 solid comfort. But the Almighty heard the 
 little, who accepts the " Abba Father.'* It was 
 onee the case with me before> at a little meet- 
 ing- nigh Bristol. My knees became unable to 
 support me. I had nigh fallen down. I then 
 thought it was owing to the oak boards, with 
 which the gallery, if I remember right, was 
 laid, and to nothing being at hand suitable for 
 my feeble limbs to bend upon. But though 
 the rise of the power, might be obstructed 
 through the infirmity of the body, as to my 
 particular, yet I believe my effort was accepted ^ 
 and if I had but bent my knees, and called 
 \ipon his ever worthy name, He being the author, 
 would, in return for tjiis huimliating dedication^
 
 LIFE OF JANE PEARSON. 59 
 
 have given the answer of peace. Blessed be 
 the name of the Lord for ever. 
 
 4th Month, 27th, 1798.- I had a precious 
 morning dream : I beheld a middle-aged grave 
 matron. It may be, I may live to see the ful- 
 filment of this morning prospect, and hear the 
 angelic declaration from her lips, which was the 
 most comforting, perhaps, that I have received. 
 This, however, is hid from me. On her ap- 
 proaching me, T thought, in the authority of 
 truth, she addressed me as one of the heavenly 
 family or household, intrusted with some weighty 
 cares in it : and haying my assignment or oflicc 
 as a domestic in the family ; to give, as abili- 
 tated, meat in due season, to those amongst 
 whom my lot was cast. 
 
 I told her, I feared I had come short of this ; 
 and it is likely I had not the sense of full ap- 
 probation, from this fear being suggested; 
 which I shall' ever remember with awe. She 
 endeavoured to allay my fears, by letting me 
 know she hoped I. was not blameable, or under 
 di\ ine condemnation on this account. Now this 
 is ihe true substance of my dream ; but as two 
 days have elapsed before I have made this- 
 minute, tliese may not be the identical wora*,
 
 tIFE OF JANE PEARSON. 
 
 of 12th Month, 1798 Much proved. 
 
 In age assist me, dearest Lord ! 
 
 In faith my spirit stay; 
 And if I've err'd through slavish fear, 
 
 Forgive me Lord ! I pray. 
 
 No other foes assail me now, 
 
 Or prey upon my peace ; 
 ,Bjit false alarms and slavish fears ^. 
 
 Oh cause these fears to cease ! 
 
 Uplifted hands, and downcast eyes, 
 
 Bespeak my griefs, O Lord ! 
 To trembling knees and broken aghs, 
 
 Thy succour now afford. 
 
 Desert not Lord, this feeble frame, 
 
 Thou know'st what I can bear, 
 And when I cry in agony, 
 
 Oh ! be not slow to hear ! 
 
 My head is clad with silver hairs ; 
 
 My limbs their power resign. 
 Rememb'ring my departed strength; 
 
 Let me receive of thine. 
 
 Thy presence is unsullied joy ; 
 
 It fills the Heavens above, 
 My earnest cry is, Lord ! to feel 
 
 A portion of thy love ; 
 
 : 31
 
 LIFE OF JANE PEARSON. 61 
 
 My trust in thee was early fixed ;, 
 
 I felt it in my youth ; 
 My age, as then, relies on thee, 
 
 ETERNAL GOD OF TRUTH ! 
 
 Thou hast commanded us to ask, 
 
 In order to receive ; 
 Admit me to thy holy rest, 
 
 WJhen all below I leave. 
 
 The mansion thou preparest there 
 
 Will fully satisfy, 
 Thou'st rais'd thy humble handmaid here ;-~. 
 
 Receive me when 1 die. 
 
 Yet once again, oh ! let me come* 
 
 Bearing the widow's prayer ; 
 That I and mine, through endless life, 
 
 May of thy mercy share. 
 
 1 have no other claim to make, 
 
 Enough for me and mine ; 
 Tho' smallest of the lights in Heaven, . 
 
 If there our lamps may shine* 
 
 Month, 1800. I have been confined of 
 late, through bodily indisposition, the fore part 
 of which sickness, was extreme. It appeared to 
 me, as it might do to others, that I was making
 
 C2 1 LIFE OF JAKE PEAR8ON,- 
 
 quick advances towards the grave ; although,, 
 as I apprehended, the first Divine impression 
 was, that I should not die at that time. But 
 as I knew a recent instance of a minister of my 
 acquaintance, and with whom I had travelled, 
 whose dissolution was entirely hid from her : 
 this made me sometimes rather hesitate. 
 
 I had much bodily illness, but not much con- 
 flict of mind. Oh ! I was preserved still and 
 quiet, which was not my nature; it was God's 
 mercy. To his praise, be it inscribed upon my 
 heart as long as I live. I was favoured with a 
 fixed, steady, comfortable hope, that if I then 
 died, it would be well with me. I seek no 
 more evidence, when I shall really surrender 
 life ; for it seemed as if my dear Redeemer's 
 arms, enfolded or inclosed me very safely ; so 
 that the wicked one, by whom I had often been 
 distressed on. a sick bedj touched me not, 
 neither had any power over me. 
 
 First day, Wth of 5th Month, 18011 was 
 at meeting at Whitehaven, and had a precious 
 opening, with which I was nearly ready to 
 stand up ; but I am too much like the impotent 
 man at the pool, waiting for the moving- of the
 
 LIFE OF JANE PEARSON. 6 
 
 waters, and while I am making ready, another 
 steps in. It was so this day, and though it was 
 but a few words, and not distinctly heard by 
 me, yet it left unspeakable anguish and bitter- 
 ness of spirit, so that the daughter of Judah, 
 for the remainder of the day, " was trodden as 
 in a wine-press." I often mourn, that I cannot 
 leave others to their own master : but my gift 
 is such, that when any thing is offered by any, 
 which is not the King's currency, I cannot step 
 one step after them. 
 
 9th Month, 1801 As in me there has been 
 a singular instance of God's mercy and power ; 
 his mercy in forgiving, ancLpower in upholding 
 me, I can therefore do no less than praise Him 
 here and eternally. And whoever reads this, 
 let them be humbled in the dust before Him : 
 for truly He is glorious in holiness, fearful in 
 praises, doing wonders. 
 
 The latter part of this year, I have had a time 
 of confinement, through sickness; and have not 
 been so favoured in this season of weakness, 
 with that soul-sustaining evidence of Divine 
 regard, as at some former times. It may be, 
 that I had too frequent recourse to the redun-
 
 64 LIFE OF JANE PEARSOff. 
 
 dancy of favour, then mercifully vouchsafed : 
 not doubting, but if I was similarly tried, I 
 might be equally supported; and so was in 
 danger of being like Gideon, who, after his great 
 achievement made an Ephod, and, idolizing it ? 
 the same became a snare unto him. 
 
 6th Month, 30/i y 18021 was at our week- 
 day meeting, and was favoured with a solemn: 
 silence, resembling that in Heaven, where 
 angels and archangels adore in profound silence. 
 Oh! I saw into the joys (hereof; a place where 
 sorrow cannot come : none of the inhabitants 
 have any affliction. I Mas this day favoured 
 to partake of the most substantial sustenance of 
 Divine good, that perhaps 1 ever experienced ; 
 thp heavenly bread was handed to my soul, in- 
 no sparing portion, with : " Take, eat, this is 
 my body." 
 
 . - ' - 
 
 Towards the latter end of last year, 1801, 1 
 had an apprehension that I must visit some of 
 t^e southern counties, or the south eastern. It 
 came, I thought, with considerable clearness. 
 I endeavoured to keep as near to good as pos- 
 sible, and rarely, when awake, was without some 
 sense of the Divine requirings. The latter end
 
 tIFE OF JANE PEARSON*. 65 
 
 of the 5th Month, 1802, seemed the right time 
 for me to move in it. I did not stagger at my 
 own vreak state, for I was really given up ; nor 
 at the extreme weakness, my only surviving 
 child was then in ; so that it really appeared 
 like Abraham's trial, in stretching out his hand. 
 
 My poor grand-children, that indeed were- 
 orphans, I wholly resigned, not daring to let 
 the affectionate part take hold ; but gave up my 
 owrt life and theirs, and all that I had into the 
 hands of the Almighty ; not daring to dravr 
 back one jot, or even wish that the service had 
 not been required of me* 
 
 I dared no more dispute the voice, than Abra- 
 ham did, when he was cailed to go to the land 
 of Moriah ; my nature perhaps recoiled, as his 
 might do, without the hope that he had : " My 
 son, the Lord will provide himself an offering.' 1 
 Let the unbelievers step forward, and question 
 these and other sacred truths ; it matters not j 
 their unbelief will* perish with them, and cease 
 to be propagated when they are no more. 
 
 But to return to my own concern. When 
 the time arrived in whiclt, I was to. prepare for
 
 06 LIfE O* JANE PEARSON. 
 
 the journey, the prospect entirely closed, and 
 I was fully released. I bowed in humility, and 
 accepted my discharge, with this caution, to 
 eye the great leader, and not hastily to re-enter 
 into my family affairs ; hut to be still and v,ait, 
 without rejoicing at my liberation ; since which 
 time, I have continued to feel set at liberty. 
 
 4th Month, 12f A, 1803 This morning before 
 I rose, I was pondering in my mind, that divers 
 in our society, are rich and full, as may be 
 seen by their way of living, and their clothing; 
 and that though their garb is plain, yet it is 
 costly ; and various are their suits of apparel. 
 I then recurred to my own low estate, not re- 
 gretting that it was so : for it became a redeemed 
 people to be exemplary in eating, drinking, and 
 apparel ; in which revolvings, my poor weak 
 body and low mind, were thus satisfied : " I 
 will clothe thee with salvation, and crown thy 
 end with peace." 
 
 Could I ask more for myself? Surely nay ! 
 so that favoured and broken under it, and very 
 near the throne of grace, I was allowed, in hu- 
 mility, to petition for my daughter, that she 
 Blight have a place in the kingdom of Heaven,
 
 LIFE OF JANE PEARSON. 67 
 
 and accompany my spirit in the mansion 
 meet for me to inherit, when I was unclothed 
 of mortality, After this, I prayed for my grand- 
 children. 
 
 l'2th Month, 23</, 1804 First day, I was 
 at our meeting-, in which I had an open time, 
 much to my own satisfaction : and I hope to 
 that of others. Indeed, Truth rose into domi- 
 nion, and the opposite power sunk into insig- 
 nificance. Such instances have been rare with 
 me. In leaving the meeting, a sense of accept- 
 ance was given me : measurably receiving the 
 sentence of well done, in my own particular ; 
 with a secret hope, that if I continued thus to 
 steer my course carefully, eyeing my guide ; 
 and in simplicity and godly sincerity, dealing 
 out to the people, as immediately given ; pur- 
 suing the thread of my testimony in the power, 
 depending wholly upon the Lord, he would 
 be mouth and wisdom, tongue and utterance. 
 Thus Satan for a while, became bruised under 
 foot. 
 
 7tk of 4lh Month, 1805 I have this day 
 experienced deep baptism of soul. I thought 
 it would take my natural life, or at least, hasten
 
 68 LIFE OF JANE PEARSON. 
 
 my dissolution. Oh ! merciful Lord, my times 
 are in thy hand ; thou knovvest what I can bear ; 
 lighten my load I pray thee, or add to my 
 strength, for I am tried to the very life: cru- 
 cified with Christ. Nevertheless I live, yet 
 not I, but Christ liveth in me. Oh ! grant me 
 patience to bear these suffering seasons j surely 
 thou carest that I serve alone. 
 
 In the latter end of 1805, or the beginning of 
 1806, I had a sickness, in which I was confined 
 for some time ; and one night as I lay in bed, 
 between the hours of nine and ten, being in a 
 solid, weighty frame of spirit, breathing to wards 
 the Fountain of all good, I beheld with my spi- 
 ritual eye, as clearly as ever my outward eye be- 
 held any object, that the Ancient of Days de- 
 scended ; his dread majesty enveloped as in a 
 cloud ; that I beheld no part of the glorious 
 Being, but a part of the face, which I neither 
 can, nor dare describe. It was sufficient for 
 me. His countenance was mild, allowing me 
 to petition him. He descended so low, (for I 
 could not rise,) that the appearance was not 
 far above me. Being thus emboldened through 
 unmerited condescension, I then begged for a 
 place in his glorious kingdom, when unclothed
 
 LIFE OF JANE PEARSON. 69 
 
 of my mortal robes. I wcite in awful fear. I 
 thought it was granted, and that I was allowed 
 to proceed, if I had any thing further. I then 
 craved for my only daughter the same favour. 
 I thought that too was granted. 
 
 I then lifted up my eyes and heart, and men- 
 tally poured forth my soul, saying : " Oh ! Lord, 
 the wickedness of man is great ;" my mind being 
 expanded, and bending in good-will towards 
 all : and the answer I received was : " My 
 mercy is greater ;" and the vision closed. But 
 oh ! the contented calm it left. 
 
 It is now near fifteen months since this dis- 
 play of God's mercy occurred ; and till this 
 time, I have not dared to record it, lest any 
 should think of me above what I am ; or that 
 from such a discovery of unlimited mercy, any 
 sinner should presume to go on in their wicked- 
 ness, in hopes that God would show them mercy 
 at last. But, at this time, it has been opened ; 
 at such a space from the time of beholding it ; 
 and after my passing many deep plungings, 
 and finding all creaturely animation, and re- 
 joicing in spirit for such a marvellous and be- 
 nign prospect, have returned to the ocean whence
 
 70 LIFE OF JANE PEARSON. 
 
 they sprang, that I am stript of all-glorying, save 
 in the cross ; having no desire but that these 
 lines may preach when I am no more, and en- 
 courage some poor sinner, to lift up his head in 
 hope at what I have penned. 
 
 1806 I am now grown old, and it is an- 
 nounced that my declining years are not to be 
 exempt from trials : they truly increase. My 
 only daughter is afflicted with a cancer in her 
 breast. The pairv and dreadfulness of the com- 
 plaint are such, that we languish without hope 
 of recovery. Afflictive is this dispensation in- 
 deed ; no solace but from a comfortable hope, 
 that her troubles will end with the termination 
 of her life. 
 
 3d of 12th Month, 1806 In our week-day 
 meeting, I was engaged to set forth the necessity 
 of not only receiving the seed of the kingdom, 
 but, with all readiness, of allowing its growth ; 
 as the work of truth in the heart of man, is de- 
 scribed by our Great Master, to be progressive; 
 first the blade, then the ear, then the full corn 
 in the ear. I had peace in returning to my 
 habitation, and this language presented to me : 
 " Ecer since thou wast born, my love has
 
 LIFE OF JANE PEARSON. "1 
 
 been to thee" This melted me; may I be 
 worthy of such a favour. 
 
 3c? Month, 14M, 1807 On revolving retro- 
 spectively the path assigned me through this 
 vale of tears, and the sketches \ have drawn 
 thereof, I have thought it may appear to others, 
 that I have been more marred than my cotem- 
 poraries, in my deep early refinings; and since, 
 in being singularly stripped of my beloved 
 outward connexions : the tree being wholly 
 peeled. But let none of Z ion's travellers be 
 discouraged thereat ; for, to the praise of my 
 Heavenly Father, and of the riches of his grace, 
 be it remembered, that sufficient strength for 
 the day has been afforded, or else I never could 
 have stood to this time. My eldest and last 
 daughter, is now released from all her triuls, 
 and a gracious God, who never fails in time of 
 need, visited, and upheld my mind in a mar- 
 vellous manner. 
 
 At the time of ber interment, while I sat in 
 the meeting beside her coffin, oh ! the unspeak- 
 able peace ! with a consoling assurance that all 
 her tears were for ever wiped away. They had 
 flowed like rivers, under deep religious exer-
 
 72 LIFE OF JANE PEARSON* 
 
 cise ; and at that time, the condescension of our 
 Heavenly Father was such to me, a poor un- 
 worthy creature, that >.t seemed as if her pure 
 spirit descended, and rested upon her dear re- 
 mains, during the opportunity. Oh ! how can 
 I sufficiently adore ! 
 
 Uh-ofSth Month, 1807 Fourth day, I was 
 at meeting. Some of our friends are set off for 
 London. A solemn time it was to me; for I 
 was much engaged in mental breathings ; the 
 spirit helping my infirmities inwardly to pray. 
 A large portion of heavenly bread was handed 
 to me, without much wrestling, or having it to 
 set before others,: and although our souls' ene- 
 mies may be numerous, a language livingly 
 opened : " The Lord shall fight for you, and 
 you shall hold your peace." It applied to my- 
 self, as I had no commission to divulge it. 
 Somewhat like the earnest of the spirit of adop- 
 tion or holy promise, accompanied my mind, 
 and closed with : " Lord, thou art good to us, 
 \ve will praise thee ; we will exalt thy name." 
 I had strong consolation in God, only wise, 
 Omnipotent, Omniscient, and Omnipresent. 
 Always in his siat, naked and bare before hiru, 
 oh! who dare do eviH
 
 LIFE OF JANE PEARSON. 73 
 
 IZth Month, l&th, 1807 My family all gone 
 to meeting ; and I, through indisposition, left 
 at home ; but I must acknowledge the kindness 
 of a gracious Gad to me, who has been near in 
 this time of confinement, allowing me to pour 
 forth my soul, yea, I have thought sometimes, 
 to lean on his very bosom ; and the comforting 
 watch-word is : " FEAR NOT, I AM FIRST AND 
 LAST." 
 
 1st Month Mh, 1808 Rich favor extended 
 this morning to me, a poor worm ; and given 
 in these consoling characters : " My love and 
 care, yea, protecting care, has ever been to- 
 wards thee ; and I never will leave thee nor 
 forsake thee : although Satan has, in days past, 
 been permitted to roar and shoot his malignant 
 arrows, he shall now be still." 
 
 I craved the renewal of the sublime and di- 
 vine vision, I had been favored with in a former 
 illness ; but Infinite Wisdom saw meet to with- 
 hold any thing further of that nature ; I adore 
 and bless his holy name. Oh ! I pray God, 
 with my whole heart, that it may be thus with 
 me in my last moments ; and I humbly trust it 
 will, if I keep my place to the conclusion ; for 
 
 1)
 
 74 LIFE OF JAKE PEARSON. 
 
 truly he has been a merciful God to me. May 
 the members of this meeting, more and more 
 seek after the power, which hath so eminently 
 interposed for the deliverance of my soul ! May 
 not one of them be lost ! for truly great pains 
 have been taken with this part of the vineyard. 
 
 2e Month, 7th, 1808 For many months, my 
 mind has been preserved in a state of tran- 
 quillity, exclusive of the things in the outward, 
 that were at times afflicting ; no evil inclination 
 in myself, nor any temptation thereto ; and a 
 merciful Father not far away from me : tha* I 
 began to doubt my condition, lest I should 
 ascribe this serenity, which might become ha- 
 bitual, having no temptation to evil, to a growth 
 in the truth and favor with my God, ere I had 
 attained it ; so that I almost wished to feel my 
 wonted poverty of spirit again, and his chasten- 
 ing ; believing myself far from perfect. And 
 now, he hath seen meet to change the benign 
 dispensation, into one more searching and try- 
 ing; often withdrawing his favor; so that I 
 seemed neither " borne on the side, nor dandled 
 on the knee." I will bear it ; for oh ! 1 dread 
 being at ease in Zion, or trusting to any thing 
 short of what is really substantial, that feeds 
 and nourishes the soul uuio ev erlusting life.
 
 LIFE OF JANE PEARSON. 75 
 
 Month, 7ih, 1810 I have noW arrived 
 at my 75th year; and in perusing again.whai 
 hath long since heen written by % me, of the. 
 Lord's dealings with me in my childish state, 
 I feel the renewing of ancient power, which 
 impressed my mind when I penned them ; so 
 .that 1 hope they are not words which will fall 
 to the ground, for they are faithful and true 
 sayings. Now, Reader, if when thou perusest 
 them, a gentle summons should be heard : 
 " The Master is come and calleth for thee," 
 rise up quickly, as Mary did ; let others suspect 
 what they may, respecting thy haste. These 
 are seasons when we are to salute no one by 
 the way. 
 
 There are many publications in the world. 
 Some of them have a tendency to corrupt the 
 morals of those that read tlrcm ; such as those 
 have never come much in my way, nor durst I 
 have spent my time in reading them. But there 
 arc many deemed more innocent; and such 
 books as have been introduced into my family, 
 1 Uuve thought it right to view the nature of, 
 and to consider what tendency thy might have 
 upon minds that seemed to take delight in them ; 
 and I have this to propose to the serious cdfisi- 
 
 1)2
 
 76 LIFE OF JANE PEARSON. 
 
 deration of all, especially the youth, or even 
 those .more advanced in our society, to whom 
 such books are pleasing ; to such I say : " Read 
 the Scriptures and other good books, and ob- 
 serve the tenor of your minds while reading ; 
 and you will feel which of them draws nearer 
 to God these publications I have been hinting 
 at, or those that have been penned by the wit- 
 nesses of our Saviour's life and death. 
 
 In the records of his life, we shall perceive 
 where the Master's footsteps have trodden in 
 deep humility. Then view the wounded side, 
 and the print of the nail ; in viewing which, 
 living virtue seems to be felt. Such authors, 
 we must believe, have been with Jesus. It was 
 reading his sufferings in my early youth, that 
 melted me as heretofore acknowledged, and 
 bound me to his pure spirit. Oh ! that all 
 mankind saw it as I now do ! how fearful they 
 would be of laying out that money for unprofit- 
 able publications, which might be better em- 
 ployed : neither dare they waste their precious 
 time in reading them. 
 
 Sth Month, 6f A, 1810 I have been surprised 
 that the older and more infirm I grow, the more 
 I am enlarged in mind, and the more illumi-
 
 LIFE OF JANE PEARSON. 77 
 
 listed in regard to Scripture sentences. Oh ! 
 how the watch- word, when it comes, brightens 
 upon ray mind, and inwardly gives me to ex- 
 patiate thereupon. It is the Lord's doing, and 
 marvellous- indeed in my eyes. Lord, what am 
 I, thatthou continuest thus to acknowledge me, 
 and that thou thus expandest my heart in old 
 age, when the keepers of the frail building 
 tremble exceedingly ; and I am so humbled 
 thereby, as to consider myself abject, mean, 
 and unworthy of a place where the Majesty of 
 Heaven resides ? Oh ! when this mortal shall 
 put on immortality, and every seed it's own 
 body, mine must surely be as of the lowest 
 order of angels ! sown in weakness, even if it 
 be raised in power. But cease, my soul, to pry 
 into the secrets of eternity ! The lowest man- 
 sion in the Father's house, will far, very far, 
 overpay my services. Oh, Lord ! be near at 
 the winding up of time, is my sincere prayer. 
 
 JANE PEARSON. 
 
 lith of llth Month, 1810 This day we 
 had a very confirming season, in our silent 
 week-day meeting. I thought I should never 
 more doubt being under the notice of Heaven, 
 the evidence was so strong, and my love seemed
 
 78 LIFE OF JANE 
 
 perfect Godward ; so that it cast out all fear. 
 I neither feared Death, Hell, nor the Grave. 
 The armies of the aliens, for the present, were 
 oil ti rely put to flight. My faith was strong re- 
 specting my own well being ; and even I had 
 faith for those who that day gathered with me. 
 We seemed indeed come to Zion, the city of 
 the living God, and gathered in spirit with an 
 innumerable company of angels. 
 
 Prcuous to this precious season, I had had 
 very great openings into Divine things, per- 
 taining to another life ; things so sacred as 
 not to be meddled with ; which brought me to 
 think I should soon be gathered ; and in look- 
 ing at the ministry I had been gifted with, and 
 how I had moved under the openings I had 
 been favoured with, although I felt no con- 
 demnation, my gift seemed as if it might be 
 taken from me, yet not in displeasure, I had 
 such siftings in meetings, and was so emptied, 
 as from vessel to vessel. 
 
 I thought the Lord would relieve me from 
 my laborious wadings, which I thought to 
 others had been of little service ; and that he 
 would bestow my gift on some other. I hinted
 
 LIFE OF JANE PEARSON. 79 
 
 at it in one of our meetings ; and although it 
 secerned to me almost unprecedented, first to 
 cause to bring forth fruit, and afterwards to 
 withhold from fruitfulncss ; yet iny spirit was 
 .preserved quiet under it. And in this week- 
 day meeting 1 saw, as from the mount, that 
 such trying seasons as I have often been led 
 into in our meetings, were requisite, lest I 
 should be exalted through those sublime reve- 
 lations I have been favoured with. This effected 
 for me, what the thorn in the flesh did for Paul : 
 and I now seemed one of the least ; and viewed 
 myself in a truly abject light. 
 
 Month, 1810 I have transcribed a 
 piece out of Piety Promoted*, thinking perhaps 
 it may be, by me, experienced near my close. 
 
 " It is not always from the most conspicuous 
 on the scene of action, that we hear the most 
 triumphant expressions of hope and praise, at 
 the approach of death. The same baptisms, 
 which are the means of qualifying for eminent 
 service, sometimes induce a fear, a depression, 
 a sense. of uimorthincss in the instrument, which 
 
 -.<!>*- 
 
 ! See the account of Maty Ludgater, part 10, page l.'W. 
 
 1) 1
 
 80 LIFE OF JANE PEARSQM. 
 
 makes it slow in believing, that the Lord vouch- 
 safeth to regard it, and that he will finally crown 
 it with eternal blessings ; though it may have 
 often had to hold forth his unfailing loving- 
 kindness, for the encouragement of others." I 
 am far from looking upon myself as ever con- 
 spicuous ; but rny unworthiness suggests a fear, 
 that I ma be thus tried. 
 
 Month, 18101 was confined through 
 indisposition ; and my wounded spirit and 
 bleeding heart, were in great need of inward 
 healing, from the God of all consolation and 
 comfort. Though one of the unworthiest, I 
 ventured to look towards his holy habitation 
 for help, and he graciously vouchsafed to heal 
 with these words : " No weapon formed against 
 thee shall prosper, and every tongue that riseth 
 in judgment against the precious seed, the Lord 
 will condemn,"
 
 SECTION IV. 
 
 Fardshaw Hall Monthly Meeting, 1811 Divers very solid 
 remarks in 1812-13 Her concern respecting her grand* 
 son Several consoling seasons Clear evidence respect- 
 ing her grandson Account of his decease Her last re- 
 marks, left in writing Her close Testimony of Pard- 
 shaw Monthly Meeting respecting her Conclusion. 
 
 MONTHLY Meeting, Pardshaw Hall, 
 23d of 7th Month, 1811 Being at James 
 Graham's the younger, at Underwood, I at- 
 tended this meeting, and thought it a -very 
 favored lime : the glory of the Lord, as it ap- 
 peared to me, filled the house ; and, sitting 
 upon the mercy seat, each seemed to have the 
 gracious privilege of pardon. It brought to 
 my remembrance the apostle Paul, vvhea he 
 was caught up into the third Heaven, and saw 
 and heard what was not lawful for a finite 
 creature to utter ; neither dared I to utter, on 
 the side of mercy, what I then felt. I thought 
 if I had continued thus under the immediate 
 sense of God's presence, I should neither have 
 
 Do
 
 82 LIFE OF JANE PEARSON. 
 
 t felt hunger nor pain ; but it was not a state to- 
 be continued in.; for oh ! upon my return, the 
 gracious presence was withdrawn, I do not 
 say a messenger of Satan was sent to buffet ; 
 but I was plunged into heart-rending doubts, 
 respecting my own salvation ; thoroughly pre- 
 venting my being exalted, above measure, for 
 the abundant revelation, vouchsafed to me at 
 that precious season. 
 
 I did not see I had missed in my commuui- 
 (fations to the friends gathered ; I had not 
 kindled a fire, and warmed myself at the sparks 
 thereof, that I had thus to lay down in sorrow, 
 How awful would be such another season of 
 rising in my spirit, out of the reach of sorrow, 
 in which there was no partition wall between 
 God and my soul, lest such another fiery bap- 
 tism should succeed ! Oh ! Lord, I beseech the, 
 keep me in thy patience ; and let thy refining 
 powiT leave nothing wrong in me, unsubdued. 
 Thou, Lord! knowest what I have gone through 
 in my youth ; and all along, thy hand has been 
 heavy upon me. 'Thou, Lord ! has often given 
 me to see, that thou imputest no iniquity to me, 
 but hast given me a sense that I bad full ac- 
 ceptance with thce : " Why art thou cast
 
 LIFE OF JANE PEARSOJI. 83 
 
 oli, my soul ! and why art thou disquieted 
 within me ? Hope thou in God, for I shall yet 
 praise Him !" 
 
 In penning these remarks, I find good to 
 .arise, which rather binds up my broken heart j 
 for although I have heavy trials in the out- 
 ward, they have had no share in my present 
 plunging. It was because my beloved had 
 withdrawn himself, and was gone. Now a dis- 
 pensation of this nature, would not have dis- 
 mayed me to such a pitch, .provided I had not 
 been so long in the ministry. The Great Mas- 
 ter, I thought, had fully tried me as to exalta- 
 tion, and proved that I had never dared to say : 
 " The Lord $aith," when he had not spoken ; 
 so that I really hoped I had been established 
 upon the immovable rock ; but I find they that 
 think they stand, should take heed lest they 
 fall. Neither are we to recur to those sublime 
 discoveries, which our openings in the gift have 
 manifested ; but, after great favour in vision, to 
 suffer all to return to the fountain whence they 
 sprang. Ah! then, how emptied and strippc-cl 
 are we ;. 'for vessels used, must be w fished. How 
 unsafe for us then, to feed upon any good we 
 have been enabled to do ! And we expcriuii-n- 
 
 D
 
 84 LIFE OF J/.NE PEARSON. 
 
 tally find it to be a truth, that it is not for 
 works of righteousness which we have done, 
 but of his mercy we are saved ; and that it is by 
 the washing of regeneration, and the renewing 
 of the Holy Ghost ; for which I pray. 
 
 I*t Month, 29//r, 1812 Fourth day A. pre- 
 cious meeting to me; indeed I thought the 
 solemnity general. Oh ! the pure silence that 
 1 felt, as if Immanuel stretched forth his wings 
 and covered us : and that sublime and exalted 
 vision of the prophet, was brought clearly to the 
 view of my mind, when he " beheld the Lord 
 sitting upon his throne, high and lifted up, and 
 liis train filled the temple. Above it stood the 
 Seraphim, each had six wings ; with twain 
 they covered their face, with twain they covered 
 their feet, and with twain they did fly : and one 
 said, Holy, Holy, Holy, Lord God Almighty; 
 the whole earth is full of thy glory. And the 
 posts of the doors moved at the voice of Him 
 that ^spoke, and the house was filled with 
 smoke. 1 ' 
 
 I inquired whether I was to divulge or not; 
 and the answer I received was : that " It was 
 favour and food for myself, and that if 1 gave to
 
 LIFE OF JANE PEARSON. 85 
 
 others my own portion, I should soon become 
 meagre and thin." I return thanks, and grate- 
 fully acknowledge the favour vouchsafed, and 
 now conclude to keep close hold of the con- 
 firming evidence I then had ; but fear at times 
 assails me, lest I should lose it again and 
 doubt. 
 
 5th oflth Month, 1812 After a time of ill- 
 ness this morning, it was mercifully handed to 
 me, as divine consolation : " Thou art in the 
 hollow of my hand ;" and again ; " The Lord 
 is my shepherd, I shall not lack." Oh, Lord, 
 what an unutterable favour is this ! when the 
 weakness of my body is, at times, as much as 
 nature can bear ; for I have passed thus far 
 through the wilderness of this world, in as great 
 jeopardy, as closely exercised, and as nearly 
 fainting under my tvials, as perhaps ever any 
 poor mortal did. What an unspeakable favour, 
 when verging to the confines of the narrow and 
 silent grave, that so unworthy a creature should 
 thus be owned ! Oh ! gracious Father ! con- 
 tinue thy preserving, protecting care of me, to 
 .the last moments of my life ; and 1 will laud 
 and praise thy name while here, and eternally, 
 Amen !
 
 86 MFC OF JAKE PEARSON, 
 
 Qth Month, 1812 Recovering from a recent 
 illness, I found inclination to inspect my papers, 
 written under a religious sense ; and on re- 
 viewing that extraordinary vision, a fear im- 
 pressed my mind, lest any hereafter, should 
 think I had exceeded the hounds of a finite 
 creature ; on which it occurred to me, let them 
 call to mind my deep exercises, hard servitude^ 
 and bitter bondage at the iron furnace, in a 
 land of thick darkness, which might be felt. I 
 was then so marred, that I became a wonder to 
 my cotemporaries. Now after this, if a gra- 
 cious God saw meet to bow the Heavens and 
 come down, to touch my heart that it might 
 melt, He being Omniscient ; who, after such 
 great favour, would lightly esteem the rock of 
 their salvation ! Although He is the High and 
 Holy One who dwelleth in the light, and iuha- 
 biteth eternity ; yet we are^ assured that he con- 
 descends to revive the spirits of poor, contrite, 
 humble servants, who tremble at his word. 
 
 Our blessed Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, 
 wjio is Intercessor and Mediator between God 
 and man, when questioned how he would ma- 
 nifest himself to his chosen ones, and not unto 
 the world, sealed the promise thus : " If a man
 
 LIFE OF JANE FJEARS07J. 87 
 
 love me, he will keep my words, and my 
 Father will love him, ami we will come unto 
 him, and make our abode with him." This is 
 not like the wayfaring man, that turneth aside 
 to tarry for a night, and is gone ; but Christ 
 takes his abode with them, a blessed guest, a 
 teacher at home or within, that cannot be re- 
 moved into a corner. 
 
 These openings in my mind, confirm a divine 
 intercourse; and now, feeling- eased, having 
 done my part, I leave it ; and if it be thought 
 right wholly to suppress it, or all I have writ- 
 ten, the will of friends be done in the trutli ; 
 for oh! I dread presumption; knowing the 
 high tree must be laid low, and the low exalted ; 
 the green tree dried up, and the dry made to 
 flourish. 
 
 Uth of 3d Month, 1813 A cUep acknow-' 
 ledgment of the mercy of God. As 1 lay in 
 bed this morning, under piercing anguish of 
 mind, on account of my grandson's departure 
 from the truth ; my spirit, though in the deepest 
 affliction, was permitted to ascend, I thought 
 even to the Almighty's throne ; and I there 
 poured forth my soul on my own and. his ac-
 
 88 LIFE OF JANE PEARSON. . 
 
 count; and condescending kindness vouchsafed, 
 in abundant mercy, to unveil his benign coun- 
 tenance and let me know, that the assurances 
 he had given me of his favour, I ought not to 
 dispute ; that now, if after all the evidences 
 he had given me of his protecting care, I should 
 cast away my confidence in Him, I should be 
 worse than an infidel ; and then a little hope 
 was revived, that the poor erring youth would 
 yet be visited in mercjv 
 
 This view, if only tending to bind up my 
 broken heart, or to heal my wounded spirit, I 
 accepted in thankfulness from my God. And 
 oh ! gracious Father ! in thy wonted kindness, 
 keep this little flock, amongst whom I have- 
 often laboured, the members of this meeting 1 , 
 
 7 O ' 
 
 when I am no more. May they never become 
 a desolation, a breeding of nettles ; but con- 
 tinue to come up in the nebility of truth. Dear 
 friends ! nothing will do hut keeping near 
 to God; dwelling as in his presence. Do no- 
 thing in his sight, that you would-be afraid any 
 mortal should see : keep a pure heart and clean 
 hands, and the end will be peace. And this 
 love I feel for the monthly meeting the mem- 
 bers thereof are dear to me.
 
 UFE OF JANE PEARSON. 80 
 
 6th Month, 2r7, 1813 Returning from our 
 week-day meeting, in which I had been faithful 
 according to the vision and sense given me, this 
 intimation revived : " The Lord noticeth thy 
 shaking head and trembling limbs, and in his 
 own time, will set thee at liberty ;" a blessed 
 hope springing up therefrom, that though sown 
 in weakness, I should be raised in power. Oh ! 
 blessed be his holy name ! for he feeds the 
 hungry with good things, but the rich and full 
 he sends empty away. 
 
 Our last monthly meeting at Whitehaven, 
 8th Month, 1813, was to me a solacing season. 
 Nothing heard but the voice of thanksgiving 
 and praise. The grand adversary totally over- 
 powered ; not one cloud to eclipse the glory of 
 the day, or dim the beauty of Zion, 
 
 Wth Month, 21sf, 1813 -I have had this day, 
 at the week-day meeting at Whitehaven, the 
 most undoubted evidence of the overshadowing 
 of Divine love and mercy, that I remember to 
 have experienced ; truly the wing of the Al- 
 mighty might be said to be over us. His re- 
 conciliation was offered ; that on the side of 
 mercy, I saw more than I have freedom to write
 
 90 LIFE OF JANE PEARSON. 
 
 or speak, although at the time, I gave a hint. 
 Oh, my dear friends ! belonging to this meet- 
 ing, especially those at meeting that day ; let 
 us prize the Lord's goodness to our souls. 31 y 
 love was such to you, it appeared almost insup- 
 portable, that even one of you should come 
 short of the heavenly rest, which I beheld was 
 intended for us : far, very far beyond the con- 
 ception of any finite creature. 
 
 31sf oflOtk Month, 1813 Oh ! the consoling 
 visions I have experienced during my late con- 
 finement. A tribute of thanksgiving and praise 
 is richly due to my blessed Lord and Master, 
 Jesus Christ, for the sense he has been pleased 
 to favour me with ; that he hath heard my 
 prayers for my poor grandson ; for a little be- 
 fore his death, the spirit of intercession was 
 poured forth upon me, and my prayers were 
 strong on his account. 
 
 Although I am exceedingly shaken, and my 
 hand very unsteady, yet if it is right for me to 
 leave to posterity, the memorable condescension 
 of the Almighty to me, a poor worm, I shall 
 be able to make i,t legible. Upon the 13th 
 of 12th Month, 1*13, sitting in the evening
 
 OF JANE PEARSON. 91 
 
 by my fire-side, with company about me, con- 
 versing, although I knew not of what nature 
 this conversation was, I felt a strong attraction 
 heaven-ward, which I was glad to feel : and a 
 gracious God seemed pleased to bow his hea- 
 vens and come down, directing me to dismiss 
 every doubt respecting my own exit ; for that 
 he would take me in his mercy, and support me 
 through what might befall me ; and my charge 
 was, never more to doubt of my eternal rest. 
 Also respecting my grandson, I was charged 
 to doubt no more ; for that he had granted re- 
 pentance even at a late hour *. The spirit of 
 
 * This poor young man was confined to a sick room in 
 the military hospital at Chelsea, with many others in the 
 same apartment, which he very much regretted; because he 
 could not attain to that quiet state of mind which he much, 
 wished for. He was brought to a sense of his misteppings, 
 and expressed the distress he felt fur the uneasiness he had 
 occasioned his grandmother, fearing he should shorten her 
 days; and was very anxious to read his bible. He uttered 
 feme striking expressions near his close, ivhich are not clearly' 
 remembered ; but the day and hour of his death accorded 
 with the consolatory imprtsfi/Mt which his grandmother hud 
 respecting him,
 
 92 LIFE OF JANE PEARSOS. 
 
 intercession was poured forth upon me, with 
 such energy, as seemed to rend the very Hea- 
 vens. O my soul ! never forget that season, 
 nor ever cease to extol a merciful God, in par- 
 doning transgressors : in this instance, mercy 
 has covered the judgment-seat to a hair's 
 breadth. 
 
 The Almighty's presence was so full and 
 confirming, that I found it as much as my frail 
 tabernacle could hear and live. I then expe- 
 rienced that no flesh could see him in his Ma- 
 jesty and live. Although once before I had 
 been in a somewhat similar situation, yet I had 
 not the sense given me at that time, that if di- 
 vine favour increased, my body could not retain 
 the spirit ; it must depart in the company of 
 such heavenly manifestation. I now desist from 
 pressing after more being exhibited, feeling 1 
 overcome with the present extension. Oh, gra- 
 cious God ! 
 
 IQth of \ti Month, 18U This day, after 
 friends were gone to meeting, I was very low 
 in mind ; when the words of the prophet came 
 very lively, that he would make the parched 
 ground as a pool ; and after sitting in this dis-
 
 LIFE OF JANE PEARSON. 93 
 
 consolate manner, I was comforted with : " I 
 am near thee, though thou knowest it not." 
 
 Oh ! the mercy of a gracious God to me in my 
 old affc, and great bodily infirmity, who has 
 given me to experience this morning that the 
 just live by faith. Were it not for this preci- 
 ous faith, I should conclude myself just going, 
 almost every moment ; oh, blessed is thy holy 
 name for ever ! ith ofSth Month, IS 14. 
 
 9th Month, 19th, 1814. I this morning again 
 had the most strengthening, consoling evidence 
 of Divine favour, that my poor frame could bear ; 
 letting me know that as my strength decreased, 
 his watchful care over me increased ; and al- 
 though He had seen meet, nearly to deprive me 
 of my outward hearing, He had increased the 
 inward so surprisingly, that I often seem to fall 
 down before him in astonishment ; my mind 
 being so expanded and enlarged, that as na- 
 turals abate, spirituals increase ; and my dear 
 , Redeemer allows me, at seasons, to repose as 
 upon his bosom.
 
 94 LIFE OF JANE PEARSON. 
 
 After this, the subject of this memoir wrote 
 no more for public inspection ; yet for many 
 months, though in great debility,' and in bodily 
 pain, she continued to converse with her friends ; 
 most frequently respecting the goodness of the 
 Almighty, and her latter end ; on which occa- 
 sions, she evinced humble resignation .and 
 Christian hope. It appeared to those who at- 
 tended her, that the last effort of her pious life 
 was prayer ; but the words could not be ga- 
 thered. She quietly departed about three 
 o'clock, the 20th of 2d Month, 1816, aged 81. 
 The testimony of the monthly meeting to which 
 she belonged, may properly conclude these 
 sketches. 
 
 The testimony of Pard$haic Monthly Meeting, 
 in Cumberland ', concerning Jane Pearson. 
 
 " This our dear and ancient friend, was the 
 daughter of Jonathan and Jane Sibson, of 
 Newtown, near Carlisle, at the former of which 
 places she was born, in the year 1734 or 5. 
 Her father dying when she was very young, 
 the principal care of her education devolved 
 upon her mother, who, we believe, being con- 
 scientiously concerned, that she might faithfully
 
 LIFE OF JANE PEARSON. 95 
 
 discharge such an important trust, -gave her a 
 guarded and religious education. 
 
 " In early life, she was strongly inclined to 
 gaiety ; but by submitting to the powerful, 
 heart-searching operations of Divine love, 
 clearly manifested, those natural propensities 
 were brought into subjection. 
 
 " About the 18th year of her age, she accom- 
 panied through this county, a female friend, 
 then upon a visit to the meetings of friends in 
 these parts. 
 
 " In the year 1757, being then about 22 years 
 of age, she was married to John Pearson, of 
 CJraysouthen, wit.iin the limits of this meeting, 
 a religious young man. In the co-. ;se of se- 
 veral succeeding years, she passed through 
 various deep baptisms and refining operations ; 
 and thus becoming^ obedient to the forming 
 hand, she received a gift in the ministry. She 
 came forth very acceptably in public testimony, 
 about the year 1773. 
 
 " In the following year, her husband was re- 
 moved by death, leaving her with a numerous
 
 96 LIFE OF JANE PEARSON. 
 
 femily of children, several of whom died in 
 early life, and the rest at different periods, after 
 having attained to years of maturity. 
 
 " Thus she had deeply to partake of the cup 
 of affliction, and to become acquainted with 
 sorrows ; but relying on the mercy and goodness 
 of Him, whose ways are all in unerring wis- 
 dom, she was supported through these trying 
 and afflictive dispensations ; and we believe she 
 was favoured to experience that state of perfect 
 resignation and acquiescence to the Divine will, 
 in which she could truly adopt the language of 
 a tried servant of old : " The Lord gave, and 
 the Lord hath taken away. Blessed be the 
 name of the Lord !" 
 
 <c Though she did not apprehend it to be re.- 
 quired of her to travel much in the work of the 
 ministry, yet she was not wholly exempted 
 from this service. 
 
 " In the year 1777, she visited generally the 
 meetings of friends in Westmoreland and Lan- 
 cashire ; in 1779, those of Westmoreland, Lan- 
 cashire, and Yorkshire ; and in 1787, those of 
 Lancashire, Cheshire, Shropshire, Worcester-
 
 LIFE OF JANE PEARSON. 97 
 
 shire, Warwickshire, Somersetshire, Devon- 
 shire, and Cornwall. Her gospel labours in 
 these visits were, we believe, very acceptable, 
 yielding to herself the consoling rewardpf peace. 
 
 " About this period she removed to White- 
 haven, at which place she has since resided. 
 
 " She was diligent and exemplary in the at- 
 tendance of meetings. Her ministry was sound, 
 lively, and edifying ; and though her appear- 
 ances were frequent, and sometimes large, she 
 was particularly careful not to go beyond the 
 pure openings of the Holy Spirit. In prayer, 
 she was remarkably powerful and fervent. She 
 was a truly affectionate parent and friend ; ten- 
 derly sympathizing with the afflicted. In con- 
 versation lively, affable, and instructive; being 
 endowed with an excellent understanding. She 
 retained her natural cheerfulness even to very 
 advanced years, and her mental faculties un- 
 impaired to the last. 
 
 " Sometimes she intimated the serenity of hop 
 prospects, when the trials and exercises at- 
 tendant upon humanity, should terminate 1 . Not 
 many weeks prior to her decease, and upon a 
 
 E
 
 98 LIFE 01- JANE PEARSOtf. 
 
 friend's taking leave of her, she seemed af- 
 fected, and said : " Though I drop tears, I am 
 not left comfortless. No : -we have not followed 
 cunningly devised fables. I think what I feel, 
 might convince the vvliole world. Oh, it is 
 marvellous ! it is marvellous 1" 
 
 *' At another time, she requested that her two 
 grand-daughters, being all the family she had, 
 would not grieve after her ; but rather rejoice, 
 that she- was relieved from all her sufferings ; 
 " for I believe,"" said she, " that at my disso- 
 lution, death will have no sting, nor the grave 
 any victory." 
 
 * c 17th of 2d Month, being much tried with 
 infirmity and pain, she said with earnestness- to 
 those about her : " Join with me in petitioning 
 the Father of Mercies, to relieve me from my 
 sufferings : Oh, that I had wings like a dove j 
 for then I would flee away, and be at rest." 
 
 " In the morning of the 18th, being in great 
 bodily pain, she exclaimed : " My God, my 
 God, forsake me not now." She was soon 
 after seized withfaintings. In a little time, she 
 revived, and affectionately noticed some friends
 
 LIFE OF JANE PEARSON. 09 
 
 that had gone to sec her. On the 19th, she 
 slumbered much, and said but little. Very 
 early the next morning, her cough became 
 troublesome, and her breathing much affected. 
 About this time, she was thought to be exercised 
 in prayer, but the words could not be gathered. 
 She quietly departed about three o'clock the 
 sairie morning ; and we have no doubt, but her 
 j)ure spirit, released from the shackles of mor- 
 tality, ascended to the celestial mansions, to 
 receive a crown of righteousness, and an inhe- 
 ritance incorruptible, that will never fade away. 
 
 Her remains were interred in Friends' Burial- 
 ground, in Wbitehaven, on the 25th of 3d 
 Month, 1816, after a large and solemn meet- 
 ing. She was about 81 years of age, and a 
 minister about 42 years. 
 
 Read and approved in our said meeting, held 
 at Cockermouth, the 19th of 3d Month, 1810; 
 and signed on behalf thereof, by 
 
 JOHN WILSON FLETCHER, 
 
 Clerk 1 1 the Meet lay. 
 
 And on behalf of the women's meeting, by 
 DEBORAH RODIXSON, Clerk.
 
 100 LIFE OF JANE PEAUSOX. 
 
 The foregoing testimony hath been read ami 
 approved, in the quarterly meeting for Cum- 
 berland and Northumberland, held* at Carlisle 
 the 28th of 3d Month, 1810; and signed ott 
 behalf thereof, by 
 
 T1IOS. STORDY, Clerk. 
 
 Signed in and on behalf of the women** 
 quarterly meeting, held at the same time and 
 place, by 
 
 LYDIA SUTTON, Clerk.
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 JANE PEARSON has now finished her out- 
 ward labours and inward exercises ; and the 
 Reader has now finished her own memoirs, 
 here presented for his perusal. Every thing 
 pertaining to this life, whether conspicuous 
 or obscure, must come to an end ; but there 
 is a life beyond the grave, that will continue 
 for ever. To engage us in a preparation 
 for that life, our friend has written ; to none 
 of her Readers, may she have written in vain. 
 As for herself, it has been seen, that under 
 accumulated discouragements, she sought for 
 the evidence of final acceptance ; and that her 
 constancy was crowned with the assurance she 
 sought for. This ought to animate the dif- 
 fident, and encourage the dejected. By her 
 life, the lukewarm may be also reminded, that 
 though we may be born members of our reli- 
 gious society ; yet, having by nature the same 
 propensities as others ; we must be " born 
 again,"' 1 if we would become members of the 
 church of Christ.
 
 102 LIFE OF JANE PEARSON. 
 
 We have also seen that the journey through 
 time, of -our dear deceased friend, was in the 
 path of tribulation. Independent of her sor- 
 rows as a widow and a mother, her " inward 
 conflicts" and " searching's of heart," were equal 
 (o most that we read of. 
 
 Modest, diffident, and humble, how came she 
 then to expose her trials ? Surely it was for the 
 benefit of others : and to bear a testimony to 
 the goodness of God in sending the Comforter 
 into her soul, as promised by a dear Redeemer. 
 These things, set forth by her own pen, have a 
 value in them beyond wfiat could be produced 
 by the pen of another. 
 
 In laying- down mine, I am inclined to say, 
 Oh ! that more full obedience was yielded to 
 the power of Truth, through the various ranks 
 of our religious society ; I include myself in 
 this implied shortness ; and my belief is, that 
 it would then rise in its early simplicity and 
 brightness. 
 
 T. W. 
 FINIS. 
 
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