J \J 
 
 / „ * */ / / ' 
 7jpM( H 4 
 
 * )# 
 
 . ? ^ / / 
 
 */ j't/Mum 
 
 •o 4 
 
 
 HI 
 
 <y 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF ILLINOIS 
 LIBRARY 
 
 6 , 
 
 023 ^/ 
 
 *#?> 
 
 
 C tlv 
 
 
 ♦ 
 

 
 % 
 
 
 
 
 * 
 
 JT 
 
 
 
 ♦ 
 
 :w 
 
 
 Digitized by the Intetnet Archive 
 in 2016’ 
 
 
 0 
 
 https://archive.org/details/brothersportraitOObarb 
 
 ' I 
 
A BROTHER’S PORTRAIT : 
 
 * OR, 
 
 MEMOIRS 
 
 OF THE LATE 
 
 Rev. WILLIAM BARBER, 
 
 TO THE SPANIARDS AT GIBRALTAR, 
 
 WHO FELL A VICTIM TO THE EPIDEMIC PESTILENCE, WHICH RAGED 
 ON THAT ROCK, DURING THE AUTUMN OF THE YEAR 1828. 
 
 COMPILED CHIEFLY FROM HIS JOURNALS AND EXTENSIVE 
 CORRESPONDENCE, 
 
 By AQUILA barber, 
 
 WESLEYAN MINISTER. 
 
 TO WHICH IS ADDED, AS AN APPENDIX, THE 
 
 MEMORIALS OF HIS LATE WIFE, 
 
 WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. 
 
 " Thy way is in the sea, and thy path in the great waters, and thy footsteps are not 
 known .”— •Psalm lxxvii. 19 . 
 
 LONDON. 
 
 PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR: 
 
 AND SOLD BY JOHN MASON, 14, CITY-ROAD, AND 66 , PATERNOSTER-ROW ; 
 JOHN STEPHENS, 16, CITY-ROAD. AND WANSBROUGII, REDCLIFF-STREET, 
 BRISTOL. 
 
 1830 . 
 
[entered at stationers’ iiall.] 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 Printed by T. S. CLARKE, 45, St. John-Square. 
 
3 
 
 2£Hbi 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 In introducing the present Volume to the notice 
 of the Religious Public, to offer any remarks on 
 the utility or importance of Christian Biography 
 might, probably, be deemed superfluous, if not in- 
 trusive. The providential and gracious dealings 
 of God with his people are subjects, the va- 
 lue of which is too highly appreciated, to need 
 any description or recommendation from the 
 Compiler of the following Memoir. There is, 
 however, one thing which has forcibly impressed 
 his mind; it is, that, as the press is constantly 
 sending forth publications of a biographical 
 kind, there should be something peculiar in the 
 circumstances, and something important in the 
 character, of an individual deceased, to justify 
 
 ** a 2 
 
 f;4 
 
 Y' 
 
 8 'vC.V 
 jl.kj vJo 
 
IY 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 the placing before the Public eye so formidable 
 a thing as a history of his life. As to the 
 character of his lamented Brother, the Compiler 
 thinks he may safely leave the Public to form 
 their own judgment ; and with regard to the 
 principal facts of his life, such, for instance, as 
 the remarkable manner in which he was at 
 length thrust into the Ministry; — the untrodden 
 sphere in which, as a Protestant Missionary, he 
 was called to move ; — the consequent probable 
 introduction of pure and evangelical piety into 
 Spain ; — and the awful and mysterious circum- 
 stances of his early dissolution ; — these are 
 events, which, it is believed, will not be regard- 
 ed by enlightened persons with disappointment 
 or indifference. 
 
 But knowing, at the same time, that, in many 
 cases, what may appear both peculiar and im- 
 portant in the estimation of a near relative, may 
 prove, in a great measure, void of interest to the 
 Public at large ; it appeared to the Compiler 
 advisable, to submit the original documents to the 
 inspection of persons, who, by their ability and 
 impartiality, might be reasonably supposed to 
 be qualified to decide upon their merit. And 
 the result of this expedient is, the appearance 
 of the following sketch of f A Brother's Por- 
 trait.' 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 y 
 
 However, the above-mentioned difficulty was 
 not the only one, which, from the natural par- 
 tiality of a relative, arrested the Compiler’s 
 attention. He considered, that, as his object 
 was to give a faithful delineation of his Bro- 
 ther’s character, moulded, as it was, by ordinary 
 events and novel circumstances, by complicated 
 afflictions and circuitous providences, and, above 
 all, by the influence of Divine Grace ; it would 
 be extremely difficult, if not totally impossible, 
 to do it in his own language in such a manner, 
 as to avoid the suspicion of being* too lavish in 
 his commendations, or too lenient in his cen- 
 sures. Hence, the best method appeared to 
 be, to confine himself, as much as possible, 
 to matters of fact , and those generally re- 
 lated in the words of the deceased himself; 
 especially, as the Reader will have ah ample 
 opportunity of perceiving, that, in William 
 Barber, there was but little disposition to 
 exalt himself in the estimation of others. 
 
 Some surprise may, possibly, be excited at 
 the introduction of so large a portion of private 
 letters, which have so little connection with the 
 facts in the life of the deceased ; but when it is 
 recollected, that tiie object of the Compiler was 
 to give, not merely a narrative of events, but 
 likewise the f Portrait ' of a mind, which was 
 more than ordinarily gifted, both by nature and 
 
VI 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 by grace, the consistency of the plan will be at 
 once acknowledged. 
 
 That part of the Volume, which describes the 
 origin and progress of a Protestant Mission, 
 among the poor, benighted Spaniards at Gibral- 
 tar ; as well as that, which contains such painful 
 descriptions of the moral and civil destitution of 
 the Parent Country ; will, probably, be read with 
 unusual interest by those, who are labouring and 
 praying for the prosperity of .the kingdom of 
 Christ. But that interest must be sharpened 
 into agony, when it is remembered, that Spain, 
 in the midst of her degradation, is denominated 
 a Christian Country, and that, too, in the nine- 
 teenth century ; as well as that, notwithstanding 
 the miseries, both temporal and spiritual, under 
 which she is labouring, the Bible and its genuine 
 Religion, which are the only means of her 
 emancipation, are pertinaciously withheld from 
 her millions of deathless, yet perishing, inhabit- 
 ants. Oh! how important, therefore, does it 
 appear for every Christian believer most ar- 
 dently to implore the hastening of the period, 
 when even that r dark place of the earth, which 
 is so full of the habitations of cruelty/ shall be- 
 hold f the light of the knowledge of the glory of 
 God, in the face of Jesus Christ'/ 
 
 By some persons it may be thought necessary 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 YII 
 
 to state the reasons, why, in the Memoirs of a 
 professed Missionary, the Reader should be so 
 long detained from that peculiar view of the 
 character of the deceased. Those reasons, how- 
 ever, will immediately suggest themselves, after 
 a patient perusal of the account. There will be 
 seen one of those f wonderful and excellent work- 
 ings in the counsel of God,’ by which his servants 
 are sometimes impelled to the fulfilment of vows, 
 which, in their execution, have appeared so 
 long, and so powerfully, crossed by opposing 
 circumstances : there also will be presented a 
 practical illustration of the extreme danger of 
 allowing the creature, in any degree, to usurp 
 the place of God in the heart : and there , too, 
 will be learnt a lesson, which, in order to ren- 
 der influential on the soul of the believer, 
 often entails upon him such a multitude of suf- 
 ferings in mind, and body, and estate, — the 
 necessity of entire conformity to the image of 
 Christ. 
 
 After all, however, it will be impossible to 
 rise from the perusal of the Narrative, without 
 a powerful conviction of the present mystery 
 of the Divine proceedings. After such a series 
 of disciplinary circumstances, which, while they 
 qualified the sufferer for the post of duty, ren- 
 dered the fulfilment of his early vows neces- 
 
VIII 
 
 PREFACE, 
 
 sary to the preservation of life itself; that he 
 should be taken away through the instrument- 
 ality of the exposures involved, and that almost 
 at the very commencement of his career of 
 Missionary usefulness, — is one of those deep 
 and perplexing movements in the Providence of 
 God, which, the more they are contemplated, 
 the less they are comprehended by the feeble 
 mind of man. "Canst thou, by searching, find 
 out God ? Canst thou find out the Almighty 
 unto perfection ? It is as high as heaven, 
 what canst thou do ? deeper than hell, what 
 canst thou know ? The measure thereof is 
 longer than the earth, and broader than the 
 sea. If He cut off, and shut up, or gather to- 
 gether, then who can hinder Him ?’ 
 
 It may now be necessary to make one ob- 
 servation, in reference to the Appendix. It will 
 be seen, in the course of the Narrative, by 
 what reasons the deceased was actuated in with- 
 holding, from general publicity, so important 
 a document. And when those reasons are 
 weighed against the urgent solicitations of a 
 very large majority of his Christian friends, 
 who, from the purest motives, were, and still 
 are, desirous of its publication ; the Compiler 
 thinks, that he may leave it with the Public 
 to decide, whether he has done right or wrong, 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 IX 
 
 in deviating from the wishes of an affection- 
 ate and beloved Brother, now that he is in- 
 capable of being pained at such a proce- 
 dure. 
 
 In conclusion : it is felt, not less as a pleas- 
 ing, than an imperative, duty, to acknowledge 
 the kindness of those numerous relatives and 
 friends, who have contributed their assistance, 
 so readily, and so largely, in the prosecution 
 of this Work. The most cordial thanks are 
 also presented to the Subscribers, who have so 
 generously encouraged the Compiler with their 
 countenance and support, names having been 
 given for about 500 copies of the Work ; those 
 names would have been published in the usual 
 way, but for the many prohibitions, which have 
 been received upon the subject. It has, doubtless, 
 been a matter of some regret, that the appear- 
 ance of the Volume, should have been so long 
 delayed : the fact, however, has been, that, 
 from some unknown circumstances, the princB 
 pal documents, from which the Work has been 
 compiled, were many months before they came 
 to hand. 
 
 May that Great Being, who f searcheth the 
 hearts, and trieth the reins * of the children of 
 men, and who alone, therefore, can appreciate 
 
X 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 the motive from which the present labour has 
 been undertaken, vouchsafe to make it instru- 
 mental in the salvation of sinners, and in the 
 provocation of saints to increasing zeal in the 
 work of the Lord ! 
 
 A.B. 
 
 Miilsummer-N orton ? near Bath . 
 
 December , 1829 . 
 
CONTEN T S. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Birth — Parentage — Education — Conversion to God — Usefulness as a 
 Sunday-School Teacher, Exhorter, and Member of his own Family — 
 Becomes a Local Preacher — Plan for the spiritual Edification of 
 his Sisters — Turns his Attention exclusively to the Ministry — Ad- 
 mission to the Baptist Academy — Increasing Desires after personal 
 and family Piety — Continued Zeal for the Salvation of Sinners — 
 Recommended to travel by the Bristol Quarterly and District Meet- 
 ings — Devotes Himself to the Missionary Work — Prevented by his 
 Friends from going Abroad — Remarkable Instance of Depravity in 
 three profligate Youths — Leaves the Baptist Academy . Page 1 
 
 CHAPTER If. 
 
 Becomes a Tutor — Preserves his Longings after the Enjoyment of God, 
 and the Work of the Ministry — Labours for the Conversion of a 
 younger Brother, and for the Comfort of a desponding Sister — In- 
 subordination towards Him in the School — Consolation for an 
 afflicted Sister — Commencement of his tedious Illness — Leaves the 
 Academy at Chew-Magna — Disappointment in reference to the Mi- 
 nistry — First Visit to Gloucester — Journal — Strivings of Himself 
 and Friends after purity of Heart — Remarkable Conversion of a Scep- 
 tic, and subsequent Prosperity of the Cause of God — Visit into Wor- 
 cestershire — Remarks on Friendship — Character of an undecided 
 Man — Hints to young Preachers ...... 25 
 
XII 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 \ 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 N. 
 
 Continuation of his Journal — Remarks on the Union of the People of 
 God — Curious Experiment in Agriculture — History of Robert Bem- 
 man, Esq. — Remarks on Celibacy — Singular instance of Filial Affec- 
 tion — Dialogue on the difference between Sin and Satan — Consola- 
 tion for a guilty and polluted Soul — A prosperous Sabbath — Advan- 
 tages of Religious Correspondence — Reflections on the Death of an 
 Infant — Arguments against Anxiety respecting the Future — Return to 
 Bristol — Increasing ill-health Page 57 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Providential Escape from the effects of Fire — Revival of Health — 
 Remarks on Spiritual Conversation — The Penitent described and en- 
 couraged — Visit to Chew-Magna — Affecting Case of Distress — Reflec- 
 tions on Eternity — Second Visit to Gloucester — Reflections in a 
 Stage-Coach — Observations on Evil-speaking and Calumny — Import- 
 ant Advice to a younger Brother — Remarks on Marriage . . 85 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Opens his Academy at Longford — His Marriage — Advice to a Brother 
 in the Ministry — Prosperity in Business — Death of his Wife — Dis- 
 solution of his Academy — Distress of his Mind — Difficulties of his 
 Situation — Commences a Day-School at Gloucester — Publication of 
 his Wife’s Memorials — New Discoveries of Sin in the Heart . 119 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Remarks on Preaching — Consoles his afflicted Mother — Her peaceful 
 Death — Comforts his widowed Father — Leaves Gloucester — Review 
 of afflictive Dispensations — Remarks on Friendship — Opens a Day- 
 School at Bristol — The Maxims and Spirit of the World frequently 
 the Cause of Spiritual Declension — On the Trials of the Ministry — 
 On the Employments of the Blessed — On the fatal Errors of Unita- 
 rianism .... 151 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 XIII 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Again involved in deep and complicated Afflictions — Triumphant Death 
 of a Sister — Remarkable Opening of Divine Providence — Family 
 Afflictions — Memorable Instances of disinterested Generosity — Fur- 
 ther Brightenings of his providential Path — Resignation under a new 
 Disappointment — Glory of the Missionary Work — Scenes in Mon- 
 mouthshire — Advice to a young Sister — Critique on a poetical pass- 
 age — Memory’s Twilight Bovvers, a Poem . . Page 185 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Summoned to London by the Missionary Committee — Reflections on 
 the Scenes of the Metropolis — Passes his Examination — Bids adieu 
 to his Friends — Ordination as a Missionary — Hopeful Circumstances 
 of a Backslider — Comfortable Reflections in the anticipation of his 
 Work — Commencement of his Voyage 223 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Missionary Journal — Reflections on Sight of Land — Gracious Answer 
 to Prayer — Providential Deliverance — Arrival at Gibraltar — Parti- 
 cular Description of his tedious Voyage — Remarkable Answers to 
 Prayer 245 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Description of Gibraltar — And of the Wesleyan Society and Congrega- 
 tion — Prospects among the Spaniards — Persecution of two British 
 Officers for Conscience’ sake — Promising Commencement of a Spi- 
 ritual Work among the Spanish Catholics — Study of the Spanish 
 Language — Providential Deliverance from imminent Danger — Effects 
 of a Change of Climate — Low State of real Religion in Gibraltar — 
 Loss of the Vessel in which he took his Voyage . . . 264 
 
XIV 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Removal of Mr. Dixon from the Rock — Painfulness of Solitude in the 
 Ministry — Plan for the Continuation of Family-Prayer — Attack of 
 Cholera-Morbus through improper Abstinence — Pastoral Visits — 
 Alarming Appearances of Yellow- Fever — Arrival of Mr. Pratten to 
 take Charge of the English Work — Dreadful and disastrous Tempest 
 — Attack, by the Spanish Soldiery, upon the Wreck of a Colombian 
 Privateer — Daring conduct of some British Officers and Sailors — 
 Affecting Narrative, and awful Death, of an emigrant Spanish Co- 
 lonel — Commencement of Public Labours in the Spanish Language 
 — Infidelity among the Higher Orders of Spaniards — Prosperity in 
 the English Mission — Conversion of a Spanish Woman — Prosperity 
 among the Spaniards — Dreadful state of Spain — Infamous Case of 
 Injustice and Bribery — Effrontery of a Highway-Robber — Impu- 
 dence of a Thief — Awful Assassination of a Murderer — Introduc- 
 tion of Spanish Prayer-Meetings — Affecting Conversation of a re- 
 spectable Spanish Emigrant — Illustration of Romans viii. 28, &c. 
 
 Page 286 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Consequences of over-Study — Popish Sermon on the Merits of the Vir- 
 gin Mary- — Voyage to Algefiras, in Spain — Barefaced Smuggling — 
 Indifference of Revenue Officers — Dangerous Situation in attempting 
 to Land — Want of Accommodations in Algepiras — Disgusting In- 
 stances of Popish Superstition — Curious Account of a Popish Mission 
 — Popish Sermons — Popular Enmity against the Friars — Ramble to a 
 Spanish Cottage — Popish Processions — Hostility of the Soldiers to 
 the existing Government — Litany of the Saints — Narrow Escapes 
 from the Populace — Pride of the Popish Priesthood — State of Morals 
 in Algebras — Manoeuvre of a Friar — Affecting Statement of the Reli- 
 gious Condition of Gibraltar — Approbation of enlightened Spaniards 
 of the Common Prayer-Book — Occupation of a Week — Hopeful Cir- 
 cumstances of a few Spaniards — Discouragements connected with the 
 Mission — Death of Mrs. Pratten — Conversations with a Sentinel, a 
 Genoese, and some young Jews — Evils of Popish Mysticism — Affect- 
 ing Case of a young Spaniard — Hopeful Death of a Spanish Gentle- 
 man— and of a Penitent Prodigal — First Spanish Watch-Night . 320 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 XV 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Review of the past Year — Renewing Covenant with God — Doubt- 
 fulness of a Death-Bed Repentance — Left alone again in the Work — 
 Climate of Gibraltar — Encouragements in the Spanish Work — Pro- 
 mising Conversion of a Spaniard and his Wife — Report of the Gibral- 
 tar Auxiliary Missionary Society — First celebration of the Lord’s 
 Supper in the Spanish Language — Contemplates a Second Marriage — 
 Mixed Character of Success among the Spaniards — Mischief of Hyper- 
 Calvinism — Grossly inconsistent Conduct of a Spaniard — His con- 
 sequent and awful Apostacy — Reward of Virtuous Decision — Promis- 
 ing Case of a Spanish Gentleman and Lady — Interesting Letters from 
 an enlightened Spanish Priest and his Friend . . Page 355 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Discussions among the Soldiers on Experimental Piety — Journey 
 from Almeria to Granada — Unexpected Meeting with an old Friend 
 of his Father — Interview with a Spanish Prior — Reflections on the 
 pernicious Influence of Popery — Description of the Country — Man- 
 ners and Customs of the Inhabitants — Ludicrous Effects of Bigotry 
 upon a Fat Spaniard — Candour in Reference to Ministerial Defi- 
 ciencies — Offer of the Education of the Officers’ Sons — Medical Cer- 
 tificate of Health — Affecting History of an unfortunate Spanish Emi- 
 grant, with a Letter to his Son — Letter of Condolence on the Death 
 of Mrs. Dixon 384 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Admission into full Connexion by the Conference — Commencement and 
 Awful Ravages of the Yellow- Fever, at Gibraltar — Final Letters — 
 Accepts the Office of Acting-Chaplain to the Forces — Numerous 
 Calls to visit the Sick, and bury the Dead — Death aud Character 415 
 
xvr 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 MEMORIALS OF THE LATE MRS. BARBER, 
 
 OF LONGFORD ACADEMY, NEAR GLOUCESTER. 
 
 BY HER HUSBAND. 
 

 MEMOIR 8, 
 
 $)C. Sfc. S)'c. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Birth — Parentage — Education — Conversion to God — Usefulness as a Sunday-School 
 Teacher, Exhorter, and Member of his own Family — Becomes a Local Preacher 
 — Plan for the spiritual Edification of his Sisters — Turns his Attention ex- 
 clusively to the Ministry — Admission to the Baptist Academy — Increasing De- 
 sires after personal and family Piety — Continued Zeal for the Salvation of 
 Sinners — Recommended to travel by the Bristol Quarterly and District Meetings 
 — Devotes Himself to the Missionary Work — Prevented by his Friends from 
 going Abroad — Remarkable Instance of Depravity in three profligate Youths— 
 Leaves the Baptist Academy. 
 
 The subject of the present Memoir, was born in the city of Bristol, 
 April 25th, 1799. He was the second son of parents who were pious 
 from their youth; his Father being a member of the Wesleyan Method- 
 ist Society, and his Mother 'a Baptist, connected with the church of 
 the late venerable Dr. Ryland, in Broadmead, Bristol. 
 
 In consequence of the decided piety of both his parents, William, 
 together with a numerous family, was carefully educated 6 in the nur- 
 ture and admonition of the Lord ;* and the result was, that the whole 
 of them, while yet young, joined themselves to God and his people 
 in Christian fellowship ; though it is somewhat singular, that they all 
 became Methodists. 
 
2 
 
 EDUCATION. 
 
 Nothing particular distinguished the earlier years of William, ex- 
 cept a peculiar ardour of disposition, which often led him into evils 
 of a very serious nature, one of the worst of which was an extraordi- 
 nary propensity to prevarication and falsehood ; this, notwithstanding 
 all the admonitions and corrections of his parents, grew to such a 
 height, that none of the family could rely upon his word, when un- 
 supported by other evidence: in his case therefore there was a most 
 painful exemplification of the language of the Psalmist — 4 The wicked 
 are estranged from the womb ; they go astray as soon as they be born, 
 speaking lies.* 
 
 When between seven and eight years of age, he was sent to a 
 day-school in Bristol ; but his father shortly afterwards saw it ne- 
 cessary to remove him in consequence of the wildness of his habits, 
 and those of the associates with whom he was invincibly connected. 
 On this account therefore, in the year 1808, he was sent to the clas- 
 sical Academy of his uncle, the late Rev. John Cherry, who was 
 pastor of the Baptist Church, at Wellington in Somersetshire, upwards 
 of thirty years, and who was in the habit of receiving a select number 
 of pupils. 
 
 He had been at this school between three and four years, when 
 in the month of February 1812, he was deeply convinced of his 
 awful alienation from God and exposure to eternal wrath. The imme- 
 diate cause of this happy circumstance was his witnessing the ordi- 
 nance of adult baptism administered by his uncle to several persons, 
 among whom was a youth but a few years older than himself. The 
 convictions of his mind on that occasion were greatly strengthened by 
 an awful dream respecting the day of judgment which he had almost 
 immediately afterwards. 
 
 He began at once to seek the Lord with all his heart ; but being at 
 that time situated among a body of professing Christians, who, though 
 of unquestionable piety, did not teach the doctrine of the direct wit- 
 ness of the Spirit, he remained for many months the victim of the 
 most distressing anxieties respecting the favour of God. 
 
 The sanguine temperament of his mind at first disposed him to 
 enter with all his soul, into the various peculiarities of that system 
 of theology which was adopted and taught by the people among whom 
 he was awakened ; and it cost him a long time of painful struggling, 
 even after he had left Wellington, (which took place in the course of 
 the same year,) before he could summon sufficient courage to examine 
 for himself the scheme of general redemption. 
 
 He had unhappily contracted a prejudice very common among Cal- 
 vinists against Arminianism, respecting the doctrine of good works, 
 supposing that the latter system taught justification before God, either 
 in whole or in part, by the deeds of the law. When however he had 
 gradually, though slowly, perceived his error; and discovered that the 
 
CONVERSION TO GOD. 
 
 3 
 
 Wesleyan Methodists built the foundation of their hopes upon the ex- 
 clusive merits of the Lord Jesus Christ, he gladly united himself to 
 them, joining the class of which his Father had been for many years the 
 leader. This was somewhere about August 1813. 
 
 From this time, though still without a satisfactory evidence of the 
 favour of God, he endeavoured to 6 walk in all the ordinances of the 
 Lord blameless,’ eventually embracing all the peculiar sentiments of 
 those with whom he had united in Christian fellowship. 
 
 In the May of the following year, his elder brother, who had pre- 
 viously manifested the greatest aversion to the restraints of religion, 
 and the regularity of his Father’s domestic government, was suddenly 
 and powerfully awakened in a private prayer-meeting, under the roof 
 of the late excellent Mrs. Stevens, widow of the Rev. William Stevens ? 
 at Kingswood Hill, whither he had been drawn by the gracious Pro- 
 vidence of God, after intruding himself, contrary to the wishes of his 
 Father, into a love-feast held in the Kingswood chapel. As soon as 
 the intelligence of this unexpected circumstance had reached the 
 ears of William, with fraternal regard he betook himself to his bro- 
 ther’s chamber, where he found the distressed prodigal overwhelmed 
 with confusion at his past sins, and horror at his present situation. 
 Not satisfied with enjoying the sight, he immediately began to 
 point the criminal to the Lamb of God, concluding with an earnest 
 petition upon his knees, for the salvation of his guilty brother’s 
 soul : after which, marking with feelings of indescribable interest, 
 the agony of the penitent’s mind, he retired with this reflection — 
 
 6 If I do not take care, Aquila after all will obtain mercy before 
 myself, who have sought it so long.’ This induced him to redouble 
 his diligence in private at a throne of Grace, and the consequence 
 was, as might have been expected, that he did not long remain with- 
 out the blessing he sought ; so true is the word of the Lord — 6 Theji 
 shall ye call upon me, and ye shall go and pray unto me, and I will 
 hearken unto you. And ye shall seek me and find me, when ye shall 
 search for me with all your heart.’ 
 
 On the following Sabbath, June 5, 1814, the two brothers, being 
 yet without a clear sense of the Divine favour, resolved to visit the 
 above mentioned Lady at her dwelling, to implore advice. When 
 they had arrived and made known their errand, Mrs. S., whose sole 
 delight was to spend and to be spent for the glory of her God, imme- 
 diately assembled her family for the purpose of besieging a throne of 
 Grace; here they had not waited long, before the Spirit descended 
 in a glorious manner, and at the same moment liberated both the pros- 
 trate penitents : then it was that for the first time, they 6 rejoiced with 
 joy unspeakable, and full of glory,’ for the Spirit himself c bore wit- 
 ness with their spirits that they were the children of God.’ They 
 immediately rose to praise the God of their salvation, and both 
 
4 
 
 USEFULNESS AS A SUNDAY-SCHOOL TEACHES, . 
 
 delightfully experienced that he had * bound up the broken-hearted, 
 proclaimed liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison doors 
 to them that were bound ;’ and that he had 6 appointed unto them 
 that mourned in Sion, to give unto them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy 
 for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; that 
 they might be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, 
 that he might be glorified/ 
 
 Before his removal from Wellington, and almost immediately on 
 his return to Bristol, William had been engaged in the important office 
 of teacher in a Sunday-School, in which he had laboured with much 
 diligence and punctuality ; but now that the Lord had set his soul at 
 complete liberty from the guilt of sin, scarcely any thing could exceed 
 the zeal by which he was instigated ; for although he was little more 
 than fifteen years of age, he commenced his career of public useful- 
 ness. He began by addressing his own class of scholars collectively 
 and individually on the all important concerns of eternity; and such 
 was his success, that the majority of his boys began in full earnest to 
 seek the Lord, and many found peace ; among whom was one who is 
 now regularly travelling in the connexion as a Methodist Missionary. But 
 this was a sphere much too contracted for William’s soul ; by permis- 
 sion therefore of the Superintendent of the school he proceeded to ad- 
 dress the whole of the boys in public, and so extraordinary was the 
 impression produced upon their tender minds, that it seemed as though 
 they were universally determined to give themselves to the Lord ; — 
 scores were seen together crying for mercy, and many were heard re- 
 joicing in a sense of pardoning love. 
 
 This of course soon attracted attention, and the result was, that the 
 various Superintendents of the other schools in connexion with the 
 Bristol Methodist Society, solicited his assistance in addressing and 
 praying with the precious young immortals committed to their charge ; 
 and so extensive were the operations of the Spirit at that time upon 
 the hearts of the children, that out of seventeen schools, the whole 
 number, there was scarcely one that did not present a similar scene to 
 that already described. In these engagements William had indeed 
 many co-adjutors, through whose instrumentality much of this good 
 was effected, but it was evident to all that he was one of the principal 
 agents in the work ; — nor was that work by any means confined to the 
 children, for many of the teachers themselves, who were previously 
 undecided for God, .were thenceforward induced to { enquire the way 
 to Sion, with their faces thitherward.’ 
 
 It was impossible that a person whose talents for public usefulness 
 were so conspicuous, and whose efforts Lad been crowned with such 
 early success, could remain long confined to the comparatively se- 
 cluded engagements of a Sunday-School Teacher, however important 
 or honourable those engagements might be. William therefore grad- 
 
AS Al* EXIIORTER, AND AS A MEMBER OF HIS FAMILY. 
 
 5 
 
 ually emerged from his retirement, and became an exhorter in St. 
 Peter’s hospital; where he laboured for some time with acceptance to 
 others, though with little satisfaction to himself. Shortly after this 
 he preached his first sermon at Compton-Greenfield, where he was 
 greatly assisted, and where his labours were ultimately blessed to the 
 conversion of at least two sisters in one family. 
 
 But he did not forget that the majority of his brothers and sisters 
 were as yet in an unconverted state ; he therefore determined to use 
 all his efforts for their salvation: and as a proof of the earnestness of 
 his soul in this important object, I shall now insert an extract from one 
 of his Letters to his second sister at that time on a visit at Wellington. 
 
 Jug. 16, 1815. 
 
 My dear Sister Priscilla, 
 
 I want to know in particular, whether you have yet dis- 
 claimed Satan for your master, and 4 put on the Lord Jesus Christ.’ St. 
 Paul says, — 4 If any man love not the Lord Jesus Christ, let him ba 
 anathema, maran-atha ;’ 4 let him be accursed till the Lord come.’ 
 But oh ! how can it be that there is such a character? What! not 
 love Jesus, who 4 gave himself a ransom for all,’ — who 4 was bruised 
 for our iniquities,’ — who 4 was rich, yet for our sake became poor, that 
 we through his poverty might be rich?’ Oh! let gratitude do its 
 office, let it operate as it ought, and we shall see whether it is possible 
 or no. But ah! there is no such thing as gratitude to God naturally 
 in the heart of man : his 4 heart is deceitful above all things, and des- 
 perately wicked,’ — a nest of iniquity, — a sink of sin, — as naturally in- 
 clined to evil 4 as the sparks are to fly upwards.’ And does my 
 heart answer this description? Is my sister’s heart one of this sort ? 
 O yes ! for my own part, I can answer that it is perhaps, (but why 
 perhaps ?) the worst enemy I have, and I have the authority of the 
 unerring Word of God to say that my sister’s is the same, for it 4 con- 
 cludes all under sin.’ How shall I get rid of it then ? First, I must 
 be convinced of the evil of sin. Secondly, I must be convinced of 
 the necessity of a change. Thirdly, I must be convinced of the suf- 
 ficiency of Christ. Fourthly, I must have faith, that his blood may 
 be applied. Do I want the first? I cannot give it myself. 4 Ask, 
 and it shall be given you ; seek, and ye shall find ; knock, and the 
 door shall be opened.’ You can feel no good desire of yourself, you 
 have of your own self not the least wish nor hope of any good; 4 a cor- 
 rupt tree cannot bring forth good fruit.’ But the matter is, is there any 
 desire for God? — Yes! IIow did it get there ? — It was not yourself who 
 implanted it, for you are 4 only evil, and that continually.’ It was 
 not Satan, for 4 he is not divided against himself.’ It must therefore 
 be from God. Now, why did God implant it there ? Surely with an 
 
6 
 
 BECOMES A LOCAL PREACHER. 
 
 intention of its being answered, and of its producing the desired 
 effect. We cannot, must not suppose that God ever did this, and yet 
 with a design never to answer it — never for it to produce effect: — 
 this were to impeach his love, his mercy, his justice. Now Priscilla, 
 I would bring this matter home. You have good desires, — they, it is 
 plain, are implanted of God. Now will you fight against God? It 
 is his holy will that you should be made a partaker of the covenant 
 blessings of Christ Jesus, pardon, holiness, and heaven. Are you 
 determined to fight against him — to oppose, or, what is as bad, not 
 to listen to the voice of God ? Oh! beware of shewing a contempt of 
 God’s voice in your heart, 6 kiss the son lest he be angry, and you 
 perish from the way, when his wrath is kindled but a little !’ Oh! 
 my dear sister, my heart’s desire and prayer to God for you is, that 
 you may be made a partaker of those blessings, and that you, may 
 prosper more abundantly in the path of religion than your unworthy 
 brother, or else God Almighty knows you will be very much behind. 
 
 Remember in your prayers your dear brother, whose desire it is to 
 see his sister eminent for piety more than for gold and silver. 
 
 W. Barber. 
 
 In the year 1816, when about 17 years of age, William was re- 
 ceived as a Local Preacher in the Bristol Circuit. It was just about 
 this time that he received an invitation from the friends at Clutton, 
 in Somersetshire, to preach their anniversary Sunday-School Sermon ; 
 and there God was pleased to own the labours of his youthful servant 
 in a most encouraging manner. W T hile in that neighbourhood he was 
 made the instrument of exciting a spirit of enquiry after God, in the 
 minds of many of the young people around him, and among them a 
 lad who was the son of an aged Methodist Preacher deceased, and 
 who is now travelling with acceptance in the connexion. It is how- 
 ever with feelings of peculiar sincerity and pleasure that the"writer, as 
 a member of William’s family, can state, that notwithstanding the 
 decided superiority of his talents to those of any of his brothers and 
 sisters, and the consequent popularity and eminent success which he 
 enjoyed, we never observed in him the slightest affectation of im- 
 portance. His manner was the most gentle and the least dictatorial 
 that is possible to be imagined : the fact is, that his piety was not 
 only of the most sterling, but of the deepest and most substantial 
 kind ; and having at the same time the keenest sense of his own 
 deficiencies, both intellectual and spiritual, his deportment towards 
 all around him was modest and humble to a remarkable degree. k A 
 stronger proof in support of this observation needs scarcely be given, 
 than the manner in which he prosecuted a plan which he had lately 
 adopted for the mutual edification of himself and his two eldest sisters, 
 both of whom had now become decidedly serious; that plan was to 
 
ADVICE TO HIS SISTERS. 
 
 7 
 
 carry on an epistolary correspondence with them on spiritual subjects, 
 notwithstanding that at the time they lived under the same roof 
 with himself; he having conceived that a measure of this kind was 
 more calculated than any other to elicit the minutiae of Christian ex- 
 perience as well as improve the heart. 
 
 A few Extracts shall be laid before the Reader. 
 
 To his eldest Sister. 
 
 March 21, 1816. 
 
 My dear Sarah, 
 
 Probably you have now forgotten what you wrote in your 
 last; however you have not, it is likely, lost all recollection of the cause 
 of an affectionate yet tacit reproof contained in your note, and the sis- 
 terly way in which you reproved my silence respecting the state of 
 my own soul. Justice calls for a brotherly explanation, which I 
 understand as synonymous with a candid one. The reasons for my 
 conduct were simply these : my mind was not happy — my soul was 
 not prospering; hence the regard which I had for my sister, wham 
 I perceived to be thriving in spiritual things, and pressing forward in 
 the exercise of simple faith in Jesus, induced me to afford her all the 
 encouragement I could by my advice, and to throw nothing in her 
 way which would be calculated to damp her in her ardour or to mar 
 her pleasures. 
 
 Ah! my dear girl, your brother has a c heart deceitful above all 
 things, and desperately wicked,’ to deal with ; a heart apparently 
 as much averse to the way of simple faith in Jesus for salvation, as 
 though it were the worst of all evils ; and seemingly as unsusceptible 
 of gratitude as the hardest adamant. He has lately had almost over- 
 whelming discoveries of the depth of latent evil in that heart ; dis- 
 coveries which have caused groans to issue from his soul, whose sound 
 reaching the bottomless pit has induced it to open its mouth wide to 
 receive what is so fitted for it; and then upon this, such mountains of 
 unbelief as seem to render it an impossibility jto touch the hem of the 
 garment of Him, whose name has made hosts of devils to tremble. 
 
 You, I trust, are going on better than this. Beware of discourage- 
 ment — don’t give way. Oh, my sister! live nearer to God continu- 
 ally than you did the preceding moment. Are you still prospering 
 — still proceeding with swift and steady steps? How blissful the 
 thought that time even with a momentary increase of enjoyment is 
 but as the day-spring from on high, the first harbinger of the ap- 
 proach of the Sun of felicity; and eternity is but the dawn of its en- 
 trance upon that climax of degree, whose meridian it will only gain 
 when everlasting ages shall find a finished course! 
 
 You and I, my dear, while looking at our present situation, so 
 
8 
 
 ADVICE TO HIS SISTERS. 
 
 exposed to temptation, sin, and misery, and so open to the attacks of our 
 invidious enemies, are ready to start with astonishment, and to enquire 
 4 Can this be mine ?’ and an affirmative answer scarcely satisfying us, 
 we enquire again and again ; and while we do so, hope beaming with 
 immortality shines upon us, and realising faith anticipates actual posses- 
 sion. Praise and prayer be with yourself and 
 
 Your Brother 
 
 William. 
 
 To his second Sister . 
 
 March 21, 1816. 
 
 My dear Priscilla, 
 
 I was much struck, in perusing a part of Mrs. Cooper's 
 Memoirs by Dr. A. Clarke, this afternoon, with a remark which she 
 notices as made by Mr. Griffith, viz. that 4 the Holy Spirit is infi- 
 nitely delicate.’ There is, I think, much truth and peculiar force 
 in the expression : ah ! he cannot dwell permanently where evil pro- 
 pensities usurp an unauthorised dominion. I am sure I can join Mrs. 
 C. in saying, — 4 How my experience corroborates this!’ There 
 appears indeed an indispensable necessity for keeping the mind free 
 from a single moment’s interruption of communion with God ; and in 
 order to attain this happy state of soul there must be a constant ex- 
 ercise of living faith in Christ. This, my dear, should be the one grand 
 object of our lives; without it we are unhappy, for we have no foun- 
 dation on which to stand, and the more we gras£ the more we sink; 
 our increased efforts after happiness have a contrary tendency than to 
 gratify us, for having no foundation we must necessarily sink : but 
 with this simple faith in Jesus we are happy, having the surest foun- 
 dation of confidence, and an infinite degree of fulness out of which to 
 draw. Yet it is necessary to keep this faith in constant exercise — 
 it is a living principle : that which lives is constantly breathing, and 
 the very atmosphere of faith is Prayer and Holiness; if the air be- 
 come foul, a difficulty of breathing is the immediate consequence; if 
 sin break down the mounds of holiness, and destroy a degree, how- 
 ever small, of the spirit of prayer, faith is immediately wounded, and 
 the indwelling Spirit frowns. Look at the sensitive plant, — at the 
 approach of any one, as though instinctively suspicious of danger, it 
 shrinks from the touch, and enclosing itself within a space as narrow 
 as possible, seems to guard with the greatest care any inlet to the 
 vitals. And oh! if sin advance to the heart, which is become the 
 temple in which the Holy Ghost may dwell, how alarmed is it at the 
 most distant approach! And if an unwatchful moment betray the 
 soul in the least degree, the insulted Holy One within soon makes the 
 pains of withdrawment the means of reproof. But oh! what a mercy 
 
TURNS HIS ATTENTION EXCLUSIVELY TO THE MINISTRY. 9 
 
 that He does not entirely forsake us on the very first submission to 
 his enemies by our treacherous hearts! 
 
 You and I, my sister, very much need more simplicity; the want 
 of this injures you as it does me. O that we had more of the Spirit 
 of Christ — more love — more joy — more faith — more of that state of 
 mind which would do honour to our Jesus! 
 
 May the mighty power of God dwell in you ! May He bless you 
 with all needful blessings ! Remember to speak without reserve to 
 
 Your Brother 
 
 William. 
 
 It was about this ti«e that his Father, who had apprenticed him 
 to his own business, perceiving that his ministerial engagements, for 
 which he appeared to promise so well, occupied nearly all his thoughts, 
 came to the generous resolution of sacrificing his own ease and comfort 
 to the inclinations of his son, by giving him up entirely to the pursuit 
 of his studies. Having nothing now to impede him in his favourite 
 pursuits, William bent his mind with characteristic ardour and per- 
 severance to a full preparation for the great work of preaching the 
 everlasting gospel to his perishing fellow-sinners ; having for a long 
 time past had a firm persuasion that to this work God had distinctly 
 called him. 
 
 But here, as is often the case with young Christians under the 
 influence of such views, he committed a serious error, by following 
 up his studies with such intensity of application, that his Father was 
 often obliged to interpose his authority to compel him to adopt measures 
 for the preservation of his health ; otherwise, from the moment that he 
 left his bed in the morning, (and he was a very early riser,) till he 
 retired to rest late at night, he would have confined himself to his 
 chamber. 
 
 Some little time had thus elapsed, when he attracted the attention 
 of one of the Tutors at the Baptist Academy in Bristol for the educa- 
 tion of young men for the Christian Ministry. This gentleman, per- 
 ceiving the promising character of William’s piety and talents, resolved 
 to use his influence with the Rev. Dr. Ryland, then head tutor of the 
 Institution, to get him admitted into the seminary. That. venerable 
 man, together with another colleague, immediately accpiiesced in the 
 scheme, and consented without fee or reward, and without regard to 
 differences in doctrinal sentiments or church discipline, to receive 
 this young candidate for the Methodist Ministry under his tuition, 
 though of course without allowing any additional burden upon the 
 funds of the committee ; and, to the eternal honour of all the parties 
 concerned be it spoken, not content with this single act of Christian 
 liberality, they established this case as a precedent, which, I under- 
 stand, is allowed to operate to the present day. 
 
10 
 
 advice to Ills SISTERS. 
 
 In the midst however of the multiplied engagements in which my 
 dear brother was now occupied, he did not neglect the spiritual con- 
 cerns either of himself or of his beloved sisters ; this will appear from 
 the following Extracts : — 
 
 To his second Sister. 
 
 Sister P. 
 
 January 25, 1817. 
 
 St. Paul’s remark, that 6 knowledge puffeth up,’ is a very 
 true one. It is not however one of those abstruse doctrines, (though 
 indeed such doctrines are abstruse to human nature only,) that we 
 are bound to receive merely or entirely because they are particulars 
 of divine revelation ; but it is a doctrine the truth of which daily 
 painful observation compels us to admit. You and I, my sister, are 
 in no danger of having any ground for such feelings of pride and im- 
 portance ; but even the little sparks of information and knowledge 
 which we do or may possess, unless sanctified by piety, and by the 
 grace of God rendered subservient to the interests of religion, will 
 set fire to the combustible matter of which our nature is composed, 
 and make us fancy that our drop is the ocean. The fault however 
 lies not in knowledge itself, but in our own hearts, w'hich contaminate 
 the communications even of divine grace. An eager exertion there- 
 fore afteran increase of knowledge is not only laudable but obligatory; 
 for our minds were not given us to be permitted to perish in the wil- 
 derness of ignorance and consequent uncertainty ; but they are endued 
 with expansive faculties, the opening and enlarging of which accele- 
 rate, — not encumber, — the approximation of the soul to its own great 
 centre, — God. If so, every help that one can afford the other is not 
 only delightful to the feelings and cementing to the bond of recipro- 
 cal affection; but it is an imperious duty. The method for this pur- 
 pose that we have now commenced, is one which persons of more ma- 
 ture judgment than our own have not only advised but practised with 
 great success. Let us then seek improvement by the same means, 
 and in order to attain this let us be simple ; that is, natural, easy, can- 
 did ; objecting, correcting, expressing doubts, &c., with the utmost 
 simplicity and frankness. Take nothing for granted, — a rule or reason 
 for every thing. Be constant in the correspondence. Do all to the 
 glory of God, and I will engage for it that God will render this a 
 blessing to our souls as well as to our understandings. 
 
 Your Brother 
 
 William. 
 
ADVICE TO IIIS SISTERS. 
 
 / 
 
 11 
 
 t 
 
 To the Same. 
 
 Dear P. 
 
 Feb. 11, 1817. 
 
 You complain of instability in the way of holiness, — you lament 
 over a heart as yet the strong-hold of remaining corruptions, — you are 
 grieved because you find your heart so cold in the love and service 
 of your dear Redeemer. In this, let me tell you, as in many other 
 things, you are the sister of your brother William. I have often in- 
 deed been obliged to lament at the footstool of the Divine Throne my 
 exceeding unfaithfulness. We have, on this account, cause to be deeply 
 humbled before God, — we have reason indeed to mourn and lament 
 before Him : but He never wishes or expects us, on this account, to 
 despair. He thus shews us the evils of our hearts, for the purpose of 
 stirring us up to greater diligence in their opposition and extinction : 
 this is a mercy ; yes, it is a great blessing that He will not permit us 
 to sleep over our sins ; but makes us feel, and that bitterly too, that all 
 uuholiness is contrary to His nature, and most decidedly hateful to 
 Him. 4 Whom the Lord loveth He chasteneth, and scourgeth every 
 son whom he received!,’ in this respect, as long as evils thus exist in 
 the heart. You and I, though we are poor, yes, very poor, will not 
 mourn, and grieve, and weep, and despair, over our shilling, because 
 it is not a guinea : no, we will rather lay our shilling out to the 
 best advantage ; and that, by the blessing of God, to increase it to a 
 guinea. Up then, and let us be doing. ‘ We shall reap if we faint 
 not.’ Remember, let there be no more backwardness to 
 
 Your Brother, 
 
 William. 
 
 To his eldest Sister . 
 
 Feb. 12, 1817. 
 
 Dear Sister Sarah, 
 
 I read your note with unspeakable pleasure ; and I have not 
 read it once since, but it has done me good. Oh ! Sarah, my soul 
 rejoices on your account. I thank God for His mercy towards you. 
 May He ever keep you secure from every snare, and every effort of 
 the enemy to rob you of your confidence ! Oh, what mighty power 
 has faith! It carries all before it, — breaks down every opposition, — 
 and presses through every difficulty. It is the gift of God, and a 
 gift worthy of God ; it is exceedingly honourable to the soul, and re- 
 sulting in the most beneficial way to its interests. 
 
 * Faith, mighty faith, the promise sees. 
 And looks to that alone. 
 
 Laughs at impossibilities. 
 
 And cries, “ It shall be done !” ’ 
 
12 
 
 ADVICE TO HIS SISTERS. 
 
 I do not wonder at your not receiving the blessing of Christian pu- 
 rity precisely in the way that you expected ; nor indeed, am I sorry 
 for it. Any thing of self in the heart is a most destructive enemy of 
 grace ; and the divine work cannot go on if that be in the way ; I 
 mean of course, encouraged. Our Lord will ever teach us this lesson, 
 that the whole plan from beginning to end is of grace, and 6 not of 
 works, lest any man should boast.’ I am persuaded that we are far 
 too apt to consider this a doctrinal subject ; and we therefore think 
 little of it as a grand experimental truth ; but the more we know of 
 our own hearts and God, the more fully shall we be convinced of the 
 propriety of the remark. It was God, my dear, who gave you the 
 desire which you felt after holiness ; it was He who pointed you to 
 Jesus, as the means of obtaining it; it was He who gave you the faith 
 by which you laid hold on the Redeemer’s blood, and received Him as 
 your 6 wisdom, righteousness, sanctification, and redemption.’ I do not 
 tell you this because I think you are ignorant of it; but merely to 
 point out the propriety of His doing all just in His own way, and 
 the unreasonableness of our entertaining any doubts respecting the 
 reality of the work, because, we have it not exactly as we wish. Sim- 
 ple faith gives every thing up to the divine direction; but a doubt of 
 this nature recals the act and presumes to dictate. Faith relies im- 
 plicitly upon the faithfulness of God ; but this doubt is nothing less 
 than a suspicion that God will not do as He has promised. 
 
 The other temptation which you mention as having been presented 
 to your mind almost with overwhelming power, is a very common one. 
 For my own part, I cannot think that the very best of our actions in 
 our highest attainments in holiness and purity, can be at all approve- 
 able in the Divine sight, excepting as presented through the atoning 
 blood of Jesus; they cannot, as it appears to me, possess an intrin- 
 sically holy nature, so that at last we shall have to say, and that with 
 heart-felt tfuth too, 6 We are but unprofitable servants.’ Yet our 
 souls, washed in the blood of Christ, and under the powerful opera- 
 tions of the Divine Spirit, become holy in motive, design, desire, 
 affection, &c. But when the mind is thus purified, and nothing found 
 in the least degree encouraged contrary to pure love, it is not even in 
 this state unsusceptible of temptation ; nay, it is on the contrary more 
 liable, and that in greater measures , to temptation after than before 
 this; for while it is a solemn and encouraging truth , — 6 As thy day is, 
 so shall thy strength be ;’ so it is no less certain that 6 As thy strength 
 is, so shall thy day be.’ Oh ! we must not imagine that in the pos- 
 session of this blessing ends our trials : the lovely graces of the Spirit 
 must b e proved to be superior to sin and the influence of Satan. Oh, 
 then, let us joyfully submit to so wise a decision, and so just an or- 
 der ! Nay, let us be anxious, — not to enter into temptation, — but 
 when He shall see fit to put us there, to ‘glorify Him with our 
 
ADVICE TO HIS SISTERS. 
 
 13 
 
 bodies and spirits which are His — let us be anxious to act in a way 
 worthy of the followers of our dear Redeemer. Ever remember it is 
 no sin to be tempted. 
 
 Your ever-affectionate Brother 
 
 William. 
 
 To the Same . 
 
 June 1817. 
 
 My Dear S. 
 
 Your last was written when in a truly delightful frame of 
 mind ; you had proved w'hat others have proved before you, that it is 
 good to be afflicted. Oh ! that you may abundantly and continually 
 prove the benefit of trial ; yes, even the trial of health, and strength, 
 and vigorous spirits. This, I do think, is on one account a greater trial 
 than that of sickness ; the mind, especially of one blest with a degree of 
 tenderness of conscience, naturally turns towards the contemplation 
 of future certainties, when sickness reminds it that present vanities 
 cannot endure for ever : at such seasons it is not so difficult a matter 
 to recollect , as it is when opposite circumstances conspire to attract 
 the faculties of recollection other ways. Hence it is that what may 
 be deemed in a general way evidences of divine influence, are far 
 more dubious under the clouds of distress than under the azure of fe- 
 licitous circumstances ; yet let it be remembered, that the 'particular 
 evidences of Divine favour enjoyed by the soul, whose business in 
 health has been to live near to God, are to be- brought into no kind 
 of comparison with the apparently gracious feelings first experienced 
 when providential favours are denied, or the dying pillow is haunted 
 by the shades of mis-spent accumulated moments. 
 
 The blessing of a steady, uniform, continued communion with 
 God, is one with which I am not yet acquainted. I experience some, 
 thing of what I can conceive the Poet may have felt when penning 
 the lines : 
 
 * Tis worse than death my God to love. 
 
 And not iny God alone !’ 
 
 But in me, I think this is not the result of a taste, which excites 
 an inordinate longing for increase of divine enjoyment ; but a miser- 
 able poverty, which betokens the absence of the true principles, the 
 ground work or stamina , on which to fasten real genuine holiness of 
 heart. Can you distinguish between them ? The one is a desire 
 formed in the heart, in which the affections are called into exercise 
 for an enlargement of their own powers and possessions ; and the 
 other, misery extreme aifthe conscious existence of horrid principles, 
 which domineer in turn, and seem so to crush any spark of holy 
 
14 
 
 ADVICE TO HIS SISTERS. 
 
 influence as almost to warrant a conclusion fatal to a charitable hope 
 of its remaining existence. Perhaps it is a providential circum- 
 stance that I have never yet once been asked the question , — 6 Have 
 you power over all known sin ? ’ God and my own soul only know 
 my weakness in grace, and the overflowing of depravity which track 
 the sometimes happy, but often miserable heart of 
 
 Your Brother 
 
 William. 
 
 To the Same. 
 
 My Dear Sarah, 
 
 I cannot help again resuming my pen to tell you how 
 sweetly the Lord has this morning manifested Himself to me ; He 
 has opened the windows of heaven, and the rich effusions of His 
 love have been poured into my heart ; yet how far from ecstatic are 
 my feelings! It seems to me that the every dealing of my adorable 
 Lord towards me is designed to humble me. Oh ! I have carried my 
 head too high ; and by one means or other the Lord is bringing me 
 down ; and I doubt not that the tumult of feeling, of which I have 
 been the subject, has partly induced the gloom which for some time 
 has hung over my mind'. 
 
 William. 
 
 The foregoing Letters will sufficiently prove how suitable an adviser 
 my deceased brother was to those who had in any degree committed 
 themselves to his spiritual direction ; and they shew at the same 
 time that his views of himself were of the most humiliating kind. 
 But not content with exciting his sisters, and those upon an equality 
 in point of station with himself, to all the purity provided for them, 
 he readily embraced every proper opportunity of producing the same 
 effect upon the minds of his Parents. His Mother had for some years 
 struggled with a complication of maladies, which ultimately brought 
 her to the silent tomb, and left her family to mourn the loss of a 
 most invaluable woman, who was well qualified for the important sta- 
 tion in which she was placed, aud who exerted herself to the utmost 
 for the welfare of her husband and children. My beloved Parent, 
 with a view of recovering her health, was at this time on a visit to 
 her only brother, the Rev. John Cherry, of whom mention has been 
 already made. The following Letters written to her by William will 
 shew how highly deserving he was of the maternal affection with 
 which he was regarded. 
 
ENCOURAGEMENT FOR AN AFFLICTED MOTHER. 
 
 15 
 
 I 
 
 Bristol , August 11, 1817. 
 My much loyed and revered Mother, 
 
 Believe me, my inclination would lead me to sit down and 
 write you a very long letter. I must, however, be content with a 
 short one, as my time will permit nothing more. I knew nothing 
 of Father’s sending till just now, and I am going presently out of 
 town on a preaching excursion, not to return till Thursday ; and yet 
 to suffer a parcel to reach you without a line would be to myself un- 
 bearable. 
 
 It very much rejoiced us all to hear of the slightest improvement 
 in your health ; and if the prayers of the family, or the individuals 
 composing it, will at all avail in heaven, presented as they are through 
 our glorious Mediator, you, my dear Mother, will return to our arms 
 established in perfect strength and vigour. Ah, well ! the time will 
 come, I trust, when all the family, (delightful thought! may it be fully 
 realised !) yes, all the family^ shall meet together before the throne 
 of our God, where neither sorrow nor sickness, neither pain nor 
 distress of any kind, shall interrupt the lasting felicity of their glo- 
 rified situation. And, oh! to see my own Mother there, free, eternally 
 free, from those pains which have so often racked her mortal frame, 
 — from those anxieties which have so frequently made her sorrowful in 
 mind and heavy in heart, — from those temptations of Satan, and those 
 buffetings of the cruel and subtle enemy, which have so often clouded 
 her retired moments, and darkened the way of access to the Re- 
 deemer’s feet ; — to see this, and to partake with her the happiness of 
 ascribing all our salvation to that Redeemer, are among the most de- 
 lightful anticipations of my heart. True indeed it is, my Mother, 
 that discouraging hesitation would intrude itself, and seek to destroy 
 the satisfaction arising from such an expectation of heaven ; but oh ! 
 when enabled in the simplicity of faith to exclaim — 4 I know whom 
 I have believed, and am persuaded He is able to keep that which I 
 have committed to Him until that day!’ — then is the Christian en- 
 abled to live as he ought to live, in the constant exercise of faith in 
 Jesus, and continually enjoying the benefits of referring every cir- 
 cumstance as it comes to Him. It is not a little mercy to be enabled 
 to do this. Would you believe it? Even I find it no easy matter 
 to yield up every thing with which I am, or expect to be, connected. 
 4 Oh ! Bill, thou knowest nothing at all about it, boy !’ — I know I am 
 acquainted with very little anxiety and care ; and for this reason I 
 say, — 4 even /,’ — and perhaps, like many troubles of the rest of man- 
 kind, mine are imaginary for want of real ones ; but yet, J assure 
 you, my mind is frequently burdened by looking about me, and espe- 
 
16 
 
 ENCOURAGEMENT FOR AN AFFLICTED MOTHER. 
 
 dally before me. Oh, how often do I catch myself saying, in my 
 heart , — 6 Where are you going ? What are you about ? — Going to 
 rush into that for which you are not fitted, and to which you are not 
 called; neglecting a business by which you might live respectably 
 and happily; and leaving your father when he wants your assistance, 
 and by which you might exceedingly benefit him ; — and in addition to 
 this, remaining a dead weight upon him, and that too when it is espe- 
 cially needful that he should have every possible help.’ Such feelings 
 as these are often an insupportable load to me ; and the only possible 
 ease that I find, when reasoning on the subject, and lost in a 
 wilderness of anxiety and perplexity about it, is to resolve myself 
 into a conclusion of following the leadings of Providence. 6 Oh, my 
 God !’ I sometimes groan out, e tell me, tell me, what I ought to do, — 
 shew me thy path, and by thy grace I will walk in it !’ Oh ! my dear 
 Mother, do pray for me, I entreat you, that God would be pleased to 
 direct me, — to lead me, — to prevent me from doing contrary to His 
 will, — and especially that I may be kept from disgracing His holy 
 name. Yes, Mother, pray that He would rather snatch me from 
 the world while rising, than allow me to rise to dishonour Him. 
 What! is this possible? Yes! fully possible ; I know it, and lam 
 sure that without divine aid, I immediately fall. Oh, my God ! my 
 God ! into thy hands I commend my cause. 
 
 As it at present appears my providential path, I am, after the pre- 
 sent week, to re-commence my study at the academy. The kind- 
 hearted doctor, and the warm-hearted Mr. James, have given me a 
 
 most friendly welcome. Mr. , to whom I owe and feel a weight 
 
 of obligation, has resigned. I am truly sorry for it. 
 
 I had no idea that I should write the sheet out ; but how could I 
 help it in writing to my Mother? Will you receive it, therefore, 
 however faulty and childish, as a token of affection from him who 
 ought to be, and who sincerely wishes to prove himself, 
 
 Your affectionate, dutiful, and attentive Son 
 
 William. 
 
 To the Same . 
 
 Bristol , August 21, 1817. 
 
 My dear Mother, 
 
 But what in the world do I mean by using such a form of 
 expression ? Do I not often, in common with the rest of mankind, 
 make use of phrases, the import of which but very little fixes the at- 
 tention ? Ah ! little diamonds, though valuable and glittering, are 
 lost in the heap of dust ; and it is only to the scrutinising eye which 
 can separate with patience, particle after particle, that the sparkling 
 point will discover the present jewel. Mother /—Tender name ! in- 
 
ON THE ANXIETIES OF A MOTHER. 
 
 17 
 
 I 
 
 dicative of all that can awaken the feelings, interest the heart, or 
 command the life. In this name I recognise the person who, in the 
 providence of God, was the appointed means of ushering me into the 
 busy scenes of an active world, (and may I not add with some de- 
 gree of hope?) as the prelude to an introduction into a life, at once 
 immortal and full of glory. Mother l The name itself recals to re- 
 collection the sleepless nights and painful days that person has spent 
 on my account ; — almost I seem to hear again the deep heaved 
 sigh which anticipation forces from a Mother’s heart. Yes ! I re- 
 member my peevishness, my childish perverseness, which would not 
 suffer my Mother to rest ; I fancy I see her ready to drop with 
 fatigue of nursing me ; nor would the merciless infant consider this a 
 moment nor take pity on his Mother ; discontented while from her 
 arms, and restless while in them : and then can I not even now see 
 the glistening tear which hung in her eye while carefully watching my 
 sick cradle ? Can I not — oh ! can I not now hear her at every cry 
 of distress, — at every convulsive motion, saying from a Mother’s feel- 
 ing, — ‘Oh ! my William l’ 
 
 ‘ When sickness made his glistening eye grow dim, 
 
 Disorder gave the threat of hovering death, 
 
 The Mother wept ! — Her life seem’d bound in him, 
 
 Anxious she watched, — distrest his every breath. 
 
 When cheerful health again return’d. 
 
 Her happy heart anew with pleasure burn’d. 
 
 Yes ! it brings to mind, — it renews the feelings of pleasure, once so 
 highly valued, at the sound of Darling Boy and Mother's Dear ; — it 
 brightens the remembrance of a Mother’s pleasure at observing pro- 
 gressive improvement, the advance toward the appearance of man- 
 hood, and the still more valuable attainments of an intellectual de- 
 scription. But Mother ! In this name I recognise an authority de- 
 legated by the great and blessed God, and that for the purpose of 
 bringing the inexperienced youth to Him who gave the authority, 
 submission to which is the first commandment with promise ; surely 
 then this is sufficient cause for calling her Dear Mother ! How can 
 I help feeling united in affection to her? — how is it that it is ever 
 possible for a son to be otherwise ? — how wonderful that the charm of 
 such a relation does not universally allay the rising storm of perverse- 
 ness, and calm the horrid tempest of self-will! To call her Dear 
 Mother is to profess a recollection of past times ; it is an avowal of 
 binding obligation to universal duty ; nor merely this, for this would 
 be far, very far, from all that is intended by a name so endearing as 
 Mother , and much more an appropriation of it so emphatic as Dear 
 Mother ; it intends not merely a profession^ but a feeling of all that 
 union of affection, — that high regard and estimation which would urge 
 a son to be the support of a Mother’s declining years. O then, if I 
 
 c 
 
18 
 
 ZEAL FOR THE SALVATION OF SOULS. 
 
 never felt any thing of it before, I feel a portion of it now, when I 
 think with unfeigned pleasure of My dear Mother ! Yes! she is 
 still my Mother, — thank Heaven for that! Blessed be God for that! 
 He has not yet taken her from me, nor will He, I hope, for these — I 
 will not dare to say how many — but for these many years. How I 
 shall ever be a support to my Parents’ declining years I know not. 
 I anxiously, very anxiously, watch intimations of the Divine mind ; 
 but whatever my situation in life may be, hear me, O my God ! and 
 my Mother’s God ! when I pray thee, that the most substantial part 
 of that support — affectionate obedience, may never, never be deficient 
 in me ! — What then do I mean by this expression, but that I really 
 feel when I subscribe myself, 
 
 My dear Mother, 
 
 Your dutiful and affectionate Son 
 
 William. 
 
 The next Extract with which I shall present the Reader, will illus- 
 trate another feature in William’s character ; this was an anxious and 
 unwavering desire to impart spiritual good to every individual to 
 whom he could gain access. It was written to his eldest sister, while 
 on a visit to some kind friends at Temple Cloud, in Somersetshire. 
 
 Bristol , Sept. 15, 1817. 
 
 My dear Sarah, 
 
 * * * * I have felt considerable pain in reflecting on 
 
 the event which has detained you, at Temple. In losing that excel- 
 lent man, Mr. Tucker, that part of the Lord’s vineyard has lost one 
 of its brightest beauties : the universal respect in which he was held 
 was a testimony to his worth, more valuable than a marble monu- 
 ment. Well ! he is gone to his reward, and why should he be re- 
 gretted ? The Lord is able to raise up others far more useful than 
 he. I had begun to entertain sentiments of high veneration and re- 
 gard for him, and was pleased at being in his company; but Sarah, as 
 you and I grow older in the world, and in experience, we shall have 
 frequent opportunities of painfully learning that even friendship sanc- 
 tified by virtue and piety, will not avert the point of that dart which 
 divides the soul from the body. May we, when that is the case, ever 
 remember that God himself, who 6 governs all things according to 
 the counsel of His own will,’ directs the point and wings the shaft ! 
 
 But what kind of preparation are you and your friends around you 
 making for that event? I have sometimes seriously thought that it 
 is but seldom that large families like our own, and others around us, 
 live much after the age at which we are arrived unseparated by 
 death and providential circumstances. I do most earnestly hope that 
 
RECOMMENDED TO TRAVEL. 
 
 19 
 
 you will be made a great blessing where you are, and that you will 
 bring a very great blessing with you home. Do strive to do good ; 
 be bold as a lion, my sister, for God, even your own God. May 
 God Almighty give you some souls for your hire while providentially 
 thus among them ! Your poor brother still feels within him very, very 
 much to impede the progress of piety, and very much that is opposed 
 to the glory of God. Yet, thanks be to God ! He is reviving His 
 work. Your brother consciously feels an increase of ardour for that 
 holiness which he in a blessed degree once enjoyed. How much 
 happier to be prospering in piety than to be losing ground ! Write 
 me particularly how it is with you and those around you. 
 
 Your own Brother 
 
 William. 
 
 My dear Brother having now spent about two years under the care 
 of the tutors at the Academy, and having derived much benefit of a 
 literary character from their kind instructions, began to think of as- 
 certaining the sentiments of the body of Christians with which he 
 was united as to the propriety of his entering fully into the Ministry. 
 After much prayer therefore to God for direction, he allowed his 
 name to be mentioned at their regular Quarterly Meeting, held in 
 March, 1818; and the result was that he was unanimously recom- 
 mended to the attention of the Preachers at their approaching Dis- 
 trict Meeting, which was shortly to take place in the city of Bath; 
 where, after undergoing the usual examinations respecting his Chris- 
 tian experience and various qualifications, it was again unanimously 
 agreed to recommend him to the Conference to travel. 
 
 But here it will be necessary to explain some severe exercises of 
 mind through which he had to pass. He knew that at the District 
 Meeting he should be distinctly asked whether he offered himself to 
 travel in England or abroad ; and hence, that it was necessary fully 
 to make up his mind on the subject. His own views were decidedly 
 in favour of the latter sphere of labour; indeed, he had already so- 
 lemnly, though secretly, and from a conviction of duty, devoted him- 
 self to the Missionary Cause. But when at length this fact was com- 
 municated to his Parents, whose* approbation he considered necessary 
 for the elucidation of the will of God, he found them in this re- 
 spect unalterably opposed to his views. The truth is, that his Mo- 
 ther’s heart was wrapt up in her beloved son, and she could not bear 
 the thought of parting from him with a probability of never behold- 
 ing him again. The Preachers at that time stationed in the Bristol 
 Circuit, having been made acquainted with this affair, called at the 
 house with a view of reasoning with heron the subject; and among 
 other arguments I remember the Rev. Mr. Henshaw to have urged 
 that my dear Mother did not possess the plea of some others, who 
 
 c 2 
 
20 
 
 PREVENTED FROM GOING ABROAD, 
 
 had been called upon to sacrifice an only child. i You, my sister,’ 
 said he, c are required to give only one child out of many to this 
 glorious cause.’ But she immediately cut him short by replying : — 
 6 Ah ! Sir, but mine are all ones!’ Our dear Father’s objections 
 would probably have yielded to repeated importunity and expostula- 
 tion, had it not been for this determined opposition, coupled with 
 the extremely delicate health of our poor Mother; such indeed was 
 the anguish of her mind on this subject that we all feared a com- 
 pliance with William’s views would have proved the cause of her 
 almost immediate dissolution. The result however of this affection- 
 ate contest was that my dear brother was permitted to offer himself 
 at the above mentioned District Meeting for the home work only. 
 This deeply depressed his soul ; and though he could not help think- 
 ing that he had removed all responsibility from himself, especially as 
 he was still so young in years, yet he painfully apprehended that some 
 great evil would certainly befal him in consequence of this deviation 
 from what he believed to be the path of duty. 6 Oh ! ’ said he to me 
 on the occasion, 6 1 would prefer a Missionary crown to any other in 
 the universe ; but I may not do what I would : and now I greatly fear 
 that mine will be a deeply suffering life’ Alas ! the sequel proved 
 that his forebodings were by no means groundless. It was just after 
 this painful occurrence that he wrote the following letter, which shews 
 the depressed state of his feelings, to his eldest sister, then on a visit 
 at Eastington, in Gloucestershire. 
 
 Bristol , June 25, 1818. 
 
 My dear Sarah, 
 
 I am now in one of my melancholy moods, and feel little or 
 no inclination to write, but purely for the sake of saving you the pain 
 of entire disappointment. I find myself driven to it, though I de- 
 clare I have, at this moment, no conception of what I shall say. I 
 have no mind to think, — no reason comparatively to arrange ideas, — 
 no imagination scarcely to afford an original subject of thought, or to 
 cull from passing circumstances a useful observation, or to brood suc- 
 cessfully over a subject which, though one would think that it has been 
 used long enough to exhaust all its fruitfulness, has not hitherto failed 
 to produce something pleasing at least. 
 
 What truth there may be in the doctrine of the soul’s elasticity , I 
 must not pretend to determine ; but if there be any, I should imagine 
 that mine is at present drawn to its greatest degree of compactness, 
 and hence is so jammed (or squeezed , which you like,) together, that 
 no room is left for its powers to play, or its faculties to develop them- 
 selves. And yet what shall I do ? I must write this letter ; and, 
 
AND CONSEQUENT DEJECTION OF MIND. 
 
 21 
 
 what is worse than this, I must sit down to arrange more sacred com- 
 positions, and prepare them for a public hearing! 
 
 But, to speak with greater seriousness, your brother has found out, 
 (or else it has found him out,) the unhappy art of being speedily and 
 very greatly discouraged ; and sometimes, much to his pain, his dis- 
 couragement has bordered on despondency. Perhaps it may arise 
 partly from the fact of his having had very few troubles, really such, 
 in life ; and hence, the very shade of one, which merits not the name, 
 will frighten him. However this may be, I can assure you, that he feels 
 his present situation very acutely, and sighs for the moment when he 
 shall know, without hesitation or doubt, that his condition is entirely 
 of God. One principal cause of his present uneasiness, however, 
 is the unprosperous state of his spiritual affairs ; and when these, my 
 dear Sally, go wrong, every thing is wrong, at least to a mind at all 
 conscious of their importance. He feels too at times an unhappy dis- 
 position to enquire into futurity. I know not how far the principle, 
 (false, when falsely applied,) that 6 knowledge of evil is better than 
 uncertainty ,’ may influence him ; but certain I am that he sometimes 
 suffers acutely for his inclination to examine and peruse the c secret 
 things which belong only to Jehovah.’ 
 
 To you perhaps, as to others, his situation may appear open, and 
 evidently the result of providential arrangement ; and so, in fact, it 
 does to him ; but then it is possible, says the restlessness of discontent, 
 that he may be mistaken, and Providence may have had nothing to 
 do with the present order of things. But we will drop this uninter- 
 esting subject ; only let me recommend you, my Sarah, from his ex- 
 perience to avoid giving way to gloomy apprehensions, though there 
 may be, and certainly is, a kind of pleasure in affording nourishment 
 to boding doubts, when the mind is disposed to admit them ; yet it 
 is a poisonous gratification. 
 
 We have had the bustle, the nonsense, and the wickedness of the 
 election come and gone since your departure ; the chairing on Monday 
 last was certainly a fine sight, and pleased me as any new toy would 
 another child for the moment that it lasted; but it did not fail to 
 leave behind it a nausea in my mind which is not yet gone from me : 
 it afforded me, however, a fine comment on 1 Cor. vii. 31, 6 The fa- 
 shion, (which may be translated, the pageant) of this world passeth 
 away !’ And Dr. Doddridge’s lines seemed to me very appro- 
 priate : — 
 
 * The empty pageant rolls along ! 
 
 The giddy, inexperienced throng 
 Pursue it with enchanted eyes ; 
 
 It passeth in swift march away. 
 
 Still more and more its charms decay. 
 
 Till the last gaudy colour dies !’ 
 
22 
 
 DEPRAVITY OF THREE PROFLIGATE YOUTHS. 
 
 Mercy upon those souls to whom such empty things as these form the 
 principal enjoyments ! 
 
 Your truly affectionate Brother 
 
 William. 
 
 The following Extract to the same Sister is inserted principally on 
 account of the remarkable fact which it records : — 
 
 Bristol , July 2, 1818. 
 
 My very dear Sarah, 
 
 I went last night to the Tabernacle to attend the ordination 
 service of two young Missionaries, and received much gratification, and 
 I hope some good. Tbe manners of the young men were good, saving 
 only a little academic stiffness , which was perhaps increased by their 
 reading their answers to the questions proposed to them. Their ex- 
 perience was interesting on several accounts ; it bore evident marks 
 of genuineness, and was, in some respects, striking. The one had 
 been favoured, as you and I have been, with pious Parents and reli- 
 gious privileges, and had been pretty early brought to God. The 
 other had enjoyed neither ; but he related a circumstance which was 
 to me extraordinary ; — at the age of about seventeen he formed wider 
 sinful connections than before, and plunged more deeply into the 
 commission of every kind of vice ; he frequented the tavern and 
 other places of bad resort ; he spent his Sabbaths in the most criminal 
 way ; till growing almost desperately wicked, he formed a league, or 
 kind of covenant, with two of his companions, in which they engaged 
 to support each other at the bar of God y and when they should 
 stand before His tribunal, whatever one should say in his own justi- 
 fication, the other should support ; and thus they imagined that they 
 should be able to establish each other’s innocence, even at the ex- 
 pense of truth and justice. 4 I shudder,’ said he, 4 at the recollection 
 of the horrid deed, and rejoice at being spared to relate it to-night. 
 It often reminds me of the impressive words of the prophet : — 
 44 Though hand join in hand, yet shall not the wicked go unpun- 
 ished.” ’ What an awful picture is this, my Sarah, of the human 
 heart, and the miserably benumbing influence of sin ! The very un- 
 derstanding or common sense of the man is taken away or deluded ! 
 Mr. Thorpe delivered a very able, interesting, and solemn charge to 
 them from 1 Tim. iv. 16. In describing the solemn duties and im- 
 perative obligations of the ministerial office I felt him speaking to me; 
 but in forcibly urging the responsibility of the work, I almost trem- 
 bled. 6 Who is sufficient for these things ?’ 
 
LEAVES THE BAPTIST ACADEMY*. 
 
 23 
 
 I really should much like to participate in your enjoyments, espe- 
 cially as it seems that you are getting good to your soul. You rejoice at 
 the ability to weep before the Lord, and well you may. I have known 
 times when I would have given any thing for a shower of tears pro- 
 ceeding from a truly spiritual affection of the heart. Do remember me 
 most affectionately and respectfully to Mr. Robinson. I feel a stronger 
 attachment than ever to him, because you have been blessed by his 
 instrumentality ; and I feel the beginnings of that sort of interest in 
 others, and particularly those who are endeared by nature or friendship, 
 which makes me identify their welfare with my own. But you pass 
 a sigh of regret over the recollection of one day at least spent with- 
 out spiritual conversation with those you visited. I hope, my Sally, 
 you endeavoured to introduce the subject and fix the attention that 
 way. I do not mean that I think it right to worry even professors 
 to death with religion, — they are poor things if they can be worried 
 to death by it, — but then we must treat them like poor things as they 
 are ; and yet their leanness and spiritual weakness ought not to deter 
 us from endeavours to cheer and strengthen them, though the means 
 we may use should be irksome to them. My dear Sarah, upon the 
 boldness of a Christian warrior is staked his own prosperity ; he can- 
 not prosper if he is not striving to be useful ; and the more he 
 strives for this the more he prospers. * * * * * 
 
 Your truly affectionate Brother 
 
 William. 
 
 My dear Brother had now left the Academy in which he had been 
 treated with the greatest attention, kindness, and respect; and in 
 which he had also derived advantages of the most important nature. 
 His friends had thought it best for him to wait the result of the Con- 
 ference, which transpired in the July and August of this year: but 
 as it had now closed without affording him the opportunity which he so 
 much desired of being fully employed in the vineyard of his Lord, 
 though he was readily accepted and put upon the list of reserve, he 
 thought it his duty to turn his attention for the present to some means 
 of profitable employment ; but as nothing of this nature occurred for 
 some time, he found it difficult to preserve his mind from becoming 
 a victim to anxiety and dejection, *to which he was, in a great mea- 
 sure, constitutionally prone ; this will appear from the following 
 Note : — 
 
24 
 
 BREATHINGS AFTER GOD. 
 
 To his eldest Sister. 
 
 Sept. 28, 1818. 
 
 My dear Sally, 
 
 I have just been writing a note to dear Sam (his younger bro- 
 ther), enquiring how things go on with him. I feel myself perpetually 
 condemned for a want of spirituality and a consequent backwardness 
 to speak in season and out of season for my great Redeemer. I feel that 
 I cannot prosper in silence ; my sighs and my wishes sometimes burst 
 out beyond my present situation ; but it is the Lord who confines me. 
 I have no assurance that I shall love Him more, and serve Him better, 
 in any other than where I am now ; yet I should be very glad if some- 
 thing were to occur, in the pursuit of which I could be useful. How 
 earthly and selfish my mind and views get, when I do not strongly be- 
 lieve in Jesus ! This is now the case ; for some days I have felt it 
 hard to keep alive. — I have felt as though my faith was getting weaker 
 and weaker ; oh ! I am ashamed and confounded before the Lord at 
 my want of simplicity. Where is Jesus ? I say often in a day, and can 
 scarcely think it true that I need not go to heaven, nor into the deep, 
 nor afar off, to seek Him ; because He is very nigh me, even within my 
 call ; and not only so, but within my reach, if I will but put out my 
 hand to take Him. Help with increased fervour at a throne of grace 
 
 Your half happy Brother 
 
 William. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 Becomes a Tutor — Preserves his Longings after the Enjoyment of God, and the 
 Work of the Ministry — Labours for the Conversion of a younger Brother, 
 and for the Comfort of a desponding Sister — Insubordination towards Him in 
 the School — Consolation for an afflicted Sister — Commencement of his tedious 
 Illness — Leaves the Academy at Chew-Magna — Disappointment in reference to 
 the Ministry — First Visit to Gloucester — Journal — Strivings of Himself and 
 Friends after purity of Heart — Remarkable Conversion of a Sceptic, and subse- 
 quent Prosperity of the Cause of God — Visit into Worcestershire — Remarks on 
 Friendship — Character of an undecided Man — Hints to young Preachers. 
 
 It was not long however that William was permitted to wait without 
 an immediate object before him. He was offered a situation as Tutor 
 in the classical and commercial Academy of Mr. Wm. Clarke at Chew- 
 Magna, near Bristol. This offer he at once accepted, and amidst 
 the blessings and prayers of his family, he now, for the first time, 
 left his paternal abode. 
 
 The next Extract will present to the Reader a pleasing view of his 
 feelings in his new circumstances : — 
 
 To his eldest Sister. 
 
 Chew-Magna , Oct . 10, 1818. 
 
 My dearest Sally, 
 
 It seems a long time since I saw you, and I think I could 
 talk with you almost without end, were you near enough for the pur- 
 pose ; the wish however which I feel rising within me on that subject, 
 does not amount to a strength sufficient to make me unhappy for its 
 accomplishment, while that is at present impracticable. It would 
 certainly be desirable in preference to my present inconvenient situa- 
 tion for writing, surrounded by the boys, whose warm spirits and ac- 
 tive limbs and tongues will not be stilled by repeated commands. In- 
 conveniences might naturally be expected to attend any situation in 
 life, and I am far from finding mine exempt from them ; it would in- 
 deed be a mark of a judgment extremely superficial to expect such a 
 freedom. I do not, l did not, and am not therefore disappointed. I 
 have no time for retirement ; this is a heavy privation, and the more so 
 to me, as I have been used to so much. And the constant confusion oc- 
 casioned by the perpetual presence of the boys, prevents the habitual 
 reflection to which 1 have been used ; this is Very unpleasant as well as 
 
26 
 
 PROSPERITY OF SOUL. 
 
 dangerous, for I have now fresh habits to form, my old ones being quite 
 interrupted ; and considering the native propensity of the human 
 mind to evil, I may more easily contract bad ones than good. 
 
 There is however an advantage attending my present circumstances, 
 which will at least partially counterbalance their inconveniences. The 
 constant engagement in a business which has a specific and useful ten- 
 dency will, I hope, prevent the train of melancholy reflection, which had 
 become extremely injurious to me. An unthankful and repining dis- 
 position, I am sensible, will subsist in a bad soil, if it be prevented 
 from flourishing in a good one, while the least congeniality remains to 
 foster it ; so that nothing but a continued and progressive work of 
 grace will suffice for its destruction. I trust, my dear Sarah, I am not 
 precluded from this ; the glow of heavenly fire has not yet subsided ; 
 4 the arm of the Lord is not shortened that it cannot save and I feel, 
 yes, I feel , that 4 his ear is not heavy that it cannot hear.’ I find 
 that my soul thrives in some measure amidst all that is hitherto unfa- 
 vourable here : but I want retirement and reflection. I have had no 
 time at all till now to write, and I am now late in the evening, retired 
 from company in the parlour to write this. 
 
 Since writing the above, I have received my chest, and your affec- 
 tionate letters. I feel very forcibly the kindness manifested toward me, 
 the Lord reward it! I never can. Involuntarily I find myself enquir- 
 ing, 4 What, — oh ! what am I that any should feel so interested about 
 my welfare and enjoyment ?’ The Lord pardon me that I have never 
 deserved it yet. O for grace to prove myself not unmindful of the 
 benefits, however incapable of repaying them ! 
 
 I rejoice, my Sarah, at your freedom of access to the throne of your 
 heavenly Father. May you never grieve his Holy Spirit, nor by any 
 means hinder a communion so sweet ! Go on in the use of your privi- 
 lege, and it will not diminish, but enlarge and abundantly augment 
 your heavenly graces. It delights me to think, that I occupy your 
 thoughts in your most blessed moments ; oh ! if you can possibly help 
 it, do not forget me. Pray that my present exile, (for such I view it 
 when compared with the great object of my wishes,) may be rendered 
 a lasting blessing to my soul. Pray that my heart, deeply informed 
 in its utter unworthiness, may be led to the fountain of grace for waters 
 refreshing and purifying, to fit me more perfectly to bear the vessels 
 of the Lord in His holy temple. I would be holy, — I desire to be 
 holy, — I hate sin and every false way. I wish to be saved in the 
 Lord’s own way. Oh ! that I could enter into a rest from sin ! I 
 feel now more spiritually the plague of an unclean heart. The sight 
 of my uncleanness humbles and pains me, but does not destroy my 
 hope, nor very greatly discourage me. 
 
 I went on Thursday evening to the class of Mr. Griffin, whom I 
 was glad to find a very active, discriminating, lively, and judicious 
 
LABOURS FOR THE CONVERSION OF A YOUNGER BROTHER. 27 
 
 leader; very simple and clear in his views of justification and sanctifi- 
 cation, &c. by simple faith alone : he enjoys much of religion himself, 
 and is ardently thirsting for full salvation. My spirit is knit with his, 
 and I am fully persuaded of future prosperity. There are three or 
 four truly pious people here, of scriptural and apparently genuine ex- 
 perience. The Lord add to the number ! Who knows but He may 
 have something for even me to do here. 6 Here am T, Lord, send me!* 
 Your absent, but ever affectionate Brother, 
 
 William. 
 
 The heart of William had now been unspeakably gratified at the 
 conversion of three of his brothers and sisters, but still he knew that 
 the rest were as yet undecided ; so long therefore as this continued 
 the case, he was determined to lose no opportunity of impressing on 
 their minds the importance of personal religion. The following Letter 
 was about this time writen by him to his younger brother : — 
 
 Chew-Magna , Oct. 24 , 1818 . 
 
 My dear Sam, 
 
 I feel a considerable desire to hear from you, as well as of 
 you : and that desire is by no means lessened by the recollection of the 
 critical situation in which you were, when I last saw and conversed 
 with you ; it was critical, because of the danger there was of your 
 losing the most important of all blessings for a longer period, if not 
 for ever, and confirming yourself in a habit of indecision, not to say 
 of apathy : and I am persuaded that this feeling is fargiore easily in- 
 duced and fixed than we commonly imagine ; though the mention of 
 it may excite abhorrence and a fervent wish to be preserved from it. 
 
 Ah, my dear brother, notwithstanding your ideas on the subject may 
 often occasion you pain, little perhaps do you think, how interesting 
 the moment is, with which you are now favoured ; not only will the 
 future scenes of life be materially affected by the formation of your 
 character as a man of business in your present secular engagements, 
 but they will in a most important degree be influenced by your partial 
 or entire reception of the religion of the ever-blessed Jesus. Should 
 you unhappily be so interested by earthly things, or so bound by im- 
 proper attachments, or so fettered by any easily besetting sin, as to 
 make your religious character little superior to that of a mere pro- 
 fessor, it will most fatally injure the prospects and the realities of 
 your future life ; for if you do not sink down into an absolute world- 
 ling you will be unhappy ; and that unhappiness for ever following 
 you will spread a gloom over your spirits that will unfit you for the 
 serious engagements of active life : hence prosperity will be shut out, 
 and it may perhaps be your misery to see a necessitous family craving 
 in vain a supply of their wants, and all through your not being entirely 
 
28 
 
 COMFORTS A DESPONDING SISTER. 
 
 devoted to God. To such characters religion owes the calumnies 
 which have been liberally poured upon it by the worldly-minded ; 
 and the Author of true religion, who will be the Judge of the whole 
 earth, has said, — c it must needs be that offences come, but woe to 
 them by whom they come !’ 
 
 You, my dear Sam, may not have carried your thoughts so far in 
 the direction which I have now pointed out, but believe me, they are 
 correct. I know you can, whether disposed or not, say , — 6 Physi- 
 cian, heal thyself!’ and you may wonder at the sageness which I have 
 assumed in philosophising thus ; but partly from my own little expe- 
 rience, and partly from carrying forward my views, I would say with 
 all my soul — In order to dwell in life , be entirely devoted to God by 
 believing simply in Jesus , — if they were the very last words you 
 should hear from 
 
 Your truly affectionate Brother 
 
 William. 
 
 About this time his second Sister, principally I apprehend from an 
 attack of disease producing a most painful shock of the nervous sys- 
 tem, sank into a state of the most alarming dejection and despondency, 
 in which she began not only to write the bitterest things against her 
 own soul, but to be totally unfitted for the active duties of life. This 
 was a circumstance which operated in the most distressing manner 
 upon the minds of all the family ; and William, whose soul was always 
 alive to the cry of distress, and particularly when it arose from the 
 heart of so near and so beloved a relative, immediately interposed his 
 affectionate offices for the purpose of administering relief. The kind 
 and judicious manner in which this was attempted will appear from 
 the following Extracts : — 
 
 Chew-Magna , Oct. 1818. 
 
 My dearest P. 
 
 I have had it constantly in my mind the whole of this week 
 to write to my dear sister, especially as she is at present beclouded by 
 some shadow which Satan has formed to resemble a substance of the 
 firmest texture. Perhaps however ere this the deception has been 
 detected, and your mind freed from the oppression under which it 
 has been labouring. But it may be that a deliverance only partial 
 has been effected, and your feelings resemble the tremulous motion of 
 lately agitated waters, when the fury of the tempest has subsided. 
 Should this be the case, it may induce a more steady grasp of return- 
 ing blessings to receive the repeated testimony of one who has drank 
 much deeper than yourself of the cup of sorrow of heart from the ab- 
 sence of once living pleasures. Oh ! my dear sister, we know not, 
 while under its power, the contemptible and impotent strength of the 
 
COMFORTS A DESPONDING SISTER. 
 
 29 
 
 fetter which binds us, when exposed to the touch of an Almighty- 
 Saviour; — a Saviour whose benevolence cannot fail, whose presence is 
 every where the same, and who varies not with the changeable feel- 
 ings of a poor and feeble mortal. Oh! with what ineffable pity and 
 love does He contemplate his followers, when contending with the 
 powers of darkness, and exposed to the repeated shocks of a deeply- 
 designing enemy. Do not be discouraged, you know not with how 
 invincible a power the Omnipotent Redeemer surrounds you ; you 
 will not fail, if you can confide in Him. Dare to believe more fully 
 than ever. Do write me a long letter soon. Pour out all that is 
 within your heart. I am disappointed in receiving no note from you. 
 
 Your affectionate Brother 
 
 William. 
 
 To the Same. 
 
 Chew-Magna> Oct. 31, 1818. 
 
 My DEAREST P. 
 
 I have taken up my pen to write you, but I scarcely know 
 what to say. I feel at a loss as to what topic will be most calcu- 
 lated to interest you, or at all likely to draw you from the gloomy 
 train of reflection into which you have unhappily fallen, and in the 
 mazes of which your steps are bewildered, and your path painfully 
 benighted. 
 
 If I write of past mercy and the blessings which you formerly en- 
 joyed in a sense of the Divine favour, will you not reply that these 
 are now gone, and that the circumstance of their being all past is that 
 which deeply pains you? If I encourage you to look forward with 
 hope, and to rest a large expectation of mercy on the abundant pro- 
 mises of an all-sufficient God, w ill you not turn the consolation aside 
 by replying that it cannot be for you, and that it is destined for some 
 more worthy object, and one much more beloved ? If I direct your 
 attention to the multitudes of the spirits of 4 the just made perfect,’ 
 c who have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of 
 the Lamb;’ and call to your mind the scenes of difficulty, anxiety, 
 and distress, through which most of them waded prior to their being 
 so glorified, will you not say that there is a peculiarity in your case, 
 to which none of theirs ever reached? Or in other words, will not 
 your unbelieving views supply you with some reason against your 
 entertaining hope, a reason which will at the same time justify their 
 entire salvation? If I point you to the anguish of soul to which 
 others have subjected themselves by giving way to despondency, or 
 to the happiness which they missed by the same means, and for which 
 their ultimate deliverance and redemption demonstrates there was no 
 just reason, will you not tell me that they were unreasonable in their 
 fears, but that you have more cause to fear than they, and that you 
 
30 
 
 COMFORTS A DESPONDING SISTER. 
 
 feel most pungently that you cannot, — no, you cannot rise and glorify 
 God as your salvation ? 
 
 What then can I do, my Sister? The point of every argument you 
 find means to blunt ; no matter whether the reply be a solid argument 
 or a mere sophism. The state of your mind renders you weak enough 
 to believe those things which your better judgment could despise; 
 and hence every thing advanced to help you may, under a false re- 
 presentation easily made by the Prince of darkness to an unbelieving 
 mind, become seriously injurious by confirming your despondency : 
 and^ believe me, unbelief often feels a sort of triumph in the midst of 
 the pain which is consequent on its success, when it has turned aside 
 the edge of some keen and healing thought, designed to cut out the 
 gangrene that the wound may be cured. 
 
 Perhaps as you see my letter drawing to a close you feel a rising 
 enquiry; — ‘Well, is there no thought to be afforded by my William 
 which shall bring some alleviation of my painful feelings ?’ — Yes, my 
 dear Sister, I have one which is irresistible in its operations on the mind 
 itself, if you will but allow it to enter and to be cherished; — it is the 
 blessed Immanuel saying to you , — 6 Priscilla ! Priscilla ! Satan hath de- 
 sired to have thee that he may sift thee as wheat, but I have prayed 
 for thee that thy faith fail not.’ — And his dying on the cross to render 
 this prayer efficacious; — Will not this do ? Unbelief itself blushes, — 
 sinks, — expires before it. Do not put forth a finger to help it, or to 
 prevent its death. 
 
 Your truly affectionate Brother 
 
 William. 
 
 To the Same . 
 
 Chew-Magna , Nov . 21, 1818. 
 
 My dearest P. 
 
 The solicitude which I feel about you prompts me to seize 
 a passing moment or two to address to you a few words. I have 
 heard nothing of you since I left home on Monday, and of your 
 present welfare I must consequently be ignorant. I feel half inclined 
 to cherish the fond supposition that your difficulties are by this time 
 cleared away, and all become cheerful and gay once more within and 
 about you. The phrase ‘ half inclined’ is used not because there is 
 any doubt of the possibility of your complete emancipation, as to every 
 thing connected with God, the Saviour, and his faithful promises ; or 
 of the reality of the work of grace which, I am quite confident, is 
 begun in your soul by the all-powerful agency of the Holy Spirit : 
 but because it is by no means so certain whether or not you yourself 
 will banish from your mind the unworthy thoughts which you have 
 entertained of a full and precious Redeemer, by an effort to believe in 
 him so strong and persevering as you can exercise. 
 
COMFORTS A DESPONDING SISTER. 
 
 31 
 
 Much, my dear Sister, depends on this ; if you are not a Mother 
 in Israel, be an Infant; and do, pray, be content to be an infant and 
 a young woman before you can be a Mother. The first notions of 
 an infant are rather instinctive than rational even to its fondest Parent, 
 but with its increasing strength its reason grows, and soon from the 
 habitual exercise of its understanding it goes to its Parent with its 
 every want and all its trials. 
 
 But what, say you, must be done when confidence is destroyed, 
 and the very order of nature subverted, as in my own case ? What ? 
 Why, its speedy restoration ; and let this be commenced by supposing 
 it not improbable that what has destroyed your confidence may have 
 originated in a mistake, and that whereas you supposed your heavenly 
 Father to be angry with you, in reality his soul delighted in you : or, 
 if conscience seal it as too certain that criminality has covered his 
 smiling countenance with clouds of disapproval, think it not impos- 
 sible that by concessions you may boldly approach Ilis feet again, 
 and by a believing application to ‘the blood of sprinkling which 
 speaketh better things than that of Abel,’ which cried from the 
 ground on which it was spilt for vengeance on the offender, to be 
 again 4 not only forgiven the sin, but cleansed from all unrighteous- 
 ness.’ 
 
 Enquiry procures explanation, explanation often restores tranquillity, 
 and tranquillity affords an opportunity for the kindest acts of friend- 
 ship among mortals, and for union, and communion, and all the sweets 
 of fellowship with the Triune God. These, my dear Sister, I am 
 persuaded will be yours for ever and ever. May they be happily 
 shared with you by 
 
 Your affectionate 
 
 William. 
 
 The Reader will he gratified to learn that shortly after these judi- 
 cious and affectionate letters were written, William had the pleasure of 
 knowing that his sister, for whose despondency there had been all 
 along no sufficient reason, was completely restored to her former peace 
 of mind. 
 
 The situation in which my dear Brother now found himself placed, 
 though certainly of a character of the most useful kind, was produc- 
 tive of much spiritual exercise and depression. It necessarily pre- 
 vented him from enjoying that measure of seclusion which he had so 
 long possessed, and which he had found so very needful to his spi- 
 ritual growth. At the same time he was fully convinced that as he 
 had been thus placed by the providence of God, there was no abso- 
 lute necessity for its producing a diminution in his personal piety. 
 Powerfully impressed therefore with this idea, he bitterly lamented 
 that an effect so totally needless should in any degree have been 
 
32 
 
 AFFECTIONATE REMEMBRANCES OF HOME. 
 
 experienced by him. There were however occasions when his mind 
 was occupied by feelings of a delightfully opposite character ; and 
 then it was indeed encouraging to receive his epistolary communica- 
 tions. 
 
 To his eldest Sister . 
 
 Chew-Magna , Dec. 14, 1818. 
 
 My dear Sarah, 
 
 I scarcely know how to account for your long silence, and 
 had I received only occasional notes from you, they would not merely 
 have been pleasant as tokens of affection, but instrumental perhaps of 
 elevating my mind amidst circumstances calculated more to carnalise 
 than refine it. Indeed circumstances very trivial in themselves swell 
 into importance when connected with certain others ; as, for instance, 
 an exile from his country and endearing family connections, must feef 
 most exquisitely, if a man of sensibility, when any occurrence, little in 
 itself and unimportant in its results, should remind him of home ; and 
 he would hang with the tenderest emotions over such a thing as a 
 letter, or even a note, for he would think of the pen which passed so 
 nimbly over the surface of the paper and deft the traces of its path 
 behind ; he would think too of the hand which held and guided that 
 pen; of the person, the head, the heart of the individual who sat as he 
 himself does before that very sheet of paper, and held between the 
 fingers what he regards as a promotion of his happiness to be able to 
 enclose within his own. And what an important addition it would 
 be to the pleasure, if beside, or even instead of, the little circum- 
 stances occurring in the family, neighbourhood, or circle of acquaint- 
 ance, if there were not time or room to inscribe them, there should be 
 a detail of the commencement or progress of a work of grace on the 
 heart ; of some peculiarly sweet manifestations of Divine mercy ; of 
 some lately experienced deliverance from heavy temptation or severe 
 conflict ; or of some deeper discovery of inbred corruption which had 
 led to a fresh and successful application to the blood of sprinkling. 
 
 It is this, my sister, which has always characterised our correspond- 
 ence since we knew any thing of the truth as it is in Jesus; and 
 this has been its great commendation, this has stamped it with a 
 peculiar and a great value ; and far be it from me to diminish its 
 worth by unnecessarily writing on a subject of a less interesting 
 kind. 
 
 It is this subject which appears to assume an aspect of greater and 
 still greater importance, as it is contemplated with deeper attention, 
 and allowed to unfold itself in its different bearings and relations. 
 To me, my sister, it appears the chief of all things, nor do I hesitate 
 to say that the additional light which I believe to be making its way 
 into my mind, while it spurs me on to an increase of diligence in the 
 
MYSTERIES OF DIVINE GRACE. 
 
 S3 
 
 pursuit of its great realities, deeply humbles, yea, abases me under 
 the keen correction which it affords of the follies and the crimes of 
 my religious life. Of what use to others the over-ruling and almighty 
 power of grace may make the long course of severe mental discipline 
 to which it has subjected me, I know not ; but I believe it has already 
 been of considerable advantage to myself; and from the bottom of my 
 heart I do often thank and try to praise Him that He has mercifully 
 adopted such a method with me : it has, I trust, checked the pro- 
 gress of a spiritual disorder which contained the principles of utter 
 destruction ; and the pains, and confusions, and mortifications, which 
 have often preyed upon my spirits and sunk me to the verge of des- 
 pondency, had something medicinal in them which the Great Phy- 
 sician discovered to be essential in my case. 
 
 I have lately found one of the Olney hymns particularly applicable 
 to my case, — it is as follows : — 
 
 ‘ I ask’d the Lord that I might grow 
 In faith, and love, and every grace, — 
 
 Might more of his salvation know. 
 
 And seek more earnestly his face. 
 
 'Twas He who taught me thus to pray, 
 
 And He, I trust, has answer’d prayer ; 
 
 But it has been in such a way. 
 
 As almost drove me to despair. 
 
 I hop’d that in some favour’d hour. 
 
 At once he’d answer my request ; 
 And by His love’s constraining pow’x-, 
 Subdue my sins and give me rest. 
 
 Instead of this He made me feel 
 The hidden evils of my heart ; 
 
 And let the angry powers of hell 
 Assault my soul in every part. 
 
 Yea more, with His own hand he seem’d 
 Intent to aggravate my woe ; 
 
 Cross’d all the fair designs I schem’d. 
 
 Blasted my gourds, and laid me low. 
 
 “ Lord ! why is this ?” I trembling cried, 
 
 “ Wilt thou pursue thy worm to death ?” 
 
 “ ’Tis in this way,” the Lord replied, 
 
 “ I answer prayer for grace and faith. 
 
 “ These inward trials I employ, 
 
 From self and pride to set thee free ; 
 
 And break thy schemes of earthly joy, 
 
 That thou may’st seek thy all in me.” ’ 
 
 D 
 
34 
 
 MOTIVES TO TIIE PERFORMANCE OF DUTY. 
 
 I hope, my Sarah, that I shall now begin to rise in Christian ex- 
 perience. I am labouring to find out again the way of living by sim- 
 ple faith. The Lord has shewn me, in some measure, the evil of cer- 
 tain lurking corruptions which harboured in my breast, and hindered 
 my progress in the divine life. I have dedicated myself afresh to His 
 service ; and I long to obtain and keep possession of that most im- 
 portant blessing, —a single eye to the Divine glory. I wish much to 
 feel an ardent solicitude for the salvation of souls. Oh, that the Re- 
 deemer’s cause lay nearer my heart! Oh, for that disposition of 
 mind, — that simplicity of soul, which is content to be any thing or no- 
 thing, so that He is exalted ! I have begun to preach with less pain; 
 and, during the two last Sabbaths, I have enjoyed a greater measure 
 of liberty, or rather, have been less straitened than usual. But I 
 assure you, that for more than these twelve months, preaching has 
 been the burden of my life ; that which ought to have been my 
 greatest pleasure has been my greatest disagreeable. I thank God 
 most heartily that I was appointed to no station last Conference. May 
 I, by divine grace, be more fitted for the work by the ensuing! 
 
 But how fares my sister? I hope to have an answer to this query 
 personally sometime next week. My love to all the family. 
 
 Your Brother 
 
 William. 
 
 To the Same. 
 
 Chew-Magnay Jan. 13, 1819. 
 
 My dearest Sarah, 
 
 I know not on what account, but ever since I last left home 
 a gloom has hung over my spirits, which, in a great measure, banishes 
 the smile of cheerfulness from my countenance : it is involuntary, 
 but at the same time settled; and seems to give an air of melancholy to 
 every thing around me : it almost appears as though my constitution 
 had not yet attained sufficient firmness to resist the enervating ad- 
 vances of the baneful disorder termed 6 mammy -sickness .’ With 
 
 this idea there is not connected in my mind any thing that would 
 6 frown unmannerly ’ on the endearments of a Mother’s fondest ca- 
 resses ; but on all those attractions which play with too much success 
 upon the heart of a man , when by them he is in any measure re- 
 strained from leaping, with the boldness becoming his noble nature, 
 into the seat of duty, and rejoicing in the pursuit of that object until 
 its utmost point shall be attained and fully secured : meanwhile so 
 animated should his pursuit be that almost forgetfulness of the influ- 
 ence of such attractions shall be induced, while it shall be too great a 
 condescension for him to turn his head behind to see if 
 
 ‘ The wond’ring crowd with eager eyes 
 ' And shouts, pursue him as he flies;’ 
 
MOTIVES TO TIIE PERFORMANCE OF DUTY. 35 
 
 or even to catch one smile of gratulation from the place whence his 
 very strongest attractions may be allowed to come ; viz. from that spot 
 to which a mingling of very many pleasant ideas has left the compre- 
 hensive name of home. But here, observe that I do not mean to de- 
 preciate the value of those endearments, which may lawfully be felt 
 and cherished ; I do not mean to convey to you any idea that a Mother’s 
 fondness or a sister’s smiles are unworthy the notice of a man ; you 
 know that I am not stoic enough to be insensible to them : but I 
 would have the smiles of a sister, and the caresses of a Mother, and 
 even the modest, but insinuating attentions of the friend of all most 
 tenderly loved to be only auxiliary to the supreme satisfaction arising 
 from a consciousness of having accomplished duty. 
 
 And if this satisfaction were the supreme , and the fulfilment of 
 duty the greatest object of life, then there would not be so much he- 
 sitation as there often professedly is, on the score of not knowing 
 the line of duty ; then there would not be so much lingering in the 
 execution when duty is perceived, nor so many sighs after reward 
 before the purpose is effected ; and then indeed, there would not be 
 so much conferring with flesh and blood when difficulty seems con- 
 nected with duty. It is, however, a misfortune that the human mind 
 is so accustomed to rebel, that it almost incessantly associates duty 
 and difficulty as things naturally united ; and hence, conceives a dis- 
 like to the whole as forming one great evil which it is its interest to 
 avoid. Nor are these ideas often separated without a considerable 
 portion of the teaching of the Good Spirit, whose office it is to cor- 
 rect, as well as its vicious inclinations, the false views which are na- 
 turally entertained by a fallen human creature. 
 
 It must certainly be a very great mercy to participate in such teach- 
 ings ; for thus one of the prime sources of misery will be in a great 
 degree stopped ; and if it can be possible to make duty appear, and 
 feel to be the main-spring of enjoyment, one of the great objects of 
 the Gospel c that bringeth salvation ’ will thus be accomplished, God 
 will be glorified, and man made holy and happy. * * * 
 
 * * * * But now you will be ready to stop me that you may 
 
 be permitted to put in a word ; and you will of course ask me, what 
 is the purpose of this rhapsody ? I reply, — I do not know ; but I 
 took up my pen to write to my sister, and not having any thing to 
 write about, took the opportunity of penning, as they arose, the 
 thoughts which passed in my mind ; being part and a specimen of the 
 gloomy meditations which almost perpetually occupy the mind of your 
 brother in the moments which are not severely occupied in the close 
 application of mental improvement. There is no little danger, I am 
 well aware, by indulging habitual pensiveness of thought, of losing a 
 calm and Christian reliance on a careful Providence, and dege- 
 nerating into the sadness and truly sad condition of constant mistrust 
 
 d 2 
 
35 INSUBORDINATION TOWARDS HIM IN THE SCHOOL. 
 
 and discontent. And yet there seems in me a propensity to sink into 
 the shades of discouragement and despondency, unless some perpe- 
 tual stimulus be applied to awaken and actively employ the spirits 
 and the energies which, though cool and enervate in themselves, may 
 yet be too mighty for the poor brains which they have to direct, and, 
 if possible, to render useful. 
 
 Afford you that stimulus by writing very often ; tell me how to gain 
 ground upon my fears ( 44 Proh pudor !” you would cry, if a Latin 
 scholar,) of living a useless life; enter deeply into the recesses of 
 my heart ; sound and try to probe to their bottom ; and what you 
 discover — tenez votrememe — return me only your reflections ; — enten- 
 dez vous ? There is no reason why one’s folly should be known by 
 every one, or that one’s notes should be given to every one. 
 
 I am, Your Brother 
 
 William. 
 
 Soon after this, in consequence of a severe attack of sickness, Mr. 
 Clarke was obliged to retire for some time from the superintendence of 
 his school ; and of course William was obliged to sustain the whole of 
 the burden upon his own shoulders. Some of the elder lads, taking 
 advantage of this circumstance, and of the extreme youth of my Bro- 
 ther, gave him an opportunity, in consequence of their rebellion and 
 stubbornness, to prove that they had mistaken his character by sup- 
 posing that they might transgress with impunity. Order was soon 
 re-established, and that in such a way as fully convinced the whole 
 of his charge that it was in vain to hope any longer for the license 
 which they had so fully expected. William’s mind was of such a 
 character that, though it was often oppressed with gloom from a con- 
 sciousness of personal deficiency, yet it would never sink into timid- 
 ity when called upon to act with firmness and decision. Hence in 
 writing to his Father on the present occasion, he observes, 4 My 
 care is of course greatly augmented, and a much heavier weight of 
 responsibility than I ever before felt now rests upon me ; but there is 
 nothing to overwhelm. I am persuaded I am where I ought to be at 
 present; and I have reason to believe that I shall be assisted with 
 sufficient strength. But I need an increased interest in the prayers of 
 my pious friends, that I may be enabled in the station I occupy to do 
 right in every respect, and to glorify God.’ 
 
 The result was that Mr. C., upon the restoration of his health, 
 expressed his unqualified approbation of my Brother’s conduct. 
 
 The following Letter is another pleasing proof how well he was 
 qualified to administer consolation to those who ‘ suffer according to 
 the will of God.’ It was written to his eldest sister, then on a visit 
 in the neighbourhood of Bristol, for the benefit of her health. 
 
CONSOLATION FOR AN AFFLICTED SISTER. 
 
 37 
 
 Chew-Magnet^ March 9, 1819. 
 
 My very dear Sister, 
 
 Do not, on any account, imagine it unkindness in me to 
 have written to you so seldom, since your long, and still protracted, 
 illness. I sympathise very deeply with you ; and often, in the best way 
 that I can, I carry your cause before our heavenly Father. It is He, 
 and He only, who can do you effectual good. He can do good which 
 shall embrace at once the body and the mind, and wonderfully pro- 
 mote the well-being of both. Oh, how pleasant is it to repose with 
 unshaken confidence in His skill and tenderness, amidst the painful 
 apprehensions of timid relatives, and the ineffectual efforts of earthly 
 physicians ! In whatever circumstances they may be, 4 like as a fa- 
 ther pitieth his children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear Him.’ 
 4 His right hand, and His arm, and the light of his countenance saves 
 them, because He has a favour unto them.’ Oh, this light of God’s 
 countenance , the result of His pure benignity, how precious to enjoy 
 it! You, my sister, know something of its sweetness; and, how- 
 ever the idea may be by others ridiculed as enthusiastic and illusory, 
 you enjoy a meridian evidence of it that eclipses the splendour of a 
 thousand suns. Would it were in my power now to take you up in 
 your present stage of the Christian course, and lead you forward to 
 possessions and prospects surpassing your present conception ! Oh, 
 that I had the ability to unfold the mysteries of the kingdom of God 
 within you ; and, on your account, to dive into the deep things of 
 God which are beyond you, so as to abundantly enlarge your know- 
 ledge of God your Saviour, and the fulness of II is redemption, and 
 to greatly increase your treasures of holiness and Christian grace ! It 
 would be among my greatest delights, were I equal to the task, to 
 portray a Christian of a full grown stature, with each feature in its 
 due proportion, every grace shining with a celestial clearness, illus- 
 trating the power, and wisdom, and love of God. It should be such 
 a being as Milton describes one of our first parents — 
 
 * Grace was in all her steps, Heaven in her eye, 
 
 In every gesture dignity and love *’ 
 
 And then, when I had correctly drawn every lineament, and pre- 
 sented you with a transcript of 4 the mind that was in Christ,’ it 
 should be my glory and my joy to lead you forward into the posses- 
 sion of all the blessedness derivable from resembling it completely. 
 But I am unable to do this ; so far indeed, from being able myself to 
 exhibit such a picture, I cannot half conceive the true character of a 
 Christian. The grace of all his steps, the singleness heaven-ward 
 of his eye, the dignity and love which beam from his every gesture, 
 
38 
 
 CONSOLATION FOR AN AFFLICTED SISTER. 
 
 and which cause him to shine as c a light in the world,’ are still to 
 me comparative mysteries, of which I know but just enough to con- 
 vince me that they are fully revealed to those only to whom Jehovah 
 Jesus c manifests Himself as He does not unto a world ’ of indolent 
 professors. Oh ! my dearest Sarah, I have sometimes ventured to 
 pray, and I think without any mixture of vanity, that I might be in- 
 ferior to none in holy devotedness to God, in zeal for His service, 
 and in usefulness in His church. I have sometimes ventured to ask 
 for even those high manifestations of divine love, in the full beams of 
 which the Fletcher’s, the Stevens’s, and the Christians of the same 
 order, have been accustomed to delight themselves; and at times I 
 have dared to hope that my heavenly Father’s munificent hand has 
 been opened to relieve the intense longings of my soul : and yet 
 where am I at this hour? what am I at this moment? The merest 
 dwarf of a Christian, if one at all, at a distance distressingly wide 
 from the full enjoyment of God. 
 
 But the purpose of my writing now is not to discourage you by 
 complaints, but to point you to Jesus, the source of strength, out of 
 whose fulness you, receiving grace upon grace, may become a more 
 eminent Christian in one hour than your poor brother has done in 
 seven years ; for the seventh year of his professed dedication to the 
 service of the Saviour has within these few past days expired. 
 
 I rejoice that the insufficiency of all human aid is abundantly made 
 up to you by the kind interference of an Almighty Friend. It is the 
 Holy Spirit. Do you accustom yourself to think of this Divine Being 
 as an object of co-equal adoration, love, and praise ; and His sacred 
 influences as a distinct and personal fi promise of the Father,’ pur- 
 chase of the Son, and gift of the sovereign unmerited mercy of the 
 Deity ? He, my Sarah, is now ordering all things for your benefit, 
 and removing some obstacle out of the way that He may more fully 
 let you into Himself, and fit you for the amazing favour which He in- 
 tends you, in filling your soul with Himself! 
 
 Please to present my sincerest respects to the amiable lady under 
 whose roof you are. 1 sometimes feel almost sunk to the earth with a 
 sense of her kindness, and that of her respected husband, to our fa- 
 mily. Thank God for such friends ! Thanks to such friends for 
 their incessant and seemingly exhaustless kindness! Oh! — Oh! — 
 Oh! for the salvation of that family! Never, never, my Sarah, let 
 us forget to pray that redeeming mercy, in answer to the Mother’s 
 prayers, may possess the hearts of its unconverted members, and thus 
 combine whatsoever things are holy and pure with whatsoever things 
 are lovely and of good report. 
 
 But I must now take my leave of you. When you are in pain, 
 or sinking under particular weakness, think that your brother William, 
 among the rest, prays for you ; but above all, that the 6 Friend who 
 
COMMENCEMENT OF HIS TEDIOUS ILLNESS. 
 
 39 
 
 sticketh closer than a brother,’ intercedes in your behalf: and when 
 you are blest with great nearness of access to your Constant Redeemer 
 forget not that the most zealous interest of your prayers is needed 
 for 
 
 Your Brother 
 
 William. 
 
 Not many months after writing this letter my dear Brother was 
 himself called to exemplify its spirit, in consequence of being plunged 
 into that deep abyss of personal affliction from which he never fully 
 recovered, and the effects of which indeed ultimately paved his way 
 to the silent tomb by rendering him so liable to the awful pestilence 
 which was the immediate cause of carrying off himself and multitudes 
 of those around him. The first consequence of this severe affliction, 
 which was of a pulmonary nature, was his being prevented after the 
 Midsummer vacation from returning to the Academy, in which he had 
 been so active and so useful. His Parents, thinking that a change of 
 air might be serviceable to him, gladly accepted for him the invita- 
 tion of a kind friend to spend some little time at his house in the 
 romantic village of Chedder, in Somersetshire, from which place he 
 wrote the following Letter : — 
 
 To his Parents . 
 
 Chedder , Aug. 7, 1819. 
 
 My dear Parents, 
 
 No purposes of pleasure, nor pursuits of business should 
 have sufficient influence upon the mind of a child to induce him to 
 forget those to whom he owes his life, and in that life all the felicity, 
 however varied or great, of which his nature is capable. And yet 
 though this may be deeply impressed upon my mind, I have too much 
 regard for truth to say that the multitudinous changes of scene and 
 company, and situation, and employment to which absence from home 
 subjects me, either pass before me without interest, or are unable to 
 call my attention and thoughts for a moment from home. Human na- 
 ture is, I believe, seldom found under circumstances so settled, or so 
 enured to inveterate habits as to resist entirely the influence of no- 
 velty : of this however 1 am certain, that in the cheerfulness of mo- 
 ments dedicated to sociality, when the air, and the silence, and the 
 ruminating fixedness of thought which solitude inspires are to be 
 chased away in deference to general conviviality and individual com- 
 fort, if I forget home and its many endearments, it is only till I can 
 be freed from the constraints of company. In such circumstances I 
 wait to go down into solitary reflection, when you all pass individu- 
 ally before me ; and my spirit, which seems to have left its own tene- 
 ment, finds itself in your company and holding individual converse 
 
40 
 
 CONSTITUTIONAL DEJECTION. 
 
 with you. Perhaps I am more indebted for this to the power of an 
 imagination diseased by an enervated frame, than to any extraordi- 
 nary vigour of afFection for you ; for the moments of solitude as they 
 are generally employed, and th#t too in an involuntary manner, are 
 not so useful to me in any respect as they might be expected to prove. 
 I cannot indeed but be sensible that most of my reflections have some- 
 thing in them morbid and pernicious ; the associations found in my 
 mind of things which I have seen, or of things which I wish to see, 
 have commonly something of an ominous and sable hue spread over 
 them ; and frequently, in me, the brilliance of youthful hope is to- 
 tally eclipsed by the transit of some fit of despondence, so that while I 
 draw from reflection some sweets and enjoyments which neither 
 scenery the most sublime, nor company the most cheerful can com- 
 municate, there is yet a melancholy emanation from solitude upon all 
 my other enjoyments, and upon my general feelings, which makes me 
 glad to find in new variations something to interest and to call me 
 out of myself. It will grieve you, no doubt, to learn this, but ob- 
 serve, I have mentioned only part of my habitual reflections ; there 
 are other moments in which the religion, that you have taught me to 
 admire and regard, sheds a mild and sweet placidity over my mental 
 prospects ; and in which the Saviour, whom you have led me to con- 
 template and love, kindles within me with godlike kindness the 
 warmth of anticipation and the light of hope, which have for their 
 object a blissful immortality. 
 
 In the society which I have here I meet with the most unremit- 
 ting and attentive kindness. There are some opportunities of useful- 
 ness among them, but far more need of embracing those opportuni- 
 ties. I lament that I am so unable and so unwilling to stand among 
 them as 6 an example to the believers,’ and an ambassador to rebels. 
 The general tenor of my feelings and conduct convinces me that there 
 is yet much in religion that I have not skill enough to discover, but 
 which my heart must experience. 
 
 I do not consider myself quite so well as I was ; I think I have 
 made a little too free with my voice in talking and singing. I must 
 be more careful. 
 
 Your affectionate Son 
 
 William. 
 
 The Conference of 1819 had now passed away without appointing 
 my Brother to any station, a circumstance which was entirely owing 
 to the pecuniary difficulties in which the Connexion was at that time 
 involved, and which had brought the Preachers very properly to a 
 determination to employ no more additional labourers than were ab- 
 solutely necessary to supply the vacancies that had occurred during 
 the past year. It was, however, a providential circumstance that no 
 
VISIT INTO GLOUCESTERSHIRE. 
 
 41 
 
 opening was presented for William to embrace ; for in the very deli- 
 cate state of his health at that time it is more than probable that the 
 labours of an itinerant Preacher among the Methodists would have 
 speedily hurried him to his long home. Sorely contrary to his own 
 inclinations, he was therefore, once more thrown upon the hands of 
 his affectionate father, and that without a probability of an early 
 change in his circumstances. This was to him a severe trial, but he 
 endeavoured to acquiesce in the arrangements of Him who was evi- 
 dently still determined to 4 bring him by a way that he knew not.’ 
 Shortly after this, with a hope of finally establishing his health, he 
 embraced the kind invitations of some friends in Gloucestershire, to 
 spend a little time with them. He first visited an affectionate family 
 at Eastington, and afterwards took a trip to the city of Gloucester. 
 
 As my object in the present narrative is not merely to present the 
 Reader with a history of my Brother’s life, but also with as correct a 
 portrait of his mind as possible, I shall now proceed to lay before him 
 extracts from a Journal of these visits sent to his eldest sister, occa- 
 sionally interrupting it by his Letters to the various branches of the 
 family. 
 
 Gloucester , 1819. 
 
 My dearest Sarah, 
 
 Whatever influence the novelty of fresh company and fresh 
 scenes may have upon the minds of others, it is not sufficiently pow- 
 erful or durable to alienate for any great length of time the thoughts 
 of your brother from home. You may, perhaps, feel it difficult to 
 credit this on his bare assertion, since the more striking and tangible 
 evidences of its truth, which would have been afforded by a transmis- 
 sion of some of those thoughts on paper, have been wanting. This 
 however is to be said, that minds accustomed to much reflection are 
 frequently too deeply absorbed in it to admit of their proper recollec- 
 tion of the claims of more active duties ; and the seclusion of thought- 
 fulness when excessively encouraged often produces habitual inertness 
 in the more social and commercial relations : these habits, which, I 
 suppose, would be termed thoughtlessness and indolence in the de- 
 cisions of common prudence, are, I admit, culpable. And as remiss- 
 ness is certainly chargeable in some degree on myself, I have pleaded 
 guilty ; and already have engaged to pay a fine which justice decides 
 that I ought to discharge : but remember you are to have what I send 
 you in the disjointed form of journal rather than in that of a con- 
 nected epistle. 
 
 Tuesday , Sept. 14 th — To-day I left Eastington, for Gloucester, 
 and reached the Clay-pits in a profuse perspiration. I cooled gradu- 
 ally and mounted the stage at about half-past 1 o’clock. I felt a 
 strange uneasiness at leaving E ; the circumstances of the day were 
 
42 
 
 ON THE OBLIGATIONS OF THE MINISTRY. 
 
 something like the changes of a family revolution which separate from 
 each other those who have been long and closely united. This was, 
 in some sense, literally the case ; for two hours before I had seen my 
 dear Mother on the Bristol coach, and postingin a direction opposite 
 to my own. I should have greatly preferred to go with her, had not 
 health, and therefore duty, required my staying from home a few 
 days longer. At E. it is true, I had left only friends : but what in 
 the world does that mean ? Only friends indeed ! Is friendship an 
 unmeaning term ? Or does it mean nothing more than the use of per- 
 sons not related by blood, when there is occasion for their services ? 
 No : thanks be to God ! it means a relation of spirits, formed by mu- 
 tual attraction, which generates even an anxious desire for reciprocal 
 welfare. It is then a straining indeed of the cords which bind friends 
 together, to separate them from each other. I am confident that while 
 a lasting sensibility of the kindness of our E. friends to my person 
 rests upon my heart, the impressions made by their sympathy, their 
 solicitude, their unceasing attention, and their Christian affection, 
 will be everlasting. How many times have I wondered how it is 
 possible that I should excite such an interest, when I have no quali- 
 fications bodily, intellectual, or spiritual, that can merit it : the reason 
 however is, that God, who gives not according to the merit of His 
 creatures, but according to His own mercy, hath given me favour in 
 the eyes of those around me. Thus sweetly must all my mercies be 
 traced to that God whom, I trust, I err not in calling my own . 
 
 If in truth I err not in thus calling God my own, there is abundant 
 reason for reflections more humiliating than those which filled my 
 mind during part of the time which was spent upon the coach. De- 
 voted to the Ministry, as I am by inward conviction, by the call of 
 the Church, by the sacrifice of my Parents, and by the suffrage of 
 Friends, I ought already to be living holily, in deep communion with 
 God, and in the most useful manner. As to the first, where are the 
 evidences in the volatility, earthly-mindedness, doubts, mistrustings 
 of God, impatience, murmurings, which I have successively felt ? 
 Ah, my God, forgive me! As to the second, my closet will bear 
 witness how little it has been visited; and still more fully how seldom 
 it has seen my soul rising in ardent longings after Him whom I love, 
 but love so little; and yet more fully still how seldom it has held me 
 wrapt in God, and Jehovah Jesus himself covering me with the 
 mantle of his Spirit and filling me with his love. And as to use- 
 fulness, so inseparable from the character of a true Minister, I know 
 scarcely any instances in which I have lived to any good purpose in 
 the world. However there are some encouraging circumstances in my 
 case; and perhaps were I more intent and frequent in surveying this 
 aspect of it, the number and the magnitude of these instances would 
 be rapidly augmented. My visit to E has been made upon the whole 
 
SELF- EXAMINATION. 
 
 43 
 
 a blessing to me ; a greater stimulus has been given to my steps in the 
 path to Heaven, and a greater spirituality to my mind. Others too, 
 if I mistake not, have been blest ; of one or two persons I have heard 
 whose minds appear now decided. Are not these reasons for gra- 
 titude? — reasons too for the large excitement of it? Why then, if I 
 feel it at all, are its motions so sluggish, and its results so feeble ? 
 Thus it must be that my enjoyments are very short-lived, and my 
 peace and joy, as well as my faith and hope, are so very partial. 
 
 No regret was felt by myself at our arrival at Gloucester, for my 
 spirits were not in the best order; and on sitting down in the parlour 
 of my esteemed friend, Mr. Wheeler, I felt myself very poorly indeed. 
 This was not in any measure diminished by finding him very ill in 
 bed, and Mrs. W. under very serious alarm for his safety. I grew 
 more languid in body, and low in spirits toward night, and at eleven 
 o’clock retired to bed quite unwell. 
 
 Wednesday , 1 5th . — Arose this morning very languid and poorly, 
 after a night spent not in the most comfortable sleep ; and though my 
 reception here has been most cordial, I have not yet recovered the 
 full flow of spirits which I generally possess. I thought considerably 
 on home, and the anxieties which I know are felt for my restoration 
 to health. I begin to suspect that my submission to the Divine will 
 is not so cordial and entire as I imagined it. There is something very 
 much like a criminal fear of death in my general feelings; and my 
 intercourse with Heaven, and my communion with Jesus, are very low 
 indeed; the witness of the Spirit also to my justification is not abiding 
 and unequivocal. Although I have evidences drawn from other 
 sources that might render it satisfactory to others, that I have 6 passed 
 from death into life,’ and from moral darkness to light ; yet there is a 
 possibility that every evidence is delusive, and that the conclusions of 
 others are unfounded, while the confirmation of the direct witness of 
 the Holy Spirit is wanted. Recollections of my former simple and 
 happy experience frequently come into my mind; and the thought 
 often makes a deep impression, that universal satisfaction will never 
 again pervade my feelings, until full salvation is again bestowed upon 
 me, and my heart is once again made pure, the temple of the in- 
 dwelling Spirit of God : then shall ( my peace flow as a river ’ indeed, 
 it shall be like a river, whose source lies beneath the rock of ages 
 inexhaustible; and though in its passage, so winding and so length- 
 ened through a wilderness world, its tributary streams of sublunary 
 good may be occasionally intercepted and even entirely averted, its 
 connexion with the hidden, silent, and exuberant spring shall never 
 be cut off ; — 
 
 c At ille 
 
 ‘ Labitur et labetur , in omne volubilis cevum !’ 
 
 ‘ But it flows on, and shall flow cxhaustless in every age!’ 
 
41 
 
 ANXIETIES RESPECTING IIIS SITUATION. 
 
 The goodness of Divine Providence in opening my way hither is 
 very strongly marked, for in the present state of my mind such com- 
 panions as those with which I am now favoured are admirably suitable 
 to me. The attention of both Mr. and Mrs. W. is strongly turned 
 toward the subject of entire holiness, and they are both thirsting for 
 its experience. Besides these, my friend Mr. P. Turner is here; he 
 is a very intimate acquaintance of Mr. W., and he likewise is pursuing 
 the same object. So that here we are, four of us together, encourag- 
 ing each other in the Lord, making and communicating whatever dis- 
 coveries we are able for our mutual benefit. Whether either of us 
 will be enabled to enter into this liberty or not, cannot now be de- 
 termined ; as yet however, I speak of myself particularly, the way is 
 not sufficiently evident, our minds are not sufficiently simplified, and 
 our faith is not sufficiently implicit. An unspeakable importance is 
 attached to willingness to be made thus clean, and l dare not implicate 
 the character of Jesus in such a way as to assert that I am perfectly 
 : willing , because I should thus charge him with a breach of faithful- 
 ness to his word. 
 
 In the evening I heard an admirable, because a faithful and scrip- 
 tural, discourse from the Rev. Mr. Kemthorne, the Bishop’s Chaplain. 
 I came home when it was pouring with rain, and though I had a great 
 coat and umbrella, and for fear of danger changed my shoes, yet 
 I sensibly took a slight additional cold ; this I intend to take as a 
 warning, and purpose to go out no more after dark till I am in better 
 health. 
 
 Thursday , 1 6 th . — Spent a night in which considerable coughing 
 weakened me much. Awoke and rose very poorly. My mind is 
 much exercised about my situation in life, so burdensome to my poor 
 Parents. I cannot perfectly enjoy the pleasures with which I am 
 surrounded, while my friends, those dearest to me of all, are suffering 
 from the anxieties of worldly care. An inward intimation is given 
 me, perhaps by some friendly ministering spirit, or perhaps by the 
 divine, infinitely exalted, infinitely condescending Spirit, that I am 
 under false pretences cherishing a discontented disposition, which if 
 matured will render any circumstances unpleasant, and every situation 
 suspected by myself. The state of my feelings in reference to my 
 present situation affords me various striking and abasing evidences of 
 the weakness of my faith, and of the very partial degree of influence 
 which even the fundamental doctrines of the religion that I profess 
 and teach, have upon my real life, which consists in those different 
 operations of the mind inevitably affecting my piety and peace. 
 
 Some truly spiritual and simple conversation to-day, has in some 
 degree elevated me. While conversing on the discouragements of the 
 Ministry, Mr. W. favoured me with an account remarkably encourag- 
 ing to bimself in his efforts to do good. The subject of the relation 
 
REMARKABLE CONVERSION OF A SCEPTIC. 
 
 45 
 
 was the conversion of Mr. H. and the rapid subsequent spread of the 
 interests of religion in his family and neighbourhood. The Father, the 
 only remaining Parent of Mr. H., was possessed of a considerable 
 farm in Herefordshire; the family, which was large, were educated, 
 and they lived, in a respectable style. Mr. H. received the elements 
 of an education designed to prepare him for the Ministry in the Es- 
 tablished Church, but his own views leading him another way, that 
 design was dropped : it seems indeed well that it was so, for his 
 heart was not only unimpressed by the truths of revealed religion, but 
 he became sceptical in his notions, vitiated in his morals, and profane 
 in his conversation. He habituated himself to swearing in a very 
 awful degree. There were at the time when Mr. W. became ac- 
 quainted with the family, only two persons in the neighbourhood who 
 had a true regard for religion ; these were Mr. H.’s second sister, and 
 an intimate female friend, and these, alone and unsupported, were 
 scarcely able to maintain their ground ; Miss H. especially was often 
 silenced in argument by the more subtle and laboured reasonings of 
 her infidel brother. One Christmas, when Mr. W. first visited the 
 farm, as he rode up to the door, Mr. H. who was on a hay-stack 
 cutting some fodder for the cattle, perceived him, and immediately 
 said to himself, 4 That is certainly W. and now he will disappoint all 
 my purposes;’ alluding to certain plans which he had been laying 
 with some of his companions for complicated wickedness during the 
 festival. Mr. W. was introduced to him, and they fell into conver- 
 sation, and this was purposely directed into a religious course. The 
 Lord gave power and words, and the young Infidel was completely 
 silenced by the young Christian, and held in total incapacity to retire, 
 while, perfectly astonished as he was, the truth as it is in Jesus for two 
 hours was faithfully preached to him. He at last went into the kitch- 
 en, where his pious sister was, and to her he mentioned what had 
 happened, declaring that he never before had met with a fellow whom 
 he could not answer, but that he had not been able to give any sort 
 of reply to Mr. W.; at the same time expressing himself as so perfectly 
 amazed that he could not possibly tell how to account for it. As yet 
 however no evidence of deep conviction appeared, but on the following 
 evening, while several of them were standing round the fire, Miss H. 
 read a verse or two of one of our hymns, when he, having taken the 
 book from her hand, read another verse distinctly, then burst into 
 tears, and began to pray earnestly for pardoning mercy. We may 
 think what emotions such a scene excited : but the impression was 
 not momentary; Mr. II. is possessed naturally of much firmness and 
 decision of mind, and he had now thrown by the garb of impiety to 
 assume it no more: he immediately made it a law that no swearing 
 should be permitted on the farm, and when a day or two afterwards 
 he heard one of his men violate this law, at the impulse of yet unin- 
 
46 
 
 LONGINGS AFTER PURITY OF HEART. 
 
 structed zeal he knocked him backward on the ground with his fist, 
 and then coolly reminded him that swearing was prohibited there. 
 In the event he became a member of our Society, a Local Preacher, 
 a Steward, and (I think) a Leader of a Class. His Father likewise 
 was brought under concern for salvation, and about six of the family 
 have become decided for God ; they have opened their large parlour 
 for preaching, and the farm-house is now the Chapel of a Methodist 
 Society, consisting of this family and about twenty more of the in- 
 habitants of the neighbourhood. O c what hath God wrought !’ My 
 soul rejoices at such intelligence as this, and could my dear Sarah 
 now know what I am writing she would be a helper of my joy, and a 
 stimulus to the praises which our souls would offer for the illustrious 
 displays of mercy given in these wonders of grace. 
 
 Friday , 1 6 th . — Awoke with a very sore throat, which continued 
 to increase during the whole day ; I have, however, abundant cause 
 for gratitude to God, especially as a desire was given me to live more 
 in the constant dedication of myself to the Lord Jesus, — a dedication 
 which should comprise both body and soul, — temporal as well as eter- 
 nal circumstances ; at the same time a measure of power was given 
 to plead for this. I often feel considerable doubt as to whether I 
 stand more immediately in need of enlightened experience of the 
 blessing of justification or that of sanctification ; and, on this account 
 I am at some loss to determine which should be made most especially 
 the object of my research; although to pray generally for both seems 
 to me perfectly consonant with the Divine Will and my necessities. 
 My friend Turner made it a particular subject of prayer this morn- 
 ing, that if the Lord should see it necessary for any thing to be par- 
 ticularly brought to our view r , prior to our enjoyment of the great 
 blessing of purity, He would be pleased to reveal it clearly to us. 
 My present frame of mind is that of waiting to hear what God the 
 Lord shall say concerning me : whatsoever it may be, I feel resigned 
 to it, and impatient to go forward to enjoy all His. fulness ; and, if 
 it shall please Him to come clearly to His temple, to take up his 
 abode there, and to give me the indubitable evidence of his constant 
 presence, I feel resolved that I will spread the glory of His grace, 
 and that I will be, without hesitation, a witness of His power to save 
 to the very uttermost. 
 
 Sunday , 18 th. — Yesterday, with very poor health, I enjoyed some 
 of the sweets of Christian fellowship. I was much delighted with 
 some free conversation with a pious young farmer, who, dissatisfied 
 with the very partial experience of a justified state, is reaching forth 
 to the things which are before, anxious to obtain the prize of full 
 conformity to the Divine will. It was my business to make the mat- 
 ter as plain as I could ; and I felt some considerable liberty in plac- 
 ing the subject in the narrowest compass before him. I exhorted 
 
BENEFITS OF CHRISTIAN COMMUNION. 47 
 
 him to place no dependence on the opinions or conduct of others, 
 and to attach no importance to names and definitions of the blessing 
 which he sought, but to satisfy his mind from the Bible, whether or 
 not he was authorised to expect what he wished ; then how to obtain 
 it ; then to enter into possession of it ; and all the way to be under 
 the influence of the most humbling and simplifying feelings. But 
 how condemned did I feel myself while thus exhorting him, and con- 
 scious at the same time that I do not possess the blessing in my own 
 heart ! 
 
 Rose this morning and continued through the whole day extremely 
 unwell; this is the fruit of passing through the rain on the evening 
 that I heard Mr. Kemthorne. I have carefully adhered to the max- 
 ims of prudence taught me by my Mother, and I am clearly satisfied 
 that my present weakness and disorder of body are under the direc- 
 tion and control of my dear Mother’s God. Here then I rest, at the 
 same time imploring a very speedy restoration to perfect health, if 
 consistent with His will: never did I so highly value soundness of 
 body as at the present moment. The most profitable part of the day 
 was in the evening, when I staid at home with my afflicted friend Mr. 
 W., who came down stairs to-day for the first time since his illness. 
 In a free and friendly conversation, the beauties of true religion were 
 illustrated in our view, the simplicity of the plan of salvation more 
 clearly appeared, and the hinderances in the way of the simple exer- 
 cise of faith were discovered to us ; we made an effort to enter more 
 fully into the will of God and into the spiritual enjoyment of Him, 
 and were greatly assisted ; and yet I rose from my knees dissatisfied, 
 and as it were but half blest. During this exercise however I lost my 
 head»ache, and became sensibly better; — we had both made it a spe- 
 cial matter of prayer to be restored to health. 
 
 Tuesday 20th. — Found myself very considerably better yesterday 
 morning and again to-day. O, how sweet is ease after pain ! I am 
 greatly surprised at the proneness which I feel to forget God at every 
 return of a little strength ; always when bad symptotis appear upon 
 me I am compelled to fly for refuge to the hope set before me by the 
 crucified Redeemer ; but no sooner am I better in body than a great 
 coldness sensibly steals over my soul, and spoils my addresses at a 
 throne of Grace. I tremble when I think of this, and am ready to 
 imagine that I cannot be trusted in the world, and therefore shall be 
 soon removed from it ; well, I am in the Lord’s hands ! I believe that 
 if He were to remove me, it would be to Himself. Let Him do what 
 seemeth to Him good. 
 
 Friday , 24th. — I really think that the last four days have not been 
 spent unprofitably for my soul : as occasion has offered I have gene- 
 rally been able to aim at the glory of God, by speaking a word in his 
 name to those around me ; in private likewise, my mind has become 
 
48 
 
 IMPORTANCE OF THE DIRECT WITNESS OF TIIE SPIRIT. 
 
 more simple and earnest, and my communion with God more deep 
 and encouraging; my constant cry to Him, has been after clearer in- 
 ward light on my experience, and greater increase of spirituality ; this 
 petition, presented in the name of Jesus, has been in some degree 
 answered, and my mind is happier in its God than it was; it derives 
 greater satisfaction from reflecting on the immense importance attached 
 to personal religion, and from viewing, though at a distance, the ap- 
 proach of the realities of death, of judgment, and of an eternal 
 world. The necessity of a clear and indubitable knowledge of sal- 
 vation has sometimes appeared to me in a very striking light. The 
 bare possibility of being deceived, and the fatal results of an insuf- 
 ficient provision, make it absolutely necessary that the soul should 
 have certainty upon which to rest its hopes. There are seasons when 
 with almost overwhelming violence, Satan assaults the faith at its foun- 
 dation ; and then it is a blessedness exclusively appropriated by the 
 Christian believer, to be able to refer to a superior agency, and an in- 
 ward testimony of safety, supernaturally provided by the Spirit of 
 God. There are also times when the soul is awakened to more than 
 ordinary vigour in its enquiries, by the instinctive forebodings which 
 it feels of a future immortality ; and then the anxiety, which is es- 
 sential to it as a rational nature when such interests are at stake, will 
 receive no palliation, until joyful present experience shall give at once 
 a foretaste and a pledge of eternal security. Here the happiness and 
 the divinity of true religion are at once discoverable ; but the religion 
 of the professor must be true , — it must be so genuine as to bring into 
 his soul the experience of its supports, and the certainty of its super- 
 natural evidence. O my God ! it is this, and only this, that shall sat- 
 isfy my soul. And among the many of our family who do and shall pro- 
 fess thy service, let not one be found who will be for a single day con- 
 tent without any religion less satisfactory than this in its present 
 experience, or less certain as to its ultimate results ! 
 
 We shall now break off the narrative of this Journal for the purpose 
 of introducing a Letter written just at this time, to his second sister. 
 
 Gloucester , Sept. 24, 1819. 
 
 My dear Sister P. 
 
 There is, I know not what, but something like suspicion, so 
 connected with love in an affectionate heart, that in some circum- 
 stances it fears lest the object of particular regard should imagine a cold- 
 ness in one’s own heart ; and in others it actually fears that other par- 
 tialities secure the whole affections, and then our unrequited love may 
 retire unnoticed to the solitary glades to pine in secret, and to whisper 
 
BENEFITS OF AFFLICTION. 
 
 49 
 
 our complaints to the murmuring streams, or pour out our sighs to the 
 responsive echo. It would be injudicious in rational creatures, and 
 impious in Christians, to suffer neglect to work so powerfully on the 
 feelings as to carry the mind out into all the wildness which fancy has 
 imagined, or romance produced. And yet after all, the reason why 
 fancy has become so essential an auxiliary to the novelist, and romance 
 met so much success from men in general, may be at least partially 
 found in the fact, that having in the principles of their works consulted 
 feelings which the experience of every one acknowledges, the writers 
 of novels describe their scenes so as to gratify the feelings which they 
 themselves have excited. Thus too, the most skilful musicians play so 
 well as not only to draw forth the meed which they merit from con- 
 noisseurs in their art, but even so as to fix the astonishment of the 
 most ignorant, and hold them during their own pleasure in real rap- 
 ture ; the reason is, that they touch the sweetest chords in the most 
 natural manner, and the consequent vibrations go trembling to the 
 heart, and there symphouise with the harmony essential in every hu- 
 man soul. I think that you and I both have affectionate hearts : in 
 one order of these circumstances, you have been placed, and in the 
 other myself; you perhaps have feared that I love you but little, or at 
 least, less than I ought ; and I have been fearing that you^will imagine 
 I love you but little, because I have as yet sent you no letter; be 
 persuaded now, my dear sister, that I do in reality love you. * * * 
 
 Your affectionate Brother 
 
 William. 
 
 Thursday , Sept . 30th. — My health does not appear to me radically 
 better, rather the contrary. The alteration in the weather has occa- 
 sioned my almost total confinement to the house of my friend, who 
 is likewise forbidden to go out. My bodily weakness and the remem- 
 brance of what may be the result, notwithstanding all the care em- 
 ployed, have occasioned some searchings of heart in reference to 
 another state. In all that is past I see nothing but what calls for the 
 deepest shame ; it would overwhelm me with guilt, were it not for 
 the atonement of the Divine Saviour, in which I believe I am inter- 
 rested, by the ability which grace has given me to rest all my hopes 
 upon it, and to feel all my expectations arising from it : through this 
 only I shall be saved, — the mercy of God in Christ Jesus, brought 
 home to my soul in the purifying influences of the Iloly Spirit. But 
 this distant hope does not satisfy me for the present ; as yet I am not 
 pure, — I am not fit for heaven, — I have not the clear abiding, direct 
 testimony of the Iloly Ghost to my adoption, — I possess not the rich 
 fruits of the Spirit, viz, love, joy, peace, &c. O how bitter is the 
 remembrance of past unfaithfulness ! but for this my heart might have 
 been long since directed by the Lord the Spirit into the fulness of the 
 
 E 
 
50 
 
 PLEASURES OF RETURNING HEALTH. 
 
 love of God ; and now rny soul might have derived abounding conso- 
 lations during a patient waiting for the Lord Jesus Christ unto eternal 
 life. Lord, pardon the wanderings of a petulent child ! Pity and for- 
 give a returning son who has been prodigal of all the precious time, ta- 
 lents, and opportunities of usefulness, which thou gavest him to im- 
 prove, but which he has comparatively abused ! 
 
 Monday , Oct 4th.— X preached on Thursday evening last for the first, 
 and I suppose, the only time in Gloucester. I found my voice much 
 weakened, and was several times hindered by my cough, though my 
 soul was blest, while talking to the people in as simple a way as I 
 could, and urging the necessity of supreme love to God. I have 
 since understood that some of the congregation wer e pleased, but that 
 I know and feel is a poor consolation unless they were likewise bene- 
 fited. I feel myself sometimes on the point of making strong pro- 
 mises of devotion more fully to the good of souls, and the glory of 
 God than I have ever yet evinced ; but I check myself because my 
 promises are not to be depended on at all : at the same time I feel 
 no reluctance to form the resolution in my own mind, relying how- 
 ever wholly on Divine assistance for ability to fulfil it ; for were this 
 denied me there could be no utility in shaping even a solitary pur- 
 pose, as it would be very soon broken. 
 
 Monday , 11th. — The goodness of God has been more than ordi- 
 narily exercised toward me during the past week ; perhaps I should 
 rather say, I have felt His goodness more, because it has more than 
 usually coincided with my own inclination. There is a state of grace 
 to which I hope to attain, and in which personal inclination is so ab- 
 sorbed by devotion to God as to render every dispensation of Provi- 
 dence really acceptable and joyous ; for all the dealings of Providence 
 are but various modes of expressing the same goodness, — goodness that 
 is always regarding its objects with real affection, and ever exerting 
 itself in efforts to promote their best interests. Why then should I 
 be solicitous as to the manner of the dealings of a gracious God to- 
 ward me, who*amthe object of IXis care? Should I not abandon 
 myself to his direction, and be as confident that grace reigns when 
 providential dispensations thwart, as well as when they coincide with, 
 my own inclination ? 
 
 My health has been improving considerably during the past week. 
 Oh ! how pleasing this is to something within me ! I wonder what it 
 is. A thousand considerations w ould render life desirable ; but were 
 X sufficiently spiritual to see spiritual things as they really are, ten 
 thousand considerations perhaps would appear to represent it 4 far bet- 
 ter to depart and be with Christ.’ 
 
 During the past week I have been introduced by Mr. W. into the 
 company of two pious ladies living in the neighbourhood of Arling- 
 ham : while at prayer with them I felt, for the first time X think, a 
 
VISIT INTO WORCESTERSHIRE. 
 
 51 
 
 particular power to resign myself to God, accompanied with power to 
 pray for a recovery. Usually when praying for recovery my soul has 
 felt no liberty, and my faith has not been able to rise ; but on this 
 occasion I did feel more liberty than usual on this subject, and from 
 that moment I have been better ; whether it is a lasting amendment 
 or not, time must determine : meanwhile, 6 whether I live, let it be 
 unto the Lord ; or whether I die, let it be unto the Lord : so that, 
 whether living or dying, I may be the Lord’s.’ ♦ 
 
 Saturday , 1 6th . — Two days ago, I arrived at Marsh-Court House, 
 Eldersfield, Pendock, Worcestershire, where I now write. It is the 
 residence of a gentleman farmer, Mr. Bemman, who manages his own 
 estate for amusement and experiment in agricultural improvement. 
 This gentleman has a friend, a Mr. , likewise an agricultur- 
 
 ist, to whom I was introduced about three weeks since : 1 dined 
 with them at Marsh-Court; and the ingenuous disposition which the 
 latter evinced, combiued with his good understanding, and his en- 
 quiring mind, produced a mutual confidence and freeness of conversa- 
 tion that resulted on my part in esteem, and created a sensation of 
 regret at parting with him so soon. Whatever propensity there may 
 be in me too suddenly to form connections, which I dignify with the 
 name of friendships , the conduct which is governed by such a habit 
 meets my decided disapprobation ; because the laxity of management 
 in the mind over the affections moves contempt, on account of the 
 weakness of intellectual faculty which it discovers. It is questionable 
 with me if the mind of one man be capable of supporting numerous 
 friendships, because the affections parcelled out among many become 
 frittered into insignificant portions which cannot contain enough of in- 
 trinsic warmth to excite and fix the attention : thus he who scatters 
 his affections abroad is in danger of suffering them all to perish, and 
 rendering them useless as to the genuine purposes of friendship ; 
 since the coldness of neglect, which indecision is sure to meet, will 
 gradually freeze them till they are so benumbed as to become im- 
 moveable exceptby the unworthy stimulus of sordid interest. Yet it 
 would be to awaken an unenviable order of feelings, — it would be 
 to frown phlegmatically , — it would be to rest in a stoical security, 
 which is regarded with contempt by the imagination of a more ardent, 
 though perhaps less prudent, constitution, — if in order to avoid with 
 scrupulous exactness the inconveniences attendant on rashness, all the 
 warmth of disposition should be denounced that leads to take unaf- 
 fected pleasure in new society. For by this means those sensibilities, 
 so pungent yet so pleasing, which give a point to youthful enquiries, 
 and open to the heart an access by which the lessons of wisdom are 
 admitted, would be sealed up and smothered, while the work of forming 
 friendship would be altogether assigned to the period when judgment 
 shall have attained its full maturity to discriminate and to select. 
 
 r: 2 
 
52 
 
 REMARKS ON FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 lie who is, or who makes himself, always insensible that he may 
 avoid imposition, shall always be unburdened by that high gratifi- 
 cation, which others less affected, or less stupid, frequently enjoy. Re- 
 ligion, amiable and useful in every point of view, is very lovely here ; 
 as it corrects, it empowers ; in restoring to the human affections their 
 proper stimulus and direction, it enables them to be increasingly ar- 
 dent with less danger; like an important wheel in a machine, whei 
 its situation which had been deranged is corrected, it is not only re- 
 placed, but the motion is sweeter and the purpose of its contrivance is 
 more fully secured. Thus affections, corrected by religion, are not 
 diminished in their power, nor rendered dangerous by the freedom 
 communicated to them; but they receive a large accession of vigour, 
 and with this a sanctity that secures them from being very deeply be- 
 trayed. I would far sooner suffer one, whose affections have been 
 thus made more expansive and interested in the welfare of others, to 
 be exposed to the temptations of specious, but hypocritical, friend- 
 ship, than one who is less open in natural disposition, and who is to- 
 tally uninfluenced by true piety ; because the principles of security, 
 with which the former is armed by the piety that he has received, 
 make the advantage and the safety abundantly preponderate to him. 
 
 But whither am I wandering ? If the interest I felt in Mr. 
 
 be of a religious kind, I am blameless for indulging it ; though, had 
 I felt no interest in him, the distress of his mind and the danger of 
 his soul would have made no impression on me : but if that interest be 
 a mere friendly feeling, let me be harmless while I call him friend , 
 until rules shall be demonstrated, which shall define the term with 
 precision, and at the same time describe the qualifications which shall 
 justify the application of such an endearing name. But I would not 
 be understood to mean that every one for whom an interest is invo- 
 luntarily excited in the mind should be made a bosom-friend, in whose 
 presence reserve shall be laid aside, and our secrets being placed at 
 his disposal, our affairs shall be laid at the feet of his mercy. 
 
 Mr. — - is a fair specimen of a pretty numerous class of our 
 
 fellow-men : he has amiable qualities which ensure him the love of all 
 who know him ; but there is in him a weakness and consequent inde- 
 cision of mind, especially with regard to religion, which render it 
 impossible for him to secure the confidence of the pious, or the ge- 
 nuine esteem of his own companions He is convinced, without being 
 converted ; his judgment of religion is formed decidedly in its favour, 
 without being able to control his conduct by its rules ; he knows 
 the happiness of an enlightened mind, without being able to derive 
 that happiness from his knowledge, or even through its means; the 
 grace, which has discovered to him his spiritual enemies, and irresist- 
 ibly shewn that his own habits are the destroyers of his peace, he has 
 not suffered to obtain those victories in him which he knows would 
 
CHARACTER OF AX UNDECIDED MAN. 
 
 53 
 
 procure him the means and the possession of real happiness. Ilis lan- 
 guage is perpetually : — c Oh ! what a fool I am ! Why am I„ not more 
 the master of myself? How is it that I cannot subdue my passions ■ 
 What secret chain holds me when they, whose company I loathe and 
 curse myself for entering, surround me and tempt me to sin ? Oh ! 
 my wounded conscience ! Oh ! my injured God !’ 
 
 Can any condition of mind more powerfully agitate a mingled state 
 of feeling in an observer, than that of which such exclamations as the 
 above are the real and unceasing expressions ? I can, my dear Sa- 
 rah, contemplate a person, whose mind and habits are deliberately, 
 and without remorse, abandoned to the pursuits and the solaces of 
 impious gratifications, with unmingled horror, or at least blended 
 only with pity. But who, without emotions of a higher order, can ob- 
 serve the struggles of better knowledge with vicious habits, and of con- 
 victions granted as a boon of grace by heaven, with the corrupt propensi- 
 ties of nature which all the energies of hell are expected to strengthen 
 and confirm ? There is an anxiety, indescribable in words, for the 
 result of the contest ; the immense consequences depending invest the 
 moment of trial with an importance which no temporal dangers can have 
 attached to them : the shipwrecked mariner contending wdth the waves 
 that roll upon him with ceaseless impetuosity, interests the attention of the 
 spectator on shore, and rouses all his feelings to excessive poignancy ; 
 the hope that he feels when a boat is manned to preserve, if possi- 
 ble, the life of the drowning sailor, is checked by the fear which 
 forces itself that it will arrive too late ; the nearer it approaches, the 
 more are the feelings harrowed up ; could he but animate the men on 
 board by his voice, he would roar aloud to them to stretch every 
 effort and quicken their exertions ; but the suspense is dreadful, till 
 he perceives the object of his solicitude caught when about to sink, 
 and restored from the very jaws of death to life, his country, and 
 his home. But what propriety can there be in the comparison, when 
 the disparity between the occasions which excite the solicitude is so 
 great? The struggle in the mind of a convinced but irresolute sin- 
 ner has depending on its decision the security of eternity, the avoid- 
 ing of incalculable misery, and the enjoyment of ineffable felicity. 
 And the anxiety which labours in the breast of a Christian observer 
 is kept the longer alive by the difference which appears in the con- 
 duct of him who gave it birth ; sometimes the openness of soul which 
 he evinces to the light of truth, his contrition for past improprieties, 
 his solemn vows of amendment, his evident delight in the company of 
 the servants, and in the exercises of the service, of God, give new 
 energy to the observer’s hopes ; but at other times the faint resistance 
 which he makes to temptation, and especially the truth so evident that 
 while in the midst of danger he himself does not sufficiently perceive 
 it, and while divine grace has made provision for his salvation he 
 
54 
 
 DEFECTS IN PREACHING. 
 
 does not sufficiently value its aid, give in the observer’s mind a de- 
 cided preponderance to his fears. Such is the present condition of 
 Mr. ; he admires religion in others, and wishes it in him- 
 
 self ; but he is a gentleman, and he has companions who can lead him 
 against his conscience to intoxication and other vices ; this they have 
 done since I saw him. I heard of it; and on Thursday last, the 
 day I came here, I addressed him a letter, indicted in the spirit of 
 affectionate solicitude, and followed by fervent and repeated prayers 
 to the Spirit of God for His attending blessing. 
 
 Sunday 17th. — This morning I preached at Pendock, from Heb. 
 vii. 25. Before I ascended the pulpit, my mind was considerably ha- 
 rassed wiih the apprehension that I should not be able to speak to 
 the people with any comfort to myself or profit to them. I felt great 
 fear too that the subject which I had selected was unsuitable to my 
 audience ; and, added to this, there was a dulness about my spirits, 
 and a great deadness in my spiritual affections which very much dis- 
 tressed me. Having entered the pulpit with a resolution to speak as 
 simply and as earnestly as I could, great assistance was communi- 
 cated, and my soul was much blest while endeavouring to shew the 
 ability of Jesus i to save to the very uttermost,’ as founded on the va- 
 lidity of his priesthood, and urging my hearers to avail themselves of 
 the advantages bestowed on them by revelation in their knowledge 
 of this glorious doctrine, and in the existence of the truth itself. 
 And if I might judge by showers of tears, deep attention, and joyful 
 as well as eager countenances, some at least of the congregation were 
 blest as well as myself. 
 
 In the spirit of my preaching there is much deficiency, arising 
 from the great lowness of the state of Christian experience, in which 
 I have been too satisfied : to this I trace a great want in the work of 
 that delight which I am persuaded ought to be felt by every one en- 
 gaged in it from proper motives; this will likewise account for an 
 almost total absence of that kind of zeal which arises from proper 
 sensibility in the contemplation of the wretchedness and danger of 
 men, their subjection to the operations of divine grace, and their final 
 happiness in order to the completion of the Redeemer’s glory. Nor 
 is it wonderful that while such is the spiritual state, the purity of the 
 immediate and operating purposes in preaching should not be pre- 
 served ; and that the meaning of the scriptural phrase, a single eye , 
 which is of such immense importance in the Christian ministry, should 
 scarcely in any degree be realised. These are essential defects, which 
 I consider it the design of my present indisposition to disclose to me 
 and to rectify. Shall any thing be wanting on my part to complete 
 the work of reformation, now that the Holy Spirit has revealed to me 
 these things as realities? Fear of further delinquency checks the 
 promise that there shall not; and the proofs of my own weakness 
 
CHRIST TJIE ONLY SOURCE OF REDRESS. 
 
 55 
 
 which already have too often transpired, render even secret resolu- 
 tions suspicious. But I am sincere in wishing,-— I am sincere in 
 praying , — I am sincere in purposing , — though these are not enough : 
 all else that is needed, and that is every thing which is valuable for 
 efficiency, must come from God. Yet it is a delightful consideration, 
 that Jesus is 6 able to save to the very uttermost all that come to God 
 by him;’ not that the intercession of Jesus is needed to conciliate 
 the Father, for 6 the Father himself gave His Son to be the Saviour 
 of the world but by the interference of the Son consistency is pre- 
 served, while I, a sinner, am purified as well as pardoned, — I have 
 my faults corrected and my deficiencies supplied by the active grace 
 \vhich is distributed as it were, according to the will of Him who is 
 exalted a Prince and a Saviour. 
 
 iTo Thee then, O benign Redeemer! I apply with confidence for 
 redress, — redress of those perpetual grievances that arise from the 
 tyranny of a depraved heart, which employs oppressive corruptions 
 and lusts to wean me from faithfulness and all propriety in thy service. 
 I apply to Thee, since thou, and only thou, art i able to save to the 
 uttermost.’ The more willingly and eagerly do I apply to thee, be- 
 cause the report of those who have already made their applications to 
 thee, is, that thou receivest them graciously, and lovest them freely. 
 
 In the afternoon I rode about six miles to a village in this county 
 
 named Poole Hill, to hear my dear friend preach. He 
 
 had always expressed a dislike to this, and had employed all his means 
 to prevent it ; for, by some means or other, the people here seem to 
 have some terrible apprehensions of my criticising disposition ; from 
 w r hat cause I cannot imagine, for I have guarded pretty carefully 
 against shewing that I have any inclination to appear pedantic, or to 
 be supposed knowing. Perhaps they have heard of my having been 
 a student at the Baptist College, and hence take it for granted that 
 the College wisdom is transmitted into my head, without considering 
 how great a blockhead a person may remain amidst the greatest advan- 
 tages which he either cannot or will not properly improve. My friend 
 knew nothing of my intention to see him at Poole Hill ; and I was 
 quite tickled with the thought of his surprise when he should discover 
 me. I feared to meet his eye, for on entering the chapel I found in 
 myself a strong temptation and propensity to laugh : against this, how- 
 ever, I sincerely prayed and strove ; and thus I avoided the danger. On 
 account of this painful struggle, as well as because of the effect of my 
 unexpected intrusion on my friend’s mind, and through him, perhaps, 
 on the minds of the people, I had some reason to repent of my jour- 
 ney, for I certainly was not much blest ; and he himself was so con- 
 fused as to have all his liberty and pleasure in the service destroyed. 
 I knew not how to meet the torrent of affectionate reproaches which 
 i expected from him when he should come out of the chapel ; and 
 
56 
 
 HINTS TO YOUNG PREACHERS. 
 
 when he did come, and so mildly asked me how I could serve him so 
 unkindly, there appeared fresh reason to lament my temerity, espe- 
 cially when he told me that his mind had been greatly blest duiing the 
 former service of the day, and that he had been enabled to rise into a 
 sweet frame through that accession of grace ; but when quite contrary 
 to his expectations he, through the window, saw in the aspect of a 
 criticising enemy , him whose approach he had been accustomed to re- 
 gard as that of a real friend, his heart failed, and he could not re- 
 gain his peace of mind during the whole service. But after all that 
 may be said on the impropriety of treating a friend so unkindly , a re- 
 tort may be made on the same ground ; for what propriety is there in 
 regarding the approach of a friend as a misfortune ? The timidity 
 which steals in the garb of modesty unsuspected into the heart of a 
 young Preacher, and controls his habitual feelings, will, when it has 
 attained sufficient stability, throw off the mask and exercise a tyranny 
 which, on every unusual occurrence, shall levy on his sensibilities a 
 contribution most painful for him to furnish ; and occasions will, in 
 the course of things, put every Preacher under the eye, and into the 
 power, not of friendly hearers only, but of judicious critics, whose 
 decisions may have weight because they are just, and poison because 
 they are dogmatically severe. On these accounts, to meet fearlessly 
 the eyes of strangers, at least so far as is needful to secure the pla- 
 cidity of the mind, is a great advantage ; but as advantages of this 
 kind are seldom the gift of nature, this must be secured by the hard- 
 ness resulting from early and habitual exposure. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 Continuation of his Journal — Remarks on the Union of the People of God — Cu- 
 rious Experiment in Agriculture — History of Robert Bemman, Esq. — Remarks 
 on Celibacy — Singular instance of Filial Affection — Dialogue on the difference 
 between Sin and Satan — Consolation for a guilty and polluted Soul — A pros- 
 perous Sabbath — Advantages of Religious Correspondence — Reflections on the 
 Death of an Infant — Arguments against Anxiety respecting the Future — Return 
 to Bristol — Increasing ill-health. 
 
 Journal Continued. 
 
 Monday, Oct. 18 th. — The subjects of my sisters’ letters rest on my 
 mind with great pleasure, and because of their importance they merit 
 a more pointed reply than can be given in the cursory form of a 
 Journal, which may be, in some respects, considered as common pro- 
 perty ; on this account my pen shall be employed in replying to each 
 of them separately, and the following letter is therefore addressed to 
 
 My dearest Sarah, 
 
 There now waits for me the enjoyment of a real pleasure, 
 it is to answer the longest letter that I have ever received from you; 
 the perusal of it tired me not nearly so much as does the reading of 
 many which I receive by their conciseness. This is surely an evi- 
 dence that the subject which has engaged your thoughts and employed 
 your pen is pleasing to my own contemplations, and that the person 
 who has written is an object of real affection. That affection you 
 seem to suppose is a sufficient warrant for expecting that you will be 
 forgiven for the apparent want of attention to my feelings evidenced 
 by your long silence. The peculiar circumstances in which you have 
 been placed certainly plead strongly, nay, I will admit, irresistibly in 
 your behalf ; and I no sooner saw the statement of what you had 
 presumed, than it was ratified by a spontaneous, merciful , and con- 
 senting smile. However, I would not have you understand that this 
 act of indemnity is established as a precedent on which you may con- 
 tinue to presume, since the ground on which presumption stands is 
 o.ily supposed secure ; but that supposition may be mistaken, and the 
 presumption may meet with a merited repulse, because regarded as 
 unjustifiable boldness. There is, you must admit, something exceed- 
 
58 
 
 REMARKS ON THE ONION OF CHRISTIANS. 
 
 ingly liarsli, and even suspicious, in the aspect of a long uubroken si- 
 lence ; and it produces a feeling which suffers nothing to escape by 
 which the cause of it may be ascertained : and even when at length 
 the first direct communication relieves the anxiety which was rising 
 to impatience, the pleasure of the agreeable disappointment is scarcely 
 powerful enough to erase the recollection that the emotions which pre- 
 viously agitated the feelings were painful. 
 
 In the dispensations of unerring Providence, you are circumstanced 
 so as to render it impossible to devote much time to those pursuits and 
 engagements on which your desires have often been fixed ; there is 
 however no sacrifice of inclination to duty required, which has not 
 some valuable blessing assigned to it : nor is any such sacrifice ever 
 made with a view to the divine glory, but the blessing is carefully 
 transmitted according to its assignation, by that compassionate and 
 all-powerful Spirit, who is the Treasurer of our Heavenly Father, the 
 Sovereign of heaven and earth. 
 
 The circumstances in which the people of God are placed in the 
 world, though so different in the particulars which distinguish them 
 from each other, are yet so closely assimilated in the more general fea- 
 tures ', that to contemplate the situation of another, is in a great degree, 
 to observe the representation of one’s own ; the adventitious occur- 
 rences in the earthly circumstances of one man, mark the uncertainty 
 of human affairs in general ; the exposure to difficulties, to privations, 
 and to crosses, is not the unhappy lot of a few, marked out as the 
 victims of an unbridled fury in some superior power, but it is the 
 effect of a curse attached to the first triumph of Sin, and this curse 
 has followed closely in the footsteps of impiety, wherever it has gone 
 and prevailed. The erection of a tribunal of conscience in the breast 
 of one , demonstrating that this present mode of existence is a state 
 probationary for another life, must be admitted as the clearest devel- 
 opment of the present important circumstances of all , — of the approach 
 of an awful crisis, that of the judgment, for all , — and of the high 
 destiny which is appointed for all . The mind which is awakened 
 from its dream of sublunary pleasure, and is thus made sensible of the 
 delusiveness of those phantoms which have engaged its pursuits, is 
 terrified when on a comparison of its own past condition with the pre- 
 sent state of others, it discovers, that with the exception of the few r , 
 who like himself are miraculously roused, all are sunk into a moral 
 stupor which, if continued to the end of life, must result iu eternal 
 death. 
 
 These observations are introduced to account in part for the interest 
 in each other excited in the hearts of those who are 6 joined to the 
 Lord in one body, having one hope of their calling.’ The interest 
 commences in a discovery of the commonness of their condition, and 
 of their universal exposure to danger ; increasing to a oneness of de- 
 
REMARKS ON; THE UNION OF CHRISTIANS. 
 
 59 
 
 ign to escape, and still magnifying to an agreement on the means by 
 pplyingto God through Jesus Christ, it attains not to the measure of 
 ts fulness till- they «//, having arrived at the summit of Calvary, and 
 >laced themselves under the protection of that glorious Captain of 
 ilvation, who 6 liveth, and was dead, and is alive for evermore,’ and 
 dunged themselves into the 4 fountain opened for sin and uncleanness,’ 
 ise into the experience of a common deliverance, acknowledging the 
 ementing influence of a union which flows from their having but 6 one 
 Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God, one Father of them all , who 
 is over them all , and in them all , and through them all .’ Thus are 
 they wonderfully and irresistibly drawn together by their common en- 
 joyment of a uniting principle of love, the very essence of that God, 
 who is in them as their Father: and thus are they all inspired with 
 similar and immediate purposes, their own sanctification and that of 
 each other, because they are actuated by the same gracious Spirit, 
 who being their Father, is certainly their Friend : and thus too they 
 all have the same hope in them, the same prospect of glory in their 
 more remote view, since the God, who is in them as their Father and 
 their Friend, must necessarily desire an eternal continuance of the 
 intimacy which he himself has commenced : — 6 Father ! I will that they 
 also, whom thou hast given me, be with me where I am, that they 
 may behold my glory !’ 
 
 Is not this, my dearest Sarah, the union which you have so justly 
 and so beautifully described as a reciprocal attraction to the great centre 
 of union, — God ; and a mutual blending of persons and of interests, 
 jn the enjoyment of Him? And oh, my sister! is not the reason thus 
 supplied, why 6 thy heart is as my heart,’ in that more than ordinary 
 degree which our more than fraternal union enables us to feel? 
 
 Our union is more than ordinary, because the ties of consanguinity 
 and of natural affection alone cannot supply sufficient motives to induce 
 us to watch with solicitude over each other’s spiritual concerns and 
 progress ; it is more than fraternal, because, in addition to the com- 
 mon interests of closely related life, it enables us to love as Christian 
 brethren, and to be not only solicitous for each other’s temporal hap- 
 piness iu the highest degree, but to be most earnestly desirous to as- 
 sist each other’s attainment in the greatest possible measure of future 
 and everlasting felicity and glory. 
 
 There is then sufficient reason for the pleasure that I feel at hear- 
 ing from yourself the blessed intelligence of your soul’s prosperity ; it 
 is an accession of good in which I have an interest; it forms the theme 
 of fresh adoration and new praises to our Immanuel ; it might well be 
 the subject of mutual congratulation in the family ; and, having brought 
 you into increased communion with God, as well as into a nearer 
 resemblance of his moral image, it affords fresh evidence of the free- 
 ness of divine grace, and of its sufficiency to prepare me, your fellow- 
 
60 
 
 CHARACTER OF ROBERT BEMMANj ESQ. 
 
 sinner, for celestial glory. I do therefore most cordially comply with 
 your invitation, to unite with you in commencing a song of grateful, 
 humble, fervent praise, which shall continue to sound, when 4 rolling 
 years shall cease to move !’ 
 
 Your late experience of increased power to seek and to enjoy God, 
 illustrates the assertion, that a Christian must have his pardon con- 
 stantly renewed, and that the witness of the Spirit must be given, not 
 once only, hut daily and perpetually ; since no security against the 
 advancing power of lukewarmness can be given but the abiding testi- 
 mony of the Spirit of truth to the soul’s adoption : and this is suffici- 
 ent, because it is necessarily accompanied by the fruits of the Spirit, 
 which are principles implanted in the heart, stimulating to zealous activ- 
 ity, and ensuring happy proficiency. It must be under the guidance of 
 this Spirit, that you have advanced so as to feel saved from the things 
 which once had dominion oveFyou, and excited to earnest desire after 
 the fulness of God. Go on, for it is impossible that He should lead 
 you wrong ; and as He brings you to long for the direct witness that 
 you are perfected in love, He will likewise bestow on you the blessing 
 itself; for it is He himself who bears the testimony. 
 
 I have filled my sheet without having informed you of the state of 
 my own experience : the mercy exercised toward a poor rebellious 
 sinner, will through eternity, form the burden of a constant song of 
 praise ; such mercy has been shewn to me, and such a song I hope to 
 join, whenever I shall enter on the untried realities of a future state. 
 I have not yet entered into the rest of perfect love ; my faith in Jesus 
 is yet weak and wavering too. Oh! when shall I be satisfied ? for 
 satisfied 1 am not. 4 When I awake with thy likeness,’ O my God ! 
 
 Your affectionate Brother 
 
 William. 
 
 Wednesday , 20th. — This day I left Marsh-Court, the residence 
 of the hospitable Robert Bemman, Esq., for Gloucester, whither I 
 arrived in safety, and found myself again at home in the house of my 
 friend Wheeler. I left one home for another, and found brethren in 
 each : so graciously has the Lord opened the hearts of his people to a 
 poor, wandering, invalid stranger in the flesh, who however is made 
 by unbounded grace, a partaker of the same privileges as they possess, 
 and a fellow-heir of the same mercy in Christ Jesus. 
 
 Mr. B.* is a man of peculiar manners, habits, circumstances, and 
 abilities; he is possessed of more than ordinary talents, which set 
 him on an eminence to which his neighbours must look up, and confess 
 their own inferiority ; with a genius quite mechanical, his fancy is 
 
 * I should not have ventured to expose these remarks on Mr. B.’s character to 
 the public eye, but that gentleman is now no more. See a brief account of him 
 in the Wesleyan Methodist Magazine for 1822, page 814. — A. B. 
 
CURIOUS EXPERIMENT IN AGRICULTURE. 
 
 61 
 
 inventive, and his mind very inquisitive ; he is almost always trying 
 at something as yet untried ; and the result of his investigation and 
 efforts has been the production of some valuable improvements in agri- 
 culture ; for two or more, I think, of these he has obtained patents, — 
 for a peculiar kind of plough, and for something else. He tills his 
 land on a singular principle. You, my sister Sarah, have observed that 
 ploughed lands in general are wholly occupied by the growing seed, 
 excepting only the spaces between the ridges of ground which are 
 highest in the middle ; there must of course be a vast expenditure of 
 seed in thus covering the whole face of the ground, and the quantity 
 of plants growing, must necessarily exhaust the land of its prolific 
 qualities ; indeed this is so much the case, that every fourth year the 
 land is generally relieved altogether from bearing, or else bears those 
 plants only which tend rather to replenish than to exhaust its resources. 
 One might naturally expect that the land so fully employed would be 
 compelled to yield its utmost benefit to the grower; this however, ac- 
 cording to the principle on which Mr. B. cultivates, is not the case ; 
 and strange as it may appear, by occupying scarcely a third of his 
 ground, he raises a larger average crop of grain than those who, by 
 tilling on the common plan, cover the whole with seed ; but this is 
 not the only advantage, more of course than two thirds of the seed is 
 saved for the mill ; and besides this, as the land is not excessively ex- 
 hausted, there is no need of wasting a third or fourth year, and thus 
 an entire crop is added to the general produce. This statement of the 
 business will not satisfy you, if you feel interested in what differs so 
 materially from the delicacy of your needle-work or the tastiness of 
 your mode of using the grain when put into your hands in the form 
 of flour or bread. Supposing however that you do feel interested in 
 the relation, I will explain a little : two things you know, are espe- 
 cially needful for the free cultivation and the perfection of a plant; 
 the one is room to grow in, and the other air to inhale, as it were ; 
 and from this, you are aware that every living thing derives a princi- 
 pal part of its subsistence. If a grain of wheat have not sufficient 
 room, it must be cramped and unable to exercise its powers ; this is 
 plain enough : and if it have not enough air 9 it will be comparatively 
 sickly, and from this cause its powers of propagation must be in some 
 degree restricted in their office. Now it is evident that both these 
 causes unite their influence in a field of wheat upon the common plan ; 
 since the entire occupation of the ground by seeds must throw them 
 close together, and the thickness of their growth, if it do not dimin- 
 ish the quantity of air in circulation among them, which I think it 
 must, leaves a less proportion for each plant to absorb, because of the 
 number among which the entire quantity is divided. From this rea- 
 soning it appears that could the plants have more room, they would be at 
 liberty to occupy all the ground necessary, and at the same time they 
 
62 CURIOUS EXPERIMENT IN AGRICULTURE. 
 
 would have larger supplies of air to imbibe, the moisture, and caloric 
 or heat, of which, are essentially necessary to their growth and fruitful- 
 ness ; for these reasons, as the roots of grain do not extend themselves 
 without shooting upwards, a single grain, spreading its roots and at 
 every proper place sending forth a blade, will in the end throw up a 
 much larger number of stalks than it could, were it more confined. 
 
 On this principle then, Mr. B. cultivates ; — he turns up ridges of 
 earth about eighteen inches distant from each other, and about eigh- 
 teen inches wide in themselves ; upon these ridges, flattened on the top, 
 he sows two rows of seed, three or four inches the one from the other; 
 and by his sowing machine apportions about 130 grains to a yard of 
 earth ; so that from the centre of one ridge to that of the next is a dis- 
 tance of about three feet. Thus then the ground is occupied, and there 
 is plenty of room for the grains to spread, and plenty of air to feed 
 them; and thus are even larger crops on the average produced, than 
 on the common method, and thus too the ground can never be ex- 
 hausted, but it can at any time be manured or ploughed between the 
 ridges, and by occupying the space between those ridges, the next 
 year the farmer may go as it were into new ground. 
 
 The relation of an experiment which Mr. B. made in his garden 
 will give you a better understanding of what has been said than you 
 will otherwise secure. He took three or four fine ears of corn, rubbed 
 out the grains and planted them 12 inches apart in rows 4 feet from 
 each other , these all grew and produced this last harvest most as- 
 tonishingly ; the rows were entirely filled, so that the grains singly 
 occupied a space of 12 inches in diameter, and raised from 50 to 100 
 stalks, each of w hich of course produced an ear ; so that some of the 
 grains must have produced at least a thousand fold. I myself saw the 
 stumps after the wheat was cut, and pulled up several branches to 
 satisfy myself that they were from but one root. Mr. B. told me, 
 though I have now forgetten, the quantity of wheat produced by the 
 whole three or four ears, but it must have been immense. 
 
 How strikingly does this illustrate the munificence of the Divine 
 Creator ! The prolific powers with which he has endowed the various 
 agents, — the embryo — the body of the seed — the earth — the air — 
 the water — the sun — all combining in the propagation of plants, are 
 capable of a production almost indefinable and altogether unascertain- 
 ed. But especially, how striking is the illustration thus given, of an 
 entire dependence on him ! The seed, in all the progress of its growth, 
 needs his careful management and constant observance, since the nip 
 of the frost, or the invasion of a bird, or the insinuation of an earth- 
 insect, that destroys a single seed, may in that one seed annihilate the 
 energies that would produce a thousand. Besides, there are secrets 
 in the art of cultivation which he can, if he please, for ever keep 
 from human investigation, but which he can reveal to whom he chooses, 
 
CHARACTER ©F ROBERT BEMMAN, ESQ. 
 
 63 
 
 and thus lessen the toil and better the condition of his rebellious, yet 
 depending creatures. So great is the wisdom and the powdp of the 
 great Artificer, Him who has 6 created the smith that bloweth the 
 coals in the fire, and that brought forth an instrument for his work !’ 
 
 But to return to Mr. B. : his habits and manners are peculiar. You 
 know the difference which I make between habits and manners? By 
 the former I mean those methods of private living which either dis- 
 positions, or events, or both, determine ; and by the latter, those pecu- 
 liarities of behaviour to others which habits produce : the first relates 
 to the treatment of self; the second, to the treatment of other persons. 
 
 Mr. B. is, what would in many cases be termed, careless of his 
 person, but he is rather studious of convenience in his dress ; and his 
 notions of convenience differ in many respects from those of other 
 men. He is reflective, and does nothing without thought, and he 
 can assign a reason for every thing that he does. He is resolute too, 
 and therefore persevering in plans that to him appear reasonable: on 
 this account he has remained firm in the pursuance of his own views, 
 when his conduct in this respect has brought upon him the scoffs of 
 his neighbours. This firmness of mind has been of incalculable value 
 to him, as some of the most important of his plans in business have 
 required its exercise ; and still more than any of these, the pursuit of 
 salvation has rendered it eminently necessary. 
 
 What a pity it is that the estimate of the worth of many well in- 
 formed and amiable persons must be lowered by an indecision of mind, 
 which more or less prevails in all their engagements! It arises from 
 an inglorious shrinking from the toil of meeting, and opposing, and 
 surmounting difficulties, and with this there is always a corresponding 
 inclination to invite pleasure at any expense. It is a shivering effe- 
 minacy that will sink and hide itself in a bed of down, when honour, 
 duty, and religion point to the post of danger, and call for unyielding 
 boldness in the severest exposure. 
 
 Yet I have never met a person more really solicitous after truth and 
 propriety than Mr. B. is, nor one more tremblingly alive to the sen- 
 sations which are excited by the pressure of apparent reason. To me 
 he seems wonderfully freed from the dominion of prejudice, willing 
 and even desirous to hear arguments opposed to his own opinions, and 
 ready to admit the conviction which sound reasoning, when discovered 
 by him as such, would carry home to his mind. But I think that 
 Religion chiefly has produced this in him ; if I mistake not, he was 
 once conceited ; but the dear discoveries that he has made of the in- 
 sufficiency of his own mind for directing him in the pursuit of solid 
 felicity, an object which he has always been endeavouring to attain, 
 have mortified his dews of his own wisdom, and blasted the expecta- 
 tions which he had originally raised upon it. He now sits at the feet 
 of his Lord with the Bible in his hand, praying for divine light, and 
 
61 
 
 REMARKS ON CELIBACY. 
 
 teaching, and guidance, and simply looking for and enjoying i the 
 peace which the world can neither give nor take away.’ About every 
 part of his dwelling sufficient evidences exist that no i one of woman- 
 kind’ presides over the domestic concerns of his family, distributing 
 order, and dispensing extra comforts, cleanliness, security, and needful 
 economy. He is not a Batchelor. I can scarcely think mercifully of 
 the man who, either from penuriousness, or inability to confine his 
 affections and to settle them, as well as his person and property, on one 
 female, remains voluntarily in a state of seclusion and celibacy ; selfish 
 and unsocial, he is fit for scarcely any thing ; and seldom does he much 
 beside sink his own ponderous and useless weight in the fluctuating 
 sea of human business, and in the whirling eddy thus caused absorb 
 and injure the money or the morals of his neighbours. It is to be 
 hoped, and I readily believe, that all Batchelors are not of this des- 
 cription. There are some whom the most social soul would find no 
 difficulty in pardoning ; he, for instance, who loved with ardour, and 
 with purest purposes, whose heart glowed with expectation on which 
 heaven and earth seemed to smile approving ; but who suddenly had 
 the object of his affections snatched away by some unlooked for dis- 
 pensation, — a dispensation of Providence, to which he bends with all 
 the submission that he can exercise, but retires to cherish in his 
 memory, to weep over, and to improve. Or, he whose heart, fixed 
 on some favourite object, indulges a secret, fond, but anxious hope 
 that circumstances, at present unfavourable and absolutely forbidding, 
 will one day prove more propitious ; but who, amidst his speculations 
 and his strivings, sees the treasure he longed to possess borne off by 
 one more happy than himself ; and therefore, finding that he cannot love 
 another equally, is unwilling to render a partner unhappy by yielding 
 her only the half of his affections. Or, he who loves, but is not able 
 from his circumstances to make a competent provision for a partner’s 
 happiness; he burns with a noble resolution to accomplish his object, 
 he strives to get forward in the world to make room for one whom he 
 values more highly than himself; but he is disappointed in his efforts, 
 his strivings are all thwarted, and still he lags behind contending with 
 hopeless obstacles; yet still, with true greatness of mind, he determines 
 not to make the object of his fondest affections the victim of compli- 
 cated misfortunes and distresses, because he loves her . Such persons 
 as these, instead of meriting ridicule, scorn, and obloquy, rather 
 stand the monuments of their own virtue in misfortune ; and the tale 
 of their sorrows is the inscription fastened to them, which calls forth 
 from the feeling peruser the tear of sympathy and the prayer for 
 support. 
 
 But Mr. B.’s is, if possible, a worse case than either of these : he is a 
 widower. He was united to a young lady whom he tenderly loved, 
 and who returned an equal affection ; the union was however of but 
 
SORROWS OF WIDOWHOOD. 
 
 65 
 
 short duration, she was soon attacked by consumption, and in a short 
 time, a few months only, she expired in his arms. His heart was 
 formed for friendship, and a shock like this he could not prevent him- 
 self from deeply feeling ; the strong marks of sorrow are even now 
 fixed in his face, never, I suppose, to he erased but by that process in 
 the grave which shall raise the body in newness of appearance as well 
 as life. This event occurred too while as yet he had no God at 
 whose footstool to lay the account of his sorrow ; and of course he had 
 no support from the consolations of real piety. Never have I seen an 
 instance in which the wreck of promising expectations has a more 
 striking monument reared to perpetuate its memory, than there is in 
 the appearance, and the house, of this once afflicted, but now happy 
 man. He had laid out about ,£2,000 in additions and repairs to the 
 original dwelling, and he had spared no expense in fitting it out for 
 the comfort of his intended spouse ; two parlours, which I particularly 
 noticed, are elegantly finished and furnished with beautiful accom- 
 paniments. The house was yet incomplete when he married, nor 
 was it finished when death deprived him of her for whom it was all 
 intended; in that very condition it remains to this hour; like one 
 having received a blow which stupifies him, he has not suffered a 
 stroke more to be done to it ; it is abandoned to the rats and mice : 
 be seldom enters the beautiful part of his mansion, except when it is 
 enlivened by the presence of unusual company ; but he lives in the 
 kitchen part, surrounded by his ploughmen and boys. Full five years 
 have thus elapsed ; and whether any alteration will take place is quite 
 uncertain, as he is now forty years of age, and there is no appear- 
 ance nor probability of his being inclined to marry again. He gave 
 me much of his history, for we conversed without reserve, and I 
 strenuously urged him to procure the help of an elderly woman as his 
 house-keeper, to preserve his beautiful abode and furniture from com- 
 plete ruin ; and I also expressed a sincere wish that Providence would 
 send him another affectionate wife, who might be the partner of his 
 later comforts, and the soother of his remaining sorrows. 
 
 To add however to the gloom of the sad picture which I have 
 sketched, another circumstance must be mentioned, the death of Mr. 
 B.’s Mother. This happened little more than twelve months since. 
 She was the only one beside himself remaining of the family ; having 
 resided with him since his marriage, and governed for him since the 
 death of his wife, she was as it were a second time a Mother to him, 
 and a second time endeared ; her too he was compelled to resign, and 
 that under circumstances truly painful, since his almost only natural 
 tie to earth then seemed rent asunder. The result of these successive 
 strokes in their influence on his mind was most gracious; and a concise 
 detail of the most important particulars of the change effected will re- 
 lieve the painful sympathy into which you are perhaps by this time sunk. 
 
 F 
 
66 
 
 DISAPPOINTMENTS OF AN UNCONVERTED MAN. 
 
 Mr. B. was not favoured with pious Parents, nor with a good edu- 
 cation, either as it regards religion, or the elements of literature ; with 
 the various follies and sins of youthful days he partially mingled the 
 avocations of business and the pursuits of pleasure ; he engaged in 
 pleasure, because it interested his attention by the promises of gratifi- 
 cation which it set before him ; but it was only a partial engagement, 
 because his understanding revolted against it, and the taste which he 
 had ventured to try quickly disgusted him. But then, as he him- 
 self frankly and properly acknowledges, this was not to be ascribed to 
 any peculiar goodness of natural propensity, but to the early impres- 
 sion on his mind, by the Holy Spirit, of two things especially, — a 
 regard for prayer and the sabbath-day, and an insatiable desire after 
 real happiness. The one kept him from many flagrant breaches of 
 the Divine laws, which were common among those around him; and 
 the other excited the spirit of investigation, which perpetually haunted 
 his private as well as his public walks in life, and it never could be 
 laid asleep again by all the charms of criminal joviality, or the spells 
 of a qualifying and deceptive sophistry. In vain he sometimes ac- 
 cepted the invitations of his less cautious and less enquiring com- 
 panions to join them in their sports; to him those sources of enjoy- 
 ment afforded no consolation equal in -power to the too smarting ac- 
 cusations of a guilty conscience. He was compelled, though he wished 
 and laboured to avoid it, to come to a conclusion at once humiliating 
 to his pride, and apparently opposed to his temporal interests ; it was 
 that the felicity, which he had been so long ^ndeavouring to secure 
 from any other source, is to be derived from genuine religion alone. 
 6 I saw myself,’ these are substantially his own words, c disappointed 
 like a fool after a toilsome pursuit of many years. I was possessed of 
 every advantage to facilitate my enjoyments. I was thought almost a 
 prodigy of wisdom in the country, even in early years; hence my 
 company was courted, and I could see myself every where admired. 
 I Was esteemed almost an oracle by the ignorant, and as my agricultu- 
 ral knowledge augmented and improved, the intelligent thought me in- 
 genious. I could go into any ball of common respectability in our 
 neighbourhood, and select any partner, and lead out her whom I chose 
 without hazarding a refusal or even a dispute; and I was in circum- 
 stances that would allow me to look any where around the country, 
 and choose for myself a partner for life. But amidst all I was wretched, 
 for nothing was sufficient to satisfy a conviction that something else, — 
 something spiritual, — was wanted. I looked at the Clergyman of the 
 parish where I lived at that time, and often attempted to justify my- 
 self by his example, but this effort was futile. I knew that he was 
 a wretched man, who had taken upon himself the office he sustained 
 merely for the profit which it brought to his purse ; and that he did not 
 believe the doctrines which he propounded from the pulpit ; for he 
 
SINGULAR INSTANCE OF FILIAL AFFECTION. 
 
 67 
 
 would commit any vice with me and my companions : I concluded, 
 therefore, that in real religion there must be something that he knew 
 nothing of.’ 
 
 This he resolved to obtain, and he sought for it as the way opened 
 before him, or as spiritual light was communicated to enable him to 
 understand the way of salvation; not indeed with perfect readiness , 
 for every point was contested in his own mind, and repeatedly consi- 
 dered before if was yielded up : this necessarily occupied much time, 
 since no external means were employed by the Holy Spirit to directly 
 strike conviction to his heart; but from the beginning it was ac- 
 complished by reflection matured from a first thought into sentiment 
 and resolution. The death of his wife certainly tended to loosen his 
 affections from the world, and gave an opportunity for the deepen- 
 ing of former impressions, and the excitement of new ones ; so that 
 before the removal of his Mother into another world, he became sensi- 
 ble that a change of heart was necessary, that a reconciliation with 
 God was essential, and that real spirituality of mind was indispensa- 
 ble to his happy exit into eternity. Thus then, a truly interesting 
 state of moral feeling was induced ; and this, instead of fixing imme- 
 diately on his own mind as its first subject, was transferred to his dear 
 Parent, whom he saw daily declining, and who was at the same time 
 utterly unfit to pass through the awful change that aw r aited her. 
 
 Pharisaism and worldliness held this unhappy lady in the severest 
 mental bondage ; she was ; alienated from the life of God, through 
 the ignorance that was in her ;’ and what was most injurious to her 
 own mind and painful to the feelings of her son, was, that when he 
 introduced the subject that lay near his heart, and talked of the in- 
 sufficiency of earthly things, and the danger of dying unpardoned 
 and unrenewed, she would suffer her anger to arise, and she would 
 repel his remarks by the charge of unkindness, or the imputation of 
 ingratitude for her labours in his behalf. Thus he endeavoured to in- 
 form her of the danger of her soul, until hope of success was almost 
 extinguished in his breast. But here his natural resolution came in to 
 his aid, and a plan at once decisive, difficult, and singular, suggested 
 itself, was approved, and adopted at the expense of every thing which 
 seemed to oppose : it was the introduction of Methodist preaching 
 into his house. This was expressly designed for his Mother’s benefit. 
 He fitted up a room, brought the Preachers to conduct the services of 
 public worship, and set them especially to encounter his Mother’s 
 prejudices. This act of real filial piety was approved by Heaven, a 
 blessing followed, and the tears which flowed from the eyes of the 
 son at the death of his Mother were of grief and joy commingled ; 
 grief for his own loss, and joy from a reasonable hope that the change 
 put her into the possession of unspeakable gain. 
 
 But wherever grace is exercised toward men by their beneficent 
 
68 
 
 CONVERSION OF A PENITENT. 
 
 Creator, He is not satisfied with merely gratifying their wishes, He 
 exceeds their desires: there is a quality of benevolence in that grace 
 which makes it perpetually restless to communicate good ; it may be 
 known from all other principles of benevolence by its always abound- 
 ing. The means employed by Mr. B. for the purpose of effecting 
 his Mother’s salvation were made through the super-abounding grace 
 of God, the instrumental cause of his own ; the preaching of the Me- 
 thodists discovered to him the privilege of present pardon and accept- 
 ance by believing in Jesus, 4 Him that justifieth the ungodly as a 
 helpless sinner he did cordially receive the Saviour as thus offered 
 him, and 4 his faith was then immediately accounted unto him for 
 righteousness he felt relieved from his burden ; not only was he 
 saved from condemnation, but blest with the fruits of faith, 4 joy and 
 peace through believing,’ and the super-added testimony of the Spirit 
 to his adoption, and the various fruits of the Spirit as concomitant 
 evidences. Now he found that for which, during thirty-five years, 
 he had been unsuccessfully seeking : here, therefore, his decision of 
 mind was supremely valuable ; he at once joined the Methodist so- 
 ciety, met in class, separated from his gay companions, endured and 
 despised their opprobrious ridicule, and boldly confessed the Lord 
 when in their company, invariably enjoying the satisfaction of being 
 able to confound and convict them when drawn into an argument on 
 the propriety of his conduct. I was much delighted, and rejoiced to 
 hear, that my dear friend P. Turner was made the honoured instru- 
 ment of commuuicating the glorious intelligence which led Mr. B. to 
 a believing view of Jesus. 
 
 Mr. B. is now a leader of a class, a steward, and a main pillar in the 
 visible church of the Circuit in whicli he lives ; and he has likewise 
 lately begun to speak in the name of his Lord, to those who in the 
 deepest ignorance are perishing around him. He now, in his own 
 view, lives in the world rather for others than for himself, and from 
 this conviction only he makes numerous and weighty sacrifices to obey 
 what he esteems the call of God. Although he goes, as yet, no far- 
 ther than to exhort his hearers, his good understanding, reasoning 
 mind, real piety, and ardent love for dying souls warrant the expec- 
 tation that he « will be, at least in a local capacity, an excellent and 
 useful Preacher. 
 
 Sunday , 24th. — It was fully my intention to leave Gloucester 
 yesterday ; but Mr. W. having received intelligence from a distance 
 that a relative had experienced an apoplectic seizure, and was then 
 lying dangerously ill, it was judged expedient that Mr. and Mrs. W. 
 should leave G. on Friday, and that I should stay till their return, 
 which they thought might be deferred for a few days. It took place, 
 however, yesterday, and they were highly pleased at having found 
 their relative somewhat relieved, but enquiring after a preparation for 
 
DIALOGUE ON DIABOLICAL INFLUENCE. 
 
 69 
 
 another world. Mr. Byron having invited me to assist him in the pub- 
 lic duties of this day, I preached in the afternoon from John xvii.25.; 
 but I was agitated with a fear that my soul was not in simplicity de- 
 signing the glory of God ; and this tended, in some measure, to inti- 
 midate and cramp my mind ; yet, on the whole, it was a good time, 
 and I was blest : but the improper length and loudness of the ser- 
 mon, combined with a good deal of talk afterwards, at the house of 
 a friend with whom I took tea, greatly exhausted and even distressed 
 me, so that I fear my health will suffer from it. I suppose you are 
 ready to exclaim against my folly, as I myself did: you wonder that 
 I have not learnt more prudence, and are ready, if distance, and your 
 own sisterly kindness , did not prevent you, to box my ears. Very 
 well, I readily accept the will for the deed, set it to your account as 
 duly performed, and acquit you of all further obligation. 
 
 The conversation turned upon a subject of some considerable im- 
 portance, and this involved me, before I was aware, in a disputation 
 which so much the more diminished my strength than would otherwise 
 have been done. Some observations on the morning’s discourse relat- 
 ing to the extent of diabolical influence in the commission of sin, 
 originated a cautionary remark from one of the company, inculcating 
 the exercise of diligent care lest that which is strictly chargeable on 
 self should be placed to the account of Satan , and thus the due con- 
 viction of self be improperly parried. This drew from a gentleman 
 present a declaration of his belief that all sin is chargeable on the 
 devil ; that, in fact, the terms are almost synonymous, and that sin is 
 the devil in action. Another expressed his accordance with the sen- 
 timent just uttered, and added his opinion, that to the commission of 
 sin the presence of Satan is necessary ; and that, were the devil an- 
 nihilated, it would not be in the power of man to commit sin. A 
 third avowed his conviction that such sentiments are utterly incorrect, 
 and intimated his persuasion that his friends would find them unte- 
 nable by reason, and opposed to the Scriptures. With this conviction 
 your brother concurred. The challenge being thus given the contest 
 commenced; it was of course managed with affection, and closely pur- 
 sued, but with evidences sufficiently numerous of deficiency of logical 
 skill in all the parties concerned. I shall not give you my own obser- 
 vations, but content myself with sketching the argument as it was con- 
 ducted by two of the other combatants. 
 
 The onus resting on Mr. A. of stating reasons for differing from his 
 friends, he wished to enquire, 4 Whether his friends believed that Satan 
 possesses a personal and separate existence ; and then, whether sin 
 likewise possesses a personal and separate existence?’ 
 
 Mr. B. replied to this effect: — 4 Both terms are expressive of the 
 same spirit; and that spirit has a personal existence, separate from all 
 others.’ 
 
70 
 
 DIALOGUE ON DIABOLICAL INFLUENCE. 
 
 Mr. A. — 4 Have the goodness then to account for the origin and 
 progress of evil, moral and natural, in the world, on the hypothesis 
 that sin, which we all admit is the instrumental cause, and Satan, 
 are terms expressive of a spirit having a personal and separate exist- 
 ence.’ 
 
 Mr. B. — 4 Sin was introduced into the hearts of our first Parents 
 by the presence of Satan, and maintained there by the dominion 
 which he usurped in their hearts ; the act of sin, as it met the con- 
 currence of their will, was criminal in them v and punishable by the 
 divine law; but all sin originated with Satan. That his influence is 
 known wherever sin is committed, is evident from the universal pre- 
 valence of temptation, a prevalence so entire and constant that no 
 one, in a state of natural alienation from God, is divested of proofs 
 every moment arising of the presence of a superior, spiritual, and de-> 
 
 moralising influence. And there seems too additional evidence of this 
 
 ♦ 
 
 in the struggles made by a true believer, often unsuccessfully, to be 
 freed from the power of sin which reigns within him.’ 
 
 Mr. A. — 4 Your principal arguments then are drawn from the facts 
 that Satan is the author of sin in the human soul, and that his influ- 
 ence is universally felt nourishing and maturing it. Will you yet sa- 
 tisfy a doubt in my mind as to whether you regard sin as expressive 
 of the person of Satan, or as some quality residing in his nature 
 without which his existence is incomplete, or as some attribute which 
 has fallen out to him since his creation ?’ 
 
 Mr. B. — 4 Certainly as that which has fallen out to him since his 
 creation.’ 
 
 Mr. A. — 4 I perceive that you have resorted to this definition in 
 order to avoid what must be consequent from the other; for if sin 
 were a quality essential to his existence, the principle, as well as the 
 results of its operation, would be chargeable on the Great Creator of 
 all beings. But, as you adopt the other definition, you give lip the 
 point in hand ; for if sin be not essential to the nature of the spirit 
 we call Satan, but have become resident in him since his creation, it 
 follows that sin is separable from him ; consequently that it is some- 
 thing distinct from him ; and therefore, that sin and Satan are not 
 terms synonymous and expressive of the same thing or person.’ 
 
 Mr. B. — 4 Please to observe that, although sin is not essential to the 
 existence of the person of Satan as part of his original nature, yet it is 
 essential to him in the character of a devil.’ 
 
 Mr. A. — 4 With this 1 readily coincide, for the remark favours not 
 your opinion, but my own ; since you admit by it that sin is no per- 
 son at all, but that it is something the reception of which by a spi- 
 ritual being, or its attachment to him, has altered, not his person as 
 a spirit, but his moral principles and character. This agrees well 
 with the clear definition of sin given by the inspired Apostle, — 44 Sin 
 
DIALOGUE ON DIABOLICAL INFLUENCE. 
 
 71 
 
 is the transgression of the law.” Sin then is not a person, but an 
 action of the mind or body by which some divine precept is wil- 
 fully transgressed. A distinction of importance must however be 
 made between the act which is properly sin, and the evil principle 
 which excites to that act, and which, on account of its moral evil, is 
 termed sin, — u It is no more I that do it, but sin that dwelleth in 
 me.” It is evident that this principle is not Satan himself, because 
 they feel it in whom the dominion of Satan is destroyed : a justified 
 person, who is of course liberated from the slavery in which he 
 was subjected, and put in possession of grace, by which he is freed 
 from all condemnation, has yet a principle of evil remaining in him, 
 which Satan may solicit without its obtaining dominion ; that prin- 
 ciple is a depravity of moral motives and actions, — a corruption of 
 affections, — derived, it is true, through the agency of Satan, but resid- 
 ing in that spirit which commits sin, of whatever order it may 
 be ; and therefore sin, being neither a person nor a spirit, but 
 either a principle or an action, is not the devil, and may exist inde- 
 pendently of him. So that whatever views you, my friend, may 
 have of your own heart, I have no more charity for you than 1 have 
 for myself and all the rest of mankind in this respect ; but I must 
 conclude that were there no devil from this moment to present a tempt- 
 ation, or to be any more near you, your heart, of course taking into 
 the supposition the absence of all assistance of a corrective tendency, 
 would still be governed by sinful principles; and conduct, leading 
 to the breach of every Divine precept and to inevitable misery, would 
 be the result. For, unless this be admitted, the most dangerous doc- 
 trines are deducible from the opinions which you have broached : let 
 it be allowed that Satan has absolute dominion of the heart, and that 
 sin is the devil in action ; or, in other words, that the power which 
 holds possession of the heart irresistibly draws to the commission of 
 every act of hostility against God ; and it follows that no sin is 
 chargeable on the human agent. Again, admit that sin would not be 
 committed but for the presence and influence of tlie devil controlling 
 the human subject ; and it follows that there is no innate moral de- 
 pravity, — no corruption of the heart, such as is implied in the doc- 
 trine of original sin. Once more, admit that the devil, Satan him- 
 self, is the author of every sin committed, and that without his pre- 
 sence no sin would be committed, and yet that sin is at every mo- 
 ment committed in all parts of the earth; and you ascribe to him an 
 attribute of Deity — omnipresence: in denying this, if you ascribe 
 sin to the agency of a number of devils, you give up your original 
 point, that sin is inseparable from Satan himself ’ 
 
 Eustington, Saturday, 30th. — My friends here think me worse 
 than wtyen 1 left them for Gloucester, and they appear to regard me 
 as approaching the confines of another world. Well! what shall I do 
 
72 
 
 CONSOLATION FOR A POLLUTED SOUL. 
 
 now ? Suppose these apprehensions should be realised, a change is 
 coming upon me, which is at once strange, and infinitely momentous ; 
 all my dreams of creature-happiness vanish as despicable illusions, be- 
 fore the dawn of eternity : there is something extremely penetrating 
 in that light, and the representation of things which it gives, is widely 
 different from that given by carnal and depraved reflection. But 
 whence the coolness with which I contemplate these things ? I stand 
 and look at my soul, with the light of eternity blazing full upon it ; — 
 a light which darting from the eye of Divine Omniscience, pierces 
 through all things ; — and yet I am not terrified ! Nor is this because I 
 perceive no stains of pollution, nor traces of guilt upon that soul, for 
 it is covered with moral depravity, and guilt claims it to devour, with 
 ceaseless gnawing, as its lawful prey. Is it then because I am sunk 
 into an insensible apathy ? I think not, for I cultivate the most 
 searching recollections; I pray for a deliverance from all delusion, 
 and for a clear though painful discovery, if needful, of my real state, 
 as the knowledge of Jehovah comprehends it. But I love God, sin- 
 cerely, though feebly, I do love Him. All my soul tells me this; He 
 Himself will acknowledge it. I have 4 fled for refuge to the hope set 
 before me’ in the gospel ; and now 4 strong consolation’ is ensured to me 
 by 4 two immutable things,’ — the word and the oath of God. 1 believe 
 that it is ensured , for that faith which is revealed as the condition of 
 salvation, I do exercise with all my power. Why then should terror 
 be felt ? Faith, though poor in its degree, is yet exerted; and hence 
 though guilt demands me as its prey, yet it does not prevail with Je- 
 sus; and corruption, though it covers me still, and is felt pervading my 
 moral system, I am persuaded shall be overcome and entirely destroyed ; 
 for the grace which I expect will accomplish this work, has already 
 produced some miraculous changes in awakening and justifying me, 
 and I conclude its ability to effect this other in addition, and thus to 
 completely prepare me for heaven and God. 
 
 Sunday , 31st. — My weakness of body is considerable and increas- 
 ing ; the weather to-day is damp and gloomy, and for the first time, 
 during a long period of my life, am I compelled to stay from the house 
 of God, on account of illness. My soul however is not inactive ; as 
 though anticipating its removal, it seems anxious to make every requisite 
 preparation ; the indispensable need of its possessing a clearer evidence 
 of the stability of its faith than it has hitherto enjoyed, leads it this 
 morning to wrestle earnestly with God for satisfaction on the subject. 
 A delightful view was given me just now, of the sufficiency of the 
 Saviour’s atonement. What shall support me, I cried, in the consci- 
 ousness of deserved wrath, when I feel that no self-righteousness can 
 avail any thing, and that I have no righteousness at all? Nothing, — 
 nothing, will avail but the sacrifice of the Great Mediator. But this 
 is sufficient;— that sacrifice was satisfactory ; — God Himself ordained 
 
A PROSPEROUS SABBATII. 
 
 73 
 
 it! — God Himself offered it! — God Himself accepted it! The resur- 
 rection of Jesus from the dead, His ascension, and His admittance 
 into heaven, have set the broad seal of demonstration to the validity 
 of His priesthood, and the perfection of His sacrifice. Oh! this is 
 an atonement ! My guilty soul raising its dejected eyes at the Divine 
 Justice, and fearful with reason of meeting an everlasting repulse, 
 sees not the lowering clouds of wrath, nor the fearful purposes of ven- 
 geance, but the smile of infinite complacency darting and penetrating 
 into its inmost recesses a peaceful serenity, and an humble, thankful, 
 joy. Thus does my blessed Redeemer save me ; and I feel a ten- 
 fold pleasure in knowing that I would not part with my salvation for 
 that which would arise, were I put forcibly into possession of Heaven* 
 Glory, — -glory be to God that He may be just , while I am a sinner 
 saved ! Yes, the sacrifice of Jesus, is an atonement: my own fears 
 meet there the Divine purposes of grace, and are at one with them. 
 It appears amiable to me, not merely as the only alternative from condem- 
 nation and death, but I can desire no more than is there supplied ; 
 every thing is there that should have been taken into account. Yes> 
 it is an atonement , it has made the divine throne accessible by me, it 
 draws me in the most forcible manner by the powerful representation 
 which it gives of the first love of God to love Him in return, it brings 
 me into communion with the infinite Sovereign, it emboldens me to 
 speak to Him, it enables me to hold converse with Him, it draws me 
 into contact with God, so that I know Him, and feel Him, and see 
 Him ever and everywhere present; it unites me to Him, it brings me 
 to the place where He is, and as it were plunges me unhesitating into 
 the ocean illimitable and unfathomable of His fatherly and loving pre- 
 sence, where I am swallowed up in Him, truly and really at one with 
 God! 
 
 All this I have more than usually felt this evening while approach- 
 ing the throne of God, in company with a young and an aged saint ; 
 the latter prayed so sweetly that I was delighted, so powerfully that 
 I felt a present God, and so believingly that I was almost overwhelmed 
 with a blessing from above. Our souls mingled with each other, and 
 we were altogether wrapped in the presence of a forgiving, quickening, 
 purifying God. Jesus is already made of God to me my wisdom, — 
 from Him, I derive all my valuable information respecting another 
 world, — respecting pardon, peace, holiness and God : — He is my wise 
 Instructor. He is made of God to me righteousness too, — His blood 
 as the meritorious cause, is the ground of my righteous pardon and 
 adoption, upon believing in Him, and this I do at the present moment ; 
 if I never believed before, I do now believe with all my heart; this 
 appeal has saved me a thousand times from sinking into despondency ; 
 God the Father attests the truth of my acceptance with Him by pour- 
 ing His love into my soul, and God the Spirit continues the enjoyment 
 
74 
 
 A PROSPEROUS SABBATH. 
 
 of it, by quickening me to a further watching for increased power 
 and holiness. Jesus shall be made of God to me my sanctification, and 
 6 all the days of my appointed time will I wait till my first change 
 come’ from mortality to corruption, as it respects my body, and from 
 faith to vision, as it respects my soul; and when my second change ar- 
 rives, from corruption into immortal glory, and from the vision of 
 Paradise into the full fruition of God, then shall I prove, that Jesus 
 is ‘ made of God unto me not only wisdom, and righteousness, and 
 sanctification, but also full redemption.’ 
 
 And now the sabbath closes ! During the time of divine service, 
 the evening has been spent in interesting religious conversation with 
 my kind friend Miss H., who is evidently growing in grace, and in 
 whose heart the Lord is graciously reviving His work. He has shewn 
 her the evil of living at a distance from Him, and of endeavouring to 
 be satisfied with obscure and doubtful experience ; she sees and la- 
 ments her past unfaithfulness, but now rejoices in the knowledge of 
 salvation, and in the clear witness of the Spirit to her adoption ; she 
 thirsts for usefulness, resolves to be wholly dedicated to God, and be- 
 lieves it her privilege and feels it her duty to be entirely sanctified. 
 These circumstances, accompanied by evidently increased spirituality 
 of mind and conduct, are convincing evidences of the reality and the 
 progress of the gracious work, which God has begun in her soul. May 
 she ‘follow on to know the Lord;’ and may every step of her advance, 
 more fully confirm her in her attained grace, and more strikingly form 
 her into the likeness of God ! 
 
 But the sabbath closes ! It has indeed been a day of rest to my 
 soul. Truly gracious was the appointment of a seventh part of our 
 time to holy services, recollections of the utmost importance crowd 
 upon the mind devoted to admit them ; the brevity of human life, the 
 obligations of a dependent creature, the greatness of a rational mind, 
 the value of an immortal soul, the privileges of revealed religion, and 
 especially the emblem of those celestial enjoyments, which are the sab- 
 bath that remains for the people of God, are topics, which with all 
 the variety of contemplation that each of them affords, may transfix the 
 Christian mind through the successive hours of the day, and guide it 
 into a train of profound and profitable meditation ; how can it be pos- 
 sible that while subjects of such unequalled moment w r ait for the minds 
 of men, they can have the folly and the hardihood to trifle away the 
 moments allotted for investigation ? Good God ! pity, — Oh. pity those 
 who are under the dreadful infatuation which produces a love of sin, 
 contempt of thy word and the ordinances of thy religion, and the 
 most ungrateful use of all thy countless blessings ! Pity especially the 
 wretched creatures, intoxicated even to madness, by the potions 
 which the fiend of hell administers, who endeavour to hurry with im- 
 pious hands the ordinances, altars, and various institutions of religion, 
 
A PROSPEROUS SABBATII. 
 
 75 
 
 and even thy throne itself, into one common undistinguishable ruin ! 
 Oh, pity and forgive their guilty souls! But rise to defend thy own 
 cause, and blast the dreadful designs of these disturbers of thy Church 
 and the world ! 
 
 But the sabbath closes ! Its moments, though so precious, linger 
 not, but follow close upon the heels of common time, whose rapid 
 wings with ceaseless efforts clear away their path ! They are gone for 
 ever, and with them, the opportunity which they presented of adding 
 to my stores of spiritual knowledge; the power which they gave of 
 applying to practical purpose the knowledge previously gained, is 
 likewise withdrawn ; the permission which they offered to go to a 
 throne of Grace, to cast my soul before it, to wrestle for needed 
 ipercy and assistance, and to prevail for special, as well as for common 
 supplies, is now, together with every other advantage borne to me by 
 those moments, for ever placed beyond my reach. Should I cast my 
 eyes toward futurity, it is possible, though not certain, that the means 
 of grace gone with this day will be repeated in their kind ; they were 
 certain in the moments which put it into my power to realise them, 
 but now, they are mine no more and similar to them I perhaps shall 
 never again possess. Nothing then can exceed the folly with which 
 I am chargeable, if these moments have been suffered to pass unim- 
 proved. Let me look then at the present ; and I see that — 
 
 Although the sabbath closes , it is not to be forgotten. Its moments 
 would certainly have made an impression on my soul, had they been 
 unimproved ; but it would have been one, the gloom of whose appear- 
 ance would be far more dismal than the shades of the cloudy night 
 which now draws its sable horrors all around me ; the stain of their 
 .impression would be too deep for the rolling floods of rivers to efface ; 
 the guilt would be too lasting for the drops which fall in quick succes- 
 sion from the overcharged clouds to wash away, even if all those drops 
 collected were to supply the fountain of my tears with streams of pen- 
 itence. Nor would this be all ; — moments misimproved are abused ; — 
 they would not only leave their own impression on me, but go bearing 
 on themselves the marks which I had inflicted; and whither? They 
 would hasten to give in their report at the throne of the God who gave 
 them, they would lay their accusations, and for proofs would shew the 
 marks of my abuse upon them, the wounds inflicted by me, in order 
 to murder them. But is all this in truth the case with this day’s mo- 
 ments ? — No — no — it is not; conscience, which I have not bribed to 
 deceive me, here acquits me. Some of them have been too much 
 slighted, and the measure of holy attainment which 1 have made, 
 compared with what I might have secured, while they gave the privi- 
 lege, is not sufficiently large ; but the day has been improved : with 
 penitential feelings, I have appeared before reconciled justice, and 
 confessed my past misconduct and my present worthlessness ; it has 
 
76 
 
 A PROSPEROUS SABBATH. 
 
 seemed to reply, that though penitence would be insufficient to avert 
 its merited stroke, yet the sacrifice of my Divine Redeemer is ac- 
 cepted, and the account of it stands recorded as sufficient for me be- 
 fore the throne of Jehovah himself: with augmented pleasure have I 
 approached the place whence I procured a mental vision of 4 the Lamb 
 as it had been slain — how sweet the views of His interfering grace ! — 
 how worthy of His love the return of my strongest confidence! — how 
 boundless the benignity with which He stands as my Mediator, to re- 
 mind the Almighty righteous Creator and Sovereign of the world that 
 He died for me ! I have learnt to-day to love Him more, and to praise 
 Him in nobler and more fervent strains ; and this day’s moments are 
 gone to give in this report ! 
 
 Thus then while the sabbath closes , it is mine to bear witness of 
 the goodness of my God ; often have my painful apprehensions been 
 excited from the view however distant, of the season when illness of 
 body would compel my absence from the public means of grace; 
 but God has been better to me than all my fears, and this day, which 
 has brought upon me privations in this respect more extensive than I 
 have ever before known, has afforded an opportunityfor the condescen- 
 sion of Jehovah to follow a worm into its fearful and faithless retire- 
 ment, and to assure him of his changeless attention, unbounded power, 
 and affectionate fidelity. This act of wondrous goodness compels 
 conviction and fills my soul with increased confidence. 
 
 ‘ Should nature fail, and darkness hide the stars, 
 
 ‘ And cover with a sable veil the sun, 
 
 ‘ Unchang’d and fixed the truth of God remains, 
 
 ‘Nor knows the least decay. Here will I rest 
 ‘ With full assurance and unshaken faith.’ 
 
 Once more I have to break off the narrative of my Brother’s Jour- 
 nal in order to insert the following affectionate letter to his second 
 sister. 
 
 Eastington , Nov. 2, 1819. 
 
 My Sister P. 
 
 It is a pleasure to me to answer your short, but truly affec- 
 tionate epistle ; with feelings correspondent to those with which you 
 regarded me when writing, I can say that it is truly delightful to have 
 any intercourse with those to whom affection has peculiarly attached 
 us; while engaged in this exercise the mind feels at home, and freed 
 from the restraints which paralyse its efforts and repel its extensive 
 
advantages of religious correspondence. 
 
 77 
 
 movements in all its common intercourse ; it breathes, as it were, a 
 pure and bracing atmosphere, which redeems its enjoyments from 
 suffocation by disgust of less pleasant scenes of occupation, and stimu- 
 lates its powers to action, while in striving to communicate pleasure to 
 the object of love, it reaps real advantage for itself, and treasures up 
 with care the recollection of an engagement so profitable. Such in- 
 tercourse, if it be maintained only at a distance, must however be 
 productive of this double advantage ; while it gives pleasure to the 
 correspondent, it secures profit to self ; and this advantage will be 
 great in proportion to the importance of the subject of communication 
 and the depth of interest felt in promoting the correspondent’s benefit. 
 Where too the subject is more mental than physical, more spiritual 
 than earthly, or more celestial than sublunary, this advantage may be 
 obtained with great additions ; because such subjects, as they relate 
 to the formation of the mind, or its preparation for another and a 
 better world, are unequalled, yes, absolutely unequalled in their in- 
 terest and importance. 
 
 Truly then there is evident propriety in denominating such a cor- 
 respondence, as you do, a retiring to converse ; the mingling of the 
 spirits in affectionate regard seems to give real presence even to absent 
 friends, and the interchange of sentiments by means of paper and ink 
 is as really an expression of thoughts as any words can possibly give. 
 One advantage which writing possesses over conversation is of con- 
 siderable importance ; it must make the expression of sentiment more 
 deliberate than the rapidity of speaking will allow; and the sentiment 
 thus expressed stands as a continuing memento of what was the de- 
 liberate opinion of the mind at the time it was penned. On this 
 account I set a value particularly high upon the assurance which you 
 have given me of your conviction that substantial bliss is to be found 
 only in the service of Immanuel : this is a truth of the utmost im- 
 portance to your felicity of feeling and of state, in time and through 
 eternity ; a conviction too that it is a truth is scarcely of secondary 
 importance, since conviction deeply laid is the only sufficient stimulus 
 to a successful pursuit of the bliss itself; and it should make our very 
 souls weep to reflect, that the want of this conviction is the reason 
 why our fellow-creatures, by thousands and millions, spend their best 
 years 4 walking in the vanity of their minds’ in practices, deemed by 
 them, in their thoughtless infatuation, sources of true enjoyment; while 
 in reality they are visions in the extreme, and 4 treasure up for them 
 wrath against the day of wrath.’ 
 
 IIow thankful then should you be, my dearest P., that this convic- 
 tion is produced in your mind so early 1 The grace of God has taught 
 you in the outset of life that which many around you spend their lives 
 in learning at the dear rate of heart-rending experience ; nay, at the 
 expense of what is infinitely more valuable than their own feelings, 
 
78 
 
 TEMPTATIONS OF YOUTH. 
 
 the purity of their Consciences, the holiness of their lives, the blame- 
 lessness of their characters, and the safety of their souls ! 
 
 I should wonder indeed, my P., if with this conviction influencing 
 your own mind, you felt no solicitude that it should likewise possess 
 your brother’s ; and it produces no surprise in me, but it increases 
 my estimation of my 9ister, to hear, that while she is pleased and 
 thankful for the partial amendment in her brother’s health, she re- 
 joices more abundantly that he is still 4 walking jn the good old paths 
 this is the natural effect of your own conviction of the propriety and 
 necessity of such conduct. 
 
 I do not hesitate to acknowledge that my firm conviction is similar 
 to your own ; and thus we mutually rejoice in happiness derived from 
 the same source ; we rejoice over each other, assured that such a com- 
 mencement will if carried on, reach its own consummation, — 4 eternal 
 life f we do yet more, for as we have thus deliberately expressed our 
 opinion to each other, we have given an additional pledge to act ac- 
 cording to our principles, through the whole of life. Oh ! let us be 
 careful, by 4 walking in all the ordinances of the Lord blameless,’ by 
 submitting to all the teachings, whether pleasing or disagreeable, of 
 the Holy Spirit, and by living in the habit of resorting to the blood 
 of sprinkling, — oh ! let us be careful to redeem that pledge. 
 
 By such an adherence to the truths of God we shall indeed secure 
 happiness in an eminent degree, for the joys arising from communion 
 with Him, will be most satisfactory: yet so far from satiating the mind 
 it will derive fresh vigour to desire, and fresh power to attain such joys. 
 But joyous feelings will not be the only advantage secured by such a 
 mode of life ; patience, that grace so peculiarly needed in such a world 
 as this, will grow spontaneously, an evergreen of Paradise, in a 
 Christian soil ; this will be ours in order to lessen the fatigues of labour, 
 to diminish the excess of bitterness in suffering and distress, and in 
 application to our greatest native weakness, to afford an evidence of 
 the power of the grace that enables to 4 endure as seeing Him who is 
 invisible.’ 
 
 But you say, in a manner, that at least intimates discouragement, 
 that you sometimes take a view of your circumstances and temptations 
 in the bloom of youth, when the world presents its alluring charms, 
 and you are surrounded by the gay and thoughtless ; however it is this 
 religion that will supply you with motives to induce, and with strength 
 to enable you to surmount such obstacles, and, while you maintain your 
 integrity, to prove more than conqueror. That which would lead you 
 to draw discouragement from your circumstances is only a temptation ; 
 you are placed in no circumstances whither the eye, the presence, and 
 the sufficient grace of your Redeemer do not follow you, and then 
 4 if God be for you, who can be against you ? ’ 
 
ADVICE TO A SISTER. 
 
 79 
 
 It is this same conviction working effectually on your mind, (and 
 this is experimental religion,) that leads you to 4 long to be made use- 
 ful,’ and, in conformity with this desire, to labour to impress the 
 minds of your companions with a sense of their duty, and the beau- 
 ties of piety ; and the partial success with which you have been fa- 
 voured should be to you a most convincing evidence of the propriety 
 of the endeavours you make, as well as a proof of the Divine ap- 
 proval ; so that though the measure of your success may not equal 
 your wishes, it should excite your gratitude, and be an effectual bar- 
 rier against discouragement. 
 
 Upon the whole you have the greatest reason to abandon yourself, 
 1. To the grace of God, which has begun to work in you and for 
 you ; 2. To the pursuit of a larger degree of his love, and to the prac- 
 tice of applying more frequently, nay, incessantly to his free good- 
 ness in Christ Jesus; 3. To labours of usefulness in any way that 
 Providence may open to you ; and 4. To the conviction that you are 
 the Lord’s, that He has redeemed you, and that He is carrying on a 
 work of grace in your soul which shall result in your eternal salva- 
 tion. These things I would press upon you as necessary for the em- 
 boldening of your faith, to render you useful to others, and to enable 
 you to exemplify in your experience the sweetness, and in your ap- 
 pearance the beauties of the religion of the adorable Jesus; they are 
 necessary to give you sufficient vigour in opposing your adversaries, and 
 especially to give you dominion over that terrible propensity to de- 
 spondency, so natural to you, but so dishonourable to the grace and 
 love of your ever-blessed Lord. 
 
 My health is not now quite so good as it has been, so that I am 
 almost an entire prisoner ; well, good is the w ill of the Lord ! so have 
 I hitherto found it, and I will not now repine ; but in bonds or in 
 freedom, in health or in sickness, in life or in death, in the present 
 state or in the fufure, I am still 
 
 Your affectionate Brother 
 
 William. 
 
 Journal Concluded. 
 
 Wednesday , Nov. 3rd. — By a person despatched from Gloucester I 
 received a note communicating the very painful intelligence that Ly- 
 dia, the infant daughter of my dear friends Wheeler, is no more. This 
 note was written by Mr. W., and bears evident marks of severe pertur- 
 bation ; no wonder, I am sure they must feel their loss exquisitely ; 
 it was an only and a first-born, a beauty delicate as wax- work, and 
 one might have taken it for the model on which the dolls sold in toy- 
 
80 
 
 REFLECTIONS ON THE DEATH OF AN INFANT. 
 
 shops are manufactured ; it was very engaging, just able to distinguish 
 things and persons ; when it smiled it seemed, but only seemed , a 
 cherub; yet, now it ceases to smile on earth, it is in reality a cherub. 
 The exchange then, as far as its own state is concerned, is a happy 
 one, inasmuch as the substance is more important than the shadow, — 
 a reality more substantial than a mere appearance. But who can re- 
 sist the grasp with which loveliness itself lays hold on the heart? Or 
 who can guard the avenues of his affections against the pleasing in- 
 sinuations and the artless innocence of a smiling babe ? I cannot, 
 nor do I envy the undomesticated sternness of him who can. Little 
 Lydia made me feel as though I were — what? I had almost said, 
 her Father, — but I know not a Parent’s feelings, — yet certainly as 
 though I were her brother, and now I feel as though I had lost 
 a sister, as though some string which nature had formed, and 
 twined, and fastened round my heart, were not only cut , but torn 
 asunder and away. What then must the Parents’ feelings be ? At 
 this moment perhaps wishing to regale themselves with the sight of 
 those smiles that carried thrilling gladness through their souls, they 
 check themselves half-asking where she is, or feeling as though 
 they would impress upon their darling’s face kisses similar to those 
 which they had for months been able to give with a sort of rapture 
 which Parents only know; — then suddenly recollecting that those 
 cheeks are cold, — those smiles are lost in death, — the feeling more 
 than filling their hearts, bursts from their eyes in almost ceaseless 
 torrents ; and scarcely are they thus relieved from the heavy surcharge 
 which swelled and almost broke them. I do not, — cannot wonder at 
 their grief. Were I near them now I would not tell them to dry their 
 eyes, — I would not lay a cruel interdict upon a Father’s or a Mo- 
 ther’s feelings, for Heaven itself does it not ; the Lawgiver of heaven 
 and earth, when incarnate and possessed of human affections and hu- 
 man passions in a human heart, expressed his distress by evidences 
 not to be mistaken , — c Jesus wept !’ 
 
 Of all classes of men, my dear friends at G. have a right to weep, 
 for they are Christians ; and the grace which they already have within 
 them, and the Sacred Spirit who beholds them with ineffable benignity, 
 who is pledged to be near to their assistance, and who is even thus 
 accomplishing his own purposes in them, their sanctification and final 
 glory, — these will preserve them from insupportable sorrow, and from 
 murmuring imputations on the paternal care and affection of their God 
 and Saviour. Oh ! Thou eternal and glorious Spirit, who wilt be, as 
 it is thy right to be, the only Ruler of the heart of man, the only 
 Object of his largest affections, the only Source of his chief joys, the 
 only Boundary of his best , his widest , his most animating wishes and 
 hopes, hear the fervent supplication of a friend for the intimate part- 
 ners of his thoughts and regards, — hear him imploring for them that 
 
EXERCISES AND PRIVILEGES OF A PARENT. 
 
 81 
 
 patience under privation, which shall demonstrate them to be Chris- 
 tians, — that triumph in affliction, which shall abash the adversary of 
 souls, and glorify thy name , — those abounding consolations, which 
 shall make them lose their sorrows in the tide of spiritual enjoyment, 
 that flows from thee, the exuberant Fountain, — that increased mea- 
 sure of self-devotion, which, while it sinks them entirely into the 
 arms of thy disposal, shall be the means of their deriving from thee 
 an omnipotent strength, by which they shall rise refreshed from this 
 labour of their souls to yield their all to thee, — by which they shall 
 rise superior to toils, to anxieties, to afflictions, to privations, — by 
 which they shall rise above the power of spiritual adversaries, and 
 thus be rendered more and more fit to receive the impress of that 
 seal which shall secure them to thyself unto the day of redemp- 
 tion ! 
 
 Oh ! my dear Sarah, who would be a Parent, if such be the trials, 
 the exercises, the distressing separations to which he is exposed ? Or 
 rather, who would not be a Parent if such be the privileges, the ho- 
 nours, the profits to which he is entitled ? A Christian Parent raises 
 a family that shall call him blessed ; if he lose an infant , he gives a 
 child to his God, — could Abraham give a surer evidence of his love? 
 if he lose a darling , he gives to heaven a favourite ; if he lose a 
 treasure , he studs his own Redeemer's crown with a spotless jewel ; 
 if a rose-bud wither in his hand, while he delighted draws its fra- 
 grance, he plants a flower in the paradise of God which shall live 
 with unfading bloom for ever . And exercises, however painful, 
 sent by the great Head of the Church to his members, are designed 
 to promote their spiritual profit, and some such exercises are neces- 
 sary ; the untried soul is too feeble to obey the Lord’s command, 
 couched in such emphatic words, because no others would express his 
 meaning so fully; 4 strive’ — 4 a^ivvi^eaOe' — ‘ agonise' (a word bor- 
 rowed from the prize-wrestlers in the Isthmian games, who were 
 termed 4 Agonistcej from their straining every muscle even to agony 
 in their contentions,) 4 to enter in at the strait gate.’ Or that of the 
 inspired Apostle, who spake by the same Spirit; 4 work out,’ — 
 4 /ccnep^a^eaQeJ — 4 labour intensely for’ — 4 your own salvation.’ These 
 exercises, duly administered under the careful observance of the all- 
 wise and benevolent Captain of our salvation, are spiritually athletic ; 
 by habitual exertion they inure to labour , they teach to conquer, 
 they give the power to triumph, and they add our trophies to our 
 Captain’s glory. 
 
 Scenes, my Sarah, like this, of prospects blasted, and of earthly 
 pleasures the dearest and most innocent snatched away, are full of in- 
 struction to the mind of a Christian. From the eminence of observa- 
 tion to which his piety elevates him, viewing even at a distance the 
 
 G 
 
82 
 
 CONSOLATIONS OF A TRIED CHRISTIAN. 
 
 changes which transpire in the busy world beneath him, he learns to 
 rejoice that this world is in any measure put under his feet, and he 
 sees the absolute necessity of treading it down yet more securely. 
 Those changes in the course of their heedless round may involve his 
 own concerns ; a shock, convulsive as the agonies of quaking nature 
 when she labours to disgorge the furious passions laid beneath her 
 bosom, may shake the strong pillar of his own joys, and the firm 
 foundation of his own hopes ; then, how interesting the question, — 
 Will they stand? He has passions which nature has collected and hid- 
 den beneath his bosom, furious indeed, and they must be expelled ; 
 and in the midst of the operation of those means, so painful , so 
 more-than-r ending as they sometimes are, which God employs to 
 effect this desirable, this essentially-necessar y object, if his faith 
 penetrating futurity lay hold on the altar or the throne of God, and 
 enable him to 6 endure as seeing Him who is invisible happy — happy 
 
 is he ! 
 
 Nor is this all, while he is looking at those vicissitudes from the 
 station which he occupies, they involve no impenetrable mysteries to 
 him ; though to those persons engaged in them, and suffering from 
 them, they are unsearchably mysterious, to him the whole , if not all 
 the parts , are quite intelligible, — the whole combination of move- 
 ments, however intricate, are regular and determined ; his faith per- 
 ceives the agency which secretly moves the whole, and discovers the 
 agent whose impression excites the causes, and whose will draws out 
 the effects; while they who are in the midst of the tumult perceive 
 no agency, but that of second causes, and no will but that of lot or 
 fortune. The reason is, that they are beclouded by the dust which 
 rises from the terrible confusion ; while he is exalted on an eminence 
 above them, from which, as disorder subsides and the dust is blown 
 away, he penetrates unmolested ; he refers all to God, whom he 
 knows as his Friend, and feels as his Father; and thus enjoys the 
 unutterable satisfaction arising from a full confidence that 6 all is 
 well.’ Oh ! my dear Sister, let us open our hearts to the influence of 
 that piety which so elevates, let us feel its exalting tendency; it will 
 infallibly raise us in our state , and at the same time so sublime our 
 feelings as to put that moral miracle within the accomplishment of our 
 owp faith, by which we shall be able to 
 
 ‘ Sit calm on tumult’s wheel, 
 
 Midst busy multitudes, alone !’ 
 
 Here the Journal abruptly concludes. 
 
ARGUMENTS AGAINST ANXIETY RESPECTING THE FUTURE. 83 
 
 The following Extract is addressed 
 
 To his elder Brother. 
 
 Eastingion , Nov. 8, 1819. 
 
 My very dear Brother, 
 
 An almost insurmountable objection to be the bearer of my 
 own communications induces me to drop you a few lines, although 
 they should arrive at B. only a few hours before myself. 
 
 Clear penetration into the future is not the prerogative of humanity, 
 perhaps not of finite minds ; it is well for us that the case is thus, 
 or the future would engross the whole of our attention ; and the past 
 not atfording sufficient interest to fix our review, would produce no 
 effective lessons for conduct, nor would it furnish any powerful ex- 
 citements to gratitude : it would only leave us reason to congratulate 
 ourselves for one escape from danger in the moment of its occurrence 
 in order to give place to apprehensions, fearfully roused, respecting 
 another fast approaching. It is much to be regretted that any mor- 
 tals should take it for granted that they know more of the future 
 than they do, and then, from their uncertain calculations, as though 
 from established data , draw terrors to themselves which they are per- 
 haps not designed to feel. This may have been the case with some 
 of my dear friends at home, but I do not say that all the circum- 
 stances of the case are applicable to them. In reference to the ill- 
 ness of a relative, or his restoration to health, the best way is not to 
 be sanguine, but resigned ; and happy is it for the individual who is 
 the subject, not only of illness itself, but of the various speculations 
 agitated around him, if while he is supported by the abounding con- 
 solations of the gospel of Jesus, he can bear up against the influence 
 of circumstances calculated either to animate his hopes of life, or to 
 revive his fears of their frustration. He may then prove himself a 
 saint indeed by the resignation of all to God, by entire acquiescence 
 in either decision of His will, by the unreserved consecration of his 
 powers to Him while living, and by the cheerfulness with which he 
 sinks under the power of disease, breaks away from the endearments 
 of life, and drawing near the confines of eternity is ready to depart 
 into that land of blessedness, the expectation of which already sheds 
 upon his pallid and dying countenance the smile and the glory of c the 
 hope that maketh not ashamed.* If this will ever be the case with 
 me I know not, but it is with this view that I embraced the religion 
 of Jesus which I profess, and it is with this view, added to others 
 more directly referring to the glory of God in my salvation, that I 
 confirm myself in the profession of that religion, and pray to be led 
 into all its sacrifices and all its enjoyments. I thank you sincerely 
 for your kind anticipation of my inward conflicts, and for the remedy 
 
 g 2 
 
84 
 
 DARKNESS OF HIS TROYIDENTIAL PATH. 
 
 which you propose against the poison of Satanic discouragement ; the 
 latter has been blest to me, and will yet be the means, I trust, of my 
 triumphing again and again. Afflictions are certainly times of ne- 
 cessity; it is the necessity which they induce that constitutes them 
 afflictions ; and for this they are sent, that the urgency of the neces- 
 sity being felt, it may lead to an application for relief : may I al- 
 ways be preserved from the folly of striving to bear my own bur- 
 dens ! 
 
 I have read with regret the account of my old friends at ; 
 
 may the Lord in mercy recal them ! They will think very differently 
 from the loose notions which they now entertain of experimental re- 
 ligion, when sickness cools their ardour after the world, and death 
 tells them that they must entirely leave it. 
 
 The information which you wish on the subject of the revival in 
 this Circuit must at present be deferred. I can only say that in every 
 part of the Circuit there is a considerable increase to the Societies, 
 that the increase is almost weekly, and that during my stay in Glou- 
 cester seven or eight have been added in this village. The converts 
 remain steady, no backsliding of those particularly convinced has as 
 yet appeared, some very striking conversions have transpired, and the 
 instances are numerous in which a change is most apparent; there is 
 an indescribable power in faithful preaching and believing prayer. 
 
 I rejoice to hear that James Mowat is going to the East, though 
 I do not rejoice that he is going without me. On this subject I feel 
 more than I can express, but my way at present is very plain ; at 
 least, it is most evident that my way now is not to the East Indies. 
 Here I sometimes ask — 4 Lord ! what art thou going to do with me?’ 
 but the only answer I can obtain is, — 4 What is that to thee ? Where 
 is thy faith ? Follow thou me.’ In the times of my nearest access to 
 the Divine throne, I can obtain no light upon my own life or death 
 from the disorder under which I labour ; but whenever I propose the 
 subject in prayer, I am at once shut up, for I find no liberty except 
 in giving myself up entirely to the Lord, resolving whether in life or 
 in death to be His — His wholly — His alone. Should I get well, 
 would these purposes be fulfilled ? Suppose especially that I should 
 not be a Methodist Preacher? What have I to do with to-morrow ? 
 I purpose it to-day. I am in health somewhat better; but feel very 
 much troubled with deafness, and sensible of the least fatigue. 
 
 Your affectionate Brother 
 
 William. 
 
 It was not long after the receipt of the last letter that we had an op- 
 portunity of observing that our keenest anxieties respecting the health 
 of my dear Brother were not without the most alarming foundation ; 
 his visit, so far from having produced the desired effect upon his 
 
PROVIDENTIAL ESCAPE PROM THE EFFECTS OF FIRE. 
 
 85 
 
 constitution, had been to all appearance, notwithstanding the un- 
 mitigated kindness of all his friends, really injurious to him. In- 
 deed, we were all so much agitated when we beheld him, that for 
 some time we could hardly persuade ourselves that it was possible 
 for him to recover. Our medical attendant was soon summoned, and 
 he immediately ordered the invalid to his room, strictly prohibiting 
 at the same time, any kind of intercourse with him, by conversation, 
 except what was absolutely necessary. To these directions we were 
 obliged to submit in melancholy silence, and thus William was con- 
 fined, almost exclusively, to his chamber for several months, alter- 
 nately exciting our hopes and rousing our fears respecting his ultimate 
 restoration. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Providential Escape from the effects of Fire — Revival of Health — Remarks on 
 Spiritual Conversation — The Penitent described and encouraged — Visit to Chew- 
 Magna — Affecting Case of Distress — Reflections on Eternity — Second Visit to 
 Gloucester — Reflections in a Stage-Coach — Observations on Evil-speaking and 
 Calumny — Important Advice to a younger Brother — Remarks on Marriage. 
 
 In this state of painful suspense we were kept, until a circumstance 
 occurred which gave a fearful preponderance to our gloomiest appre- 
 hensions. It was either in the latter end of February, or the com- 
 mencement of March, in the following year, that the family were sud- 
 denly alarmed at about ten o’clock at night by the intelligence that a 
 fire had broken out in the house immediately opposite our own. The 
 street in which we lived, though one of the most central and public 
 in the city, was extremely narrow ; a circumstance which placed our 
 dwelling in the most imminent danger: as it was, however, the house 
 was so completely scorched as to render it impossible to remain in the 
 front rooms ; and we feared that in consequence of the vast multitude 
 of fiery particles passing over us, and lodging on the top of the house, 
 and on some stables situated immediately behind us, there would be 
 very little chance of our escape. In these circumstances it was neces- 
 sary to adopt some measure to extricate the family from their perilous 
 situation ; but, not having the convenience of a back-door, it only 
 remained for us to make a large hole in the back-wall, through which 
 my dear Brother, together with the rest of the family, was obliged to 
 
86 
 
 REMARKS ON SPIRITUAL CONVERSATION. 
 
 creep ; and thus, after having been confined to the house since the 
 preceding November, he had to walk, in the midst of the night, 
 through several streets, wrapped up in a blanket, to the house of a 
 friend. We then thought that his death would be the most probable 
 issue of this dangerous exposure ; however, by the good providence 
 of God, he escaped without material injury. After remaining for 
 some short time at the house in which he had taken refuge, he was 
 conveyed to a cottage, in the neighbourhood of the city, where he 
 was again detained a prisoner, until his health, through the influence 
 of the returning spring and the blessing of God, seemed again in some 
 degree improved. However notwitstanding the general debility of his 
 frame, and the painful depression of spirits from which he usually suf- 
 fered so much, it is evident from the following Extracts, that he was 
 determined not to be idle in his Master’s cause: the former is to his 
 younger brother ; and the latter to a young friend at Eastington, to 
 whom there is reason to believe, he had, during his late visit, been 
 made useful. 
 
 April 18 , 1820 . 
 
 Dear Sam. 
 
 The natural reserve of our family toward each other on the 
 subject of experimental religion is by no means favourable to mutual 
 edification, nor to the glory of our adorable Redeemer. It is wrong 
 to appear to treat that which is indeed the greatest business of life as 
 though it were the least. But the great business of wisdom, as em- 
 ployed on this subject, is to discover the proper seasons for particular 
 thinking and speaking on it. There is indeed with some persons, a 
 commendable readiness to enter on the subject, and their manner, be- 
 cause it is so amiable, so modest, and so inquisitive, is to be admired 
 and imitated. And the most successful mode of imitation is to gain 
 and to preserve the spirit which animates them. They feel the im- 
 portance of religion. I prefer saying, ( they feel ,’ to 6 they know , 9 
 because the former phrase expresses more, much more, than the lat- 
 ter. To know that it is a duty to serve God is a far easier attainment 
 than to feel the obligation, so as to bind the soul to devotion. To 
 know the acceptable way of service, viz. through the 6 faith, that 
 worketh by love,’ and to feel that love which is an animating, zealous, 
 Christian principle, produced in the heart by a believing contempla- 
 tion of the riches of Jehovah’s goodness, and by motives derived from 
 that goodness impelling the soul to a course of simple and sincere obe- 
 dience ; are widely different conditions of the mind : many who attain 
 the former, are miserably defective in the latter; nay, it is to be feared 
 that vast numbers sink into perdition, while they thus ‘ hold the truth 
 in unrighteousness.’ You are well assured, my dear brother, of the 
 difference between knowing that God has sent His Son into the world, 
 
REMARKS ON SPIRITUAL CONVERSATION. 
 
 87 
 
 and that Jesus is that only begotten Son of God, and feeling that Je- 
 sus is in truth the Saviour from the condemnation Under which every 
 sinner lies. Now to keep this feeling perpetually awake by unceasing 
 applications for assistance to the throne of grace, is the best way to 
 attain a proper readiness to think and to speak on the highly interest- 
 ing topics of the redeeming love of God. In other words, in order 
 to have a becoming boldness in the cause of Christ, and to live in the 
 habit of exemplifying the impression which religion makes upon our 
 minds, it is chiefly necessary to keep alive the flame of genuine piety, 
 and to nourish into perpetual prosperity, the graces of Christianity in 
 the soul. 
 
 It follows of course, that a backwardness to think and speak of 
 Jesus on proper occasions, is an evidence of some deficiency. I have 
 often found on having missed such an opportunity, that it was because 
 my love had waxed cold, and then this has made it colder still. In- 
 deed in all parts of experimental religion, there is this re-action dis- 
 coverable: he who is zealous, becomes more so by exercising his godly 
 zeal; he who is simple and modest, becomes more amiable as these 
 graces, nourished and corrected by others, are allowed to operate on 
 his mind and conduct: but on the other hand, he who is timorous, be- 
 comes a coward, and the coward a deserter, and the deserter an apos- 
 tate, if the first advances of this unworthy principle be not checked 
 and overcome. You will remember, that this is consistent with the 
 representations of Scripture and the law of God : — 6 For whosoever 
 hath, to him shall be given, and he shall have more abundance, but 
 whosoever hath not, from him shall be taken away even that he hath.’ 
 And that terrible denunciation confirms this statement : — 6 He that is 
 unjust, let him be unjust still: and he which is filthy, let him be filthy 
 still !’ 
 
 I have written the above, as the thoughts occurred to my mind, as 
 much for my own admonition as for yours, and to induce a resolution 
 in both of us, to be on all occasions becomingly bold for God, and 
 especially to suffer no opportunity proper for the purpose, to pass 
 without exchanging some sentences which shall strengthen each other’s 
 hands in the Lord. Let us however remember two things : 1. That 
 the little which we know and feel of religion, if it be genuine piety, 
 (and of this I think, no doubt is reasonable,) will keep us constantly 
 in the eager attitude and humble spirit of enquirers : 2. That to make 
 any truly and increasingly valuable attainments in religion, we must 
 make up our minds, — we must be firmly resolved, — to be truly and 
 deeply pious. The opportunities of conversation with you are very 
 few, but you are often thought of with increasing affection, by 
 
 Your Brother 
 
 William. 
 
88 
 
 THE PENITENT DESCRIBED AND ENCOURAGED. 
 
 May 8, 1820. 
 
 My very dear Friend, 
 
 Y our affectionate and interesting epistle has lain by reproach- 
 ing me for the neglect which it has experienced, and claiming a speedy 
 reply. I regret the delay that my weakness has occasioned, and en- 
 treat you not to attribute it in any measure to indifference. The pe- 
 rusal of your letter gave rise to a mixture of feelings in my heart ; the 
 painful was so blended with the pleasing, — joy, yes, real exultation of 
 joy, was so mingled with unaffected sorrow, as to render it difficult or 
 impossible to separate them : yet there was no difficulty in determin- 
 ing to which the preponderance would be given ; that was decided at 
 once. However painful on some accounts the state of your feelings, 
 the indications of approaching blessedness were so plainly discoverable 
 as to hide present suffering from the view, by carrying the eye for- 
 ward to the boundless prospect of pleasure before. The re-perusal 
 just now, has awakened similar sensations, and at this moment no 
 others are, I hope, applicable to your case ; unless indeed it be those 
 of unmingled delight, arising from your having blessedly entered 
 into the liberty of God’s children. 
 
 I am struck with the correspondence between the state of your mind, 
 and that which the Apostle personates in Rom. 7th chap., and from 
 the 7th verse. I believe your case is there precisely and particularly 
 described. You lament your inability to answer in a satisfactory man- 
 ner the enquiries suggested to you ; now those enquiries arose from a 
 consideration of the requirements of the law of God and the only me- 
 thod of fulfilling them, and your dissatisfaction arose of course from a 
 consciousness that you did not fulfil the will of God, and consequently 
 that His anger must be kindled, and that you must be in danger of 
 the inflictions of His righteous displeasure : compare this with verse 
 7th, — c I had not known sin but by the law,’ i. e. as applied to our 
 condition, — ( unless the law of God had come to my heart with such 
 power as to work conviction, I should not have known myself a sin- 
 ner, nor should I have discovered the amazingly spiritual criminality 
 and defilement which sin produces.’ Now although it is to be lamented, 
 and deeply deplored, that you, my friend, and every sinner to whom 
 the convincing grace of God has been so manifested as to shew the 
 evil of sin, should ever have been so deeply fallen as to be 4 alive,’ 
 (see verse 9th) i. e. in all the vigour and boldness of unterrified sin- 
 fulness 6 without the law,’ i. e. before it was spiritually applied ; yet 
 it is matter of unfeigned rejoicing and thankfulness, however unpre- 
 pared you may feel under such circumstances to be either joyful or 
 thankful, that the law has been at length so applied to your heart, as 
 to discover to you the contradiction which has existed, and which still 
 
THE PENITENT DESCRIBED AND ENCOURAGED. 
 
 89 
 
 remains, between itself and your life ; and, (however appearances may 
 flatter you, and the men and things of the world delude you,) the 
 consequent danger as well as wretchedness of your condition. 
 
 Nor is this the only cause for rejoicing; for Sin, which has been 
 the occasion of the dreadful breach between yourself and your God, 
 is by this means dragged forth before your view, so that you cannot 
 help seeing it, and, seeing it as contrasted with the law or will of God, 
 you cannot help in some degree hating it. Now it is very obvi- 
 ous, that the discovery of all this was essentially needful to lead to 
 salvation ; for the man without the law, esteems himself 4 alive,’ i. e. 
 in no danger from within or without, and consequently he is presump- 
 tuously sinful and careless; but no sooner does the commandment come, 
 than 4 sin revives,’ i. e. lives in its proper form, and appears to the mind ; 
 or, in other words, it discovers itself as sin subsisting in the soul ; and 
 4 then the sinner dies,’ i. e. sinks in his own estimation, convicted by his 
 conscience, under the sentence of death, of separation for ever from 
 God. His circumstances are now truly paradoxical, there is a seem- 
 ing contradiction in them ; in himself he is wretched because under 
 condemnation, but this wretchedness brings along with it the first 
 dawn of hope ; now that he has died to himself there is reason to 
 hope that he will live to the Lord, but without this, he must infallibly 
 have continued 4 alive,’ in sin, till death had consigned him to eternal 
 reprobation. It is true, there is a possibility of his not being immedi- 
 ately delivered, for most convinced persons are not at once liberated 
 from the guilt and power of sin, and this my friend is your case ; 
 yet this is not necessarily so, there is no written rule, nor indeed any 
 rule at all existing, to prevent the convinced from believing the very 
 moment after their conviction takes place ; witness the three thousand 
 on the day of Pentecost, the crucified thief, the jailor at Philippi, 
 the eunuch in the chariot, &c. : but the day of liberty is frequently 
 postponed through a want of mental simplicity and readiness to receive 
 the truth as it is in Jesus ; advantages, which in general are most es- 
 pecially deficient where the gospel has been much heard without effect. 
 The consequence is, a continuance of distress, and conflict, and 
 struggling, till the soul is fairly beaten out of all its sinful pleasures, 
 often one by one; and during the whole of this time, whether a month, 
 or a year, or seven years, there of course remains condemnation, and 
 sin frequently reigning triumphant; thus aggravating the guilt and 
 distress of the soul : for until redemption is found in the blood of Je- 
 sus, the power, as well as the guilt of sin, always does remain in a 
 greater or less degree. And there is another consideration tending to 
 shew the wretchedness of such a state : as there is no proper union 
 with Christ, nor happy communion with the Father, nor actual enjoy- 
 ment of the consolations of the Holy Ghost; — indeed nothing of a 
 comforting kind, except occasional lifts by the way graciously given 
 
DO THE PENITENT DESCRIBED AND ENCOURAGED. 
 
 to preserve from utter despondency ; so the soul is in imminent danger 
 of being again allured by the attractions of the world, and again lulled 
 by Satan, into the repose of imagined but awfully delusive security. 
 It is true that a perfect removal from danger is not to be expected in 
 the present life, as all the way through, it must be a life of probation ; 
 yet the danger is amazingly diminished when the soul is delivered from 
 the guilt and power of sin, and filled with 4 the kingdom of God, 
 which is righteousness, peace, and joy in the Holy Ghost and the rea- 
 son is plain, Omnipotence is then so united to the soul, as invariably 
 to protect it from all danger, through violence ; and the enjoyments of 
 piety, and its further attractions, have an influence and a hold upon 
 the affections, which they never can have, while the soul is in a state 
 of condemnation, and through its indecision and weakness compara- 
 tively the sport of contrary and contending principles. Now' I repeat, 
 my dear friend and fellow-sinner, with the same mingled feelings as 
 before, of pleasure and regret, of hope and almost, but not entirely, 
 overwhelming fear, that unless you have entered into the liberty of 
 the sons of God, I am persuaded this is your case. You will observe 
 that I do not speak as to the precise measure of your conviction, nei- 
 ther does the Bible in the case personated by St. Paul ; it is enough 
 that your conviction is sufficient to produce in your mind a continual 
 warfare between two opposite and conflicting principles ; the one 
 drawing you toward God, and seconding its elforts by every mode of 
 persuasion which your mind can admit ; the other impelling you to 
 the commission of sin with a vigour and a force which you are too 
 feeble to resist, and with a craft and a subtlety which you are too un- 
 instructed to discover, until you are roused, and astonished, and dis- 
 mayed by the additional smart which conscience, urged by the law, 
 inflicts for new offences and repeated sins. 
 
 Your language most plainly indicates this to me, and I am too deep- 
 ly and too painfully experienced in the woful wounds of a conscience 
 often urged by transgression to sting without mercy, not to understand 
 and sympathise with your keen disappointments and distresses. You 
 say — 4 1 have been seeking happiness in the world where it is not to 
 be found. How many times have I resolved and re-resolved to for- 
 sake my sins, and to cleave unto the Lord with full purpose of heart! 
 But when I am engaged in worldly concerns all my former resolutions 
 have been forgotten, and I have fallen into the temptations of the 
 enemy. Thus have I been stifling the convictions of the Holy Spirit 
 of God. What a mercy that I am not cut off in my sins !’ Oh ! my 
 dear Brother, 4 thy heart is indeed as my heart;’ and I am sure that 
 Mercy, while she drops a tear over your misery, cannot help smiling 
 out a benignant beam of pleasure on your state, the sure signal of her 
 being about to claim you as her own, and to anoint you with 4 the oil 
 of joy for mourning,’ and to array you with the ‘garment of praise for 
 
THE PENITENT DESCRIBED AND ENCOURAGED. 
 
 91 
 
 the spirit of heaviness.’ Look attentively, my friend, at Rom. ch. 7th, 
 and downward from the 13th verse, and recognise the exact features 
 of your case : do not be afraid of presuming, but with truth and bold- 
 ness see your feelings put most strikingly into words: — 4 the law is 
 spiritual, but you are carnal, sold under sin,’ *. e. entirely under the 
 power of it; 4 for that which you do, you allow not; but what you 
 would do, you do not ; and what you hate, that you do.’ Go down 
 regularly, and through each successive verse see the progress of your 
 own feelings toward the clear conviction of the utter wretchedness and 
 helplessness of your condition. Again, I entreat you not to be afraid 
 to admit the conclusion, that all your striving cannot possibly prevail 
 without the grace and liberty of the Gospel. Think of this till you 
 cry out : 4 O wretched man that I am beneath this body or burden of 
 spiritual death ! who shall deliver me ? I cannot — oh ! no — I cannot 
 possibly deliver myself. I have tried it very often and very long, 
 but as sure as I try I am always disappointed. Oh! I am still under 
 condemnation ; in my present state I cannot be saved. What shall I 
 do? Oh, wretch that I am! who will deliver me?’ Your feelings 
 must have been much like these when you wrote : — 4 In what a miser- 
 able situation shall I be if I should miss of heaven at last ! After sitting 
 under the sound of the Gospel for so many years, after having been 
 the subject of so many prayers offered up at the throne of grace, and 
 after having lived for such a length of time with an affectionate and 
 pious family ; I should at last be separated from them, and hear that 
 dreadful sentence pronounced against me: — 44 Depart from me, thou 
 cursed one, into everlasting fire, prepared for the devil and his angels !” 
 Oh! I cannot bear the heart-rending thought!’ No, my Brother, nor 
 do I believe that you shall ever bear the reality ; so far from this, I 
 doubt not that you shall be united with them, first in the bonds of 
 the gospel fellowship, and then again in glory everlasting. Look 
 again at Rom. 7th and you will see that as soon as the soul becomes 
 self-desperate, JESUS appears in view, and through him God gra- 
 ciously bestows the answer which the wretched enquirer wanted. 
 And then in the 8th chapter immediately follows: — 4 There is there- 
 fore now no condemnation to them which are in Christ Jesus.’ What 
 a beautiful representation ! Imagine the case your own, my friend: 
 a soul is plunged into the defilement of sin, and wallows a long time 
 in the mire of his own filthiness, until apprised of the unfitness of his 
 condition to remove to an eternity of happiness; frightened he im- 
 mediately sets about cleansing himself, but to his severe disappoint- 
 ment finds that his washing is only to 4 fouler stains,’ he becomes more 
 and more clogged, and in his own view more and more filthy ; and 
 yet so intent is he on cleansing himself^ and being beholden for help 
 to none but himself, that he scarcely thinks of looking round for ex- 
 ternal aid ; at length wearied and almost desponding, he wrings his 
 
92 THE PENITENT DESCRIBED AND ENCOURAGED. 
 
 hands, and cries out : — c Oh, wretched man that I am! who shall de- 
 liver me ?’ — at that moment his uplifted eye catches a glimpse of the 
 Fountain of the Redeemer’s blood, and sees inscribed on it. — 4 Open 
 for sin and uncleanness !’ he immediately springs enraptured with 
 hope toward the inviting Laver, and as he shouts : — 4 1 thank God !’ 
 plunges just as he is into the deep, the boundless deep in which it is 
 impossible for any to be lost : he soon rises above the flood, and the 
 very moment he is able to speak distinctly, his happy changed con- 
 dition compels him exulting to exclaim: — ‘There is now no condem- 
 nation to us who are in Christ Jesus, who walk no longer in bondage 
 after the flesh, but in glorious liberty after the Spirit ; for the law of 
 the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus hath made me free from the law of 
 sin and death! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!’ 
 
 With this, my friend, I leave you, commending you to God and 
 the word of his grace. Remember that nothing can harm you, except 
 indecision and willingly allowed sin ; for no commission of sin past, 
 of which you sincerely repent, nor indeed any dominion of sin present 
 which is lamented and opposed with resolution, is sufficient to prevent 
 your being received and saved by Jesus ; on the contrary these are 
 the very things which make a Saviour needful. Go to him and try; 
 and may he make you perfect in every good work to do his will, in 
 order that he may glorify his own grace and fully save your soul ! 
 
 I am, with sincere affection, 
 
 Your Friend and 
 
 Servant in the Lord, 
 
 W. Barber. 
 
 P. S. Please to present my Christian respects and love to your very 
 kind Parents, and rejoice their hearts by telling them that their 
 amiable Anna seems to be drawing her mind to the happy con- 
 clusion of securing the glory of a better world. She has begun to 
 meet in class; and I trust that the moment is rapidly hastening 
 when power from on high, descending on her and on you, shall 
 make you altogether Christians in heart, in conversation, and in 
 appearance. Do not forget me to your Sisters at home. I owe you 
 all much for your Christian tenderness and sympathy in affliction ; 
 but the Lord is your reward. I will add one thing, it is a request 
 that you will write me, if you can soon, freely and fully an account 
 of the state of your mind, for 4 1 long after your salvation in the 
 bowels of Jesus Christ.’ Adieu. 
 
 As the summer was now rapidly advancing, our hopes respecting 
 my dear Brother’s restoration to health seemed to be afresh invigorated, 
 
VISIT TO CHEW-MAGNA. 
 
 93 
 
 and having just about this time received a kind invitation from his 
 old friend, Mr. Wm. Clarke, at Chew-Magna, to try once more the 
 effect of a change of air, he gratefully accepted the offer. During 
 this visit the following Letters were received. 
 
 Chew-Magna , June , 1820 . 
 
 My dearest Parents, 
 
 Could I by any means lighten the load upon your minds 
 which so constantly presses them down, it would be a privilege which 
 I think affection, even without all the additional impulse of gratitude, 
 would lead me eagerly to embrace. But there would be no small ad- 
 dition to my own distresses from the consciousness of my being the 
 means of increasing yours, were there not something to forbid it in 
 that scriptural doctrine of the blessedness of those who mourn, so 
 strangely taught by an Apostle when writing to the afflicted primi- 
 tive saints ; — c My brethren, count it all joy when ye fall into divers 
 temptations.’ You will perhaps enquire, — how is this consistent with 
 the tenor of your manners during your stay at home, when not the 
 most affectionate solicitude for your welfare could soften a ruggedness 
 of temper, which ill became you, and most sensibly pained us ? Alas ! 
 it is an inconsistency for which I cannot but greatly reproach myself; 
 but forgive me ! it belies the best feelings of my heart, and has often 
 been the subject of painful conflict ; it is one proof among many others 
 of the deep hold which sin has taken of my nature, and of the stub- 
 bornness with which the sweetest workings of the grace of our Lord 
 Jesus Christ have been hitherto resisted.* 
 
 But you want to know how I am : well ; I am not worse, but on 
 the contrary my spirits are considerably better, they are indeed much 
 relieved ; the continual cheerfulness of all around me greatly invigor- 
 ates my mind and body. I am not of course much better radically ; 
 the time is so short ; let us stay till this day week, then there may be 
 room to judge. As to family comfort, I am completely at home, sur- 
 
 *It was with unfeigned pleasure that in the original letter I perceived at the end 
 of the above sentence, in the hand-writing of my honoured Father, a strong con- 
 tradiction of this charge brought by ray Brother against himself. I am persuaded 
 that it must have arisen solely from the influence of an imagination disordered by 
 gloom, and too prone by far to dwell upon circumstances unfavourable to his own 
 character. That William might occasionally have felt powerful temptations, or 
 even propensities, to fretfulness and impatience, is neither to be wondered at, nor 
 denied ; but we all had opportunities enough of observing that the grace which he 
 possessed was not merely effectual in repressing such antichristian feelings, but 
 also in displaying others of a very opposite cast ; a circumstance which at least 
 had its weight in inducing my dear Parents to regard him with feelings of peculiar 
 affection. — A. B. 
 
94 
 
 GRATITUDE FOR AFFLICTION. 
 
 rounded by most affectionate friends, and treated with every attention. 
 How is this, I may well say, that the Lord so graciously provides for 
 me ? It is not to me that any credit is due ; thousands perish in 
 obscurity who, were they only brought forth and favoured with my 
 advantages, would in all probability be far more useful, more holy, 
 more obedient to Divine teaching than I shall ever be ; but Jehovah 
 has reasons of infinite wisdom for what he does, though in a great de- 
 gree the favour shewn to me is, I believe, honour put upon the faith 
 and prayers of those who kindly interest themselves about me. My 
 greatest grief is, that while so much has been done by the Lord him- 
 self and by others, so little spiritual benefit is perceptible in me ; and 
 my greatest fear is, that the event will prove all to have been wasted 
 upon a worthless rebel. Of this however I am confident that not a 
 single pain or privation could have been spared from that which has 
 been laid upon me. Nothing less could have reduced me, and I do 
 sincerely thank God for what he has done. I am sure that I can, and 
 that I do ‘kiss the rod;’ though not with all the feelings that would 
 enable me to do so most happily. I do therefore affectionately invite 
 you all to join me in putting up thanksgivings for my affliction ; for 
 the Lord himself hath done this, and that with a special view to my 
 eternal salvation. 
 
 * I have felt myself obliged to pray as earnestly and as often as I could, 
 that you may be saved from excessive anxiety about me, which, un- 
 less it be guarded against, will rush in like a flood, because you will 
 be likely to dwell with foreboding apprehension upon what you fear 
 may be the result, without being able to witness as they arise those 
 little incidents which, in the variations of an unhealthy state, occur 
 for hope or fear to fix upon in its course toward consummation or dis- 
 appointment. 
 
 I look as well, and I think I feel as well, as I have for some months 
 past ; and Mr. C. is full of confidence of my perfect recovery. Be 
 that as it may, if he be interested through life in the Lord Jesus, and 
 possessed of Him, the hope of glory, you never can, you never will 
 lose 
 
 Your Son 
 
 William. 
 
 Chew-Magna , June 16, 1820. 
 
 My very dear Parents, 
 
 You will be expecting pretty frequent communications from 
 me, and pretty long ones : the luxury of writing much to you is how- 
 ever at present attended with such formidable labour as imperatively 
 forbids my frequent indulgence in it; it is not pain, but weakness that 
 does this. I was going to say, I am sorry that Divine Wisdom does 
 not see it fit to suffer my bodily strength to increase ; and alas ! it 
 
AFFECTING CASE OF DISTRESS. 
 
 S 5 
 
 would have been too true ; for I do not feel perfectly at one w ith 
 the dispensation which makes it burdensome to live, and which places 
 me as a weight, a useless piece of lumber, upon the attention and care 
 of Friends. Yet do not understand that I feel rebellion in the form 
 of murmuring and repining ; from this the grace of God preserves me ; 
 but never did life appear arrayed in such attractions as now, never 
 did time seem so valuable, or a little more of it so desirable for the 
 purposes of devotion to God and usefulness to men. Alas ! he who 
 has been so long a trifler in religion as to confirm the habit of trifling 
 with it, will scarcely have that habit broken by any measures which 
 shall leave it possible for him to trifle again ; and w hatever causes 
 human reasoning may assign for my present afflictions, I am fully per- 
 suaded that this is the true one. 
 
 But I am ashamed to think and talk so much about my affliction ; 
 the privation of full health, and the visibly premature approach of 
 death, are the only circumstances of importance which can denominate 
 what I have to bear, an affliction . By comparison with the sufferings 
 of others, what I feel thwarting my inclinations dwindles into abso- 
 lute insignificance. Last night a truly good man, a member of Mr. 
 C.’s class, fell in my way ; his head was bound up, and his meagre 
 countenance, rendered more distressing by the sallow complexion 
 which it bore, gave a certain indication of his being the subject of 
 complicated bodily and mental suffering. He had rented of a Clergy- 
 man, who has property in the village, a small tenement in which 
 himself, wife, and family, had resided for a considerable time ; and 
 he had supported himself with credit from the profits of his daily 
 labour. Many months ago personal disease was permitted to seize 
 him, and he was disabled from working, his only means of support 
 therefore became the parish allowance and the donations of charity. 
 His rent of course ran behind ; and a few weeks since his inhuman 
 landlord, 4 neither fearing God nor regarding man,’ distrained his 
 goods, and wrested from him every thing. 4 1 was,’ said the poor 
 man, and at the same time a smile of forgiveness and of resignation, 
 which infallibly proved him to be a follower of Christ, sat beaming 
 on his pale but placid brow, — 4 1 was lying down upon my poor bed, 
 ill as I was, and they came and took it from under me, and sold it ; 
 afterwards I sat upon an old chair by the little fire, and then they 
 came and took that from under me, and sold that too ; and yet,’ ad- 
 ded he, 4 1 did find that the Lord enabled me to bear it all without 
 anger or murmuring.’ Oh, my God ! is it possible that such vile mis- 
 creants can be men ? surely they must be devils incarnate. It is 
 however right to say that the Clergyman is ci-devant , having long 
 since renounced all pretensions to religion. But, with such a spec- 
 tacle before me, I could not avoid slipping a piece of your money 
 into the poor man’s hand. And oh, that it* had been twenty times 
 
96 
 
 REFLECTIONS ON ETERNITY. 
 
 as much ! had it been my own and my last, it should have gone with 
 gratitude to God for the favour of such an opportunity. 
 
 Continue your prayers, along with those of my kind, attentive 
 friends here, for 
 
 Your affectionate Son 
 
 William. 
 
 To his eldest Sister. 
 
 Chew-Magna , Juried 3, 1820. 
 
 My very dear Sarah, 
 
 How swiftly do the minutes and days roll away! and this, 
 if we knew all its importance, would be an occasion of drawing tears 
 of deep contrition and regret from our eyes, because there is not a 
 Corresponding succession of improving strokes put to the features of 
 our moral character, toward producing in us the mind and the image 
 of Christ. Sarah, we are nearer, much nearer, than when we saw 
 each other last, to the most important crisis in our existence, of which 
 we have any knowledge. Dying has something in it which belongs 
 neither to Eternity, nor to Judgment, considered abstractedly, for it 
 puts the seal of finished probation on the character of our souls, it 
 fixes an impression that must be exhibited at the Judgment, and will 
 be worn through Eternity. It is truly amazing that this impresses 
 our minds so little. How is it possible, I frequently ask myself, that 
 even while I desired to tell all I that I knew, with faithfulness, to my 
 hearers, these inconceivably weighty subjects scarcely at all impressed 
 my own mind, and that often in the very act of preaching ? Surely, 
 considering the little thoughts which even professors have of them, it 
 is a wonder that any, rather than so few, obtain salvation ; especially 
 taking into the account the cares of this world, the deceitfulness of 
 riches, the infatuating pleasures of sin, and the indescribable activity 
 of our spiritual enemies. On the other hand, looking at man as a 
 rational, immortal, instructed, and in many cases enlightened, crea- 
 ture, it is most wonderful that the momentous interests of his present 
 and future state of existence do not effectually wean him from the 
 contemptible trifles which commonly engross his attention. Alas ! my 
 Sarah, how strangely dreadful is the depravity of our nature ! Even 
 we, who are led by the grace of God to cultivate in some degree the 
 convictions which would direct us to a fit preparation for death, are 
 greatly under the power of a worldly spirit. Is not Eternity thrown 
 with us into the back-ground ? And do not its concerns occupy only 
 the distance of our prospect ? And diminished in appearance by the 
 very remoteness in which we occasionally view those concerns, have 
 they not ceased to possess our minds and our feelings correspond- 
 ently with their immense relative importance ? Among all the causes 
 which operate against our progress in piety, there is not a more for- 
 
INFLUENCE OF TEMPTATION. 
 
 97 
 
 midable or detestable obstacle than the worldly spirit which occasions 
 this disproportionate and criminal devotion of our thoughts and affec- 
 tions to things present. Oh ! my Sarah, we are not free from this 
 hideous, disguised foe. Even 7, attended as I am by disease, the 
 shadow of death, and pointed as I am by my weakness and useless- 
 ness to the future, which seems to have advanced very near me, — 
 even I have to lament daily over the injury which it does my spirit. 
 I often come off not more than conqueror from fierce contentions and 
 temptations that astonish and distress me by their power and violence. 
 And should I eventually recover my health, and mingle with the liv- 
 ing in the engagements of the world, there is no other probability of 
 my being at all more devoted to God than I have hitherto been, than 
 that which is founded on the operation of the grace which accompa- 
 nies afflictive providences to render them spiritual benefits. So great 
 are the deceitfulness and corruption of human nature, that c he who 
 trusts in his own heart is a fool.’ It cannot be a small mercy to be 
 saved from such a dependence. 
 
 You may be desirous of knowing the state of my mind under the 
 present aspect of providential dealings with me ; well, you have it 
 before you, for the reflections I have put down on paper for you in 
 the form of a letter are the impressions made on my mind at the time 
 of writing ; they would have passed off in thought perhaps less dis- 
 tinct, though really existing, but for the occasion which offered itself 
 to put them on paper. Every thing around me wears a shaded and som- 
 bre appearance. I feel toward every 'thing as though it does not 
 really belong to me- 1 have not the interest of possession and enjoy- 
 ment that used to mix with every occurrence, in which I felt myself 
 an actor; but every thing about me seems by Him, whose tender 
 mercy is over me, charged to remind me of the rapid advance which 
 I am making toward an unchangeable state. Really, Sarah, there is 
 more truth than I ever imagined in those representations of human life 
 which describe men, and especially the people of God, as strangers 
 and pilgrims ; they are indeed sojourners in a strange land. 
 
 You will naturally suppose my mind easily led through such sub- 
 jects of thought to i the only hope set before me’ in the Gospel ; it is 
 thus only that such contemplations become solidly useful, for there 
 can be but little benefit in those philosophical speculations in which 
 some indulge whenever the recollections of Death and Eternity force 
 themselves upon their minds, and which stop short of the deep in- 
 ward feeling of the absolutely indispensable need of Jesus Christ, that 
 great, that only Saviour. I assure you that I feel the little I know of 
 Him and of His power to save, to be of infinitely greater value to me 
 than a thousand worlds could be ; though these are a mere trifle, for 
 there can be no comparison made. It is only this little that I know 
 of Christ which keeps me from the most awful despair. It is only 
 
98 
 
 DESIRES FOR SANCTIFICATION. 
 
 this which keeps me from feeling a hell already begun in the con- 
 sciousness of unfitness to be with God, and of a consequent aliena- 
 tion from Him. The mercy of God without this, would afford me 
 but little solid consolation. I am sure that if it were announced in a 
 general way, and not distinctly directed to the condition and the 
 wants of fallen sinners, I could not trust it in any satisfactory man- 
 ner ; because, while I am assured that in any possible scheme of sal- 
 vation for sinners God must positively c be just while He is the jus- 
 tifier of the ungodly,’ I can by no means conceive how it can be ac- 
 complished, except as they are believers in Jesus, and rely on Ills 
 all-atoning blood and mediation. Nor in reply to the query, — 
 
 6 Shall I be happy with God for ever ?’ could I feel any substan- 
 tial satisfaction, if I could not perceive a certainty of being made 
 perfectly fit for such a state ; because all the wretchedness that I 
 feel arising from other causes is as nothing when compared with that 
 of reflecting that I am not holy, and that I am very far from being 
 so. The truth of this assertion, respecting the superior greatness of 
 pain arising from a sense of unholiness, is confirmed by the experi- 
 ence of every day. I do lament it before God, and often have power 
 to pray for such a manifestation of his power to save as shall realise to 
 me what the Prophet saw in a vision, see Zech. iii. 4, ; And he an- 
 swered and spake unto those that stood before him, saying, 66 Take 
 away the filthy garments from him.” And unto him he said, 44 Be- 
 hold! I have caused thine iniquity to pass from thee, and I will clothe 
 thee with change of raiment.” ’ And while it is frequently the source 
 of much bitter regret that I have not lived and walked in the glorious 
 liberty of the Gospel, which its copious dispensation of the Holy 
 Spirit would bestow on any humble, praying, believing, patient soul, 
 yet I cannot help hoping that I shall hear the powerful word, — ‘I 
 will; be thou clean!’ and then, feeling the blessed result, that I 
 shall be enabled 4 before I go hence, and be no more seen,’ to testify, 
 of it to the Redeemer’s glory. I know not how to account for it, un- 
 less as the consequence and the punishment of my great versatility and 
 unfaithfulness, that so little of the confidence and joy that seem to 
 have marked the closing experience of most Christians has been my 
 happiness. All the consolation to me flowing even from hope in Je- 
 hovah, as a Covenant-God, faithful to His word, is only received 
 after fierce struggles and conflicts of mind, nor is it kept but at 
 the expense of contending and the vigilance of watching. I may, it is 
 true, have formed notions too frivolous and too light of the deeply mo- 
 mentous work which God must effect in the soul. I may, in the ardour of 
 a faith untried, and hitherto assaulted by comparatively mere shadows, 
 have founded expectations too cheaply and too triflingly elevated of 
 the Christian’s superiority, and security of success and triumph over 
 his spiritual adversaries, especially that of his own deeply-depraved 
 
SECOND VISIT TO GLOUCESTER. 
 
 99 
 
 moral nature. And I think it is most likely that this has been the 
 case ; but, oh ! that I should have enjoyed so little sensible support 
 from that Jesus, of whom I have spoken so confidently to others as a 
 Friend in need, has greatly alarmed and distressed me. Yet ob- 
 serve, I impeach not His faithfulness ; on the contrary, I confirm it ; 
 for as I have often said in connexion with this subject, — greatly as 
 He loves the Christian’s soul, He must and He will cause an unfaith- 
 ful follower to bitterly lament his instability, by making him smart 
 under a painful conviction of it during some period of distress. But 
 after all how unspeakably merciful are the measures pursued with re- 
 spect to me ! God has not abandoned me. I do still feel myself con- 
 nected with Jesus, surely therefore I am saved by Him, for f cast 
 my guilty, trembling soul on His precious atonement. And in the 
 work of the Holy Spirit, which I am still sensible is carrying on, I feel 
 the pledge of that blessing after which I long : 6 faithful is He that 
 calleth me, who also w ill do it.’ And now observe, — I am thus par- 
 ticular in relating my feelings, not to gratify your curiosity, my dear 
 Sarah, but to give you warning and encouragement. 
 
 Your affectionate Brother 
 
 W ILLIAM. 
 
 It was now easy to perceive that the delicacy of William’s constitu- 
 tion was such as to preclude all hope of his being, for a length of time 
 to come, employed in the regular work of the Ministry. Indeed it 
 was the decided opinion of his medical friends, that in the event of 
 his entire recovery from the dangerous disease under which he had 
 been so long labouring, such would be the susceptibility of his lungs 
 and the general weakness of his frame, that there was but little hope 
 of his being fit to undertake the fatigues of a Methodist Travelling 
 Preacher before he should be 30 years of age ; though at the same 
 time they expressed their conviction that should he be permitted to 
 reach that period of life, there was a high probability of his becoming 
 a stout and healthy man. 
 
 These circumstances ultimately decided him, after much prayer to 
 God and converse with his friends, to look about him for some sphere 
 of action in which he might be usefully employed. But as nothing satis- 
 factory occurred for some time, it may be well to fill up this chasm in 
 his history with his epistolary correspondence. His health continued 
 gradually, though slowly, improving, till about the middle of Septem- 
 ber in this year, when being pressed to spend some further time with 
 his friends at Gloucester, he readily accepted their kind invitation. 
 During his absence from home the following Letters among others 
 were received from him. For the great length of the first perhaps no 
 other apology will be thought necessary than the importance of its 
 contents. 
 
100 
 
 ] X CONVENIENCES OF DELAY. 
 
 To his eldest Sisters. 
 
 Gloucester , Nov. 1820. 
 
 My dearest Sarah and Priscilla 
 
 6 How astonishing ! From William at last! He seems to have 
 left us to conclude, either that we have ceased to merit his attention,, 
 or that the fraternal affection, which bore so exuberantly the fruits of 
 attentive concern for his Sisters last year, resembles some favourite 
 kinds of apple-trees, which bear luxuriantly only the alternate year. 
 And now,’ say you, 4 for a long apology!’ No indeed, believe me, 
 for he who is conscious of no fault needs no apology to shield him, 
 while he whom conscience accuses of something wrong will feel an 
 apology insufficient. I have experience, not now for the first time, 
 to sanction the remark, that in a series of things committed to memory 
 to be transcribed, that which appeared too trivial to be written at 
 once will soon appear in accumulation too unwieldy to be written at 
 all ; and that which little things seem of sufficient weight to prevent 
 being done now, will soon become so stupendous, that either others of 
 much greater moment must be set aside to make way for them, or 
 they cannot be done at any time. But how unhappy are they, my 
 dear Sisters, who, instead of profiting by the experience of others, and 
 starting into a new track of life directed by the grave truths which 
 the sufferings of others have proved as by established principles, 
 live only to verify what has been repeatedly verified before ! And 
 yet, if there be any propriety in this remark, are there not many per- 
 sons existing on whom, for the greater part of life at least, it would 
 rest all the weight of its censure ? 
 
 But to return to myself : how much these observations apply to me 
 in reference to letter-writing to my Sisters, it would be useless to en- 
 quire. I am only solicitous that they should not attribute to indiffer- 
 ence what has arisen rather from circumstances, and the general state 
 of my mind, altogether independent of relative feeling. My habits 
 for many months past have been so completely the reverse of studious, 
 that submission to the control of regular application, whenever it has 
 appeared immediately before me, has carried with it an aspect au- 
 thoritative and repulsive ; and regular application is needful to gratify 
 your wishes for communications from me : of this I have been conscious, 
 and it has often recurred to me when I have thought of sitting down 
 to write, — they expect so much from me, it is therefore useless to 
 attempt to gratify an appetite which there is no hope of appeasing; 
 this would be like presenting a pie, decorated with the ornaments of 
 pastry, to a man w hose half-famished stomach would be barely fed by a 
 loaf. My Sisters would be as little pleased at receiving a merely cursory 
 or common-place epistle as I should be at writing it. I may remind 
 
ADVANTAGES OF REFLECTION. 
 
 101 
 
 you of another circumstance; it is, that in our correspondence I am 
 left to depend wholly on the creative powers of my own fancy, for 
 no business imperatively claiming attention and despatch presents 
 itself, nor does any family circumstance occur to render intelligence 
 of such interest as to employ considerable thought, or to make assist- 
 ance so needful as to claim deliberation and advice; and as to spi- 
 ritual and mental occupations, which commonly open great fields of 
 enquiry, I have been suffered to conclude that, if no new discoveries 
 have enriched your stores of knowledge, rio serious difficulties have 
 interrupted your efforts or retarded your progress. I do not mean to 
 insinuate that no communication has been made from you, but in your 
 little notes , for which I am as largely obliged to you as possible con- 
 sidering your parsimony of ink and paper, there is little information 
 which would require an ampler reply than one line of congratulation 
 and another of hope. 
 
 Allusion has been made to my habits, and these, I believe, you are 
 desirous to know, as well as the influence which the different incidents 
 occurring have upon them : there is scarcely any need of my remind- 
 ing you that these must be trivial; as in a domestic circle abroad 
 there can be but little comparatively transpiring which does not often 
 occur in the domestic circle at home; and between nature at one spot of 
 the country and nature at another, only a very few miles distant, there 
 is little novelty to exercise ingenuity in description, or to repay curi- 
 osity in perusal. Of this however I am not ignorant, that there is a 
 difference between incidents as they appear on paper, and as they 
 appear in actual occurrence ; as they appeal to the understanding in- 
 vested with supplementary comments, and as they pass before the eye 
 unaccompanied by any thing to make them distinguished ; and this 
 difference justifies the appropriation of time to recal the fading sem- 
 blance, in order to give it a vivid representation ; for the practice of 
 thinking about events of only momentary existence will inure the 
 mind to reflection, and at the same time empower it to meet transac- 
 tions of a mightier and less perishable character, with the dignity and 
 success of an intellectual and immortal creature ; it will give the mind 
 a chemical apparatus by which it shall extract from the digested sub- 
 jects the most valuable and essential principles, as well as enable it to 
 analyse and resolve the most comprehensive and difficult. 
 
 You will perceive that I have here supplied myself with argument, 
 apparently to shew that it is not criminal to devote time in the 
 way in which it is now occupied by me ; but really to lay before 
 my eyes the inducement of a rational and consistent object for the 
 continuance of what is begun from a desire to gratify your wishes; 
 for 1 freely confess that the mere gratification of a curiosity which 
 would read the sheet, and then lay it aside perhaps for ever, would 
 
102 
 
 REFLECTIONS IN A STAGE-COACH. 
 
 be insufficient to create a resolution to expend so much time as I must 
 over these papers. ,, 
 
 Letters are generally designed only to produce such a momentary 
 excitement of pleasure, but then they commonly convey information 
 calculated for that purpose only ; nothing is more remote from the in- 
 tention of their writers than to lead correspondence out into discus- 
 sion, or to send them forth into the world as vessels of discovery ; they 
 are consistent however in doing all that they propose, which is to 
 acknowledge intimacy, and to keep open correspondence. Of this 
 however, you know, there can be no sort of occasion between us ; our 
 intimacy needs no assistant in acknowledgment, and our correspond- 
 ence, springing above the confinement of merely scribbled communion, 
 is opened and preserved at the footstool of the throne of grace. Yet, 
 to live without direct intercourse is to live wholly without benefit to 
 each other, and as no events of sufficient family interest require our 
 combined endeavours to control, what remains but to turn our eyes 
 abroad into the world in order to select from its variety of characters 
 and occurrences something to interest, to arnuse, and to instruct? 
 Here is a purpose worthy of fraternal effort, and promising to result 
 beneficially in proportion as it is entered on with vigilance, and pur- 
 sued with energy. But remember, while I make a comparison and a 
 contrast between what correspondences generally are and what ours 
 must necessarily be, I do seriously protest against the unfairness of 
 making the onus of maintaining it rest wholly on one party. 
 
 As I threw myself into the coach on the morning in which I left 
 home, a variety of thoughts crowded upon my mind without order 
 and without object; the past, the present, and the future, succeeded 
 each other so rapidly as to efface, almost in a moment, their differ- 
 ent impressions, and on the whole to leave the mind in a state of ge- 
 neral disorder, without any very distinguishable symptom. Truth 
 requires the confession that my spiritual condition, though somewhat 
 meliorated, was far from prosperous ; and therefore the chief impres- 
 sion, which either the past or the present could make, was that it was 
 impossible for my soul to be perfectly happy; and then the future was 
 so shrouded in uncertainty, as to make it appear rather to justify 
 fear than to encourage hope. When some little time ago I was wait- 
 ing with anxiety for the decision of Conference respecting me, and 
 month after month passed away in preparation for an employment in 
 which it was yet uncertain whether or not I should ever be occu- 
 pied, it seemed as though it were scarcely possible that any suspense 
 could be equally painful, or present a more persuasive extenuatiou 
 than that in which I felt myself then held. The immensely import- 
 ant results which were pending, appeared to claim a thoughtfulness 
 and a deliberation, which to keep separate from a culpable solicitude 
 would require more than human ability. Upon that decision de- 
 
REFLECTIONS IN A STAGE-COACII. 
 
 103 . 
 
 pended the whole of my after life. I saw that if rejected, I must 
 betake myself to some secular engagement, which would exclude me 
 from the very sphere of usefulness which I was ambitious to occupy; 
 but if received, on me, a mere youth, would devolve the heaviest 
 responsibilities. The care of the Churches, and the welfare of souls, 
 are phrases which involve each other in their import, and impose upon 
 him, whom it most behoves to understand their meaning, a weight of 
 obligation, to bear which to his own satisfaction would require the 
 zeal of a Paul, the eloquence of an A polios, and the charity of a 
 John. But there is after all a state of suspense yet far more painful, 
 it is that which to an uncertainty of life adds a reluctance to die, 
 while at the same time reasons for living are multiplied to the mind, 
 as abatements of disorder let in accumulated rays of hope, the power 
 of which the organs of spiritual vision are scarcely able to bear, in 
 consequence of the long darkness that has settled on the views; — a 
 state in which nothing that was previously important is now lost, but 
 every thing is with new and added uncertainty hidden from the view 
 in a danger that involves eternity as well as time ; and as soon as the 
 greater passes away, it will be to suffer the less with fresh vigour to 
 renew its attacks upon the mind. 
 
 Of this character w T ere many of the reflections which rushed, 
 with little intermission, upon me ; it is true, they were occasionally 
 interrupted by others of a less despondent and exceptionable cast, 
 while it should not be denied that the chain was sometimes broken 
 by thoughts which bore the mind almost irresistibly away from doubt 
 into the impiety of unbelief, and from apprehension into the Wretch- 
 edness of despair. The most pleasing among these different classes of 
 reflections arose principally from a contrast of my present situation 
 with that of the corresponding part of last year; then I was just 
 plungiug into a vortex of distress, which if it could have been fore- 
 seen, would have chilled my soul with horror, but now I have a ra- 
 tional prospect of moving forwards into brighter scenes, with the 
 cheering satisfaction that the worst is past; then I was incipiently an 
 invalid, now I am clearly convalescent. What is hoped is easily be- 
 lieved. Perhaps in no case is the truth of this remark more properly 
 applied than in reference to recovery from dangerous illness. No 
 oue at all acquainted with the tediousness of sickness will be at a 
 loss to remember with how pleasing a delusiveness the possibility of 
 restoration grows into likelihood, and this in the active stillness of a 
 reverie soon augments to absolute assurance ; and then how sweet the 
 transition into those more busy occupations, which were in health 
 perhaps disgusting by their bustle, or palling by their uniformity and 
 perpetual recurrence! But, to dwell upon the endearing relations 
 and engagements in which friendship and affection are deeply occu- 
 
. 104 
 
 REFLECTIONS IN A STAGE-COACH. 
 
 pied, — have you never felt the rapture thus excited, till the glowing 1 , 
 coloured, bubble-like vision, too much expanded to support its dura- 
 tion, has burst asunder, and, if it have not abandoned you to the va- 
 cancy of disappointment, has let you down into the unruffled regu- 
 larity of continued sufferance ? 
 
 At the time I allude to in the coach, in me this process of think- 
 ing, which at one moment made me exult in hope, and the next 
 caused a painful sensation of helplessness, led me, not unwilling, I 
 believe, to a renewal of self-dedication to God. It was pleasing to 
 think that He had interfered to prevent, what my friends agreed with 
 me to suppose, a premature dissolution; and while peculiarly solemn, 
 it was very delightful to believe that this interference, if not wholly 
 directed in answer to many earnest prayers, was yet bestowed with 
 far greater grace than I might otherwise have enjoyed. I write it 
 then in order to record another mercy, that it was no difficulty to 
 me to regard entire devotion to the Divine Glory as a 4 most reasonable 
 service;’ the only difficulty was in the execution of such a purpose, 
 and that arose from a knowledge of a guilty weakness of mind, which 
 suspended communion with God had induced and confirmed. There 
 was, however, much of the ardour of desire, which past experience 
 served to strengthen into confidence in saying, while a continuance in 
 life was the object of my wishes, — 4 My Father! Thou art the Guide 
 of my youth, Thou shalt be also of the riper years of life. Thou 
 hast been the Leader of my Parents, and Thou hast blest and mul- 
 tiplied them, and they have taught their children thy Name and thy 
 fear, enforcing their instructions by a reference to their own experi- 
 ence, and establishing them by their own pious example. Deplora- 
 ble indeed is the condition of those who enter the busy occupations 
 of life without thy fear before their eyes ; they have passions of the 
 strength of which I may judge from my own ; and the violence of the 
 torrent of sensuality that bears them away may be estimated from the 
 difficulty of staying it in me, even while thy Spirit is lifting up a 
 standard against it. Alas ! should I, after all, madly leap over the bar- 
 riers that obstruct my run to ruin ; or, what is far more likely, should 
 I be betrayed by my unsubdued corruptions, and fall by little and 
 little, — Oh, God! who seest the end from the beginning, who know- 
 est all my heart, its wants, its weakness, its wavering pliableness, 
 pity and protect me! Oh, pity and preserve me !’ 
 
 You, my dear Sisters, may never have known how painfully the 
 feelings, which such words express, are aggravated by a conscious- 
 ness of having already prepared the way for that which is dreaded, 
 by withdrawing the affections in some measure at least from good, and 
 by relaxing the sternness of opposition which prosperous piety always 
 presents to evil. May you never know it ! But preserving a uniform 
 
ADVANTAGES OF MEMORY IN CONVERSATION. 
 
 105 
 
 devotedness to God, and a constant communion, by faith, with the 
 Redeemer, may you grow in grace daily, and thus not only be se- 
 cure , but enjoy the happiness of knowing yourselves to be so ! 
 
 I suspect that the passing and re- passing of such thoughts must at 
 first have so much engrossed my mind as to leave but little room for 
 attention to the reciprocation of politeness which the presence of a 
 fellow-traveller ought to have inspired. He was an intelligent, mid- 
 dle-aged man, respectable in his appearance, and he therefore secured 
 my veneration ; communicative in his disposition, and he therefore gene- 
 rally commanded my respectful attention. He introduced a variety of 
 topics of discourse, perhaps with a view of ascertaining my ability 
 to converse; it is certain that I listened, and, as I could, supported 
 the conversation with the view of knowing his. An observation, 
 which I have frequently made, struck me again with considerable 
 force, — it is not enough, in order to maintain conversation, to have 
 power to think, the mind must also be well informed; and in order 
 to retain information and detail it, as occasions require, an adequate 
 power of memory is very valuable and really necessary. It was, I 
 think, easy to perceive that my fellow-traveller possessed no extrao- 
 dinary logical powers, though I do not intimate that he was defi- 
 cient ; but circumstances, with their time and place, he could amu- 
 sively relate and correctly arrange as the topics of discussion opened 
 up the opportunity. I lay no claim to those powers which 1 have de- 
 nied him to have evinced, because I possess not the merit of them; but 
 I felt his decided superiority over me every way, although his pleasing po- 
 liteness made it impossible to be pained beyond those sensations which 
 could gladly find a cure in the comparison of our respective ages. 
 
 No novelty, you know, could be presented by the road, yet I 
 could derive considerable pleasure from occasionally looking forth 
 upon those views which have before delighted me ; but the chief 
 pleasure of the journey consisted in recognising the spots which in 
 the ominous return of last year I concluded that I should never again 
 behold. I could not help thinking also of all the Friends whose kind- 
 ness had been so unremitting. I thought especially of one, and could 
 not avoid feeling great sorrow that volatility of spirits and a love of 
 dress should have thrown a shade on her many virtues. But who that 
 knows enough of the world to perceive that he has much in common 
 with those around him, will venture to cast a stone of reprobation ; and 
 not rather send out the prayer of sympathetic entreaty for deliverance 
 from constitutional tendencies or contracted habits, that cloud the 
 judgment while they spoil the beauties of the life ? 
 
 It is now the Sabbath-day afternoon, and the extreme dampness of 
 the weather confines me at home : taking up my pen to write to you, 
 my mind looks around for a theme suitable in solemnity and its pro- 
 mise of usefulness to the sacredness of the hour 
 
106 
 
 ON EVIL-SPEAKING AND CALUMNY. 
 
 The above allusion supplies me: how far the spirit of charitable 
 construction should be permitted to prevail, or how far it should be 
 guarded by a concern for the interests of truth, is a question interest- 
 ing enough to claim our fixed attention, and important enough to ren- 
 der a knowledge of its rules necessary. I shall not attempt any thing 
 like a full discussion of the subject, but shall write almost promis- 
 cuously the thoughts that present themselves to my mind. 
 
 Taking the first five verses of the seventh chapter of Matthew for 
 our guide, we shall find ourselves furnished with all the principles 
 needful for general direction on the positive part of the question. It 
 is abundantly evident that Christians should be predisposed to judge 
 favourably of others ; for their most important relations in life are 
 materially affected by the 4 manner of spirit they are of.’ Vindic- 
 tiveness is peculiarly the spirit of the world, and that because its 
 god is actuated by it in the course of insidious policy which has oc- 
 casioned his being distinguished by the appellation of 4 the Accuser 
 of the Brethren.’ It is indeed affecting to a mind of sensibility, alive 
 to observe those working poisons which produce or aggravate the sum 
 of human misery, to notice how much mischief actually occurs from 
 the mole-hill certainties which suspicion magnifies to mountains of 
 guilt ; and to mark the revulsions, and resentments, and revenges, 
 which those, who feel themselves the victims of such suspicions, im- 
 mediately return. As if in the alienation of the mind from God, — 
 in its pensive solitude in the midst of company, — in its condemnation 
 to wander like Cain a fugitive and vagabond on the earth, unsettled 
 because unhappy, and unhappy because accursed, — in the diseases 
 which torment and destroy its mortal frame, — in the exposure which 
 it feels to the designs and attempts of spiritual adversaries, — in the 
 unavoidable collisions of interest and the incidental misfortunes of life, 
 - — as if there were not enough in these things to occupy his attention, 
 and to fix his resolves, and to employ his energies, man busies him- 
 self in the concerns of others, and thus gives excitement to his oxen 
 feelings and imminence to their dangers, as unnecessary as they are 
 unnatural. Lamentable however, as is such a state of things among 
 those whose souls have never been the subjects of renewing grace, it is 
 incomparably more distressing that such a fatal tendency should be 
 found among professing Christians. That they, whose principles are 
 avowedly the very reverse of those heavenly laws which are laid down 
 by the Redeemer, should disregard his injunctions, is not very sur- 
 prising ; they neither recognise his authority, nor perceive the excel- 
 lence of his institutions, nor admit the inexpediency, impolicy, and 
 mischievous tendency of their own favourite maxims. But oh ! it 
 might almost deluge heaven and earth with the tears of angels to see 
 those who are considered the followers of Jesus 4 biting one another, 
 and devouring one another.’ Of such conduct as this, when viewed 
 
ON EVIL-SPEAKING AND CALUMNY. 
 
 107 
 
 in a general representation, there can he but one sentiment, that of 
 execration and abhorrence ; but a difficulty arises the very moment it 
 is sought to put in the charge for a particular application. The in- 
 judicious manner in which this is often done by a zeal, which hopes 
 to accomplish more than it has the means to execute, not unfrequently 
 produces an effect the very reverse of what is intended. The at- 
 tempt, inconsiderately commenced, excites irritation, and terminates 
 in disappointment. By severe and indiscriminate censure it provokes, 
 and is often liable to a retort of the allegation which it proposes to 
 establish, and thus illustrating the very conduct which our Lord so 
 severely censures, in the fourth and fifth verses of the above-men- 
 tioned chapter, it is rendered ridiculous. The Redeemer, designing 
 to stay the raging violence of the plague, uses means the most likely 
 of any to succeed ; he recommends the conquest of the disposition 
 to censure, by refusing to allow its operations : — 4 Judge not !’ (Help 
 me, my Sisters, to admire 4 the gracious words which proceeded out 
 of his mouth !’) But instead of declaring the broad prohibition, void 
 of explanation, and standing on the basis of His imperial autho- 
 rity, unsupported by any considerations more likely to weigh with 
 the ignorant and wicked minds of men, he condescends to follow up 
 the mandate by reasons, which at once illustrate and enforce it: — 
 4 Judge not, that ye be not judged!’ Here the reason is founded on 
 a knowledge of human nature, and of the ways of the world : — 4 for 
 with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged; and with what 
 measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again.’ It is every day 
 observable how truly this remark applies to human society ; they 
 whom a cynical disposition prompts to observe with a partial and an 
 impertinent scrutiny the failings of their fellows, become in their 
 turn the subjects of reproach, or the objects of ridicule: while on the 
 other hand, they whom kindness induces to see beauties amidst a 
 profusion of blemishes, and to throw the mantle of charity over the na- 
 kedness of an ill-guarded and undefended brother, and to raise a sin- 
 gle voice to commend or to extenuate amidst a world of tongues all 
 moving to condemn, are certain to secure the possession of peace, 
 and to derive a tribute of applause from a clamorous and conflicting 
 crowd. The occasional occurrence of an exception to this general 
 rule cannot overthrow it ; but the instance in which purity is dimmed 
 by the breath of calumny, or innocence made the victim of falsehood, 
 or righteousness immolated at the shrine of injustice, serves to illus- 
 trate the malignity of human conduct, to confirm the scriptural ac- 
 counts of our nature, and to demonstrate the necessity and therefore 
 the existence of a higher tribunal than the judgment of mortals, at 
 which integrity, and truth, and immutability shall preside. 
 
 Deference to the opinions of men, is perhaps a motive of the very 
 lowest order, from which any inducement to a Christian virtue is 
 
108 
 
 ON EVIL-SPEAKING AND CALUMNY. 
 
 sought ; but as our Lord himself condescended to refer us to them, 
 that is an ample justification of a degree of respect equal to all the 
 purposes for which it is permitted ; and with the same certainty it 
 may be said to reflect disapprobation upon those who aflfect to be per- 
 fectly independent of others, and to act with total disregard of what 
 may be said or thought by surrounding observers. This, I believe, in 
 common with every species of affectation, generally adds to the ridi- 
 culousness of extravagance, the vice of falsehood. 
 
 But it would be strange indeed, if our adorable Lord had left any 
 positive precept of his, to find its only reason in the opinions of men ; 
 another of far deeper interest, and of much more ponderous weight, 
 is also supplied ; it is a reference to personal depravity and corrupt- 
 ness of heart: — 4 Why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother’s 
 eye, but considerest not the beam that is in thine own eye ?’ Allowing 
 the existence of fault in another, still the prevalence of evil in self 
 should prevent unguarded denunciations and the severity of reprobation. 
 In this passage there is no intimation that the censured is less really 
 evil than the reprover, but it strongly insists that the sum of evil with- 
 in the censurer’s heart should make him cautious of severely disap- 
 proving individual cases of impropriety in others. There should be 
 always present to the mind, the clearest, and consequently the most 
 humiliating view of the general culpability, — of the universal im- 
 perfection of heart and life; and this contrasted with the single case 
 of a fellow-sinner’s conduct, which by its impropriety seems to invite 
 censure, should check in its rising the judicial denunciation, and 
 while it suppresses the unlawful motion, it should give utterance to the 
 breath, which may not applaud, in fervent prayer. 
 
 But there is yet a principle which promises a still more powerful 
 and productive influence, it is the genius of true religion. The spirit 
 of Christianity demands the exertion of brotherly interference to check 
 the prevalence of improper habit ; but that interference can never be 
 properly conducted, until he who intends it, can see clearly how to 
 apply it ; and in order to this, the beam of personal corruption must 
 be removed from the mental eye. There is a fatal influence emanat- 
 ing from moral evil upon the understanding, which he, who has never 
 been enlightened by the Holy Spirit, has not 4 his senses exercised to 
 discern ;’ nor has he power to 4 approve the things that are excellent,’ 
 with that certainty which will qualify him to arbitrate on the morality 
 of conduct. To have the .corruption of the heart removed, and the 
 soul 4 renewed in righteousness and true holiness,’ while it imparts 
 ability to perceive, increases likewise the power of sensibility ; and 
 one, so altered from what he was, will not be more feelingly awake to 
 observe the faults of others than tremblingly alive to pity them ; for 
 the natural consequence of being thus under the influence of Christian 
 principles, must be correspondent tenderness and consistent behaviour ; 
 
ON EVIL-SPEAKING AND CALUMNY. 
 
 109 
 
 and if in such a state of mind, the interference be attempted, there is 
 every probability that it will be successful. 
 
 To exercise an almost indefinite charity is certainly a duty, for 
 6 charity believeth, — hopeth, — endureth all things while at the same 
 time, to 6 suffer sin upon a brother’ is a crime. The two precepts 
 thus brought into juxta-position, as they approach each other in appli- 
 cation, seem to threaten such a jarring interception of both, as to cover 
 the rule of action with uncertainty. To discover that rule in every 
 case will require the closest observation and the nicest discernment. 
 But after all, it may be perceived how nicely these apparently oppos- 
 ing duties can meet in harmony and tell toward the completion of a 
 character ; they are different lines in the circle of Christian duties 
 which have one common centre, where their points meet, and are so 
 blended as to be undistinguishable ; and that centre is pure, unaffected 
 benevolence, — it is love. 
 
 Let him then, whose governing principle is any thing but love, never 
 presume to censure. He who is actuated by benevolence, will never 
 lend himself to be the agent of cruelty. This rule however must not 
 be pressed too far; let it have only a literal interpretation, and it will 
 bear itself well out of examination. Not to observe improprieties, 
 when they appear before the eye, is impossible ; but were it possible, 
 it is not to be desired ; and far less desirable, if that can be, is it to 
 represent errors as virtues, by setting the mind to search for beauties 
 which the eye of impartiality can never discern, or to emblazon faults 
 by ascribing them to motives which could have no existence. 
 
 There are very important purposes to be served in personal prepa- 
 ration for another world, as well as in the interests of civil and social 
 society, by the observation and reproval of improprieties. To notice 
 a fault and its aggravations that I may know its temptations and avoid 
 its guilt, is a most laudable exercise of virtuous judgment. And to 
 remark upon erroneous conduct that I may prevent its repetition, or 
 guard others against its imitation, is an act of patriotism. But to tell 
 the story for the gratification of having communicated news , associates 
 almost every thing that is mean with almost every thing that is ma- 
 lignant. It resembles the conduct of the petty tyrant, who, because 
 the sword of power is put into his hands, wantonly uses it, in order 
 to sport himself with the agony which it inflicts, and the mischiefs 
 which it magnifies. 
 
 If then the relation of that which has occurred, and which reflects 
 upon the agents the disapproval of the hearers, give no occasion for 
 a vent of, — not affected expressions , — but commiserating feeling^ it is 
 to be suspected ; if it gratify him who tells the story, or cause him 
 to feel as though he had made himself more welcome to his audience, 
 by sacrificing to their vanity the credit of another’s reputation, his 
 conduct is malignant, and his example of a more noxious character 
 
110 
 
 ON EVIL-SPEAKING AND CALUMNY. 
 
 than a pestilence ; but if to the sober tale of truth he add circum- 
 stances of aggravation, or give a colouring of deeper turpitude to the 
 story than it merits, he proves himself allied by a commonness of dis- 
 position to the devil ; his rage of appetite to be glutted with the life- 
 blood, the most delicate, and tender, and valuable of all that his vic- 
 tim possesses, is unlike any thing human, — it is diabolical. Here 
 precipitancy can be no excuse, — to be rash, is to be ruinous, — a hasty 
 assault is assassination ! 
 
 How widely different from the feelings of one thus culpable are the 
 sesnations of him who has rushed forward to snatch defenceless inno- 
 cence from the fatal grasp of a ruffian-like calumniator! 
 
 To one who has the interests of society at heart, it is painful to 
 observe the extent to which this kind of predatory warfare upon re- 
 putation is carried ; and the emotions are quickened to indescribable 
 intensity when it is recollected, that in this respect many of those, 
 who from the weakness and loveliness of their sex, are particularly ex- 
 posed to the attempts of brutal violence, are themselves eminently 
 guilty of a violence, more wicked because more crafty, and admitting 
 less of apology, because less the effect of imperious passion, than is 
 that of the wretch who forcibly wrests away the honour of a lady, and 
 then, covered with the execrations of all mankind, is righteously con- 
 demned to the gallows. 
 
 And is not she to be regarded with the highest veneration, who re- 
 fuses to give credit to evil reports, if there be not absolute certainty ; — 
 who, seeing the faults of others, remembers her own weakness, and 
 throws the mellowing tint of a mild interpretation over whatever is 
 blameworthy; — and who, perceiving the errors and the consequent 
 unhappiness of those who transgress the prescribed bounds, shrouds 
 the person of the transgressor from the severity of a public and scru- 
 tinising gaze, while she points to the trangression as to a beacon 
 which blazes out at once its warning and its direction to those way- 
 faring through a world of dangers ? In such a female, the glories of 
 her sex meet and crown her with a halo of imperishable honour; — 
 she sits like a tutelar divinity enthroned upon the applauses of admir- 
 ing multitudes. 
 
 You may guess then, my dear sisters, where and what I would have 
 you be. I would have you the subjects of a heavenly influence, 
 proofs of the power of Christian principles, and the ornaments of hu- 
 man nature, by filling up your sphere with propriety, and arraying 
 yourselves with those extra beauties, arising from circumstances which 
 are not comprehended by positive prescriptions, but which tell with 
 extraordinary worth in the formation of a perfect character. 
 
 I will now relieve your attention by informing you that on my arri- 
 val at Gloucester, I was received by my dear friends with the frank- 
 ness and affection of disinterested and durable attachment. Under 
 
IMPORTANT ADVICE TO A YOUNGER BROTHER, 
 
 111 
 
 all the circumstances of the case, however, I could not prevent a certain 
 hesitancy of feeling as I entered the house : the recollection of the 
 distress which I had endured since I last saw them, and the conscious- 
 ness that I felt of carrying nothing to recommend me, except my afflic- 
 tion and helplessness to their pity; together with the uncertainty 
 whether I was radically better or not, and the consequent apprehen- 
 sion under which I laboured of presenting by my circumstances rather 
 a claim upon their condolence, than a demand on their congratulations; 
 — -all these things combined to make me wish that I could avoid the 
 ceremony of a first introduction. But I soon felt myself at home, 
 although the general appearance of the drawing-room as I entered it, 
 was calculated to strike a stranger with terror; it was almost filled with 
 the emblems of mourning, preparations for a splendid funeral about to 
 take place, for which Mr. Wheeler was undertaker, and which threw 
 a kind of sable horror over the room. But familiarity makes a play- 
 mate of a monster ; and viewing the pompous decorations of death 
 around me through the medium of business, I soon learnt to regard 
 them as no interruptions to the enjoyment of endeared society. It 
 was indeed gratifying to receive from every one those unequivocal 
 marks of welcome, which countenances beaming with pleasure, and 
 enquiries full of unaffected interest, could give. I did feel the sweets 
 of gratitude to God for Friendship. 
 
 I am now much better, but my chest is astonishingly weak, and my 
 voice has lost much of its power ; there appears however a decided 
 superiority in my present condition to that of twelve months ago. If 
 I should return to life, how much grace and direction shall I want ! 
 I hope and believe that you often pray for 
 
 Your affectionate Brother 
 
 William. 
 
 The following Letter is another specimen of the tender solicitude 
 which William invariably felt for the best interests of the junior 
 branches of his family ; and when the importance of the observations is 
 duly weighed, it will perhaps be considered a sufficient reason for pre- 
 senting that to the eye of the Public, which for the most part has 
 already appeared before it in another form. 
 
 Gloucester , Nov. 2, 1820. 
 
 My dear Brother Sam. 
 
 An interesting work which I have just read contains some 
 observations which, as they passed before my eyes, appeared to me 
 so likely to be useful to you, that I could not resist the inclination I 
 felt to put you in possession of them ; their, being placed before you 
 
m 
 
 IMPORTANT ADVICE TO A YOUNGER BROTHER. 
 
 in writing will be more likely to make them impressive than if you 
 saw them in print, and the recollection that the hand is that of a 
 Brother, who copies not because he dislikes the trouble of composi- 
 tion, but because he has admired the style of the work alluded to, 
 and felt the pointedness of the remarks which it presented, will 
 perhaps give effect to their impression. Not that I suppose your 
 judgment will differ from mine upon their excellence, but if for their 
 intrinsic worth you would read them once, affection, when it lays the 
 claim, may expect that for its sake you will read them a second time, 
 and then I doubt not that your discovery of their value, increasing 
 in clearness, will urge you to peruse them again and again. 
 
 The person to whom these observations are attributed is represent- 
 ed as a young man, who, after having apostatised from 6 the truth as it 
 is in Jesus,’ has become a re-converted character, and under the 
 blessedness of his present condition writes to a young friend in whose 
 welfare he had made himself instrumental: he writes however not 
 only guided by the regard which such a relative connection imposes, 
 but also excited by a recollection of the mischievous impressions of 
 his former evil example. You will allow this, my dear Sam, to have 
 its weight upon your mind. To the author of this Letter the society 
 of one dissipated friend had been fatal, and he was a melancholy in- 
 stance, of very frequent occurrence, I mean the futility of purposes 
 which design to admit a little impropriety, and to exclude a great 
 deal. This is a grand device of the devil, of which in the rapid 
 succession of generations the inexperience of young persons renders 
 them the unsuspecting, and therefore, the easy victims. That part of 
 the Letter which I wish to introduce to you is as follows : 
 
 c Let me in the first place,’ says the author, 6 as a point of the high- 
 est importance entreat you to beware what company you keep. As 
 one stream mixing with another insensibly partakes of its nature, so 
 you will necessarily be influenced by your common associates. If you 
 mix with the trifling, you will trifle ; if you mix with the gay, you 
 will be thoughtless ; if you mix with the wicked, you will become 
 wicked. Do not think it enough to see their faults, and resolve to 
 avoid them ; if you seek their society, and delight in it, whatever 
 may be your resolutions, you will be gradually reconciled to their 
 failings, and afterwards adopt them. Youth are too apt to be rash 
 in their friendships. They meet together, sympathise on a few com- 
 mon points, and then determine to be one for ever. This is not wise. 
 I would not have you basely suspicious of every body ; but in form- 
 ing your connections, I would have your acquaintanceships grow out 
 of a knowledge of character, and your friendships spring from tried 
 and solid merit. This will be acting with prudence. You must not 
 go by appearances • if you do, almost every thing will deceive you. 
 
IMPORTANT ADVICE TO A YOUNGER BROTHER. 
 
 113 
 
 You must go by experience and proof, and then you will go safely. 
 Choose your friend not because he is spirited and witty, clever and 
 daring, — not because he is of good presence or pleasing manners, — 
 not because he flatters your foibles and applauds profusely your ex- 
 cellencies, — but choose him, because you have found him prudent and 
 benevolent, pious and faithful, ready to admonish you of a fault, to 
 warn you of a danger, and to encourage you amidst the difficulties 
 and duties of life. 
 
 c Another caution should be directed to the books you read? Let 
 me just observe, Sam, that this young man had been craftily beguiled 
 to read some volumes of ( Moral Tales,’ which created a taste for 
 light reading, and made way for Novels, Romances, and immoral 
 works of all descriptions ; he began under the specious pretext of 
 reading before he censured, but he finished by rendering such profane 
 nonsense necessary to his comfort. { Books are the companions of re- 
 tirement, and what I have said on the choice of your friends, may be 
 well applied to your selection of books. Indeed in some respects, the 
 books which you peruse are of more importance than the company 
 you keep. We pay more deference to the Author than to the com- 
 panion ; we have easier access to him, and we are less jealous of his 
 opinions. Here then you should be very careful. — Affect not to read 
 many books. This will feed your vanity, and leave you empty and 
 superficial. Let your books be few , but well chosen and well read. 
 Take the opinion of those, whose knowledge and real excellence 
 qualify them to judge, before you decide on reading any book. Des- 
 pise the affectation of a false liberality, in reading erroneous works. 
 This shews an alarming presumption in young persons. Remember 
 that your mind is naturally inclined to error, and averse from truth. 
 Your character is not yet formed ; and if we would venture to “ try 
 the spirits,” we must first be careful to u know what manner of spirit 
 we are of.” Reject, as you would arsenic, those books that exhibit 
 sentiments, which you could not read without shame in good society.’ 
 
 Sam, let me pause to press this upon you; elsewhere I have seen 
 the same admonition otherwise expressed ; — c Read no book privately 
 which you would not like to read aloud to a modest female.’ I know 
 there is a gratification to some feelings in the perusal of even impure 
 publications, but the feelings that can be so gratified are decidedly 
 bad , and the state of mind that will permit them to urge successfully 
 a claim for their gratification presents in that fact an omen of the 
 worst results. The Author proceeds ; — c To touch them is to be 
 polluted. If one thing more than another succeeded in blinding me 
 to vice, and raising my passions to desperation , it was improper 
 reading . 
 
 6 Especially I would say, read and study your Bible. 1 can never 
 sufficiently regret my neglect of this incomparable book. Had I taken 
 
114 
 
 IMPORTANT ADVICE TO A YOUNGER BROTHER, 
 
 heed to it, I might have cleansed my way through the early walks of 
 life. But I was foolish, do you improve by my folly. As Alexander 
 used Homer, do you use the Bible ; — make it your companion all day, 
 and your pillow all night. Nothing can be half so important to you. 
 Jt is your guide, your counsellor, and your judge. It contains the 
 key to history, the models of finest eloquence, the genuine morality, 
 the conveyance of immortality ! Make it the standard of all other 
 books. Read them as a judge , but consult it as a disciple. Know- 
 ledge elsewhere is tinctured by the earthly channels through which 
 it flows, but here it dwells as in its fountain ; pure, spiritual, living, 
 and life-imparting! In other works you will find good opinions 
 grafted on bad principles, weak conclusions gathered from just pre- 
 mises, the spirit of the world encumbering the spirit of piety ; — a 
 strange mixture of clay, iron, and gold ; — but in the Scriptures all is 
 gold, — pure, unalloyed gold, authorised by the image and superscrip- 
 tion of Jehovah that rests upon it. 44 Search the Scriptures,” as the 
 miner searches the bowels of the earth for the precious metals, 44 for 
 in them is eternal life, and they are they which testify of Jesus!’” I 
 will interrupt this beautiful current of thought, by injecting another 
 remark. Depend upon it, Sam, that it is easy to lose a relish for read- 
 ing the divine word, but difficult indeed to conquer the predilections 
 of a vitiated mental taste ; and this is the reason, our natural corrup- 
 tions render the excitement of our passions agreeable, and excitement 
 once delightful becomes necessary to our peace ; but it is the business 
 and the uniform tendency of the Scriptures to subdue the passions, 
 and to bring the whole man into a 4 reasonable service the results of 
 the two operations are thus directly opposed, but unhappily the for- 
 mer has already become delightful, and the latter in order to be suc- 
 cessful must mortify. — 4 But oh ! how disgusting to have passion 
 mortified instead of indulged, subdued instead of triumphant !’ — No ; 
 this, Sam, is a delusion ; to be controlled by passion, is to be ruled by 
 an insatiable tyranny; while to be subdued by scriptural truth is to 
 obtain a conquest that will cover you with immortal glory ! 
 
 4 Let me also beg of you not to rest satisfied with any thing short 
 of genuine religion. I know that your dispositions are serious, and 
 that your habits from the cradle have been pious ; but this is one rea- 
 son why I warn you on this head. Numbers of youth are relying on 
 such privileges, and by so doing have converted them from blessings 
 into curses. Avoid this evil, and give your serious attention to reli- 
 gion. In studying its nature, let this be a governing sentiment to you, 
 that it is a vital principle. Religion with some people, and people who 
 are very strenuous on the subject too, is like a fine portrait, just and 
 complete in its outward parts, but wanting life ; fair to the eye, but 
 cold to the touch. Now religion must not only be perfect in form, 
 but animated with a living spirit. It is not composed of a proper act 
 
IMPORTANT ADVICE TO A YOUNGER BROTHER. 
 
 115 
 
 Or a decent habit, or a sublime speculation, or manual observance ; — 
 it is the life of the soul , as the soul is the life of the body. 
 
 6 Were I to describe this divine principle, I should say, that it 
 consists of love toward God , and benevolence toward men , and is di- 
 rectly opposed to the vanity, pride, enmity, and selfishness natural to 
 us. Yes, the presence of this principle alone will teach us to deny 
 ourselves, and nothing short of this will validate our claim to disciple- 
 ship. Our worldly opinions, our vain imaginations, our proud re- 
 sentments, our carnal prejudices, our sinful propensites, must all be 
 sacrificed. The right hand must be cut off, the right eye plucked out, — 
 the useful, the profitable, the beloved sin, must be renounced. The 
 Saviour’s wisdom must guide us, and not our own ; the Saviour’s will 
 must govern us, and not our own ; the Saviour’s excellence must de- 
 light us, and not our own ! If born again, we are not our own , but 
 His. — Oh ! try yourself by this test. I am the more earnest, because 
 I fear that till since I saw you, I had not sufficient views of the 
 nature of religion ; and if I had, it never appeared clothed with the 
 importance and beauty which it now wears. See then that you do not 
 err ; mistake not slight impressions for indelible ones, agitated feel- 
 ings for spiritualised affections, a partial change for a total one, or a 
 perception of religion for its actual possession.’ I may add here, my 
 dear Sam, a remark which I think founded in truth and of universal ap- 
 plication, that evidence of the possession of religion is doubtful, only 
 when there is really too little of it to justify a positive and satisfactory 
 conclusion. I am aware that a state of doubt will admit no conclusion 
 either way, and hence that in such a case there cannot be clear evi- 
 dence of a total destitution of religious influence. At the same time were 
 there such an enjoyment of the love of God, such a sway over the heart, 
 by charity toward men, such a subjugation of the affections beneath the 
 yoke of the Redeemer, as a Christian must feel in order to be happy, 
 and may feel without presuming too much ; then the state of mind 
 would involve its own evidence, it would make the conclusion irresist- 
 ible, indeed there could arise no objection to cast even the shadow of 
 a doubt. Without this it never was the intention of our God to per- 
 mit us to rest ; while he who wishes to rest without it, or takes no 
 effectual measures to rise above a state of uncertainty, places himself 
 on a high post of danger to be the sport of cruel storms and exposed 
 to a tremendous catastrophe. But hear the Author further : c If you 
 have scriptural evidence to conclude that you are the subject of vital 
 religion, then beware that you do not neglect it. If those who, not 
 knowing religion neglect it, are guilty, how much more the guilt of 
 those who neglect it, with a sense of its value ! As you regard your 
 present and your future peace, I beseech you, shun this evil ! That 
 you may be assisted to do this, I would say : — 
 
 4 First, watch habitually over all your conduct. Remember that 
 
 i % 
 
116 
 
 IMPORTANT ADVICE TO A YOUNGER BROTHER. 
 
 every thing within and about you is opposed to your religious pro- 
 gress. If you are doubtful of any action or engagement, try it by 
 the following questions. Is it warranted by Scripture? — Will it in- 
 jure my religion ? — Can I ask the blessing of God upon it ? — If it 
 will not bear this test, consider it doubtful no longer, — it is a snare 
 of the wicked one. 
 
 6 Secondly. — In addition to your daily prayers, commence each 
 day by meditating on a selected text of Scripture, and close it by 
 serious examination. Ask yourself before you sink into sleep such 
 questions as these : — Have I observed my devotions ? — Have X per- 
 formed the duties of my station? — Have I benefited any fellow-crea- 
 ture ? — Have I indulged any improper passion, — pride, anger, or re- 
 sentment ? — Have I made any progress in knowledge or holiness ? — It 
 is impossible for me to tell from what evils such a practice may de- 
 liver you, or what good it may confer upon you.’ 
 
 I will add one brief extract more : — 4 Shall I own to you, my dear 
 John, that in penning this short letter, I have been obliged repeat- 
 edly to stop and weep ? I have wept because I saw you standing 
 in slippery places. I have wept because every advice to you was a 
 reproach to myself. Similar advice was given to me, but I trifled 
 with it. However I will hope that you may be confirmed in wisdom 
 by my dear-bought experience.’ 
 
 Here, my dear Brother, I pause and retire behind this last extract 
 to save the necessity of making a more pointed acknowledgment of 
 my own deficiency. I have only to add, how entirely I agree with 
 the writer in the propriety of the observations which he has made, 
 may be judged from the labour of copying them, and the eagerness 
 with which I recommend them. There is, you know, a difference 
 not very material in our respective ages, and we may very cordially 
 unite in proposing to take the admonitory experience of this poor 
 young man as a beacon to our steps in the way of holiness. May the 
 blessing of the great God, and of our Saviour Jesus Christ, be with 
 you, my dear Samuel, and preserve you from the evils which haveal- 
 ready ensnared thousands, and now endanger yourself : and may it 
 4 stablish you in every good word and work !’ Such are the fervent 
 wishes of 
 
 Your affectionate Brother 
 
 William. 
 
 The next is an Extract from a Letter to a young lady, who since 
 that time has been brought into closer connexion with the family. 
 
REMARKS ON MARRIAGE. 
 
 117 
 
 Gloucester , March 8, 1821. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 Inclination, as well as the request of a member of our fa- 
 mily, leads me to fulfil a purpose which for some time I have formed of 
 writing you. Do not however imagine that I have no self-interest in 
 the affair ; for, though duty might in some cases impel me to do what 
 on other accounts I might perform with reluctance, yet the vanity, 
 which ladies say i§ universal among men, prompts me to wish for the 
 good opinion of a person, of whom a distant acquaintance has left me 
 room to observe, that I have regretted our acquaintance has been 
 so distant. Flattery, at all times revolting to sensibility, is inde- 
 scribably more so to a pious mind, for the disgrace of flattering is 
 not nearly so deep in its colour to one who looks upon humility as 
 meanness, and pride as manly feeling, as it is to one who knows that 
 as humility is the foundation of the Christian graces, and the very 
 life-blood of spiritual health, so he who flatters the pride of another 
 administers a cup of poison, and is the murderer of a soul. I will, 
 therefore, abstain from conduct and expressions which may bear the 
 appearance of evil, however they might be the utterance of convic- 
 tion, and the language of truth. I will content myself with saying 
 that from the little knowledge of you which I possess, and from the 
 impartial information of another person, I feel a great desire to be 
 valued by you as a Friend. Of thi^l am the more anxious as I un- 
 derstand that, from some cause which to me is perfectly mysterious, 
 there is around me in your estimation an ominous awfulness thrown in 
 shades thickening over each other, rendering me at once an object of 
 suspicion and of fear, and thus naturally causing you to feel c ex- 
 treme diffidence toward me.’ Now I do desire you, in the name of 
 all that is familiar in friendship, or faithful in innocence, or fearless 
 in courage, to go boldly up to this same dismal spectre, and to see if 
 whatever is frightful will not soon be dissipated, and if there will 
 not stand confessed before you one who can be honest, open, and 
 cordial. 
 
 Human nature makes a large acknowledgment of its weakness and 
 of its dependence, whenever it is reminded that its happiness must 
 result from such a concatenation of circumstances as will make all 
 things flow together with the stream of its wishes. And yet such is 
 the condition of human nature, in this life, that its general felicity 
 must be estimated by its every-day experience, and its every-day 
 experience is made up of incidents which individually are of little 
 importance, and are momentous only as they affect the feelings. I 
 speak now of course, not of the happiness which the soul may enjoy 
 in a close union with God, but of that felicity of condition which 
 
118 
 
 REMARKS ON MARRIAGE. 
 
 depends on the connection between circumstances and feeling, from 
 which a breath of wind can detract a considerable share, and to which 
 the uncovering of the face of the sun, and his transient smile around 
 upon the earth, may make a great addition. 
 
 Independence of circumstances it is vain to expect, for they who 
 alFect to have attained it may easily detect themselves in feelings which 
 they may dislike to acknowledge ; nor is it difficult in other instances 
 for those around them to detect traces of the same folly as that which 
 originates this affectation of stoical indifference. God has made us 
 dependent, and we therefore, as naturally fall upon things around us 
 for support, — for the maintenance and increase of our enjoyment of 
 existence, — as an ivy branch lays hold upon the nearest tree or 
 wall. It is this, in connection with other important causes, that 
 makes a marriage-life desirable ; it is in the blending of interests, 
 in the reciprocation of dependence, and in the community of joys 
 and griefs, that the luxury of union with the most endeared upon 
 earth is felt. It is this too that opens a view of the worth of social 
 intercourse, that makes the smile of a neighbourhood exhilarating, 
 and that renders the frown of a friend or relative destructive of our 
 tone of enjoyment, and proportionally injurious to our state in life. 
 
 But enough, — I am not telling you news, for I have no news to tell 
 you : this, however, it is of consequence to remember, even after we 
 have learnt it, — that as man’s happiness depends very greatly upon 
 his connections with his fellow-creatures, we are constituted in an im- 
 portant sense the keepers of each other’s felicity. And to make a per- 
 sonal application of the whole, — to be able in any degree either to di- 
 minish the number of your sorrows, or to add to the measure of your 
 joys, will increase the happiness of 
 
 Your affectionate Friend, 
 
 William Barber. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 Opens his Academy at Longford — His Marriage — Advice to a Brother in the Mi- 
 nistry — Prosperity in Business — Death of his Wife — Dissolution of his Aca- 
 demy-Distress of his Mind— Difficulties of his Situation— Commences a Day- 
 School at Gloucester — Publication of his Wife’s Memorials — New Discoveries 
 of Sin in the Heart. 
 
 As the health of my Brother gradually improved, though without 
 affording the slightest reason to expect that he would be able for a 
 long time to enter upon the arduous duties of the Wesleyan Ministry, 
 he at length decided upon commencing for himself a classical, com- 
 mercial, and mathematical Academy. This was not done merely in 
 conformity with his own views of the will of God concerning him ; 
 for, fgarful of wandering from the path of duty, he set himself to 
 ascertain the sentiments of his most experienced friends, especially 
 the Rev. Henry Moore, then Superintendent of the Bristol Circuit, 
 and the Rev. Walter Griffith, the Superintendent at Bath; these ve- 
 nerable men, though perfectly unacquainted with each other’s views 
 at the time, entirely coincided in the propriety of William’s adopting 
 the plan suggested, and thus every doubt was removed from his 
 mind. He, therefore, immediately entered with his whole soul into 
 his work, and having procured suitable premises at Longford, near 
 Gloucester, he opened his school on the 10th of July, 1821, and 
 almost immediately established preaching and a JVTethodist Class upon 
 the spot. 
 
 The encouragement and support which he met in his new engage- 
 ment, both from his own Friends and the Public at large, were so 
 considerable, that he began to be more fully persuaded he had taken 
 the path which was opened to him by Providence. But his pub- 
 lic avowal of attachment to the obligations and services of religion, 
 though it gained him the confidence and respect of the wisest part of 
 the community, was not so universally admired as might have been 
 hoped. There were some few individuals in his immediate neigh- 
 bourhood who made it the subject of their ridicule and scorn. A 
 
120 
 
 ADVICE TO AN ELDER BROTHER. 
 
 friend informed him that at a public dinner in a tavern, the conversa- 
 tion happening to be directed towards the new occupier of Longford 
 House, a gentleman present, possessed of considerable property, but 
 unfortunately of infidel principles, was asked by some of the com- 
 pany whether he intended to send his boys to the Academy. 4 No/ 
 said the apostle of good morals, 4 from what I have heard, the young 
 man is polite enough, and able enough, but I understand that he is a 
 
 Methodist, and I would as soon send my children to as to 
 
 a Methodist !’ Such sarcasms however as these had no weight with 
 one who was determined to 4 acknowledge God in all his ways,’ and 
 though he soon afterwards found, by the most distressing circum- 
 stances, that his cup of suffering was far from being emptied of its 
 contents, he never repented the resolution which he had formed. 
 
 Having myself for some years entertained views to the Wesleyan 
 Ministry, which in consequence of a variety of circumstances I had 
 not as yet been permitted to realise, I had begun to suspect it possi- 
 ble that my w 7 ay was by Providence obstructed to the work at home, 
 in order to force me into the Missionary department. I was in this 
 state of painful uncertainty when I received the following affectionate 
 letter from my Brother. 
 
 Longford , July 28, 1821. 
 
 Dear A. 
 
 \ r ou are my Creditor by several Letters. I am glad that 
 you can trust me. I have, as they say, an honest principle in me 
 and a good heart toward you, but this one solitary note of hand must 
 even wipe out the score against me, and debit you a balance in my 
 favour. I admit that there should be something valuable in a com- 
 munication which is expected to do so much, and I regret that it is 
 not in my power to render assistance by really opening a way before 
 you, or by counsel which has the proofs of experience to recommend 
 it. There is, however, this consolatory reflection, that if attempt in- 
 cur the charge of incapacity, it discharges the just demands of obli- 
 gation ; the former is an arbitrary imposition, the latter a liberation 
 from claims of duty hitherto neglected. 
 
 But to come immediately to your last interesting and important 
 letter, containing statements of your feelings and situation very can- 
 did and affecting : — I could not forbear sympathising deeply with you ; 
 and that you know I am well able to do, for my situation has been one 
 extremely similar to your own, in reference to your views to the mi- 
 nistry, and your expectations from the now sitting Conference. I 
 can indeed easily conceive how difficult you find it to keep your 
 mind in a placid and unanxious frame : it is almost an impossibility. 
 Here Philosophy would say : — 4 Of what avail is agitation, where 
 there can be no effort ?’ But religion, turning heaven-ward her eyes, 
 
ADVICE TO AN ELDER BROTHER. 
 
 121 
 
 exclaims : — 4 Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is 
 stayed on thee, because he trusteth in thee !’ I see very plainly, or 
 at least I fancy so, that your conflict of feeling must be of such a 
 nature that religion itself cannot do much toward quieting your agi- 
 tated sensations, unless carried into those exalted attainments of de- 
 votion to God, by which nature is thoroughly subjugated, and all its 
 functions placed just at command. That employment, to which you 
 believe Providence has destined you, is an object of ardent desire, as 
 it has been long the pursuit of a holy ambition ; but it would at the 
 same time impose restrictions that are contrary to the feelings of na- 
 ture. Could you however obtain more of that denying superiority to 
 self, which I am sure the circumstances of a Methodist Preacher will 
 very often demand, you would in a compound proportion prove its 
 efficacy to still the tempest of feeling ; — you would find it act upon 
 your mind as oil upon the bosom of waters ; when raised into waves 
 of lawless and threatening appearances it would smooth them into 
 placidity, and still them into peace, at the same time giving power to 
 reflect the perfect and pleasing image of the bright luminary which 
 attracts them. Do not imagine, my dear Brother, that I am now 
 throwing a censure upon the reality or the fervour of your devoted- 
 ness to the will of God ; I do not for a moment suspect either. But 
 if you feel at all as I do, you will know the difference between know- 
 ledge and feeling, — between a consciousness of what is required and 
 the fulfilment of requirement, —between a wish and intention to be 
 resigned and the habit and sensations of full acquiescence. It is easy 
 with only a little religion, if religion may be ideally measured, to 
 perceive the propriety, yes, and to have a strong desire to experi- 
 ence, resignation to the will of God ; but with only a little, it is not 
 easy to give up even to procrastination a partiality so powerful as is 
 that which affects the destination of a whole life ; but it would be 
 well for us to remind each other, that important as are the great 
 changes of life, the attainment of Christian virtues, which meet to- 
 gether in aid of fitness for the greatest change of all, is infinitely 
 more important; and therefore, Providence will not hesitate some- 
 times to throw confusion upon the one in order to realise the other 
 with greater effect. 
 
 I cannot doubt the propriety of your turning your attention toward 
 the Missionary work, but est modus in rebus , you know, and it will 
 be particularly needful for you to seriously consider yours in this affair. 
 
 That you may be useful in a department of Missionary labour, I 
 have not a single doubt : but you are aware, that that is not the only 
 thing to be considered. Remember, that in making the attempt to go 
 into a Missionary field, you will not be setting about what you already 
 know is the will of God concerning you, but it will be in fact the 
 movement of an enquiry into that will. For my part 1 cannot give an 
 
122 
 
 ADVICE TO A SISTER IN AFFLICTION. 
 
 an opinion upon the subject r although it would, at least on one side, 
 be probably determined by the feelings of our Parents. Nothing 
 however can be more consonant with my own views than that you 
 should upon every account decide during the present season ; the loud- 
 est calls for this, proceed from every duty involved in the considera- 
 tion. You must either wholly or mainly turn your attention to busi- 
 ness or to the Ministry ; if your way to the latter be fairly blocked up, 
 it must be your duty to study the former, to enter into it wfith spirit, 
 and to pursue it with perseverance, in whatever department your way 
 shall be ultimately opened. Still however est modus in rebus , there 
 must be caution, or some known duty will be sacrificed to a strong 
 inclination. I must now leave you ; with great difficulty have I stolen 
 from the boys the time necessary for writing this to you. 
 
 I am your affectionate and sympathising Brother 
 
 William. 
 
 He was now so fully occupied with the duties devolving upon him, 
 that it was but seldom we could obtain from him any communications 
 but those on business. The resolution and perseverance which in the 
 above letter he had recommended to his brother, he himself displayed 
 to a degree that justified all our expectations from the well known firm- 
 ness and ardour of his character. His success in his school was such, 
 that he soon found himself under the necessity of employing an assist- 
 ant : and though his eldest sister had hitherto, much to his satisfaction, 
 conducted the domestic arrangements of his establishment, it was 
 hardly to be expected, that as he had already fixed his affections upon 
 the youngest sister of his friend Mrs. Wheeler of Gloucester, a lady 
 every way suitable for him, he would be long satisfied without the 
 consummation of their union. Just before the occurence of that event 
 he wrote the following letter to his third Sister, then in a delicate state 
 of health. 
 
 Longford , Jan. 25, 1822. 
 
 My dear Mary, 
 
 You are now in those circumstances of mind and body which 
 of course bring upon you much suffering and real trial. I too have 
 been in them, and know them experimentally. It is but seldom that 
 I can write, and our distance necessarily precludes any other inter- 
 course ; but I frequently think of you, and I believe that no one day 
 passes but you are the subject of my earnest prayer to God. My 
 wishes for you at a throne of grace are, that if it may be consistent 
 with the divine wisdom and goodness, you may soon recover ; and that 
 your afflictions, (for pain of body, and sinking spirits, and unfitness 
 for the business of life, are real afflictions,) may be truly blest unto 
 you. 
 
ADVICE TO A SISTER IN AFFLICTION. 
 
 123 
 
 It is one source of great relief to a sufferer, that his 4 affliction cometh 
 not forth of the dust, neither doth trouble spring out of the ground;’ 
 and another that they are designed for some very beneficial purpose : 
 4 When thou with rebukes dost correct man for iniquity, thou makest 
 his beauty to consume away like a moth ; surely every man is vanity 
 4 he is chastened with pain upon his bed, and the multitude of his 
 bones with strong pain ; so that his life abhorreth bread, and his soul 
 dainty meat all this is to 4 withdraw man from his purpose, to hide 
 pride from man, and to keep back his soul from the pit.’ 
 
 In writing to you, my dear, I feel relieved of an intolerable burden 
 that would rest upon my heart and hand, if I had no persuasion that 
 you have received the grace of God in truth. Of this I think, (and 
 let it be said only to the glory of the Saviour and to your comfort,) 
 there is satisfactory evidence. This then connects you, in a most en- 
 dearing and happy relation, with God. He is no stranger to you, but 
 graciously gives you authority to say ; — 4 The Lord is my strength and 
 my song ; he also is become my salvation !’ And if trusting in the 
 merits of the Saviour, and believing His promises, you venture to use 
 this language in simplicity and humble confidence, He will, and in- 
 deed He does reply to you in such endearing and melting language as 
 that in Isaiah xli. 10, 4 Fear thou not, for I am with thee ; be not dis- 
 mayed, for I am thy God /* O my dear Sister, hang upon that : — 4 I 
 am thy God ! I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee ; yea, I 
 will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness.’ 
 
 Let it therefore be your chief care now to get all your sufferings 
 sanctified to you ; for this, there are very many reasons ; — the longer 
 your afflictions are needed, the longer they will be continued ; — suf- 
 fering imparts no merit, nor even any good but as it is blest to the soul ; 
 recovery itself will be worth far more, if iu the affliction you become 
 more fitted for life ; — and he who is more fitted to live, is surely more 
 fitted to die. 
 
 In the present uncertainty of your condition, try to keep your mind, 
 calm ; for this purpose, habitually have recourse to God. 4 Thou wilt 
 keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on thee, because he 
 trusteth in thee.’ Bear up, as much as possible, under fits of depres- 
 sion, and against all gloomy and desponding views, which are incident 
 to your present state of ill-health ; always remembering that however 
 your feelings may vary, 4 with Him there is no variableness, neither 
 the shadow of a turning.’ 
 
 Wishing you much spiritual prosperity in Christ, a good hope 
 through grace, and if consistent with the Divine will, better health 
 speedily, I am 
 
 Your affectionate Brother 
 
 William. 
 
124 
 
 HIS MARRIAGE. 
 
 His next announces the event to which he had for a considerable 
 time looked forward with his characteristic ardour and hope. 
 
 Longford , Feb. 22, 1 822. 
 
 Very dear Parents, 
 
 I suppose you are by this time somewhat solicitous to hear 
 from us ; and though in the society of my dearest Anne I feel just 
 now but little disposition to employ myself in any thing that does not 
 actively concern her, yet a sense of duty to you, and a wish to gra- 
 tify what I know is parental solicitude for the happiness of your child- 
 ren, urge me immediately to write ; to this I can of course be the 
 more easily reconciled, as I must necessarily write about her. 
 
 Mr. Wheeler and myself started at three o’clock on Saturday after- 
 noon for Hereford, which we reached at eight ; we there found horses 
 waiting for us, and arrived at Arkstone between nine and ten. The 
 next day I was obliged to preach in consequence of the indisposition 
 and absence of the appointed preacher. I had resolved, as I thought, 
 firmly against being so engaged ; there w ere many reasons, and some 
 of them peculiar, for my wishing to avoid it. I was however, com- 
 pelled to alter my purpose. A little before breakfast Mr. W. gave me 
 as a text: — c Thou shalt guide me with thy counsel, and afterward 
 receive me to glory !’ 
 
 I will not fear to say that power was given me to enter into the 
 meaning of the passage; my views were enlarged very much, and my 
 heart went along with the spirit of the writer. It affected my pre- 
 sent situation, and expressed just what my Anne and myself had be- 
 fore uttered in other language, both of resolution and of hope. My 
 hearers it seems had some reason to regret the liberty wh ; ch I felt, 
 for some of them afterwards told me that I was an hour and three 
 quarters in the sermon, but this, I am persuaded, was an exaggeration. 
 A resolution to be guided in future by the counsel of God was pro- 
 duced, not so much by the view of past errors, nor yet at <all by a 
 suspicion of present opposition to the Divine will ; but chiefly by a 
 clear conviction of the propriety in reason, of the necessity in order 
 to success, and of the obligation in gratitude, to make the counsel of 
 God, learnt from His word, His dispensations of providence and grace, 
 II is ordinances, &c., the guide of our entire life. My Anne’s view s 
 were perfectly consonant with my own, and I was glad that the sub- 
 ject had come before me. 
 
 On Monday Mr. W. and myself w r ent to Hereford, for the license. 
 I felt very impressively the importance of the coming day, and longed 
 for a clear manifestation of the Divine favour in reference to the mo- 
 mentous and happy business in which I was about to engage. The 
 next morning, (the 19th instant,) I rose early, and so did Anne, and 
 in different parts of the house we commended ourselves, and each 
 
HIS MARRIAGE. 
 
 125 
 
 other, together with all our circumstances to God. I carefully re- 
 viewed all, and made every thing the subject of direct and earnest 
 appeal to Him. I was very much blest, and the sweetest of all my 
 delightful feelings on that happy morning arose from a most solemn 
 consciousness of the favour and blessing of God. At half-past ten 
 o’clock we went to the Altar, as to a most sacred and delightful or- 
 dinance of religion. The Clergyman read the service in the most 
 impressive manner. I had read it several times before, but now it 
 came upon me with great emphasis indeed. The ringers were waiting 
 before we left the church, and immediately, in spite of refusal and re- 
 monstrance, struck up their merriest peal. We dined early, and at 
 two o’clock left Arkstone, in a chariot, accompanied by Miss M. 
 Howell, as bride-maid ; Mr. Wheeler and Mr. W. Howell, were also 
 with us. We took tea at Ross, and reached Longford about half-past 
 eight in the evening. The weather was remarkably fine, and nothing 
 unpleasant was permitted to disturb the hilarity of the evening. The 
 boys were in a high tone of preparation, they had provided them- 
 selves with a Christian song and a poetic address of welcome ta the 
 bride, and they feasted like princes on the cake and wine prepared 
 for them by Mrs. W. Nothing but entire satisfaction was visible, no- 
 thing but cordial congratulation was to be heard : it was, indeed, a 
 solemn — happy — Christian day, for we had no boisterous nor irra- 
 tional mirth. 
 
 And now, my dear Parents, the event which has given me a trea- 
 sure, whose value every moment appears to me greater than before, 
 has given to you a daughter, who in nothing is more entirely at one 
 with me than in affection for you. I rejoice that I have no occasion 
 to recommend her to your affections ; you know a little of her, and 
 therefore you love her ; the more you know of her the more unli- 
 mited your love will be. I shall not write to you therefore any more 
 in my own name only ; my dear Anne feels and claims her right to be 
 included. Oh! then do not cease to pray for us, that the Lord may 
 bless us and keep us safe in the midst of a world which exposes us to 
 the greatest dangers. If we ever anticipated your blessing while sin- 
 gle, we now together put in our claim most earnestly for it. Oh ! 
 write us, and tell us that we have that blessing, and that we shall 
 continue to have it ; and, for the first time, we subscribe ourselves, 
 and that with feelings of very high delight, 
 
 Your truly affectionate Children, 
 
 William and Anne Barber. 
 
 The above Letter may possibly excite the smiles of the dispassion- 
 ate Reader, who will probably wonder at the reason which induced 
 its insertion in the present Memoir; his surprise however will proba- 
 bly subside when he comes to contrast the expressions which it con- 
 
126 
 
 ADVICE TO A BROTHER IN THE MINISTRY. 
 
 tains of unaffected delight, with the mournful language of heart-reiuU 
 ing sorrow which my poor Brother was so speedily called to adopt. 
 One useful lesson at least may be learnt ; — a lesson taught us by the 
 great Apostle of the Gentiles : — 4 But this, I say, brethren, the time 
 is short : it remaineth that they that have wives be as though they had 
 none, and they that rejoice as though they rejoiced not, and they 
 that buy as though they possessed not, and they that use this world 
 as not abusing it ; for the fashion of this world passeth away.’ 
 
 My Brother’s judgment of the value of the Treasure which he had 
 secured will of course be considered by no means impartial ; but after 
 the Reader has perused the Appendix to this Work, I think he will 
 not allow him to stand alone in his convictions. William was one 
 of the last men in the world to be insensible to the merits of an ex- 
 cellent wife ; indeed he was evidently thrown off his guard by his at- 
 tachment, for his whole soul seemed to be wrapped up in the crea- 
 ture, and to such a degree did he carry his affections that, as he has 
 often since with the deepest penitence and distress assured me, he 
 grieved the Spirit of God, who is so jealous that he never will 
 allow with impunity His glory to be given to another. For some 
 months after his marriage William’s affairs seemed increasingly pros- 
 perous, when lo ! suddenly a cloud arose, which though small and 
 comparatively insignificant in its first appearance, quickly overspread 
 the whole of his sky, until the Almighty had clothed it with utter 
 darkness. As however, these circumstances are copiously detailed 
 in the Appendix, it will be unnecessary, in this place, to dwell 
 much upon them. Meantime I shall insert here several of his 
 Letters. 
 
 I had now left my paternal abode to be engaged in the Wesleyan 
 Ministry ; and having been appointed by the President of the Con- 
 ference as a supply, pro tempore , in different Circuits, I received 
 the following Letter while at Reading, in Berkshire. 
 
 Dear A. 
 
 Longford , April 3, 1822. 
 
 Your Letter of the 15th February from Lynn, is now open 
 before me ; it has many times been making loud appeals to my con- 
 science, but like many other appeals of the same nature incident to a 
 conscience not effectually seared, it has been complimented by pro- 
 mises of amendment, intended to be not distant though always fu- 
 ture, or else caressed by excuses too plausible not to serve as pretexts 
 of delay, but yet too sophistical to be regarded as truly convincing 
 and paramount arguments. What a pity that there should have been 
 any plea at all founded in justice ! You conclude your letter with a 
 wish to receive in reply a long answer, and full of good advice. 
 Now I knew, and my tendency to delay has urged it as an argu- 
 
ADVICE TO A BROTHER IN TIIE MINISTRY. |2 7 
 
 ment, that in every hour of a day I might avow that I have now 
 not time to write a long letter ; and the misfortune is, that through an 
 incessant and increasing necessity of business, I feel myself every 
 day in the same predicament, and I find that every night comes to re- 
 proach me with something which should have been done but is now 
 neglected. And then as to good advice, why what in the name of 
 wonder is it ? or where to be met ? Advice can be good only as it is 
 appropriate and efficient. And must not appropriate advice be the 
 result of experience ? There may be, and perhaps are, some minds 
 of peculiarly expansive and comprehensive construction, — minds 
 which have the capacity of perceiving intuitively, and as it were by 
 instinctive good sense, what may be and what ought to be done in 
 cases, the perplexities of which they have never felt, or in difficul- 
 ties, the pains and labours of which they never had to endure. But 
 there are not many such minds, and perhaps indeed if there were 
 they would be of little use, for men of practical habits are accus- 
 tomed to call what he who gives it might term good advice , by such 
 names as fine-spun theory, and abstract speculation, beautiful as a 
 purse or a glove made of spider’s film, and as untangible for practical 
 purposes of use and wear. I am glad however to find from the last 
 letter which I received from Father that my good advice would now 
 be totally inapplicable, as you are no longer in Lynn. I hope your 
 station in Reading is congenial with your wishes ; perfectly so I dare 
 not suppose that it is, for that would be to ask for a disappointment 
 that should remind me of the folly of the expectation. I am not 
 only grown less fond than I was of building, upon remote and unseen 
 cases, theories which most men smile at for the simplicity of the vi- 
 sionary who thinks them conclusive even if convincing ; but I am 
 growing so old-fashioned as to suspect that the warm and animating 
 views of prospective comfort, which we young persons form, are for 
 the most part founded rather on what we hope of the world than on 
 what others who have preceded us have found it. And difficulties 
 contemplated at a distance are generally different from what they ap- 
 pear in actual competition with the labour that is to surmount them : 
 to a sanguine mind they will be most likely to appear greatest in the 
 struggle to overcome them ; to a mind of cooler calculations, in the 
 distant survey. * * * * 
 
 If I were inclined to give you a piece of good advice , I should say : — 
 Cherish those modest views of yourself and of your preaching talents, 
 which will generally save you from disappointment and vexation, and 
 also realise to you more than you expect; but at the same time beware 
 of accustoming either your people or your Brethren in the Ministry to 
 think lightly of you, while you think humbly of yourself. This may 
 be the result of either of two operations of genuine humility : — the one, 
 an often repeated acknowledgment of inferiority, which though at 
 
128 ADVICE TO A BROTHER IN THE MINISTRY. 
 
 first regarded as a proof of lowliness of mind that makes the young 
 man think most highly of others, will yet soon be believed in the 
 abstract ; and the other, the frequent urging of inability for the work 
 imposed. I am quite of opinion that humility should discover itself 
 rather by a patient endurance than by active and reiterated complaint, 
 and yet a man must never forget his own interest so far as to avoid 
 proper occasions for expressing his views of personal deficiency. But 
 what I contend against is, frequent and gratuitous confessions un- 
 necessitated by time or circumstances. * * * * 
 
 You will expect me to say something about my dearest Anne and 
 
 our new condition of life. 1 feel chat I am formed for domestic 
 
 life, and thus I am prepared to be very much pleased with domestic 
 enjoyments. My feelings are at rest, and in the reciprocation of 
 esteem and love with the one whom I most regard, I feel that com- 
 paratively little of this world’s goods is left me to wish. My view of 
 the blessing, of which I am recently put in possession by the won- 
 derful kindness of Providence, is, that every other is subordinate to 
 it. I have now the greatest ; and the least, which are needed only as 
 exigencies demand them, are thus ensured to me. I find my dear 
 Anne a greater treasure than I expected, though large my anticipa- 
 tions most certainly were. Her prudence, piety, affection, skill, and 
 diligence ; her moderation, carefulness, decision, and firmness, are in 
 my opinion exemplary. I do most solemnly bless God for her. I 
 believe her to be peculiarly adapted to her situation and to me. 
 
 The approach of the District Meeting, connected with the step 
 which I have taken, has with some power revived the thoughts of my 
 supposed destination to the Ministry. I have sometimes felt acutely, 
 but never once condemned. I believe I am right, although my feel- 
 ings on the subject of what made it right for God to lay me aside, 
 humble me very much. The Lord make me in future increasingly 
 devoted, and humble, and faithful ! Our religious prospects in this 
 neighbourhood are good; we have through mercy a class of ten per- 
 sons, many of whom are directly the fruits of preaching in our house. 
 What a mercy ! — I must leave you 
 
 I am 
 
 Your affectionate Brother 
 
 William. 
 
 P. S. We are going at Midsummer to remove to a larger house nearer 
 Gloucester in the London Road; rent and taxes more that ^100, 
 per annum. 
 
 By the above Postcript some idea may be formed of the surprising 
 success which attended my Brother’s efforts to establish his Academy, 
 
DEATH OF HIS WIFE. 
 
 129 
 
 but, alas! it was a success which very speedily terminated, and that 
 by means of the most melancholy and afflictive kind. 
 
 I shall not however trench upon the account of these painful cir- 
 cumstances, which my Brother himself has given, and which will be 
 found in the Appendix. I shall merely observe, that his wife was 
 taken ill about the middle of the following July, and that she re- 
 mained so until the 20th of August, when she expired, leaving behind 
 her a glorious testimony of the power of Divine grace. The fol- 
 lowing Letters, descriptive of the painful scene, were among those 
 which William wrote to Bristol. 
 
 Longford , Aug. 19, 1822. 
 
 My dearest Parents, 
 
 I have not seen your note, but I have heard its contents. 
 My dearest Anne is this evening no better, but most distressingly 
 delirious — at this moment it rages. — Her state of soul when calm, is 
 comforting and animating beyond expression. — Her victory is decisive. 
 — Oh! how my heart is comforted and supported, amidst these accu- 
 mulated and appalling trials! — Glory — Glory be to God! — Now I 
 prove the reality and the power of religion. The scene last night was 
 melting indeed. — She had her Brothers into her chamber, and ex- 
 horted them most sweetly to turn to the Lord ; and to yield to the 
 influences of Divine Grace. In the event of any thing more occurring, 
 you will receive a speedy communication. 
 
 I am, my dear Parents, 
 
 Your afflicted, though resigned, 
 
 William. 
 
 Longford , Aug. 20, 1822. 
 
 On ! my dearest Parents, Brothers, and Sisters, your minds 
 are prepared for the distressing intelligence — She is gone ! — My dar- 
 ling Nancy has left me a widowed wanderer in this wilderness world ! 
 The Lord however greatly forgets my sinfulness, and pours his con- 
 solations and support into my soul. But O the agonising distress of 
 her death ! — I never before saw death from an acute disease ; but the 
 terrors of the delirium, and the pains of dissolution after the delirium 
 began, till within an hour of her release, were of such a kind that I, 
 who had thought that nothing could be worse than death, earnestly 
 prayed for it as for a refuge. — Before the delirium commenced, her 
 soul was solidly happy. — I shall sometime find pleasure in detailing. 
 — And when the distresses of the delirium passed away, she sunk 
 gradually,— apparently in exercise with the unseen world, — till she 
 expired without an eflort, and without a sound. — I saw her breathe 
 her last, and I saw it with an humble, holy rejoicing in God! — I was 
 supported beyond what I could have thought. — Glory to God in the 
 highest! — But — but I am left! — I have lost her! We must bury 
 
 K 
 
130 
 
 DISTRESSING SENSE OF IIIS LOSS. 
 
 her on Friday morning. I suppose, my dear Father and Brother 
 Aquila, at least, will not delay their coming. Oh ! commend me more 
 than ever to God 1 My heart at present seems melted by the heat of 
 this fiery furnace. But oh ! I dread lest, for want of a deep and 
 changing sanctification, it should again grow cold and callous. 
 
 Your very deeply afflicted, 
 
 And widowed, 
 
 William. 
 
 P. S. Past 8 o’clock, P. M. Just about this time, on this day six 
 months, my darling entered this now desolate parlour as my Bride. 
 O what a heart-rending reverse! — A few hours before her death, 
 she charged me to give her affectionate love to you all. To this is 
 now added, that of the kind and sympathising Wheelers and the 
 family. 
 
 Being at that time on a visit to my friends in Bristol, I of course 
 readily accompanied my Father to the house of mourning, in order 
 to pay the last sad acts of attention to the deceased, and also to ad- 
 minister what consolation we could to my distressed and afflicted 
 Brother. We found him sorrowing indeed; those blessed consola- 
 tions which, in order to support his mind during the last hours of his 
 departed wife, had been given him in so extraordinary a measure, had 
 now in some degree subsided, and, in consequence, he was gradually 
 coming to a full sense of the loss which he had sustained. It was 
 however gratifying to perceive that, though agonising under the 
 weight of his calamity, and the conviction of having provoked it by a 
 criminal fixing of his affections upon the creature, he was enabled 
 with Christian resignation to 6 bear the rod, and Him who had ap- 
 pointed it.’ Upon my Father’s return to his family, he was the 
 bearer of the following Letter. 
 
 Gloucester , Aug. 26, 1822. 
 
 My very dear Mother, 
 
 Your thoughts, I am well persuaded, have been for several 
 days dwelling with anxious and painful interest upon your poor be- 
 reaved Son. The affection of a Mother, who is really tender, must 
 be exhaustless, but capable of very large acquisitions. It is a peculiar 
 mercy, and one of uncommon magnitude, that in my present circum- 
 cumstances, appalling as they are, I am at once thrown into the bosom 
 of sympathy, and in an almost unexampled way sustained by the arms 
 of relative kindness. I am deeply affected at the tenderness of Mr. 
 and Mrs. W. and the family ; and though, as they take me by the 
 hand, I cannot help feeling the difference between the squeeze of 
 
SUPPORTS OF DIVINE GRACE. 
 
 131 
 
 pity, and the pressure of my Nancy’s warm and happy love, yet it is 
 very consolatory that I have such a substitute. It is true too, that 
 their embraces, affectionate as they are, often painfully remind me of 
 the more equal and the more precious tokens of my departed Nancy’s 
 fondness. Well; I am not as one without hope. But when I follow 
 out reflections like these, my heart quickens, my pulse throbs, and 
 pains increase rapidly upon me, until I am almost urged to murmur- 
 ing. I sometimes take refuge in the thought, that these comforts are 
 not essential to my existence. 6 Woe is me for my hurt! My wound 
 is grievous: but I said, Truly this is a grief, and I must bear it.’ 
 
 But these, my dear Mother, are not my best consolations ; if they 
 were, they could present a barrier but feeble indeed, against the strong 
 and rapid flow of widowed feeling. I am supported by that God to 
 whom you , my Mother, have so confidently pointed me, and so feel- 
 ingly commended me. It would be difficult for me to describe the 
 surprise with which I contemplate my own feelings; very severe 
 indeed they have sometimes been, but the consolations of the Lord 
 have been poured into my mind, they have been neither few nor 
 small. As I stood by the bed-side of my dear dying Nancy, and saw 
 her incapable of noticing me, being wrapped up in the opening visions 
 of the spiritual world, and I knew and felt she would speak to me no 
 more ;— as I watched every breath, and observed how it was more 
 quickened than the last ; — as I felt her pulse, and perceived it stop, 
 while it was succeeded by the cold sweats of hastening dissolution ; — 
 as I waited, and observed the last breath — the last motion — and then 
 the close of her powerless eye-lids ; — it is true, I feit a pang as great 
 as if my heart had been riven asunder; but I could scarcely grieve — 
 I was obliged to pray and praise. And while her dear but altered 
 remains lay cold and extended, how precious were many of the mo- 
 ments I spent with them ! they were full of spiritual support in grief. 
 On the day too of the funeral, I could not weep, my soul was blest 
 in an extraordinary manner; and I was indeed ashamed that strangers 
 should see my face, lest they should attribute to me a disaffectionate, 
 unfeeling insensibility. 
 
 There are some moments of ebbing consolation, when the enemy 
 rushes in Mike a flood,’ but hitherto the Lord has Miftcd up his Spirit 
 as a standard against him.’ I now feel what before I had presumed , 
 that the influence of Christianity has supports adequate to the deep- 
 est distress. My earthly happiness is suddenly disturbed and dis- 
 sipated, and my flattering prospects blighted to the ground, yet I am 
 blest with acquiescence, as well as submission to the will ot God. I 
 would not consent to her return, unless infinite Wisdom would assure 
 me that it was best. I have therefore an additional argument in 
 urging Christianity upon the acceptance of my fellow-men. Before I 
 could say, it must be a support in affliction from the very nature of 
 
 k c 2 
 
132 
 
 DISSOLUTION OF IIIS ACADEMY. 
 
 religion itself ; but now I can say, it will be so, for I have felt it. 
 With very increased affection for you and all the family, 
 
 I am, my dearest Mother, 
 
 Your affectionate, bereaved, 
 
 Sustained Son, 
 
 William. 
 
 It will be necessary just to state here, that the painful malady, which 
 carried off my Brother’s wife, was of so malignant and contagious a 
 kind as to place the lives of all the family in the most imminent 
 danger. In fact, several of his pupils actually took the disorder, as 
 well as the servant and the two sisters of Mrs. B. So that it was abso- 
 lutely necessary at once to break up the establishment, and to send the 
 children to their respective friends. Thus was that dwelling, which 
 but a few weeks before was teeming with the bustle and the activity of 
 a flourishing seminary, suddenly depopulated and deserted by the 
 whole of its inhabitants ! It is much easier to conceive than to de- 
 scribe the effects, which such a complication of unexpected calamities 
 was calculated to produce upon a mind constructed like that of Wil- 
 liam ; and it must forcibly remind the Reader of the picture, which 
 he had before so pathetically drawn, of the domestic misfortunes of 
 his friend, Mr. Bemman. See page 65. 
 
 The following I received from him at St. Neot’s, in Huntingdon- 
 shire, whither I had been stationed by the recent Conference. 
 
 Gloucester , Sept, 9, 1822. 
 
 My very dear Brother, 
 
 The situation, both of mind and of circumstances, in which 
 I found myself when you and the others left me, was one by no 
 means enviable. Till now, I comparatively never knew what distress 
 is ; but widowhood is indeed a situation of distress ! My Anne gone, 
 — that I have buried my Anne, — that I shall see her no more, — hear 
 her no more, — write to her no more, — receive epistles from her no 
 more !—Oh, there is a dreadfulness in these recollections, which can- 
 not be communicated, except by similar occurrences ! — There was 
 pain enough in the separation previous to marriage, — it was often most 
 intolerable, — then 1 had an aching anguish at my heart that embit- 
 tered every thing else ; but every painful sensation was then allevi- 
 ated by the occasional visits which allowed us to converse, — by the 
 regular correspondence that held us in delightful connectedness, — 
 and by the yet more animating prospect of being speedily united to 
 fear no further separation till death ; but then the expression till death 
 
DISTRESS OF IIIS MIND. 
 
 133 
 
 meant to us, a space of time to the end of which neither the eye, nor 
 scarcely the imagination, could reach. But ,now what is my situa- 
 tion ? — All sensitive connection with her, and even sympathy, are at 
 an end ; for of what nature can the sympathy of a glorified spirit be ? 
 — She is too glorious, — too blessed, — too far removed from the cor- 
 ruption and the sufferings of human life, — to be capable of woe ; but 
 the sympathy of my dear Anne used to be my greatest alleviation in 
 distress. ’Tis almost an insufferable thought, that she can now admi- 
 nister to me no consolation, unless indeed, as my attending and guar- 
 dian spirit, she applies to me in a spiritual manner the consolations of 
 religion; but if she do, I cannot see her, — cannot hear her, — can- 
 not be certain, — and therefore, cannot feel the assurance so strong 
 that she is with me. Besides, if she do, I am a creature of this 
 world, I am flesh and blood, and my spiritual partialities are modified 
 by these ; she is flesh and blood no longer, — these lie inanimate, — 
 corrupted, — putrifying, — perishing a few yards from where I write ; 
 were I to go to them they would be aware of it no longer, — were I 
 to repeat those kisses, which I was not long since accustomed to im- 
 press with so much rapture, there would be no consciousness, nor any 
 return of those endearing tokens of affection, which so very lately ran 
 thrilling through my frame with exquisite delight. But it is useless 
 to attempt description where it cannot possibly succeed, or where, if 
 it could be adequate, it could produce no such sensations as are pro- 
 duced within myself. I ponder over the past w ith a miserable plea- 
 sure, and though I feel the mournful contemplation poisonous to every 
 thing which the world has left, I yet indulge it with increasing eager- 
 ness and more insatiable appetite. Oh, God ! I am a widower ! I 
 have buried my dear Anne ! — I have sometimes a difficulty in believ- 
 ing it, — all seems such a dream ; — I would fain persuade myself that 
 it is a dream, — that I have in reality lost nothing, but a pleasing illu- 
 sion of my senses, which flattered and delighted but deluded me. — 
 Alas ! alas! oh, would to God it were a dream ! — then I should find 
 my Nancy by my side, — then at least she would be alive and well at 
 some distance, where a little labour would let me find her, — then I 
 should call her and hear her answer, — I should hear her say 4 Wil- 
 liam !’ with the same ineffable sweetness with which the syllables so 
 lately dropped from her lips, — then * * * * 
 
 Oh, the unutterable cruelty and anguish of the thought! My brain 
 takes fire, — my eyes redden, — my heart glows with a conflict of pas- 
 sion within, and sickens at the thought of the impotence and useless- 
 ness of grief! — When I goto lay myself down at night, the recollec- 
 tion darts through me, from not finding her there, — mine is a widowed 
 pillow ! — a widowed pillow ’. — Can it be possible? — am I a widower? 
 at twenty-three? — married only six months ago ? — is Anne dead? — 
 Oh! yes, she is! — I saw her sicken! — I saw her in convulsions ! — 
 
134 
 
 DISTRESS OF HIS MIND. 
 
 I saw her die ! — I followed her to the grave! — My prospects are all 
 rained! — My hopes are cut off! — My Anne hears me no more! — 
 6 My life is smitten down to the ground !’ — Oh, Aquila ! — what is to 
 save me, but that religion which saved her ? — what would prevent me 
 from freeing myself at once from so wretched a situation by some 
 means of self-destruction, but that religion which restrains by the 
 force of its admonitions, and in spite of the storms of grief infuses 
 its peaceful consolations? — Oh ! thank God, I am not abandoned ! — 
 Though I have felt some of the horrors of excessive grief, yet mine 
 has been a grief that could not weep. Oh ! what a relief I should 
 often feel it to shed tears for an hour together, but I cannot ! * * 
 
 Well, — I feel myself reproached, — it is wrong thus to give way; — 
 you will challenge me perhaps for my reliance upon God’s changeless 
 goodness, — for my strong, at least Christian, dependence upon the 
 Saviour’s intercession. In justice to myself, and in honour of the grace 
 of God, I must say that I am not always thus. My soul often takes 
 the happier view of the heavy, heavy dispensation under which I am 
 suffering. It often feels comfort where it cannot feel joy, and it still 
 oftener feels the awe of silent, astonished submission when I cannot 
 feel comfort. Sometimes indeed, a new and freshened view of my 
 deplorable loss and my affecting situation comes upon me with a most 
 vivid clearness, and my spirit, fretted almost into desperation, bursts 
 away from the restraints which virtue and piety impose, and vents it- 
 self in the bitterest feelings and the strongest expressions of distress. 
 Oh, how willingly I could die! — But then I am chased away from the 
 hope of relief from death by the thought, that such a motive for wish- 
 ing to die evidences a state of feeling unfitted for the change. Alas ! 
 alas ! there is no relief for natural distress, — perhaps it is as much 
 physical as spiritual, — it may be restrained, — it may be circumscribed, 
 — but it will not be kept down, — it must spend itself. How could 
 it be when my dear Anne was dying, though I knew it, that I did 
 not think so painfully of it ? — I did not recollect, or rather I could 
 not feel, that she would soon be taken finally from me, — that I should 
 see and hear her no more. It was well that I did not, — it was a mercy 
 that I could not, — for what would it have availed ? I must have been 
 distracted, — I must have injured her peace as she died. But oh ! 
 could she not have been spared ? — would nothing do but her dying ? 
 — I do not, — indeed I do not intend to impeach the wisdom or good- 
 ness of God; but what shall I do? — Alas! alas! 6 Truly mine is a 
 grief, and I must bear it !’ 
 
 I drew* up an account too extended for Mr. Collier to use in preach- 
 ing the funeral sermon. lie found it too long for reading at once, and 
 therefore he preached the Sermon on Sunday night, the 1st inst., and 
 on the following evening he read the account in a special service. 
 Many country friends came on the Sunday evening, and were griev- 
 
DISTRESS OF HIS MIND. 
 
 135 
 
 ously disappointed ; however, on the Monday there was a most re- 
 spectable congregation, and, among them, the wives and families of 
 the mayor and sheriff, together with a truly genteel selection from the 
 Church and the Dissenting Meetings. There was a general wish to 
 see the account in print ; several came forward and begged that it 
 might be published, and two offered at once to join the expense. I 
 have consented to have a hundred copies struck off, merely for pri- 
 vate distribution. I would not at all consent to a general publica- 
 tion. I will send you a copy or two, if you will tell me how. Per- 
 haps the Lord will be pleased to render it a blessing. Oh, that he 
 may! 
 
 An expression in one of her letters is salutary and profitable : — £ I 
 now find more delight in pleasing my God, than I do in gratifying my- 
 self.’ Oh ! how paiufully does the Lord teach me his will ! And yet 
 I do feel it sweet to bring my reason, — 'my understanding, — my soul, 
 in spite of my feelings, to yield, and to be prostrate before Him. Oh! 
 let Him occupy a heart that He takes such pains to win ! — I have 
 again resolved to devote myself to the Ministry, if He shall permit it. 
 I cannot be happy at all otherwise. The very thought of entering 
 again into business, is as opposed to my conviction of duty as it is re- 
 volting to my feelings. Housekeeping and marriage I cannot think of 
 without abhorrence. I must be devoted to God. I wish to be as 
 spiritual, and as abstracted from earthly things, as is possible for an inha- 
 bitant of this forsaken world. But how suspicious are the movements 
 of human nature ! — I would however rather die than not be devoted 
 to the Ministry. I pray God to fit me, and to open my way, and 
 especially to preserve me amidst the terrible temptations of my pre- 
 sent condition. O what shall I do ? — Whither shall I go ? — My Anne 
 was formed for me, — she was — she was my Anne , — and the world 
 itself cannot give her to me again! — But why this raving distress? 
 — Where and what is religion? — Well, — I must, — I will more fully 
 yield myself to God. Oh, that I may find help ! — I do — in some 
 degree. 
 
 Mr. Dixon having been taken unwell, I preached last night, totally 
 unprepared, at five minutes notice, from Job xxx. 23. : — £ I know that 
 thou wilt bring me to death, and to the house appointed for all living !’ 
 My soul was blest and my prospects cleared. I felt it a pleasure to 
 adopt the language of the text. I have now filled my sheet, but I 
 have not emptied my heart. Farewell. Commend to the God of all 
 comfort 
 
 Your very afflicted Brother 
 
 William. 
 
136 
 
 DISTRESS OF HIS MIND. 
 
 To Mr. and Mrs . Wheeler. 
 
 Arkstone , Sep. 18, 1822. 
 
 Very dear William and Lydia, 
 
 Your welcome and interesting letter reached me last night. 
 Though straitened for time I hasten to reply to it. 
 
 Lest I should forget it, or leave for it too little room to allow its 
 appearing important, I will state the business part of my epistle first. 
 
 I have received a letter from Mr. , mentioning his intention 
 
 to relinquish all thought of connection with Longford. I have there- 
 fore no further plan than to sell off: this will be a serious sacrifice to 
 me, and that in a condition the most ill calculated to bear it of any 
 imaginable. My debts prey upon my spirits with a most painful 
 gnawing, in addition to the great calamity which has left me a widower. 
 
 Oh, my Nancy! my dear Nancy! had you lived, I should have 
 been far more than able to pay every farthing, but now, as my com- 
 forter and my help-mate in difficulties and perplexities, I have lost 
 you for ever; and with the ruin of my prospects, as I have no con- 
 ception of any method to discharge my debts, there is sealed the ruin 
 of my peace. Well; what shall I do? — I feel myself but ill capable 
 of bearing the sad reverses which have come upon me. I am a hus- 
 band no more, — I am a lover no more, — I am a house-keeper no more, 
 — I am a tutor no more, — I am an ostensible and valuable member of 
 society no more, — and to add to all the rest, I am in debt without the 
 probability of paying, or at least of being able to pay in any reason- 
 able time. Oh, my God ! my God! I cannot tell how it is, except 
 for the consolations of Religion, which sometimes drop their balm into 
 my spirits, that my reason, which has several times been on the verge 
 of the most deplorable confusion, has maintained her seat. But I am 
 suffering and trying to submit to the will of God. I have merited, — 
 richly merited all, and more than all. I have deserved to die in des- 
 pair of that saving grace, with which my affections and my habits have 
 trifled so much. I will be thankful that it is not so. And though 
 the gay, and flattering, and delusive vision of happiness which I en- 
 joyed, and in the midst of which I gazed with such ineffable fond- 
 ness upon her who was the centre and the brightest ornament of the 
 whole, is dissipated forever; I will yet be thankful that I am rebuked 
 and chastened, because I am loved, and in order that I may i be 
 zealous, and repent, and do my first works.’ I look back with dis- 
 may upon those moments when, in the bosom of my precious Nancy, 
 I felt the accusations of conscience, that I loved her in an idolatrous 
 manner, that my love for God was declining, that my example of the 
 light of Christian experience was becoming less brilliant and less 
 perfect, and that there was a less and less clear perception of the 
 
DISTRESS OF HIS MIND. 
 
 137 
 
 vanity of earthly things, and of the frailty of human nature, and of 
 the fragility of human happiness. But I refused to believe the evil, 
 extensive as it was, and I promised myself, that the warmth of a newly 
 married affection would soon subside, so as to admit a revival to su- 
 premacy of the love of God; indeed I flattered myself, that it was 
 already beginning to subside. I however told my Nancy, that I felt 
 reproached, she reciprocated the acknowledgment, and we mutually 
 wept and confessed it at the throne of grace. We both looked for 
 ability from God to get free from the growing evil, and we were blest. 
 We hoped that we should conquer, but we did not; and while our 
 minds were thus in a state of struggling and indulgence, God has cut 
 down all possibility of further transgression. Oh! I am lonely, — I 
 am solitary, — I am left a prey to sorrows, of which I never had any 
 conception before ; and there is superadded the perception, that my 
 own folly and worldliness have brought upon me this awful visitation! 
 My Anne is no more, — she is gone, beyond the reach of sorrow ! And, 
 while it is to me matter of joy that she suffers no more, it is bitterly 
 • — oh ! cruelly painful to think, that I am suffering more than I ever 
 did before, — and that alone! ’Tis true, it is a matter of Christian 
 hope upon which to dwell with some degree of delightful contempla- 
 tion, that I shall meet her again in glory ; but then as she was I shall 
 never see her again, while it was as she was that I knew and loved 
 her, and received from her the returns of an equal and a virtuous 
 affection. To the dispensation, however, as it comes from God, I am 
 trying to become fully reconciled . The propriety of the measure I 
 cannot doubt, I can even go so far as to feel convinced, that it has 
 been adopted with tender reluctance, and, speaking after the manner 
 of men, upon the principle only of a plain necessity. I can imagine, 
 that when I quit this vale of tears, I shall rejoice, and, as you observe, 
 
 6 perceive a most prominent mercy ’ in that mysterious providence 
 which has deprived me of a treasure that the whole world can never 
 supply; but I can find nothing to take away my present sorrow, and 
 scarcely any thing to preserve me from excessive grief. To this I 
 feel I have given way, and consequently I have suffered what language 
 was never meant to describe. My dear Anne’s dying words have 
 sounded with a ceaseless reiteration in my ears. I am to-day in some 
 degree relieved, but yesterday I was more painfully nervous than I 
 ever was in my life. I would not, however, for the world part with my 
 sorrow. I would have it always putting me in mind of the salutary 
 lessons which it is designed to convey, and of her whom [ have 
 irretrievably lost. I would have it dwelling upon my mind with 
 a light that represents the vacancy of the world, and the folly of 
 trusting in its possessions. 1 would have it stay with me, to put a 
 proper force and a pungency to all the admonitions, which I may 
 in future have to urge as the Minister of Christ. Oh, happy — 
 
138 
 
 DISTRESS OF HIS MIND. 
 
 happy — happy William and Lydia! — I do not envy you, though to 
 you is continued a felicity that is wrested from me to give place to the 
 keenest regrets. Envy is a bad quality, and I do not harbour it. 
 But I do say to you, that, favoured as you are to be continued to each 
 other, all your trials are comparative trifles, and beware — oh, beware ! 
 — oh! see to it that you are holy, — and that you love God supremely, 
 — and that you put no trust in man, — and that you withdraw your 
 affections from this worthless world, — and that, while you transact its 
 business with the spirit of persons lawfully and properly connected 
 with it, you likewise do it with the spirituality of Christians con- 
 nected with Heaven ! 
 
 But I have again forgotten the business of my letter. My thoughts 
 at short intervals return to her whom I have lost, and who is now 
 almost infinitely my superior: and then I could talk and write as long 
 as utterance is left me. Well : it is a serious question, what shall I do 
 now ? Oh ! if my debts w'ere paid, how greatly desirable it would be 
 that the Lord would perfect me in holiness, and remove me soon to 
 Heaven ! 
 
 I commend myself to your earnest prayers, that the Lord will 
 thoroughly sanctify me, and prepare me for all his will, whether living 
 or dying.] 
 
 Your affectionate, 
 
 And very afflicted Brother, 
 
 W. Barber. 
 
 Some surprise may possibly be excited at my insertion of letters so 
 filled, as the foregoing, with the bitterest language of distress; but I 
 should hardly have considered myself justified, in withholding what ap- 
 peared to me so necessary in a genuine portrait of my Brother’s cha- 
 racter ; especially as it will enable the Reader to perceive, that the 
 religion which William had so long professed, was not forgotten in the 
 midst of his awfully severe affliction and bereavement. 
 
 The resolution, however, which he intimated in the above letters of 
 giving up all further thoughts of house-keeping, remained permanent 
 in his mind ; and indeed, considering all the circumstances of the case, 
 it was one, out of which none of the family felt strongly disposed to 
 reason him. Upon the whole, we thought it better for him to direct 
 his attention for the present to something else. The following Letter 
 painfully describes the numerous difficulties in which he was now 
 • involved. 
 
DISTRESS OF HIS MIND. 
 
 139 
 
 To his two eldest Sisters. 
 
 Gloucester , Oct. 7, 1822. 
 My very dear Sisters, Sarah and Priscilla, 
 
 You at home have not, I am sure, forgotten your William at 
 a distance, nor have you ceased to feel interested for him. Perhaps 
 there would be some difficulty in proving to you, that he feels he nei- 
 ther forgets you, nor ceases to be interested for you, though this is as 
 true as that. 
 
 I have seen re-acted, in the case of our dear Bess, all the sad scenes 
 of my precious Nancy’s illness, except the last terrible catastrophe ; 
 the symptoms have been almost exactly similar, and had she been in 
 a situation similar to that of my dearest Anne, the same result would 
 certainly have followed. I had anticipated this event, and so had her 
 doctor. God has' however been merciful to us, and now I believe that 
 she will be restored, as she is most decidedly better, at least if any 
 dependence at all may be placed in appearances which have already 
 s o dreadfully betrayed us. The state of her mind throughout, has 
 been very, very good, calmly waiting upon God, and, like her de- 
 parted Sister, realising, in the influences of His holy Spirit, the sanc- 
 tifying presence of her glorious Redeemer. These dispensations have 
 been greatly blest to the old gentleman, who is evidently ripening for 
 glory, nor will he very long be restrained from it ; he is exulting 
 in the prospect of meeting his dear wife, whom to this day he seldom* 
 mentions without tears, and his endeared daughter, who was always 
 somewhat a favourite ; she was his youngest daughter, and was in his 
 eye, a little, fat, chubby cherub. 
 
 All around your Brother seems comfortable and prospering. He is 
 glad of it, though the contrast of his own condition and circumstances 
 is deep indeed. There may be, and that there is in reality is the 
 only consolation left that can reach his case, a c working together for 
 good,’ which shall ultimately appear in another world ; but in this life 
 suffering, disappointment, and sorrow are allotted to him in successive 
 strokes. Eight weeks* are not yet gone by, since my dearly loved 
 Anne expired before my eyes. It seems more than an age, since I saw 
 and conversed with her. Oh ! to think that I have lost her, and that 
 I shall see her no more, is almost too much to bear. Alas ! alas ! I 
 know that I have no right to complain, and that complaint is useless ; 
 but though I try to resign myself to God, and do feel it supporting to 
 reflect, that I in a peculiar manner am suffering His will, and that in 
 heaven I shall so see the reasons of the dispensation, as from my very 
 soul to praise the Redeemer who has ordered it ; yet, oh ! my heart is 
 now torn to pieces, — my mind is filled with astonishment, as I look in 
 silence up to heaven, — my affections are shattered, as if violently 6 smit- 
 
140 
 
 DIFFICULTIES OF HIS SITUATION. 
 
 ten to the ground,’ — the cup of happiness from which I was lately, so 
 very lately drinking, is dashed to atoms from my lips; and in its stead, 
 is given to me a draught of bitters, of which I must drink the very 
 dregs ! — Oh my Anne ! my Anne ! — In what a condition am I left! — 
 A thousand nameless pangs prey upon my very soul, and make it 
 writhe within me in agony, which could be heightened by nothing but 
 a sense of utter abandonment by God ! That I am not so abandoned 
 preserves me, although, if I did not know better, I should certainly 
 feel as if I were. 
 
 I must sell off at Longford, there will consequently be great sacri- 
 fices. My landlord insists upon the whole half-year’s rent, — there is 
 
 another dead loss. The sickness and funeral of my dearest 
 
 Love will cost me a considerable sum of money. My business is lost, 
 
 and I have not a farthing of income. It is very unlikely that 
 
 will ever pay me the money he owes me. And added to this, the pro- 
 perty which I expected to receive, is so involved, that I believe not 
 one penny is tangible, without a law-suit, which I have no means to 
 support. I am consequently incapable of paying my debts, and you 
 know that I shall be unable to enter into the Ministry till all is dis- 
 charged. — Three months ago I had a wife , to me the most suited that 
 imagination could conceive , — a wife who esteemed and loved me more 
 tenderly than language could express. I had a flourishing business , 
 a good name , and a credit unsoiled. I was increasing in public estima- 
 tion , and confidence , and usefulness. I was one of the very happiest 
 of men. I enjoyed, as much as a mortal could hope to enjoy in a world 
 of probation. — Now, bereavement, disappointment, sorrow, suffer- 
 ing, perplexity, and uncertainty, all thicken upon me, and surround 
 me so deeply, that I can see no way out. Oh ! what will the Lord do 
 with me, or for me ?■ — I feel that I do, and that I will trust in Him 
 through all. It is my only consolation, that I confide in Him, though 
 in almost perfect 4 darkness, and having no light,’ for my mind has not 
 those bright consolatory manifestations which produce happiness. Oh, 
 that He would graciously give me leave to go to Him ! Oh, that He 
 would suffer me to sink into the grave beside my endeared Anne’s per- 
 ishing body ! for there is so much within me and without me of evil, 
 that I have little, — very little hope of being able to live in a way that 
 will be suitably devoted to Him, — to the requirements of such dispen- 
 sations as those which have 4 smitten my life down to the ground.’ 
 Even a life of ministerial labours, the one I should choose beyond all 
 others, will expose me to temptations which 1 sadiy fear will be too 
 strong, — far too strong for my steady and persevering resistance. — Ah, 
 me ! I am thrown out again upon the wide world’s temptations, and 
 that too, with a heart aching with anguish, which even friendship 
 fails to alleviate. I console myself however with the confidence, that 
 God knows all my circumstances, and that even the bitterest of all 
 
RESIGNATION TO GOD. 
 
 141 
 
 my sorrows are duly estimated by Him. I therefore throw myself 
 upon Him, at the same time solemnly protesting before Him, that I 
 would far, — far rather die at once, and be with Him on the very 
 lowest scale of servitude or enjoyment, than live to yield to tempta- 
 tions, or to struggle unsuccessfully against them. — I can take no view 
 of life, which is not very afflictive ; and that space of time, which, to 
 my precious, glorified Anne, will seem but as a moment when I once 
 rejoin her, must roll over me in the tediousness and trouble of weari- 
 some days, and nights, and weeks, and months, and years ! 
 
 I hope that nothing which I have said will distress you. I know 
 indeed, that you will sympathise with me, and that you will wish it 
 were otherwise. But sorrows like mine cannot be forgotten in a day. 
 I shall, I hope, recover myself so as to fulfil all the will of God, and I 
 wish that holy will may be exemplified in me. I hope that no 
 one will think of coming up to me, for I am often apparently cheerful 
 and free, and I am in the hands of God, who, though he seems to 
 have resolved to try me to the very uttermost, is yet unchangeably 
 good. 
 
 I have been so circumstanced as to be unable to complete the 
 Memorials, they will be in the Printer’s hands next week. I long 
 much to hear from you, and especially to know how my dear Mother 
 is. I commend myself to your increasing affection^ and prayers, 
 and am — 
 
 Your very affectionate, 
 
 But deeply afflicted, 
 
 And widowed Brother, 
 
 William, 
 
 Eventually the Memorials of my Brother’s deceased wife made their 
 appearance, and such was the eagerness with which the hundred copies 
 were engaged, as well as the impression which they made upon the 
 minds of all who had an opportunity of becoming acquainted with 
 them, that he was immediately assailed on every hand by arguments 
 and entreaties to induce him to give them general publicity; but the 
 painfulness and delicacy of his feelings on the subject were so pow- 
 erful, that he could never be prevailed upon to comply. I rejoice, 
 however, to be able now to give them that circulation which their 
 intrinsic merit deserves. In the Appendix, the Reader will find them, 
 with a few omissions and alterations, as they were originally printed. 
 
 The following letters will shew in the most gratifying manner, that 
 after the few first months of William’s distressing widowhood, though 
 the wound which his mind had received was far from being healed, 
 
142 
 
 REASONS FOR SILENCE IN SORROW. 
 
 his feelings had assumed a character of much greater tranquillity and 
 confidence in God, 
 
 To his elder Brother. 
 
 Gloucester , Dec. 9, 1822. 
 
 My dear Aquila, 
 
 You complain of neglect, and I confess not without the 
 appearance of reason. It is indeed grievous, that I should ever feel 
 in such a manner as to need being urged to write to you. Yet he 
 who feels what deep sorrow is, and at the same time exercises his 
 reason, must wish to conceal his feelings ; and to conceal them, he 
 must be silent. However valuable the sympathies of near and valued 
 friendship may be, there is something revolting in the thought of 
 violating the peace of one’s friends by an intrusion of griefs, which, if 
 they know, they must share : besides, the sadness of death and of tem- 
 poral ruin, as it is irretrievable, cannot be duly estimated ; he, who 
 feels it, knows that others cannot feel as he does about it, and he does 
 not like that even his sorrows should be under-rated. No blame is 
 to be laid upon others for this, — far from it, they cannot act otherwise, 
 and this is a merciful ordinance of God. For my part, if any thing of 
 a temporal nature in my affliction and destitute solitude creates in me 
 a sensation analogous to joy, it is that you, and my other endeared 
 relatives and friends, cannot know what my sorrows are. I will add 
 only one thing more, and then, if I can, I will have done writing 
 about my distresses. The consciousness of bearing, or at least of 
 having borne, the weight of those distresses but ill, that is, in a way 
 calculated to create rather an accumulation of pain than a diminution 
 of it, must greatly enfeeble any wish to write that might otherwise 
 exist. I do not think, that this feeling in me proceeds from a desire 
 to screen myself from any merited reproach, or even contempt, or 
 pity ; but as I seldom either write or speak on the subject, without 
 being afterwards sorry for something which I have stated, I am afraid 
 lest my feelings in these deep — deep w aters should foster in another 
 either a distrust of God, or a suspicion of the reality of experimental 
 religion ; for, though 1 “believe that I could not bear to tell a deliberate 
 falsehood as to the state of my religious feelings, even for the sake of 
 confirming the faith of a world; yet, greatly as I think that the best 
 interests of the world would be promoted and secured by faith in the 
 Gospel, and much as I long for such an object, I had much rather suffer 
 in silence the consequeuces of my own ignorance, or inexperience, or 
 perverseness, than, by a needful importunity of disappointment or 
 grief, impair the reliance of a single sufferer in the promises of God, 
 
AFFLICTION AGGRAVATED BY UNFAITHFULNESS. 
 
 143 
 
 or bring even a causeless imputation on the Name, worthy to be 
 adored, of our great Redeemer. Him I love, and to him I pray and 
 labour to fully submit, even in feeling ; though, in His sovereign autho- 
 rity and wisdom, He has yielded me up to the most unusual and dis- 
 tressing chastisements of His providence, and to the appalling reflec- 
 tions a-nd affrighting consternations which in this solitude are the 
 unrelenting consequences. To others, my dear Brother, it appears 
 only that W. B. has lost a wife at his early age, and that now he is a 
 widower, — a sad thing for him, poor fellow! but ’tis past now, and 
 there’s an end of it. To some, who calculate a little more closely 
 upon what may be, or what may appear to be, his feelings, there 
 seems indeed something really afflictive in his situation, they feel for 
 him, and at some moments of pre-eminent sensibility they almost feel 
 with him , — but then, there is something so interesting in his case, and 
 something so romantic in mourning for a young love violently wrested 
 away, and tragically sunk into the grave beyond the reach of his arms 
 or his voice, that it is quite a picture ; and thus they lose the pun- 
 gency of his condition in its prettiness. But alas, for me, Aquila ! 
 it is not so much a grief that I have lost a wife, ^s that I have lost— 
 utterly lost, for my whole life, the society of my Anne ; and the mere 
 condition of widowhood is nothing to me, in comparison of the pain 
 of reflecting that I cannot — no, I never can — be the husband of my 
 truly endeared and most affectionate Anne ; while the truth flashes 
 upon me, that God has seen it fit and necessary — even my Saviour 
 has deemed it essential, — and my own mind at the same time testifies 
 of the guilty condition of idolatry into which I had sunk, for surely 
 I loved Anne mors than God my Saviour : all this preys upon my 
 soul, in reference to its relations to the Redeemer, and opens wounds 
 as painful as the sense of loss. There is a deep habit of anguish 
 settled within my breast, my dear Brother, which I am greatly mis- 
 taken if time or changes will ever remove. I talk, and smile, and 
 sometimes laugh. I wonder how I can do so, though I do not try 
 to prevent it. But my talking is no longer the expression of tranquil 
 ease or animated hope, and my laughing is no more the result of un- 
 suspicious confidence or transported joy. * * * * * 
 
 But amidst all, I love the Saviour, and try to fix my eye where he 
 sets his, alternately upon my heart and upon heaven. It grieves 
 me very much, that I have rendered it necessary for Him to deal thus 
 severely with me, 6 for He doth not afflict willingly, nor grieve the 
 children of men;’ but I fully and cheerfully subscribe to His wisdom, 
 and to His goodness, in the dispensations which have stripped me of 
 my beloved Anne, and of my business, and of my happiness, and of 
 my hopes in life, and of my prospects of entering the Ministry. Oh, 
 Aquila ! Aquila! I try, without a revolting or reluctant heart, to kiss 
 with my lips the rod, and to acknowledge Him that appointed it ; but 
 
144 
 
 COMMENCES A DAY-SCHOOL AT GLOUCESTER. 
 
 I feel the smart of it more acutely than I could have imagined that 
 affliction was to be felt. But in the midst of all these things, Christ 
 loves me. He is a gracious Saviour, as well as a resolute Physician. 
 I will by his help yet more fully yield to his prescriptions, and at the 
 same time implore him to secure me the benefit of his mysterious pro- 
 ceedings. 
 
 I find, on making the necessary calculations, that it is utterly im- 
 possible for me to clear out my way for some considerable time to the 
 Ministry. I must enter into business and be successful. Is this ever 
 to be possible for me, V infortune pauvre ? Oh! will the Lord pity 
 and bless me ? Happy I cannot be, but peaceful in soul and suffi- 
 ciently successful in business, oh, let me be ! I have taken a room 
 for twenty-fiye boys daily, at ten guineas per annum. If I can obtain 
 them, this will do ; but I fear every thing, hope for little, confide in 
 nothing, but in getting ultimately to heaven. My circulars go out 
 this evening. Thus it appears, that I am to be consigned to the pain- 
 ful, toilsome, disgusting drudgery of keeping a day-school, instead 
 of Longford Academy with my dear Anne, or in the Ministry for 
 
 the salvation of souls. Oh ! had I in my late illness died But 
 
 there, I cannot wish it, as in glory I shall regret nothing. * * * 
 
 Your afflicted, bereaved Brother 
 
 William. 
 
 To Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler . 
 
 Arkstone , Dec. 17, 1822. 
 
 Very dear William and Lydia, 
 
 I will, by writing a short letter, endeavour to avoid laying 
 any grievous impost upon your sympathies. I may certainly secure 
 your cheerfulness from any extraordinary contribution by telling you, 
 that all here are in tolerable spirits. * * * * 
 
 As to myself, it is a matter of little consequence where I am, or in 
 what engaged, as sorrow is my element of existence, and I sometimes 
 entertain hopes of rendering misery cheerful by familiarity, amidst its 
 deformity. However you, and my other friends, must by this time 
 have learnt to regard me as the subject of some mental disease, and 
 like a poor, bed-ridden, hospital sufferer, the object of perpetual 
 pity, because the subject of incurable malady. I resemble the Psalm- 
 ist when he said , — 6 I am weary with my groaning !’ and if it weary 
 me, how much more must it weary others ? You, however, like 
 others, I should think, will wish to know what religion does for me. 
 You will ask me, — c Are you like others without hope ? — Is there no 
 Saviour? — Is not Jesus “a Friend that sticketh closer than a Bro- 
 ther ?” — Is He not nearer than a Mother? — Nearer and more affec- 
 tionate than even a wife or a husband?’ I reply, — Yes, He is ; — He 
 is all that you think Him ; but it is He himself, who has done all 
 
DIVINE MERCY IN AFFLICTION. 
 
 145 
 
 this; — oh! c had it been an enemy 9 But my principal unhap- 
 
 piness is, that the state of my mind has rendered it necessary for 
 Kim to deal with this terrible severity toward me. My Anne has not 
 only died, but she has died under such circumstances as to make the 
 displeasure of heaven more than commonly distinct, and my reflec- 
 tions more than usually bitter. Yet I am fully persuaded, that if it 
 were needful to chastise and rebuke me thus, and needful it certainly 
 was, for He cannot do wrong, then I am very mercifully dealt with ; 
 indeed I can and do approve. I dare not wish it otherwise, but I 
 am too deeply a sufferer to rejoice. I must leave it, and endure it. 
 If my salvation be ultimately accomplished by it, I fear that without 
 it my salvation could not have been accomplished at all. Oh, my 
 God, my God, what a thought ! Oh, sin ! sin ! what hast thou done 
 for me ? 
 
 *•****■*•&** 
 
 It will be two years exactly to-morrow, since I sat on this sofa 
 and told my precious Anne that I loved her, and also drew from her 
 the distinct and most cheering avowal of her reciprocated affection. 
 Since then I have married her, — I have seen her the brightest orna- 
 ment of my earthly existence, — I have seen her sicken and sink into 
 death, — I have myself been the means both morally and naturally of 
 her premature dissolution, — I have buried her, — I have lost her en- 
 tirely, — to see her, — to hear her, — to embrace her no more ! — I am a 
 widower, but that of itself is nothing to the loss of such a friend as 
 was my most amiable Anne. Oh ! Is it for this that I have lived 
 through affliction and sickness ? — Is it for this that I have anxiously 
 laboured and strove ? — For loss, — suffering, — death, — sorrow, — dis- 
 appointment, — poverty ? — Oh, my God ! my God ! what am I, that all 
 this was indispensably needed ? I feel myself very much enfeebled, 
 and almost unfit for business. Every thing pains me. I am becom- 
 ing nervous — irritable — fearful — pusillanimous — desponding. Oh! 
 how fatally unhappy is the worldly existence of 
 
 Your still bereaved and distressed, 
 
 becaused widowed Brother, 
 
 William Barber. 
 
 l 
 
146 
 
 PUBLICATION OF HIS WIFE’S MEMORIALS. 
 
 Gloucester , Jan. 22, 1823. 
 
 My very dear Parents, 
 
 At last I am enabled to hand you the copies of my dearest 
 Anne’s Memorials, all that is now left of her to her families, and the 
 only representative of her which, even I possess. I neither must nor 
 will enlarge. I look mournfully at these relics of one, of whom the 
 loss has left me, (and I cannot help it,) to feel creation compara- 
 tively a blank. I contrast my present circumstances with my situa- 
 tion twelve months ago. O how different! And yet I am now evi- 
 dently suffering the will of God. It is indeed suffering, of which 
 the only alleviation is, that it is the will of God concerning me. I 
 feel painfully my want of faith and patience. Oh, how difficult it is 
 to see God, although I know that He is here ! And how difficult 
 sometimes to confide in Him when I see him ! I do not wonder that 
 you suspect me, for I suspect myself, and often pause over the ques- 
 tion, whether all this is not to shake from me a delusion that has 
 made me imagine myself saved ; but you know not what I have lost, 
 your estimate of my Anne’s worth was your own, not mine, and your 
 feelings toward her were your own, not mine ; hence I wonder not, 
 that you should be surprised at mine being so very, very deep. But 
 God has done it, and it is done well, I know. I feel assured, that it 
 was needful, and that it is well done. The time will come, when all 
 the attending terrors of the dissolution of our earthly union shall ap- 
 pear merciful, aye, tender accompaniments. And I wait with expect- 
 ation for the moment, even in this life, when I shall rejoice that I 
 have been thus led through scenes of darkness and horror almost un- 
 paralleled. My present business is to exercise faith, to force myself 
 to a patient waiting till all these calamities be overpast, and to urge 
 myself to such necessary activities as shall discharge my debts, those 
 gnawing worms of a disordered heart. Though X have but few pu- 
 pils, I think I am less anxious and distressed than I was under a far, 
 far more flattering commencement at Longford. I sometimes hope, 
 that this arises from a growing trust in Providence; but perhaps there 
 is reason to fear, that it is more the result of a frigid heedlessness of 
 consequences, because I have less at stake, indeed hardly any thing 
 to lose. Oh! what will be the end of all these things? I throw my- 
 self upon the 4 mercy which endureth for ever,’ and upon your fer- 
 vent supplications, and am amidst the darkness of providential suf- 
 ferings 
 
 Your Son 
 
 William. 
 
 P. S. I am attending weekly two young ladies, the daughters of an 
 East India Captain. 
 
PUBLICATION OF IIIS WIFE’S MEMORIALS. 
 
 147 
 
 Gloucester. Jan. 22, 1823. 
 
 My dear Sarah, 
 
 Since mylast, I have often been going to write you, and now 
 I have no time for more than a mere note. Indeed I have no inclina- 
 tion for writing, as my feelings retain their melancholy tendency ; and 
 my faith in God, though I would not part with it for a restoration of 
 all that 1 have lost, is yet often much tried in my present distressing 
 state of bereavement. What have I left of the very great happiness 
 which I lately enjoyed, but its indistinct recollection, the conscious- 
 ness of present pain which seems as if it had mixed itself with the 
 springs of life, and the heavy — heavy pressure of debts which I know 
 not how to pay? Oh! what am I now? I scarcely myself know 
 how I came here, — what I feel, — why I feel, — when I shall cease to 
 feel. I am sometimes astonished at my cheerfulness, and even levity, of 
 manner and appearance. Alas ! alas ! Is this your Brother William ? 
 He who so lately was so different ? Well ; he is in the hands of the 
 Lord, who will now assuredly perfect that which concerns him. Help 
 him by increasing prayers, that He may find a balm for those wounds 
 which the world, and the medicines of creation can never, never 
 heal. 
 
 A copy of my dear Love’s Memorials I have assigned to you, and 
 another to Priscilla. O that God may give his blessing, and sanctify 
 every copy, as it is distributed, wherever it goes ! I could almost con- 
 sent, aye, I think, I could quite rejoice to have suffered all this for 
 the sake of the salvation of one soul. Follow the distribution with 
 your fervent prayers. 
 
 Your afflicted, 
 
 Widowed Brother, 
 
 William. 
 
 The following is addressed to the young Lady to whom allusion has 
 been already made. See page 116. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 Gloucester , Feb. 3, 1823. 
 
 I would not have you suppose, that I act upon 
 
 the impulse of an unwelcome compulsion in writing to you, for to say 
 the truth I have felt, in reference to you, great regret that I should 
 
 l 2 
 
148 
 
 NEW DISCOVERIES OF SIN IN THE HEART. 
 
 have apparently neglected your affectionate and judicious epistle, 
 which came like a word fitly spoken in the midst of my overbearing 
 sorrows. I acknowledge, however, that I have often felt regret of this 
 kind, but alas ! with me no evil is readily conquered ; however small, 
 it is inveterate when once it seizes me, and it often gives me pleasure 
 mingled with unaffected distress to think, that the hearts of others are 
 not so deeply depraved as mine. I do not mean, that others by na- 
 ture are not wholly sinful, and entirely children of wrath, but that 
 they are sinful without such tenacious obstinacy of sinfulness as mine, 
 and polluted without being so invincibly polluted as I am ; they con- 
 quer evils so much more easily than I can, and triumph in the re- 
 demption of Christ Jesus with a delight and a fulness, at which I 
 gaze with astonishment and pleasure. It is indeed a painful view to 
 take of myself, that if there be any superiority in me to others, it lies 
 all on the side of evil. If ever I am so happy as to be where our 
 adorable Redeemer is, and where in humble and rapturous adoration 
 my glorified Anne casts the tokens of her eternal triumphs at his feet, 
 my case will offer an interesting question,— whether divine grace is 
 most glorified by a difficult, or an easy, conquest. It often diminishes 
 the worth of an attainment in human estimation, that it has cost too 
 much, and it is certain that a willing, and a ready, and an unbroken 
 obedience is more according to the will of God, and the duty of a 
 creature, than a constrained, and hesitating, and imperfect submis- 
 sion. Yet 4 where sin hath abounded, grace doth much more abound, ’ 
 and 4 grace abounding to the chief of sinners,’ are favourite topics in 
 earth and heaven. Illustrations of the forbearance of God, of the 
 persevering efforts of His grace, of the long, and ultimately successful, 
 struggle of the Spirit of Jesus over 4 the Spirit that dwelleth in us 
 lusting to envy,’ must be valuable to all eternity. 
 
 The causes, which drew forth your interesting letter, still continue 
 to operate very painfully on my heart. I will guard myself now from 
 writing freely, much less fully, on this subject, because by so doing 
 I should be only repeating what I have too often said and written. 
 My heavenly Father has been righteously angry with me, for the state 
 of mind in which I have passed much of the seven last years of my 
 life; and He has chastised me very sorely indeed. To him I have not 
 lived in any degree comparable to that which was due from me, a sin- 
 ner redeemed and borne with almost beyond example. The self- 
 righteousness, the selfishness, and the deep hypocrisy to myself of my 
 deluded and carnal heart, of which I have been lately convicted in 
 the most painful manner, have utterly amazed, and nearly overwhelmed 
 me. I had no imagination that my heart could have been so base, as 
 the scrutiny of the light of God has represented it to me. If the ex- 
 perience of others tally with mine, how little — how very little is the 
 
NEW DISCOVERIES OF SIN IN THE HEART. 
 
 149 
 
 real evil of sin understood and felt ! and then, how often is it, in some 
 degree, felt without a hatred deep enough to he always decisive in its 
 avoidance ! As to the conquest of it, I fear that I must reproacli 
 myself for having often conquered sin, or rather for having avoided its 
 commission, from some selfish principle, either the fear of judgment, 
 or the apprehension of some temporal evil, rather than from a truly 
 spiritual abhorrence of its nature. It is a mercy to have access to the 
 people of God, the followers of the Lord Jesus Christ, in order to 
 acknowledge those hideous faults, which almost destroy faith, and 
 which quite impair the integrity of serving God. I lament, my 
 friend, that the dispositions hitherto produced in me are far from being 
 the most amiable. Should I confess to you, that I am disappointed in 
 my expectations from the results of my dearest Anne’s judicial re- 
 moval from me ? I had expected that the Lord would treat me far 
 otherwise. I had anticipated that my lovely, affectionate Anne being 
 gone — torn violently from me, and all the benefits of her society and 
 counsel being broken up, the Redeemer would open for me abundant 
 consolations in himself, and support me with the most sensible supplies 
 of His heavenly grace. Alas ! I have never felt my heart more dry, 
 and barren, and rebellious than since that time. My soul has had to 
 sink under the double terrors of my irreparable loss, together with 
 many heavy subsequent afflictions, and the horrors of discovering such 
 hitherto concealed atheism and turpitude of soul as I had not in the 
 least suspected. I have not had that assistance in prayer, or that re- 
 fuge in the strength of God w hich, if my condition had been different, 
 I might have enjoyed. I have had only just help enough to keep me 
 free from utter despair, and the apostacy of denying the faith. Oh ! 
 shall I, even in heaven, be able to look back upon these dreadful 
 months without trembling at the recollection ? Had my Anne known 
 what her William was about to endure, how much more terrifying 
 would her tears have been for 4 her poor husband !’ 
 
 However, let nothing which I have written discourage you, my 
 Friend; had I known myself better, 1 should not have been so sur- 
 prised as I have. Live near to God, and use — oh ! 4 use the world 
 as not abusing it.’ Accept the accompanying copy of my dearest 
 Anne’s Memorials; these are all that I have left to represent her, who 
 was so lately my almost all. I commend to your earnest prayers 
 
 Your very afflicted Friend, 
 
 William Barber. 
 
150 
 
 FIERY TEMPTATIONS. 
 
 To his elder Brother. 
 
 Gloucester , Feb . 3 , 1823 . 
 
 My yery dear Brother A. 
 
 I received your affectionate letter this morning, and be- 
 cause I will neither keep you any longer in suspense about my dear- 
 est Anne’s Memorials, nor precipitately reply to your enquiries, I 
 will write you a note and despatch the parcel at once, and then in 
 a few days I will send you a letter. Neither my afflictions, nor my 
 sorrows, are at an end. I am still in the midst of fiery trials both 
 
 within and without. 1 am perplexed and distressed almost 
 
 out of my life. In almost every possible way I have been disap- 
 pointed and distracted. I have scarcely any relief, except that from 
 an eternal world. As a minister, as a Christian, and as a sojourner 
 upon earth, I suffer very, very greatly. My soul groans incessantly to 
 God, and is sometimes relieved and sometimes blest; but I am gene- 
 rally answered as by consuming fire, which tears my heart to pieces, 
 and reveals to me such depths of almost invincible depravity, as sink 
 me stripped, and wounded, and half dead with terror to the earth. 
 What will be the end of these fearful revelations? I sympathise 
 deeply w ith Job, and sometimes almost wish that I had never been 
 born. I often long for death, which, however, I fear that I am not 
 prepared to meet. Meantime I give myself into the hands of Him, who 
 has thus torn me in pieces; and I sincerely entreat Him not to spare 
 me, till He has ‘ fulfilled in me all the good pleasure of His goodness, 
 and the work of faith with power.’ I depend on you for your affec- 
 tionate, unwearying prayers for 
 
 Your abased, and 
 
 Sorrowing Brother, 
 
 William. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Remarks on Preaching — Consoles his afflicted Mother — Her peaceful Death — 
 Comforts his widowed Father — Leaves Gloucester — Review of afflictive Dispen- 
 sations — Remarks on Friendship — Opens a Day-School at Bristol — The Maxims 
 and Spirit of the World frequently the Cause of Spiritual Declension — On the 
 Trials of the Ministry — On the Employments of the Blessed — On the fatal Er- 
 rors of Unitarianism. 
 
 To his elder Brother. 
 
 Gloucester , Feb. 21, 1823. 
 
 My dear Aquila, 
 
 Without knowing when I shall finish it, or what I shall 
 write in it, or whether what I do write will be worth transporting to 
 you at such a distance, I take this large sheet of paper, determined at 
 least to have room enough to convince you, that I feel interested in 
 your labours, and concerned for your comfort in discharging them. I 
 do not at all think it a circumstance which you will have reason to re- 
 gret in future life, and much less in eternity, that you are so situated 
 as to be compelled to apply so diligently to your studies, as is neces- 
 sary to meet the frequent demands of the same people ; but I think 
 it matter of real joy, and of hearty congratulation, that you cannot 
 be contented to meet the wishes of the indolent and inapt around you, 
 by talking to them in a way that shall give them no trouble to think. 
 There is a wide difference between talking so as to render it impossi- 
 ble to be understood, and talking so as to be easily comprehended by 
 any that will take the trouble to put thoughts together, or even to 
 attend to one at a time, in order to mentally digest it, as it is laid 
 before them. And I have no doubt left upon my mind, that one of 
 the grand causes of the low piety of many who profess religion, as well 
 as of the plain self-deception and danger of many who make no pro- 
 fession at all, is that wretched indolence of mind by which they will 
 not take the least trouble to investigate the truth, either as it is in 
 themselves, or as it is in Jesus. But here it is that the question pro- 
 
152 
 
 REMARKS ON PREACHING. 
 
 perly arises, How shall I preach ? For after all that can be said in 
 blaming or in extenuating the condition of men and their habits, we 
 must take men and preach to them as we find them. To be under- 
 stood by them is essentially necessary", if any good is to be done 
 them, but to be barely understood is almost as bad as not to be un- 
 derstood at all ; for the mere system of Christianity, whether preached 
 as a Methodist Preacher delivers it, or as it is taught by an elabo- 
 rately working Court and City Preacher, is nearly as powerless, as to 
 truly good practical effects, as any system of heathenism or ethical 
 philosophy ; the only superiority of the one to the other is, that 6 the 
 letter killeth,’ for it is ( the Spirit that giveth life.’ I am sure, it is 
 utterly impossible that either your mind or mine can be too deeply 
 impressed with the persuasion that our labours, however we arrange 
 them, must be useless without the Holy Spirit’s influences, and that 
 w ith them they must, they will be useful. I lately somewhere heard 
 of a Minister, who had preached for sixteen years without any notice- 
 able fruits ; a very few of his Church then resolved to pray for a baptism 
 of the life-giving energy of the Holy Spirit, and they met weekly for 
 this purpose ; the consequence was, that the Lord heard and an- 
 swered, and sixty-eight persons were added to the Church during the 
 following year. The minds of the evangelical Clergy have lately been 
 very much drawn to this subject, they are always praying for it, and 
 preaching about it, more or less, in every sermon ; and the consequence 
 is, that their labours are blest, and very many are converted through 
 their instrumentality. My heart therefore very cheerfully responds to 
 your conviction, that nothing will do but a copious measure of Divine 
 influence. With this impression, deep and abiding, if you, my dear 
 Brother, ask for the Holy Spirit, while you confide in the faithful- 
 ness of God to His own purposes and promises respecting it, you will 
 have very gratifying evidences of usefulness all around you. I greatly 
 regret and sorrowfully acknowledge before the Lord, that with me the 
 impression has been far less deep and abiding than it ought to have 
 been ; it has been so little with me, that it is almost a wonder I should 
 ever have been surprised at my uselessness. 
 
 All means of usefulness beside this are only collateral, and I am per- 
 suaded that much less importance is to be attached to style and me- 
 thod of preaching than many are disposed to admit. The grand rule 
 is, that a Minister should himself live continually under a copious mea- 
 sure of Divine influence, and then do his best. The great Head of the 
 Church has not given a diversity of gifts with the same Spirit, in- 
 tending that they should be all reduced or raised to one general stand- 
 ard ; but the objections of many, respecting style and method, are 
 founded, though perhaps unsconsciously to themselves, on the prin- 
 ciple of fixing some standard above or below which nothing is right. 
 1 do not apply these remarks to your excellent Friends, for whom, 
 
REMARKS ON PREACHING. 
 
 153 
 
 though unknowing and unknown, I feel a sincere esteem for their 
 friendship with you, and a real affection as Brethren in the Lord. 
 
 After all however, of this I am sure, a man may talk very plainly 
 and yet be very useless, for it is not his language, but his spirit of 
 faith, and prayer, and zeal, that produces effect. I knew a Preacher, 
 a good man, of very moderate talents, though not of contemptible 
 intellect, who preached away, and laboured hard to be plain and 
 simple, as if unless by striving he could be otherwise ; and after all 
 he did nothing, — almost literally nothing. I never in my life sat un- 
 der a Preacher by whom I felt it so impossible to profit. I do not 
 think he ever said any thing which was not common place, and yet, 
 with one or two exceptions, I never heard a sermon from him which 
 I could at all understand, nor could I find an individual who was not 
 in the same predicament. If any one had asked me the cause, I 
 should not have been able to tell, except that there was no unction ; 
 there was in him liveliness enough, but no power of the Holy One. 
 On one occasion only when I was a witness, was he ever blest to the 
 people. I was grieved and distressed for him perpetually. 
 
 It seems as if the fault of your preaching, has arisen from some fa- 
 mily complaint ; for precisely the same is urged against mine. The 
 subject has certainly interested me, and I am sensible that I have 
 far more need to seek for a physician than to commence as one. I 
 would not however be understood as meaning, that it is a matter of 
 small importance what style or method a Minister employs. His duty 
 is to do his best, and this he cannot possibly do without thinking 
 closely, and striving to ascertain the best manner that lies within his 
 Teach. My opinion respecting the general question of preaching, whe- 
 ther what may be termed the observational or paraphrastic method, or 
 whether the doctrinal, is to be preferred, you already know. A text 
 of Scripture generally means some one thing in particular, it teaches 
 or illustrates some one important doctrine, which to fix with clearness 
 and emphasis upon the mind must be a matter of consequence. Now 
 if a Minister can give any thing like an enlarged view of a single 
 doctrine, and a lucid statement of it, together with its proofs, as con- 
 nected with the great business of individual salvation, every time he 
 preaches in such a manner he may be considered as accomplishing, as 
 far as his efforts can avail, the object for which he is employed as 
 an ambassador for Christ : viz. to beseech and persuade men to be re- 
 conciled to God. More than one doctrine he will seldom be able 
 to manage, and at the same time preserve that perspicuity and col- 
 lectedness which will leave the fewest doubts to be unsettled, and 
 the fewest suspicions to be satisfied It should not, however, be for- 
 gotten, that the judicious and pious discussion of a subject in this man- 
 ner will certainly involve a great many other doctrines, of which it 
 will be eminently advantageous to be reminded, and which, in their 
 
154 
 
 REMARKS ON PREACHING. 
 
 proper connections, will pour their contributions in the course of proof 
 to the leading object, like the flow of so many tributary streams into 
 some powerful confluence of waters. But here I think it is, that the 
 very interesting question arises, — How shall I attain this ? Shall I 
 lay open the doctrine of the Text, and then go laboriously into its 
 proofs ? Or, shall I make assertions, and then exhort upon them as 
 if they were already proved? To answer this question is most diffi- 
 cult: because so much must depend upon the precise views which 
 the enquirer has of proof and argument, of assertion and illustra- 
 tion ; so much too must depend upon the genius of the enquirer him- 
 self, and upon the tendency of his mind. Yet it is evidently best to 
 mix the two methods, because first, Every assertion does not need 
 proof; secondly, A judicious arrangement of propositions often pre- 
 cludes the necessity of illation, for their evident connection and well- 
 known importance will secure admission for them in favour of the 
 subject in hand ; and thirdly, There are but few minds that will not 
 tire upon protracted pursuits of argument and plain didactic theo- 
 logy. Here indeed is the test of a Preacher’s ability, to distinguish 
 where illation is necessary, and there only to use it ; and to perceive 
 what propositions connected with the doctrine of the text would pre- 
 sent themselves, and in what order they would come. 
 
 I pause here just to observe, that I adopt it as a maxim, that the 
 Preacher is himself to know well what he is about, whether the 
 people know it or not. If there be another test of ability in addi- 
 tion to the one above, it is in the selection of topics for illustration. 
 Here, if any where, it is that a Preacher will meet the taste of mul- 
 titudes; and here too it is, that his doctrine will be the most powerful, 
 for it is the exhibition of a doctrine in a palpable and tangible case 
 that makes it come with the most forcible appeals to the conscience 
 and the heart. Why, but for this, have the Scriptures given so much 
 larger a proportion of illustration than of argument, inventing innu- 
 merable parables and figures, where living cases were immediately 
 wanted ? 
 
 For excellence in the former of these, viz. a strong and instant per- 
 ception of the connections and bearings of a doctrine, our almost in- 
 imitable — is the most striking example that I have ever 
 
 known ; and for eminence in the latter, viz. a judicious and well 
 suited taste in the selection of topics of illustration, our incompara- 
 ble is the most splendid instance that I have ever 
 
 heard. 
 
 There can be but few such men ; this is encouraging. Let us, 
 my dear Brother, learn to be contented with our own plain names, 
 because such is the w ill of Him, who willed them to be what they 
 are, or at most to be only piously emulous to collect around us the 
 pure rays of that glory, which cometh from God alone. This is a 
 
REMARKS ON PREACHING. 
 
 155 
 
 great attainment of piety, — to be humbly and thankfully satisfied that 
 the Lord has assigned to us those qualifications and opportunities of 
 usefulness which we possess, without looking with regret at the 
 higher honour put upon others. To me it is matter of immense im- 
 portance to learn this, for though I am not much troubled with a 
 bold, unblushing envy of those around me, yet there is good reason 
 for my being most deeply abased before the Lord, since I am con- 
 fined here to a very narrow sphere of action, disappointed, rebuked, 
 and chastised, with my heart bleeding with sorrows far beyond my 
 years. Oh, for greater submission and patience ! But alas ! my soul 
 has needed all this, and merited much more. 
 
 You will perhaps scarcely approve of my being so very prosy, and 
 taking no notice of your examples; but the truth is, my dear Bro- 
 ther, that I have nothing to say about them but this, that I heartily 
 coincide with the method of selecting that which appears the doctrine 
 of the text, and strongly urging and carefully illustrating that one 
 point ; but then care should be taken not to do this in an intricate 
 way, — not to leave the reasonings too deeply involved or too pro- 
 tracted. I know there is great difficulty in always preaching accept- 
 ably, or at all unexceptionably. I see that it is high : I cannot attain 
 unto it. The Lord, however, assist you according to your need. I 
 am very much inclined to think that a change of method is occa- 
 sionally very desirable ; a Sunday morning’s congregation, for instance, 
 would often be much profited by an exposition or paraphrastic review 
 of a larger portion of Scripture than it is commonly advisable to take 
 as a text. 
 
 I was in Bristol on Sunday last, and left on Monday morning. Our 
 dear Mother is very poorly indeed, and has been considered in dan- 
 gerous circumstances. She has been so long ill, that I cannot persuade 
 myself she will very long be an inhabitant of this world; and in- 
 deed she has been so long a sufferer, that I do not think it desirable 
 beyond the Lord’s will. I believe she is in no immediate danger, 
 but it seems to me as if the Lord were allowing her to sink gradu- 
 ally. The state of her mind is very perceptibly ripening for removal. 
 Her constitutional and habitual tendency to doubt and despondency 
 sometimes perplexes her, but she often rises above it, and I have not 
 one doubt that she will be 4 for ever with the Lord.’ All else are much 
 as usual. Father bears up under all, submitting to the will of God, 
 and devoting himself to Him. Oh, Aquila! Aquila! It will not be 
 long ere we all meet around the throne of God and the Lamb. All 
 hail the moment when rejoined to the spirit of my dearest Anne, and 
 those of my own family, 1 shall be with Him for ever! 
 
 As to myself particularly, my situation is a painful one indeed. This 
 week has cost me many a heavy groan and a flood of tears ; it has brought 
 the first anniversary of my marriage, and the completion of six months 
 
156 
 
 CONTINUATION OF DIFFICULTIES. 
 
 since the death of my fond and amiable Anne. Twelve months ago 
 
 I was one of the happiest and most enviable of men, aud now 
 
 but, oh ! it is the Lord’s doing. I try every day from my heart to say, 
 4 Thy will be done !’ I am looking out for a full sanctification of the 
 trial. To know all its meaning in this life I cannot hope, but the 
 words of my Anne console me, — 4 By and by He will unfold to our 
 astonished sight the multiplied dangers from which we were rescued, 
 aud the invaluable blessings which we secured, even by circumstances 
 which, when they occurred, made us almost doubt whether God was 
 really so kind as he was represented, and as we had before thought 
 him.’ But what shall relieve me now ? Nothing but entire holiness, 
 and the nearest possible communion with my Anne, by the nearest 
 possible communion with God. 
 
 My health is by no means good. I still have the expectoration 
 undiminished, and often spit blood. I sometimes think, that it may 
 be the Lord’s will to remove me soon ; for this I caunot feel any 
 regret, because 4 to depart would be for me far better,’ if th$ Lord 
 should see it fit. At present I have no prospect before me, at least 
 for several years, but that of poverty, comparative uselessness, aud de- 
 bility both of body and mind. Mr. Cooke, my medical attendant, for- 
 bids my preaching at all ; but in this I do not think it my duty to regard 
 him, for there are not such powerful reasons to render extreme care 
 .necessary now, that lately there were. The Lord direct me, and 
 save me from self-will, and obstinacy, and blindness! * * * * 
 
 The contrast between the present time and this time last year, 
 almost overwhelms me. In every view of it, I am scarcely able to 
 bear my present circumstances. I get relief from one hope only, that 
 I am thus reaping spiritual and eternal advantages of which my dear 
 Love and myself should otherwise have been for ever deprived. I 
 do pray and strive for patience and resignation, but my heart feels as 
 if it could never be healed; this however I leave with God. 
 
 I expect your observations on the Memorials. They are most 
 kindly received in Gloucester, particularly among the pious Church- 
 people. God graciously blesses me with the confidence, that they 
 will be made useful. Let me beseech your prayers for your Brother, 
 who amidst the water-floods, or the scorching flames of affliction, 
 thinks of you affectionately, and prays for your spiritual aud temporal 
 happiness and usefulness. 
 
 William. 
 
 Gloucester , Feb . 27, 1823. 
 
 My very dear Mother, 
 
 In what state of body this will find you, I am of course not 
 able to tell ; but though I hope that you are much more comfortable 
 in your spirits, and in your expectations from our gracious Redeemer, 
 
CONSOLES HIS AFFLICTED MOTHER. 
 
 157 
 
 I can scarcely anticipate, but that your extreme weakness must still in 
 some degree preclude enjoyment, and keep you rather in the condi- 
 tion of one waiting on your Lord’s holy and righteous will, than of one 
 who sees it dearly and rejoices in it. You have, my dearest Mother, 
 been very much upon my mind for a long time lately. I have thought 
 of you with some gratitude on my own account, and with much more 
 on yours ; for the life of a tender and affectionate Mother has been 
 prolonged to children greatly needing and greatly valuing her pre- 
 sence among them ; she has lived to see most of them become decided 
 followers of God and lovers of His Son ; she has long harmonised in 
 those saving views of divine truth, on which they rest eternal hopes, 
 with a husband who has loved her only less than he has loved God ; 
 and she may cherish with fondness and security the expectation of 
 for ever enjoying all that has been dearest to her through a some- 
 what protracted life. Oh! I rejoice that, by the grace of God, my 
 Mother has not lived in vain. Her own soul, with all its immortality, 
 is for ever redeemed with the precious blood of the Son of God, and 
 saved by the free grace of the Holy Spirit. In addition to this, 
 through the kind providence of God, she has been the instrument of 
 giving to the universe a number of immortal spirits, who shall for ever 
 glorify the same riches of the Divine goodness, and raise her joy to 
 higher raptures as she presents herself with them before the throne. 
 
 What pleasing prospects are these, my Mother ! Surely they are 
 such as might well lighten your sorrows in that affliction which op- 
 presses a frail and care-worn body ; and to your relatives they must 
 administer the richest consolation ; and oh, Mother ! let it cheer you 
 that they are our very brightest prospects, — existence itself presents 
 to us nothing in comparison of these. Ilow happy will that moment 
 make us, w r hen all the weakness, and toil, and suffering, and business, 
 and care of life shall have passed away for ever ; when the Very 
 last pain, that our breasts shall feel, shall through eternity itself have 
 gone by ; and above all, when 
 
 ‘ Sin, our worst enemy before. 
 
 Shall vex our eyes and hearts no more !’ 
 
 We have indeed need of patience, that we may endure as 4 fol- 
 lowers of them who, through faith and patience, inherit the promises 
 but, oh ! let us wait and suffer a little, for by and by, and perhaps 
 soon, we shall triumph. 
 
 But now, my dear Mother, shall I say that my pleasing expecta- 
 tions on this subject are mingled with some anxiety ? Oh! do not be 
 alarmed ; I do not mean respecting your final safety, for of that I 
 cannot entertain one doubt. 4 God is faithful, by whom you were 
 effectually called ’ into his service, and kept in it so long. But my 
 anxiety arises from reflecting that, while such prospects are before us, 
 
158 
 
 CONSOLES HIS AFFLICTED MOTHER. 
 
 and my dear Mother has such good reason to feel her deep interest 
 in them, she does not properly enjoy them. By some unreasonable 
 hesitation her mind is kept down, demurring with reference to her 
 security of possessing them. Strange indeed, that when she deeply 
 feels that no dependence in any possible way can be placed upon her- 
 self, and Divine mercy meets her on that very ground, and tells her 
 that she is not at all expected to depend upon herself, but upon Him, 
 on whom help is laid for the express purpose, — strange indeed , that 
 she should yet fear to rely on Him ; and, as if His word were no 
 better than her own, or that of her fellow-mortals, that she should 
 feel no rest — no confidence — no persuasive peace in His endearing 
 and condescending assurance ! Oh, my Mother ! I have heard one, 
 (ought I to restrain the wish to be with her before even you meet 
 her again?) who, amidst the alarms of a most unexpected and rapid 
 call to the presence of her Redeemer, most sweetly said, — 4 I am 
 sure that He is faithful, and I know that He will prepare before He 
 removes me!’ What made her say and feel thus? Faith ; that is, a 
 firm persuasion in the truth of that word, in 2 Cor. i. 18 — 22. I 
 am very sure, that it vras said with an equal persuasion that her guilt 
 and helplessness must ruin her without the Saviour ; but here was so- 
 lid ground, — she saw and stepped upon it, and refused to doubt the 
 fidelity of God ; and then He, as it pleased Him, administered to her 
 the mingled sanctification and comfort. Now the result of her so 
 believing was a thinking somewhat thus : — 4 Perhaps He will re- 
 move me soon. I must be baptised with his Holy Spirit, and fully 
 fitted before I go. Now then, no time is to be lost. He will do 
 it, for He has promised that He will, and that in answer to prayer. 
 O let it be now ! I will — I do ask it now. I will thankfully re- 
 ceive what He gives me, and bless Him for it, and instantly ask for 
 more.’ Then 4 the power of the Highest over-shadowed her.’ And 
 now she has long been with Him, and adoring Him ; and for you, my 
 dear Mother, and for me she waits to hail us as we reach the haven 
 where we would be. Oh, my dearest Mother ! try thus to believe 
 the word of God, and to hang upon his faithfulness for a fulfilment 
 of it now . It is by pleading the individual promises, and expecting a 
 present accomplishment of what is essentially necessary, that you will 
 feel 4 joy and peace through believing.’ Then shall our souls be con- 
 firmed and strengthened, and we shall indeed rejoice to see how faith 
 can triumph over sin, and pain, and death, and all the powers of 
 darkness. Oh, my dearest, dearest Mother ! may grace, mercy, and 
 peace, from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ, be multiplied 
 unto you ! But then you must boldly trust Him, and leave Him to 
 do all the pleasure of His will. Farewell. 
 
 Your affectionate Son 
 
 William. 
 
ON THE INFLUENCE OF WORLDLY THINGS. 
 
 159 
 
 To Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler in London. 
 
 Gloucester , April 18, 1823. 
 
 Dear William and Lydia, 
 
 In the present extremely relaxed state of my body and mind, 
 for I seem to have almost all the bodily infirmities, and more than all 
 the mental feebleness and indecision of very old age, I am but ill pre- 
 pared for the prolonged employment of writing you 6 an essay-like epis- 
 tle,’ as a friend once termed my communications to him. But neither you 
 nor I shall be much grieved about that, since you are too much in the 
 thick and in the spirit of business and pleasure, to spend time in run- 
 ning over a numerous set of demure lines and words. When a man 
 has a great many things of meaning around him, he is not easily in- 
 duced to pay much attention to very many words of meaning. By 
 the way, this seems to be the very reason why multitudes around you, 
 in the vast Metropolis, can give up to utter contempt and neglect all 
 the words of the book of God. To them, there is a meaning in the 
 things about them, which absorbs them wholly, or altogether alienates 
 them from the meaning of the words of a future and eternal life ; and 
 therefore they are glad to consider it as very distant. 
 
 Excuse this digression ; for if in the course of your ambulations, 
 you should chance to kick aside an awkward stone, and you should see 
 that it had covered a coin, however small, it would at least be an in- 
 nocent curiosity which should lead you to bend and pick it up ; and 
 you would be blameably deficient in antiquarian taste, if you did not 
 prize it on finding it nearly two thousand years old. 
 
 But I was just now going to remark, that he who writes sincerely 
 must write as he feels, and I have too much regard for you to pour in 
 upon you those deluging showers of sorrow, which are perpetually 
 rising from my cloudy mind. I have no wish, my friends, to confine 
 you from those out-of-door excursions of your feelings, in which present 
 circumstances and sympathies call upon you to delight. There has 
 been, I admit, a sad and tedious monotony in my expressions of feel- 
 ing. To 6 sing of judgment,’ in the long-noted and continued airs of 
 grief and disappointment, has had from my circumstances much au- 
 thority ; but there has been much authority neglected in the 6 mercy,’ 
 which has been experienced by me, amidst the most direful of my 
 hours, and days, and months of sorrow. I have recently found in 
 the Bible, (and that Bible I trust, shall yet find me many great bless- 
 ings,) several passages, which finely and graciously mingle with the 
 daily bitterness presented in my cup. Among the rest, I have pored 
 over the two pages and a half which contain the epistle to the Philip- 
 pians, with a heart glowing with some of the satisfactory emotions, 
 
160 
 
 PEACEFUL DEATH OF HIS MOTHER. 
 
 which such views of human life and of the Saviour, ought to create. 
 The kindlings ofhope and of trust in Him, who is c the keeper of His 
 people Israel have acknowledged for their origin such as Psal. cxxv. 
 3. And the deep, — deep sympathy of Him who wrote, surely on 
 purpose for me, the eighty-eighth Psalm, and especially the last verse, 
 has found its salutary lessons strengthened from such representations 
 as Psal. xxii. 24. You, my dear Friends, love friendship and the 
 Scriptures too well, to think very hardly of my intruding these obser- 
 vations on you : but yet you may ask , — 6 Why did he write to us now 
 and here, if he could not write cheerfully ?’ To this I answer, that 
 I cannot tell, except that it was because I love you ; and that while I 
 am writing, the black margin of my paper reminds me, if indeed I 
 need such mementos, of the still more deeply coloured events of which 
 the margin is the appropriate emblem. Meantime, I wish and pray 
 that your pleasures and your pains may be abundantly sanctified to 
 you. May your health of body be restored ! and may the health of 
 your souls be placed far beyond the reach of diseases and decline ! 
 
 I found my dear Mother, and I left her, considerably better ; but 
 the preceding week she was thought, both by herself and by others, to 
 be dying. At midnight, the whole family were called up from their 
 beds, and she took her leave of each person individually, commend- 
 ing her dying love to her two absent boys. The seizure however 
 proved only spasmodic, and it passed away ; but it gave an opportu- 
 nity for the display of the grace of the Redeemer, for when in her sup- 
 posed dying agonies, my dear, dear, doubting and fearing Mother glori- 
 ously triumphed, enjoying the clearest assurance of heaven. Pray 
 continually for 
 
 Your affectionate, and 
 
 Widowed Brother, 
 
 William Barber. 
 
 After the attack mentioned in the above letter, my dear Mother 
 continued to linger on under the pressure of a complication of disorders, 
 until the seventh of the following June, when she peacefully expired, 
 trusting with all her heart in the merits of a crucified Redeemer. In 
 consequence of a constitutional diffidence, she did not possess a large 
 share of the consolations of piety, but her life was excellent indeed ; 
 and during her illness, particularly in its latter stages, she was occa- 
 sionally enabled to rise above her fears, and joyfully to praise the God 
 of her salvation. The following is my Brother’s letter of condolence 
 to our widowed Father. 
 
COMFORTS IIIS WIDOWED FATHER. 
 
 161 
 
 Gloucester , June 8, 1823. 
 My very dear and honoured Father, 
 
 I WENT out this morning to my Sabbath’s appointment, ex- 
 pecting on my return to find that very afflictive, though certainly 
 happy, intelligence which awaited me. My dear, my truly pious and 
 excellent Mother has entered into the joy of our Lord ! I thank him, 
 oh! I do devoutly and gratefully thank Him, that another of our 
 family, and that my own Mother, has lived and died well ! O could 
 we but gain a glimpse of the happy, triumphant, glorified commu- 
 nion of the three whom we have so recently lost, — my precious Anne, 
 dear Mr. Giddy, and now my excellent Mother ! My dearest Father, 
 amidst all, must rejoice. And oh ! let me hope, and pray, and en- 
 treat, that separated as this last dispensation, through its whole pro- 
 gress, has been from all the marks of anger, or even severity on the 
 part of our heavenly Friend and Parent, you will not allow yourself 
 to dwell upon its incidents in gloomy and painful regret. I am, my 
 dear Father, the more eager about this, because I have suffered so 
 much. I am well qualified to enter deeply into sympathy witli you ; 
 and allied and related anew as this event makes us, it shall be the so- 
 licitude of your Son to cheer and animate those days, which are yet 
 reserved for you. Oh, may the God of our departed, glorified wives, 
 be the God of those who wait to rejoin them ! 
 
 There are two circumstances, which induce me to write this : the 
 one is, to beg that the coffin may not be screwed down till I come, 
 which will be to-morrow evening, as I greatly desire to see the re- 
 mains of my glorified Mother ; and the other is * * * * 
 
 Mr. Woodrow is here, and while I am writing he is singing words, 
 which are as encouraging as they are appropriate : 
 
 ‘ Jesus is here ! My fears begone ! 
 
 ‘ What can the Rock of Ages move ?' &c. 
 
 I hope that my dear Sisters and Brother Sam will keep their spi- 
 rits in good exercise. The Lord bless and sustain them ! The affec- 
 tions of all here, if they could, would rush to their help. 
 
 Your affectionate Son 
 
 William. 
 
 The following letter will explain, that multiplied as the trials of my 
 afflicted Brother had already been, they were so far from being termi- 
 nated, that they continued to attend him with uninterrupted severity. 
 Chiefly as I apprehend, in consequence of the depressed state of his 
 spirits, and therefore the absence of that degree of energy which is 
 
 M 
 
162 
 
 LEAVES GLOUCESTER. 
 
 necessary in the establishment of a public Seminary ; he soon found 
 that it was in vain for him to hope for success in his present undertak- 
 ing in Gloucester. Hence he was under the necessity of listening to 
 the often repeated entreaties of the family to return to his paternal 
 abode. 
 
 To his elder Brother. 
 
 Bristol , July 10, 1823. 
 
 My dear Aquila, 
 
 It is so very usual for me to have to commence a letter with 
 confessions of faultiness in having delayed so long to write, that I begin 
 to fancy it my best way to say nothing whatever about it, but to leave 
 my correspondents to imagine, as a thing of course, that possessing some 
 degree of sensibility, I must be unavoidably ashamed and sorry for my 
 neglect. It would be useless to enumerate all the particulars of the 
 incidents which, by thoroughly unhinging my mind, have rendered 
 writing a laborious and almost impracticable task. Let it suffice just 
 to say, that the death of our dear Mother, some important circum- 
 stances as connected with our family in the affairs of , the pain- 
 
 ful, and I suppose the almost final, blasting of every hope that I might 
 not have to bear all my losses myself, and the ultimate resolution into 
 which I have been compelled to enter of removing to Bristol, and 
 seeking among the earliest friends of our family some support in my 
 future efforts for life and usefulness; have so occupied my mind, as to 
 leave me but little spirits for any thing else. I might easily mention other 
 things, but you will readily suppose these to be enough. I feel myself, 
 Aquila, in the thick of the real trials of life ; and so rapidly have 
 they come upon me, that for now nearly twelve months I have seemed 
 to resemble a person in continual swooning, — a most painful and de- 
 lirious uncertainty of every thing, except that God is chastising in 
 mercy, and in mercy repeating his blows. 
 
 I suppose, that what I have stated of my removal to Bristol, will 
 surprise you; and I am not a little mortified in reflecting, that to per- 
 sons at a distance, who, without being acquainted with the particulars 
 of my circumstances, only hear of my removals, I must appear cha- 
 racterised by fickleness, or shocked by misfortune into imbecility- 
 With reverence and gratitude however, I mention it, that He, who in 
 His own unsearchable wisdom has for ever secured to Himself my 
 dearest Anne, though as it seems to the utter sacrifice of my earthly 
 happiness, has yet preserved me from that degree of mental imbecility 
 which I wonder how I have escaped. That I have altogether escaped 
 it, I dare scarcely say, for I am not able to value any thing on earth, 
 in the degree that seems necessary ; and certainly every sentiment of 
 my heart, and every principle on which my soul had thought to lean, 
 throughout its passage to a better world, have been so shaken, as to 
 
REVIEW OF AFFLICTIVE DISPENSATIONS, 
 
 163 
 
 threaten utter desolation ; like some fabric' in an earthquake, shattered 
 and trembling to its overthrow, and preserved only by a sudden and 
 timely subsiding of the commotion. Yes, Aquila, I write the 6 words of 
 truth and soberness,’ when I state, that I do regard my preservation 
 from practical atheism, or the worst ebullitions of despair, as nothing 
 less than a miracle of grace. There is indeed, one view of my case 
 in which I sometimes obtain a moment’s indulgence, viz. that it sup- 
 plies materials for an exhibition of the glory of God, which will be as 
 satisfactory as it certainly is consistent ; — materials too, for an accumu- 
 lation of moral excellence and usefulness far greater than I should ever 
 have attained in more flattering and peaceful circumstances. O that 
 this prospect may be realised ! but of all this, I can as yet perceive 
 nothing. On the contrary, it appears to me, that had I expired the day 
 following my Anne, my eternal circumstances would have been far su- 
 perior to what they could be now ; for, though perhaps unsuspected at 
 the time, what an awful struggling has there been against Him, who 
 has seen it best to cut off my every hope in life ! I have left Glou- 
 cester, Aquila, disappointed of every thing for which I went there. 
 I have lost almost every thing that a man can lose, except his charac- 
 ter and his soul. And oh, how bitter are my feelings now ! Next 
 Monday will complete the year, since my last day of comparative hap- 
 piness expired. On the 15th of July my dearest Anne was taken ill, 
 and since that moment, I have not spent one hour of conscious free- 
 dom from deep agony of heart! Oh, my God ! my God ! what do I 
 find in that life, from which I expected so much ? I thought myself 
 well fortified to meet whatever ill might come. Alas! how little have 
 I known myself, that all this should be necessary ! how deep, — how 
 terrible must be the turpitude of sin ! how dangerous, — how little to 
 be trusted is my heart ! 
 
 But I will force myself away from this subject. There is a sort of 
 fatuity in grief, the contemplation of its causes is a delicious poison. 
 I cannot keep myself away from it, if I once take my pen in my hand ; 
 and yet, if you knew how many tears and groans every letter costs me, 
 you would not be surprised that I write so little. Our dear and hon- 
 oured Father bears his afflictions like a Christian Patriarch. I look at 
 him, and listen to his family devotional exercises, with veneration, and 
 rapidly increasing love. O what an infinite inferiority do I perceive 
 in myself! I feel in a way that sometimes is, and at others is not, pain- 
 ful to me, that 1 shall have to take my place for ever among the chief 
 of sinners who are saved. 
 
 I believe I have already informed you, that having ascertained there 
 was little probability of my being able to realise any of the property 
 due to my dearest Anne, and that all the losses of my concern at Long- 
 ford must fall upon myself, the whole of us thought it best for me 
 not to propose any thing to the District Meeting, and therefore my 
 
 m *2 
 
164 
 
 RESIGNATION TO THE WILL OF GOB. 
 
 name was not brought forward. I had only a few pupils at Gloucester^ 
 and I found it impossible there to regain my spirits, and to make the 
 necessary exertions. Our late dear Mother joined her wishes with 
 the rest of the family to induce me to re-settle in Bristol, and I con- 
 sented. A new school-room is now building for me in St. James’s 
 Square, which I shall have on a seven years’ lease, transferable of 
 course if I please. Here then I must now fix. God is pleased to re- 
 fuse my services at least for the present. He does not 6 count me 
 worthy to he put into the Ministry.’ My heart complains not ; on the 
 contrary, it justifies His decision. But thus, the only hope which 
 I had left is cut off. 4 The judgments of the Lord are true and right- 
 eous altogether.’ I have now only one object before me, and that is, 
 usefully and honestly to gain money enough to pay my debts, and 
 then to be ready for either the Ministry, or death. Oh, how dearly 
 purchased are all the pleasures on which I had fixed my heart ! Pain- 
 ful as my life must inevitably be, I should be glad to live, if it may 
 please the all-wise Disposer of events, until my debts are paid. But 
 there is presented to my imagination, no prospect of happiness in life 
 except in ministerial labour and usefulness. Your situation is what 
 mine appeared twelve months ago, truly enviable. It is even on higher 
 ground. * * * * X certainly do feel, that the present state of my 
 
 mind impairs both my holiness and my usefulness. * * * * Oh, 
 
 Aquila, mine is a bitter, bitter cup indeed ! But it is administered 
 by a 6 merciful and faithful High-Priest,’ who is 6 touched with the 
 feeling of my infirmities.’ What then am I to think of myself and my 
 case ? — How invaluable should 1 find greater calmness of resignation 
 to God, and stronger faith in His wisdom and love! But against all 
 my reasonings and my faith, there come the many recollections associ- 
 ated with the fact, that I am widowed and desolate. I look to heaven, 
 and anxiously entreat forgiveness for my idolatrous love and my exces- 
 sive grief. O that I could staunch the wounds that will bleed in 
 spite of all that is applied ! I am very sensible of criminality in the 
 indulgence of my distressing feelings ; and I know that they have done 
 me immense mischief. Oh ! would to heaven that my heart could 
 settle into firmness and holy resignation ! But I am threatened with 
 perpetuated sorrow. 
 
 ‘ Labitur et labetur , in omne volubilis avnmS 
 
 Let me entreat your prayers, that I may regain my Christian seren- 
 ity ; I neither desire nor value any thing but this. Philosophy can 
 give me no recompence for my Anne, but Christianity can. How as- 
 tonished I am, that in all the years of my imagined acquaintance with 
 the religion of Jesus, I did not become better prepared for the ills of 
 life than I have proved ! I crave with deepest self-abasement the par- 
 
BENEFITS OF FRIENDSHIP IN AFFLICTION. 
 
 165 
 
 don of the Almighty Saviour, for my shameful littleness of faith. — 
 May the Lord crown you w ith loving-kindness and tender mercy, and 
 6 put his own defence upon all your glory I’ 
 
 Your very affectionate, but very afflicted Brother 
 
 William. 
 
 To the Rev. James Dixon. 
 
 Bristol , Aug. 20, 1823. 
 
 My very dear Friend, 
 
 A most solemn and affecting day indeed is this to me, and, 
 if it have struck your recollection, it must have called up in your mind 
 many interesting and painful emotions ; for, believe me, I feel that 
 kind of confidence in your regard which assures me, that it is not 
 possible for you to think of me without interest, nor to see me suffer 
 without pain. The appeal of my circumstances to your heart has 
 been too successful to fall short of this, or to pass it by ; and it is a 
 reflection which has solaced many a moment of heart-felt grief, that I 
 cannot have suffered altogether in vain, if I have thus gained and 
 secured you as the friend of my future chequered and exiled life. Be 
 my friend, my dear Sir, and I will answer for my heart, treacherous 
 on some other subjects as to me it is, that it shall always throw 7 greater 
 warmth and satisfaction through me when it thinks of you, and es- 
 pecially when in direct intercourse with you. 
 
 When you uttered your farewell words to me, there was something 
 in them which sunk very forcibly within me, and even now they 
 recur to me with almost equal force, — 4 Write to me; and if you can, 
 tell me all your heart.’ The expression renewed the thought which 
 very forcibly impressed my mind, when I found myself commencing 
 business at the same time that the Ministry at Gloucester was renewed 
 after the Conference, and you came into the Circuit. The pure 
 thought of throwing myself into connection with the new Ministers, 
 and of having the aid of their counsel and their prayers in connection 
 with my most endeared Anne, and in consequence of our marriage, 
 was to me particularly interesting; nay, it seemed to dwell upon my 
 mind with preternatural force, that the new Ministry would be made 
 extraordinarily beneficial to me, so that more than once, in my 
 correspondence with my lovely friend, I mentioned the subject. How 
 far that has been the case, let eternity unfold ; but that in a measure 
 it has been beneficial, and that too in consequence of my marriage, 
 though indeed very differently from my anticipations, is however a 
 fact. In the short space of two years you have seen me in the very 
 extremes of hope and fear, of anticipation and terror, of success and 
 disappointment, of enjoyment and wretchedness ; — when (Oh! shall 
 I ever forget it?) I was in that state of mind which, though not 
 
166 
 
 REVIEW OF AFFLICTIVE DISPENSATIONS. 
 
 altogether destitute of piety toward God, would say, that I could not 
 wait; and when also I was in that state which, though not separate 
 from all faith, made me feel, that my whole life was a blank and a 
 burthen to me, and not only that my hopes were gone, but that exist- 
 ence itself was bitter in the extreme. 
 
 With regard to the last twelve months of my life, notwithstanding 
 all that may be pleaded in extenuation from my irreparable loss, (and 
 more might be pleaded than some of my dear and sturdy virtuous 
 friends would allow,) yet I feel as if I could indulge the fruitless wish 
 that it were possible to wipe that period completely out of the his- 
 tory of my life ; but I have no refuge from the consciousness of having 
 suffered in an ill manner, and of not having endured with the grace 
 and magnanimity of a Christian, except indeed in the atoning, inter- 
 ceding Saviour; however, though I feel oppressed with shame and 
 sorrow to an extent that greatly disorders and afflicts me, yet there I 
 find a real solace. He that knows me and sympathises with me, with- 
 out sparing the sins and follies of my heart, will plead for me, and 
 He will assuredly prevail. 
 
 There must have been something in me, I can myself discern much, 
 and much I saw before the stroke descended, to fully justify, nay, to 
 demand from a wise and gracious Saviour the grievous course which 
 he has pursued. And this something it is, that has chiefly originated the 
 excessive suffering through which I have passed. Dearly as I loved 
 my Anne, grief for the loss of her has not been nearly the whole of 
 my sorrow, though the one certainly has been so intimately connected 
 with the other, as to render it neither easy nor important to distinguish 
 them. And, O my friend ! it is most certainly a truth that neither of 
 the causes of my grief is yet cured. Through infinite mercy I am 
 less passionate in grief than I was ; but my eyes are coolly and de- 
 liberately open upon my situation as it is connected with God, as it 
 is not connected with my Anne, as it involves me in very painful dif- 
 ficulties, and as it certainly excludes me from the only situation upon 
 earth which I desire. That it is God who is thus dealing with me, 
 is the thought which, while it brings with it many searching and 
 agitating feelings, saves me from despair. And oh ! that this should 
 be a fact, that God is in all this i working in me to will and to do of 
 His good pleasure,’ is a consideration that overwhelms me, though it is 
 with mingled awe and trembling, and fear and confidence, and hope 
 and joy. There is scarcely any thing that I should in myself more 
 detest as dishonourable, or that 1 should fear as injurious, than by 
 an ill assumed confidence to appear possessed of happiness which 
 I do not enjoy, or by an unsafe assurance to flatter myself that I 
 may be happier than I am. I earnestly wish that all that is good 
 in this feeling, as I have it, would expel all that is evil ; for I am per- 
 suaded that it has already injured me much, and that it is still operat- 
 
STRUGGLINGS FOR SUBMISSION. 
 
 167 
 
 ing in the same way. I have been afraid to admit comfort, because 
 I see that I merit it not ; and I have been afraid to appear happy, 
 lest God should look upon me as a hypocrite. Oh, that God would 
 save me from extremes! but thus I have thrown away much that 
 would have enabled me to pass my bitter, bitter months with greater 
 peace to myself, and more honour to the Saviour’s grace ; 1 have 
 neglected an opportunity which, it cuts me to the soul to think, I 
 have lost for ever. But why should I regret? For what security 
 do I possess that, if it were possible for me to be placed in my former 
 situation, I should not fail as much again ? 
 
 You will be glad to learn that, with reference to the privation of 
 domestic comfort, my mind is more calm than it was ; but when 'I tell 
 you, that domestic comfort always was the object of my strong, 
 idolatrous attachment, and that I feel as if my Anne were the only 
 possible source of it to me, and at the same time that my whole 
 nature is almost hourly pining for it, and that without hope ; you will 
 form some proper conception of the manner in which the evening 
 and the morning are the successive days of my existence. To this 
 however, should be added, for it is true, that I am constantly en- 
 deavouring to yield myself up in sacrifice — as 4 a living sacrifice,’ 
 unreliictant, 4 holy, acceptable unto God;’ and here is the chief 
 relief that I feel. To me it has been matter of sincere and earnest 
 endeavour to say, — 4 Whom have I in heaven but Thee?’ But alas! 
 my friend, how painful is it to feel that God has a rival in heaven for 
 the affections of one upon earth! and how does it cover me with dis- 
 grace and sin, that in this matter there should be any difficulty ! But 
 ought i to despise it, if there be one half of the blessing of the above 
 passage mine, even while the means which have secured the one have 
 rendered the other, though certainly in the process of being secured 
 too, at present doubtful ? 4 There is none upon earth that I desire 
 
 beside Thee!’ Now my Anne is no more upon earth; and were it 
 possible, I have no wish for her return, because the Lord has made 
 me deeply sensible that I could not love her innocently ; and I have 
 no wish to have her place supplied by another, because in my present 
 state of soul if I loved her at all the same cause would prevail, and I 
 should love inordinately ; while on the other hand, if I did not love 
 her, I should be miserable myself, and should render the poor un- 
 happy occupant of my Nancy’s place miserable too. 
 
 There are only two objects of desire before me, Heaven or the 
 Ministry ; a third is at present my duty: I submit, and daily try to 
 do it as I ought ; but oh ! my heart neither is, nor can be, in the work 
 of the School-room as an occupation for life. I know this will gratify 
 you, because I know that your earnest wish for me is to see me an 
 acknowledged and constant labourer in your own good Master’s vine- 
 yard ; but of course I do not say this merely to gratify you, nor do I 
 
168 
 
 BEAMINGS OF HOPE. 
 
 feel it merely to gratify myself, for though it comes in perfect conso- 
 nance with all my wishes, it comes too with more of the aspect of im- 
 perativeness and awful obligation than ever. I never felt so very 
 desirous of its engagements as now, nor so afraid of its requirements 
 and responsibilities. I never felt any thing like so much of the mean- 
 ing of those words, — 4 Who is sufficient for these things?’ And I 
 never felt so much the difficulties of success, because perhaps I never 
 knew so much of human nature, or of my own heart. But alas ! what 
 are all my desires ? God is not pleased to make a way for their ac- 
 complishment, he chooses not to accept my services. Were it not for 
 the impression that God is treating me as He has a right to do, and 
 as is most certainly the best, I could have wept for hours over the 
 list of our Stations. In spite however of the many hostilities against 
 it, there dwells upon my mind an impression, that, if I do not wilfully 
 swerve from his guidance, He will eventually liberate and employ me. 
 Yes, my Anne shall see me spend my life in labouring to assuage the 
 griefs of the widow and the fatherless, by pouring into their bosoms 
 the consolations of the Gospel, and endeavouring to improve the 
 miseries of human life by making them the medium of 4 redemption 
 through the blood of Jesus,’ and conformity to the holy will of God. 
 Meantime all this, opposed as it is by circumstances which at present 
 4 hedge up my way with thorns,’ is sustained by the thought that 
 perhaps the Holy Spirit will be pleased to purify me ; and during 
 these coming months or years of sacrifice, self-denial, and distress, 
 that he will fit me for that which is now the only object that attracts 
 my wishes, usefulness to human souls in connection with the fulfil- 
 ment of the Divine will. Dear Mr. Dixon ! money has no attractions 
 for me; and but for the hinderance which they present to my purpose, 
 I should feel comparatively little at my debts, because I could in time 
 pay every farthing : but oh ! I fear the possibility of the resurrection 
 of my idol in the person of another, for am I not human ? and upon 
 earth? What shall defend me ? Is there not grace sufficient for me 
 to do the will of God? But oh! impatience and self-will are as 
 natural to me as it is to breathe. I will pray incessantly for patience 
 and love to God, for these would be my springs of unfailing consola- 
 tion ; would that I could reach them, and dwell upon the margin and 
 drink of the streams as long as life should last! 
 
 During the Conference, the Lord has several times put honour upon 
 me by calling me to the large Chapels ; this however has come, like 
 all earthly honours, attended by some thorns. There has rested upon 
 my mind a fear that the people neither profit by me, nor are patient 
 of hearing me. What impressions really dwell upon their minds I 
 know not ; and respecting their opinions I cannot enquire, for I fear 
 the imputation of a fatal motive ; but to know that my services are 
 not unacceptable would relieve me, and to be acquainted with my faults 
 
REMARKS ON FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 169 
 
 would rejoice me. You will however believe me when I say, that 
 I am labouring to improve. I do deem it a very great mercy indeed, 
 that the Scriptures and the truly pious puritanical divines are sweeter 
 and sweeter to my taste. My class, led by my dear and honoured 
 friend Mr. James Wood, is rendered a great blessing to me. Oh, that 
 God may cause my profiting to be real, and, if it may be for His 
 glory, to appear to others ! 
 
 Do make me, by your prayers and your counsel, to feel increasingly 
 that 
 
 I am, 
 
 Your very affectionate Friend and Brother, 
 
 William Barber. 
 
 To Mr. and Mrs . Wheeler. 
 
 Bristol , Aug. 30, 1823. 
 
 Dear William and Lydia, 
 
 The affectionate spirit of your letter produced a powerful 
 effect on ray mind ; it was, I assure you, a very gratifying, though 
 not a novel, sensation. I sometimes dwell with you in very sweet 
 anticipation of the time, when friendship shall with us meet its full 
 consummation and its highest glory. How much do we sometimes mis- 
 take by forgetting, that this cannot be in the present world ! for this 
 is indeed a world very unfriendly to the growth of any heavenly plant, 
 however much it might enrich and bless mankind, if it would but 
 flourish. Friendship is a blossom of great loveliness and of most de- 
 licious fragrance ; but then it is a beautiful exotic, most delicate in 
 its texture, and ready, in these distant and frozen regions, to droop 
 by any chilling breath that passes sweepingly along. But what is it 
 that makes this world so injurious to heavenly things ? Can it be 
 anything but the state of its inhabitants? And must I not attri- 
 bute to the condition of my own mind, the wretched incapacity that 
 I feel to derive the advantages which the Creator has designed ? What 
 a disclosure to himself would every man obtain, if he should seri- 
 ously put such questions as these to his own heart ! I speak from 
 experiment when I say, that it would be both very humbling and 
 very advantageous. All the circumstances unfriendly to the preserva- 
 tion of the endearments of choice society are not assignable, however, 
 to the state of the mind. Intercourse can be but partial, and some- 
 thing that operates against perpetuity may occupy the intervals. 
 Knowledge can be but imperfect; for God always knows more of 
 friends, even of husband and wife, the most ingenuous and confiding, 
 than they do of each other ; and that which is not known may be the 
 leaven of alienation. The best men are liable to impressions very 
 variformed, as many bad perhaps as good, and neither of the one 
 
170 
 
 REMARKS ON FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 nor of the other are they always watchful, and those which reach 
 them while unguarded may be hostile to many others which are to 
 succeed. 
 
 But I will not pursue this subject, or I may produce the impression, 
 that there is but little hope of retaining a valued friendship. I am 
 however satisfied, that the best security on earth is an unreserved 
 surrender of the heart, together with all its attachments and enjoy- 
 ments, to our heavenly Father. He can make even their 6 enemies 
 to be at peace ’ with those who thus yield to Him their all. But re- 
 flection has also suggested to my mind a subordinate security, which 
 I esteem invaluable, either with or without the former, for even Chris- 
 tians (oh, what a pity that it should be so !) do not always surrender 
 their all to their God and Saviour. Too much is commonly expected 
 from friendship ; like an avaricious trader we load the vessel till it 
 sinks. Oh ! were it universally the maxim to expect but little from 
 one’s friend and every thing from one’s self, — to blame my friend but 
 little where I blame myself in minute and full detail, — then would 
 those incidents which unavoidably occur, especially in times of change 
 and consequent uncertainty, pass over our heads, like a dark and 
 heavy summer-shower, only to leave a greenness and recovered strength 
 behind. Impetuosity, impatience, and selfishness are inveterately 
 hostile to the indulgence of the refined emotions of friendship; but 
 who is free from all degrees of the influence of such passions ? I am 
 sure it is not myself as yet, much as it is my solicitude to be so ; and 
 I am equally sure that none is free from the greatest danger of them. 
 Most freely however do I give my sympathies and my prayers, which 
 are all that I have, to sustain you, and to render you increasingly 
 holy, and happy, and useful. 
 
 Thus I meet your fervent wishes for your full conformity to the will 
 of God. Here I sympathise with you indeed. I acutely feel the 
 need of it, and without it am afraid of settling down to the world 
 in any way. Oh ! what shall I do, that my desires on this subject 
 may grow deeper, and never weaken for a moment, nor ever for an 
 instant, aye, for that instant in which temptation operates, admit the 
 intrusion of a thought that would make any thing in the world supe- 
 rior to the will of God? But, unless ( I am crucified unto the world, 
 and the world unto me,’ is there any security that this will be the 
 case? Oh! for the spirit of sacrifice, as it implies power to make 
 an instant devotion of all that I have to Him, who claims the whole, 
 and who cannot accept of less. 
 
 Second I am, my dear William, but only second to you, in esti- 
 mation of your Lydia. It was she who first made me love my dear 
 departed Anne, and through her instrumentality I shall receive what- 
 ever happiness I shall derive from a purified re-association with that 
 endeared, disembodied spirit. I am quite glad that your feelings to- 
 
DISCOURAGEMENTS IN Bl/SINESS. 
 
 171 
 
 ward her are what you describe. You cannot love her too much, 
 while you are careful to give your whole self to God, and to obedi- 
 ence to His holy will. This is my old sentiment ; my painful afflictions 
 have made no alteration in my views. My idolatry consisted not in 
 my loving my Anne too much , but in loving God too little ; and in 
 being willing to be satisfied, because I was so happy, in a state of 
 grace inferior to what I had enjoyed, and what I know I ought 
 again to possess. Had I been more holy and more zealous, I should 
 have loved my Anne more ardently, as well as more holily ; but I am 
 justly chastised and punished as an example of a grovelling love of 
 God. 4 Altogether true and righteous are thy judgments,’ O Lord 
 God Almighty! Now let Thy purpose and my heart-felt wish be se- 
 cured, that upon those who know my case, it may act with an irre- 
 sistible influence ! 
 
 You refer me to eternity and its glory. Oh ! the mercy is infinite 
 that permits me to hope that all these things are working together to 
 bring me thither ; but to me the certainty of this is not so great, at 
 least it does not produce in me a confidence so strong, as others seem 
 to feel. Oh, 4 guide me by Thy counsel, and afterward receive me 
 to glory !’ 
 
 In reply to your almost complaint, that I have said nothing about 
 the state of my business or its prospects, let me remind you of the 
 sentiment of Dr. Johnson, when he was told that it had been no- 
 ticed that he seldom mentioned any thing relative to his own family. 
 He replied in effect : — 4 There is but little interest in tales of beggary.’ 
 I have nothing to say, but that I am very poor, and likely for some 
 time so to continue. I have at present only six pupils ; and though I 
 suppose a few more will come at the quarter’s end, and a few more in 
 addition after the Christmas vacation, it must be so long before I have 
 any serious income, that I am reduced to the necessity of fervently 
 praying, that my faith and patience may keepme quiet from murmuring 
 and superior to despondency. However, I feel some satisfaction in the 
 thought, that 1 have now nothing to involve me in deep anxiety of an 
 earthly nature ; and that if you, or any of my friends, value me at all, 
 it is for the very bare self of 
 
 Your truly affectionate Brother, 
 
 William Barber. 
 
 P. S. — My preaching here has been in part a pleasure to me, but 
 in part also the source of great anxiety and painful after-thought. 
 However, I have 4 a witness in heaven and a record on high,’ that 
 in simplicity I have wished and endeavoured to do good ; and I 
 hope there is evidence that I have laboured not altogether in vain. 
 I am quite satisfied that I did right in coming to Bristol. 
 
172 
 
 THE MAXIMS AND SPIRIT OF THE WORLD, 
 
 To a Friend. 
 
 Bristol , Sept. 1823. 
 
 My dear Brother, 
 
 I do not like to write half-sheet letters to you, but this will 
 occupy all the time I can give to-day. My mind felt your applica- 
 tion of the interesting turn of thought of the great Hall, nor shall I 
 fail, I hope, to derive from it still further advantage. I am, however, 
 more disposed to obtain assistance from contemplating the positive and 
 direct assurances of God our Saviour, which cannot otherwise than 
 apply to my case, than I am from observing the conduct of those who 
 have been in circumstances not corresponding with my own. For 
 though no serious contemplation of scriptural examples can be main- 
 tained without benefit from their forcible appeal, yet some from pe- 
 culiar appropriateness cannot be so easily put by as others. The ex- 
 ample of Abraham, I think strongly applicable to you, my dear 
 friend. He was a lively and illustrious instance of the possibility, 
 under a dispensation far inferior to ours, of maintaining almost entire 
 the integrity of friendship with God, and that at the very time when 
 continued outward prosperity laid him open to the strongest tempta- 
 tions to friendship with the spirit, and the maxims, and the people 
 of the world. Your candid fidelity with yourself, and your sincere 
 affection for me, encourage me to be undisguised and even direct in 
 my observations. I think you, my dear Brother, far more in danger 
 from friendship with the spirit and the maxims , than the people of 
 the world. The latter you cannot enjoy, but the former may be- 
 guile and ensnare you. Indeed I have thought, and still continue to 
 do so, that you have suffered from this evil. Have you not assigned 
 the proof and the consequence of it, in that which it must he so much 
 more painful to feel than to acknowledge, I mean the increased in- 
 fluence of little things upon your feelings! You have, my Brother, 
 gone too far in religion to be happy in conforming to the spirit of a 
 perishing world, so full of vanity as it is. Oh! do remember that I 
 speak of the spirit and maxims, — the inward disposition and feel- 
 ing, — not referring to external developments of the evil ; though there 
 will always be some of these, if there be of the other. It is import- 
 ant to know the cause of all this. Let me suggest to you the en- 
 quiry. Deep experimental religion is always the result of self-denial; 
 and the self-denial, which produces deep piety, has always a reference 
 to the sacrifice of any thing and every thing that would naturally in- 
 dulge and gratify the carnal mind, that is, the disposition to be gra- 
 tified with what is merely worldly. But now, my dear Brother, bear 
 with me. Do you for the sake of Christ deny yourself in those things, 
 which it would gratify you to retain or indulge? Have you not been 
 
FREQUENTLY THE CAUSE OF SPIRITUAL DECLENSION. 173 
 
 led into a course of too-regular and constant self-pleasing ? If my 
 fears in this respect are well-grounded, is it wonderful that you are not 
 happy ? I am confident, that it is in the dispensations of the grace 
 of God to make such a state of self-indulgence produce unhappiness, 
 and in the dispensations of His anger to make it produce insensibility 
 and hardness of heart. You have the happier proof of God’s re- 
 gard for you, though at present it renders you painfully unhappy. 
 Your sensibility and uneasiness will perhaps, nay, I hope, will surely 
 save you from severer suffering ; for I am more and more persuaded, 
 that the real Christian who sinks down into the habit of self-indul- 
 gence, will induce his Lord to deny him that security of earthly 
 blessings and enjoyments, of which the mere worldling may continue 
 possessed. This I have proved by experience. Your uneasiness, 
 my dear Brother, and your stirring desires after entire holiness, are 
 very sweet indications of the truly kind and gracious purposes of 
 your watchful and decided Redeemer. May you by his grace hasten 
 to that full resignation to His holy will, which will open the way to 
 the exercise of simple faith to put in its claim for the gracious 
 blessings which he has promised, and which will be followed by a 
 state of higher spiritual prosperity than you have ever yet known ! 
 May God Almighty breathe upon you His Holy Spirit, and render 
 you a great blessing to others ! 
 
 I wish I were by you, to ask your wife if she is blest in her class, 
 and how they go on. I long for their salvation, and hope and 
 pray that they do not cause her hands to hang down. Our Circuit 
 is, through mercy, in a good state. But I — I have need of patience. 
 
 I am 
 
 Your sincerely loving Brother, 
 
 William Barber. 
 
 To his elder Brother. 
 
 Bristol , Sept . 15, 1823. 
 
 My very dear Aquila, 
 
 It is now time that I should reply to yours of the 1st ult. 
 aud you have given me in it so much to do, that I had need occupy 
 the whole sheet in order to give to your numerous questions replies as 
 brief as the enquiries themselves. * * * * 
 
 You seem surprised, that I should find so much difficulty in con- 
 quering my feelings. * * * Alas ! when I saw my Anne last it 
 
 was in the agonies of death. I gave up out of my bosom her, that 
 was dearer to me than life, to the dreadful revelry of corruption and 
 worms, — to a dissolution from which I shall never meet her, till this 
 hand moulders as hers is mouldering now, and this spirit, which so 
 dearly loves her, returns to God who gave it. I will not multiply re- 
 
174 
 
 ON THE TRIALS OF THE MINISTRY. 
 
 marks here, much less will I attempt to justify what I know is wrong, 
 I mean the immoderate influence of passion resulting from the weak- 
 ness of faith. Bitter as my circumstances are, there is nothing to 
 vindicate that almost ungoverned rebellion of feeling which has nearly 
 distracted me. However 4 God, who is rich in mercy, hath loved 
 me with great love,’ and he is graciously permitting me to recover 
 slowly from the dreadful shock which I have sustained. My heart 
 indeed still bleeds, and when it will cease I know not ; but it bows 
 to Him with increasing humility and resignation. And in the sweet 
 assurance of forgiveness that I possess, there is mingled the persua- 
 sion that the period will come when, with my Anne in glory everlast- 
 ing^ I 4 shall praise Him most for the severe.’ I do most fervently 
 pray that you may never be brought to the test ; but if you should be, 
 it would be to me a matter of most anxious desire, that you should tri- 
 umph in the greatest degree more than I have done. But would you 
 avoid trial? Beware of the influence of affection; for, if it dispose 
 you to rest satisfied in any state of grace inferior to entire holiness, it 
 will surely breed trials for you of some kind or other, and perhaps of 
 that which I have suffered. I believe that this was my great sin ; for, 
 though during marriage I had this state of salvation before me as an 
 object of sincere hope, I did not feel at all sufficiently alarmed at 
 perceiving, that my desires after it were not growing stronger, but 
 on the contrary that I was becoming more satisfied to be with- 
 out it. 
 
 I go now at once to that portion of your letter, in which your trials 
 are enumerated. Upon those cases, which you have mentioned, I wish 
 to make a few observations, submitting them, as of course I should, 
 in all openness and honesty. 
 
 The first is the attack upon your character. I trust, that I duly 
 appreciate the value of character, especially when connected with a 
 profession of religion, and above all with the Ministry. And yet, 
 my dear Brother, I am inclined, from my knowledge of your disposi- 
 tion, to suspect that you are rather too solicitous about your charac- 
 ter. Now if this be the case, one or the other of two bad conse- 
 quences will be frequently occurring ; either the Almighty will per- 
 mit your undue anxiety for spotless reputation to be punished by un- 
 warrantable attacks upon it ; or else, you will often suffer needless 
 and useless agitation from distorted and disproportioned views of 
 whatever seems to look malignantly upon it. It is possible, my dear 
 Brother, to be idolatrously fond of reputation, and to be too busy in 
 guarding it; and though to err thus, when the result of genuine sin- 
 cerity in the fear of the Lord, is infinitely preferable to careless le- 
 vity, yet error must be followed by suffering. Besides, 4 the disciple 
 is not above his Master, nor the servant above his Lord.’ Jesus, not- 
 
ON THE TRIALS OF THE MINISTRY. 
 
 175 
 
 withstanding his carefulness to avoid all occasions for just slander, was 
 reviled and blasphemed, and ‘ yet He opened not His mouth.’ 
 
 Now that consciousness of infinite inferiority, which I know you to 
 possess, and the feeling of just appropriation of St. James’s caution- 
 ary remark, — ‘In many things we offend all,’ if not by direct sinning, 
 yet in a much deeper sense than it could be said of our Lord, will 
 preserve you from expecting to pass altogether untainted by the blast- 
 ing breath of calumny. This will give me another remark. So far 
 as your staying another year where you are, is calculated to disappoint 
 the evil-tendencies of the injurious report upon the faith and prac- 
 tice of the young converts, it is indeed to be regarded as a mercy; 
 at the same time never let it be forgotten, or too lightly esteemed, 
 that 6 the foundation of God standeth sure, having this seal, The 
 Lord knoweth them that are his,’ and ‘ how to deliver them out of 
 temptation.’ 
 
 % * * * * * 
 
 • 
 
 The faithful and fearless declaration of the truth cannot fail on 
 some occasions to give offence, because it will be felt as truth, and not 
 be heard as mere sound. That one, who has youth and comparative 
 inexperience to expose him to the animosity and the resentments na- 
 tural to the carnal mind, should have to endure the taunts or the per- 
 secutions of the unregenerate in consequence of uncompromising fide- 
 lity, is less surprising than that he is not continually assailed till he is 
 borne down. But while it would be at the peril of one’s soul to veil 
 the bright and searching eye of truth, in order to avoid rousing the 
 blush and the anger of sin, unquestionably it is desirable for one’s 
 own comfort, and right for the sake of that wisdom that winneth souls, 
 and a duty imposed upon us by God, to avoid urging sinners to ex- 
 asperation, and therefore to exscind every thing excessive, or wild, 
 or careless, in one’s expression and manner. 
 
 I have run on half out of breath ; and turning back to read over 
 what I have written, I perceive that I have unintentionally pricked 
 a vein of thought that has coloured my paper a little too highly for 
 an epistle to an elder Brother. However I now humbly strike to 
 you and shorten sail, lest, contrary to my purpose, I should seem 
 in any degree assuming or monitorial. I sincerely rejoice with you, 
 my dear A., and congratulate you, that your mind is so satisfied with 
 our heavenly Father’s administrations to you, and that your resolves 
 are so fixed 6 not to know any thing among men, save Jesus Christ, 
 and Him crucified.’ To your circumstances, though not to your feel- 
 ings in reference to those circumstances, the following language is 
 very applicable, — 
 
 * O for tunatos nimiuml sua si bona nor ini.' 
 
176 
 
 discouragements in business. 
 
 But your questions call me now to my own situation. — I am per- 
 suaded that I did right in leaving Gloucester. Though my heart is very 
 far from being at rest, my present comparative desolateness, and the 
 dreary future which stretches out before me farther than I can see, 
 in threatening opposition to the only hope and prayer that I have for 
 this world, except the payment of my debts, render submission my 
 only course, and resignation my only peace. I painfully regret that 
 such happy dispositions should be in any degree difficult to attain, 
 but I am earnestly desiring and praying, that their growth may be 
 now and henceforth as rapid and settled, as it has been deliberate 
 and uncertain. I am deeply humbled and ashamed of my unbelief 
 and hardness of heart. Oh, help me by c striving together with me 
 in your prayers to God for me,’ 6 that the bones which he has broken 
 may rejoice’ in Him so as to feel, that 6 the joy of the Lord is my 
 strength !’ As to earthly joy my heart is too much embittered to 
 feel either hope or desire. 
 
 The school-room, which has been built for me, I hold on a seven 
 years’ fease at 2 01. per annum , board and lodging at home with the 
 family. I have of course no boarding-school, and consequently no 
 house-keeper, for I have no house. Dear to me as a home of my own 
 used to be, I could not now enjoy it. I have a few more pupils than 
 at Gloucester, but they are so few, that I am almost without success. 
 Indeed at present instead of paying off my debts, I am not gaining 
 enough to pay the expenses of my one solitary living. The quarter- 
 day is now very near, and I am not aware of a single addition to the 
 number of my pupils. Well : Shakspeare may instruct me, as he has 
 not unfrequently done before. One of his sufferers in Macbeth is 
 exhorted by his friend to 
 
 4 Endure it like a man.' 
 
 The answer is, 
 
 4 1 shall do so ; 
 
 But I must also feel it as a man. 
 
 I cannot but remember, such things were 
 As were most precious to me.’ 
 
 However I would learn from an infinitely better book, how to effectu- 
 ally change the word man into Christian , and pray to become a ge- 
 nuine example of one. 
 
 Your recommendation to make a fresh covenant with my God was 
 most welcome to me. I have done so again and again, and am con- 
 tinually renewing it, praying for more faith, and love, and patience. 
 To be entirely delivered from pride, self-will, murmuring, and ingra- 
 titude, with all the other evils of my heart ; and to be permitted to 
 be useful in the church of God, — are now the highest objects of my 
 
ON THE EMPLOYMENTS OE THE BLESSED. 
 
 177 
 
 efforts, or my wishes. And oh ! will the day never come, when I shall 
 be freed from the heavy evils which have come upon me, not by ex- 
 travagance or unjustifiable speculation, but by the blast of the breath 
 of the Almighty ? Alas ! I have often thought, and often shall I 
 think again, of the words of our dear Mother , — 6 William, it will take 
 a good deal to subdue you, but you must be subdued 1’ I pray God 
 that what is past may suffice for this, and that what is to come may be 
 wholly for His own glory, 6 that henceforth I might not live unto my- 
 self, but^unto" Him which died for me, and rose again.’ * * * * 
 
 But I have jaded you as much as myself. I will therefore make a 
 full stop. 
 
 Your very affectionate Brother 
 
 William. 
 
 To Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler. 
 
 Bristol , Oct. 24, 1823. 
 
 Very dear William and Lydia, 
 
 Although I cannot help thinking it an unmerited act of 
 good nature in me to write, now that you are so deeply in my debt 
 already ; I cannot avoid snatching the opportunity to say a few words. 
 You see however, that there is no merit on my part any more than on 
 yours, for I do it merely because I cannot help myself. The only merit 
 which I can at present plead, is the attempting to write, when I have 
 nothing to say. 
 
 I heard from Bess in her last note, which I received a long time 
 ago, that Lydia had been seriously unwell. I have been, with consi- 
 derable anxiety, continually hoping to hear respecting her ; but as I 
 have not been in ifts respect gratified, the wisest way of course seemed 
 to believe that she is quite recovered. 
 
 Human life is so precarious a thing, that death and eternity are cer- 
 tainly never at a great distance, and they should as certainly never ap- 
 pear to be so. But we get consciously nearer to the last great moment- 
 ous aera of present being, when sickness reduces the strength, and 
 gives the spirit an opportunity of looking sensibly through the frail mor- 
 tality, that so mysteriously keeps it from the spiritual world immediately 
 and ever surrounding it. To you, my dear Sister, this cannot be ter- 
 rific, though it may be painful ; for though a person or persons, rather 
 than things , may have so fastened upon your heart as to render grief 
 unavoidable, so long as grief at separation is possible; yet you can be 
 no stranger in heaven. There are there , those who would hail your 
 entrance into the kingdom of our Lord, with a delight, which they 
 surely long to express. I have two Mothers there, your own and 
 mine, and, more than all finite beings besides, my own unminishably 
 precious Anne, who wait With eager expectations for every fresh arri- 
 val from this lower world, to see if any among them ■should be one of 
 
 N 
 
178 
 
 ON THE EMPLOYMENTS OF THE BLESSED. 
 
 us. I do however feel the need of praying, that the time may appear 
 to us no longer than it does to them ; for their full satisfaction in the 
 will of God, effectually prevents their suffering disappointment or te- 
 dium. But it would be no mere sketch of fancy to imagine them say- 
 ing to each other , — 6 Oh ! what is there to detain them in that world 
 which we have left? Did they but know what this is, which we now 
 see, and hear, and feel, how impatient would they be to come ! Ah ! 
 ’tis cruel for my William to regret me, or even to lament his own un- 
 happiness, great though it is to him, because my case is so infinitely 
 better than it could have been made by his strongest affection. And 
 does William Wheeler seek to detain his Lydia ? Does Lydia herself 
 look at her William with the strong anxiety natural to hopeless mor- 
 tals ? Oh ! frail, unconcious, wandering mortality ! Hasten you that are 
 so dear to us, — hasten to rejoin us ! 66 Set not your affections upon 
 
 things on the earth, but upon things above, where Christ sitteth on the 
 right hand of God !” ’ 
 
 My dear Brother and Sister, there may be imagination in the above 
 description, but its grand fault is, that it is neither high, nor holy, 
 nor spiritual enough. For my own part, I am very pungently sensible 
 of a great inferiority to even my own convictions ; and I cannot for a 
 moment entertain one solitary hope, without a direct reference to the 
 forgiveness of free grace, through the infinitely 6 precious blood of 
 Jesus Christ, as of a lamb without blemish and without spot.’ This 
 spotlessness of Christ is to me exceedingly precious, and I think it 
 must be so to every consciously poor, polluted sinner. Let me com- 
 mend it to you, as a subject demanding much attention, and to be highly 
 prized. If I were ready to die, I should hardly value my life as much 
 as I ought. Nothing should detain me here, had I permission to go. 
 To live is no easy thing for me; and I suffer so much from the loss 
 of what I most valued, and from the abiding, hated presence of my 
 depravity of heart, that happiness is quite out of the question. After 
 more than fourteen months of grievous affliction, my tears have nearly 
 drained their fountain, and the keenest edge of grief isTblunted ; but 
 my sense of loss, — of absence, — of privation, — of sorrow, — is daily 
 renewed, only to embitter every day. Ah me ! if I did not know 
 that God can perform the greatest wonders of grace in the shortest pe- 
 riod of time, I should believe myself far, far indeed, from the heaven, 
 in which my dearest Anne, and my beloved Mother, are living in im- 
 perishable purity and glory. I commend to your fervent prayers 
 
 Your affectionate, 
 
 But not happy Brother, 
 
 William Barber. 
 
ON THE FATAL ERRORS OF UNITARI ANISM. 
 
 179 
 
 To the Rev. James Dixon. 
 
 Bristol , Dec. 9, 1823. 
 
 My very dear Friend, 
 
 * *• * * You have read the letter from Nightingale, 
 
 in the November Magazine : my Father sent it to a respectable trades- 
 man, who is an acquaintance of ours, and intimate at ’s, the 
 
 Socinian Minister, and thus the Magazine got into the hands of the 
 latter gentleman. The letter seems to have excited some uneasiness 
 in his mind, and especially in connection with a circumstance attend- 
 ing the recent death of the Rev. Samuel Lowell, an elderly, excellent, 
 and useful independent Minister of this city. The day before Mr. L. 
 expired, he conversed with a young Minister, his friend, on the com- 
 parative capability of Socinianism to support in death, at the same time 
 warning him to beware of the whole system. The consequence was, 
 that the Socinian Minister felt it advisable to deliver a lecture on the 
 consolations of Unitarianism in a dying hour, and this I went to hear 
 on Lord’s day evening. 
 
 The Meeting-house is a large and elegant building, having spacious 
 galleries on three sides. It was quite crowded. To me all was novel : 
 it was so strange to be, where it was not believed that He could be, 
 who promised to 4 be wheresoever two or three meet together in Ilis 
 name it was so strange to approach the Father, except through the 
 Son, — to pray to God, without relying wholly on the merits of Christ, — 
 to feel no consciousness of deep pollution of nature, which magnifies 
 every act of mercy into an act of free, unmerited, sovereign grace, — 
 and to be utterly insensible to the need or to the influence of Him, who 
 4 maketh intercession for the saints according to the will of God.’ I 
 could not resist the impression, that either I have ten thousand thou- 
 sand times been guilty of complete and absolute idolatry ; or else, that 
 these men before me, whose sentiments are in unison with the Minis- 
 ter’s, are yielding to the influence of a delusion, which brings them up 
 to the very throne of God in the highest spirit and practice of reject- 
 ing the only means of acceptable approach. 
 
 If there could have been any previous doubt upon my mind, it was 
 soon dissipated by the discourse which the Preacher delivered. After 
 having prayed without any definite and intelligible reference to 4 the 
 great God and Saviour of us, Jesus Christ,’ and with absolute inde- 
 pendence of that Sacred Spirit through whom alone the Divine testi- 
 mony is given, that we are the children of God; he delivered a lec- 
 ture, of which the motto was, — 4 Thanks be unto God which giveth 
 
 n 2 
 
180 
 
 ON THE FATAL ERRORS OF UNITARI ANISM. 
 
 us the victory, through our Lord Jesus Christ.’ His real text, how- 
 ever, was Nightingale’s letter, of which he read a part in commenc- 
 ing. It was his object to shew, 1. The grounds of a Unitarian’s 
 hope ; 2. The folly and absurdity of what, without once offering either 
 definition, explanation, or distinction, he called 6 triumphant deaths;’ 
 3. The sufficiency of the hopes, which he proposed; and 4. To ad- 
 duce examples of peaceful and rational death, from among Unitarian 
 Christians. 
 
 The grounds which he assigned were, — the assurance of a resurrec- 
 tion, — the certainty that 6 the world shall be judged by the man Christ 
 Jesus,’ and that the judgment shall be 6 in righteousness,’ — the essential 
 mercy of God, — and the testimony of a good conscience, that life has 
 been spent in a c sober, righteous, and godly’ manner. The argument 
 on triumphant deaths, was altogether unfair; and that on the sufficiency 
 of the hopes above named, failed most completely into utter unmean- 
 ingness and powerless application to all, who had not first learned to 
 dilute the Scripture representation of the evil of sin, the depravity 
 of human nature, the need of the new birth, the justice and holiness 
 of God, the necessity of an atonement, &c. &c. And yet in gross 
 inconsistency, the Preacher’s system left no hope to any, who have not 
 spent a good life, and are awakened to a sense of danger in death. But, 
 amidst all the awful impressions which sunk down into my mind, oh! 
 how grievous was it to think of the influence, which such flattering 
 and covered representations must have upon those, to whom the doc- 
 trine of the new birth is unwelcome, and that of obligation to the me- 
 rits of another for salvation intolerable ! The whole discourse was 
 founded on those assumptions in favour of human nature, of which you 
 and I have several times conversed, and of wi^ich I am more than 
 ever persuaded of the fallacy and the mischief. But I must desist. 
 
 Your very affectionate Friend 
 
 William Barber. 
 
 The following was written to the Unitarian friend, to whom the 
 above-mentioned Magazine was sent. 
 
 Bristol, Dec. 11, 1823. 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 Your note of the 6th inst. induced my Father and myself 
 
 to go on Sabbath evening to hear the Rev. — . Perhaps it will 
 
 gratify you to know the impressions produced on my mind. I believe 
 that I heard with openness of heart, and I am sure that I write 
 
ON THE FATAL ERRORS OF UNITARI ANISM. 181 
 
 with serious concern and charity; for you and I have immense inte- 
 rests at stake, in the question. I am not about to agitate that ques- 
 tion. I have no appetite for controversy ; but I thought it due in 
 reply to your note, to state some of my impressions, merely as matters 
 of fact. I confess however, that I was decided to this, chiefly by a 
 wish to remark what I consider mistakes, in stating some of the facts 
 to which the Preacher referred. I allude to those respecting Dr. Hy- 
 land, and the Rev. Mr. Haslam. 
 
 I was present at the service, which drew from Dr. Ryland the ex- 
 pression mistaken and therefore misrepresented by the Preacher. As 
 soon as he uttered the sentence, I recollected the occasion and per- 
 ceived the discrepancy ; and upon referring to my notes, I found that 
 my recollection was correct, and the Preacher’s not so. The sentence 
 was exactly to this purpose, — 4 I heard a respected Christian say on a 
 very public occasion,— 44 1 could as soon believe that a child could hold 
 the earth in his hand, as that a man could judge the world!” Now I 
 believe the Apostle, and therefore 1 believe that God will judge the 
 world by that man whom He hath appointed.’ How the Preacher 
 could imagine, that Dr. R. had used so silly au expression, so contrary 
 to the orthodox faith, and so opposed to his own well known faith 
 upon the subject, is certainly extraordinary ; for those who profess 
 Unitarianism, neither do nor can more fully believe, that the world 
 will be judged by the man Christ Jesus, than their opponents ; only 
 the latter believe more than the former, respecting the Man Christ Je- 
 sus. Rut to the real expression of Dr. R. His text was Matt, xxviii. 18 
 — 20 ; and in remarking on the Saviour’s extensive claim, he referred to 
 the well-known maxim : — 4 Quidquid recipitur , recipitur admodum reci- 
 jnentiSy 4 Whatever is received, is received according to the capacity of 
 the receiver.’ 4 Hence,’ said he, 4 I could not credit the tale of a 
 German enthusiast, that he took the sun in his right hand, and the 
 moon in his left, &c. Nor could 1 believe it possible for a child to 
 have all the waters of the ocean poured into his right hand. And 
 verily, I could as little understand the language here used, if I did 
 not believe Him, who made this claim, to be the incarnate Son of 
 God; because 44 all power in heaven and earth” is as much as can be 
 claimed by God Himself.’ I think, my dear Sir, that you will see 
 this, which I regard as a conclusive argument, to be very different 
 from that jejune and silly ebullition, which allowed the Preacher a 
 very easy triumph. 
 
 As to the sentiments ascribed to the Rev. Mr. Haslam, they may 
 be in the main correct, and I take for granted that they are so. But 
 they were pushed, as I must think, farther than could be correct. 
 I refer particularly to that assertion ascribed to him, that 4 he had ne- 
 ver known one experienced Christian die a triumphant death.’ I 
 
182 
 
 ON TIIE FATAL ERRORS OF UNITARI ANISM. 
 
 consider this as so nearly equivalent to an impeachment of Mr. II. ’s 
 veracity, that I, for one, must regard it as the result of mistake in 
 the Preacher’s informant. It is to be regretted, that the learned gen- 
 tleman afforded no opportunity for judging whether he meant the same 
 thing by ‘ triumphant deaths,’ as by that phrase we mean ; a demur 
 pre-eminently needful in conversing theologiqally with Unitarian pro- 
 fessors, who largely adopt the phraseology of others without meaning 
 the same things. But there is a difference, easily distinguished, be- 
 tween what Christians generally mean by genuine triumph in death, 
 and the unreasonable and unintelligible hilarity of infatuation. And 
 genuine ‘ triumphant deaths,’ as they are called, are so comparatively 
 frequent, and that among professors of every age and standing in the 
 church, that there seems the strongest presumption, that Mr. II. must 
 have seen what every one else, at all similarly circumstanced, has 
 seen ; because there appears almost no possibility for it to have been 
 otherwise. Beside, the late aged and truly venerable Mr. Pawson 
 was the particular friend of Mr. H. : but he died before Mr. II., 
 and that in a manner most remarkably triumphant and joyful. 
 
 Permit me however here to remark, that triumph visibly expressed, 
 is very, very far from being regarded as at all essentially necessary, by 
 any body of Christians with whom I am acquainted; and I am quite 
 ready to admit, that the feelings of comparatively young Christians 
 are in general far more sensibly marked by exultation or rapture, than 
 those of more advanced or experienced believers. At the same time 
 it is indeed to go a length far beyond what is justifiable, to denounce 
 joy in death as an exhibition or mere excitement, as absurd or fool- 
 ish ; or to regard the absence of it as the proof of superior wisdom, 
 and the only befitting condition for dissolution. 
 
 The reference to the Rev. Mr. Lowell’s dying admonition had in it, 
 more perhaps than any other part of the sermon, the character of po- 
 pular appeal ; but I should think you, Sir, will admit that it was 
 only sophistry in argument. Headed, as the Preacher’s questions were, 
 by the serious ad hominem query, — ‘ Could it do any harm to believe 
 so and so?’ — had Mr. L. himself been present to reply to these ques- 
 tions seriatim , he might have said in answer to each of them : — ‘No, 
 assuredly not ; these are common principles, and I believe them as 
 well as yourself ; but it can do harm to disbelieve whatever is more 
 than these, or to believe only these.’ And what would have become 
 of the Preacher’s appeal to an impartial, though undecided, multi- 
 tude, if Mr. L., or any one from the other side of the house, had 
 demanded from the same assembly; — ‘Can it do no harm to reject 
 God in the person of His Son? — But this I believe your Unitari- 
 anism does. Can it do no harm to approach the tribunal of a just 
 and holy, though merciful, God, with pleas of justification, and on 
 
ON THE FATAL ERRORS OF UNITARIANISM. 
 
 183 
 
 terms of acceptance, which He has plainly rejected and forbidden, 
 and which therefore are inadmissible, and must be inexpressibly in- 
 sulting to Him? — But this I believe your Unitarianism does.’ I 
 say, had Mr. L. thus answered the Preacher’s appeal, and thus pro- 
 tested his solemn convictions, any unprejudiced assembly would at 
 once have felt the warning to be most appropriate, and to the last de- 
 gree important. 
 
 As to the more general impressions made by the sermon, the 
 Preacher certainly adduced evidence enough of what I, for one, ne- 
 ver doubted ; I mean, that professed Unitarians may die in the full 
 belief of their doctrines, and be really cheered by them in afflic- 
 tion. But this goes for little with me ; for so may professors of 
 Deism, Hume is an instance ; and so may enthusiastic advocates of 
 the most pernicious errors, as well as the votaries of the grossest su- 
 perstitions. Yet there is collateral evidence derivable from scenes of 
 death ; and, in this respect, a difference belonging to those whom I 
 must still consider, and that exclusively, in the scriptural sense as 
 real Christians. There is a grand, essential difference distinguishing 
 them in their death-scenes, and altogether in their favour. It is the 
 moral estimate which they form of sin and the unworthiness of man, — 
 an estimate which dwells upon their minds with strong and extensive 
 conviction, and that in the very moment when they possess a cheer- 
 ing and satisfactory confidence of acceptance with God through the 
 sacrifice of Christ, and of being renewed by the sanctification of the 
 Spirit. 
 
 The Preacher failed most completely, as I think, in that which it 
 was the chief object of my visit to ascertain; and not only was the 
 failure complete, but to me it was most affecting. I mean, when he 
 attempted to point out grounds sufficient for a good hope in death. 
 I would not, for a thousand worlds, trust my soul’s eternal safety to 
 the grounds which he described. But while he repeatedly affirmed 
 the sufficient ground of hope, to be 6 the testimony of a good con- 
 science ’ to having ( lived soberly, righteously, and godly,’ in con- 
 nection with the mercy of God to human frailties ; I deeply felt two 
 questions, as they suggested themselves to my mind ; and they appear 
 to me to place the system itself in a fatal dilemma, — 1. What hope is 
 there thus for guilty consciences ? and 2. What does this system make 
 of sin? I believe that the inevitable fair reply must, either doom 
 men to destruction in far greater numbers than any opposing system, 
 or that sin must be most unjustifiably represented as less criminal than 
 it is described in the whole Scriptures. Besides, if to the former 
 question the answer should be, repentance ; then salvation is at once 
 put upon another ground than a good conscience, and the essential 
 difference between virtue and vice is ultimately and for ever lost. 
 
184 
 
 ON THE FATAL ERRORS OI UNITARIANISM. 
 
 But let the doctrine of salvation by c faith, which worketh by love, 
 and purifieth the heart,’ be substituted for this system, and all these 
 difficulties disappear at once. 
 
 I have multiplied my remarks more than I intended, and will 
 therefore now quit the subject, adding only, that it forcibly struck me 
 there was in the sermon far too much of the spirit of monopoly of 
 candour and charity, as if Unitarianism were the only region in which 
 such pure spirits can exist. But, my dear Sir, it is no breach of cha- 
 rity to believe the denunciations of God. See Mark xvi. 16.; John 
 iii. 16, 18, 36.; Rom. iii. 26. x.4, &c. &c. And, though I form no 
 judgment of individuals deceased, having believed such denuncia- 
 tions, it is equally foreign from uncharitableness, to deplore the con- 
 dition of those who are involving themselves in awful obnoxiousness 
 to them. 
 
 Upon the whole I may say, that, while attentively listening to the 
 Preacher, one strong impression fastened upon my mind. I will ex- 
 press it, because my heart feels its force, and laments the application 
 that it must have. Little — little indeed can be gained, either to per- 
 sonal safety, or to the glorifying of God, by any rule of interpreta- 
 tion, of which it is uniformly the effect to lower and dilute the mean- 
 ing of every passage of the Scriptures to which it is applied. 
 
 Believe me, dear Sir, with the very best feelings towards you, the 
 learned Preacher, and the whole body of Unitarians, nay, the world 
 at large, 
 
 Your most sincere well-wisher, 
 
 William Barber. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Again involved in deep and complicated Afflictions — Triumphant Death of a Sister 
 — Remarkable Opening of Divine Providence — Family Afflictions — Memorable 
 Instances of disinterested Generosity — Further Brightenings of his providential 
 Path — Resignation under anew Disappointment — Glory of the Missionary Work 
 — Scenes in Monmouthshire — Advice to a young Sister — Critique on a poetical 
 passage — Memory’s Twilight Bowers, a Poem. 
 
 The next letter will present to the Reader another affecting illustra- 
 tion, in the case of my afflicted Brother, of the words of the Psalmist : 
 — 4 Deep calleth unto deep at the noise of thy water-spouts : all thy 
 waves and thy billows are gone over me !’ as well as an interesting 
 view of the power of Divine Grace 4 to save to the uttermost’ and to 
 the end. 
 
 To his elder Brother. 
 
 Bristol , Jan. 24, 1824. 
 
 My very dear Aquila, 
 
 You will be pained to hear that sickness, very severe 
 sickness, has again invaded our family peace, and left us in tears. I 
 am again the subject of heavy affliction and consequent disappoint- 
 ment. But of this by and by. I sometimes think that were I to give 
 a personification of disease, it should be the figure of a fury in chains, 
 driving as fast as possible the human race before her, a stream of pes- 
 tilence her breath, forked lightning flashing from her eyes, and one 
 hand pointing downward, the other up. I would then invest her 
 forehead with a scroll bearing this inscription, — 4 The dust shall re- 
 turn to the earth as it was ; and the spirit shall return to God who 
 gave it!’ 
 
 However you are impatient to get at what I mean. Well ; you are 
 a man and a Christian Minister, as well as a Brother. You can there- 
 fore bear, though in pain, to hear that God by means of disease has 
 reduced the number of your sisters. Sophia has gone in complete and 
 glorious triumph to join her invaluable Mbther, and my most pre- 
 
186 
 
 LAST SICKNESS OF A PIOUS SISTER. 
 
 cious and endeared Wife ! Happy — happy spirits, for ever beyond the 
 reach of the trials and sorrows which we must still experience ! — And, 
 what is of infinitely greater value, for ever beyond the reach of those 
 temptations and liabilities to sin, which may many times yet, and per- 
 haps will, induce us to mourn in heaviness, or even to bathe in tears 
 countenances reddened with conscious unfaithfulness ! O how gladly 
 would I, if I might, at once escape away and mingle in their so- 
 ciety ! And though I should be divested of every particle of what 
 is only earthly, and therefore my feelings would indeed greatly differ 
 from my present best imaginations, yet so satisfied am I that the dif- 
 ference would be only in excessive superiority, that no possible calcu- 
 lation can exhibit how much I should be the gainer. — But a truce. — 
 I must wait, and let it be without reluctance ; for ‘ without holiness 
 no man shall see the Lord,’ and, in the sense of this passage, I am con- 
 sciously not holy. 
 
 But to revert to our deceased Sister, now dearer than ever: — a 
 fortnight only from yesterday she was taken ill, and yesterday at mid- 
 day she expired. Her disease was a fever of the typhoid kind, though 
 milder in its symptoms than the malignant typhous. Her’s was a 
 case of the typhus mitior , and of this much milder than the doctor 
 ever knew, where the results have been so decided. It has given 
 scarcely any alarm as to infection or contagion. The symptoms, so 
 far as I could learn, were however very much like those of my pre- 
 cious Anne, and the progress w r as marked in the same manner, differ- 
 ing only as to mildness and severity. From this circumstance there 
 has arisen to me one benefit, which I value and esteem as a mercy ; 
 it is, that I am enabled to trace much kindness on the part of God 
 in my own case, for I plainly perceive, that terrible beyond descrip- 
 tion as were the symptoms and the progress of the disease in my dear- 
 est Anne, they were restrained and modified very greatly, and that, as 
 I believe, for the sake of sparing me as much as possible. By this of 
 course I mean, as far as was consistent with the wise and holy proxi- 
 mate and ulterior purposes of the God of providence. 
 
 But you will wish to hear some account of the state of mind, in 
 which our dear girl advanced to her last trial. I do assert, and would 
 abide by the proofs, in the face of all the rant of philosophical Infi- 
 delity and Socinianism, that it was a state of rational, and scriptural, 
 and completely triumphant victory over sin, and death, and hell, 
 through the atonement of the Redeemer and the power of the Holy 
 Ghost. Sophia had, for a considerable time, been most perceptibly 
 advancing in holiness and religious enjoyment. This has often been 
 the subject of conversation in the family, and her example in these 
 respects has been powerfully stimulant, especially to her junior sis- 
 ters. The blessing of perfect love had been much the subject of 
 her thoughts, and pursuits, and prayers. With this, as she said a 
 
LAST SICKNESS OF A PIOUS SISTER. 
 
 187 
 
 few days since, you were acquainted. It appears, that she once ob- 
 tained this glorious privilege, but she lost it again, though without 
 drawing upon herself all those unhappy consequences of doubt, and 
 unbelief, and darkness, which are not unfrequently the re-acted re- 
 sults of such a baneful yielding to temptation. Her own views had 
 been long directed towards Death, and in conversation with her sis- 
 ters she had frequently stated, that a strong impression rested on her 
 mind that she should not live to be sixteen years of age. This would 
 not have been the case till April next. 
 
 Yesterday fortnight she retired to bed with some symptoms of in- 
 disposition, which excited no great alarm ; but during the day or 
 two following the means used failed of reducing them. She con- 
 tinued during the whole of the week, apparently without gaining or 
 losing ground, her pulse maintaining 120 to 124 without deviation, 
 though but for the measures adopted they must have greatly aug- 
 mented. During the whole period till Monday last, when aggrava- 
 tion become decided by her countenance, though the pulse were 
 strangely firm, she expressed a full confidence in the love of Jesus, 
 and a delightful consciousness of her acceptance in Him ; though at 
 the same time she made it evident, that she wanted Him to do some- 
 thing more for her. The last time that I saw her was this day week : 
 I then talked very little to her, and though her answers were con- 
 cise, they were highly satisfactory. She knew her interest in the 
 blood of the Saviour, and with perfect assurance she confided all her 
 being and futurity to Him. On the following day I was taken ill, 
 and confined to my room. But on the Monday, when the aggrava- 
 tion of her symptoms was decisive, and the whole family regarded 
 her with fearful apprehension, her soul rose into such a glorious su- 
 periority over every thing as perfectly astonished us all. She received 
 a most clear and blessed manifestation of the power of the Holy 
 Spirit, rejoicing with a loud voice, and boldly, though at the same 
 time with ineffable modesty and propriety, informing every one that 
 God had restored to her the blessing of perfect love ; and now all was 
 clear in the fullest sense. She addressed herself to each of the fa- 
 mily separately, and to several friends, of whom many went that day 
 into her room to see and hear for themselves. Among the rest was 
 
 Mr. , to whom, without fear or undue freedom, she addressed 
 
 in the greatest simplicity and affection some earnest and affecting ad- 
 monitions. She told him that she loved him greatly, but yet that she 
 thought him not in the right way to heaven, &c. 
 
 On the same day a consultation was held between Dr. Kentish, 
 Dr. Tuke, and Mr. Huxtable. They resorted to the usual means, 
 and produced, through mere exhaustion, for a day or two some abate- 
 ment of symptoms. But the painful result became every succeeding 
 day more evident than the former, and it was plain that yesterday 
 
188 
 
 HER TRIUMPHANT DEATH. 
 
 morning they had given up all hope ; indeed, at length they said so. 
 For several days she was almost wholly delirious, and sometimes very 
 restless, involuntarily screaming as is usual in such cases. But every 
 lucid interval rendered it evident beyond a doubt, that during the 
 whole of the time that reason occupied its seat, perfect peace pre- 
 served her mind, and perfect love filled her soul. Often too, amidst 
 the incoherent ramblings of delirium, the name of Jesus uttered in 
 her ear by her Sisters recalled her into her wonted calmness, and the 
 sweetest avowals of her love to the Redeemer. There is indeed, 
 Aquila, a music in that Name 4 that charms our fears, and bids our 
 sorrows cease!’ — At length, without having been properly intelligent 
 for many hours, she suddenly ceased to breathe; but nothing could 
 exceed the stillness in which she had for some minutes remained, or 
 the ease with which the separation of body and spirit was effected.* 
 
 We all unite in thanking God most cordially, for his wonderful 
 mercy towards our dear Girl. To Him be the glory of this salvation 
 for ever ascribed ! 4 Worthy is the Lamb that was slain to receive 
 
 power, and riches, and wisdom, and strength, and honour, and glory, 
 and blessing!’ Among other things, we feel rejoiced and thankful 
 that our beloved Mother was not with us. 
 
 But now as to myself; for all the rest of the family are well, except 
 Elizabeth, who though poorly is, we hope, not seriously ill. I have 
 hinted that I am again the subject of bodily affliction, though from 
 this long letter you will properly conclude that I am considerably 
 better. On Sunday morning last I rose early, and at seven o’clock 
 met the class of Mr. James Wood, who has been seriously ill. I 
 returned home to breakfast, and immediately afterwards started with 
 a friend, to visit the schools at Cockroad and Warmley. In Castle 
 Street, having left home only a few minutes, I began to cough a little, 
 and then suddenly found my mouth fill with a warm liquid, which 
 upon examination proved to be blood. I instautly returned home, 
 and having informed the family of the Qircumstance, Mr. Huxtable 
 was immediately sent for. When he came he soon ascertained, that 
 it was occasioned by the rupture of a vessel in the lungs. The loss 
 of blood was not great, I should think not more than a couple of 
 ounces; but the circumstance indicated such a tenderness of the lungs, 
 as convinced me at once that my hopes and plans were again to be 
 frustrated. I was instantly ordered to my room, to see no friends, to 
 
 * For a brief account of the life and happy death of this young Christian, see 
 the Youth’s Instructor for Nov. and Dec. 1824. On the Sunday week following 
 her decease, a sermon was preached to improve the solemn dispensation, by the 
 Rev. James Wood in King Street Chapel to a crowded congregation, and an ex- 
 tended narrative written by my Brother was read on the occasion. Blessed in- 
 deed were the results of that service ; many young persons, of whom nine or ten 
 cases have come to our knowledge, became from that time decided for God. — A. B. 
 
 I 
 
See how the little toiling ant 
 Improves the harvest hours 
 While summer lasts, in all her 
 cells 
 
 Her winter food she stores. 
 
 In youthful days seek grace di- 
 vine 
 
 For youth of life’s the prime, 
 Best is this season for our work 
 And this th’ accepted time. 
 
AGAIN INVOLVED IN COMPLICATED AFFLICTION. 
 
 189 
 
 utter no words except yes or wo, to use no exertion even of motion 
 except indispensable, to give up all thought of continuing my school 
 at least for the present, to relinquish for months to come all teaching 
 and preaching, and for a considerable, though indefinite, length of 
 time to strictly observe a vegetable or bread diet. 
 
 So you see how it is, my dear A., here I am in the Lord’s hands, 
 and what he will do with me or for me I cannot possibly tell, though 
 it is most likely that death is yet at a considerable distance, and I am 
 again of course involved, helpless, and dependent. The Lord has hither- 
 to mercifully kept me from feeling painfully anxious about it. Though 
 my disappointment is certainly very great, I have rested in the plain 
 discovery that it is the Lord’s doing. You are perhaps not aware, 
 that a plan was formed, and had attained considerable forwardness, 
 for my coming out into the Ministry next Conference. It would 
 probably have been accomplished. I had explained the whole to 
 the Preachers in this Circuit, and had them warmly interested in my 
 behalf. I looked forward with some degree of confidence and de- 
 light to this, as the consummation of all my hopes, and had begun to 
 think that God had been necessarily qualifying me, and that now he 
 was making my way plain before me. He himself has contradicted 
 this, and he has the right to do it. I had prayed, that he would do 
 all this, if he did not approve of the plan. — He has done it. — I am 
 silent. I murmur not, though it would be affectation of a disgusting 
 kind indeed to affirm, that I do not feel it. Thus again to be dis- 
 appointed, — to have the only remaining hopes of life suddenly dashed 
 to the ground, — to feel myself involved more deeply in difficulties 
 than ever, — to be again thrown in helpless dependence upon my 
 already tried and afflicted Father, — and to perceive, that not only his 
 hopes are cut off, but that I must still be a continued expense to him ; 
 — oh, these are indeed bitter, bitter mixtures in my cup ! 
 
 However, the bleeding was entirely stopped by the fourth day, and 
 the Doctor says that he has no doubt at all of a perfect recovery from 
 this attack. But then my hope of entering the Ministry is gone; for 
 the Conference, already sufficiently afraid of me from my known past 
 tenderness, would now positively not receive me. Whether any hope 
 of being employed in the Missionary department may remain I know 
 not, but I will mention Mr. Huxtable’s views. He is, you know, a 
 Dissenter. He knows nothing about my past views or purposes, but 
 merely that I am a Preacher in the Methodist connexion. He sat 
 down by me a morning or two ago, and addressed me in the following 
 manner , — 6 It is evident from this new attack, as well as from your 
 last illness, that you have a considerable tenderness of the lungs. It 
 is equally evident to me, that the variations of this climate are un- 
 friendly to that state of the chest. And I have myself no doubt that 
 you will, if you remain in England, ultimately go into a consumption. 
 
190 
 
 REMARKABLE OPENING OF DIVINE PROVIDENCE. 
 
 A few years at most will bring this to pass. Were I in your place, 
 I would go into a warm climate ; nothing should keep me in England. 
 Were you to take my advice, there is every human probability, that 
 your life would be prolonged many years. I have been thinking, that 
 if you could be sent out as a Missionary, it would be the very thing 
 for you ; and I have not a single doubt, that you would live long, and 
 be useful, or at least, that in all likelihood you would not die of this 
 disease/ This, Aquila, is the only glimmering of prospect before me. 
 I wonder if this be the purpose of Providence. If it should be, how 
 passing strange, connected with all that occurred in my earlier life ! 
 You know, I have long felt, that if no hinderances arose in Providence, 
 it would be my duty to offer myself in this way. But I must and 
 will leave all to Him, who ordereth the steps of those united to him. 
 I can see enough — quite enough in the condition of my heart, and in 
 the unfaithfulness of my attachment to the Redeemer, to justify all 
 that has taken place. — I think I could die without reluctance ; but 
 oh ! to live — to live laid by, useless and perhaps dependent, is more 
 than I can bear to think of ; but it is mine to 4 cast all my care upon 
 God, for He careth for me.’ Hitherto I have felt more power to do 
 this, with patient acquiescence, than in any former great trial. May 
 God, who hears 6 the sighing of the prisoner,’ hear me, and if possible 
 make some way to usefulness clear for me ! At any rate may He 
 bless me with full submission, and even joy in tribulation ! I again 
 entreat an increased interest in your prayers. 
 
 Should any thing afresh occur respecting me, you will of course 
 hear of it ; but whatever happens will, I hope, find me trusting fully 
 in the merits of Jesus Christ, the righteous. Were the work of the 
 Holy Spirit as complete in me, as I believe the work of the Redeemer 
 is for me, I should not have one anxious fear. But I cannot say with 
 the Saviour: — 6 1 have glorified thee on earth!’ or even with the 
 Apostle: — 6 1 have fought a good fight!’ However, the only wish 
 for life that expands my heart in prayer for it, is that I may glorify 
 God more, by a holier union with him, and a nearer resemblance to 
 him. Should I be restored and permitted to labour in the Missionary 
 field, most gladly would I have my life prolonged for years, but if it 
 should be prolonged for business and its attendants at home, even 
 though successful, I cannot once desire it. I should try to submit to 
 the will of Him, who might choose to be glorified by such a submis- 
 sion, but life is most inexpressibly empty and uninviting to me for any 
 thing, but for the cause of Christ and the salvation of souls. But c not 
 
 my will ’ Be assured of the love of the seven mourners left 
 
 here, together with that of our dear honoured Father. Grace be with 
 you. 
 
 Your affectionate Brother 
 
 William. 
 
MYSTERIES OF PROVIDENCE. 
 
 191 
 
 By the foregoing letter it will be seen, how mysterious are the ways 
 of God. It certainly must appear most extraordinary, that such a 
 concatenation of perplexing circumstences should have been so or- 
 dered, as to exact from my poor afflicted Brother the fulfilment of his 
 early vows to the Missionary Work. In direct accordance with those 
 gloomy forebodings of William’s mind, which are mentioned in page 
 20th, the Lord had visited him with trials of the most complicated 
 and peculiar description. He had sorely chastised his body, by a 
 painful and lingering malady, — He had prevented him from enjoying 
 those abundant spiritual consolations, for which he had so ardently 
 panted, — He had taken from him 6 the desire of his eyes, the wife 
 of his youth,’ — He had blasted every attempt, that had been made to 
 establish himself in secular life, — He had permitted him to be in- 
 volved in pecuniary responsibilities, which were to last no longer than 
 to shew him, that his business was exclusively with the church of 
 Christ, — He had deprived him of an affectionate, pious, and beloved 
 Mother, who was perhaps the principal obstacle to his going abroad, 
 —and now He had sent an unconscious Messenger to announce to 
 him, that he was a dead man unless he fled from his country, and at 
 the same time to inform him, that he might be safely and usefully em- 
 ployed in the foreign vineyard of his Lord and Master. How true is the 
 language of the prophet Isaiah : 4 Thus saith God the Lord, — I will 
 make waste mountains and hills, and dry up all the herbs, and I will 
 make the rivers islands, and I will dry up the pools ; and I will 
 bring the blind by a way that they knew not, I will lead them in 
 paths that they have not known ; I will make darkness light before 
 them, and crooked things straight : these things will I do unto them, 
 and not forsake them.’ 
 
 To Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler. 
 
 Bristol , Feb. 2, 1824. 
 
 Very dear William and Lydia, 
 
 Our house still continues, in the providence of God, an 
 hospital of affliction, and a house of mourning. Poor little Elizabeth 
 is now very ill, apparently like her deceased sister. Her symptoms 
 are very formidable, though she appears thus far to-day a little bet- 
 ter ; but she must be much better indeed before she will be out of 
 danger. These afflictions come very heavily upon my dear and ho- 
 noured Father; you know he is a man of keen sensibility, and I am 
 very apprehensive of what must be the effect upon his health of such 
 repeated strokes. May God Almighty, if it may please his boundless 
 wisdom and goodness, avert the threatened evil ! What a mercy it 
 is that dispensations, which remove our friends from us, are not always 
 proofs of displeasure toward either them or ourselves ! The kindness 
 
192 
 
 KINDNESS IN AFFLICTION. 
 
 to the individuals themselves, is often of too a high a character to admit 
 a competition from the feelings of relatives. Truly God is wiser than 
 we, and the more distant, as well as the nearer, results are fully known 
 to Him. Let us then hang upon those words, once so deeply felt, and 
 now so richly realised by my dearest Anne, — 
 
 * Good when He gives, supremely good. 
 
 Nor less when He denies; 
 
 E’en crosses from His sovereign hand 
 Are blessings in disguise.’ 
 
 Thus indeed they are intended to prove ; and thus they will prove, 
 if there be a submissive yielding, a patient waiting, and a careful cor- 
 recting on our own part. Amidsf, the greatest trials of life there is 
 scarcely a greater blessing, than to be preserved from that hardness 
 of heart, and that desperation of feeling, which, while they heighten 
 our sufferings to a degree past bearing, effectually prevent the due 
 efficacy of our afflictions. Oh, there is kindness — there is wisdom — 
 there is necessity in our 4 manifold temptations ! 9 But, amidst that 
 large portion of them assigned to us, may we have grace to lose no- 
 thing essentially valuable, indeed, as you, William, have well expressed 
 it, 4 nothing but dross in the furnace.’ The truth is, that while holi- 
 ness is essentially needful for heaven , there is in most Christians so 
 much imperfection, that affliction is as indispensably necessary for 
 the soul as medicine for a diseased body. And so much real good is 
 gained by affliction, even by those who are advanced in holiness, that 
 there is often the greatest kindness in communicating it for this very 
 end. * 
 
 But, as to myself, you are anxious, no doubt, to know how matters 
 are. I still continue improving, and wholly without conscious disease. 
 I have no return of bleeding, nor any decay of strength, though I 
 abstain of course from all exertion and almost all conversation. What 
 Divine Providence intends to do with me I cannot tell, only at pre- 
 sent there is not one symptom which contradicts the expectation of 
 complete recovery. The surgeon attending, though cautious, is san- 
 guine of my restoration. The mode of treatment which he has adopted, 
 and to which I gladly submit, must soon ascertain whether or not 
 there is in me any dee-ply seated disease ; for he is administering the 
 most powerful astringents which he can compose, so that the result 
 must either develop the disease, or banish the expectoration which has 
 continued so very long. 
 
 Amidst all this I continue much sustained by Divine mercy. I 
 trust I look without dismay, though not without great awe, at dis- 
 solution. As a natural event, I think, I am by the goodness of God 
 above it ; but as involving eternity, nothing could support me but the 
 infinite grace of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. I have 
 
FAMILY AFFLICTIONS. 
 
 193 
 
 only two motives for wishing to live ; the one is moral, — that I may- 
 be more useful than I have been ; and the other temporal, — that my 
 debts, which sit like a cold dead weight at my heart, and which my 
 present illness must increase, may be discharged. All other motives 
 completely merge in 6 the glory which shall hereafter be revealed.’ 
 6 To depart, and to be with Christ, is far better.’ But oh ! should a long, 
 
 lingering, consumptive illness be decreed me Well; I leave 
 
 this bitter, terrible, dreary prospect to Him who has a right to c sig- 
 nify to His disciples by what death they shall glorify God.’ 
 
 You see, my very dear Brother and Sister, that I have said nothing 
 of your trials. It is not, however, because I do not feel them, but 
 because I do. I will increasingly bear you to a throne of grace ; 
 but oh ! remember my Anne’s letter to you, — you know the one to 
 which I refer. The affectionate love of our family is doubled by 
 that of 
 
 Your most affectionate 
 
 Brother and Friend, 
 
 William Barber. 
 
 To the Same. 
 
 Bristol , Feb. 1 9, 1 824. 
 
 Very dear William and Lydia, 
 
 Tiie sensations with which I read your last, and the heart- 
 felt emotions which have ever since dwelt within me, are delightful in- 
 deed. The account of Lydia’s growing piety, communion with God, 
 and victory over fear and sin, and of William’s deepening impressions 
 of the importance and value of the one great thing needful, and of 
 his happiness in ministering to others the true riches of salvation, was 
 abundantly animating to my mind. But I will confess, that the great 
 kindness manifested by God in suffering the late threatening storm to 
 blow with all its frowns of terror over your heads, without inflicting 
 the mischief apprehended, I felt through all my soul. It was indeed 
 a very great mercy. 1 did and do, with very fervent gratitude, thank 
 Him, who hath ordered events in such a manner. But oh ! see how 
 easily He could bereave and deprive you. I rejoice that this cir- 
 cumstance makes so forcible an impression on your hearts. Give way 
 to it, and oh! do, I beseech you, continue to feel that religion is 
 the chief business. What lessons are the whole of our family con- 
 nections taught ! Myself bereaved, reduced, poor, quite dependent, 
 and alarmed by one of the most frightful symptoms of mortality ; — 
 my beloved Anne, whom about this very moment two years ago, (for 
 this is the second anniversary of my marriage,) I led from the sacred 
 altar, has been for a whole year and a half rent asunder in herself 
 body from spirit, and rived away from me to return no more ; — her 
 
 o 
 
194 
 
 EVILS OF INWARD CORRUPTION. 
 
 family afflicted and scattered ; — my honoured and beloved Mother 
 taken from the world, her body having nearly perished by degrees 
 even in life; — Sophia joined to her dear relatives in Heaven, but 
 disjoined from us; — Elizabeth on the eve of departure, for I regard 
 her recovery, without a miracle, impossible; — the health and even life 
 of Lydia threatened But stay, what a picture am I sketch- 
 
 ing ! — No — let us look at it, for it is our duty to do so, whenever 
 there is a danger of forgetting our real business amidst our earthly 
 associations. Oh, my God ! how criminal to be unmoved, — to be 
 4 earthly, or sensual, or devilish,’ — to retain any evil, either of thought, 
 or word, or work, — to be not 4 hungering and thirsting after righte- 
 ousness !’ — Oh, William and Lydia, how bitterly do I feel, and how 
 deeply do I deplore, the in-being of sin! Alas! I find that sin can- 
 not be within me without sometimes producing guilt, and covering me 
 with shame and even fear before God, and militating strongly and 
 with, at least occasional, success against the spirit of prayer, the en- 
 joyment of communion with God, and 4 the fruits of righteousness 
 which are by Jesus Christ to the praise and glory of God.’ I am 
 often exceedingly apprehensive, that, should I be brought down to the 
 gates of death, the guilt and shame of my unfaithful religious life 
 would overwhelm me with confusion and dismay. Nor is it seldom 
 that 1 am tempted to believe, that God has determined to make me a 
 terrible example for ever, as a sinner, who has persevered in unfaithful- 
 ness against the greatest gifts of love and mercy. This, I know, 
 is a falsehood of the enemy of my salvation ; it is a lie, and he is 
 4 the father of lies.’ But how terrible it is to have this fear impressed 
 and urged upon the mind ; especially while there is so much remaining 
 in me, and has been so much more, which, but for the infinite merits of 
 the Redeemer, would for ever justify the assertion as true and righteous! 
 I pray God to breathe most largely upon me, and you, and the whole 
 church, his Holy Spirit, to put a speedy end to those evils of our na- 
 ture, which mar the peace and impair the holiness of so many. 
 
 Your observation, that Lydia reads considerably more than she did, 
 struck me forcibly. I have uniformly found, that reading and retire- 
 ment are essentially needful to spiritual prosperity, and many of my 
 most painful sensations have arisen from the conscious neglect of the 
 Bible. The words of Christ are 4 spirit and life,’ but the carnal 
 mind does not like them. There was the greatest necessity and im- 
 portance connected with the Apostle’s exhortation: — 4 Let the word 
 of Christ dwell in you richly in all wisdom .’ I hope this habit will 
 be confirmed and increased. 
 
 I turn with reluctance to other subjects less pleasing. I am not 
 to-day quite so well as I have been, though there is nothing formi- 
 dable apparent. But 4 the Lord reigneth,’ and 4 in the shadow 
 of his wings will I make my refuge, until these calamities be over- 
 
enumeration of difficulties. 
 
 195 
 
 past.’ Elizabeth has an attack superinduced upon her lungs, and 
 this in such a state of exhaustion, that I now regard her recovery as 
 quite hopeless. The distress, anxiety, and fatigue occasioned, are so 
 great, and the probability of her perfect restoration so small against 
 the probability of very protracted debility and ultimate consumption, 
 that it would be a mercy if her sufferings might terminate for heaven. 
 Her body is little more than a skeleton. Pray earnestly and often 
 for us. May all grace be with you and abound ! 
 
 Your most affectionate 
 
 Friend and Brother, 
 
 William Barber. 
 
 To his elder Brother . 
 
 Bristol , Feb. 25, 1824. 
 
 My dear Aquila, 
 
 I have been recovering ever since I wrote last. But the 
 same cause, which has induced so much of my suffering, continues to 
 prolong it ; I mean, pecuniary losses, together with subsequent diffi- 
 culties. When I have stated them a little more largely, you will be 
 better able to form an estimate of them. 
 
 Consequent to that event, which eighteen months ago left me, among 
 the unhappy, the last though not the least afflicted, after paying all my 
 expenses, and incurring the loss of full two-thirds upon all my furniture, 
 and being disappointed of receiving the property due to me, I found 
 myself involved in a debt of upwards of J?300. This, together with 
 other circumstances, of which I suppose the knowledge will die with 
 me, conspired to produce in a me a state of spirits and health, which 
 found a partial relief from two sources only, viz. the forbearance and 
 mercy of God, connected with the faithful affection of my relatives; 
 and the resolution, which I formed with decision, and acted upon with as 
 much vigour as circumstances would admit, to fix myself perseveringly 
 and with the utmost self-denial to business, until .1 should be able to 
 discharge all my obligations,-— a difficulty which I then regarded as com- 
 paratively trifling. Twelve months ago last Christmas, I commenced 
 at Gloucester, and for the following six months, gained barely suffi- 
 cient from my pupils to pay for keeping my soul and body toge- 
 ther, and to defray the other little expenses to which I was unavoid- 
 ably exposed. It was not very difficult to prevail on me to leave Glou- 
 cester, for I began to feel my debts a more serious evil than I had 
 imagined, and my hopes of the Ministry rendered fainter than ever, 
 instead of more and more vigorous. I went over to Bristol seeking 
 for some place on which 6 to rest the sole of my foot,’ without suc- 
 cess. I could find nothing that appeared suitable for a day-school, 
 
 o 2 
 
196 
 
 ENUMERATION OF DIFFICULTIES. 
 
 which it was my purpose to establish in order to avoid the necessity 
 of a second marriage, — a step against which I was fully decided, 
 both from inclination, and from my views to the Ministry. At length' 
 meeting Mr. Foster, the architect, he offered to build me a school- 
 room in St. James’s Square, on a lease of seven years, at £20 per 
 annum. This offer I accepted on the following account, in connection 
 with the common reasons of business ; the situation beingeligible, and 
 my family connections being good, it appeared most likely that I 
 should raise a concern there worth disposing of to advantage; and 
 thus by double means facilitate my emancipation to the Ministry. 
 The school-room was not finished till after the proper time ; but four 
 pupils the first quarter, and two additional ones the second, enabled 
 me to pay my rent and the other expenses of fitting up; as to my six 
 months’ board at my Father’s, that was to go, either to add to the 
 years of dependent infancy, or to be paid for out of the gains of fu- 
 ture success. By further losses, and addition of interest to my old 
 debt, I found last Christmas, upon a close examination of my accounts, 
 that my responsibilities stretched a good deal further towards ^400, 
 than ^300 ; and hence, my unenviable feelings could find but little re- 
 lief from that inward preying, which, if it had gnawed away all my 
 pride, without impairing my health, and crushing my spirits, would 
 perhaps have done me only good. Had I too been able, amidst all, to 
 realise those refreshing enjoyments of spiritual communion and unwav- 
 ering confidence, which seem the appropriate provision in trials of the 
 genuine 6 sons and daughters of the Lord Almighty,’ my state would 
 not have been so injurious to body and soul, as, amidst all the spiritual 
 help that I have experienced, it certainly has been. Kept indeed I 
 was from despondency, at least from any thing like desperation; nor 
 has my heart been closed to the consciousness, nor my tongue to the 
 acknowledgment, of the great mercy and forbearance of God, and the 
 ultimate and eternal benefit intended. 
 
 When I went to Tewkesbury to see that very dear and excellent 
 friend, the Rev. James Dixon, whom God has given me as one of my 
 bright lights in the gloom of that vale of humiliation in which I am 
 still travelling, he entered fully into my circumstances, with the true 
 sympathy of Christian friendship. I told him all ; and he judged, 
 that as three relatives were my chief creditors, and especially as they 
 had already often expressed great willingness to help me in any prac- 
 ticable way, they would readily agree to suspend their demands till 
 some future period, when God might put it into my power to re- 
 pay the whole. He likewise thought, that as my convictions, as 
 well as my wishes, on the subject of the Ministry, continued so strong, 
 I could not be justified in concealing from my relatives the possible 
 means of my emancipation. Upon deliberation, I complied with this 
 
MEMORABLE INSTANCES OF DISINTERESTED GENEROSITY. 197 
 
 advice. To — * I owed £ 200 ’, to * about £ 40 ; 
 
 and at least an equal sum to my Father. But I instantly felt, that as 
 the first of the three is engaged, it would have been wholly unjusti- 
 fiable in me, to involve her in any consent, which I suspected her 
 affection would immediately give, and which might occasion uneasi- 
 ness between herself and her suitor ; I therefore determined to un- 
 fold the whole to him before I said a word to her upon the subject, 
 and at the same time to do it in such a way as to render it no difficulty 
 for him to express his reluctance, if he should feel any, however small, 
 
 to the proposed arrangement. Upon this plan I acted ; and *, 
 
 that is his name, instantly, and with a generosity that will do him ever- 
 lasting honour, assured me, that he had long been so convinced of the 
 propriety of my directing my attention to the Ministry, and so de- 
 sirous of my welfare, that so far from feeling any disposition to thwart 
 the plan, he would most gladly do any thing to aid it ; that, though at 
 present it was of course not his place to dictate, as soon as he should 
 have any right to do so, he would, if I would accept it, give me a 
 receipt for the whole amount of the debt, unless it should be cancelled 
 before ; and that I need not render myself uneasy about it, as he was 
 so situated, as not to be in any absolute need of the money. I wish, 
 for my part, that, whether I die or live, my family may never think of 
 my sorrows in this long midnight of bereavement and distress, without 
 feeling their sympathy fine off into expanded admiration of this gene- 
 rous Friend, and of those who with him have acted with such noble 
 superiority of mind, as does them the highest honour, and me the 
 greatest benefit. The second of my creditors cordially coincid- 
 ed with the proposal, with many expressions of earnest kindness 
 and the warmest wishes to facilitate my reaching the object of my 
 hopes. And my Father most heartily united, only regretting, that 
 it was not in his power to free me at once from all my incum- 
 brances. I stated all this to the Preachers in the Circuit, and their 
 consent was likewise obtained with two provisions ; the former was, 
 that the consent in writing should be procured of the creditors, with 
 their assurance, that no legal responsibility for the money should be 
 in existence ; and the latter, that the remainder of the debt should 
 be by some means liquidated. To the first, there was no difficulty : I 
 wrote to and , from each of whom I received in re- 
 
 ply a full discharge of the debt, with only this exception, that if at any 
 future period, God should bless me with more than enough, I would 
 
 * Nothing but the apprehension of doing violence to the feelings of these warm- 
 hearted individuals has induced me to withhold their names from the public eye ; 
 but, as I know that were I to remove the secresy in which they wish to be shrouded, 
 I should severely wound their delicacy, I cannot prevail upon myself to be guilty 
 of such ingratitude. Their * witness, however, is in heaven, and their record on 
 high.’ — A. B. 
 
198 
 
 CONTINUED UNCERTAINTY OF HIS VIEWS. 
 
 then remunerate them; but this exception was only in consequence of 
 my positive refusal to accept the discharge on any other condition. 
 Thus matters stood, and I looked with confidence to the event of my 
 again appearing at the District Meeting, and going out next Confer- 
 ence, as two friends had promised to assist me in liquidating the re- 
 maining sum. 
 
 In the very midst of this, however, the rupture of the blood vessel 
 has occurred, and all my pleasant scheming has vanished at once. 
 More than this, as the rupture took place only three days after re- 
 opening my school, I have lost, not only the time, but my pupils, the 
 hope of making any thing of the concern, the income and character 
 of the place, and the half-year’s rent. The fact is, that I am so utterly 
 amazed and confounded, so distressed and overwhelmed, at being 
 thus baffled and thrown again in complete dependence upon my Father, 
 having so much worse than lost every thing, and having indeed in- 
 volved him in security for nearly ^100 of the remainder of the debt 
 mentioned above, that I have sometimes scarcely known how to bear 
 the load which has been thus weighed out to. me ! There seems now 
 to remain only one alternative, as there appears but one interpretation, 
 and that is, that if all this be not really intended to forbid me the 
 Ministry and to summon me to the bar of God, it is designed to claim 
 from me a fulfilment of that early dedication of myself to the Mis- 
 sionary work to which my former wishes and views led me. Father’s 
 opposition to this is removed, and Mr. Huxtable, who urges my going 
 abroad, predicts the prolonging of my life in a tropical climate, as he 
 is fully persuaded that, though I shall probably quite recover from this 
 attack, there is yet such a weakness in my lungs, as must be danger- 
 ous in so changeable a climate as ours. 
 
 Thus matters rest at present. Never was I in a state of greater un- 
 certainty as to the future than now. Never did such confusion ap- 
 pear to me to rest upon the indications of Providence. My school- 
 room, which, a few months since, appeared such a providential bonus , 
 is now one of my greatest burdens ; and I should think the ability to 
 gain my own subsistence, as a favour of a signal character. I have by 
 no means lost my confidence in the superintendence of God, nor in the 
 wisdom and goodness of His plans and purposes ; nor have I ever suf- 
 fered a severe trial with greater assistance, or greater benefit, than that 
 which I now endure. I have only to add, that I still need all the for- 
 bearance of God, all the intercession of Christ, all the benefit of your 
 prayers, and the fervent supplications of all the members of the Church 
 who know me. 
 
 I am, in mingled sorrow and relief, 
 
 Your afflicted Brother 
 
 William. 
 
BENEFITS OF THE ATONEMENT. 
 
 199 
 
 To the Same. 
 
 Gloucester , April 21, 1824. 
 
 My dear Aquila, 
 
 * * * During more than three weeks I have been from 
 
 home, hoping, and in some degree realising, benefit from the change of 
 air and circumstances. The removal was certainly a very great mercy 
 to me; for the continued sickness of the family, and the consequent 
 trying want of comfort and the low spirits of the whole household, 
 combined with my own debility of mind and feebleness of body, con- 
 tributed to drive me to a state of almost frenzy or despair. I have 
 certainly so far gained from the change, that my spirits have been at 
 no period so far recovered as now, since the great event which over- 
 threw them. I do indeed think them extraordinarily good. It may 
 surprise you perhaps, but it is nevertheless true, that I have some- 
 times to check, and even to reproach myself, for real trifling and 
 levity. It is possible, I know, for levity to exist in entire separation 
 from exuberant good nature, and for trifling to arise from other causes 
 than the generous flow of ungovernable spirits. A man may trifle in 
 affliction and solitude, and he may be chargeable with levity amidst 
 the gloom and distress of disappointment and anxiety. Since religion 
 seized my soul for its service, I have never, I think, been remarkable 
 for what are called good spirits ; but I am often exceedingly distressed 
 at the melancholy picture of comparatively useless employment, and of 
 existence without energy, direction, or attainment, which my past 
 life presents to my own contemplation. Perhaps it is with me an 
 occupation more frequent than wise, but I never do — I never can 
 review my life without being irresistibly urged, nay forced , to flee 
 instantly to the atonement of Christ, which, if it were not absolutely 
 boundless in its worth and influence, I should inevitably despair 
 would be capable of affording me a solitary hope. Those who, like 
 myself, have had to feel the reality of the depravity of the heart, even 
 when comparatively, nay almost entirely, locked up within its own 
 little enclosure, cannot be at a loss to know the meaning, or the truth, 
 of expressions like these ; strange and improbable as they may appear 
 to those, who, under the influence of the widely pervading spirit of 
 Unitarianism, have attained the unhappy art of avoiding the humili- 
 ating misery of consciousness by the inveterate concealment of truth. 
 I wish that, in consequence of my habitual acknowledgment of 6 the 
 only hope set before me,’ I could dwell with larger copiousness on 
 the happiness of my experience ; but of all my calamities, the one 
 most worthy of my grief, and at the same time the most fatal to my 
 peace, is the enfeebling want of confidence in God, — the wretched 
 doubt, suspicion, and consequent unholiness and alienation from the 
 
200 
 
 BRIGHTENINGS OF IIIS PROVIDENTIAL PATH. 
 
 Lord, which have grown out of the condition of my soul, and render- 
 ed all my other sorrows a thousand-fold more painful and bewildering 
 than otherwise they would have been. Well; I am still in the hands 
 of God, restrained from excessive sin and punishment by the un- 
 abated intercession of Christ. And oh ! how unspeakably important 
 and valuable is it to possess the elements on which an entire renewal 
 of nature may yet, by the power of the Redeemer, be wrought out for 
 eternity !***** 
 
 My friend, Mr. Dixon of Tewkesbury, has just consented to go to 
 Gibraltar. Oh , that it were my lot to go with him ! 
 
 Mr. James Wood, the Superintendent at Bristol, did not think it 
 necessary to bring me again before the Quarterly Meeting, but it is 
 uncertain whether or not my presence will be required at the Dis- 
 trict. I anticipate that it will, and therefore shall not be surprised 
 at a call. A certificate of my health, and of the high probability of 
 my perfect restoration, in case of my removal to a warm climate, has 
 been given to Mr. W. by my medical attendant, and I am certainly 
 much better than I was when he saw me last ; but if I am again dis- 
 appointed, it will be far less wonderful than success. The will of 
 God, however, on the subject is the only thing desirable, and that too 
 whether crossing my inclinations or coincident w r ith them. 
 
 In the earnest wishes, which you express for the sanctification of 
 our late family trials, I join with fervour ; but dare not accept my own 
 experience as the evidence of success. Poor little Bess and Anne are, 
 I believe, under real religious feelings. There is indeed now no 
 reason to doubt respecting the salvation of any one of the family; 
 though I fear that the lamentable want of faith, and love, and zeal, of 
 which one at least has to complain, must occasion a diminution of 
 glory, when the great moment arrives of c rendering according to the 
 deeds done in the body.’ Fare thee well in the favour of a recon- 
 ciled God, and in unabated peace of conscience ! And may the 
 Lord have mercy on 
 
 Your affectionate, but 
 
 Very much afflicted Brother 
 
 William. 
 
 To his former Female Correspondent. 
 
 Gloucester , April 22, 1 824. 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 If you are disposed to ask why, having not written so long, 
 I now take only a half-sheet of paper, I answer, not to justify, but to 
 account for it, that it is now a grievous labour to write at all. In 
 exterior life I have nothing flattering to commuicate, being in a state 
 of affliction, and feeling a strong alliance to corruption and the worm; 
 and as to the interior life, I feel at least an equal poverty, which is the 
 
ADVICE TO A FRIEND. 
 
 201 
 
 more distressing than mere bodily and temporal evils, as there is on 
 my mind a sense of its infinitely transcendent importance. In truth, 
 I am in the condition of one under sentence of death, who, while he 
 has considerable interest at work for him in the court of the great 
 Arbiter, in whose bosom is the fountain of mercy, is yet quite uncer- 
 tain as to the issue ; he knows not whether a reprieve will arrive at 
 all, or if it should be granted, with what conditions it may come 
 attended. 
 
 Oh, my friend ! in these circumstances, to wait with calm submis- 
 sion, and with a firm resolution to be obedient, and even affectionate, 
 whatever be the issue and appointment, and all this while death is 
 felt to have been deserved, is a state of mind most ardently desirable ; 
 and surely the Gospel holds it out in promise, and shews the means of 
 procuring it. 4 Not however as though I had already attained,’ 
 though condemnation is mine on that account ; 4 but I follow after, if 
 that I may apprehend that for which also I am apprehended in Christ 
 Jesus.’ And there is the authority of experience, deeper and more 
 bitter than mine till lately ever was, or than is common to men, in the 
 admonition that I would have indelibly impressed on the heart of every 
 junior Christian; — 4 Follow on to know the Lord,’ with affections 
 undivided, and with self-denial of the most uncompromising kind. 
 May the Lord help you in all your connections, and in your peculiar 
 ones especially , with a true and perfect heart to live to Him, who 
 insists upon having all your love ! 
 
 I do not envy you and — the happiness which you an- 
 
 ticipate, on the contrary I rejoice in it. But it reminds me of my 
 own — as it was , but has long — long since ceased to be. Oh, how 
 little do persons in your circumstances imagine, how entire and how 
 insupportable separation may become ! There is infinite propriety 
 in the admonition : — 4 Seek those things which are above, where 
 Christ sitteth on the right hand of God : set your affections on things 
 above, not on things on the earth !’ In me there certainly has been some 
 radical fault, which has brought upon me much unnecessary suffering, 
 except indeed as it was punitive, or at least corrective. Learn wis- 
 dom by the folly and the smart of 
 
 Your affectionate Friend 
 
 W. Barber. 
 
 It appears from the following letter, that my Brother’s mind, about 
 this time, became much xercised from an unforeseen cause, the par- 
 ticulars of which it is unnecessary for me to detail, though at the 
 time, it appeared to throw an insuperable barrier in the way of his 
 hopes to that field of active usefulness, for which he had so long and 
 so ardently panted. 
 
202 
 
 RESIGNATION UNDER A NEW DISAPPOINTMENT. 
 
 To his younger Brother. 
 
 Tewkesbury , May 4, 1824. 
 
 Dear Sam, 
 
 I thank you for the kindness which glows in every line of 
 your letter, and I accept it with feelings which are sensible at once 
 of the eminent propriety of the advice which it contains to my case? 
 and of the great advantage which may be derived from giving it due 
 attention. Your recommendation to the only resource now not closed 
 against me, viz. the promises of God, treasured up in the sacred Volume 
 for those who see and feel'the fallacy of every thing else, is strictly 
 applicable to my situation. Happy they, who, in circumstances of such 
 universal failure, find no impediment to bar them off from those pro- 
 mises, or to prevent them from realising their consolatiou and support 
 to the full extent of the privilege ! But, for my part, I feel that 
 among the spiritual adversaries, who withstand me at every step, there 
 are accusers that find, in my consciousness of demerit, reasons too 
 valid and extensive for protesting against my sharing in the benefits 
 of those, who have power to yield their hearts in full submission unto 
 Christ. In my strange aud accumulated trials, which of course bring 
 along with them strange and accumulated temptations, I deem it not 
 a trifling mercy to be saved from seeking in vice or infidelity the 
 reliefs, for which my mind, harassed, agitated, and distressed as it 
 has been, has hitherto looked almost in vain ; and which, it seems, 
 must be withheld until that most desirable event shall come, when the 
 body of sin shall be utterly destroyed, and the God of Providence 
 shall find within me nothing to resist the spirit of his will and his 
 dispensations. Then there shall be nothing in me to render me un- 
 happy. To see others verging toward this state, and, among them, to 
 see you able to bear testimony to the faithfulness of God to his word 
 in Psa. cxix. 138, is perhaps the greatest pleasure that ever throws a 
 glimpse of lustre upon my dark and solitary path. Oh! value every 
 improvement to which the grace of God advances you, and seize it 
 with a grasp so firm as never to let it slip, till it is absorbed aud fixed 
 for ever in your soul and all its habits! I earnestly hope and pray 
 that you may never be called to follow my footsteps in distress ; but 
 a share of sorrow will certainly, in some way or other, be your lot. I 
 know not, however, how you can avoid intense, unmitigated suifering, 
 but, now that all things are going on well with you, by such a steady 
 onward progress, as shall render your intercourse with God familiar, 
 and your faith in the Redeemer perpetual. * * * * 
 
 Your information respecting * * * * * surprised me : it was un- 
 expected, and I cannot deny that it did, for a moment, painfully affect 
 me. It seemed like the sudden breaking, from an unseen and un- 
 
RESIGNATION UNDER A NEW DISAPPOINTMENT. 
 
 203 
 
 imagined cause, of the last cord of interest that held me to life and 
 usefulness, strained indeed as that cord had previously been by the 
 strength of the current, and the fury of the storm. 
 
 * * * * * * 
 
 But now this measure closes the question entirely, leaving no room 
 at all upon which to found any subsequent measure. However, with 
 this I leave it. My mind feels a painful relief from reflecting, that all 
 this tallies exactly with my own deliberate and habitual conscious- 
 ness of spiritual inadequateness to the Missionary work. He, who has 
 heard my oft repeated groans by day and by night, knows to how 
 great an extent that spiritual poverty and unfitness has been the cause 
 of my griefs. To this another consideration forms a powerful addi- 
 tion, it is that He, who loves me too well to allow any affliction which 
 is necessary to my salvation to be withheld, also loves me too well to 
 allow me in any form to accept a holy office, upon which he who en- 
 ters, without His call and blessing, must be on the one hand unequal 
 to its duties, and on the other gathering condemnation of the most 
 awful and appalling character. It is certainly God, who is dealing 
 with me in all this ; and this is the circumstance which, more than any 
 other, though, alas ! it is not alone, creates my sorrow of heart. A 
 controversy prolonged between God the Saviour and Judge, and a hu- 
 man spirit in probation, tinged but not suffused with the transforming 
 efficacy of Christian faith, is a fact among the most alarming and ad- 
 monitory imaginable, — 
 
 ‘ Warning far more than that of bosom torn 
 From bosom, bleeding o’er the sacred dead !’ 
 
 Well, Sam ; it is mine to weep and yield, to humble my spirit in 
 the dust, to hope in the virtues of the infinite atonement and the faith- 
 ful plenitude of grace in God the Holy Spirit, and, while I sob out 
 the heart-felt sorrows of the 88th Psalm, to take refuge in the ample 
 provisions of the 89th. May He, who knows my need, satisfy me 
 with His mercy! 
 
 Now that I consider this matter at an end, I must once more, 
 if I can, disengage my thoughts from the subject ; though my mind, 
 lingering and reluctant in its solitary musings, is too prone and too 
 habituated to hover round the spot of shipwreck to render this an 
 easy task. More than this, I must turn my attention to some means 
 of subsistence. I am fostering some hope that, if it be not the pur- 
 pose of God soon to take me to another world, he has His eye on 
 some opening through which a way shall be made for my escape; 
 but of what that opening is, I am as unconscious as I was twenty- 
 five years ago. However, if death should come, it will not be em- 
 bittered by any great love of life for its own sake. The sense of un- 
 faithfulness is all that makes me dread to die. 
 
204 
 
 UNION OF THE PEOPLE OF GOD. 
 
 Mr. Dixon and family sail for Gibraltar in a few weeks ; he is 
 greatly grieved at the turn of my affairs ; his truly sympathising soul 
 does not suffer me to sink, but feels and prays for me with power and 
 effect. I returned here from Gloucester this morning, and am assist- 
 ing Mr. D. to acquire an elementary knowledge of the French lan- 
 guage. I commend myself to your joint and individual prayers ; and 
 am, 
 
 Your very affectionate Brother, 
 
 William^ 
 
 It afterwards appeared that the untoward circumstance, to which 
 the above Letter alludes, was founded entirely in mistake, so that my 
 Brother’s mind was speedily restored to the tranquillity, which it had 
 begun to experience, in consequence of the unexpected brightening 
 of his providential path. 
 
 To the Rev. James Dixon. 
 
 Bristol , June 4, 1824. 
 
 My very dear Friend, 
 
 With a pleasure that shares without lessening your own, 
 I echo the sentiment expressed in the close of the welcome bit, 
 which you appended to Mr. Wheeler’s letter, — 4 It is delightful to 
 love and be beloved :’ — a sentiment among the very best that ever 
 glowed in an earthly heart, — one, the peculiar property of the most 
 excellent of men, — one, which is the grand and high distinction of 
 the Church of the Lord Jesus Christ, who is ‘the image of the in- 
 visible God,’ — and one, which, I am sure, lives and breathes only 
 in the element of heaven ; for the properties of the Church above, 
 and that below, are such as to call for the same attribute to be 
 equally applied : — ‘Neither shall there be anymore Sea:’ — ‘They 
 all shall be one , as Thou, Father, art in me , and I in Thee , that 
 they also may be one in Us.’ Is such then a Divine description 
 of what actually exists among the genuine disciples of Christ? Yet 
 among them there may be — there must be — there ought to be pecu- 
 liar attachments, which, entering more fully into the privacy of indi- 
 vidual life, shall administer corresponding aids of counsel, or of cau- 
 tion, or of comfort these then, how pre-eminent — how noble — how 
 valuable! Surely it is well worth while, for their very dignity and 
 worth, to commend them earnestly to Him who is the God of all com- 
 fort, that He would be pleased to throw over them His own strong 
 arm and shield of protection, so that, capable as they are of living in 
 the purer elements of a higher world, they may not perish like the 
 other things of the earth. 
 
GLORY OF THE MISSIONARY WORK. 
 
 205 
 
 I hear and think of your departure with pain, though perhaps it 
 is chiefly because I am not with you ; but, like the mingling tints 
 of light and shade, I scarcely know when or where pain merges into 
 pleasure, until more strongly occupied with the reasons and prospects 
 surrounding you, and extending beyond you, the more unequivocal 
 sensations of joy proclaim that the better has triumphed. I do feel 
 a sort of transport when I think, that to all eternity the compara- 
 tively little sacrifices, which you and dear Mrs. D. are now making, 
 will be remembered with gratitude and joy. On such a subject, to 
 be influenced by the mere fictions of one’s own heated imagination 
 is, either pitiable weakness, or ridiculous folly, as well as a censurable 
 confusion of things without affinity. But all this apart : is it not 
 true that a devoted Missionary is a man devoted, in a more than or- 
 dinary degree, to ‘glory, honour, immortality, eternal life?’ — that he 
 is devoted to a companionship with the Missionaries of every age, 
 with the Apostles, and with Christ Himself, who is the Brightness of 
 the Glory of the invisible God ? Beside, how incalculable the value of 
 that obedience which goes forth to a fulfilment of such duty, in order 
 to gather for eternal provision the fruits of usefulness from the very 
 strength and teeth of the adversary ! Happy, I will say, for I do 
 think and feel so,-— happy are the men and women whom the great 
 Head of the Church, ‘calling unto Himself whom He will, and send- 
 ing them forth,’ chooses for such an embassy ! And far happier are 
 they, when, ‘ not staggering at the promise of God through unbelief,’ 
 nor led aside either by the fear of evil, or a fondness for earthly ease 
 and enjoyment, they boldly obey, go forth, and die amidst the lau- 
 rels of triumph, or the attempts to seize them ! I do most earnestly 
 pray, that the very last and largest of these honours, so far as they are 
 accessible to you, may imperishably crown your heads for ever. 
 
 Betsey and myself lately went for two days across the Severn to 
 Chepstow, and in the magical beauties of its fairy-land neighbourhood 
 we revelled amidst scenery more grand, sublime, and interesting than 
 we ever witnessed before ; the very recollection mocks at all attempts 
 to describe. The ruins of Chepstow Castle, several times the theatre 
 of active, vigorous, and desolating conflict, contrasted finely with the 
 ruins of Tintern Abbey, forages the scene of monkish seclusion, and 
 of a pompous and emblazoned religion. These two sets of ruins, 
 within four miles of each other, and erected for purposes so oppo- 
 site, contrast in many particulars, with powerful effect ; but they 
 have some points of striking and affecting similarity : they are both 
 the remains of human greatness and power, for they are magnificent 
 ruins; they are both the relics of despotism, the one coercing the bo- 
 dies, and the other grinding down the souls, of the same men and ages; 
 and they are both covered with ivy, the emblem of the ever-green suc- 
 cess, with which the power of God shall cover over the wasted ener- 
 
206 
 
 PARTING BENEDICTIONS UPON A FRIEND. 
 
 gies of men. I regret that I shall perhaps never have an opportunity 
 of visiting the spot with you : hut, after all, it is far more interesting to 
 witness the living ruins of the present day, the injured, desolated 
 soul of man within a frail and tottering body, which was created to be 
 the temple of the Holy Ghost. 
 
 I have as yet heard nothing from the Missionary Committee, in 
 London. I feel impatience almost effectually checked by the con- 
 sciousness, that a call, let it come whenever it may, will find me such 
 as I ought not to be, and such as I would not be, — far too unprepared 
 to obey it. My feelings on this subject are often intensely painful ; 
 they are the sources of my greatest fears. Oh ! were I but sancti- 
 fied to God, I should fear nothing; I should then live and labour, or 
 sicken and die, with full preparation. However, God is 6 greater than 
 my heart and knows all things;’ and yet my heart condemns me. As- 
 sist me with your most fervent prayers, that if the Lord should decide 
 against me, I may bear it more like a Christian than I have ever borne 
 any thing yet. 
 
 I am not sorry for my own absence from Gloucester just now. I 
 escape emotions not pleasing, but extremely painful. I can conceive 
 your mutual sensations. I would not be incapable of them, but I 
 am not sorry to avoid them. My Doctor says, if he had picked the 
 world for me, he could not have selected a better spot than Malta.* 
 He still expresses the utmost confidence of my recovery, by a removal 
 thither this summer. Let the Lord’s will be done ! I am, with to- 
 lerable assiduity, indeed too great to escape the frequent censures of 
 those around me, applying to French, which I make no doubt of pretty 
 well mastering in a few weeks. I am quite decided on the propriety 
 of this step, as preliminary to Italian and modern Greek. 
 
 I must now 6 commend you to God and the word of His grace,’ that 
 He may preserve you, and cause all comfort to abound toward you ; 
 and that lie may make His word through you to abound in the prin- 
 ciples and effects of salvation to numbers, who shall crown your re- 
 joicing in the day of the Lord Jesus Christ. May He keep up your 
 courage, and that of Mrs. Dixon ! May He help you to 6 remember 
 Lot’s wife,’ who looked back ! May He moderate your sickness, and 
 sustain you amidst its trials ! May He smooth the waves, and hush 
 the storm, and maintain the favouring breeze ! May He introduce 
 you to your flock, and give you power and readiness to acquire the 
 French and Spanish ! May He cheer Mrs. D. in the education of her 
 babes, and her care for them ! May He preserve you to each other in 
 holiness, and health, and love, for many years of success ! May He 
 ( stay His rough wind, in the day of the east wind !’ May He grant 
 
 * This, I apprehend, is an allusion to some views at that time entertained by 
 the Missionary Committee of sending my Brother to Malta. — A. B, 
 
GOODNESS OF GOD IN IIIS DISPENSATIONS TO MEN. 207 
 
 unto me the glowing happiness of eventually seeing you, and assisting 
 in the inauguration so cheering to a celestial friendship, that we may 
 be crowned together by His own glorious hand with a halo of glory 
 that fadeth not away ! 
 
 I am, my dear Brother, 
 
 Your affectionate, obliged 
 Servant and Friend, 
 
 W. Barber. 
 
 To Mrs . Wheeler. 
 
 Bristol , July 8, 1824. 
 
 My very dear Lydia, 
 
 The deliberate approbation, which I feel of your intended 
 visit to Weston-super-Mare, is at least equal to the pleasure of an- 
 ticipating to see you here, and this I am sure is very great. All 
 of us have on this subject but one feeling ; to rejoice in your partial 
 recovery, and to pray for your entire restoration, are but the natural 
 effects of that feeling. No credit, however, is due for these acts, 
 though it would be unnatural and criminal to be destitute of them. 
 Events are continually reminding us of what should dwell with per- 
 petual and effective influence upon our minds, that 6 every good gift, 
 and every perfect gift is from above, and cometh down from the Fa- 
 ther of lights, with whom is no variableness, neither shadow of turn- 
 ing.’ Among these gifts, we, who suffer so much from sickness, are 
 properly qualified to feel and acknowledge that health, and ease, and 
 vigour, are important and invaluable. Yet Christianity claims so to 
 regulate the thoughts and the affections, as to restrain the former from 
 unhallowed speculations, and the latter from bitter repinings. How 
 rich, however, — how powerful — and how efficient are those sweet ma- 
 nifestations of the love of Christ, which have lately visited you ; and 
 not only nourished your spiritual vigour amidst your great and dan- 
 gerous afflictions, but really and obviously made those afflictions the 
 means of your soul’s prosperity ! My dear Lydia, I look at you with 
 the feelings of one, who contemplates an exemplification of the faith- 
 fulness of God, and who at the same time is admonished by 6 the 
 light which makes manifest.’ May the Lord guard you every mo- 
 ment, and bring you out into those pastures of grace, mercy, and 
 peace where, as one of the chosen lambs of our Shepherd’s flock, 
 you shall be carried in His arms, and preserved in His bosom, ad- 
 mitted into closest relationship to Him, and go in and out in perfect 
 security ! 
 
 I am still perplexed about my affairs, pained to think of my ina- 
 bility for any good, and still more deeply grieved at my unfitness to 
 be employed. I am waiting in desire and prayer for that new coming 
 
208 
 
 ADTICE TO A YOUNG SISTER. 
 
 of the Holy Ghost in power, which shall renovate the spirit of my 
 mind, and fit me for both heaven and earth, or for either. May the 
 Lord be very merciful to 
 
 Your sinful, yet praying, 
 
 And very affectionate Brother, 
 
 William Barber. 
 
 To his third Sister at Eastington. 
 
 Bristol , July 29, 1824. 
 
 Dear Mary, 
 
 I really am ashamed and sorry, when I think of not hav- 
 ing written you at all since you left home. If my neglect on this 
 subject toward every body were not notorious, I should reasonably 
 apprehend your regarding it as cruel and unfaithful ; because then 
 there would be some special reason for so unusual and severe a pu- 
 nishment, especially as I promised, with many good resolutions, that I 
 would write you soon. However, I have intrinsically lost so much — 
 so very much invaluable time in sickness and in sorrow, at least to all 
 those important purposes of mental cultivation for which my projected 
 employment of future life must make large demands, that every mo- 
 ment of even comparative health seems sacred to direct and laborious 
 study, and every moment exempt from this occupation seems a mo- 
 ment of disability for every thing else. 
 
 You will be pleased to know, that I have found a return to habits 
 of studious application in some degree conducive to a returning flow 
 of spirits ; at least, I have lately been thus saved from the devotion 
 to a pondering and gloomy reflectiveness of many hours, which, by 
 proper engagement, have been compelled to do me no harm, and to 
 yield me some portion of useful return. Little indeed can be said 
 in praise of that spirit, which, if not employed agreeably to itself, will 
 be occupied in an injurious manner ; but this is always the case, 
 when the dispensations of Providence fail to produce that deep, hum- 
 bling, and cordial self-abandonment and trust, which are the es- 
 sential marks of fervent and unwearying piety. And what is that 
 piety worth, my dear, which does not produce these characteristics 
 in times of affliction and great tribulation ? Let us be wary in giv- 
 ing an answer to this query ; for it is one too often urged with fa- 
 tal success by the great adversary against those, who find themselves 
 weaker in faith and devotedness than they had thought. Any piety 
 is worth a good deal; for it supposes at least some degree of ten- 
 derness of conscience, of divine illumination, and of yielding and 
 obedience to God. The danger however is, in thinking more of what 
 we have than it is worth, and in expecting more from it than it can 
 produce. lie who, not being in the state of a child of God and an heir 
 
ADVICE TO A YOUNG SISTER. 
 
 209 
 
 ■with Christ, thinks otherwise, will look in vain for the fruits of the filial 
 spirit. But when he is thus disappointed, let him by no means cast away 
 what he has, because it is not more ; let him rather be abased before 
 the Lord, and earnestly ask the higher gifts of the grace and Spirit of 
 Jesus. Every servant in the family of God is not a child, as is the 
 case in other families: but in the family of God every servant may be- 
 come a child, and that by simply believing in Jesus, pleading and 
 availing himself of those promises, by which God has connected the 
 sacrifice of His Son with all the exalted priviliges of Christianity. 
 6 As many as received Him, to them gave He power to become the 
 sons of God, even to as many as believed on His name.’ 
 
 An affectionate Brother, who has always had, and who still pos- 
 sesses, far fewer means than wishes for your good, would earnestly 
 desire your truest prosperity, and your becoming more and more ready 
 for that summons by which several of our family have been already 
 bidden to a better world. At the same time, he would not have you 
 to neglect the improvements needful for one that is inferior. It sel- 
 dom happens that they, who are unfit to live in this world, are pre- 
 pared to leave it. Do not forget to notice, and to treasure up, whatever 
 may array you with amiable qualities. The best way to appear lovely 
 is to be so; and this is always possible, where there is a thorough 
 disposition for it. The want of such a disposition, God knows, is 
 our grand preventive. Usefulness, my dear, is one of the two grand 
 ends of life. The station and objects of usefulness are not ours to 
 choose, — they are God’s ; — but ours is the manner of accomplishing the 
 end. Godj I am sure, does not despise a young female for washing a 
 cup or a glass clean, for sewing a seam neatly, or for orderly and 
 consistent habits in little things. And they, who would be qualified 
 for usefulness of the highest order, must not be negligent of duties of 
 a lower kind. These remarks, my dear, mean nothing invidious; 
 they are chiefly intended to remind myself and you of plain, and ob- 
 vious, but important, principles, which, in our weak and debilitated 
 habits, we are more than commonly liable to forget. 
 
 I have no news to communicate, except that we are just going to 
 see Graham ascend in his balloon. I wish him a safe journey, though 
 I half fear that it is too perilous to be justifiable. Yet who knows, 
 but aerostation may produce some important practical results? But 
 you know, that I am no news-monger; and all dry as this letter is, you 
 must take it as a sincere expression of affection from 
 
 Your Brother 
 
 William. 
 
 p 
 
210 
 
 DIFFIDENCE IN THE PROSPECT OF THE MINISTRY. 
 
 To Mrs. Wheeler. 
 
 Bristol , Aug. 17, 1824. 
 
 Very dear Lydia, 
 
 Your letter yesterday did me much good ; its cheerful ani- 
 mated manner, proceeding evidently from improved health and spirits, 
 really made me feel for a moment elevated above my own level ; for 
 there is still somewhat left within me, which can £ rejoice with those 
 that do rejoice.’ I am sincerely delighted at observing, that God 
 gives you to hope for such benefit from your stay at Weston, as will 
 render it more tolerable for you to endure absence from home during 
 the necessary period. If hope in things spiritual and eternal, my 
 dear Lydia, would but as readily grow into confidence, and become as 
 decisive in its influence on our conduct, as the reasonable hope of 
 earthly good is often felt, with what readiness should we rise toward 
 heaven, and with what fidelity should we toil onward to reach it ! 
 And it shall be increasingly so with you, for it is in the very nature 
 of attraction to quicken every instant the progress of whatever it 
 draws toward its own centre and source. Amidst all your earthly va- 
 riations, whether favourable to your wishes or otherwise, you, I hope, 
 are moving onward in a right line toward Him, who is the source of 
 life and the centre of all holy attraction. However, earth-born and 
 tied to the world as we are, to us it is fit matter of rejoicing when 
 impaired health is recruited, and apprehended trials are graciously 
 withdrawn. I do fervently pray, that you may be established in health, 
 and preserved to be a great blessing to him, whom you deservedly re- 
 gard with the greatest affection which a creature may enjoy. If this 
 hope should be realised, the Church and the world will be sharers in 
 that abundant grace, which our heavenly Parent will thus have bestow- 
 ed upon you. 
 
 No further information for myself has reached me. I am neither 
 disappointed nor anxious at this, as I did not expect any thing new 
 till next week. I know not whether the Lord really intends to per- 
 mit me to be ordained a Minister in His Church ; but I am oppressed 
 by such a view of my unfaithfulness, instability, and want of zeal, 
 love, and indeed every moral quality required for such an employ- 
 ment, that, ardently as I have desired, and still wish, to be sancti- 
 fied and sent into the work by the great Head of the Church, I half 
 shrink from the tremendous responsibilities ; and I feel as if the diffi- 
 culties, heightened by the great feebleness of my mind and body, 
 would be too much for my nature to encounter. I am sure, however, 
 that I need all the support which the grace of God can supply, in- 
 creased as it may be by the fervent prayers of those who love me, 
 and have an interest in heaven. I commend myself to yours, as well 
 
COMFORTS OF SOCIAL INTERCOURSE. 
 
 211 
 
 as those of my friends with you. Remember me to them affection- 
 ately. ‘ He that dwelleth in love, dwelleth in God ;’ dwell therefore 
 together in love. And may the peace of God abide with you! I de- 
 sire that my affectionate respects may be presented to I. and S. Cope. 
 Do they improve in health ? But alas ! how fares it with their souls ? 
 Are they convinced enough to be in earnest ? Yet where is the room 
 for despair? God bas evidently not forsaken them; but is still en- 
 deavouring to win their affections. 
 
 Your most affectionate, 
 
 Brother and Friend, 
 
 William Barber. 
 
 To the Same. 
 
 Bristol , Aug. 28, 1824. 
 
 Very dear Lydia, 
 
 * * * * But what shall be the theme of my letter? 
 
 — Myself? — Ah ! that is a gloomy subject, and besides it is exhausted 
 and repeated even to disgust. — You? — There is not novelty enough in 
 that to please you. — Your William ? — You know a good deal better 
 than I can tell you ; though by the way I will just observe, that, by 
 
 dint of perseverance, I got him and my worthy friend Mr. 
 
 introduced to each other. The evening was to me very delightful. My 
 heart exulted at seeing two of my dearest fiiends for the first time 
 enjoying, through my means, each other’s society. My spirits were un- 
 usually exhilarated, if such a term now belong to any sensations that 
 I ever have; and I talked with more than common fluency, and more 
 indeed than my share. It could not but gratify me, that they seemed 
 to admire and esteem each other very easily ; and I will incur what- 
 ever imputation it may merit by adding, that William’s manner of con- 
 versation that evening fully convinced more than myself, that, amidst 
 all his perplexing engagements, his mind is far from being neglected. It 
 is very evident that the Lord is, through the anxieties and vexations 
 of business, teaching him,, that nothing but the concerns of eternity 
 and the enjoyments of religion deserves his chief regard. But oh, 
 Lydia! how grievous is it for me, that my enjoyments are so short- 
 lived, and that I maintain for so short a time the superiority which 
 belongs to an aspiring Christian, or even the comfort that results from 
 cheerful intercourse. The enjoyment of a pleasant evening evapo- 
 rates with the company which composes it; and ever and anon, even 
 during the sociality of friendly intercourse, my mind suddenly returns 
 to the great reality ; — I remember, that I am alone , and feel another 
 searching pang of the bitterness of death. 
 
212 
 
 CRITIQUE ON A POETICAL PASSAGE. 
 
 * The noble spirit, fighting her hard fate 
 In this damp, dusky region, charged with storms, 
 
 But feebly flutters, yet untaught to fly; 
 
 Or flying, short her flight, and sure her fall : 
 
 Our utmost strength, when down to rise again, 
 
 And not to yield, though beaten, — all our praise.’ 
 
 With some exceptions I like these lines and their connection. The 
 phrase — 4 hard fate ’ — however, sounds not well in the mouth of a 
 Christian. The fatalism of it is admissible enough, by the license 
 claimed by Poets ; but the expression seems to come fresh from a 
 murmuring heart. And the description altogether savours rather too 
 much of the benighted, desolate, and ignorant abandonment of one, 
 who has not within him the principle which preserves from 4 walking 
 in darkness.’ It is not a portrait of one who faithfully follows Jesus, 
 for such a one shall have 4 the light of life ; ’ and the 4 utmost strength ’ 
 of the true believer brings him off 4 more than conqueror ’ from every 
 field of battle and of death. Yet the Poet has been true to unassisted 
 human nature, staggering and fumbling with its reason and its phi- 
 losophy. Alas ! the deep unutterable stab of death is too deep and 
 rankling for cure by the miserable medicaments administered by any 
 prescriptions, except the presence and true spiritual enjoyment of the 
 Redeemer himself. Even a knowledge of religion, so far from healing, 
 will scarcely assuage. Indeed I am in doubt, whether it does not 
 aggravate, unless combined with the possession and enjoyment of 
 what is known. This accounts for my almost unparalleled distress. 
 The dreadful vacancy, — the fearful emptiness, — the naked bosom,— 
 the desolated heart, — has not been filled with the consoling presence 
 of Christ. Divine mercy has indeed kept me from utterly sinking ; 
 but it has preserved me from without, and not from within : and, 
 Lydia, there is no cure for me but in the latter. I have entered on 
 the third year of my widowhood, and I look forward with dismay to 
 its probable continuance for years ; but even the termination of 
 widowhood, though it would be a grand relief, could not cure. — 
 Where is the woman who, in the present slate of my heart, could fill 
 the place of my Anne ? — I doubt if I am even now any more nearly 
 cured than I was two years ago, except in so far as I see more clearly 
 that nothing can avail but 4 Christ in me the hope of glory,’ at the 
 same time enjoying some feeble possession of Him. At some intervals 
 the anguish of my heart is as great as ever it was, and my dismay is 
 even sometimes greater when I encounter any thing that belonged to 
 my Anne. No, Lydia, nothing will — nothing can heal my heart but 
 the love of Christ ; and for this I have prayed, and wept, and longed, 
 though hitherto too much in vain. Oh 1 join your prayers to mine 
 for that full baptism of the Holy Spirit, for which I have been looking 
 out so long, and which, though disappointed as yet, I am still ex- 
 
INTRODUCTION TO THE FOLLOWING POEM. 
 
 213 
 
 pecting. Pray for me, that I may be more believing and confiding 
 in the love and the promises of God. As the language of my heart 
 I adopt the resolution, — 4 He shall choose my inheritance for me 
 and bitter as the past of life has been, if there shall yet remain another 
 and another cup of bitterness, which 4 may not pass from me except I 
 drink it,’ His holy will be done ; I will take it to the dregs. It is 
 in this way that I am striving to feel about going abroad, and es- 
 pecially about going alone, — a thing which I have always extremely 
 dreaded, and against which I have been fully determined. May 
 God however help me 6 out of his holy hill,’ in the necessity which is 
 now laid upon me ! 
 
 I have as yet heard nothing from London, but the time is not 
 wasted. I am not a hundredth part fit to go. I am studying hard, 
 and praying heartily. But what am I ? — Utterly dismayed at being 
 nothing worth the name of a Man, and much less that of a Minister 
 of Christ. Do value the love of my family, and receive pleasure at 
 the assurance of it. 
 
 Your most affectionate 
 
 Friend and Brother, 
 
 W. Barber. 
 
 The following is addressed to a Friend, and, as will be readily seen, 
 the notes in the margin are my Brother’s. 
 
 Bristol , Sept. 19 , 1824 . 
 
 My very dear Friend, 
 
 Even a true Poet does not write for himself; there may in- 
 deed be selfishness in him, but there is likewise benevolence in his 
 wishing to delight others with those gay creations, which furnish his 
 own mind with enjoyment. Nor, unquestionably, does a mere Rhymer 
 scribble for himself ; for the tinkling dresses, with which he loves to 
 be amused, may give a holiday diversion to minds constituted like 
 his own. 
 
 In what class you will adjudge me a station, I know not ; yet it can 
 be neither of the above, for I have not ambition and patience enough 
 for the one, nor folly and jingle enough for the other. But I could 
 not write these Lines for myself, and to whom could I devote them 
 so properly as to you? for you provoked me to attempt them, by ex- 
 pressing a belief that I could succeed ; and my affection for you, 
 craving to shew itself by some means or other, inspires me with con- 
 fidence in your candour, and thus secures me from all dread of 
 severity. 
 
 I am no Poet, and I have no ambition to become one ; though I 
 have sometimes thought of my imagination, that, had the Muses only 
 L caught it young,’ and reared it, its wing might have fledged out into 
 
214 
 
 INTRODUCTION TO THE FOLLOWING POEM. 
 
 strength and tact enough to follow where the eagles soar. This is 
 the utmost of my poetical pretensions; but to lead, I utterly want 
 genius, and perceiving this, I have perhaps too much scorned a 
 nursing. 
 
 The faculty of rhyming I certainly do not possess, and I detest 
 mere jingle as much almost as the name unmerited of Poet; while, 
 at the same time, for what might be needful in this way for tacking 
 measured lines together, I have no helps. So that I make but a 
 sorry figure, indeed sometimes grotesque enough to my own mind ; 
 for I have often smiled at observing, how my poor eye has rolled, 
 in something the very reverse of a fine phrenzy, through this teasing 
 need of squeezing into ryhme a thought, too meagre already to bear 
 a squeezing. 
 
 As for prosody, I have always hated it with a downright honest 
 good will, and therefore never took the trouble to commit its rules to 
 memory, no, not even those in my grammar. 
 
 Signal recommendations these! Then why write at all? Avery 
 fair question, to which my only answer is, because the subject pressed 
 on my imagination, and a most teuder and affectionate reverence pre- 
 sumed against all difficulty. 
 
 For the subject I have only to say, that I could have no other ; — - 
 this only had irresistible attractions and claims. I have once or twice, 
 within the last two years, attempted it before ; but my feelings, and 
 the fear of dishonouring a memory which I hold sacred, always over- 
 powered invention, and I abandoned the effort. 
 
 On Monday last, while reflecting on those lines of Montgomery 
 heading my own, the thought expressed seized me, and opened its 
 beauties. Could I do otherwise than try to pick them up ? — But po- 
 etry is not my business, and scarcely my pleasure. It is now Satur- 
 day, and after several days’ interruptions, I have given over, rather 
 than closed, the labour. To do this at all, I was forced to do it ra- 
 pidly, for I cannot endure to devote too much time to composition 
 of this nature, and from my pen it does not flow with the ease, abun- 
 dance, and smoothness of unstinted nature. 
 
 I have told you thus much, in order to let you the more gently into 
 your disappointment ; and to teach you how dangerous it is to set a 
 friend on scribbling, by expressing a partially good opinion that he can 
 write. Accept, however, as it is, this token of regard, which is emu- 
 lous to expose itself to you; and repay it by transmitting your cri- 
 ticisms and censures, more valuable than your praises, which, if they 
 could be desired, w r ould not be deserved ; and, if not deserved, must 
 be the severest of rebukes. Thus let me feel anew that 1 am 
 
 Your Friend, and 
 
 Christian Brother, 
 
 W. Barber. 
 
memory’s twilight bowers 
 
 215 
 
 MEMORY’S TWILIGHT BOWERS. 
 
 4 And still in Memory’s twilight Bowers, 
 
 4 The spirits of departed hours, 
 
 4 With mellowing tints portray 
 4 The blossoms of life’s vernal flowers, 
 
 4 For ever passed away !’ 
 
 Montgomery.* 
 
 i. 
 
 Yes ! there’s a twilight region here, — 
 
 A Bower within my breast, — 
 
 Where haunts all Memory holds most dear,t 
 And shadowy hope, and pallid fear, 
 
 In fainter nalure dress’d. 
 
 ii. 
 
 There is within man’s noble mind 
 A rich enchanted ground, 
 
 Where thought grows rank ; yet ere defin’d 
 It bursts, and leaves no trace behind : 
 
 There Fancy’s Bower is found. 
 
 n. hi. 
 
 She, Empress o’er ideal things, 
 
 And phantoms thin as air, 
 
 Draws being from her magic springs, 
 
 Moves Time’s dull pace with swifter wings, 
 
 Rules Joy and fell Despair. 
 
 * The motto, with the general current of thought deduced from it, and originat- 
 ingtbe title, borrowed from Montgomery, and the 23rd stanza from Milton, are 
 all that 1 am conscious of having derived from others. 
 
 ■f* You are aware that Mrs. B. died of typhus fever, more than two years since, on 
 the 20th of August 1822. It is a remarkable, and, to that grief which in common 
 with all passion dwells on little incidents, an affecting circumstance, that this 
 decease should have been on the same day of the week as that of her marriage, 
 which took place exactly six months before, with a difference of one day only in 
 the dates, the marriage having been on the 19th of February, and the dissolution 
 on the 20th of August. 
 
216 
 
 memory’s twilight bowers. 
 
 IY. 
 
 There rules she with a cruel sway 
 The mortals she commands ; 
 
 For power, if wanton, spreads dismay. 
 
 Or fickle, drives all law away ; 
 
 Unknown its blind demands, 
 
 v. 
 
 Now nothings into visions swell, 
 
 Grand castles elves prepare, 
 
 And feasts of joy, as dreamers tell, 
 
 Sounds like a fairy’s whisper dwell ; 
 
 All but to touch, is there. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Her spells for me endure not now,* 
 
 She rules in me no more, — 
 
 She’s gone offended ; — I’d not bow ; — 
 
 Her planted Bower refus’d to grow, 
 
 It mock’d th’ Enchantress’ power. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Instead of vine leaf, ivy grew ; 
 
 For jessamine, the thorn ; 
 
 Instead of laurel, rose the yew ; 
 
 And cypress, tree of deadly hue, 
 
 Instead of myrtle ; w illow too, 
 
 Low drooping o’er an urn. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 And let her go : — I love her not ; — 
 
 She’s trifling, full of glee ; 
 
 She is a foe to ripen’d thought ; 
 
 To knowledge with experience bought : — 
 
 Fancy’s a foe to me. 
 
 IX. 
 
 But Memory , Fancy’s fairest child, 
 
 Has all her parent’s charms ; 
 
 And she is chasten’d, constant, mild ; 
 
 Oft e’en her grief, when waxing wild, 
 
 The sense of loss disarms. 
 
 * The influence on the imagination of an early and a great disappointment, is 
 decisive. Prior to this, its exercise was rarely on any field but that, where the 
 bright uncertainties of futurity present attractions ; but, subsequently, the future 
 is loathsome, and the dearest and most frequent employment of the fancy is 
 through memory on the past ; — a propensity, which, as forcibly as any other, needs 
 the limits of Virtue to be accurately defined, and the consolations of Religion to 
 be perpetually checked, — that the one may give security, and the other restore to 
 peace. 
 
memory’s twilight bowers. 
 
 217 
 
 x. 
 
 ’Tis sweet to steal in twilight shade, 
 
 And watch her wond’rous power ; 
 
 Rock, mountain, sea-shore, river, glade, — 
 
 She bids them glow, — she bids them fade, — 
 
 She bids them quit her Bower. 
 
 XI. 
 
 I love to track her when she moves 
 Familiar scenes among : 
 
 O’er well-known Kingstone* when she roves, ' 
 
 My eye a richer landscape proves 
 Than e’er it knew from song. 
 
 XII. 
 
 The fav’rite haunts, — the woody nook, — 
 
 The often trodden glen, — 
 
 That purling, bubbling, ceaseless brook ; — 
 
 And while I gaze with aching look, 
 
 My Anna lives again ! 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Her very mien, — her graceful form, — 
 
 The eye with its own fire, 
 
 Where throned Religion met the storm 
 Unmov’d, — the soul which own’d the charm, — 
 
 Candour and truth inspire. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 The waving fields, — the devious path, 
 
 That winds through Arkstone wood, — 
 
 The dingled meadows underneath, — 
 
 The footsteps loitering o’er the heath, — 
 
 That copse, the hill’s dark hood. 
 
 xv. 
 
 Wan thought dwells lonely on the hours 
 Beguiled in yon alcove, — 
 
 There (how unlike these widow’d Bowers !) 
 
 Our spirits blended by the powers 
 Of chaste acknowledg’d love. 
 
 xvi. 
 
 Oft have I seen her glistening eye 
 Run star-like through the air, 
 
 Above the stars, — along the sky, — 
 
 And then she wish’d to rise so high, 
 
 As if that time were near. 
 
 *Thc parish of Mrs.B.’s residence, previously to marriage, situated in Hereford- 
 shire, near the banks of the river Wye. The Arkstone estate, the most conspicu- 
 ous and attractive of the parish, possesses considerable beauty in its local scenery, 
 which circumstances rendered the more impressive. 
 
218 
 
 memory’s twilight bowers. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 And when I talk’d of heavenly joys, 
 
 She hung with eager ear ; — 
 
 We rose sublimely o’er the noise 
 Of earth, — its vanity, — its toys, — 
 
 Its passing scenes, — its empty joys, — 
 
 Its finite hope or fear. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 And I have oft of heaven besought, 
 
 (She bound the high behest,) 
 
 Through full submission to be taught 
 Of God; — sincere, yet all unthought 
 How earthly that request ! 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Now Memory all thy powers prepare ! 
 
 Oh, soften not ! Portray 
 The mud-wall’d cottage* us’d for prayer, 
 
 Where often hied the villager ! 
 
 Haste, — let me listen, — let me hear, — 
 
 As she was wont to pray ! 
 
 xx. 
 
 Thou , trembler, canst not ! Let me draw 
 That mud-floor pauper room, 
 
 Where once I listened , — once I saw^r 
 Unseen : — ah, no ! I cannot draw 
 Of death that chamber-tomb. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Then sketch me out that circled few, 
 
 (And let thy painting last !) 
 
 Which daily round the altar drew ! 
 
 Oh, dip thy pencil — paint more true ! 
 
 No, stop, my Memory ! — ’Tis too true ! — 
 
 ’Twas vivid, but ’tis pass'd. 
 
 * Mrs. B. and her sisters were the only persons of the immediate neighbourhood, 
 who professed any attachment to vital religion, and advocated its cause. A cot- 
 tage was opened for prayer for the sake of the peasantry, and the sacred exercises 
 were conducted by the Misses Howell ; for this, their decided piety and their emi- 
 nent good sense fully qualified them. 
 
 f Going once to see Miss Howell, I found her not at home : by dint of per- 
 severance, I discovered the hut whither I was told she was gone. On step- 
 ping softly to the door, I perceived her sitting in a most wretched room, which 
 served for almost every use to the inmates, reading and talking to a mi- 
 serably diseased pauper girl, who lay on a bed in one corner. A person 
 not knowing the state of my feelings toward the amiable deceased at that time, 
 may smile wisely enough at all there was poetical in this incident ; but to me 
 there was a delicious practical charm over it, which no lapse of time or events 
 can dissipate. 
 
memory’s twilight bowers. 
 
 219 
 
 XXII. 
 
 And pass’d to what ? — Ah ! wouldst thou try 
 Her wedded virtues ? — See 
 A scoffing world in mockery ! — 
 
 Who would believe thee, Memory ? — 
 
 * * * *• * *■ 
 
 Yet who’ll rebuke fidelity, 
 
 If that thou shewest to me ? 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Like cluster’d stars in yon fair sky, 
 
 Her virtues ; — if she move, 
 
 Grace plays ; — Heaven beaming in her eye ; — 
 
 In every gesture dignity, 
 
 And pure devoted love ! * 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 What ails thee, wanderer ? — Why refrain ? + 
 
 Quick ! — Move thy magic wand ! — 
 
 Hath nerveless joy, —delirious pain, — 
 
 Confus’d thy shatter’d reeling brain, — 
 
 Rived it from Reason’s hand ? 
 
 XXV. 
 
 A column fall’n, — a fractur’d tower, — 
 
 A wreck upon the shore, — 
 
 A captive in a tyrant’s power, — 
 
 A widow whom fierce griefs devour, — 
 
 A lover in the drifting shower, 
 
 Bleach’d, — frozen on the moor ! 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Hark ! on yon Oak, which lately pass’d 
 Heavenward its lofty form, 
 
 Hath rush’d the withering lightning’s blast ; — 
 Thundering, the trunk falls dead, — o’ercast, — 
 
 Torn by the furious storm ! 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Portentous signs in busy crowds 
 
 Glide gauntly through the air ; — 
 
 * This is borrowed as nearly as possible from Milton : see Paradise Lost, book 
 viii. ver. 488, 489. It is his imitable description of Eve. I used to love to apply it 
 to my exalted Anne ; — no man had more right or reason to use it in such a manner. 
 
 t Apart from the loss itself, the difficulty of keeping the eye of Memory upon 
 the excellencies of one dear, yet departed, to be estimated must be felt, and if 
 felt it will be instantly recognised in another. This and the following stanzas are 
 altogether invented to introduce the remaining with greater effect; but the 29th 
 and following are relations of what were really observed, during some of those 
 inexpressibly terrible seasons of watching, which were rendered necessary by the 
 fatal illness of Mrs. B. 
 
220 
 
 memory’s twilight bowers. 
 
 The pale moon shuddering rashly shrouds 
 Her doubtful light in doubling clouds, — 
 While blue flames flickering glare ! 
 xxviii. 
 
 See ! slow in gloomy shades advance, 
 (These Memory vindicate,) 
 
 Dismay, and hopes which fears enhance, 
 Death, and the wasting pestilence; — 
 Days — nights of awful date ! 
 
 The struggling Sun’s coarse crimson dye, 
 
 Of storms presaging mark, 
 
 His fiery wheels all clogg’d and dry, — 
 
 Th’ untimely eve’s thick bloody sky, — 
 Heaven’s gloomy midnight canopy, 
 
 All starless, — ray less, — dark ! 
 
 XXX. 
 
 The hooting screech-owl’s savage screams, * 
 Dread harbinger of death, — 
 
 The chimney’s sickly rush-light beams, — 
 Grim spectres laughing through the seams, — + 
 The harsh, half-smother’d breath ! 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 The prison’d hounds far yelling cry, — 
 
 The wind’s low howling rush, — 
 
 The walls’ imagin’d tapestry, — 
 
 And fancy’s rustling drapery, — 
 
 The alarm’d, terrific 6 Hush !’ X 
 
 The silent sufferer’s tender sigh, 
 
 More certain, — pointed, - 
 
 -keen, — 
 
 * It is a fact, however accounted for, that almost regulai'ly in the dead of night 
 an owl, during Mrs. B.’s illness, used to come, and, perching in a poplar opposite 
 the chamber window, fill the air with his abominable cries. If at length dis- 
 turbed, which was to be done only by throwing something at him, he would 
 sometimes fly to the window of the boys’ room, and, waking them by the flapping 
 of his wings, terrify them extremely. 
 
 •}' In deep and anxious night, when all are sleeping around, a vivid imagination 
 is sometimes tormentingly active : few perhaps have failed to notiee how the eye, 
 fastening on a corner of the room, a knot in the floor, or a joint in the planks, 
 seems to see widening from it horribly distorted visages. 
 
 X All the circumstances here enumerated are quite natural, and their influence 
 is most active and distressing when the mind is anxious, the system exhausted, 
 and the apprehensions alarmed by the presence of dangerous and unabating dis- 
 ease. 
 
memory’s twilight bowers. 
 
 221 
 
 The dreadful hectic blushing high, — 
 
 The generous Sister’s aching eye,* 
 
 Love seeing, but not seen. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 The nightly bell’s unbidden knoll, + 
 
 Impatient of delay ! — 
 
 The livid eye’s delirious roll, — 
 
 The fluttering pulse, — the fluttering soul,— 
 The lovely form’s decay ! 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 Oh, spare me, ingrate Memory ! spare, 
 
 Nor work a second death ! — 
 
 Yet stay ! — I’ll bend once more to hear 
 That last adieu, — that final prayer, — 
 
 And catch that parting breath. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 She looks, — she loves, — she weeps, — she prays 
 4 Oh, yield not, I command, 
 
 4 To grief excessive ; — it betrays 
 4 To deeper woe !’ — Then eager lays 
 A cold, — damp, — trembling hand ! 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 That was the beaming of the soul, 
 
 Already charg’d with light, 
 
 As bursting from this earth’s control ; 
 
 Love pitying, some faint glances stole, 
 
 Then bounded on her flight ! 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 As when the Sun low westward bears 
 On clouds dark, — eastern, — rife, 
 
 His glorious bow’s wide sweep he steers 
 Through rain ; — mysterious strife ! — 
 
 * The Sisters of Mrs. B. watched over her with the most exemplary and affect" 
 ing assiduity. The eldest, Margaret, would not remove her clothes for thirteen 
 successive days and nights; and, at length, she left the bed-side of her dying Sister 
 only a few days before the closing scene, because she was attacked by the same 
 dreadful disease, and brought by it to the very verge of the grave. 
 
 ■f It is likewise an undeniable fact, that the large school-bell, which was placed 
 on the top of the house, would ring in the dead of night, sometimes, so as to 
 alarm the neighbours with the dread of fire or robbers. The only cause of this, 
 which I can imagine, was the wind’s moving the bell to and fro, for it swung upon 
 an axis, moved by an oblique lever. But the country people did not hesitate to 
 ascribe it to the ghost of the former occupant of the house, who died by self-mur- 
 der, to which he was urged by his own crimes, as the only means of avoiding an 
 ignominious death. 
 
222 
 
 memory’s twilight bowers. 
 
 Just such the sinking saint appears ; 
 
 He dies, while smiling through his tears 
 On the past ills of life. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 Oh, there was glory in that scene* 
 
 Of death, — say rather, life! 
 
 Glory that aw’d the furious mien 
 
 Of Passion, — calm’d his strife ; — 
 
 The hovering Angels all but seen, 
 
 And scarce a veil thte eye between 
 
 And God ! 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 Yes, Memory, thou art dear to me ; 
 
 And hallow’d be thy powers; 
 
 From folly thou a guard shalt be ; 
 
 From fierce repining thou shalt free ; 
 
 'Grief grateful love devours. 
 
 XL. 
 
 And when in evening’s shade thy will 
 Calls far-gone spirits up, 
 
 I charge thee to prepare the thrill 
 Of heart-reviving Philomel, 
 
 And bid the top of every hill 
 
 Look bright with golden hope. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 And thus thou shalt within thy Bowers 
 Teach me o’er grief to soar, 
 
 Shalt give, by consecrated powers, 
 
 My widow’d solitary hours 
 
 Charms they ne’er knew before. 
 
 * The moments of my most endeared Anne’s dissolution were the most surpris- 
 ing of my whole life. The presence of invisible beings — of spirits, — and espe- 
 cially of ‘ The Great God and Saviour of us,’ was most assured and conscious. 
 The effect upon myself and others was most strange and impressive, rendering me 
 perhaps more calm than at this moment, though in the full consciousness that I 
 had just irreparably lost my earthly all, and, what was more to me by far than 
 mere possession, every hope of domestic love and happiness. Every sensation 
 seemed absorbed by a profound, and reverential, and sustaining awe of the pre- 
 sent Deity engaged in the very act of giving liberation and triumph to a spirit pre- 
 pared for Himself. 1 could not shed a tear, nor feel one reluctant, repining thought. 
 Nor, till after some time, when this passed away, was that tearless and speech- 
 less muteness to be ascribed to another cause. Oh, would to God that more of 
 that assistance had remained ! The full enjoyment of it could not ; I should have 
 been earthly no longer ; but I have unhappily seen the wide extreme. 
 
CHAPTER VIII, 
 
 Summoned to London by the Missionary Committee — Reflections on the Scenes 
 of the Metropolis — Passes his Examination — Bids adieu to his Friends — Ordi- 
 nation as a Missionary — Hopeful Circumstances of a Backslider — Comfortabln 
 Reflections in the anticipation of his Work — Commencement of his Voyage. 
 
 At the Conference of 1824, my Brother’s case was introduced, when, 
 by the persevering kindness of some of its most influential members, 
 permission was given to the Missionary Committee to summon him to 
 London for the purpose of a particular examination, chiefly into the 
 real state of his health, but likewise of course into his various quali- 
 fications for a foreign station. 
 
 Accordingly, in the latter end of September, the expected call was 
 given, as will be seen by the following Letter to his Friends in 
 Gloucester. 
 
 Bristol , Sept. 24, 1824. 
 
 My very dear William and Lydia, 
 
 The long expected letter from the Committee is at length 
 arrived, and I expect, by the favour of Divine Providence, to be in 
 London, on Tuesday next. I know nothing about the terms of my 
 going out, but I expect nothing, nor will it be boasting to say that I 
 desire nothing but to give myself up, — c to present myself a living 
 sacrifice.’ My present circumstances are certainly tremendous in re- 
 sponsibility and in consequence. With so much reason as I have to 
 fear for my own faithfulness, the awful terror of improperly engaging 
 in the Missionary enterprise has driven me again and again to my 
 knees for that sanctification of heart, and that consecration of fa- 
 culties, which shall ensure my ‘faithfulness unto death.’ 1 confess, 
 that in this respect I am cowardly, but in no other that I know of. 
 Danger I do not apprehend ; — death I do not much fear ; — separation 
 is indeed painful, but I have known worse, and I have survived ; — 
 and labour has nothing in it unpleasant to me, but that so small a 
 portion of it can, without crushing, rest on this frame of feebleness 
 and incapacity; — but I deeply dread my own defection of heart. I am 
 fearful, as to whether I shall be able to continue 4 holy, harmless, un- 
 
224 
 
 SUMMONED BY THE- MISSIONARY COMMITTEE. 
 
 defiled, separate from sinners,’ patient, humble, zealous, and enter- 
 prising. My prayers on this subject are partially heard ; and God 
 has certainly blest me in spirit, and given me the pledge of fuller pre- 
 paration for doing or suffering his holy will. I am determined, more 
 fully than ever in my life, to 4 know nothing among men, but Jesus 
 Christ, and Him crucified.’ O that the hopes, which I cherish with 
 ardent, jealous fondness, may be fully realised, and that they may not 
 prove the rperely natural excitement of present circumstances and im- 
 mediate prospects ! Again I earnestly implore you to pray for me, 
 without ever missing a day, that God would fill me with the blessings 
 and the spirit of His sacred Gospel, and make me 4 faithful unto 
 death.’ 
 
 I am, with love to all, 
 
 Your very affectionate Brother, 
 
 W. Barber. 
 
 On the following Tuesday, September the 28th, my Brother pro- 
 ceeded to London. Having myself just received from the Conference a 
 station at Hampstead, I had the pleasure of enjoying a good deal of 
 his society, as it was some months before he left England. 
 
 The following Letters were written while he was at the Mission- 
 House. 
 
 To his Father. 
 
 London , Oct. 4, 1824. 
 
 My very dear Father, 
 
 ***** 
 
 You will wish to hear of what I have seen. Aquila has, 
 and I think not without point or justice, sometimes quizzed me on the 
 great preponderance of what he calls philosophy in my letters. Per- 
 haps it will have the effect of making me more perceptibly restrict the 
 propensity, which I have felt to philosophise over every thing. And 
 yet I must confess that, whether advisable or not, it has long been 
 my habit to regard the moral of a thing, as of more importance than 
 the thing itself; and the impressions created by objects, as of deeper 
 and more lasting interest than those objects themselves. But perhaps 
 in letter-writing, I should more frequently and more extensively have 
 left facts to make their own impressions, and allowed my correspond- 
 ents to philosophise in their own style, and according to their own 
 habits. Yet I declare, that a letter from me in the dry form of unat- 
 tended and thoughtless narrative, without observation, would be so 
 strange to me, that I might be the father of such a production with- 
 out knowing my own offspring, and indeed readily deny that it is 
 mine, because so utterly unlike me. Whatever opinion may be 
 
ARRIVAL IN LONDON. 
 
 225 
 
 formed of my letter-writing, and I suppose that events will turn out 
 under Providence so as to render the habit of writing to you more 
 continuous and eventful than heretofore, I do resolve to attend only 
 to the one object, information interesting to my own Father and fa- 
 mily, because connected with the impressions which are made on the 
 mind of a relative, who, by blood and by unusual sorrows, has already 
 had a strong interest in their affections. 
 
 We made our way from Bristol with tolerable rapidity, and without 
 any serious accident. * * * * 
 
 Mrs. Morley received us with great kindness. I was however sorry 
 to find that Mr. M. was from home, in Ireland on a visit directed by 
 Conference to the Mission Stations there, and not likely to return for 
 three weeks or a month. And being the only Missionary candidate, 
 and indeed the only person in the house, except Mrs M. and the ser- 
 vant, I find myself rather lonely in the midst of hundreds of thou- 
 sands of busy, bustling spirits, who, however, have no business with 
 me. 
 
 Wednesday and Thursday were spent in wandering about. At the 
 
 close of the former day, I was at with Mrs. , 
 
 and her daughter and son, who received me, as you might expect, with 
 the cordiality of old and gratifying acquaintance. The two former 
 have been very unwell ; but it w T as of course most gratifying to me to 
 understand, that they both maintain their integrity, and that in the 
 comparative seclusion of a retired cottage-life, they habitually sacrifice 
 their accustomed association with the worldly, the fashionable, the 
 trifling, and the gay. 
 
 You expected, without doubt, that I should find the son in a most in- 
 teresting condition of mind. I did so, but will not dwell on this, as I 
 wish to form both opinions and hopes more deliberately than a first in- 
 terview will allow. The first impressions, however, are most decidedly 
 favourable; he possesses a fine open disposition, capable of being di- 
 rected to the utmost usefulness, but likewise assuredly capable of being 
 mis-directed to dissipation without object, and pleasure without enjoy- 
 ment. We were prepared to confide in each other, and were known 
 before we were introduced. He talked freely, and I felt the influence 
 of the same spirit. I thought, that I could discover his moral condi- 
 tion, and on me rested very solemnly the impression of obligation to 
 insist on every important principle in its full and vigorous application. 
 Unbending principle is the character of the Bible, and it is that which 
 shall give it the conquest of the world. Unbending principle is that, 
 too, which shall subdue a solitary human spirit, which never will sub- 
 mit till it has found the Bible to be the way of salvation, — the only 
 method of security. From my very soul I abhor, and discard form- 
 ally and for ever, as I would alliance with the elements of ruin and 
 destruction, that system of palliation, by which the truth is concealed 
 
 Q 
 
226 
 
 PREPARATION FOR THE GIBRALTAR MISSION. 
 
 under false impressions, and the hope of spiritual good is elevated on 
 delusive grounds. In every instance where fidelity demanded it, I 
 
 told Mr. — the truth ; and the truth is, that he is not yet a 
 
 new creature in Christ Jesus, and that he does not understand the way 
 of salvation by faith. However, I believe that he prays with real sin- 
 cerity, and sacrifices with firm resolution. And will not God bless 
 and save him ? I hope and pray that he will ; but decision is never 
 matured without conversion of heart, and the pardon of sin 6 places 
 the feet upon a rock, and establishes the goings.’ 
 
 As to myself, I have seen Mr. Watson and several of the Preachers, 
 and understand, that, if my health should be spared, there is no doubt of 
 my soon going out to Gibraltar. I have orders to apply immediately to 
 the Spanish language, with a view to the Spaniards on the Rock; and, 
 if possible, to an invasion of that wide, and dark, and wasted terri- 
 tory, where Spanish superstition has graded through all the successive 
 steps of mental prostration, — tyranny, — infatuation, — madness, — mur- 
 der, — revolution, — anarchy ! What lies before me, but the indispens- 
 able and overwhelming necessity of the Holy Spirit’s influences? Oh, 
 join and multiply your prayers for me! 
 
 Your affectionate Son 
 
 William. 
 
 To his eldest Sister. 
 
 London , Oct. 7, 1824. 
 
 My very dear Sarah, 
 
 I cannot remember the time, when I addressed my last 
 letter to you ; but the act once again repeated so forcibly reminds me 
 of old times, and fetches up so many sensations which had been cov- 
 ered over by novelties, that have since become mature, and old, and 
 passed away, that I know not how to define the feeling which I now 
 have ; it demands to be regarded, though I doubt, if it would be 
 wise to notice it closely : — let it go then; — could I decompose it, I 
 am afraid that the pleasure of it would evaporate in sighs, and nothing 
 would be left, but the grosser elements of reflection, regret, and grief. 
 Most certainly it would be thus, unless there could be awakened those 
 sentiments of gratitude and devoted humility, that are natural to a 
 mind duly estimating the grace of God, which, instead of abandoning 
 the soul to the neglect and infatuation of a hopeless and deserved state, 
 causes c all things to work together for its good.’ 
 
 London has presented nothing to my observation, to awaken my co- 
 vetousness or my envy. I look at it all, as I would at a peep-show, 
 without any wish to stay in it, or any feeling that would burst into re- 
 luctance to leave it. Natural enough this ; for I have little interest 
 here ; — nothing here is mine, or my business ; and the man has no- 
 thing to boast of, who even has his dispositions sufficiently well regu- 
 
REFLECTIONS ON THE SCENES OF THE METROPOLIS. 
 
 227 
 
 lated, to avoid the self-torment of desiring where cupidity is in vain. 
 But if London possesses nothing to fix me, it certainly has many things 
 to occasion a temporary interest. But I cannot help observing, that 
 the chief interest of almost every thing, which strikes the attention of 
 a stranger, lies deeper than the surface ; it arises from associations, 
 which are detected by memory, or brought into near view" by the 
 known existing relations which they hold. There must be some dif- 
 ference between my impressions, and those of one who is an absolute 
 countryman, though not in the scornful acceptation which cockney 
 pride assigns to the epithet. To me there is, of course, nothing diffi- 
 cult in the apprehension of a vast labyrinth of streets, and in an endless 
 diversity of houses and shops, which, in very many cases, have very 
 little remarkable in them, and are decidedly inferior to the principal 
 streets and shops in Bristol ; though there certainly are parts of the 
 City as greatly superior to these, as these are to the Pithay or Tower 
 Lane. It is only in some few streets of chief resort, that the multi- 
 tudes of people greatly out-number those of the City of our birth. 
 At the same time, I have no intention of instituting any thing like a 
 comparison between the two Cities, for none can possibly exist. 
 
 The very transient and partial glimpse, which I have had of West- 
 minster Abbey, not only revived the impression which the admirable 
 delineation of Geoffrey Crayon in the Sketch Book had previously 
 made ; but it roused within me such sensations, as induced Washington 
 Irving to write as he did, because he had the power to do so, when 
 inspired by the spirit of a place, which holds familiarity with nothing 
 but the remains of all that is great among human beings of rank, and 
 honour, and wealth, and above all, of intellect. I thought, that I 
 could sympathise with him in the Poet’s Corner, though, at the same 
 time, I could feel no inclination to turn Poet myself ; because no ef- 
 fort can produce a Poet from materials, which are not originally en- 
 dowed with the qualities of Poetry ; and because it would be an ill 
 exchange to gain the wreath, which, though awarded by a nation’s 
 consent, is so soon to wither on the tomb, at the expense of the joys 
 and lasting rew ards assigned to a faithful adherence to the gospel, and a 
 successful ministration of its truths and resources to men perishing for 
 lack of knowledge. In spite of all other reflections, I could not help 
 sighing to think, how few of those, whose mortal remains lay scattered 
 around me, had employed their high endowments for the noble and 
 worthy purposes of glorifying the God, who had so distinguished them; 
 and of spreading the influence of those truths, which reclaim mankind 
 from vice, and purify the heart. 
 
 * * % * * To me however the most interesting sights are 
 
 not what men have done, but men themselves. At the same time, while t 
 gladly yield myself up for the purpose of rendering them service, 6 if 
 that by any means I might save some ;’ I should certainly rejoice to 
 
 Q 2 
 
228 
 
 REFLECTIONS ON THE SCENES OF THE METROPOLIS. 
 
 make myself better acquainted with man, through the medium of those 
 works, which evince and illustrate his stupendous capacities for good 
 and for evil. I saw a striking example of his power to do evil, at the 
 Horse-guards a day or too since. It is a large mortar of most unusu- 
 ally destructive powers, cast for the French service under Buonaparte, 
 and used at the siege of Cadiz. I understood, that it fell into the 
 hands of the Spaniards on the raising of that siege, in consequence of 
 Lord Wellington’s splendid victory at Yittoria; that the Spaniards 
 presented it to the Prince Regent ; and that the present stand was 
 cast for it, when, as a trophy of British valour and superiority, it was 
 fixed on the parade, an object of dreadful regard and somewhat plea- 
 surable detestation to all who deprecate the necessity of war, and re- 
 joice in our Country’s success. It is said, that this infernal piece of 
 ordnance, now most appropriately supported by the coils of a foul 
 and horrible non-descript serpent, and guarded by Cerberus, the 
 keeper of the mythological regions of death, will throw a bomb three 
 miles ; and, though always discharged by a fusee, that the percussion 
 of the air was so strong, as inevitably to injure the man who lighted 
 it, before he could remove to a sufficient distance. There may, indeed, 
 be the folly of exaggeration or of ignorance in this account, but that 
 it must have been a most terrific instrument of destruction is evident 
 enough. There, however, it remains quiet now, but, especially 
 when surrounded by the living and moving apparatus of war, a most 
 instructive illustration of the dreadful corruption, the awful infatua- 
 tion, and the cruel malignity of that nature, which could invent and 
 use such a means of mutual destruction. 
 
 I had an opportunity of seeing a part of the Lord Mayor’s Show. 
 The splendid state-carriage, which has been so many times in the 
 pictures of our childish books, and thus become associated with our 
 earliest feelings of commercial ambition, pleased me on the very ac- 
 count of its resembling the representations, which those pictures gave 
 me in the days of infancy. There certainly was great wisdom, in 
 making that carriage so unusual and so splendid a thing; and there is 
 also great wisdom pi retaining it, in preference to procuring another 
 formed according to more modern taste. To attach splendour to office 
 is to create for it, without any comparative expense, an influence more 
 than double its own ; and to retain the splendour of former ages, is to 
 augment the power of that influence, by all the reverence which men 
 involuntarily feel for antiquity and the worthy habits of their fore- 
 fathers. 
 
 One of the most truly pleasing scenes, however, which I have wit- 
 nessed in London, was the great number of communicants last Sunday 
 evening, after preaching at Great Queen-Street Chapel. There was, 
 too, a seriousness, a spirit of devotion, a silence, and a regularity, 
 which raised my estimation of the piety of the London Methodists; 
 
PASSES HIS EXAMINATION BEFORE TIIF- COMMITTEE. 
 
 229 
 
 and made me feel a high degree of pleasure in mingling with their 
 devotions my praises and my prayers. Mr. Henshaw preached, and 
 Mr. Watson assisted him in administering the Sacrament. * * * 
 
 Your very affectionate Brother, 
 
 William. 
 
 A few days subsequently to his writing the above, my Brother 
 passed his examination before the Committee with success ; though, as 
 his being sent abroad in his then state of health was considered in the 
 light of an experiment, they very prudently and properly exacted 
 from him a written engagement, that, in the event of his being obliged 
 to retire from the work for want of health, previously to his admission 
 into full connexion with the Conference, he should consider that he 
 had no claims for support upon any of the funds of the Wesleyan 
 Body. The following Letter will explain itself. 
 
 To his Father. 
 
 Gloucester , Oct. 21, 1824. 
 
 My very dear Father, 
 
 You will perhaps be rather surprised to find me here. I 
 came from London with Mr. Wheeler yesterday. On Wednesday last, 
 the meeting of the Committee took place, and I then ascertained that, 
 for the present, I might be at liberty ; and accordingly I did not 
 hesitate to make the most of my time, by agreeing to start early on 
 the following morning for Gloucester. I intend taking Cainscross in 
 my way to Bristol, for the purpose of bidding you all farewell. On 
 the disagreeable necessity of this I will not dwell. I have only to 
 say, that but for the strange perverseness of human nature, which in 
 some cases loves to be tormented, I would myself most gladly have 
 taken ship, and sailed without visiting Bristol at all. 
 
 You will, by what I have written, guess that the kind anticipations 
 of my friends, respecting my passing the examination before the 
 Committee, have been realised. I could not however attend it with- 
 out agitation, though I was mercifully borne through. 
 
 I suppose they allowed a good deal for my feelings, which must 
 have been visible. I observe the increase of this nervous excitement 
 with pain, because it must materially affect my usefulness, as well as 
 my self-possession and respectability. However, the Committee ma- 
 nifested great kindness, as well as great prudence ; and the cordiality, 
 with which I went before them, is, if possible, augmented by their rea- 
 sonable and sympathising tenderness. They would willingly have 
 sent me out married, had I wished it, and been in a proper state of 
 
230 
 
 BIDS ADIEU TO HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 health ; but the delicacy of my constitution and all its consequences, 
 I accept from the hands of the Lord, as justly merited visitations of 
 Providence, and as a chastisement for blessings inadequately prized, 
 and not properly employed. He, who sets creature-good in the su- 
 preme place of God, does not esteem it as he ought. Its true value 
 and highest worth are unknown, till its proper place and influence are 
 assigned in the heart. 
 
 As you all hoped, my destination is to Gibraltar with Mr. Dixon, 
 and my mission is specially to the Spanish refugees, and others of the 
 same nation who may be within reach. This is, assuredly, a most im- 
 portant and deeply interesting sphere of labour : if the Lord, the 
 Spirit, is pleased to prepare the hearts of those poor unhappy men to 
 receive, and my soul to dispense, the word of his grace, the issues of 
 such a mission may be immense. The period, for which I enter upon 
 the work, is of course unlimited, as I consider that my life is to be 
 devoted to it. 
 
 And now my chief anxiety is, that He, who has led me by the 
 circuitous and thorny road over which I have travelled to reach this 
 new epoch of my life, may demonstrate His approbation by endowing 
 me with the necessary qualifications. I sensibly and painfully feel 
 my present inadequateness. I am neither half holy, nor half spirit- 
 ually-minded enough, to be an I * * * * 6 able minister of the New Testament.’ 
 My want of such qualifications particularly affects me, and must arise 
 from a deficiency, in its tenderness and ardour, of the constraining love 
 of Christ. Again I entreat your prayers for me on this point. What 
 shall I do, — what use shall I be upon earth, — or how shall I become 
 finally saved, — if I am not a thousand times more sincere, affectionate, 
 and zealous in the cause of Christ? 
 
 My ordination is to take place in Great Queen-Street Chapel in 
 about three weeks. Ten days I intend spending here, at Cainscross, 
 and at Eastington, and the remainder of my short time, about ten or 
 twelve days at most, with you. 
 
 Your affectionate Son 
 
 William. 
 
 I will not attempt to describe the parting scene, which quickly 
 followed the above letter. Suffice it to say, that my dear Brother 
 
 was followed to London by the mingled tears, benedictions, and 
 prayers of his beloved Father, family, and friends, none of w T hom 
 
 scarcely ventured to anticipate, that they should c see his face again in 
 the flesh.’ We little thought, however, how soon he was to fall a 
 
 sacrifice to the very work, in which he had engaged in order to fulfil 
 
 his vow, to save his life, and to glorify his God by the salvation of 
 
 perishing souls. On his return to the Mission-House he sent the 
 following Letters. 
 
IIABITS OF SELF-REPROACII. 
 
 231 
 
 To his Father. 
 
 London , Nov. 15, 1824. 
 
 My very dear Father, 
 
 According to agreement I write a line or two, for I have 
 not time for more. I arrived at the Mission-House about 12 o’clock 
 on Saturday, after a pleasant journey. The ordination is fixed for 
 Wednesday evening. It is expected to be a very solemn and interest- 
 ing opportunity. If the presence of the great Head of the Church 
 be with us so sensibly as it is desired and entreated, solemnity and 
 interest will be the symptoms of deep and useful working, like the 
 brooding of the same Spirit on the unformed original mass. I have 
 never yet passed out of any circumstances, but the necessity of deep 
 self-conviction, and even self-reproach, has seemed inevitable from re- 
 flection. On my late journey from home, 1 was ready to think severe- 
 ly of myself for much want of strong and due affection, and ready, 
 anxious desire to please and help, which 1 might have exhibited 
 toward all the family ; and the impression in a measure continues to 
 the present time.^ But I will not dwell on any painful subject. — 
 I pray God, in his mercy, to bring us all to that place of happiness, 
 where capability and desire will have the same limits, and where there 
 shall be nothing bitter upon which to reflect. 
 
 My mind is very far from regretting the situation, in which I am 
 now placed. Nothing is wanting but the full descent of the power of 
 God to fully reveal his favour to me, and his sanctifying influences to 
 render me happier in my work, than I have thought it possible for me 
 ever to be in this 6 valley of the shadow of death.’ 
 
 I think very affectionately of each of my Sisters, as well as of Sam, 
 and beg you to accept my strongest love. My fervent prayers for 
 you all shall be daily offered up to 4 Him, who sitteth above the water- 
 floods.’ To his care I beseech you to unceasingly consign 
 
 Your affectionate Son 
 
 William. 
 
 * If external actions and general deportment be any ciiterion of the state of a' 
 person’s affections, I should be entirely at a loss to account for the severity of this 
 charge brought by my dear Brother against himself, did I not recollect his strange 
 propensity to write the bitterest things against his own heart, — a propensity which, 
 as it often had no real foundation in truth, was quite unnecessary, and even cul- 
 pable, because it deprived him of much of the happiness which he ought to hive 
 enjoyed. — A. B. 
 
232 
 
 ORDINATION AS A MISSIONARY. 
 
 To the Same. 
 
 London , Nov. 20, 1824. 
 My very dear and honoured Father, 
 
 I feel it right at present to address my letters to you, 
 though they are intended, of course, for the whole family. Hereafter 
 I may, perhaps with propriety, direct them to the different members in 
 succession ; though, if they could only persuade themselves that I 
 should not love them the less, nor the more readily cease to think 
 of them, it might be more advisable to address every letter to you, 
 and thus to continue the correspondence uninterrupted and without 
 tautology. But there is something in our nature, which loves to be 
 individuated ; and in matters of affection, the warm wishes of the soul 
 cannot bear to be undistinguished from the mass. 
 
 You expect, of course, to hear that the memorable and important 
 service of the ordination took place according to the arrangement 
 which I before mentioned. It commenced at seven o’clock in the 
 evening; this was decidedly too late, and it produced an ill effect, 
 for the ritual of the service occupied no inconsiderable portion of the 
 time, and the statements of the young men were consequently hur- 
 ried. The influence of this was felt chiefly by the last speakers; 
 of the four candidates I was the third. Had I been saved from some 
 degree of confusion of mind, I should have had reason to be glad, 
 that means were employed to urge the two last particularly to be 
 short, general, and pointed ; for I certainly was thus rescued from 
 the danger of making attempts to particularise on subjects, to which 
 I can never allude, even in private or solitary thought, without painful 
 emotion. As it was, however, I felt agitated and confused while speak- 
 ing ; and I fear, that the account must have been incoherent and un- 
 satisfactory. But my mind was unhappy only while in the act of 
 speaking ; there was, upon the whole, a very solemn and impressive 
 sense of the presence and power of God. My own soul certainly 
 was greatly blest : the consciousness of meaning well, and hoping the 
 best, is not to be despised; indeed, in connection with just views of 
 dependence on Him 6 whose strength is to be perfected in my weakness,’ 
 it is invaluable ; and some of this feeling I certainly possessed. But 
 this was not the only blessing that I received, for there seemed to be 
 granted me in the most unequivocal manner, at least for the time, a 
 more than ordinary sense of interest in the blood of the great and 
 only Atonement. It seems to me impossible to form an adequate es- 
 timate of the worth of that feeling, while receiving in the very sight, 
 and with the approbation, of the great Head of the Church, autho- 
 rity to administer the sacraments of His institution, from the accre- 
 dited and truly pious seniors in the Ministry. Again and again in- 
 
INTERVIEW WITH A FALLEN FRIEND. 
 
 233 
 
 deed the terrible thought of future unfaithfulness, and final reproba- 
 tion, has crossed and harassed my mind; and the fear of such an issue 
 I am not able to conquer, though I should be glad if it were produc- 
 tive of more hallowing and cautionary effects. 
 
 I went this morning to the office of , and opening the 
 
 door, the first face which I met was that of poor . The 
 
 feelings of neither of us at this juncture were at all enviable. He 
 seemed not to recognise me, turned away his eyes, and directed to 
 me the gentleman with whom my business lay. I called him by his 
 name, and he then returned the recognition. We shook hands, I 
 more cordially than he; but his manner was eminently becoming; he 
 seemed the same as I had ever known him, he does not appear much 
 altered. Could I but have extinguished recollection, he would have 
 been the same to me. We conversed about two minutes, and then 
 separated. Poor fellow ! The sight of him went to my soul. There 
 was that iu his manner which gave me leave, and I ventured to wish 
 that old days could return, and to intimate that there are certain 
 feelings which a man can never forget. What his character is now, 
 I know not ; but all I saw was proper, and he retains his situation so 
 long that it is difficult to imagine that his character can be otherwise 
 than good. A man who knows his own narrow escapes in life, and 
 who has felt the force of temptations eager to precipitate him through 
 some enticing but delusive pass to ruin, cannot but tremble as he 
 looks at cases, in which similar temptations have been effective and fa- 
 tal. Well; death, indeed, is not the cure for sin, but it is the door of 
 escape for ever from its reach. I have only to 6 be faithful unto 
 death,’ and that may be very near. Meantime the blood of Jesus, 
 the love of the Father, and the power of the Holy Ghost, are an ef- 
 fectual cure for all sin. I wish that myself and all my relatives at 
 home may be happily filled with this, and then 4 the joy of the Lord 
 should be our strength.’ 
 
 My passage is secured and paid for by Mr. Irving’s ship, and I 
 know not whether you will be pleased or pained to understand, that 
 Monday is the day fixed upon for embarkation and departure. I 
 think your pleasure must predominate, for the sooner I leave now the 
 better. I rather expect that, by the time you receive this letter, I 
 shall have commenced my voyage ; but as there are many miles be- 
 tween London and the being fairly out at sea, I shall not have lost 
 sight of my native shores, before you are uniting with the family to 
 beg Him, who has permitted the commencement of my sailing, to 
 graciously propitiate its progress and conclusion. I should be quite 
 ashamed to betray any extravagant anxiety on leaving England, or 
 about the voyage ; for that which others do without hesitation for the 
 sake of money, shall not I do without reluctance for the sake of the 
 glory of Christ, and the salvation of men? I do: I have no sensa- 
 
234 
 
 COMFORTABLE REFLECTIONS, 
 
 tion like reluctance. Thanks be to Him, who has taken the pains to 
 bring me to this ! But I should be equally ashamed to be without 
 anxiety at all, or, at least, without a strong desire that an influence the 
 most salutary may rest upon both you and me, in order fully to make 
 up for all those enjoyments and hopes, which it has been necessary to 
 sacrifice for the attainment of the station that T now occupy. 
 
 The Committee have been exceedingly kind and liberal to me, and 
 I have really nothing selfish to wish for. However, it is not good for 
 me to have my cup unmixed with bitters, else I should be spared the 
 pain of thinking that you are still in affliction. But what right have 
 we to expect it to be otherwise ? And is not the measure of bitterness, 
 awarded to our family, inestimably less than justice would freely sanc- 
 tion ? Ah! what will the end be of these things? This is an en- 
 quiry, which, in every bearing of it, it would be almost impious to 
 make. 6 Tu fac tua cures , ccetera mitte Deo.’ ( 4 Do thou thy duty, 
 the rest commit to God.’) This was a maxim in the spirit of which 
 
 Henry Martyn lived and died. Could I but imitate him! 
 
 The Lord, of His infinite mercy, fully prepare each of the family for 
 the joy at His right hand, where there is no more sighing, nor sor- 
 row, nor sickness, nor separation ; and where 6 there is no more 
 sea !’ 
 
 Your affectionate Sou, 
 
 W ILLIAM. 
 
 To his eldest Sister. 
 
 London , Nov. 22, 1824. 
 
 My very dear Sarah 
 
 Must not expect tne to fill this large sheet, but I could not 
 reconcile myself to allow the parcel to go without a word to her. I 
 would gladly contribute something toward rendering your present si- 
 tuation more easily borne. While it must be admitted, that to a Chris- 
 tian the chief source of sustaining power is in the throne of Grace, 
 much alleviation may be derived from that intercourse which, calling 
 out the endearments of the heart, prepares it to make exertions and 
 sacrifices for the benefit of those who feel their dependent circum- 
 stances. How great the difference, my dear, between the situation of 
 those, who have only to endure the trials arising from the dependence 
 of others on their care, and that of those, to whom is measured out 
 the trial of being thus reduced to helplessness and dependency ! I 
 allude to these subjects only for the sake of exciting, at the very com- 
 mencement of my letter, those grateful emotions which shall enable us 
 to glide sweetly through the remainder, as well perhaps as through 
 some of those labours and sorrows which circumstances involve. I 
 might find illustrations of these remarks in your situation, as well as 
 
IN THE ANTICIPATION OF HIS WORK. 
 
 235 
 
 my own. But to confine myself to the latter. — I am going to preach 
 the gospel of peace and holiness to sinners, who are perishing for lack 
 of its blessings. How different are my circumstances from those of 
 the poor people, whose condition I commiserate, and for whose com- 
 fort I pray to be made the instrument of guiding some streamlets of 
 the river of the waters of life ! I have not to encounter the preju- 
 dices of education and habit, in order to come at the truth. I carry 
 with me that, which, while it saves others, can also save my own soul. 
 In it my confidence is instructed and reposed. 1 believe it is 4 the 
 power of God unto salvation.’ 
 
 I must refer you to Father’s letter for an account of the ordina- 
 tion, that solemn service toward which I looked with as much appre- 
 hension while it was future, as I regard it with gratitude and hope 
 now that it is past. I do most cordially approve of the service. The 
 distinct recognition, which it makes of the individuals assigned to the 
 ministrj r , and the solemn designation, which it involves to the peculiar 
 offices implied, are very important. But this is not all ; it presents 
 the candidates to the Church and to the world, as well as to Him who 
 is 4 Head over all things,’ in a manner so impressive and so calculated 
 for usefulness, that I regard it as one of the most sacred and signifi- 
 cant acts of the Christian institution. How strong, my dear Sister, 
 are the obligations, under which I am thus laid, to be wholly devoted 
 to the work and service of the Gospel! If God strengthen me to 
 fulfil my resolutions, rather than my hopes, from this time forward I 
 shall live under the habitual and urging recollection of the solemn and 
 impressive moment when, after the example of the Apostles, the Fa- 
 thers of the Church laid their hands upon my head, and implored that 
 I might receive the Holy Ghost for the office of the Ministry. I 
 also feel great satisfaction in refecting , that the measures adopted 
 by Him , who in wisdom is to us altogether mysterious and inscrut- 
 able , have produced the effect which , upon attentive consideration , one 
 would think most likely to be that which was intended ; I mean, a 
 full and cheerful yielding of me to the call , which demands my ser- 
 vices for the souls of men at a distance from home. The parting 
 from the family is certainly thus rendered far more easy, or at least 
 
 far more tolerable than otherwise it could have been. But I quit 
 
 this subject. Let the God of our family do now as it pleases Him ! 
 
 I hope, by his gracious goodness, whether 1 live or die, henceforth to 
 be His fully and His alone. Oh, that a sense of the favour of the 
 Highest, as my God in Christ, through all the future, may be clear 
 and animating in my heart! Then 4 labour is rest, and pain is 
 sweet.’ 
 
 In my letter to Father, I have mentioned an unexpected interview 
 
 which I had with poor . I have since received from him 
 
 a note, which much gratified me, and relieved my apprehensions re- 
 
236 
 
 HOPEFUL CIRCUMSTANCES OF A BACKSLIDER. 
 
 specting him, by presenting his case so hopefully as to restore an ex- 
 pectation that he will not be finally a cast-away. His expressions are 
 certainly very becoming ; but there is much truth in a remark of 
 Mr. Taylor on the subject, that there is a difficulty in understanding 
 the meaning of a man, who knows the slang of religion, and who has 
 acted in a manner that is unworthy of it. However Mr. T. joins me 
 in thinking, that in this poor man’s case there evidently are redeem- 
 ing circumstances, which promise a re-establishment of principle, and 
 finally of character, and all the consequent blessings. In his note he 
 tells me that he has been five years in his present situation, and that 
 he was, in the September of last year, again received into fellowship 
 with a Dissenting Church. He now seems very ardently solicitous, 
 for full restoration to the holiness and the security of the people of 
 God. In a most modest and respectful manner he begs me to visit him, 
 if possible ; this however, I cannot do, for I have not time. I shall 
 write him a reply such as my heart prompts, while it rejoices over one 
 toward whom affection cleaves, unwilling to be cast off. 
 
 I hope and pray, that the mind of our dear Father may be sustained, 
 and rendered superior to all the depressing influences which now so 
 forcibly assail him; and, as it must certainly be a relief to him to see a 
 sanctifying influence come forth from the furnace in which his family 
 is now purifying, I do trust, that he may have to rejoice in seeing 
 those of his children at home sensibly improving in love to the 
 Saviour and in spirituality of mind, and his sons who are at a 
 distance spreading themselves out to usefulness and adorning the 
 Gospel. 
 
 The arrival of my trunk this morning relieved my mind from much 
 anxiety and uneasiness. I just opened it to see if any thing required 
 immediate attention, but I found little epistolary work. However, in 
 the supply of apparel I perceived much for which I am greatly your 
 debtor. I cannot repay you by any means, except by my affectionate 
 thanks. May you abundantly enjoy the sweetness of reflecting, that 
 what you have done has been for the Lord’s sake, as well as for 
 that of 
 
 Your very affectionate Brother, 
 
 William. 
 
NECESSITY OF HOLINESS TO A MISSIONARY. 
 
 237 
 
 To his second Sister . 
 
 London , Nov. 22, 1824. 
 
 My dear Priscilla, 
 
 Your sweet little note certainly merits a warm reply, and I 
 should not have hesitated a moment to write you a long letter, but 
 that Aquiia has already given me one for you ; and, should you re- 
 ceive two letters and Sarah none at all, I fear she would feel at least 
 some difficulty in persuading herself that she is properly thought of, 
 amidst those trials which Providence has laid upon her, for the pur- 
 pose of proving both her strength and her willingness to endure the 
 Divine will. 
 
 You have expected, that we went down the river this morning ; 
 but we have great reason to rejoice, that it was not practicable to get 
 away before the late heavy gales came on. The weather has been so 
 bad, that had we been able to reach the Channel, we must have had 
 very painful work of it there. If Providence should now favour us with 
 a little finer weather, I hope that we shall not have long to stay either 
 at Gravesend, or any where else; and, as there has been such a long 
 prevalence of south-westerly winds, it is reasonable to anticipate a 
 speedy change to a more northern or easterly point ; in which case 
 we shall go fairly out to sea. May we, in the mercy of our heavenly 
 Parent, have c a prosperous journey by the will of God ! ’ 
 
 It is to me a source of very pleasing reflection, that you are all this 
 day praying with peculiar fervour for my protection, and the favour 
 which shall bear me safely along the bosom of the deep. The anxiety 
 for the Divine blessing must be considerably greater in a Missionary’s 
 heart, than under the common circumstances of mercantile enterprise 
 or official duty ; for his object is so directly spiritual, and so imme- 
 diately interferes with the dearest province of the government of God, 
 I mean, the interests of his Church and the welfare of immortal souls, 
 that any fear of intrusion must greatly aggravate the anxiety which is 
 natural in the prospect of encountering a voyage. For my part, how- 
 ever, I should have no fear of intrusion, but from a sense of the want 
 of holiness of heart. I am not sufficiently a Christian, to free me from 
 the painful fear of encountering the disapprobation of the Almighty; 
 for I feel that, while connected with the highest privileges of the gos- 
 pel dispensation, there is in me a great want of the love, and zeal, and 
 excellence of those who are made perfect in holiness. Let my friends 
 most fervently pray for my increase of piety, and that I may be filled 
 with the love and the Spirit of Christ ; for, in such a state, I should be 
 freed from all c fear that hath torment,’ and be better able, not only to 
 resist every temptation, however insinuating and dangerous, but also 
 
238 
 
 DANGERS OF DILIGENCE IN BUSINESS. 
 
 to be aggressively successful in commending the crucified Saviour to 
 poor, ruined, and wandering men. 
 
 I look with much feeling toward Bristol, but I judge it best to say 
 but little about it. Bet me however state, that I have no reluctance. 
 I believe I am right — quite right in almost every thing, except in the 
 measure of my love to Christ and sinners. I think nothing of sacri- 
 fice. I am privileged — favoured — honoured. God condescends won- 
 
 derfully, even beyond my hopes, to allow me to labour for him, after 
 having so richly deserved, without any liberation from difficulty or 
 permission to be useful, to die altogether. I go, my dear, under the 
 decided feeling, that God does most unmeritedly favour and honour 
 me. I do cheerfully give up all my fondest wishes for domestic and 
 earthly comfort, only praying that He may make me 4 that I be 
 neither barren nor unfruitful.’ Help, my P., by your daily prayers, 
 
 Your ever affectionate Brother, 
 
 William. 
 
 To his younger Brother. 
 
 London , Nov. 22, 1824. 
 
 Bear Sam, 
 
 As this is probably the last time, that I shall have an oppor- 
 tunity of writing you previously to sailing, I will just scribble a line 
 or two, though my object is rather to express to you a sincere and affec- 
 tionate concern for the prosperity of your best interests, than to write 
 on any particular business. While passing through the streets of this 
 crowded Metropolis, 1 have repeatedly thought of you ; for business 
 here certainly appears in its full development, — the spirit of it is 
 triumphant. * * * * 
 
 Who, my dear Sam, can blame your warm attachment and steady 
 perseverance, in attention to business? Only He, who seeing all, may 
 possibly perceive, that you allow business, or pleasure of some kind or 
 other, to withdraw your strongest desires from a clear sense of His 
 favour, as if that were not quite essential to your happiness. He must 
 look with displeasure, my dear fellow, upon whatever can persuade you 
 that you may live in safety, if not in peace, while there dwells in your 
 heart no such satisfactory manifestation of Himself, as reconciled 
 through the Son of His love ; — or, at least, upon every thing that in- 
 duces you to live in hopes unsatisfied, and in struggles not victorious. 
 But with what approbation would he look upon the feeling, which 
 should lead you to 4 count all things but loss for the excellency of this 
 knowledge;’ and, at the same time, prevail upon you to plead with 
 Him for it, in the determined spirit of the resolution, that every 
 thing shall be to you as nothing, without the full enjoyment of his 
 favour ! I beseech you, Sam, till this liberty be altogether your own, to 
 
VALUE OF DISINTERESTED FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 239 
 
 suspect yourself and every thing else, as if charged with a commission 
 to inflict upon you some painful chastisement. And then, do remem- 
 ber that, if you would present before Him such a disposition as this, 
 the Lord would meet you with a most gracious and ready appro- 
 bation. 
 
 Remember me very affectionately to your intended, and her whole 
 family. I do sincerely love both her and them. May you be great 
 blessings to each other! Do not forget the glorious object before you, 
 of being mutual instruments of sanctification, and pure and holy spi- 
 ritual love to Cod. This will be the most pleasing portion of your 
 acquaintance and intimacy, upon which to reflect. 
 
 Your very affectionate Brother 
 
 William. 
 
 To Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler. 
 
 London , Nov. 23, 1824. 
 
 Very dear William and Lydia, 
 
 Lest I should altogether forget it, let me in the very onset 
 of my sheet thank you, most sincerely and affectionately, for your very 
 kind attention to my wishes and my wants. The two parcels, which I 
 have received, remind me afresh of the value which is to be set upon 
 that intercourse, which binds hearts together, and renders them soli- 
 citous of furthering mutual happiness. The hams, of which I just 
 obtained a glimpse, will, I hope, justify the taste with which you have 
 selected, for they are certainly very promising in appearance ; and, if 
 all should be safe, I expect that they will on the Great Rock be the 
 sweetest that I ever tasted. But do not imagine, that it is on account 
 of such things as these only or chiefly, that 1 value your friendship, 
 and congratulate myself upon its possession. There is in the undi- 
 minished affection, which Lydia’s letter breathes, a cordial that goes 
 most forcibly and effectually home to my heart. The value of this, in 
 circumstances such as mine, is peculiarly felt. On the point of leaving 
 his country, a man feels somewhat as he may when about to leave the 
 world. He naturally looks back upon the persons and things which 
 he is leaving, and asks himself how he stands with regard to them. 
 Were I quitting my home and my relatives with a character blasted 
 and hopes destroyed, an outcast from their good opinion and my own, 
 or even with the former only, how bitter would be the moments which 
 I am now spending in comparative gratitude and satisfaction ! 
 
 Accept theu my siucerest thanks, that you have perpetuated your 
 affection for me in all the varied and bitter changes, through which I 
 have had to pass. Unlike the spirit too prevalent in the world, you 
 have followed me with your love through darkness as well as light ; 
 and have yourselves very largely contributed toward that emancipa- 
 tion, by which I am emerging into the station and employment, for 
 
240 
 
 ENCOURAGING REFLECTIONS, 
 
 which I hope all previous sufferings have been preparing me. In my 
 present circumstances, waiting as I am to take my departure, perhaps 
 finally, from all the scenes which have been most familiar and most 
 endeared to me, it is not a little thing, that my mind is more sensibly 
 drawn to regard the mercifulness of my situation, than to reflect upon 
 the desolations which have shadowed me so deeply with gloom. So 
 many comparatively little incidents have occurred to gratify me, and 
 to remind me of the affection and confidence of those whom I am 
 leaving ; the Committee have been so kind and liberal to me, God 
 has given me so much favour in their eyes, and they seem to place so 
 willing a confidence in me ; — that I have not been able to refrain from 
 expressing to several persons the sense which I have, really sometimes 
 moving my heart to melting, of the great and undeserved favour of 
 God. The Lord, I believe, has done much toward teaching me, that 
 nothing is to be put in the place of His will, nor regarded as a pillar 
 of support, but the sense of His approbation while His present will is 
 fulfilled ; at the same time, a thousand earthly things may contribute 
 toward the comfort of one, whom the weariness of his way would 
 otherwise overwhelm. 
 
 The ordination service was very solemn and impressive. I could 
 not enter upon it, without an almost painful sense of the tremendous 
 sanctions which must attend such an institution ; — the peculiar pre- 
 sence of the Head of the Church, — the awful invocation of the Holy 
 Ghost, — the nearness of beings, both good and bad, of the invisible 
 world, — the probable attendance of those who loved me, and who are 
 departed, — and especially of the one to whom I well remember to 
 have said, that if she died I should never rest till I took ship, and sailed 
 for the purpose of preaching that Gospel, which can supply joys that 
 the world must fail to realise ; — all these, and many other considera- 
 tions, contributed to bring about a state of mind the most peculiar and 
 interesting that can be well conceived. Oh! shall I not now be fully de- 
 voted to God ? Alas ! devotion does not depend on merely external 
 acts, however complicated, interesting, or hopeful ; it depends upon 
 the life of self-denial, faith, and love. The absence of these nullifies 
 whatever is most sacred in institution, or solemn and becoming in 
 observance. I do beseech you to pray for me, that in these things I 
 may be 6 neither barren nor unfruitful.’ I thank God, that I have a 
 strong confidence in the power and sufficiency of his gospel to produce 
 the renovation of the world, the illumination of Pagans, the conversion 
 of Infidels, and even, almost hopeless as it may seem, the regeneration 
 of the poor, deluded, and fallen Churches of professing Christians ; 
 but my personal instrumentality in the work depends, not on the 
 power of the gospel, for that is secured and sufficient, but on the 
 truth and activity of my personal piety. I know, my dear friends, 
 that you will readily acknowledge these to be very correct and 
 
 
IN THE ANTICIPATION OF HIS WORK. 
 
 241 
 
 becoming views ; but you will as readily feel the immense necessity of 
 that baptism of the Holy Ghost, which shall, through faith and love, 
 make all these things to be in me and abound. 
 
 Well ; I am greatly rejoiced that, on leaving England, I have no sen- 
 sation of regret or reluctance at being so engaged. I rejoice in es- 
 caping the numerous snares, to which occupation in the home-work 
 would inevitably expose me ; though, of course, I am greatly ignorant 
 of those, to which engagements abroad will lay me open. But the feel- 
 ing, which I have, of being and doing right, and of having the appro- 
 bation of the Lord, as well as of my own mind, in every thing except 
 the state of my love and devotedness in communion with Him, is 
 indeed worth a great deal. I have deliberately and repeatedly given 
 up all the hopes, which I had for so many years cherished, of being 
 happy in domestic life, and of being an affectionate husband and a 
 delighted father. I know not what futurity may unfold, but I have 
 no anticipation ; and I mean to devote myself to my work with as much 
 decision and firmness, as if I were never more to be surrounded by any 
 who have a peculiar relative interest in me. O that I may be enabled 
 to £ be faithful unto death !’ May He, who has cut off all my earthly 
 hopes and enjoyments, enable me to secure those which are spiritual ; 
 for, in spite of all my former prepossessions, I do now intend, by His 
 grace, to yield myself fully up to Him. Meantime, I trust that you 
 will commend me, in strong faith and prayer, to the God of the winds 
 and seas, who is also the God of the dry land. 
 
 Your very affectionate Brother, 
 
 W. Barber. 
 
 To his Father. 
 
 Gravesend , Nov. 30, 1824. 
 
 My very dear Father, 
 
 I am assured of the anxious and truly paternal feelings of 
 your heart toward me, and am solicitous to give you the gratification 
 of hearing from me once more before I fairly and finally leave England. 
 An opportunity now offers, by the return of the pilot who conducts us 
 to the Downs. We are actually at this moment at Gravesend, having 
 reached it on Sunday morning, though too late to go on shore to 
 attend Divine worship. You will perhaps be a little surprised at our 
 lying so long at this place, where we expected not to be detained an 
 hour. Let me state the reasons in order. 
 
 On Friday morning I took leave of my friends at Mr. Taylor’s, and 
 the Mission-House. The cordiality, with which they parted with me, 
 and commended me to the grace of God, again demands from me an 
 expression of gratitude to the Almighty. I feel my heart affected 
 by the recollection of their kindness, though it has been far from any 
 pomp of circumstance. But those views of myself, which I have fre- 
 
 ii 
 
242 
 
 COMMENCEMENT OF HIS VOYAGE. 
 
 quently expressed, and which deeply humble me in my own estima- 
 tion, are, I believe, neither insignificant nor ignorant acknowledgments ; 
 and these, contrasted with the confidence, with which I find myself 
 received by the elders of the Ministry, who have commissioned and 
 deputed me to carry, to those whom unhappy circumstances have com- 
 passed with obstructions in the way of salvation, the Gospel, in its 
 simplicity and power, as I know it by experience, and understand 
 it by investigation ; — these circumstances make me feel myself most 
 unmeritedly favoured by c Him, who sitteth above the water-floods/ 
 and hath led me through the depths to my present station. 
 
 You will probably be solicitous to know, with what sentiments I 
 embarked. If I were to say that I had no sensation of sorrow, to 
 me I am sure it would not be honourable ; but it was not the truth ; 
 though it is the truth, that every sensation of this kind was, and still is, 
 a very undefined and uncertain feeling. I have no doubt of being 
 at the post of duty. I am where God himself has brought me. But 
 leaving home so completely, is a widely different thing from any that 
 has hitherto occurred to me : and then, as I carry no home with me 
 
 Oh ! had I the company of her . But let it rest ; I 
 
 will not trust myself on ground, which has so many times betrayed me 
 to wretchedness; though now, more than ever, her society might seem 
 to be wanted. But God is righteous in all His ways : and nothing 
 unjust toward me has taken place. I richly deserved to lose one, 
 whom I did not know how to value aright. Oh, how unutterably 
 empty does this life seem to me of every thing but souls ! * * * 
 
 Early on Sunday morning we sailed from Blackwall, the wind being 
 fair, and every one, except myself, on board being free from doubt, 
 as to the propriety of commencing our voyage on the Lord’s day. 
 Our captain has been a Methodist, and perhaps he once enjoyed re- 
 ligion, at least he says that he did, and I have no reason to ques- 
 tion the truth of his assertion ; but he has evidently lost its power and 
 salvation, and though he feels this, he does not as yet fully return to 
 his God. However, we saved no time by sailing on the Lord’s day; 
 for, while we were coming down the river, a brig ran foul of us, as our 
 ship was in stays , as they term it, that is, in the act of turning round 
 to get under sail. In an instant our gib-boom was carried away, and 
 our bow-sprit greatly injured. At Gravesend it was therefore neces- 
 sary to stay, and thus one breach of the Sabbath ordinance led to 
 another. To repair the damage was instantly needful, and the rest 
 of the day all the men on board were diligently employed in hard 
 work. I, however, escaped to the shore, and found out the Preacher, 
 good old Mr. Gower, an apostolic, hoary-headed, fatherly old man, 
 at the head of an amiable family. They received me with great kind- 
 ness, and the interview was to me a cordial of no small value. Never 
 before did I so much feel the want, or the worth, of the ordinances of 
 
COMMENCEMENT OF HIS VOYAGE. 
 
 243 
 
 the sanctuary. I occupied Mr. G.’s pulpit in the evening, and felt 
 much happiness in my work ; but afterward, the reception of the sa- 
 crament with a numerous and apparently pious society, and the con- 
 versation of Mr. G., were very particularly blest to me. 
 
 We had a very boisterous day and night at anchor, and were thus 
 disappointed of sailing to the Downs till to-day; we have, however, 
 fine weather now. There is something very terrible in bad weather 
 on the water. I have appointed with Aquila to meet every day, at 
 four o’clock in the afternoon, at a throne of Grace, to entreat, by spe- 
 cial prayer, the Lord’s blessing on our voyage and mission. I should 
 be glad to meet likewise as many of you there, as are able to com- 
 ply. But I have filled my sheet, and therefore close by presenting to 
 each of the family my most affectionate assurances. Believe me 
 Your very affectionate and dutiful Son, 
 
 William. 
 
 To his eldest Brother . 
 
 Under weigh for the Downs , 
 Dec. 1, 1824. 
 
 My very dear Brother A. 
 
 You will, undoubtedly, be very anxious to know how we 
 fared, during the blowing weather of yesterday and last night. We 
 were at anchor at Gravesend, but even there it was to me a time of 
 very much anxiety. The wind blew tremendously hard, and the 
 rolling of the ship was considerable, yet all was well ; and though 
 the captain and pilot were by no means without anxiety, they had 
 perhaps less, or perhaps more, than myself. I look earnestly to Him, 
 who is a very present help in times of need, to allay that perturbation, 
 which is occasioned by the unusual nature of my circumstances, the 
 tremendous noises of men and elements, and the involuntary conscious- 
 ness of risk. The weather, indeed, is so bad and so seemingly treacher- 
 ous, that, did I not know there is a Hand to put in its effectual re- 
 straint at any moment, I should be far more anxious than I am. But 
 I have devoted myself, my life, and my all to Him, who calmed the 
 seas to the prayers of His disciples, and who brought His holy apostles 
 safely through perils of waters. But the love of Christ, and the sanctify- 
 ing, saving power of the Holy Spirit, are not sufficiently felt by me, and 
 thus there is not power enough to cast away the cares of danger, or the 
 fear of death. 1 have been, and still am, laying this in earnest prayer be- 
 fore the Lord, beseeching Him, for His great mercy’s sake, to fill me with 
 the Holy Ghost, and thus to give me 6 the peace that passeth understand- 
 ing.’ However, 1 do not find these exercises without beneficial effect. 
 My mind stills at the presence of Jesus, and my whole soul flees to 
 H im and finds the refuge which it needs. Poor human nature, how I 
 pity thee ! and especially as thou art and dost within my breast ! 
 
 r 2 
 
244 
 
 COMMENCEMENT OF HIS VOYAGE. 
 
 The accidents in the late gales have been very numerous : every 
 sailor’s mouth is filled with them, and his face betrays emotions in 
 which self has evidently a considerable influence. We have just 
 passed by the top of a mast peeping above the water’s level, as if in 
 signal that the unfortunate hulk lies there. And now, at this instant, 
 while writing the foregoing sentence, our pilot cries out : — 6 There’s a 
 ship ashore !’ — The captain and myself, stepping upon deck, have just 
 taken a look at her. A melancholy sight! She has run upon a ledge 
 of sand, and there at present she remains, till, favoured by the gift 
 of fine weather, she may perhaps be got off; but if not, she remains to 
 be battered by the sea till she goes to pieces. A great number of 
 sloops are about her, in order to lend their help, and to get off her cargo ; 
 but with what success, must be left to the Almighty. I never had so 
 lively an impression of a sailor’s dangers as now, and I blame myself 
 much, for having been no more conscious of them, and no more ur- 
 gent in prayer to God for His blessing on men so exposed and so de- 
 voted ; but I earnestly sympathise with the efforts now made to bring 
 them acquainted with God, their Bible, and the salvation therein 
 revealed. 
 
 We are now getting into wide water, the ship begins to be sensible 
 of its motion, and myself to be sensible of hers. Let me therefore 
 close, by once more entreating your most direct and ardent prayers for 
 our preservation and prosperity. But I earnestly desire, that you and 
 I may be more than ever affected with a sense of what human life 
 and nature are in truth ; and that we may preach, in all their purity 
 and power, the doctrines of a full, free, and eternal salvation. Fare- 
 well. 
 
 Your affectionate Brother, 
 
 William. 
 
 P.S. — The Lord has heard and answered prayer; the wind being 
 much more moderate, and veering for a more northerly point, pro- 
 mises a suspension of the terrible south-west gales. It is compara- 
 tively fine now. 
 
 The above is the last letter that my Brother wrote, previously to 
 his arrival at Gibraltar, which, in consequence of the extreme tem- 
 pestuousness of his voyage, was delayed much beyond the usual time. 
 As will easily be supposed, this was a circumstance which filled our 
 minds with much anxiety ; however, we knew that he was in the 
 best hands, and employed in the best manner ; and therefore, in the 
 long absence of all information respecting him, our minds were not 
 altogether forsaken by a cheering hope. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Missionary Journal — Reflections on Sight, of Land — Gracious Answer to Prayer — 
 — Providential Deliverance — Arrival at Gibraltar — Particular Description of his 
 tedious Voyage — Remarkable Answers to Prayer. 
 
 The following are Extracts from my dear Brother’s Journal, written 
 while on his voyage. 
 
 Wednesday , Dec. 15 , 1824 . — There is, in me, considerable reluc- 
 tance to commence writing any thing in the form of a Journal. By 
 this circumstance, as well as by weather of the most untoward kind, 
 I have been deterred, ever since I came on board, from attempting it; 
 but I am not sure, that these are sufficient reasons for the omission, es- 
 pecially as there are now the strongest motives for a due attendance to 
 the practice. I have, indeed, no ambition to live upon the page of re- 
 cord when my life is extinct, unless my name could be unavoidably 
 connected with the excellence of true piety and usefulness; and I 
 have no desire to furnish materials from my pen, for those attempts to 
 perpetuate a memory, too little distinguished by either the one or the 
 other, for which the partiality of surviving friends might plead. But 
 now, to keep a Journal is rny duty ; it is one condition of my union 
 w r ith the Society, of which I am now the authorised and honoured 
 servant; and it has been made the subject of distinct and solemn 
 promise. Besides, the influence of surrounding circumstances upon 
 my mind is sensibly important; and I think with regret, that, unless 
 I speedily redeem myself from my great aversion to record the emo- 
 tions and incidents of this period of my life, no memorials will be 
 left for my own re-perusal ; and all the benefits of refreshed recollec- 
 tion, aided by the graces of gratitude and humiliation, will be lost, 
 even if rendered desirable by prolonged life. I am resolved, therefore, 
 to commence at once, and, by the powerful grace of God, to chase 
 away from my feelings every influence, but that of simple and resolute 
 regard to unvarnished truth. 
 
 Oh, Lord, my God ! who hast brought me, through many chasten- 
 ing sorrows, to my present momentous and arduous, but desired, sta- 
 
246 
 
 REFLECTIONS ON SIGHT OF LAND. 
 
 tion ; vouchsafe, I beseech thee, to screen me from the intrusions 
 of any spirit, which would either beguile me from simplicity, bewilder 
 me in error, or disarm me by indolence. Oh ! grant me thy Holy 
 Spirit, I entreat thee ; so that, filled with His unction, my soul may 
 always glow with love to the Lord Jesus Christ ; and thus, rejoicing 
 in the clearly attested possession of my own salvation, my whole heart 
 may dissolve into compassion for my ruined fellow-men, and flow out 
 in streams of active and perpetuated usefulness in those neighbour- 
 hoods, where souls are perishing in drought. Solitary as I feel, and 
 disrupted, by an almost volcanic force, from the fondest and dearest so- 
 ciety, which earth could supply me ; may I concentre my affections in 
 full upon Thyself, and may I find Thee as ready, as Thou art able, 
 to supply the place of any of the creatures, or of all. 6 Whom have 
 I in heaven but Thee ? and there is none upon earth, that I desire 
 beside Thee !’ O Lord God, Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who is 
 Head of Thy Church, and my real King and Saviour, I beseech Thee 
 to hear and to answer this prayer, presented and urged, as it is, in 
 dependence upon His meritorious passion and all-prevalent intercession 
 at thy right hand ! Amen. Amen. 
 
 I am concluding the nineteenth day since my embarkation ; the 
 nineteenth day, too, of my trying imprisonment and vexation, if that 
 last word be not too strong for any sensations, which I have had 5 
 from the constancy of hostile winds, and the general prevalence of 
 foul weather. I have besought the Lord much for his gracious in- 
 terference for us ; and the process of my own feelings, amidst these 
 difficulties and disagreeables, has been very instructive and profitable. 
 I dare not conceive a wish that our voyage, thus far, had been less 
 difficult. 
 
 Gibraltar Mission-House. — Wednesday , Jan . 5, 1825. It 
 seems to me, that I never can forget the sensations, with which I first 
 looked around me this morning on coming on deck. For about the 
 last ten days, we have had unremitted easterly winds, which very 
 remarkably set in just as we had weathered Cape St. Vincent’s, as if 
 Providence had intended to render the voyage throughout a school of 
 trial and discipline. All this time we were, of course, within about 
 150 miles of the spot, for which I had been so long and so anxiously 
 wishing, though utterly unable to reach it. During this interval, we 
 saw much of the coast on both sides of the Gut, as Cape St. Mary’s 
 and round to Cadiz; and, as the wind abated, and by dint of perse- 
 verance, we got nearer, we very plainly saw the African coast, a long 
 way to the South of Cape Espartel. It was now, indeed, an interest- 
 ing engagement to behold the land ; to me there was something al- 
 most strange in the land’s bounding the sea, which for weeks I had 
 been accustomed to look at bounded only by the sky. And then 
 again, it was the coast of Africa literally rising In distinct view to 
 
REFLECTIONS ON SIGHT OF LAND. 
 
 247 
 
 one unused to look at any land not English. I thought much of the 
 history of Africa, and of its present state. I reflected upon its days 
 of Christian glory, when all its northern coasts were covered with 
 churches, and made the birth-places of many illustrious geniuses, the 
 sees of many exemplary bishops, the scene of the pastoral labours of 
 the great Augustine and Chrysostom, the place of the triumphant 
 execution of many martyrs to the Christian faith, and, in a more ex- 
 cellent sense, the birth-places of many immortal souls, who dying unto 
 sin were born again unto God. I could not help thinking also, of 
 days long anterior to this ; of the greatness, the commerce, the pride, 
 the cruelty, and the idolatry of Carthage, as well as of its ruin and 
 utter desolation ; of the cradle and nursery of Asdrubal and Hanni- 
 bal ; of the brilliant, though terrible and murderous, struggles, suc- 
 cesses, and triumphs of the younger Scipio ; and of the cruel execu- 
 tion of many of its unsuccessful commanders. My eye glanced 
 along the more northerly coast, and rested on Trafalgar. I re- 
 membered Nelson, his victory, and his death, the overthrow of the 
 French and Spanish naval forces, and the consequent aggrandisement 
 and glory of my own beloved native country. It was quite natural 
 also, to reflect upon the present ruined state of Spain, its political con- 
 vulsions, and its mental and moral degradation, the fate of France, 
 and the overthrow of its late despotic, but great and semi-omnipo- 
 tent Ruler. To be so near to the scenes of such events, as, by the bare 
 report, had hitherto filled my mind with amazement, was indeed most 
 interesting. But I forbear. I have taken my leave of political stu- 
 dies, and I must guard both my tongue and my imagination, as well 
 as my pen, from them ; for there is in them a fascination, which can 
 drag most men away, in spite of themselves. Yet, oh! my beloved 
 country, greater than all the others, happier and more enlightened 
 than any, what has hitherto preserved thee, and what henceforward 
 shall be thy security? — God, — thy religion, — and thy constitution. If 
 the apprehensions be correct of those, who reason from the uni- 
 versal fate of faded and vanished empires to thy eventual overthrow 
 and ruin, surely before that ruin can touch thee, thou wilt have aban- 
 doned the first of these, sacrificed the second, and destroyed the third. 
 And who trembles not to think, that the elements of infidelity, of 
 treason, and of apostacy, work so powerfully in the minds of many of 
 thy sons ? Yet from my very soul I do rejoice, that, in opposition to 
 these, there are mightier principles at work, that they are divine, and 
 that they shall prevail. 
 
 But, . however such reflections as these might have occasionally 
 served to occupy and divert the time of our detention before the 
 mouth of the Straits, they could not prevent my feeling it exceed- 
 ingly tedious to be kept so long in this situation ; and indeed, to me 
 it was becoming a matter of serious importance; for the style of living 
 
248 
 
 GRACIOUS ANSWER TO PRAYER. 
 
 on board was by no means favourable to my state of health, though 
 a good appetite prevented my feeling so much the injury, which in 
 reality I was sustaining. I had yesterday to betake myself, with very 
 painful and almost desponding sensations, to special prayer. I implored, 
 that a few hours of westerly wind might be graciously granted us ; 
 this was the very wind, which, by its long prevalence till we had 
 passed Cape St. Vincent’s, had been to us so much a source of appre- 
 hension. I pleaded earnestly the promise of answer to prayer urged 
 in the name of Jesus Christ, — the late merciful successes which I had 
 experienced, — and the exceeding probability which I felt, that a new 
 answer would be greatly promotive of my faith and consequent growth 
 in grace. I retired to bed, with the resolution to continue my suppli- 
 cations, but at the same time to yield myself fully to the will of the 
 Lord. I awoke before break of day, mournfully supposing that we 
 were still detained; but, upon looking through the window of my 
 state-room into the cabin, I observed that the moon-beams came into 
 the cabin from the stern-windows. Of course, the thought instantly 
 struck me, that the ship’s head must be nearly due eastw ard ; and, 
 therefore, that the wind must have shifted. I then looked out at the 
 little air-hole which came into my cabin, and perceived the African 
 coast extending from the west to the east-north-east, and I then no 
 longer doubted that we were entering the Straits. I immediately 
 threw my clothes over me, sprang upon deck, and heard from the 
 captain the heart-reviving words : — 4 A fair wind at last! You will 
 now soon be on shore.’ Really, I could hardly believe the evidence 
 of my senses ; my joy was very great, and my gratitude to the Father 
 of mercies, for this new act of condescension to my feeble faith, was 
 certainly decided. I came upon deck, at a moment the most favour- 
 able for impression. The moon was about full, the sky most beau- 
 tifully clear, and many stars, together with two blazing planets, were 
 in the moon’s track. It was just day-break too, and the eastern 
 sky presented a very beautiful indication of the approach of the sun. 
 Such a light as this, thrown upon the rugged African coast, presented 
 it in all its connections, with all the novelty and singularity of en- 
 chantment ; indeed, all seemed as if it were the realisation of fairy- 
 land. The opposite coast is very steep, and had its lofty hills top- 
 ped. with dense clouds. Altogether, it was the most surprising and 
 picturesque scenery that I ever beheld ; the most like it, that I have 
 seen, are some parts of Glamorganshire bordering upon the sea. 
 
 We soon obtained sight of the long desired Rock, with the re- 
 commendations almost of a Paradise, from the scenes of discomfort 
 and distress which we had just escaped. Not long afterwards we 
 entered the Bay, and the boat was lowered and manned to convey me 
 on shore, to obtain leave to land my luggage. As the wind was 
 now fair for the ship’s passage up the Mediterranean, the captain was 
 
ARRIVAL AT GIBRALTAR. 
 
 249 
 
 very reluctant to come far into the Bay, and still more so to be de- 
 tained. The mate, therefore, went with me, and we reached the 
 shore after another proof of providential care : the point of the Rock, 
 called the c The Devil’s Tongue ,’ around which is the landing-place, 
 stretches out for a considerable distance into the water, and the sharp, 
 craggy rocks are but just beneath the surface; we were steering 
 right upon them, and should certainly have struck, but that another 
 boat, which was trying to get before us, actually did so, and went 
 round the point; this we observed, and, upon following her track, 
 perceived the danger and avoided it. 
 
 The parcel, which I had from Mr. Butterworth, served for a good 
 introduction to Mr. Pyne, the solicitor, to whom I presented it. He 
 immediately opened it, and read the letter which it contained, and 
 then, with truly Christian cordiality, bade me welcome ; and, as I 
 wished to go at once to Mr. Dixon’s, he sent his son to shew me the 
 way. I had supposed that Mr. D. was expecting me, and thought it 
 likely, that if he had observed our ship come in, he would either have 
 come or sent to meet me ; but it seems that the only letter, by which 
 any information of my appointment had been transmitted him, had never 
 arrived ; it reached Gibraltar some days after myself. In such cir- 
 cumstances, our meeting was of the most affecting kind. The real- 
 isation of what had before been the subject of our conversation, 
 though with all the dimness of conjecture, and all the uncertainty of 
 futurity and improbability, — our actual union as colleagues in the Mi- 
 nistry on Missionary ground, after trials on both sides of no ordinary 
 description, — and many other considerations, — rushed on each of us, 
 and made these first moments most peculiarly memorable. I think with 
 gratitude of the cordiality and affection, with which both Mr. and 
 Mrs. D. have received me ; we are indeed closely and cordially unit- 
 ed. Mr. D. and myself soon retired, and in the room, which is now 
 my own, poured out our fervent thanksgivings to God, and prayers 
 that He would command His blessing in Christ Jesus to preserve us, 
 and to bless our union for personal, family, and relative, usefulness. 
 In the evening, being requested to meet the congregation, I poured 
 out the unstudied, but warm and grateful, effusions of my heart, be- 
 fore them and before the Lord, through Psa. cxvi. 1,2. O God, the 
 great Head of the Church! I am astonished at my present circum- 
 stances, and at my past unfaithfulness to thee; but Rom. v. 20. and 
 Jer. xxxiii. 6 — 9. ; here — here only, is the basis of my hope of piety 
 and usefulness. 
 
250 
 
 PARTICULAR DESCRIPTION 
 
 Gibraltar , Jan . 10, 1825. 
 
 My very dear Father, Brothers, and Sisters, 
 
 Comparatively happy as my present circumstances are, I 
 cannot help being apprehensive, that this sheet will not reach you in 
 time to save you from many hours of anxiety on my account. It pains 
 me much to think, that, in consequence of the great length of time 
 which our voyage occupied, and the tediousness of the period which 
 must elapse before you can receive this letter, you will be kept in 
 suspense as to the manner in which we fared through the late tem- 
 pestuous weather. You at home can have a very inadequate concep- 
 tion of the feelings with which, on Wednesday evening last, I found 
 myself once more safely landed, and in the bosom of a family that 
 wants but the ties of blood to be to me as cordially, and as closely, 
 united, as the families I have left behind. 
 
 And now, before I proceed a step in detail of what has transpired 
 since my last from the Downs, somewhat more than forty days ago, I 
 will pause to beg you to join me in fervent and grateful acknowledg- 
 ments to Him, who has heard your many prayers and mine, in deliver- 
 \pg me out of all the dangers of the voyage. I owe much, much 
 more than I can fully describe, to the good Providence of God. 
 Emancipated from great difficulties, favoured with such a commission, 
 (Eph. iii. 8.) appointed to a climate the most favourable to my circum- 
 stances, associated with such a colleague as Mr. D., united to a fam- 
 ily, by every member of which I am esteemed and loved, preserved 
 through the perils of my protracted voyage without having materially 
 suffered in health from the exposure, and, after all that Divine know- 
 ledge has ascertained in me of unspeakable unworthiness, permitted 
 to open my dispensation of the Gospel as an acknowledged Methodist 
 Preacher and Christian Missionary ; — these are mercies so great, that 
 I am astonished at their sum, and my soul, by the grace of God, 
 joyfully devotes itself to the service to which I am appointed. 
 
 You will, of course, expect nothing in this sheet, but an account of 
 my voyage. It has been very tempestuous, and certainly not without 
 hazard. But I will, as nearly as possible, recount in order, as recollec- 
 tion shall supply. There was not much variety of incident in the 
 voyage; but had there been more, it would have been impracticable, 
 with the same sort of weather, to make many notes. During the far 
 greater part of the time, writing was absolutely impossible, for even 
 reading was extremely difficult ; so that memory must furnish most of 
 the information, which you will obtain. 
 
 I believe, I mentioned to you our having weighed for Gravesend 
 from Blackwall on Sunday morning. We reached G. too late for Divine 
 service on shore ; and but for the accident, which occurred in coming 
 
OF HIS TEDIOUS VOYAGE. 
 
 251 
 
 down the river, we should at once have sailed to the Downs. I think, 
 I stated that a brig imprudently attempted to steer between ours and 
 another vessel, while we were turning round, and as the sailors called 
 it in stays , that is, incapable of steering out of her way. She bore 
 down upon us and carried away our gib-boom, at the same time 
 splitting her bow-sprit itself to the very midst of the thickest part, 
 where it is fastened to the fore part of the ship. The gib-boom, 
 though nearly as big as the small part of my body, was broken off 
 like a tobacco-pipe ; and that part of the bow-sprit, which was split 
 through by the same stroke, is about three times as large as the gib- 
 boom. From this, you may form some notion of the amazing force, 
 with which bodies move upon the water ; and you may conjecture the 
 awfulness of the crash, which must take place, when a ship is wrecked 
 upon the rocks. Vessels of very large tonnage are thus fractured and 
 shivered to pieces with, not to speak figuratively, as little real dif- 
 ficulty as we should crack a nut-shell. 
 
 But here I begin to notice those instances of providential care, of 
 which several toward us have been signally manifested. I believe, I 
 informed you, that the injury, which our ship sustained, was repaired 
 on the Lord’s day. I did not at all like the sailing on that day, but 
 this work of repairing was still less agreeable. However, it resulted 
 to me in that happy employment of the remainder of the Sabbath, of 
 which you already know. But, much as I enjoyed the kindness and 
 Christianity of Mr. Gower and his family, had I then known that 
 four other Sabbaths were to be spent in a manner so different, I should 
 have valued my situation even far more than I did. I was not then 
 aware, that the channel from Gravesend to the Downs is, in winter 
 and stormy weather, very dangerous. Hence, had we gone on, we 
 must have come to an anchor in far worse ground than at G., and this 
 is much more seriously unpleasant work, than can appear to those who 
 know nothing of the sea-faring life. To us, or perhaps I should 
 rather say, to me , this was a matter of great importance, for the after- 
 noon and night of Sunday, as well as the whole of Monday, were 
 spent in a heavy gale of wind. It was one of a long continued series 
 of westerly and south-westerly gales, which had already done in- 
 credible injury to the shipping on our eastern and southern coasts. 
 It was, however, only the commencement of those gales, which were 
 permitted to try us greatly, and to protract our voyage to three times 
 an average length. You know, that I never had any partiality for the 
 water, but my dislike to it now was increased every hour ; indeed, my 
 apprehensions were excited by the most distressing intelligence, which 
 assailed us from every new corner, either on business or enquiry. I 
 soon felt myself to have no refuge but in prayer, and no available hope 
 but in God. While I was on the wharf at G., I entered into con- 
 versation with the watermen, and found them all dismayed at the late 
 
252 
 
 ACCIDENTS AT SEA. 
 
 fatal weather, and at the same time, from appearances, dismally fore- 
 boding its continuance. Our pilot was not a man of very cheerful 
 habits, though in his profession he appeared very clever ; yet it may 
 be, that the calamities of others, and his own liability to similar, made 
 him unusually serious. Sailing from G. to the Downs, I saw the top 
 of a small ship’s mast just rising above the surface of the water ; and 
 soon afterwards, the pilot called me up to see a large ship on shore, on 
 a bed of sand a very few miles from us. Passing Margate sands, at 
 a mere trifle of a distance, the very spot was shewn mp, where, two 
 years ago, a ship suddenly struck on the corner of a sand-bank, and 
 then being by the next surge lifted up again, she was precipitated into 
 deep water, overturned, and sunk. She had, however, just time to 
 hang out blue lights as a signal of distress, but there was no opportu- 
 nity for relief from the shore. The signal was observed, and, as she 
 went down, the sails were seen by the light flapping in the wind. She 
 sunk almost immediately, and, I believe, not one of the crew was 
 saved. Not far from thence, the pilot shewed me the spot, in which, 
 in the November of last year, he himself experienced a most mar- 
 vellous escape, while piloting a ship to the Downs, through a gale of 
 wind, in which, in order to save life, and with but little hope of that, 
 they slipped both cables and anchors, and ran along a most dangerous 
 sand-bank only a very few yards distant toward Sheerness. 
 
 We, however, were permitted to reach the Downs in safety, and 
 with very pleasant weather for the time of year. As soon as we had 
 cast anchor, the pilot took his leave, and I thought I could perceive 
 on his part an anxiety to do so ; but I am sure he anticipated bad 
 weather, and he was certainly solicitous to rid himself, as early as 
 possible, of all danger and responsibility. You know, perhaps, that a 
 pilot, from the time he enters on board a vessel to that of anchoring 
 in the place of his pilotage, has the entire command, and, of course, the 
 full responsibility. Whether or not I was mistaken, as to the peculiar 
 solicitude of our pilot to free himself from the charge of our ship, the 
 event proved that my anticipations respecting the weather were but 
 too true. Never shall I forget the dangers of this awful place ; and 
 never, as I think, shall I be able to feel reconciled to the idea of 
 entering it again. With the pilot my last letter landed, and since that 
 time you have, of course, heard nothing. « 
 
 The Downs are a large sheet of sea, included on the land-side by 
 a sort of bay formed by what the sailors call, a bite in the land , from 
 its resemblance to the curve produced by biting a piece of bread. 
 The more northerly point of this, is near Margate and Ramsgate, with 
 beds of sand stretching along in different directions, so as to leave 
 only narrow channels for the passage of vessels, which require day- 
 light and a pilot to proceed in safety. The more southerly point is 
 very near Dover : it is the point of laud, a very little north of that 
 
DANGERS OF THE DOWNS. 
 
 25 3 
 
 place, which stretches out into the sea; it bears the name of the 
 South Foreland. The mouth of this Bay, of course, lies open to the 
 German Ocean and the opposite coast ; but it is not navigably open, 
 because all along for many miles, that is, from quite near the South 
 Foreland north-westward toward the North Foreland, lie the Good- 
 win Sands, which are a most dangerous and destructive bank, always 
 having the sea breaking on them. At low water they are partially 
 dry, and in blowing weather they form one of the most perilous of a 
 seaman’s dangers, in that extremely difficult navigation. From this 
 imperfect description, I wish you clearly to understand, that at both 
 ends of the Bay, that is, at both entrances 6f the Downs, the passage 
 is very narrow, and there is need of the greatest care to accomplish it 
 with safety ; in fine light weather it is, of course, comparatively easy, 
 but in dark nights and blowing weather the danger is very great. If 
 the wind should he blowing strong from the west or south-west, there 
 is, unless a ship hold her anchorage well, much risk of her going on 
 the Goodwin Sands, and then destruction is almost inevitable ; and 
 indeed, if it should be blowing from the south, the danger from the 
 same cause is likewise considerable. In this place there was a pretty 
 good number of vessels at anchor, and we anchored on the outside of 
 them, about opposite the two entrances of the Downs, and just where 
 one might suppose the strength of the stream to be, — a situation which 
 I was certainly surprised at the pilot’s choosing, though for fine 
 weather it might have been very well. The week before this, the 
 Beilina, an outward-bound West India ship, was totally wrecked on 
 the Goodwin Sands, only a very little way from us, and quite within 
 sight. By a little way I mean, a very few miles ; but a few miles at 
 sea, and especially in a gale of wind, are a mere trifle. 
 
 I forget whether it was on the same morning our pilot left us, or the 
 next, that the owner of the boat which took him ashore, came on 
 board, and, in the course of conversation, gave us an account of the 
 wreck of the Beilina. It appears that, having waited some considerable 
 time for a wind, she took the advantage of a sudden shift, and sailed 
 out of the Downs, of course at the southern-most entrance. The wind, 
 however, soon got round again, blew violently from the westward, and 
 drove her back. It was night before she arrived at the Foreland ; it 
 was also moonless, the gale was tremendous, and the sea of course ex- 
 ceedingly heavy. The consequence was, that she was driven too far 
 to the eastward, and therefore struck upon the dreadful Goodwin 
 Sands ; she had just time to light up a signal of distress, but almost 
 immediately went to pieces. The boatman, who related the circum- 
 stance to us, was among the few, who, seeing the lights, ventured out 
 at the hazard of life, with a view, if possible, of rendering assistance, 
 though, said he, — 4 We could not get near her, because the sea was 
 running so high and breaking over her. I saw the last man crawl over 
 
254 
 
 GALE OF WIND IN THE DOWNS. 
 
 the deck, just before she went to pieces ; and soon afterward, two of 
 us saw two men on pieces of the wreck, and one went one way and 
 the other another, and thus I saved the captain and a man, and the 
 other boat saved another man. Besides these, only a boy was saved 
 from the death, which swallowed up all the rest.’ While he was 
 giving us this account, every now and then, he as well as others, 
 looked very bodingly around him, and expressed the opinion, that 
 more such weather might be expected. 
 
 Let me here just say, that you, who have never truly been to sea, 
 can form but very inadequate ideas of what a gale of wind means. You 
 are in the habit of hearing the phrase, and you naturally connect it 
 with your recollections of hard blowing weather ; but of the truth you 
 are but little aware. Indeed the toil, and suffering, and danger, ordinarily 
 connected with gales can be by landsmen but little estimated. But it 
 was not an ordinary gale, that Providence was pleased to permit to come 
 upon us in this terrible place. It blew exactly from the opening of the 
 channel, through which our way lay : had it blown more from the west- 
 ward, its force might have been somewhat broken by passing overland, 
 though then our danger would have been increased from the Goodwin 
 Sands directly behind us. But as it was, we lay all exposed to it ; and 
 such were the dangers from the sands and shores behind us toward 
 Margate, that the great probability is, that, had our anchorage failed, 
 we must have been lost. The violent pitching of the ship over the heavy 
 pressing sea, the strength of the current and tide, which for some 
 hours was against us, and the horrible pressure of the wind, were 
 altogether beyond my previous conception, and for it I have no power 
 of description : and such a sky — so full of fury — I never before be- 
 held ! It was not difficult to perceive, that every one on board was 
 alarmed. I had been already sick, and, during part of this time, con- 
 tinued so ; but while the captain was down in the cabin looking at 
 his chart, a tremendous noise occurred, like the snap and rush of a 
 cable ; he immediately started up, sprung upon deck, and rushed 
 to the forecastle, but found that it was only the forcing, by vio- 
 lent straining, of the remainder of the cable which was out. I had 
 followed him to the deck, and the effect of the alarm upon me was 
 such, that it instantly and entirely cured me of my sickness. The 
 gale however increased, and with it the apprehensions of us all. Not 
 far from us there was a large transport' ship bound with convicts to 
 Botany Bay. Looking attentively at her, the captain observed that 
 we were getting much nearer to her ; of cours'e our anchor, instead of 
 holding its bite, was dragging through the ground. I then heard him 
 tell the mate , — 6 Let go the other anchor, for we are drifting fast!’ 
 This was done, and, through the goodness of God, with success. In 
 a few minutes, we saw that every vessel within view was drifting in 
 the same way, and obliged to use the same means. The transport 
 
ESCAPE FROM THE DOWNS. 
 
 25 5 
 
 herself, though, of course, rigged out in very superior style, was in 
 just the same predicament. But all our precautions were insufficient, 
 for the whole of the vessels, even afterward, drifted considerably, 
 though much slower. Two smaller ones, and how many more I know 
 not, were not so happy ; but these two we saw, for they passed close 
 by us. One of them especially, was in circumstances particularly 
 alarming. She was a brig, which had parted one of her cables, and 
 hung out lights of distress, right a-head of us. She then threw out 
 her second anchor, and was for some time sustained by it; but pre- 
 sently that cable parted likewise, and she drifted down toward us, 
 and passed us so near, that, notwithstanding the darkness and noise, 
 we could both see the men on board, and hear them crying out. 
 Here again the good Providence of God was manifested toward us ; 
 for, had she parted her cable only a few feet more to the eastward, 
 she must have drifted down upon us, and the force of the contact 
 would, undoubtedly, have torn us away, and reduced us to extremity. 
 She, however, passed so near us, that we were obliged to shift our helm 
 hard up, in order to let her go by without striking us. What became 
 of her afterward, we know not, but it is very probable that she was 
 lost ; however, this I know, that, had we been in the same circum- 
 stances, our captain would have almost entirely calculated upon an utter 
 wreck. As to ourselves, however, we were most mercifully enabled to 
 ride out the storm ; and the next day the wind shifting a little, we, 
 along with many others, most gladly seized the occasion to get out of 
 this horrible place. 
 
 I left the Downs, earnestly hoping never to re-enter them ; for, if I 
 could possibly avoid it, never would I again sail either up or down 
 this dangerous and horrid channel. The wind soon proved foul once 
 more, and kept us, for some days, unable to leave the English Channel 
 and the eastern coast, so that we began to apprehend the necessity of 
 returning to the detested Downs ; however, with a favouring wind, 
 which afterward sprung up, we were enabled to make one good day’s 
 sail, reaching down perhaps fifty miles below the Isle of Wight ; but 
 this terminated, for very many days, our good sailing. Nearly three 
 weeks elapsed, before we could arrive at the Lizard’s Point ; and south- 
 westerly winds still prevailing, we were compelled to quit the Channel 
 to the northward, passing between the Land’s End, and the Scilly 
 Islands, along the entrance of the Bristol Channel toward Ireland. 
 In these circumstances, I could not but think much, and very feel- 
 ingly? °f y° u a H* I imagined myself much the subject of your conver- 
 sation, your thoughts, and your prayers. I could not help fancying, 
 that you might suppose my voyage nearly or quite terminated ; and 
 that you might, therefore, be cherishing an elevation of sentiment about 
 me, which you would be far from feeling, if you knew that I was so 
 near you, and had not properly commenced the passage. But then 
 
256 
 
 ENTERS THE BAY OF BISCAY. 
 
 too, I thought that feeling an interest in the weather, greater than 
 usual, you would come to understand its unfavourableness, and the 
 impossibility of proceeding on my voyage ; and thus, that you would 
 either calculate on our being somewhere in port, or else exposed to all 
 the nameless perils, to which, if even truth gave existence, imagination 
 would supply additional terrors. The latter, I sometimes could not 
 help fearing was the most likely, as you would naturally expect, that, 
 if put into any port through stress of weather, I should be sure to 
 write you thence. However, I had the benefit of your prayers ; for, 
 I am sure, that the effects of the fervent supplications offered to 
 heaven in my behalf, followed me, and both preserved me in danger, 
 and supplied me with those spiritual supports to which I was soon 
 obliged to have recourse, when every thing else failed to render any 
 adequate assistance. 
 
 I believe, you know that I had a particular dread of passing the 
 Bay of Biscay, especially at this time of the year; and, notwithstand- 
 ing my mind was pretty fully made up to yield myself entirely, and 
 without querulousness, to the disposal of the great Head of the 
 Church, I could not feel altogether divested of anxiety about enter- 
 ing the Bay. However, we did enter it, and that without my perceiv- 
 ing it, on Sunday morning the 19th of December. Though the wind 
 was still foul, the weather was pretty fine, and I preached to the sail- 
 ors on the deck, with a sail drawn up the rigging, on the windward side, 
 to keep off the freshness of the wind. While the service continued, the 
 wind got more to the westward, and freshened considerably, and thus 
 commenced that, which, in part from my own ignorance, and in part 
 from the many frightful relations I had heard on the subject, I had 
 most dreaded in my voyage, a strong gale of wind from the westward 
 in the Bay of Biscay. 
 
 In order to understand the circumstances in which we were placed, 
 if you will take a map of Europe, you will perceive that the coast of 
 F ranee stretches from north to south in a curve, which gives to the sea, 
 included within it, the name of a Bay ; when a westerly wind blows, 
 the coast on the eastern side, forms what the sailors term a lee-shore. 
 Now in our case you will remember, that, having had a long prevalence 
 of westerly winds, we entered the Bay much nearer the land than 
 was at all desirable. Yet our captain evidently hoped, that, as the 
 wind had moderated, we might run down the Bay without any great 
 risk. However, the forementioned heavy gale setting in from the west, 
 we could carry no sail at all, and were obliged of course to lay to , 
 that is, to turn the ship’s head as nearly as possible to the wind, and 
 endeavour to ride out the storm. But you will easily conceive, that, 
 thus situated with the sea running in such vast waves, we could not 
 avoid being ourselves considerably drifted towards the shore. At the 
 same time, we were now so deep in the Bay, that escape, either to the 
 
discrimination of providence. 
 
 257 
 
 north or south, was impossible, and there was no probability of our 
 being able to get with safety into any port which the Bay presents ; 
 and had we failed in the latter part of this alternative, and the gale 
 continued without abatement, we must, of course, have gone ashore, 
 and been entirely wrecked. There was the greater danger of this, as 
 our ship was so extremely light, and the captain calculated that we 
 were drifting upwards of two miles an hour. 
 
 What I am now going to write, I do as a matter of duty and grati- 
 tude, in order to procure your thankful acknowledgments to the Al- 
 mighty, who 4 rides in the whirlwind, and directs the storm.’ Though 
 too refined for infidelity, mole-eyed as it is, there is discrimination in 
 the ravages of the tempest, as well as in the death-wounds of the field 
 of battle. As there is some reason, why the bullet passes one indi- 
 vidual, and why it strikes another ; so also, there is some reason, why 
 one ship founders in the storm, and why another rides it out, and 
 proceeds in safety. However, with regard to myself, I did not ex- 
 pect to escape the death, which at that time appeared before me ; and 
 I consequently set myself most seriously to prepare for the awful ca- 
 tastrophe. But I will copy some minutes, which I noted within a day 
 or two after our most merciful and memorable deliverance. 
 
 Dec. 24. — It is now Friday; but where is the pen to fill up with 
 accuracy the interval between the last and the present record? Yet 
 here we are, with a sky serene, a sea comparatively smooth, a wind 
 permitting the ship to steer her course, and all is well. Last Sunday 
 morning we entered the Bay. For several previous days we had only 
 light airs, indeed sometimes we had been almost becalmed, only the 
 little wind which we had was contrary. It was also observed, that 
 though the wind, more than once or twice, became fair for us, yet, 
 on such occasions, there was not enough to fill our sails; whereas, 
 when it shifted against us to the west or south-west, it was almost 
 sure to blow in very strong breezes, ending in a gale, during which 
 we were compelled to lay to under almost bare poles. On Sunday, 
 there was just such a contrary breeze, which freshened while I was 
 conducting divine service with the sailors. During the whole of the 
 ensuing night, and the two following days, it continued increasing, 
 until at length it raised and agitated the sea into swells, which to me, a 
 novice, were very formidable. In the evening of Tuesday, it seemed 
 for a little while to die away, the mate and the carpenter informing 
 me that the heart of the gale was broken. The captain however ob- 
 served in the black and stormy clouds a white one, rising to the wind- 
 ward ; this, he said, portended either less wind or a great deal more ; 
 and the latter, in the order of Providence, verified th6 interpretation. 
 He likewise remarked, that we were now about the middle of the 
 Bay ; and that, during the former days, we had drifted considerably 
 
 s 
 
258 
 
 STORM IN THE BAY OF BISCAY. 
 
 to the .eastward. Thus matters were when this gale began from the 
 west-south-west. 
 
 If, with the coolness and the consciousness of perfect safety, I could 
 have surveyed the scene which now ensued, I can scarcely conceive 
 of anything that would have appeared more truly grand and sublime. 
 The blowing, was indeed tremendous, and my sensations soon became 
 exceedingly awful. The sky frequently changing its appearance, 
 sometimes expressing the most awful blackness and anger, and at 
 others, broken into clouds which the sun illuminated, and exceed- 
 ingly varied in beauty ; but especially, the sea moving in such tre- 
 mendous agitation, as filled me with the most indescribable emotions. 
 At once I ceased to wonder at the, hyperbolical accounts, which we 
 have heard, of waves running mountains high ; for it is a fact, that 
 seas far higher, and full as long as whole streets in a city, moved one 
 after another in continued succession for many: hours. One great ad- 
 vantage, however, in the Bay of Biscay is* that the waves, great, as they 
 are, seldom break; for such immense masses of water as these, if they 
 were to break upon a ship, must inevitably bear her down to destruc- 
 tion at a blow. The vessel, in which I was sailing, was really tossed 
 about with so much ease, and it appeared so diminutive and insecure 
 in the presence of such moving masses, that I was utterly amazed, not 
 only at the greatness, and the power of God, but also at the temerity 
 which can induce man to brave the dangers of the sea, as well as at 
 the ingenuity which teaches him to do it, in the majority of cases, 
 with success. But to pursue my notes ; — 
 
 We of course laid to ; but the labouring off the ship was to me 
 very distressing, though the sailors said, that she rode remarkably 
 easy in such a gale. This indeed must have been true, for seldom did 
 the sea dash over us in any considerable quantity. But I was obliged 
 to lay myself down flat upon the cabin-floor, unable to sit, stand, or 
 kneel, in consequence of the violence of the motion. And in this 
 situation I was frequently thrown with incredible violence against the 
 opposite side of the cabin. Several times I was considerably hurt, 
 and once especially, I knocked my forehead and eye so violently 
 against a beam, which supported a puncheon of rum, as for some se- 
 conds to half-stun me. My usual station, however, was in the com- 
 panion-stairs, for there I could stand with the greatest ease ;j and 
 there I spent very many hours of the day and night, from the begin- 
 ning to the end of the voyage. 
 
 Day-light brought us no relief, and the morning found me in a state 
 of feeling, which I hope never to forget. Escape from the. Bay was 
 impossible, we were drifting fast towards the land, and shipwreck 
 stood stark before me. Whatever may be the influence upon a human 
 heart of removed danger or the lapse of time, 1 wisli never to forget 
 
REFLECTIONS IN THE PROSPECT OF SHIPWRECK. 
 
 259 
 
 that to me shipwreck was then the most probable issue of my situa- 
 tion ; and again and again I had to retire, and try to be prepared for 
 that event. But I wish it to be particularly understood, that the ap- 
 prehensions, which I then had, were not the result of a hurried and 
 violent excitement of fear, for nothing of the sort occurred ; I thought 
 deliberately, felt coolly, and moved and talked with perfect self-pos- 
 session ; but it was the coolness which looked reality in the face, and felt 
 that it was reality. I felt as if death were before me, and that I should 
 soon be a disembodied spirit before the naked eye of my God and 
 Judge. 
 
 Is it possible that I shall ever cease to remember, either the 
 goodness of God my Saviour, in preserving me at that time from de- 
 spair, and breathing into my soul a measure of supporting hope that I 
 should be raised from a watery grave to be with Him in glory ; or the 
 keen and distressing sense that I had of the unfaithfulness, which has 
 worse than wasted the greater part of my life ? 4 Nothing,’ said I 
 
 to myself again and again, 4 nothing lies now between me and the 
 immediate presence of the Redeemer, eternal refuge from sorrow, 
 fear, pain, and sin, and restoration to the society of my dearest wife, 
 mother, and sister; — nothing but a little of this water; one, — one 
 only of these waves would be enough. I should in an instant be in- 
 sensible, till the sensations burst upon me of a spirit which can be in- 
 sensible no more !’ But oh ! how painful were the reflections of my 
 backsliding from God, and the want of that communion with Him 
 which results in grateful faith, and love, and joy ! These feelings, in- 
 deed, w r ere not new, nor were they excited by the peculiar circum- 
 stances of the moment ; but they certainly became at that time more 
 pointed and definite, and I was allowed to perceive, that I might be 
 justly admitted to approach the very confines of eternity, without any 
 of those vivid and consolatory supports, which, in such moments, are 
 the peculiar and needful privileges of the faithful children of God. 
 Often did I labour, and, blessed be the God of Ephraim ! with some 
 relief, to cast myself and my whole burden upjbn the Lord. I then 
 reflected closely on the freeness of salvation, the privileges of faith, and 
 the positive and extensive promises to believing prayer ; and, as the day 
 advanced and the storm increased, I felt myself more and more un- 
 able to yield to the thought, that I should be called in this manner to 
 die. I therefore determined to plead boldly and importunately with 
 the Lord for a change of the wind. I relate only simple matters of 
 fact, and I believe that what occurred, happened when and as it did, 
 in answer to prayer. I threw myself upon my knees, and I wept 
 and prayed before God. I entreated for resignation, and I pleaded 
 the blood and intercession of Jesus for grace to support me, and for 
 faith to ask successfully. With the full intention of following, as I 
 could, the example of my glorious Lord, my language was : — 4 O my 
 
 s 2 
 
260 
 
 REMARKABLE ANSWERS TO PRAYER. 
 
 Father ! if it be possible, let this cup pass from me; but if it may not 
 pass away from me, except I drink it, thy will be done ! I will drink it 
 as I am able.’ Then I strongly pleaded for a change of the wind to 
 the north-west, which would admit of our escape from the Bay. I 
 urged my full belief, that God 4 holds the winds in His fist, and the 
 waters in the hollow of His hand,’ — that lie Himself had given per- 
 mission to His disciples to ask such things in the name of the Re- 
 deemer, — and that I did so from my very soul. I implored an answer 
 to this prayer, believing that it would be for my real interests and for 
 His glory. And in the name of Jesus I entreated, that the answer 
 might confirm my faith and hope. I then arose and went upon deck, 
 but found no alteration. I however kept earnestly looking to the 
 Lord, and imploring an answer. 
 
 In asking temporal benefits there is, of course, great caution neces- 
 sary ; but I make these two remarks : — 1. That there is a wide differ- 
 ence between asking for mere gratifications, and imploring deliver- 
 ances from imminent dangers ; 2. That a Christian, in the very pro- 
 cess of pleading with God, is often made to feel whether his prayer 
 is admitted, and whetJier he may plead with increased liberty and 
 power. Sometimes in prayer he feels in such a manner, as to know 
 that he shall not have what he asks ; while at others, he may be cer- 
 tain that fulfilment waits upon him. Amidst various fears of pre- 
 sumption, and hopes produced by faith in the power and willingness 
 of God to bless me, it was in the latter of these two ways that I 
 felt. 
 
 1 again retired, and repeated my fervent supplication ; and then, 
 with a peculiarity of influence which made me feel that it was of God, 
 I had powerfully impressed upon my mind that assurance : — 4 Though 
 it tarry , wait for it ; because it will surely come , it will not tarry l* 
 I then again left my cabin comforted, and determined to await the 
 fulfilment of my prayer ; for I could plainly feel, that it was permitted 
 to come up acceptably before God. I had resumed my old place, the 
 companion-stairs, not more than ten minutes, still earnestly looking 
 up to God, when the captain came up to me, and whispered in my 
 ear, — 4 The wind has shifted, ’tis getting round to the north-west- 
 ward !’ I was so affected, that I instantly left the deck, and gave 
 vent to a heart very unusually charged with gratitude and joy. The 
 gale quickly abated, aud, as soon as the violence of the sea had a little 
 subsided, we tacked, hoisted one piece of sail after another, and 
 steered west by south, the wind being nearly in the north. 
 
 The next morning, there was every probability of the wind’s failing 
 again, and, as we were not yet out of the Bay, another westerly wind 
 would have still locked us in. The captain was again full of anxiety, and 
 I, renewing the means of the past day, fervently pleaded every hour 
 with God. He. again heard and graciously answered. The wind got 
 
GRATITUDE TO GOD. 
 
 261 
 
 back to the north, north-north-west, or north-west all day ; and the 
 consequence is, that we have now escaped from this terrible Bay, hav- 
 ing this morning cleared Cape Finisterre ; and, though the wind has 
 got back again to the westward, it now allows us to proceed in our 
 course. I believe that these were special and manifest answers to 
 prayer, and, by the grace of God, I will through life acknowledge this 
 and glorify Him. 
 
 Jan. 19. — I have still precisely the same views, and am persuaded 
 that, though the discipline of this voyage has been exceedingly painful, 
 both before and after these events ; yet all has been intended, so far 
 as I am concerned, to bring me into the exercise of those principles 
 of faith, and hope, and intercourse with God, which are capable of 
 stimulating to a life of practical piety. At the same time I feel, that 
 hitherto they have been very sadly dormant within my breast. 
 
 But my reason for describing so particularly to you the above an- 
 swers to prayer, is, that I solemnly believe it my duty to encourage 
 your faith, and that of my other friends, in God and His Son Jesus 
 Christ ; who would, I am persuaded, much more extensively hear and 
 answer prayer than we are accustomed to imagine, if we only sought 
 Him with full purpose of heart, and with the faith which He would 
 enable us to exercise. I invite your joy with me, not only in the fact 
 of my deliverance from the storm, though that is a much greater mercy 
 than I can describe or you imagine; but in the consequent impression 
 on my soul of the truth, the power, and th£ value, of that religion, 
 which is now and then illustrated in our private history, by incidents 
 which decisively affect us as individuals, even though confined to our 
 own knowledge and experience. What the world would say about 
 this, and the other facts of my voyage, I neither know nor care. I 
 am not to be governed by the false views and maxims of unspiritual 
 men. I have now, more than ever, done with such characters, and 
 with gratitude I renew to our Heavenly Father the dedication of my 
 poor and worthless, yet in desire at least, entire heart and life, for 
 time or for eternity. 
 
 I must now, however reluctantly, draw to a close. We were detained 
 a long time before the mouth of the Straits, by a dead easterly wind, 
 which set in just after we had with so much perplexity weathered 
 those which proceeded from the opposite points. We entered Gib- 
 raltar Bay on Friday morning, the 5th inst., and, after a vexatious 
 detention by the officers, I had the great comfort of setting my 
 foot once more upon an unmoving base, a bliss which I had never 
 before properly felt. I immediately hastened away to find my dear 
 and excellent friend, the Rev. James Dixon. Having called on a 
 Mr. Pyne, a gentleman to whom Mr. Butterworth had given me a 
 letter of introduction, and whose residence I found near the landing- 
 place, he sent his son to shew me the way to the Mission-House. 
 
262 
 
 ARRIVAL AT MB. DIXON’S. 
 
 There is a flight of stone, steps, leading from the street up to the area 
 of the dwelling-house, which is situated on the side of the Rock, ad- 
 joining the Chapel. On those steps was seated, among a group of 
 Spanish children, little Mary Dixon. I can give you no adequate idea of 
 the double pleasure, which I felt in once more treading upon terra 
 Jirma , and in recognising a countenance which bore some affinity to 
 home. As soon therefore as I saw her, being overjoyed, I called out 
 and sprang towards her, alarming and scouting by my violence, the 
 little group of chattering jargonists. Mr. D.’s study is so situated, as 
 to be the room nearest the steps, and, having instantly heard my voice, 
 he immediately sprang out, absolutely trembling with surprise and joy; 
 for, having had no intimation of my appointment, he of course was 
 not at all expecting me. The only words which he could articulate, 
 were — c Oh, dear ! dear !’ The next moment we were locked in each 
 other’s arms; how long we remained in this situation I do not know, 
 but without being able to utter a syllable, each leaned his head upon 
 the other’s shoulder, and wept with joy. The child too, as if able 
 to sympathise with us, clung to us both without speaking a word. It 
 was some considerable time, before conversation could become free. It 
 was one of the most memorable and affecting days of my life ; for, 
 what a concurrence of circumstances had been needful to bring me' 
 here ! and what a concurrence of circumstances now surrounded me 1 
 You must imagine how welcome I was. Mrs. D. received me like a 
 Mother, and I have the delightful feeling that I contribute greatly to 
 their domestic happiness. In fine, I am, in all respects of an earthly 
 nature, most comfortable. 
 
 Mr. D. is much esteemed and beloved here, the people know and 
 value his worth, and his residence among them will, I am sure, be 
 eminently useful. He and I are now studying Spanish together very 
 closely, and we begin to feel that we make some progress. I hope to 
 be able soon to converse in the language, and, if the Lord should 
 favour me with health, I expect within six months to compose for the 
 pulpit. Asa foreign language, the Spanish is not difficult ; though, of 
 course, it is never a trifle to acquire a new language with the fluency 
 and correctness necessary for public purposes. If, in the time above- 
 mentioned, I am able to compose and read 'from the pulpit, it will be as 
 much as I can anticipate; yet thus much is the task which I have as- 
 signed myself, and I am applying accordingly. The people are greatly 
 delighted at my arrival, and the grace is at present giyen me to per- 
 ceive, that they are prepared of the Lord to receive me as His messen- 
 ger, and to love me for my work’s sake. 
 
 But the poor Spaniards are my special object, and they indeed are 
 in a wretched moral condition. My prospects among them, though 
 valuable, present nothing very flattering to the view, and indeed how 
 should they ? From the situation and character of the place, it ap- 
 
RELIGIOUS STATE OF THE SPANIARDS. 
 
 263 
 
 pears to me, that the probability of extensive usefulness is not great ; 
 the people.are by no means inquisitive about religion, they seem quite 
 satisfied to be earthly, and to live as they list; but where are they not 
 so ? However, through the pious labours of a good man, who is a Local 
 Preacher in the Spanish language, there are some few who appear 
 excited to a true concern for their souls. Among these, is a Spanish 
 refugee Priest, who seems effectually turned from the follies and idola- 
 tries of his former polluted and abominable Church. Perhaps, and 
 here my strongest fears take their ground, I shall not be either pious, 
 or zealous, or active enough, to be very useful ; and this will certainly 
 be the case, unless I receive greater power from on high than I have 
 ever yet experienced. 
 
 My health is better than it was. My rest was so much broken, that 
 it suffered a little on the voyage ; however, it is now much better 
 than when I left home. The change of climate has been most grate- 
 ful and advantageous to me, and the benefit is likely to be very deci- 
 sive. The climate here is now like our June; every thing is in full 
 bloom ; the common hedges, which are all of the finest geraniums I 
 ever saw, are many of them covered with blossoms ; and oranges and 
 lemons are hanging on the few trees, which the Rock supports, like 
 apples and pears in an English orchard. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. D. join me, with the fervour of true brotherhood, in 
 every kind and respectful feeling to you all. I think I love you all 
 more than ever; and my separation from you has, more than ever, im- 
 pressed upon my mind holiness, heaven, and eternity. Farewell. 
 i Grace, mercy, and peace be multiplied unto you/ and to 
 
 Your most affectionate 
 
 Son and Brother, 
 
 William Barber. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 Description of Gibraltar — And of the Wesleyan Society and Congregation — Pros- 
 pects among the Spaniards — Persecution of two British Officers for Conscience* 
 sake — Promising Commencement of a Spiritual Work among the Spanish Ca- 
 tholics — Study of the Spanish Language — Providential Deliverance from immi- 
 nent Danger — Effects of a Change of Climate — Low State of real Religion in 
 Gibraltar — Loss of the Vessel in which he took his Voyage. 
 
 To his elder Brother . 
 
 Gibraltar , Jan. 2 1, 1825. 
 
 Very dear Aquila, 
 
 * * * * * * 
 
 Of the situation of Gibraltar, your knowledge must be to- 
 lerably correct from the maps, and I do not know that I can much 
 illustrate its shape. You may remember that projecting rock at 
 Weston-super-Mare, which stands at the left of the beach, reaching 
 out from Uphill to a considerable distance in the water, and thus 
 forming the southern side of the piece of water which might be called 
 the Bay of Weston. In some respects the Rock and Bay of Gib- 
 raltar resemble this ; the former being somew’hat similarly shaped, 
 only much higher and larger. The end which adjoins the main- 
 land is almost perpendicularly precipitous, and approachable only over 
 a narrow and flat bed of sand, which English industry has tinged 
 with some hues of verdure, and occupied by several good houses. 
 This tract of land is commanded by batteries, which have the power 
 of sweeping off at a stroke whatever would venture within their 
 reach. Shall I gain any thing for illustration by an outline without 
 rule, and of course without proportions ? 
 
 ******** 
 
 You will observe, that I pretend to no accuracy in this hasty 
 sketch. I have used it, chiefly to convey some idea of the relation 
 fthe Rock to the Bay and the opposite shore ; and for the sake of 
 jemarking, that the side of the Rock next the Bay is the part prin- 
 
DESCRIPTION OF GIBRALTAR. 
 
 265 
 
 ci pally inhabited. On the Mediterranean side there is a place called 
 Catiline Bay, with a village and a military station. As you enter the 
 Bay of Gibraltar, the appearance of the Rock is certainly interesting, 
 standing out as it does from the neighbouring land, as if made on 
 purpose to command the entrance of the sea. Though in its sterility, 
 it has resemblance enough to the surrounding barbarous, uncultivat- 
 ed, and unproductive scenery to intimate its kindred ; it is impossi- 
 ble for the eye to avoid speedily fixing on the indications of improve- 
 ment and of wealth, which all along the shore make it the very re- 
 verse of every thing near it. The distinction, which I have marked 
 of the Town from the South, is very observable from the water. The 
 town is situated on the interior of the Rock, next to the main-land ; 
 and owing to the steep slope of its site, the changes of its history, 
 the blended civil and military character of its possessors, and the 
 mixed medley of its inhabitants, with their various national habits, it 
 presents no appearance of order, and makes no impression of con- 
 sistency or regularity. Its houses are crowded, its streets narrow, its 
 windings intricate, and its population swarming. The pleasantest 
 part of the Rock is that which from its position is denominated 
 4 The South and the superior pleasantness of this part, arises from 
 its being the result of British arrangement and labour. The military 
 barracks, stores, hospitals, and stations, as well as the dock-yard 
 with its appendages, present a fine appearance from the entrance of 
 the Bay ; and must be a most galling spectacle, from the opposite side, 
 to any spark of Spanish patriotism, which, if it be not utterly extin- 
 guished, may occasionally arise in the breasts of the poor inhabitants 
 of Spain. Houses of chiefly military residents extend here and there, 
 almost all the way, between the Town and the South, which is nearly 
 an hour’s walk. General Don, the Lieutenant-Governor, who has con- 
 ducted himself here with the most manly and liberal public spirit, and 
 thus won the gratitude and esteem, I should think, of every body ; 
 has recently made improvements, which have occupied a considerable 
 space in this interval with a grand parade and beautiful public gar- 
 dens. That space, which was' formerly as rugged and barren as the 
 rest of the Rock, has now its cavities filled up and its asperities cut 
 down ; and it presents to the eye walks, of which all the hedges are 
 geraniums in perpetual blossom, and beds of flowers and shrubs^ 
 mostly the spontaneous growth of the climate, but known in England 
 only in the green-house or the hot-house. The prospect from any 
 part of the Rock must, of course, to a stranger, be impressive ; and 
 his first emotions must be those of delight, especially after the fatigues 
 and disagreeables of a voyage ; but I suspect, that the interest must 
 soon wear down. There are here no cultivated lands, to present the 
 varying tints of spring, and summer, and autumn, and winter ; but all 
 is rocky, and barren, and sun-burnt. There are no great roads 
 
<266 
 
 STATE OF METHODISM. 
 
 teeming with the activities of intercourse, and ‘sending the circula- 
 tion of industrious life to the extremities. There are no manufactur- 
 ing districts sending forth their multitudes to regulated labour, and 
 giving at once the conviction and the security of wealth well em- 
 ployed. There are indeed- two Spanish towns in sight, that is, as- 
 semblages of houses, the poor inhabitants of which have little or no- 
 thing to recommend them, except that they are immortal beings, who 
 know neither how to live nor how to die. Over the southern end of 
 the Rock, and bounding the south-west extent of our view, the Afri- 
 can coast is in sight, but it is too distant to be distinct; and thus, 
 of course, it happens that, but for the ingress and egress of shipping., 
 there would be, indeed, but little variety to feed the appetite for 
 change. But even this is a sort of variety, which a little use of 
 course familiarises. From amidst themselves, therefore, and from 
 home are to be drawn the supplies, which must keep the inhabit- 
 ants of Gibraltar from the putrefaction of dissolute habits, or the 
 senseless evaporation of an almost unoccupied life. The intercourse 
 with Spain is very trifling.; indeed, so far as I have hitherto learnt, it 
 is almost absolutely a mere nullity as to information of any kind. 
 Hence we are here shut tip from the world, and all our means of ac- 
 quaintance, even respecting the condition or transactions of our near- 
 est neighbours, are derived through the country which holds the keys 
 of our gates. This was not so much the case, I understand, till 
 since the abhorred and disastrously successful interference of France 
 in the affairs of Spain ; by which the former has occupied the latter, 
 not only with her troops, but with her manufactures, to the exclu- 
 sion of those which are British. The result of this is, that Gibraltar 
 is considerably reduced in its commercial importance, and almost all 
 its trade is clandestine and smuggled. 
 
 Of our Society, &c. it is not my intention at present to say much. 
 I choose rather to let my remarks be the subject of close and more' 
 accurate knowledge. Taking the terms in the sense usually assigned 
 them, I should say, that the influence and respectability of Me- 
 thodism here, are not of so high a rank as, some how or other, I had 
 apprehended them to be. It has to struggle against all those op- 
 ponents, which, in every other part of the world, result from the car- 
 nal mind, and hold evangelical religion in inferiority and seclusion. 
 I do not know that this is much to be regretted; lam sure it is 
 not, unless religion have first changed the character of society from 
 its sinfulness and sensuality. The great majority of the civil popu- 
 lation here are Spaniards, Roman Catholics of course ; and as they 
 hold but little or no intercourse with the English, except when need- 
 ed by business, and even then talking in a foreign language, Me- 
 thodism has not existed for them. Of the English inhabitants, far 
 the greater number are, in the very lax interpretation of the phrase, 
 
general hostility to vital godliness. 
 
 267 
 
 members of the Church of England ; consequently, the fashionable 
 ones at least, go, on the Lord’s-day morning, to the Convent, which 
 is now used as a Church by the Garrison Chaplain. And, snailable 
 as it might well seem to the Bond-Street Beaux and Belles of the Me- 
 tropolis, the tide of fashion here runs so strong, and deviations from 
 it are so marked and known, that they must have much greater 
 strength of nerve than is usually shared by a body tinselled out in 
 all the vanities of dress, or even by the soul within such a body, 
 who can dare to obey, or to feel, or to think of those tremendous 
 things, which make a man struggle as he ought, and triumph as he 
 may. You may guess at the power of the infection of this evil, when 
 I tell you, that scarcely any man comes out from England without los- 
 ing, not only all his religious feelings, if he had any, however strong 
 or active they may have seemed to himself and others, but also the 
 moral restraint of his corrupt propensities. We have some melan- 
 choly proofs of this under our own notice. I do not know that 
 
 , whom you must well remember, lives in any habitual vice, 
 
 but he is no longer a Methodist, and he seldom attends the house 
 of God. He seems imbued with the spirit of the world, and, at least 
 occasionally, joins in all its fashionable follies. There is another 
 young man, who came not very long since from Liverpool or Man- 
 chester, full of zeal, and desires, and plans for doing good ; but 
 alas! * a deceived heart hath turned him also aside.’ The former of 
 these has called on me, and invited me to renew our acquaintance ; I 
 shall do so, earnestly praying that God may give me the grace and 
 the opportunity of doing them both some benefit. The choice people 
 of our Society appear to be of the common soldiers and non-commis- 
 sioned officers. Of these a considerable number attend the chapel, 
 and the line of usefulness appears to run almost entirely among them. 
 The officers of higher rank seldom come among us. has in- 
 
 deed long been an active and determined friend of the cause, though 
 not a member of society ; and a surgeon of one of the regiments ge- 
 nerally attends on Sunday evenings. But the existence of vital piety 
 in an officer is very precarious ; — his situation becomes distressing ; — 
 and the persecution he has to endure is very galling : in fact, he 
 must either resign his commission, or almost every comfort of exist- 
 ence. There is a of , who has just now been 
 
 compelled, by the impossibily of living in this place, to resign, 
 in consequence of his becoming truly and decidedly a Christian. 
 
 But to return : — Our Chapel will hold, I should think, about two 
 thirds as many persons as that in Guinea-Street, Bristol. We have, 
 perhaps, from two to three hundred hearers on a Sunday morning, 
 and the chapel is filled on the Sunday evening. In the South there is 
 erected a neat room, in which there is preaching only on Thursday 
 evenings; the number of members is continually varying a little, but 
 
268 
 
 PROSPECTS AMONG THE SPANIARDS. 
 
 sometimes large sweeps are made by the removal of the soldiers ; at 
 present it stands at about seventy. But you will, of course, demand 
 what prospects are before me as a Spanish Missionary. In this light 
 I must consider myself, because there is absolutely not more work 
 than enough for the attention of one English Preacher. There are 
 comparatively few of the influential Spanish emigrants here, and, 
 were they ever so numerous, my ignorance of their language would 
 exclude me from intercourse with them. However, I am labouring 
 to surmount this difficulty with as much expedition as possible, and I 
 hope to be able to talk within three months, and to preach, at least by 
 reading, within six. But will there be a congregation to hear me ? — 
 This is the grand question, and the undisguised reply must be, that 
 there is little hope of more than from eight to twelve persons at first. 
 I calculate thus minutely from the fact, that we have already a truly 
 good man who speaks Spanish well, and who is a Local Preacher. He 
 preaches in that language every Thursday evening in the Chapel, and 
 the number above stated generally comprehends his congregation. 
 Brother Quierell, for that is his name, is very active in his pious en- 
 deavours to bring the poor deluded Spaniards to the knowledge of the 
 truth. He visits them from house to house, and converses and prays 
 with them. His conduct, from all I see and hear, appears exceed- 
 ingly prudent and inoffensive ; and there is the best reason to be- 
 lieve, that he must be useful. I am much inclined to fear, that I shall 
 be his inferior in piety, zeal, and success. The time is not long that 
 he has been preaching to them ; but he tells me, that there are already 
 four or five persons, who would, as he believes, gladly join in class, 
 if there were a Spanish Society formed, and a regular Minister to 
 meet them. May the Lord of His mercy approve, and speedily render 
 me capable of sustaining this happy office ! What sort of advance I 
 shall make, in the sight of God or the Church, in the patient, hum- 
 ble, plodding obscurity, which circumstances will need, I cannot pre- 
 dict and dare not calculate. But He, who knows my heart, sees 
 that I desire thankfully to embrace the measure of His grace ap- 
 pointed me, and to proceed according to the whoTe of its length and 
 circuit. I wish that a better anticipation of this could be founded on 
 a state of piety decidedly and rapidly improving. But I feel myself 
 painfully deficient in yearning love for the souls of men, perishing, 
 as they are, all around me. Oh, that God may awaken and arouse 
 me ! Do not desist from praying in my behalf, that this may be 
 the case. 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 Your very affectionate Brother, 
 
 William. 
 
GRATEFUL REFLECTIONS. 
 
 266 
 
 To the Rev. George Morley , one of the General Secretaries of the 
 Wesleyan Missions , in London. 
 
 Gibraltar , Feb. 1, 1825. 
 
 Rev. and dear Sir, 
 
 My privilege in writing for the first time to you as Secretary, 
 is, under present circumstances, very great. ( Thiough a great and 
 terrible wilderness ’ of former life, the Lord has led me to a spot, 
 which for me is on many accounts exceedingly desirable; and He has 
 placed me in the bosom of a family, which receives me as a Friend 
 and a Brother, and toward which I can feel the most sincere esteem 
 and affection ; and, more than every thing else, He permits me here to 
 cherish the hopes, as well as to sustain the responsibility, of a Minister 
 of the truth of the Gospel, — of a Methodist Preacher, — of a Christian 
 Missionary. I know not, my dear Sir, what is in the future ; but, 
 were it even not wrong to indulge conjectures, the knowledge, which 
 I have gained of myself through the past, would make me afraid of the 
 employment. However, upon me, surely more than upon men in 
 general, there lies a debt of gratitude and devotion, which a life the 
 most holy and zealous would fail to discharge. Will the Lord enable 
 me to fulfil my wishes? Oh, could I get beyond them into all His 
 fulness in Christ Jesus ! Then, assuredly, there would be far better 
 Security than I have at present for that personal experience, activity, 
 self-denial, and usefulness, in the absence of which I ought never, 
 without a blush, to hear myself called a Missionary. 
 
 Lest it should hereafter escape me, let me be permitted at once to 
 express to each of the Secretaries my deliberate and affectionate 
 thanks, for the great kindness which I have experienced from them, 
 through the whole process of the business that has led to my present 
 appointment. The Lord, indeed, intimately governs the affairs of His 
 Church upon earth, but my obligations to His agents are not the less 
 on that account. I revert to the long, long dreary period, which I 
 have spent in sorrow, doubt, deferred hope, and all those mixed 
 anxieties, which, in a professed Christian, make up a state of deep, and 
 it may be of criminal, depression ; and I think of the effect of all 
 upon my health, as well as my probable unfitness for any useful em- 
 ployment, and I almost wonder at the goodness of God in allowing, 
 and the venture of the Committee in adopting, the measure which has 
 placed me here. I must also add an expression of the sincerest ac- 
 knowledgment for the comforts, with which I have found myself sur- 
 rounded, in consequence of the arrangements made for me, and the 
 supplies of my outfit. I do not think lightly of other things, but I 
 find especially, that my little library has received several valuable ad- 
 ditions by the works with which I have been furnished. 
 
270 
 
 PROSPECTS AMONG THE SPANIARDS. 
 
 Oar passage from London to this place was very stormy and 
 anxious. * * * * * & * 
 
 I hope never to forget some deep heart-searchings, through which I 
 was at this period led ; nor some very manifest and assuring answers 
 to prayer which, beside < materially assisting my faith and hope in 
 the gracious presence and blessing of God, I trust, did me some last- 
 ing good. Among the most important benefits, which I received 
 from c the pitifulness’ of the great. Redeemer, I cannot but remark, 
 that I was kept from al! painful anxiety about the propriety bf my 
 being where I was, in the character which I now sustain. The 
 query was again and again suggested ; but, as often as that was the 
 case, I was sustained by the deep conviction, that should I be called 
 before the Divine tribunal even by shipwreck, my having obeyed a 
 call to the solemn work of a Missionary would prove no source of 
 condemnation. * * * * * 
 
 You may be surprised, my dear Sir, at my having said so little bf 
 the religious state of the people here ; butY have purposely avoided 
 it. Of the English department of the work, accounts more accurate 
 and interesting than I could present, will, of course, be furnished by 
 Mr. Dixon. The Spanish is almost entirely to begin ; I say almost, be- 
 cause T suppose you are aware, that preaching in that language is already 
 commenced by a Local Preacher here. It is, indeed, attended by but 
 t few Spaniards, though perhaps they are quite as many as could have 
 been anticipated ; and he gives accounts of several persons who appear 
 sincerely enquiring after 6 the truth as it is in Jesus.’ Of the piety 
 of this Local Preacher, Mr. Quierell, I have formed a high opinion ; 
 I should be glad to equal this, as well as his modesty. His views too 
 of the Spaniards themselves, and of the best means of interesting them 
 in the truth, seem to me, so far as my limited intercourse with him 
 has allowed me the power of judging, quite consistent. But I know 
 little, indeed almost nothing from actual observation, though nothing 
 but actual observation will satisfy me. I am at present closely and 
 diligently studying the language. I wish to surmount all its difficul- 
 ties, if I can, before the extremely hot weather. I hope to begin 
 conversing soon, but am determined to be master, if possible, of the 
 language in the pulpit. May it please the Author of life, to cause his 
 grace to abound toward me in health, and the more important and spi- 
 ritual qualifications of which I have the utmost need l In order, then, 
 to make any communications about the Spaniards, I wait till I can talk 
 and enquire among them .for myself. If the Lord continue my life as 
 a Missionary, I mean to adopt as my motto for reports of all kinds, — 
 c A / e quid nimis .’ I hope this will nevei; induce me to be satisfied 
 with little. Yet there are on my mind at present two general im- 
 pressions, relating to the work among the Spaniards here : the first is, 
 that their state of mind and character is most unpromising to the 
 
DIFFICULTIES OF A MISSIONARY, 
 
 271 
 
 labours of truly spiritual Protestanism ; and the second, that inter- 
 course with the wretched Parent country, though stretching its me- 
 lancholy hills every day and hour so before our sight as to excite none 
 but painful feelings, is so nearly a non-entity, that all reasonable ex- 
 pectation of useful influence, in any direct form, seems hopeless. But 
 where did a Missionary ever plant his foot, unless in the midst of 
 difficulties? Has he not always gone to find them, and to foil and 
 master them ? Oh, that the qualities, which I bring to follow such 
 examples, were of a more promising character! Let me, however, 
 constantly enjoy the happiness of feeling myself sustained by your 
 prayers, and stimulated by your instructions and advice, as 
 Your affectionate and obedient 
 
 Sou and Servant in the Lord Jesus, 
 
 W. Barber. 
 
 P. S. I should have observed that the Captain conducted himself with 
 the greatest propriety toward me. This was conspicuous in his 
 joining me every night in prayer when the weather would permit, 
 though it was often with great difficulty ; and especially in his soli- 
 citude for Divine worship on the Lord’s day. Thus there was 
 nothing to prevent this part of my duty on any Sunday that I was 
 on board, except one ; yet I cannot flatter myself with any per- 
 manently beneficial effect, though all but one individual were at- 
 tentive, and some seemed serious and even affected. Whether the 
 word of God reached any of their hearts, that day shall declare. 
 
 Journal continued . 
 
 Thursday , Feb. 3.-— Took tea with company but little conducive 
 to my comfort. Very ignorant, conceited, and dissolute young men, 
 provoke me to contempt and severity. But would this be the case, 
 were I not myself proud? Alas! this is one of my most inveterate 
 evils. I have felt and spoken wrong. I should have been moved to 
 pity. Hearing Mr. D. this evening at the South, I felt the evil of 
 sermonising when I should have been listening. Between whiles, 
 however, I felt the danger of falling into the hands of the living God, 
 amidst unhealed backsliding and unremoved impurity. Lord pardon 
 me! What am I ? 
 
 Saturday, Feb. 5. — Spent three hours this evening in most agree- 
 able society ; it was the happiest, and most truly Christian, social in- 
 tercourse which I have had upon the Rock. Great interest too was 
 connected with it. There were present, Mr. A., late Captain in the 
 Artillery, one of the officers lately cashiered by a court-martial, for 
 
272 PERSECUTION OF TWO BRITISH OFFICERS. 
 
 refusing to obey an order to assist at a popish ceremony in Malta; 
 Mr. B., late Lieutenant in the Artillery, whom the petty but inces- 
 sant persecutions, which for conscience’ sake he has experienced from 
 his brother officers, have compelled him to resign his commission ; 
 
 Mr. , an apparently amiable young officer in the artillery ; 
 
 Mr. Pyne, and Mr. Dixon, besides myself. Mr. A. appears a gentleman 
 of the most amiable piety and manners. His simplicity, his good 
 sense, his decidedly religious character and conversation, his faith, his 
 humility, his judicious piety, and his hearty forgiveness of his perse- 
 cutors, kept me in one perpetuated blush of conscious inferiority. O 
 how truly little am I in such company ! He too is recently a wi- 
 dower; he gave us an affecting statement of the death of his lady. 
 I love to listen to such details, though they revive the memory of 
 my own past incidents. I never hear them, without feeling my soul 
 stirred up to a grateful recollection of the mercy, shewn in the parti- 
 culars of my dearest wife’s death to herself and to me, notwithstand- 
 ing all my unbelief and rebellion of heart. I plainly see, that in these 
 things there was to me the greatest condescension. Oh ! when shall 
 I, on this subject, reach that blessed state of feeling, which Mr. A., 
 and others, have so richly exemplified ? Infinitely well is it for me, 
 that 4 the blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from all sin,’ for the ini- 
 quity of my manner of enduring this affliction, and its consequences, 
 is very great; however 4 we have an Advocate with the Father;’ but 
 for this I must have perished. 
 
 Mr. A. favoured us likewise with a summary of the transactions 
 connected with the persecution, (for that in truth it was,) of himself 
 and Lieutenant D. They are in substance these : — At certain periods 
 in the ceremonials of the Papists at Malta, they are accustomed to 
 tang a bell in a peculiar way, and to fire a salute from the forts; 
 these were the signals of' the elevation of the host, or of the passing 
 of certain images in procession. On a particular feast-day it appears, 
 that it was determined to involve these officers in difficulty, concern- 
 ing the law of their God. Lieutenant D. was accordingly ordered to 
 the fort, and directed to tang the bell and fire the salute. This he 
 felt he could not do, without violating his conscience as a Protestant 
 and a Christian ; he therefore wrote a letter to his commanding of- 
 ficer, stating his reasons for objecting, and requesting to be excused. 
 The general’s reply was, that he should either fulfil the orders he had 
 received, or answer it at his peril. He immediately wrote a second 
 remonstrance, still more energetic than the first ; and then Captain A. 
 was directed to supersede him, to receive the orders from him, and 
 to execute them himself. Here was evidently an invidious deviation 
 from the regular practice. The captain w r as a superior officer, and it 
 is usual, on such occasions, to send a subaltern to supersede a subal- 
 tern, or else to send a superior to enforce the order, but not himself 
 
PERSECUTION OF TWO BRITISH OFFICERS. 
 
 273 
 
 to perform a service from which an inferior is exempted. Captain A. 
 felt the same objections as Lieutenant D., and, therefore, determined 
 on the same remonstrance. But, before he wrote upon the subject, 
 the commanding officer himself came over to the fort, and the cap- 
 tain took the opportunity of personally stating his objections. 
 The general then released the captain, and superintended the sig- 
 nals himself. Here then there was clearly no disobedience to 
 orders; they were in fact countermanded, no disapprobation was ex- 
 pressed, and the gentlemen heard no more of the affair, for upwards 
 of three months. Meantime, the matter had been reported to the 
 military authorities at home, and orders came out to put the two 
 officers under arrest, and to try them by a Court-martial, — 1. For 
 disobedience to orders, and 2. For remonstrating. The Court ac- 
 cordingly sat, and Lieutenant D. was tried first : but through every 
 stage of the business the most unwarrantable prejudice prevailed, and 
 the most partial injustice was evinced. The Court refused to allow 
 him to read his defence, when he entered into the religious part of 
 his argument, as a Protestant and a member of the Church of England ; 
 at length, after several vexatious interruptions, he put up his defence, 
 saying : — 6 Gentlemen, I appeal from your decision.’ Then, all boiling 
 with prejudice, and anger, and hatred of his religion, they proceeded 
 to pass the following sentence, — ‘That he should be dismissed from His 
 Majesty’s service, and be rendered incapable of ever entering it again.’ 
 Capt. A. was then called in ; but, though it appears that they were 
 more moderate with him, they refused to hear that part of his defence 
 likewise, which embraced the subject of religion, and passed sentence, 
 that he also should be dismissed from the service. The report was of 
 course transmitted to England, and the persecuted officers likewise 
 transmitted their defences for the perusal of the Judge- Advocate ge- 
 neral. An order was returned, with some severe strictures on the 
 illegality of the former proceeding, and directing a revision of the 
 cause and sentence, after hearing the full defence; but this, of course, 
 issued in a confirmation of the former decision, excepting only the 
 omission of future incapacity in the case of Lieut. D. 
 
 All these transactions uncover two or three fearful things; 1. A 
 strong disposition in high military authorities to persecute religion, 
 and to expel it from the army ; 2. The danger that exists of annihi- 
 lating all the principles of citizens from it; and 3. The mischief 
 which must result to British liberty from inculcating and enforcing 
 the maxims, that Soldiers must obey all orders , and that an order 
 removes all responsibility from the agent. May the people of Eng- 
 land look well and speedily into these lurking mischiefs ! And may 
 the Almighty remove the causes of such presumptuous banding against 
 Himself and II is cause, and the salvation of men ! 
 
 T 
 
274 
 
 FIRST CLASS-MEETING AMONG THE SPANIARDS. 
 
 Sunday , jF<?5.6th. — Assisted Mr. D. for the first time in administer- 
 ing the ordinance of the Lord’s Supper. My soul was considerably 
 impressed and blest by a sense of the infinite mercy of God to me as 
 a sinner, and especially in 4 putting me into the Ministry.’ The more 
 I reflect upon these things, the more I am amazed that my unspeak- 
 ably deep corruptions, though they have originated many difficulties, 
 have not been permitted to disable me for ever. In the afternoon, 
 went on board the Catharine, for the Bethel Society, and preached to 
 about 15 persons, most of whom were attentive, and some seemed 
 convinced. In the evening, favoured with liberty from Isa. lv. 1 ; 
 but the subtlety and inveteracy of pride and selfishness surprise and 
 confound me. Oh, c enter not into judgment with me !’ I begin to 
 be uneasy, that no visible good appears of my labours, although I have 
 now been here five Sabbaths. I hope not to be impatient ; but am I 
 faithful? or, is my unfaithfulness the cause of my fruitlessness ? 
 
 Wednesday , Feb . 9th. — On Monday evening, Mr. Quierell formed 
 the first Spanish class ; neither Mr. D., nor myself, knew any thing 
 of his intention ; but his account of the few who united, is very pleas- 
 ing; they wonder that their priests should have deceived them so long. 
 
 Poor Don was present, and united his testimony to the power 
 
 of saving grace. 
 
 To his elder Brother. 
 
 Gibraltar , March 5, 1825. 
 
 My dear Aquila, 
 
 * * * I have, in truth, nothing to communicate relative 
 
 to the Missionary work, as I have not yet emerged from the depths 
 of my study, armed cap-a-pie with nouns and verbs, and adjectives to 
 savour them, and prepositions to pair them, and adverbs to clip them, 
 and conjunctions to tie them into bundles. I have again and again re- 
 ceived the intimation, that to learn the language, I must go among 
 the natives, and talk, and hear them talk ; and that it is labour lost, 
 to attempt to learn it from books in solitude. There is truth, mixed 
 with error, in this kind of general remark. I am persuaded, that a 
 foreign language may be soonest learnt and commanded by an incipi. 
 ent and comprehensive digest of its construction and grammatical prin- 
 ciples, associated with a judicious selection and familiarising of words 
 from a vocabulary. One who, thus prepared, sallies forth to talk, is 
 like a seedsman, who, having his drawers ready made and arranged, 
 and knowing how to classify, goes forth to pluck the pods which 
 the garden and the field produce, and, therefore, instantly knows 
 what to do with their contents. Should he first go into the field, un- 
 less indeed brought up there from his infancy, he would learn with 
 
STUDY 01< THE SPANISH LANGUAGE. 
 
 275 
 
 ignorance and arrange with difficulty ; and, amidst the uncertainty, 
 which the multitude and variety would create, he would waste, be- 
 cause he could not retain, and he would throw away, because he could 
 not distinguish. At the same time, I am ready to acknowledge, that 
 he, who should hope to learn to talk in a foreign language from studi- 
 ous reading only, would succeed no better th^n he, who should expect 
 to excel in oratory, by merely reading eloquence in a solitary cell. I 
 read Spanish with pleasure, and, so far as I know the words, I write 
 it with ease, and I believe pretty correctly, for I think I now under- 
 stand its construction and genius; but my attempts to speak it are not 
 better than the poorest babblings, though that is merely because I 
 cannot yet remember its words promptly enough to use them on occa- 
 sion. I expect, .that we shall have a painful, as well as a ridiculous, 
 scene to-morrow, for a Spanish refugee priest is to dine with us ; lie 
 cannot speak English, and we are almost equally incapable of speak- 
 ing Spanish. This priest is an interesting man ; I may have future 
 occasion to speak of him ; but I have hitherto waited to hear from 
 himself what I may communicate to you. He has, I believe, been 
 obliged to flee from his country for conscience’ sake, and he seems to 
 be a truly awakened man. He deeply bewails his own guilt, as well 
 as that of his former brethren in the craft, on account of the false 
 doctrines and other abominations of the Church of Rome. But I 
 must talk with him myself. 
 
 I hope, by the Lord’s help, very soon to make myself understood 
 in the language, and, of course, to understand it as it is spoken. Oh, 
 what a tedious hinderance this various babbling is ! I believe, that a 
 scene of usefulness would immediately open before me, if I had but 
 strength of body and soul to use it. At present, however, my want of 
 the language, and the state of my health prevent. But were these 
 obstacles out of the way, should I possess the zeal, the patience, and 
 the humility that are so necessary ? Could I bear to be despised, 
 abused, scorned, and opposed ? For these are evils, which, if I 
 properly acquit myself of my duty, I plainly see must be my portion. 
 But how can I hope to bear them, unless I have more of the spirit of 
 salvation to imbue and animate my soul ? It is evident that my own 
 experience must be greatly raised. O God ! forgive my great guilt! 
 Alas! how almost irreparably mischievous have been my past back- 
 slidings ! My dear Brother, there can be but extremely little useful- 
 ness in the Ministry, without ardent and growing devotedness and 
 sanctification. I believe, that, for some end or other, the Lord is 
 adopting measures to produce this effect in my heart ; but what that 
 end is at present, I know not ; however, I am solicitous to be prepared 
 for it, let it be what it may. 
 
 A week ago, on Friday last, an incident occurred which had nearly 
 terminated all future doubts and anxieties about me. Coming home 
 
 t 2 
 
276 
 
 PROVIDENTIAL DELIVERANCE. 
 
 to the Mission-House, and pretty near it, I met a mule drawing a 
 heavy load of timber down a very steep and narrow pitch. Immedi- 
 ately on coming to the brow of the hill, the animal became refractory, 
 and began to kick. At this, the man at its head was frightened, and 
 ran away, crying * murder!’ The mule was then compelled to run at 
 full speed down the hill. Had I remained almost the shortest conceiv- 
 able time where I was, I must have been crushed to pieces, for there 
 was neither time nor space to slip aside; the only resort, therefore, 
 was to turn round and run for my life. At some little distance further 
 down the hill, were six men conveying upwards, by means of poles 
 and ropes, a half-pipe of wine. As soon as they discovered the ap- 
 proaching danger, they hastily laid down their load, and endeavoured 
 likewise to escape. One of them, however, came in my way at the in- 
 stant I was passing, and, as I could neither stop myself nor turn aside, 
 I could not avoid knocking him down with the utmost violence, and 
 I was obliged, at the same time, to save myself from falling by a despe- 
 rate spring. It pleased Divine Providence that, by some means or 
 other, the mule should be stopped before it got to these men, other- 
 wise 1 cannot see how they could have escaped. But, when at length 
 I stopped and recovered a little breath, I immediately began to spit 
 blood, not copiously, but much as I did twelve months ago. At first I 
 imagined, that it must be all over with me, but this soon appeared im- 
 mature. The bleeding was quickly stopped, and I have since had no 
 return, but I seem indeed nearly as well as before. However, it is, of 
 course, a painful circumstance ; it has prevented my preaching, mode- 
 rated my already limited studies, retarded my improvement, and les- 
 sened my hope of being able to enter soon upon full activity, labour, 
 and usefulness in the Church. Oh, happy you who enjoy good health ! 
 and doubly happy, because your heavenly Father does not judge it 
 needful to take it away ! And yet, am not I happy too, through in- 
 finite mercy to have it removed, if I need such a dispensation ? I feel 
 that this is not a mere expedient of necessity. Oh ! loosened as I am 
 from earthly ties, and even life itself, shall I not be holy ? Only in 
 God’s own gospel way, by His Spirit’s power. This I deeply need. 
 Pray abundantly for 
 
 Your very affectionate Brother 
 
 William. 
 
 From the following Extract it will be seen, that my dear Brother 
 had now begun to suffer considerably from that debility, which, 
 during the summer months at Gibraltar, is so common to new re- 
 sidents from England. 
 
EFFECTS OF A CHANGE OF CLIMATE. 
 
 277 
 
 To the Same. 
 
 Gibraltar , May 16, 1825. 
 
 Very dear A. 
 
 * * * Hitherto I have not derived from the change 
 
 of climate all the benefit, which I had fondly hoped I should re- 
 alise. Occasional slight spitting of blood, and considerable bodily and 
 mental weakness, combine to render me inefficient, and to give a 
 meaning and a consequence to that terrible word from which the hum- 
 ble, yet sterling hope of a happy death not far remote, would be c as 
 the shadow of a great rock in a weary land.’ It is quite usual for a 
 change of climate, such as that which I have lately undergone, to 
 produce considerable debility upon a hale and hearty man ; and on 
 that account, it ought perhaps to excite the less surprise, that one, in a 
 state of health reduced like mine, should be, at least equally, sensible 
 of the alteration. To die is not at all terrible to one, who has a con- 
 scious interest in Christ, and who feels the assurance of being for ever 
 accepted by God through redeeming blood : perhaps, therefore, if this 
 were more happily my own case, I should feel less distress than I do, 
 at my present truly painful state of existence, without usefulness. But 
 let me guard against the language and the spirit of complaint, from 
 which I have already too often suffered. Good is the will of the 
 Lord ; it is by His permission that all my trying circumstances occur, 
 and from Him any thing short of hell is infinite mercy. 
 
 My own state of health and heart is not, however, the only thing 
 that now, w ith reason, is a source of anxiety. It is evident that Mr. 
 Dixon and his family must go home. This I have long expected, and 
 now at length it is explicitly advised by the Doctor. With some con- 
 stitutions, this climate does not appear to agree at all. Mr. and Mrs. 
 D. unhappily arrived here at the very worst period of the year, for 
 August is the hottest month, and the climate is then most likely to be 
 injurious. But, whatever have been the causes, the effects are visible 
 and decided enough : neither of them has ever been well since their 
 arrival. As to Mrs. D., she has certainly suffered much, and I have for 
 some time made up my mind, (though I have carefully avoided allow- 
 ing this to escape me, so as to give an influence to their views,) that 
 all things considered, it is impossible for her to live here. 
 
 You may then easily perceive, that my circumstances neither have 
 been, nor are likely to be, what I hoped from my connection with the 
 family of my friend. However, it is a great mercy, that I have had 
 their company at all. But they will go, and thus, until another 
 Preacher arrives, I must expect to be left alone at the worst part of 
 the year. It will, indeed, be impossible for me to fulfil the duties of 
 the regular Preacher, in addition to my own m , but to be here and to 
 
278 
 
 DESIRES AFTER SUBMISSION TO GOD. 
 
 see the congregations without an efficient Ministry, and the Society 
 without a Pastor, will of itself be very trying. However, I am resolved 
 to do all that I can, and then to leave the consequences to God. 
 Luke ix. 23, 24, is much upon my mind : if the latter part of the 
 passage should be fulfilled, in the sense most appropriate to one, who 
 looks to heaven as the only place upon which to dwell with the unmit- 
 igated ardour of hope ; in what would he be the loser, if more speedily 
 than otherwise, he should terminate a life, long a burden to him for 
 every thing, but for the sake of the gospel, and the perishing souls of 
 men ; and which must be so much the more a burden, if he were 
 obliged to witness such evils, without either bodily power, or spiritual 
 energy, enough to attempt to snatch his fellow-creatures from the flames? 
 There is in me a sad want, which I am daily deploring before the 
 Lord, of the virtuous aud affectionate submission of heart to all that 
 He is pleased to arrange ; a disposition this, that can flow only from 
 evangelical love to Him, which, like the waters issuing at the foot of a 
 ridge of hills, shall spring from the showers which heaven has first 
 shed abroad on all the surrounding surface, Oh ! when will He an- 
 swer my cry for this ? 
 
 * * * # * 
 
 The climate of the Rock is to be estimated, not so much from its 
 latitude, as from local circumstances. After all, however, nine months 
 out of the twelve, I should think, are perfectly pleasant, and the other 
 three, especially after the first year, quite bearable. If the person, 
 who succeeds Mr. D., come clothed with the power of salvation, and 
 be blest with the Holy Spirit’s demonstrations, he may and will be very 
 useful. But the Society is much, very much in need of a real revival of 
 religion ; for this, especially among the soldiers, there are genuine ma- 
 terials. I would advise any one, who comes out, to endeavour to have 
 it so arranged, as to leave England at the beginning of September; not 
 sooner, because of the great heat here before that time, and not later, 
 because of the violence of the autumnal weather. At that period the 
 great probability is, that there would be a pleasant average passage of 
 fourteen or sixteen days, many vessels run it in twelve ; and, from what 
 I know of the Mission-House business, it would be quite practicable 
 for any stirring man, who gets the appointment, to influence his de- 
 parture, so as to bring it to about the time which I have specified. 
 By far the best way too, is not to come by an occasional ship, as I 
 did, but by a regular trader. I was unfortunate in this respect, and 
 much worse accommodated than I should otherwise have been. 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 May you be truly Christian, that is, in every thing truly excellent 
 and godlike! v 
 
 Your very affectionate Brother 
 
 William. 
 
LOW STATE OF HEAL RELIGION IN GIBRALTAR. 
 
 279 
 
 To his Father. 
 
 Gibraltar , May 17, 1825. 
 
 My very dear Father, 
 
 * * * * I dare say, that the barrenness and 
 
 poverty of incident in my letters, have struck your attention. It must 
 seem strange, that on Missionary ground so little of Missionary in- 
 terest occurs ; however, your own knowledge of me, will suffice to re- 
 mind you of the reasons. The warm weather, which has set in here, 
 will account for much of this want of incident ; because this circum- 
 stance, connected with the confinement indispensable to the acquire- 
 ment of the Spanish, has prevented my going among the people in 
 search of the opportunities of usefulness, which would otherwise have 
 supplied the materials of painful, though of gloomy, interest. You 
 would, perhaps, be unprepared to believe, how, in this very centre of 
 the world, we are secluded from almost all novelties, both of fact 
 and information ; as well as, how the spirit of caste , and that of busi- 
 ness, two of the Arch-fiend’s most adept and successful generals of 
 division in the world, exclude us almost altogeiher from the enjoy- 
 ments of society, and that contact with it which would most pro- 
 mise occasions of usefulness. Methodism here is not what, in Eng- 
 land, it is commonly supposed to be. I had a most erroneous 
 expectation respecting this. Our cause is despised, and shut out 
 from mixing at all with the world ; the line of demarcation be- 
 tween us and the world is strong and plain ; and I fear that it is so, 
 as much by the accidental fact, that few or no persons of influence 
 and responsibility in the world’s estimation give us their decided 
 countenance, by becoming indisputably united with us ; as by any 
 very vigorous and enlightened piety, which might imbue and distin- 
 guish our character as religious professors. Pride, and particularly 
 the pride of dress, is here a deadly evil, among the civil part of 
 the population ; and that which grieves me greatly is, that religion 
 does not seem to cover any whole families. I know one instance of 
 exception ; but there may be more. There are no young persons, 
 either male or female, for improving association : mental cultivation 
 is exceedingly low, and the want of religion occasions a sad dearth 
 of all the materials for excitement to application. At present, I 
 know of only one family with which I could associate , if I would, 
 and the dangers arising from any seeming preference forbid that this 
 should be much employed. I have, therefore, resolved to make few 
 or no visits that are not truly pastoral, and these apply to all classes. 
 Books are extremely scarce and unconscionably dear. There is no- 
 thing like a good bookseller’s shop ; and no printing press but that 
 
 •A 
 
 v 
 
280 
 
 DIFFICULTIES IN THE WORK. 
 
 which is in the hands of Government, nor am I aware that any print- 
 ing is done but what is merely and strictly official. 
 
 ^ ^ 
 
 Jn consequence of Mr. D.’s intended removal from Gibraltar, my 
 progress in the language, as well as my attempt on the Spanish inha- 
 bitants, must be postponed. I commend myself to the aboundings of 
 the grace and mercy of our God, and to your continued affection and 
 increased supplications, as 
 
 Your Son 
 
 William. 
 
 To the Missionary Secretaries in London. 
 
 Gibraltar , May , 1825. 
 
 Reverend and dear Sirs, 
 
 I acknowledge Mr. Morley’s very acceptable letter, with 
 sincere gratitude ; its effect on my mind was most pleasing, and 1 hope 
 truly useful : though I could not help feeling, that, by some careless 
 or sanguine statement or other, I must have raised expectations which 
 I cannot verify. To be 6 congratulated on having so nearly conquered 
 the difficulties that were between me and the Spaniards,’ implies a 
 much better acquaintance with the language than I have realised. I 
 am not, even now, able to converse freely w ith them, nor nearly so. 
 If my vanity had any share in the anticipation, that by this time I 
 might be able to preach in Spanish, it now receives its just and salu- 
 tary rebuke, in the mortification of being obliged to confess, that, 
 while I have not equalled your expectations, I have fallen far short 
 of my own hopes. There are several reasons for this ; the incident, 
 with which you are already acquainted, that threw me so much back 
 in health, and at least equally dejected me in spirits, has seriously 
 operated to prevent that close application, which, I am sure, is need- 
 ful to gain such an object as mine. I have, too, not sufficiently ac- 
 counted for the difference between the knowledge of a language so as 
 to be able to read it, and the familiarity needful to enable me to speak 
 it. And I have, moreover, to acknowledge frequent quarrels with 
 myself, on account of that false and foolish shame, which, by pre- 
 venting the attempt on proper occasions to speak, has lost me the be- 
 nefit of exercise, and contributed to disconcert and confound my me- 
 mory. I also suspect myself of having acted too extensively upon a 
 principle, for the good intention of which I must beg you to give me 
 credit : I have thus far obtained no assistance, except indeed a very 
 little from Brother Quierell. My object in this has been, to proceed 
 with the elements of the language myself, in order to save all expense 
 not indispensable ; and to be prepared to make the most of a Master’s 
 help in composition and conversation, when prepared by a previous 
 
DISCOURAGING PROSPECTS. 
 
 281 
 
 elementary acquaintance. One ill result of my plan was afterwards 
 more forcibly, than I had felt it, pointed out to me by a friend ; it 
 is, that the presence and help of a master would have insensibly fa- 
 miliarised the pronunciation of the words, and the sounds of the lan_ 
 guage, when uttered in complete sentences ; and thus, I should have 
 been the sooner prepared to rid myself of that miserable timidity in 
 attempting to speak, to which, I fear, I am enslaved. But I must 
 not fail to mention another motive of considerable influence, I mean 
 the utter absence of encouraging circumstances, and the probability, 
 which for some months has been advancing toward certainty, that I 
 should be left here alone to supply, as well as I could, the place of 
 Mr. D., till the arrival of another Preacher, f knew, that more than 
 all my strength would be required for this purpose, and I did not 
 think it right to employ a master, unless I could fully devote myself 
 to profit by his instructions ; and, to say all the truth, I did not feel 
 myself at liberty, to put the Society to this expense, while I either 
 felt or imagined it quite uncertain, whether I should sink or emerge 
 to render it of any avail. 
 
 I have mentioned the utter absence of all encouraging circum- 
 stances ; and this, I think, is far more really the case than I was aw are. 
 From Spain itself and the surrounding neighbourhood, as a field of 
 usefulness, we are as completely cut off as ever; the occasional send- 
 ing of a few Tracts or Bibles, and that w ith the utmost secrecy, is all 
 that can be attained ; any attempt at personal communication would 
 be instantly restrained; the moral and religious condition of the 
 Spaniards on their own territory is, from all that i have seen, as 
 gloomy and forbidding as the most deeply-coloured representations 
 have described it ; the influence of the priests seems, indeed, to be 
 that of fear, more than of respect ; but if their number add to this 
 dislike, it likewise increases their power. Hence the efforts of a 
 Missionary here, must be confined within the gates of the Garrison; 
 and what is the population which meets him there? Numerous and 
 crowded indeed ; but in a spiritual state, over which he might well 
 weep. I would be far from making the aggravations of a people’s 
 wants, the reasons for abandoning the people themselves; but there 
 is scarcely any thing here to cheer expectation, and much, very much 
 to dishearten it. The Spanish inhabitants of the Rock are generally 
 persons that can live no * where else; by this, however, I do not 
 mean that they are of an abandoned and incorrigible character; but, 
 that they are thus too intimately dependent on each other, and too 
 much under perpetual surveillance to be at liberty to think for them- 
 selves ; and, worse than all this, they are people to whom, for the most 
 part, religion of any kind is of all things the least in importance. Al- 
 most all the Spanish seamen are smugglers, and the great majority of 
 the Spanish dealers are sw likewise. Added to this, the presence of 
 
282 
 
 HOSTILITY TO METHODISM. 
 
 so large a body of English inhabitants as the military, united to the 
 civilians, make, whose example is so directly hostile to evangelical 
 and vital piety, produces an influence almost insurmountable upon 
 the Papists to disregard all true religion, and to live as they list. 
 I have been disappointed here in nothing more, than in the state of 
 real piety; the prevalence of vice, and the animosity cherished 
 against every thing denounced as Methodism, render the preservation 
 of genuine religion almost a miracle ; and, after having existed here 
 so long, the religious influence of our Society in character, estima- 
 tion, and effect, is extremely limited. What then, I am ready to ask, 
 is the prospect among a people, so alienated by prejudices as the Span- 
 iards, and so involved in the jointless, selfish, worldly spirit of the 
 place ? Among the English residents there is, I think, every reason 
 to expect, that any interference with the religion of the Spaniards 
 would be regarded with extreme dislike. The Roman Catholic reli- 
 gion is viewed with complacency, or at least with a smile ; and so are 
 the Jewish, and the Mahometan, and so also would any system of 
 uutruth be; but Methodism is not so, it is only tolerated, Ido not 
 mean by law, but by the habits of the place; because, 1. Its perse- 
 verance has been invincible, and thus its true spirit still remains ; 
 
 2. Its professors are settled down into a distinct section of the inhabit- 
 ants, with whom the rest have the least to do that is possible; and, 
 
 3. No aggressive measures have for years been taken to extend the 
 invasions of truth. The state of public feeling towards true reli- 
 gion, is altogether different from that prevailing at home ; scarcely 
 any young persons retain their piety, and at this moment we have 
 hardly any in Society ; and, should any of the Spaniards embrace the 
 truth, they have no refuge from that persecution which is of the 
 most dangerous kind, I mean the loss of caste , with all its conse- 
 quences. 
 
 It is much to be regretted, that our good Brother Quierell’s labours 
 seem for the present frustrated, his class is dissipated, and his congre- 
 gation entirely gone, and I am not aware if any one soul be truly and 
 soundly converted to God ; in short, there is now nothing to intimate 
 any favourable result to the labours of a Spanish Missionary ; by a slow 
 and careful process, through a series of years, a few persons may, 
 perhaps, be won over to the truth of the gospel; but his usefulness 
 would, in all probability, be little among the residents of the Rock, and 
 as to the others, there would be but few to shew whether he is useful 
 or not. 1 am, for my own part, quite persuaded, that the Spaniards will 
 not come to our Chapel ; and the great difficulty in the way of doing 
 any thing at all among them, will be that of gaining their attention ; 
 nothing of this kind can be attempted, till I obtain a better knowledge 
 of the language, and to this object I can give but a partial attention 
 until another Preacher arrives ; however, all that I can, I will do daily. 
 
SUGGESTIONS FOR AN IMPROVEMENT OF THE CAUSE. 
 
 283 
 
 If it should please Providence to spare my life, and to continue my 
 strength in the same degree as at present, I should earnestly desire to 
 be permitted to go to some neighbouring Spanish town for a few 
 weeks, in order that, being entirely away from English tongues, I 
 may, if possible, rid myself of that mauvaise honte , in speaking Spanish, 
 which is such a deadly evil in my way. I am quite persuaded, that 
 such a measure as this would be gaining instead of losing time; and I 
 do not think, that the expense would be great, as I am sure it is my 
 desire to be conscientiously economical. 
 
 I have conversed with several persons here, respecting the best 
 means of promoting the object of the Mission, but I can obtain but 
 little information. Among our own Society little aid can be expected, 
 for very few possess any influence or even acquaintance ; and the fear 
 of attracting the notice of the higher powers seems very generally 
 felt, if not so generally acknowledged. To myself, the only means 
 that at present appear likely, is to obtain, if possible, a room large 
 enough to conduct Divine worship, but which may also be used as a 
 place of daily resort to me of persons desirous of conversing on reli- 
 gious subjects. There I could keep Bibles, and Tracts, and other 
 books ; and, if it were practicable to retain a room so devoted, which 
 is very doubtful, there I could hold little religious services, chiefly 
 conversational ; for, as to preaching in the Chapel to a Spanish congre- 
 gation, it is at present perfectly hopeless, and altogether chimerical. 
 Judge of the circumstances: the utter indifference to religion, which 
 is so general among the Spaniards, renders their prejudices more dan- 
 gerous to their attendance at a Protestant Chapel ; our own Chapel is 
 too much out of the way ; they would come with less suspicion, and 
 with less danger of being noticed, to a room than to a Chapel ; our 
 Chapel is almost continually occupied by our own English services, 
 the only portion of the Sabbath in which there is no English preach- 
 ing is of course the afternoon, but then the Sunday-school occupies it ; 
 besides which, the afternoon is a portion of the day sufficiently inap- 
 propriate in England, but here it is intolerable for public worship, 
 and it is precisely the time when the Spaniards take their siesta. My 
 own conviction is, that the more independent the Spanish Mission is 
 made of the English the better. And I should earnestly recommend the 
 immediate introduction of the Church of England service, among those 
 that may be induced to assemble ; for, beside the obvious and grand 
 advantages of such a mode of conveying correct principles by their 
 constant recurrence, all the notions of religion among the Papists seem 
 bound up with liturgical formality; and all the Spanish books of de- 
 votion, that I have seen, are over-run with exclamations and responses, 
 as if thought the best mode of exciting that religious sentimentalism, 
 which sometimes seems so much like true devotion. If these sugges- 
 tions should be approved, and it should be deemed requisite to make 
 
284 
 
 CONTINUED DISCOURAGEMENT. 
 
 the attempt, though I confess that I am not at all sanguine about the 
 success, I had better proceed without loss of time ; for my own faith 
 and piety, my love to Christ and souls, and consequently my happi- 
 ness, are more in danger of injury from rust than from rubbing. If 
 the Lord should graciously kindle within me the glow of a purer love, 
 and the light of a more directing and sustaining faith, I shall, doubt- 
 less, through His word and power, be 6 the means of saving some.’ 
 
 My state of health and spirits has been the source of much grief, 
 temptation, and discouragement ; but here I am, through the mercy of 
 God, preserved in Christ Jesus, and that amidst a very trying con- 
 sciousness of my insufficiency, and of, my want of faith and power 
 from God. Should it be the wish of the Committee for me to stay 
 here, or to remove elsewhere, I am ready to do either, and to give 
 myself wholly to the Missionary work, as God shall enable me. 
 
 I am, Rev. and dear Sirs, 
 
 Your obedint Servant in the Gospel, 
 
 W. Barber. 
 
 To his Father. 
 
 Gibraltar , July 11, 1825. 
 
 My very dear Father, 
 
 It is not, with me, a matter of the lowest importance, or the 
 feeblest gratification, that your late letter should have contained sug- 
 gestions of a spiritual and impelling character : for I most sensibly feel 
 that every thing, with me, depends on the lively enjoyment of the love 
 of Christ, and the indwelling of the power of the Holy Ghost. There 
 is very, very little here to help me. A Minister at Gibraltar must 
 have 4 a well of water within him springing up to everlasting life,’ or 
 he will wither away. His Bible and his closet are the only instru- 
 ments, which he has to match against the climate, the world, the 
 powers of darkness, and the struggling and bitter remains of inward 
 depravity. Be assured, my dear Father, that your observations on 
 this subject, are most appropriate and valuable ; and, unless I un- 
 happily lose my present taste for them, they will be always most 
 welcome to me. The grievous state of things around me; the almost 
 hopeless state of the Spaniards; the slowness of my attaining those 
 qualifications, which are requisite to enable me to make a fair trial 
 among them ; the influence of the climate, which really seems to me to 
 affect my understanding more than my body; and the rankling still 
 within me of much poisonous and discouraging gloom ; added, indeed, 
 to the general dejection and affliction of Mr. D.’s family ; — are cir- 
 cumstances, which expose me much to the inward influence of the 
 fiery darts of the wicked one, and powerfully tell in the breaches, 
 already made by former unfaithfulness, in my faith, and hope, and 
 
LOSS OF THE VESSEL IN WHICH HE TOOK HIS VOYAGE. 285 
 
 love. I have sometimes the greatest difficulty to believe or pray at 
 all ; but I am always revived when I can rouse myself, and go among 
 the few persons that are accessible, and are lovers of the Lord Jesus 
 Christ. 
 
 In consequence of my being about to be left alone, till another 
 Preacher arrives, more preaching labour will of course devolve upon 
 me ; but I am doing all my endeavours to be content with simple, 
 short, and quiet sermons ; though, alas ! the sons of thunder them- 
 selves would be insufficient to arouse the sleepy, or to persuade the 
 lovers of pleasure and sin to turn with purpose of heart to God ; but 
 then, ordinarily, He does use the means of his own appointment. I 
 have the pain of thinking, that since I have been here, not one soul 
 has been, through my instrumentality, brought to God ; and that, by 
 various circumstances, the Society is rather diminishing in numbers 
 than increasing. * * * 
 
 As to what concerns myself, you will not understand, that I have 
 encountered any thing personally unpleasant ; no one has shewn me 
 the least disrespect ; I have endeavoured to avoid all occasion for it. 
 But the state of things cannot, of course, have been improved by Mr. 
 D.’s afflictions, and his consequent general residence at San Roque. 
 By his removal my comfort will certainly not be increased, as it re- 
 gards attendance, &c. ; but I did not come here for comfort, and I 
 have not the smallest objection to have my patience and self-denial 
 thus put to the test. O that I could bear with equal success or in- 
 difference the more mental and moral trials, to which my constitution 
 and my calling expose me! 
 
 Among the incidents which you have mentioned, none more sensibly 
 affected me than the loss of the Edward Protheroe.* I had not be- 
 fore heard a word of it; and, therefore, beg you to give me all the 
 information you can. Were the captain and crew saved? If not, 
 who were lost ? Any of the particulars would greatly interest me. I 
 am not much surprised at the event, though I am much affected at 
 
 the goodness of God in sparing me. There was a great deal of ill 
 
 blood in the ship between the captain and the crew, and between 
 the men among themselves ; it was with great difficulty restrained be- 
 fore me, and I fully expected that they would afterwards lead a sorry 
 life among them. The captain’s mind also, seemed often quite op- 
 pressed with ill-bodings on the prosperity of the voyage, and so, I 
 believe, were the men’s, as well as my own. 
 
 In my present circumstances of peculiar and increased need, you 
 will surely redouble your prayers to God for me, that I may go in 
 and out before this people, 6 adorning the gospel.’ As to my life, it 
 
 really is of little value ; and, though 1 feel it my duty to take every 
 
 This was the vessel in which my Brother took his passage from England. — A.B. 
 
286 
 
 REMOVAL OF MR. DIXON. 
 
 possible care of it, and the unavoidable and natural urgency of self- 
 preservation must induce me to perform that duty ; yet I know not 
 what would deserve the more hearty congratulations of my friends 
 than, if God should give me grace to die in faith, that I should be 
 escaped from the world, from myself, and from sin. I am, however, 
 sensibly better in health. God seems to have strengthened me for 
 my present circumstances, and, though the weather is at present 
 warmer here than with you, it is by no means insupportable to me. 
 Never did I feel greater gratitude or pleasure in subscribing myself 
 
 Your affectionate 
 
 And dutiful Son, 
 
 William. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Removal of Mr. Dixon from the Rock — Painfulness of Solitude in the Ministry- 
 Plan for the Continuation of Family-Prayer — Attack of Cholera Morbus through 
 improper Abstinence — Pastoral Visits — Alarming Appearances of Yellow Fever 
 — Arrival of Mr.Prattento take Charge of the English Work — Dreadful and 
 disastrous Tempest — Attack by the Spanish Soldiery upon the Wreck of a 
 Colombian Privateer — Daring conduct of some British Officers and Sailors — 
 Affecting Narrative, and awful Death, of an emigrant Spanish Colonel — Com- 
 mencement of Public Labours in the Spanish Language — Infidelity among the 
 Higher Orders of Spaniards — Prosperity in the English Mission — Conversion of 
 a Spanish Woman — Prosperity among the Spaniards — Dreadful state of Spain — 
 Infamous Case of Injustice and Bribery — Effrontery of a Highway-Robber — 
 Impudence of a Thief — Awful Assassination of a Murderer — Introduction of 
 Spanish Prayer-Meetings — Affecting Conversation of a respectable Spanish 
 Emigrant — Illustration of Romans viii. 28, &c. 
 
 Journal Continued. 
 
 July 13th. — All my apprehensions about Mr. D.’s removal, are this 
 day verified. He and his family embarked at ten o’clock this morn- 
 ing, on board the Catharine, for London. I scarcely know what I 
 think or feel about it, except that, upon the whole, it is right. The 
 health and spirits of Mrs. D. and the children evidently require it, 
 and it is not left to the option of my dear Friend himself, whether 
 
PAINFULNESS OF SOLITUDE IN THE MINISTRY. 
 
 287 
 
 to go or to stay; but this I bear him record, that it has been to him 
 the source of very painful anxiety, distress, and temptation. To be 
 happy or prosperous here appeared impossible. I have this one con- 
 viction respecting Mrs. D. ; it is, that either her life, or her reason, 
 would have been the price of her staying here. They are, however, 
 now gone, and thus terminates another of my schemes of earthly joy. 
 All these things are, I hope, like single strokes upon a wedge, surely, 
 though it may be slowly, urging me to a state of entire severance from 
 this present perishing state of things ; to which, notwithstanding all my 
 imagined indifference, I am far, far too closely wedded. With my 
 glass I followed my friends round Cabrita point, and very nearly to 
 that place I could distinguish them on the deck from the other pas- 
 sengers. May the Lord prosper them with a speedy voyage, a happy 
 landing, and a useful appointment, on their arrival at home ! 
 
 I am now truly in a foreign land, but the Lord Himself is here, 
 and many are praying earnestly for me. The comforts of home, of 
 course, entirely fail me, but they in truth are matters of little regret. 
 My present circumstances are inconvenient, but I have no painful re- 
 flections to waste upon them. I am thoroughly possessed with the 
 idea, that God is employing all means to fully restore my soul to its 
 former holiness and happiness in Him, and to that higher resemblance 
 to the image of Christ, which shall fit me for heaven. When I think 
 of the condition of our Society here, which is by no means encourag- 
 ing, — of the state of religion in the town and garrison, — of the number 
 of backsliders, some of whom are bold and insulting, — of my little 
 bodily strength, — of my feebleness in spiritual attainments, — and of my 
 want of success in the ministry, I am dismayed, my heart sinks within 
 me, and I cannot help saying, — 4 What shall become of the souls 
 around me ?’ As to every thing personal, I did not come here for 
 any purpose of secular advantage ; and I bless the Lord, that the 
 spirit of self-sacrifice, which I have uniformly cherished, relieves me 
 of a thousand anxieties that would otherwise be oppressive ; and, 
 humbling as is the sensation, yet the knowledge of my uselessness, 
 and my little capacity for any thing of a contrary kind, not merely in 
 power of body, but in devotedness, and energy, and enterprise of 
 soul, tend much to sweeten the idea of sinking in the struggle. I 
 have now no such taste for worldly enjoyments, as to create a desire to 
 live amidst them, for their own sake ; but I feel, that 1 still have 
 corruption of heart sufficient to allow them to re-kindle my appetite, 
 and, in any circumstances of great exposure and danger, to lead me 
 astray. I wish I could, with reason, believe that my present distaste 
 is a fruit of sanctification ; but I cannot, for it certainly is not the ex- 
 clusive work of the Holy Spirit. Oh ! when, my God and Saviour, 
 — when shall I be truly holy ? To live in a state of uselessness 
 
28S 
 
 ATTACK OF CHOLERA MORBUS. 
 
 must be next to apostacy, for it must be because usefulness cannot be 
 borne. 
 
 July 16 th. — I have resolved to attempt that, of which I had previ- 
 ously thought, with reference to family-prayer, without which I have 
 never yet lived. I allowed it to be understood in the neighbourhood, 
 that, at a quarter past eight o’clock in the morning, I should have 
 prayer in my house, and that any one, who should wish to be pre- 
 sent, would be gladly received. The first day, that is, last Thursday, 
 no one came; but the following day two persons, and two also to- 
 day. I first read a section of Doddridge’s Expositor, with the para- 
 phrase and improvement; then the Psalms for the day, prevailing 
 upon those present to give the responses ; and then I close with 
 prayer. The whole occupies about thirty-five minutes. May the 
 Lord’s blessing be upon this service! I intend to continue it as long 
 as He shall allow. 
 
 18 th. — Quite unwell all Saturday, In the evening painfully re- 
 lieved by vomiting ; I was then attacked with a sudden relaxation of 
 the bowels, 'which continued all night, and until nine o’clock oil the 
 Sabbath morning ; when I was again taken with a fit of vomiting in 
 the midst of family-prayer, which, rather than disappoint those who 
 came, I attempted, though considerably exhausted. I then determined 
 to send for the doctor, Mr. Dix, from whom I learnt that this was a 
 slight attack of cholera morbus . The medicine prescribed stayed my 
 stomach, and composed my bowels ; and, during the day, I gathered 
 strength. I perceive, that my proposed method of living will not do. 
 Deeply feeling my uselessness, I had resolved, by cheap living, to 
 save as much expense as possible to the Society. This, as I usually 
 eat no animal food, I thought I might successfully accomplish ; but 
 the wretchedness, which for the last few days I have felt, and this 
 attack of disease, in addition to the terrible effect, which I am 
 fearful so much solitude will have upon my spirits, warn me to 
 beware. 
 
 I have determined to have no single woman to attend me. Brother 
 Quierell has kindly come to sleep at the house, to prevent my being 
 wholly alone, as well as to allow me opportunity to talk in Spanish. 
 I have also had the occasional help of a soldier; but if it can be 
 brought about for Mrs. Q. and her two children to come, with her 
 husband, and to live at the house, every object will be attained with 
 much less objection than is at present evident. 
 
 On Friday I commenced a plan on which I had before fully re- 
 solved, — a universal visitation, as far as possible, of our Members at 
 their houses, pro tempore. Thus I am absolved from the otherwise 
 indispensable duty of close application to study. I am now the 
 Pastor of this people; may the Lord help me with the needful wis- 
 dom and grace! My first visit was not very encouraging. I was 
 
PASTORAL VISITS. 
 
 289 
 
 told, though not in an unbecoming manner, that I had used some se- 
 vere expressions respecting the person to whom I was now speaking, 
 in consequence of her absence from class, and that during her ab- 
 sence ; so that two persons, who were present at the time, felt so 
 much hurt, that they had resolved to go no more ; and, therefore, 
 had withdrawn from the Society. My reply was simply this, — 4 The 
 expressions imputed to me I never uttered ; it is not my manner to 
 speak in that way. Something I certainly did say, though what it was 
 exactly, I cannot recollect. If any persons did take such offence, I 
 am sorry for it ; but they thus give lamentable evidence of their being 
 unwillingly among the people of God, and, in truth, of their unfit- 
 ness. Meantime, you have done right in mentioning the circumstance, 
 because it gives me an opportunity of saying, that I have no unkind 
 feeling toward you, and that I uttered no such expressions respecting 
 you. We have, therefore, now done with the business.’ It appears, 
 however, that the person, who carried this story to the one I was 
 visiting, is a backslider, and evidently employing him or herself, (for 
 who it was, I neither know nor wish to know,) in working the same 
 mischief in others that rankles within his own breast. How shocking 
 is a thoroughly apostate character ! There are, in this Garrison, some 
 of an awful condition. 4 Father, forgive them! for they know not 
 what they do.’ 
 
 Two other visits, however, made me ample amends for the first. 
 The former of these was to the family of Sergeant Starling, of the 
 artillery. His wife is a member of my class; he, an attentive hearer, 
 and not destitute of religious affections ; and their two daughters, the 
 one about sixteen years of age, and the other about eight or nine, 
 are creditable to their Parents’ care. I hope that the seed, which 
 I sowed among them, is not lost; it was received with a welcome; 
 but, shall it be indeed successful ? The other visit was to Betsey 
 Wall, the daughter of Sergeant Wall, of the artillery, a girl of six- 
 teen, who, when about six years of age, was thrown down some stone 
 steps, in play, and is now one mass of putridity. She has, at least, 
 three wounds which discharge copiously. Except that a close look at 
 her countenance would intimate her being older, she is so small that 
 she might be taken for a child of seven years of age. She is now in- 
 capable of walking, and, I suppose, will be no more able to move at 
 pleasure, till the spirit is freed from its loathsome and distressing pri- 
 son. But she is a remarkable example of the illumination and power 
 of Divine grace..* 
 
 A new source of most serious anxiety, or, at least, of thoughful- 
 ness, has for some days been opened to me, in a case of yellow fever , 
 which has been presented in the person of a rich and respectable Jew, 
 who has since died. Mr. Dix now tells me, that, at two o’clock this 
 morning, another man died in the Convent, of the same complaint. 
 
290 ALARMING APPEARANCES OF YELLOW FEVER. ** 
 
 The Governor’s staff-doctors, of whom Mr. D. is one, had on Satur- 
 day seen that he was ill, and ordered him some medicine. Yesterday 
 morning they saw that he was no better, though he would maintain, 
 that it was only their fancy, and that nothing at all ailed him, but 
 the effect of the medicines which he had taken, and, therefore, he 
 determined to take no more. The doctors went to the Governor, and 
 laid the matter before him, professing their serious doubts respecting 
 the man, and entreating that he might be put into a large room by 
 himself. This was accordingly done, and last night, after attending 
 the chapel, Mr. D. went to him, and found him in a state of delirium. 
 At two o’clock this morning he died! The doctor has told me his 
 serious apprehensions, that we are about to have a sickly season ; by 
 which is meant, of course, that hundreds, if not thousands, wiil die 
 of the yellow fever. When extensively visited with this disease, 
 Gibraltar is very fatally swept. It is a very dangerous situation for it ; 
 because, during easterly winds, it wants a free circulation of air, in 
 consequence of the shelter of the Rock. Through infinite mercy, 
 however, we have hitherto had westerly and southerly winds unusu- 
 ally prevalent ; but pestilence waits on the will of God. But if we 
 
 really are on the verge of such a horrible calamity! — The 
 
 greatest probability is, that I shall be one of its victims! 
 
 The last two raging epidemics here, carried off about eleven out of 
 fifteen of the whole inhabitants. What then ! is it a truth, that ‘there 
 is but a step between me and death ?’ Let me look a little at this ; 
 for, most intolerable would be the folly of hiding from one’s eyes 
 the meaning, the real meaning of such expressions. Shall I soon — 
 very, very soon die of epidemic fever? — I will suppose this ascer- 
 tained, — that it shall be so. Well ; what are the consequences? 
 
 I much regret that, at this interesting part of my Brother’s Journal, 
 there is the above abrupt conclusion. 
 
 Journal Continued. 
 
 Oct. 20th. — After a long continuation of wind from the east, it yes- 
 terday came round to the west, and my time has been to-day much 
 interrupted, by looking out eagerly for the Catharine, which took 
 home Mr. Dixon and his family. At length she entered the Bay, be- 
 tween three and four o’clock this afternoon, and anchored a little af- 
 terwards. Mr. and Mrs. Pratten and family, the successors of Mr. D., 
 are on board. I went down to Waterport, but found the boatmen 
 
ARRIVAL OF MR. PRATTEN. 
 
 291 
 
 very unwilling to go off ; because, blowing hard from the west and 
 northward, it would be impossible to reach the brig and return by 
 gun-fire. 1 was, therefore, obliged to abandon the hope of seeing 
 these expected friends, till early in the morning. But now I pause 
 to recollect, that I shall be placed with them in novel circumstances, 
 and, of course, involved in new obligations and temptations. The 
 mere novelty will be of little consequence, as I have been too much 
 used to this to be very sensibly affected by it. But, in my feeble 
 state of Christian experience, 6 a grasshopper may be a burden ;’ and, 
 however amiable human nature may be, it always proves the means of 
 trial, both to itself and others. Mr. P.’s family and myself are per- 
 fect strangers to each other ; he, probably, knows more of me than I 
 of him ; for of him I know nothing but the name and his appoint- 
 ' ment here, no one, who has written me, having conveyed the smallest 
 additional information. He has a family, and I am too little disposed, 
 indeed blameably indisposed, to make those little sacrifices of per- 
 sonal convenience, which may contribute to the comfort of another’s 
 family. I have no family of my own, and, alas! I fear that this has 
 made me somewhat impatient at domestic relations, as if pained by 
 the presence of what makes me feel, that I am not what I once wished 
 to be. But I do resolve to try, and to pray for help that my en- 
 deavours may succeed, to be all that another may fairly wish me, and 
 all that I should wish in another. I am more afraid , in family life, 
 of little things than of great ones. May God endow me witli wis- 
 dom, and the graces of benevolence, and humility. But Mr. P. is to 
 be my Superintendent, if indeed I am to be continued here; and, 
 what is of supreme importance, he is to be my fellow-labourer in the 
 vineyard of the Lord, though it is, indeed, a barren soil upon which 
 we have to expend our strength. But if the many serious and heart- 
 felt prayers, which we have offered, are successful, Mr. P. i comes in 
 the fulness of the blessing of the Gospel of Christ.’ Oh ! I do long that 
 the Lord may honour my new co-adjutor with very extensive and imme- 
 diate success. As to myself, I feel that there is the wisest reason, so 
 far as I am personally interested, in my comparative uselessness ; and, 
 with the most undissembled sincerity, I will c take the lowest room’ 
 in the honour of success, as well as in the responsibility owed to the 
 Church at home. 
 
 Dec. 10th. — The Bay has been visited by a truly awful calamity. A 
 most violent gale of wind from the west and south-west, on the night 
 of Tuesday last, produced such a destruction of property and life, as 
 for many years has not occurred to this Port. On Wednesday morn- 
 ing, hearing that considerable damage had been sustained by the 
 shipping, Mr. Pratten and myself went to Montague’s Battery ; from 
 which place the scene, all along the shore of the neutral ground, was 
 truly appalling. I have heard that considerably more than 150 barks, 
 
 u 2 
 
292 
 
 ATTACK BY THE SPANISH SOLDIERY 
 
 boats not included, were crowded together one upon another. Though 
 many of them were comparatively small, several were vessels of con- 
 siderable tonnage, with valuable cargoes; and, I think, three were men 
 of war, of which one belonged to the Emperor of Morocco, and 
 another was the Colombian privateer, the General Soublette, which 
 for a long time has been the terror of the Spanish commerce in this 
 neighbourhood. From the Battery we determined to visit the neutral 
 ground, where we could see that the chief interest was excited by the 
 movements of the Spanish soldiery to take possession of the privateer as 
 a prize, and her crew as prisoners. On the ground the scenes of wreck 
 and devastation, were indescribably terrible. Dismasted, bilged, over- 
 turned, or crushed, the vessels lay in such horrid confusion, as cannot 
 be imagined by any, but those who have witnessed similar scenes. 
 The height, to which some of these wrecks had been driven out of the 
 water, even accounting for the difference between ebb and flow, was 
 astonishing. However, we glanced but rapidly as we went down to 
 the lines, where there was gathered a considerable crowd of eager ob- 
 servers of the scene, between the armed Spaniards and the disarmed, 
 half-drowned Colombians. The vessel, which was purposely built 
 and rigged for her nefarious business, had, unfortunately for her crew, 
 struck on the Spanish side of the lines, I should think, not more than 
 half a pistol shot from the water’s edge. She had lost her bow-sprit 
 and her masts, and being beaten by the wind and waves, she had 
 swung round in such a manner as to present the entire plane of her 
 deck to the Spanish arms. She was nearly full of water, and the sea 
 was going directly in and out of her ; so that her crew, consisting of 
 upward of 70 men, were exposed, with extremely little shelter, to the 
 lire of the Spanish piquet, without the possibility of returning a single 
 shot, because their ammunition was all wetted. When we had arrived 
 at the very extremity of the English posts, which was almost close to 
 the scene, the Spanish soldiers were just preparing to fire another 
 volley upon those miserable creatures. War, the enemy and butcher 
 of men, may urge its most moderate regulations in justification of such 
 conduct; but humanity shudders at it. The firing, however, was to 
 induce them to surrender, and was only kept up when they attempted 
 to escape, either by swimming to the English shore, or by means of a 
 boat, which most daringly pushed off several times to save them ; each 
 time accomplishing its object for a few persons. We had observed 
 this boat through my glass from the Battery ; it was manned by two 
 British officers in their dishabille, and two sailors. In defiance of the 
 firing, which was renewed every time the boat approached the wreck, 
 w r e had seen these persons accomplish the rescue of several of the 
 Colombians. And when we came near the spot, we saw them repeat 
 this risk, amidst the firing of at least 50 shots, poured in upon them, 
 not in a volley, but aicochclting. This, however, it appears, proved 
 
UPON THE WRECK OF A COLOMBIAN PRIVATEER. 
 
 293 
 
 fatal to one or more of the boat’s crew, though, happily for the officers, 
 they escaped. Several of the poor Colombians, who strove to swim to 
 shore, we saw in the water ; two of them sunk before our eyes ; and a 
 third, who was already come almost within his depth, we perceived, in 
 a state of exhaustion, ineffectually struggling to advance farther, and in 
 all probability he also would have sunk, if it had not been for a 
 man, who, amidst our apprehensions that the Spaniards would fire 
 upon them, rushed into the water with his clothes on, and saved him. 
 The Spaniards, however, did not fire, for, either they did not observe 
 the transaction, or they did not choose to attempt the capture of the 
 drowning man; let them have the credit of the better motive, though, 
 after all, it is doubtful, as the man was within the English lines, whe- 
 ther an attempt of the kind would not have involved them with our 
 own government. The issue of all was, that the greater part of the 
 Colombians were compelled to surrender ; but this they did by a ca- 
 pitulation, which promised them their lives, and their being placed on 
 the usual footing of prisoners of war. This stipulation must have been 
 made for the sake of the Spaniards on board, who were, of course, in- 
 volved with the government of their native country, and some of them, 
 as I have since learnt, very deeply so; with reference to these, there 
 is, indeed, but very little probability that a stipulation, so vague as the 
 one made under such circumstances, will avail to save them from the 
 gallows. This addition to the horrors of the surrounding scene, made 
 the whole a complication, of which I had often heard and tried to 
 imagine, but to be properly felt it must be witnessed. How wretched 
 may man be by a single touch, though comparatively very light, of the 
 Divine rebuke ! But amidst all his misery, how may he — how does 
 he aggravate his sufferings by his passions, and his vices, and his en- 
 mities growing out of both! O good and most compassionate Lord 
 God ! My heart is ready to burst for the miseries of those around 
 me; and yet I know that in the Gospel is the best remedy for them; 
 but, alas! where is the willingness to have it applied? where the 
 power to render it effectual, and to promote its universal spread ? 
 c Not by might, nor by power; but by my Spirit, saith the Lord of 
 Hosts.’ 
 
 Returning home along the water’s edge, I saw the bodies of three 
 men who had been victims of the late storm. The case of one of 
 them is of peculiarly melancholy interest. He was a Spanish colonel 
 under the Cortes , and obliged, of course, to flee from Spain for life. 
 With a wife, two daughters, and a son of about 14 years of age, ha 
 came hither in hope of refuge ; but the rigid police regulations would 
 not allow his entrance. It is necessary at Gibraltar, for every foreigner 
 to obtain a permit of residence, and for this the recommendation 
 and suretiship of some sufficiently responsible inhabitant of the Garri- 
 son is required. The poor colonel came for life to a spot in which he 
 
294 AWFUL DEATH OF A SPANISH COLONEL. 
 
 had no connections, he was not even known within the walls ; and if 
 permission had been granted him to enter, whom could he interest in 
 his behalf? What place could pity have for him ? — He was excluded, 
 and, with his son, he was compelled to take up with wretched and pre- 
 carious subsistence on board one of the hulks, anchored in the Bay, of 
 which there were several used as wine and lodging-houses. His wife 
 and daughters, not being objects upon which political resentment 
 could glut itself, were permitted to lodge at San Roque ; and there 
 they were when, in the night of the tempest, both the colonel and his 
 son were hurried to a sudden and a terrible death. The former appears 
 to have sprung from his bed, thrown off his shirt, and leaped into the 
 water, in order to swim ashore ; but, before he could accomplish his 
 object, some of the driving ships came upon him ; for his body had 
 been crushed among several of them, and mangled in the most horri- 
 ble manner. How terrible are thy judgments, O God ! Yet 4 the 
 inhabitants of the world w ill not learn righteousness.’ 6 What 1’ said 
 a man to Brother Quierell, who had taken occasion to admonish him 
 from the terrific scene around, 4 do you think that this will hinder 
 them from sin ? they will be the worse for this !’ He referred to the 
 sea-faring people connected with the Bay. But what an affecting 
 illustration of the effects of unsanctified judgments ! Jer. xliv. 15, &c. 
 
 14th. — On Thursday night 45, out of about 70, of the Colombian 
 prisoners escaped from the room at the Spanish lines, in which they 
 were confined. This was done by means of a hole which they made 
 with a knife in the wall. The rest would have escaped likewise, had 
 they not been drunk. 
 
 The effects of the late gale are now more distinctly known : upward 
 of 200 vessels of all descriptions are, either entirely wrecked, or serious- 
 ly injured ; the number of lives lost it is impossible to ascertain, but 
 ten or twelve bodies have been found. 
 
 On Sunday week I commenced a new class at 7 o’clock in the 
 morning, in the study ; this was to me a happy event. Mr. P. has 
 taken charge of the Monday evening female class, which I had met 
 long enough to be greatly attached to it, as I had often been blest in 
 it, enjoying the satisfaction to find, that here the Lord had condes- 
 cended to acknowledge my efforts a little. With 7 persons, however, 
 my new class commenced ; several of these had broken off their Chris- 
 tian communion, and thrown up their religious profession in peril of 
 their salvation, but the rest had never met in class before ; a few of the 
 total number are of great promise. Such a blessing was given us$ 
 both on the day we commenced, and last Sabbath, as to stamp the im- 
 pression on each of our hearts, that, in this measure, we are right. 
 Merciful Father of my spirit and theirs ! amidst the agony of mind, 
 with which I sometimes look at the multitudes perishing around me, 
 and upon myself in their midst, is it possible that it shall be given 
 
COMMENCEMENT OF PUBLIC LABOURS IN SPANISH. 
 
 295 
 
 hie, by any means, to save some ? Oh ! Thou knowest the keen and 
 aching sensations, with which I fling myself at thy feet, and implore 
 the entire renewal of my heart, the filling of my soul with vital Chris- 
 tian love, and the qualifications of every kind essential to the work of 
 the Ministry. 
 
 Last Thursday was rendered memorable to me by my preaching, 
 or rather reading, my first sermon in Spanish, from Matt. vii. 24 — 27. 
 I had resolved to mention if to none of my friends, desiring to ascer- 
 tain, without noise, whether I could write with sufficient clearness to 
 be understood. The evening turned out very unfavourably, a strong 
 gale of wind, accompanied with violent rain, prevented almost every 
 one from coming ; at first, I thought no one would be able to attend, 
 but, as at length five persons made their appearance, I ventured to 
 begin; and, so far as being intelligible goes, I had the satisfaction to 
 find myself well understood; this is, indeed, matter of great gratitude to 
 Cod. But what, after all, is this ? Had I the tongues of men or of 
 angels, and no more of the power of faith, and hope, and love, than at 
 present I feel, I should be nothing. I have not found my endeavours 
 to acquire a speedy knowledge of the Spanish, favourable to my growth 
 in the knowledge of the things of God, or in the 6 love which never 
 faileth.’ O my God ! I feel, that there is no one more worthless in 
 himself than I. What a marvel will it be, if such a creature shall be 
 rendered useful! Need I wonder, that I am of so very little service ? 
 O come, thou Spirit of the living God, and turn my dry and barren 
 heart into a fruitful field ! O come, and bring me liberty of heart, 
 and life, and zeal, and enterprise ! 
 
 15th. — Read my second sermon in Spanish to about 35 persons, 
 among whom were present Mr. Ilasan and his family. I had lent my 
 first manuscript to Mr. Pyne for his remarks, and he had shewn it to 
 Mr. Hasan, who had been pleased to express his opinion of its merits 
 in terms rather too lofty to be fully correct, but sufficiently so to as- 
 certain that it is intelligible without difficulty. To-night my endeavour 
 was to lead the people, if possible, to see the indispensable need of ful- 
 filling the words of Christ, — 4 Oye cstas mis pala'bras y las dimple!'* 
 in order to secure, in the sight of our final Judge, the character 
 of the wise man, building on a good foundation for eternity. I care- 
 fully avoided saying any thing severe upon the misinterpretations, 
 which I was compelled to notice, and I said nothing at all to irritate 
 the party prejudices of Romish adherents. I now solemnly write in 
 secret before God, what I should be ready to proclaim upon the house- 
 tops, that I am not actuated by a party-spirit, nor moved with party- 
 views ; my grand real moving wish is, to save some of those whom I 
 see perishing. But ah, my God! my God ! every thing that 1 have 
 
 * Hear, and obey my words ! 
 
296 
 
 EXTENSION OF THE ENGLISH WORK. 
 
 hitherto seen here, tends to make me feel petrified at the c working of 
 the mystery of iniquity,’ which renders men almost as impenetrable 
 to the convictions of truth, as a coat of mail to the point of a sword. 
 Of course, I do not refer to any disappointment about my two ser- 
 mons, for that indeed would be foolish. But I pray the Lord, to seal 
 upon my heart the reflection, that I am not sent to overturn Popery; 
 but, if possible, to save some of the perishing sinners around me, as 
 individuals. 
 
 On Monday evening last I commenced another new class, if indeed 
 it is to bear this appellation, in the barracks at the South, in the room 
 of Quarter-master Sergeant Vagg. Four persons, beside myself, were 
 present, three of whom have been Methodists before, but have suf- 
 fered loss without being abandoned, or losing all gracious feeling, — they 
 were, Sergeant Vagg, his wife, and Sergeant Abercrombie ; the remain- 
 ing one, Sergeant Starling, of the Artillery, is a very respectable man, 
 to whom religion has long appeared indispensable, though by him it 
 has never yet been savingly enjoyed. The greatest happiness here, 
 that I have felt at all, is in scenes like these. I can have no greater 
 upon earth. O that the Lord would but qualify me for more of this, 
 and bless me with the spirit, which should restlessly burst through 
 every thing to usefulness, armed with knowledge, fired with zeal, 
 covered by prudence, and sustained by patient love to souls ! 
 
 Monday 19th. — Blest yesterday morning in class ; an eighth person 
 added to our number. At the barrack-room this evening, Sergeant 
 Starling was absent, but our conversation was rendered profitable to 
 the rest. I endeavour to render it as little stiff and formal as possible, 
 especially at this commencement of my undertaking, and where there 
 are so few present ; consequently we had an interesting conversation 
 on the exercise of justifying faith. 
 
 20th. — Yesterday was the anniversary of the day, when I first unbo- 
 somed my affections to my Anne, and gained her consent to be mine 
 till death. To day is the 6 fecha infausta /’ * Oh, with what feelings 
 do I review these last five years ! But let me leave it ; to what pur- 
 pose do I remember? O thou good, yet holy, Lord God ! my heart 
 yet lives, reeking in the blood of the wounds so justly and so wisely 
 caused by tearing away its idols. Thou hast ‘ broken down my altars, 
 and spoiled my images!’ Hos. x. 2. There is, — there was mercy, 
 and not to me alone, mingled with that judgment. O that I could feel 
 a more cordial joy, in consenting to thy holy will! But now, and for 
 some time past, I have been striving to submit myself more fully to 
 Thee, and, at length, I am brought to the point of a deep and most 
 painful feeling of the need of thy Holy Spirit, as a Spifit of faith, of 
 power, of love, and of a sound mind. Oh ! c there is a sin unto death 
 
 Unhappy date ! 
 
Continuation of Spanish labours. 
 
 297 
 
 and there is a state of soul, from which, it seems almost impossible on 
 earth to use to prosperity. If I have not sinned myself into all but 
 a totally invincible habit of heart-revolting and insubmissiveness to 
 Thee, I pray thee to put forth the strength of thy mercy, and to give 
 me again the Spirit of power and love. Hast thou not promised thy Holy 
 Spirit to them that ask thee ? and I, almost despondent with my sense 
 of want, ask thee in the name of Jesus. Oh ! Son of the Father, 
 Mediator between God and sinful man, ever-living Intercessor, c able 
 to save to the uttermost, all that come unto God by thee,’ hear me, 
 hear me, and have mercy upon me ! 
 
 This was spent as a memorial day. On the whole, not much melted 
 before God ; yet somewhat blest and encouraged to hope, that the gift 
 of the Spirit, which the Saviour has promised, and which he knows I 
 so much want, will not be denied me. 
 
 23rd. — Last night read my third sermon in Spanish, from 2 Cor. viii. 
 9, to about fifteen persons. This congregation is no very flattering 
 comparison with the last week’s; but what is to be done by one ser- 
 mon in a week, and that too read ? I must, and if God will bless me, 
 I will, labour to improve in extempore speaking; but my present de- 
 ficiency in conversation is to me most painful, and how can it be 
 otherwise, when I so seldom try to talk? ’Tis true, opportunities 
 for this do not offer in my own room, nor are they likely. The state 
 of my knowledge of the language has required my close application 
 at home, but freedom in speaking cannot be attained there, and I 
 must go more abroad. I think I shall try to go to Cadiz for a few 
 weeks. To this Mr. Pyne and Mr. Pratten strongly advise me. My 
 health and spirits too require it, as I find myself very much oppressed 
 with labour, and those terrible exercises of the mind to which I am 
 prone, from a sense of my uselessness and unfitness for use, among 
 such a mass of spiritual misery and danger, as the world presents to 
 my view. However, I have the satisfaction to find myself still under- 
 stood ; though I rather think, that yesterday’s sermon, being on that 
 day entirely composed and written, was less intelligible than the two 
 former. 
 
 To the Rev. James Dixon. 
 
 GibraVar^ Dec. 27, 1825. 
 
 My very dear Friend, 
 
 I have never received the first letter, to which your second, 
 just come to hand, refers. Let this at once account for your having 
 received none from me. But, with what heart-felt relief and satis- 
 faction did I lay my hand upon this last ! for, though, of course, I knew 
 somewhat of your habitual dislike to letter-writing, and the usual de- 
 liberateness of your movements; and, though I moreover thought, I 
 
298 
 
 SENSIBILITY OF FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 knew enough of your heart to be sure that it takes impressions deeply, 
 and that many waters, aye, even a whole ocean , cannot drown your 
 love; yet I confess, that I was sometimes a little staggered, and reduced 
 at least to the condition of one who knows not what to think ; and 
 occasionally I caught myself in the act of saying, — 4 Ah ! my friend’s 
 affection for me is disappointed ; from a near inspection he has cer- 
 tainly seen faults in me, which he had not anticipated, and which, in his 
 judgment, justify the withdrawment of his friendship from me, or, at 
 least, render inevitable that alienation of heart, which is sometimes as 
 inscrutably the result of disappointment, as the contrary emotions are 
 at other times unavoidable from an unexpected encounter.’ By Mr. 
 Pratten too, singularly enough, I received from home that letter of 
 yours, dated from the spot in which I now write, which, twelve months 
 ago, crossed me on my passage, and found its way to my Father’s 
 house, when I was near the place from which it came. That letter 
 breathes a spirit of friendship, so cordial and so anxious, as to lead me, 
 under existing circumstances, to look upon it in the light of contrast; 
 and thus, instead of giving me pleasure, it made me feel regret for 
 what it seemed as if I had lost. However, enough of this; these mis- 
 givings have shared the fate of many unbelieving questionings, on a 
 more important subject, to which the Lord is more tender than they 
 merit ; they first prove themselves unfounded, and then sink into con- 
 tempt. I thank God, to whose mercy I ascribe, from my heart, all 
 that I enjoy, for having preserved me a place in your memory and 
 affection, and' for having led you again to express it in a manner so 
 unequivocal. In me there is no sort of merit in feeling acutely on 
 these subjects, for I cannot help being inwardly and deeply pained at 
 the loss of affection or esteem. This is a very dangerous sensibility, 
 because it is so liable to fix itself upon a merely earthly happiness ; 
 and yet, one would think, that such a heart, if well regulated, would 
 be able to devote unusual affections to the Redeemer, and to 4 love 
 Him much .’ Let me, however, follow you through your letter. 
 
 Of almost every circumstance, relative to your voyage homewards, 
 I am, of course, entirely ignorant. I cannot avoid saying, that I greatly 
 regret this, as it seems the letter, which recounted the incidents, en- 
 larged likewise on other points, which would have been to me very 
 interesting. I heard, indeed, with great pleasure, that Mrs. D.’s health 
 was considerably improved by the voyage, and that the children suf- 
 fered no great inconvenience ; but I am proportionally concerned to 
 find, that the former seems again to have relapsed into debility. I do 
 earnestly desire, and will pray, both for your sake and her own, that 
 she may be restored. You said nothing about Eliza’s eyes, though, 
 from your mentioning her, I conclude that they are better. I am very 
 much pained at observing, that this terrible disease has already, for 
 these two or three past days, seized on the left eye of Elizabeth, the 
 
IMPORTANCE OF PIOUS INTERCOURSE. 
 
 299 
 
 daughter of Mr. Pratten ; and most ardently do I implore the kindness 
 of the God of providence, for the removal of this distressing malady. 
 
 I scarcely dare trust myself in allusion to that 6 enfermedad de la 
 mentej that c sickness of the heart,’ that constitutional malady of the 
 mind, by which both you and I seem habitually deprived of the enjoy- 
 ments, which equal circumstances would communicate to others. I 
 will, however, cordially join you in the conviction, that minds so little 
 capable of enjoying any thing else, ought to enjoy much religion ; 
 and, with a heart somewhat sensible of the great kindness of God, our 
 Saviour, in giving us any thing on which to consistently found our ex- 
 pectation, I join you too in the hope, that in the eternal world we 
 shall relate to each other the triumphs of redeeming love in these 
 cold, stony hearts. Yet I could scarcely help smiling at the contrast 
 between your statements of incapability of enjoyment, and the account 
 immediately following, of your visit to Gloucester and Tewkesbury. 
 It really does seem, after all, as if you were favoured, not only with 
 the means, but with the highly-strung capacity for enjoyment. True, 
 this was a religious enjoyment, and so are all truly Christian pleasures, 
 nor is it desirable to have any others. I do not repine, while remem- 
 bering that I was not with you to share your felicity; nor, indeed, 
 while remembering, feelingly it is true, that here, with a clearer sky, 
 and a purer atmosphere, and a more genial climate than yours, we have 
 yet a far, far more distressing winter, than that which howls about 
 you. Here, indeed, there is nothing at all, from which any combina- 
 tion of human means or circumstances could educe such a scene as that 
 at Tewkesbury. O my God, my God! how deeply, — how gallingly 
 afflicted is my heart, to feel so little of the warm love and zeal of 
 Christianity here, and to find so little to increase it ! 
 
 But I must say a little about matters here. As soon as you had 
 left me, I struggled hard to master that indefinable sensation of miser- 
 able solitude, and all the crowd of feelings, which the touch of that 
 chord awakened into new and gnawing activity. I had myself very 
 little expectation of being able, till the supposed time, to fulfil the 
 duties of the station. I thought, however, that God now required me 
 to abandon myself, together with all my interests and feelings, to Him. 
 I did so, and was graciously favoured with very unusual power to live 
 near to Him, and, consequently, I was relieved from much of the dis- 
 tress, which I should otherwise have suffered. I still determined to 
 continue my application to the Spanish, and thus, by leaving but 
 comparatively little time for reading and composition, I feared that 
 the people would become weary of my crude and undigested pulpit 
 exercises. However, I thought my duty was to continue closely ap- 
 plying to the Spanish, and to leave all the consequences to God. I 
 do not think, that there is any good reason to regret this resolution, 
 as my difficulties were to last but a short time ; and yet that time, 
 
300 
 
 DIFFICULTIES IN TIIE WORK. 
 
 spent in neglecting the Spanish, would have been seriously felt in sub- 
 sequent application. Beside, I will honestly acknowledge, that I felt 
 greatly pained and disgusted at myself, for not making a more rapid 
 progress in the language, and thus being able, immediately on the 
 arrival of the new Preacher, to commence some Spanish services. Mr. 
 Davis * and myself had agreed to take the services in the Chapel alter- 
 nately, and I took the Bethel entirely upon myself; but, not long 
 after your departure, a terrible fit of the gout, which, by flying from 
 his foot to his hip, created great alarm for his life, confined Mr. D. to 
 his house; and then, for some time, I had the whole charge. The 
 consequence of this was, that I was compelled to leave the Thursday 
 evening preaching at the South for prayer, and to resign the Bethel 
 to some one for reading. On the restoration of Mr. D. to health, he 
 resumed his share of the duties, and in this manner we continued with 
 great cordiality till Mr. Pratten’s arrival. I feel it to be matter of 
 unfeigned gratitude to God, that, during this interval, the Society suf- 
 fered no diminution in number, and two or three members seemed to 
 increase in religious concern. As soon as Mr. P. had assumed the 
 charge of the people, I determined to obtain the best Spanish master 
 that I could ; and I was providentially directed to Don Gonzalez, a 
 refugee, of very considerable talent, a complete gentleman, and of 
 extensive acquaintance w ith the language. As to real ability in phi- 
 lology, and composition, he is indeed just what I wished to find. The 
 second month of his attendance, three hours in the week, is now nearly 
 accomplished, and I feel myself to have derived very considerable 
 benefit from his assistance. He is, however, as I should think almost 
 every professed Catholic of talents must be, as sceptical on the divi- 
 nity of the Scriptures, as on the legitimate authority of the Church. 
 We have occasional conversations, in which the brilliancy of his talent, 
 and the difficulty of expressing myself in Spanish, place me at an im- 
 mense inferiority, without, however, affecting the goodness of my 
 cause. Several weeks ago, I began to take the Spanish service on the 
 Thursday evenings ; the congregation has long been reduced, almost 
 as low as it could be ; and all the satisfaction, that I derive from the 
 result, is, in knowing that my Spanish is intelligible, and in gratitude 
 to a gracious God for having enabled me thus far. But, shall I tell the 
 truth ? I have no hope of a cause here. This want of hope may be 
 a crime, because it may be the cause of a want of exertion, and thus of 
 success. This is, in some degree, the case; but, at the same time, 
 there seems nothing here upon which hope can lay hold ; no prepara- 
 tion of heart among the people ; no soul for vital religion ; nor any 
 movement of the Holy Spirit to urge them to solicitude. My distress, 
 in connexion with this subject, is very great. I am afraid, lest there 
 
 * An aged Local Preacher on the Rock. — A. B. 
 
PROSPERITY IN THE ENGLISH DEPARTMENT. 
 
 301 
 
 may be upon me the guilt of the blood of souls ; and yet I have strug- 
 gled, and studied, and prayed, until my spirits have sometimes quite 
 broken down under me ; and, since Mr. P. has been here, I have 
 several times been so exceedingly distressed in preaching, as to be 
 scarcely able to get through the service. By all these things together, 
 I am, however, effectually saved from the dangers of popularity ; evils 
 which, thanks to the barrenness of the Rock! do not grow here. The 
 causes of my extreme dejection have been, in part, increased labour, 
 and pain at my insufficient progress in the language ; but, chiefly, the 
 state of religion here, the affecting wreck of souls around me, and my 
 own accountableness at the judgment-seat of Christ, if, through a cri- 
 minal supineness and indigence of energy and exertion, I should not 
 be able to render up my account with joy. I fear, my dear friend, 
 that I have not willingness enough to expose myself to suffer shame, 
 contempt, and persecution, for the name of the Lord Jesus; and, what 
 is worse, that I have not zeal and love enough to urge me out, to en- 
 deavour to awaken the attention of those whom I see perishing before 
 my eyes. 
 
 Among the English, however, we have some reason for pleasure and 
 hope ; several additions to our society have already taken place, and 
 in them we verify what the Lord once said, — 4 Other men laboured, 
 and ye are entered into their labours.’ I believe, that several of 
 those, who are now coming forward, have been decidedly prepared 
 for it by the previous Miuistry. Our congregations, upon the whole, 
 are much the same as when you left, though, perhaps, the attendance 
 of soldiers is hardly so large. The Bethel is, unavoidably, almost 
 relinquished; Mr. Hipburn’s absence has taken away the means of 
 supply, for the expense of the flag, and the double boat-hire, is far 
 beyond our ability to pay. Instead, therefore, we have opened a 
 Sunday evening’s service at the South, which is fully attended to, Mr. 
 Davis taking his turn with us there. The 42d Regiment of High- 
 landers is lately arrived, and among them is a Local Preacher, who is 
 a very zealous, and, apparently, a truly excellent man ; but, among 
 the soldiers, there has been a most grievous unsteadiness in religious 
 profession ; he reckons, that not few r er than fifty or sixty of them 
 have been decidedly under serious impressions, though scarcely any 
 of them stand their ground. War, together with all that belongs to it, 
 seems essentially opposite to the spirit of the Gospel. As to the pre- 
 sent season, it is not, I suppose, less profuse and beastly, in its wick- 
 edness, than any one that has preceded ; at least, former ones must 
 have been terrible indeed, if worse than this : 4 surely the fear of God 
 is not in this place !’ 
 
 By the strong advice of Mr. Pratten and Mr. Pyne, I am going for 
 a few weeks to Cadiz, for the purpose of mixing entirely with the 
 Spaniards, and of learning to talk; for my want of spirits and zeal 
 
302 
 
 CONVERSION OF A SPANISH WOMAN. 
 
 renders it very difficult to converse at all. How very different is this, 
 from that vivacity and ardour which once distinguished me ! But I 
 am continually laying my case before the Lord, and entreating Him 
 to bless me with far more of His Spirit, and, in my measure, to fulfil 
 to me those promises in Isa. 1. 4, 5, and Luke xxi. 15. Corporal 
 Allen, poor fellow ! has written you. I was with his Harriet a good 
 deal in her affliction. She died well, thoroughly well ; but he has 
 borne the stroke like a Christian ; how much better than another that 
 I know ! But I drank much too deeply of his cup of sorrow, for my 
 own strength of mind. If they knew of my writing, many would join 
 in affectionate remembrances, for it is not all Rock , though most of it 
 is. In the deepest feeling of my need, I commend myself, most ear- 
 nestly, to your prayers, and am 
 
 Yours, most affectionately, 
 
 W. Barber. 
 
 Journal continued. 
 
 Jan. 28, 1826. — The new year commenced without any thing to 
 render it remarkable to me, in reference to the main object of my resi- 
 dence here, the welfare of the Spanish population. I have pursued 
 the practice of preaching, on the Thursday evenings, with various 
 success, as it regards the number of my hearers, and my own comfort 
 in the service; but where are the fruits ? Would it not be folly, to 
 expect any thing yet in the shape of fruit ? Certainly not, if these two 
 things were secured, — the preparation of the people’s hearts for the 
 truth, and the corresponding preparation in my heart to dispense it 
 to them. How unutterably painful is it to perceive so little evidence 
 of either ! 
 
 I perceive that my health is not yet established ; a slight tinge of 
 blood occasionally accompanies my expectorations ; and my anxieties 
 are sometimes very cutting, about the propriety of my occupying a 
 station, to the duties of which, as they are, I am not fully equal ; nei- 
 ther do I give the evidence I wish, that, in future, I shall be more 
 capable, or more active. 
 
 In the practice of detaining any, among the Spanish congregation, 
 who might wish to converse on the subject of the sermon, there are 
 some symptoms of good ; two or three persons really appear under 
 truly serious impressions, and several others make their attendance 
 constant; considerable opportunity is thus afforded me for pressing 
 home upon them, individually, the need of experimental religion, of 
 which they generally seem to have no kind of notion. The mother of 
 Mr. Quierell, a native of Tarifa, appears to have been brought into a 
 state of Christian liberty ; and the proper evidences of this are given, 
 in a completely changed state of temper and feeling. Calling on her 
 
CONVERSION OF A SPANISH WOMAN. 
 
 303 
 
 one day, I saw on the floor an image of San Joseph, rather maimed; 
 the children were playing with it. This image had been, for many 
 years, her tutelar divinity, — her household god ; before it she had often 
 bowed, and to it she had often prayed, really believing in the duty and 
 the efficacy of so doing. I very particularly questioned her on this 
 subject, and she constantly confirmed the assurance, that she knew no 
 better; all the people around her did the same, and she was never 
 told that it was wrong. She now, however, perceives, that she was 
 guilty of gross and very offensive idolatry, and looks with abhorrence 
 upon the remains of that stupid image, which she so long regarded as, 
 if not itself divine, yet the acceptable medium of meritorious acts of 
 worship. But she now' places all her dependence on her Lord and 
 Redeemer alone, knows the efficacy of his blood, and feels its powerful 
 application. Glory to God for this one instance of salvation from a 
 danger so great, and from an infatuation so powerful, as that which 
 generally holds the ignorant Roman Catholics ! The Popish apostacy 
 is one of the most guilty and cruel conceivable ; it takes the very lan- 
 guage of the purest and simplest law, which could prohibit idolatry, 
 in order to justify it; it first sophistically makes the medicine of the 
 soul, as prescribed by the Good Physician, of none effect; and then, 
 as if dissatisfied with a victory so cheap, converts it into a poison, most 
 infatuating in the lethargy with which it binds the conscience, and 
 most effectual in the ruin into which it plunges the soul. Popery has 
 not only made the Bible remove its check from idolatry, but it has 
 made the religion of the Bible, or, at least, that which professes to be 
 so, give all the sanction of its authority to an almost unlimited number 
 of objects of idolatrous worship, which are, in truth, nothing but 
 petty deities, in the estimation of those who honour them with their 
 devotion. 
 
 30th. — I have now spent twelve months upon this Rock; a circum- 
 stance which covers me with shame, considering how little I have been 
 honoured with usefulness. I say little, for, through infinite mercy, 
 there is some evidence of real, though not extensive, usefulness. Some 
 are walking in the way of Divine ordinances, the Lord having con- 
 descendingly made me the instrument of bringing them into it ; and 
 some are advanced into the enjoyment of the privileges of the Gospel, 
 the Lord having made me the means of bringing them to the sprinkling 
 of the blood of atonement. But I have a deep and abiding sense of 
 my own want of spiritual power and religious happiness, and, conse- 
 quently, of communion with God through his Son ; and the tendency 
 of my mind is so strongly to despondent views of things, that my ele- 
 vations are scarce and transient, and my time, for the most part, is 
 spent ungratefully, nay, sometimes existence itself seems a burden, and 
 4 my soul almost chooseth strangling and death rather than life.’ Ah ! 
 if the gracious Spirit of God would but descend upon me, and raise 
 
304 
 
 DREADFUL STATE OF SPAIN. 
 
 me above the world, myself, and sin, and give me much of the spirit 
 of self-denial and zeal, then, with reason, I might hope for greater 
 usefulness. But the souls of men ! — My heart feels painfully and 
 despondingly about them, though, after all, it does not melt and flow 
 out into zealous effort in their behalf. 
 
 Feb. 14th. — Mr. , a respectable gentleman, at present res- 
 
 ident at Cadiz, was lately here ; and Mr. Pyne having mentioned me 
 to him, and stated my purpose to go for a few weeks to Cadiz, for the 
 superior advantages of conversing with the natives, entirely apart from 
 English intercourse, according to Mr. P.’s advice, I called at the gen- 
 tleman’s lodgings, to pay him my respects. He was not, however, 
 within at the time, and I therefore left my name, not purposing to call 
 again, because of the extreme uncertainty of meeting him at home. In 
 a day or two afterwards he called at the Mission-House, when Mr. 
 Pratten, and myself, had about two hours very interesting conversa- 
 tion with him, chiefly on the state of Spain, but partly in reference to 
 my paying it a visit. To this project he was evidently not friendly, 
 though too courteous to say so in direct terms. However, he deci- 
 dedly advised against my going to Cadiz, where, as he said, I should 
 be much more under the eye of the police, than in a country village. 
 His objections certainly arose from the state of the country ; but I am 
 not quite sure of the absence of other reasons from his mind. He 
 would, of course, prefer, that whatever consequences might accrue to 
 me, supposing them to be of an evil kind, they should happen beyond 
 the range of his interference; and, perhaps too, he might be willing to 
 avoid whatever would seem, however remotely, to identify himself 
 with me, a Methodist and a Missionary. I confess, that I cannot en- 
 tirely remove these impressions from my mind ; yet, it is quite possible, 
 that it may be much safer for me to be in a village than at Cadiz; 
 though, at the same time, if the state of authority, justice, and civil 
 safety, be such as it appears from this gentleman’s statements, and so 
 much under the control of a bigoted, cruel, and tyrannical priesthood, 
 that priesthood would probably be more influential and arbitrary in a 
 village thqn in a city, and my safety would consequently be more at 
 the mercy of those hideous monsters ; for, if I should be known in a 
 large place, there would be no difficulty in making me known in a 
 small one. 
 
 On the subject of the internal state of Spain, as it regards public 
 
 justice, and individual safety, Mr. ’s account is truly appalling, 
 
 and it perfectly corresponds with all the accounts, which we have 
 received from other quarters. His expressions were , — 6 There is, 
 absolutely, no justice in the country. The most atrocious of crimi- 
 nals, even the murderer of a Father and Mother , may escape by bri- 
 bery! And such is otherwise the state of affairs, that, often robberies, 
 committed in the boldest and most audacious manner, are not prose- 
 
INFAMOUS CASE OF INJUSTICE AND BRIBERY. 
 
 305 
 
 cuted, in consequence of the fear of the thief’s vengeance, and the 
 assurance that he will easily escape. * Of this,’ said he, 6 three in- 
 stances, within my personal knowledge, have lately occcurred.’ They 
 are as follow : 
 
 A man, who was by birth a Maltese, had lain for a considerable 
 time in prison, at Cadiz. He, at length, sent to the British consul, 
 claiming his interference and protection, as a British subject. The 
 consul went to see him, and received from him, in substance, the fol- 
 lowing account. He stated, 6 that he had been arrested, in conjunc- 
 tion with several other persons, on a charge of forging vales , (a paper 
 currency in the time of the Constitution,) — that he was innocent of 
 the crime, — that, as no disposition was manifested to bring the matter 
 to a close, he had no hope of being brought to a trial, — that all the 
 other persons, who had been accused with him, had been liberated, as 
 they found money to bribe the magistrate, — that he could not adopt 
 the same plan, because he was without the means, — that, unless some 
 exertion were made for him, he should, in all probability, have to remain 
 in prison for years, and to perish at last, — and that, if the consul 
 would advance him about twenty-five dollars, he could employ an 
 attorney, who would get him liberated.’ The consul’s reply was, 
 
 ( that he would advance nothing, until he knew more of the merits of 
 the case ; but, that if the man would send to him the attorney, to 
 whom he referred, he would make farther enquiries.’ Accordingly, 
 the next day, the attorney called upon the consul; and the latter find- 
 ing that there was no sufficient evidence against the man, and that, for 
 a little money, he could obtain his discharge, determined to effect it. 
 The attorney asked for forty dollars, promising then to proceed. The 
 consul, who well knew the Spanish character in these respects, re- 
 plied, that he would advance nothing ; but that if the attorney would 
 bring him the man, accompanied by a written discharge, from the 
 magistrate himself, from all demands and criminal proceedings, he 
 would immediately pay him down fifty dollars. The attorney con- 
 sented, and very soon afterwards, I am not sure whether it was the 
 next day, or in two or three days, he actually produced the man, with 
 the discharge, signed in the magistrate’s own hand-writing, and re- 
 ceived the stipulated sum accordingly. 
 
 The second case was of much later occurrence. A gentleman, who 
 is a friend of the one with whom we were conversing, resides in a vil- 
 lage, at some little distance from the town in which he has his chief 
 establishment, I am not sure whether it is Cadiz or not. On a parti- 
 cular occasion, about mid-day, he was gently riding on horseback 
 towards his home, and had arrived within about two hundred yards 
 of the above-mentioned village, the whole distance between the two 
 places being not more than four or five miles, if so much. And here 
 it was, that two men met him, and holding their long knives ready, 
 
 x 
 
306 EFFRONTERY OF A HIGHWAY ROBBER, AND A THIEF. 
 
 demanded his gold watch and appendages. One of the villains was 
 well known to the gentleman, for he had been the servant of a near 
 relative; and this wretch evinced an insulting pleasure in relating the 
 history of the watch, which, from his former situation in the family, 
 he well knew, and in minutely describing its appendages. But that 
 which crowned the infamy and effrontery of the whole business was, 
 that this hideous villain actually called the next day on the gentleman, 
 at his house, and offered him the watch for sale. But was there no 
 remedy? None whatever; to take any measures for the purpose of 
 punishing the robber, would have been inevitable destruction to the 
 gentleman himself; for, had he even been apprehended, his trial 
 might never have come on, and a bribe would almost at any time have 
 emancipated the criminal. 
 
 The third was the case of an English captain, who was robbed of 
 his pocket-book, containing ten pounds, by one of the servants of the 
 inn, which was frequented by all the English. The case was clear, 
 and the thief bold and impudent. The captain would not brook it; 
 he determined to prosecute the man, and went to the consul to ask his 
 advice how to proceed. The consul told him, that no justice could be 
 obtained, and that it would be the merest waste of money to attempt 
 a prosecution ; strongly recommending him, therefore, to pocket the 
 affront, and to keep the rest of his money safely. The captain, how- 
 ever, w T as resolute, and the thief accordingly absconded ; that is, he went 
 to a place on the other side of the river, where he enjoyed the spoil 
 which he had taken, without any pains to conceal it or himself. At 
 length, however, the consul went to the landlord, and told him, that, as 
 the matter had assumed so disgraceful an aspect, unless he procured 
 the money to be refunded, he should use all his influence to persuade 
 every English resident, or visiter, to abandon his house. The land- 
 lord, therefore, paid the money out of his own pocket, and, either on 
 the same day, or the next, the servant resumed his place at the inn, as 
 if nothing had happened. 
 
 And now that I am upon this subject, I will add another account, 
 given me by Mr. Pyne, who received it from a gentleman, a friend of 
 his, to whom it relates. This person went to Algebras, a Spanish 
 town, and, wishing to be shaved, went into a shop for the purpose. 
 The barber told him of an incident which, not long since, had oc- 
 curred to himself. There was in Algebras a young man of very atro- 
 cious character, and well known in the place ; his father had owned a 
 considerable number of the houses in the public square, and these he 
 had been obliged gradually to dispose of, in order to buy his son out 
 of the evil consequences of his villanies. The son had at length com- 
 mitted the seventh murder, and yet was living at large, the terror of 
 all around him. One day he came into the barber’s shop to be shaved, 
 while some one else was under the operation;, but he demanded to be 
 
AWFUL ASSASSINATION OF A MURDERER. 307 
 
 instantly Attended to, and as the barber refused to comply, till he had 
 done with the other person, the villain muttered out the threat that he 
 would do for him. The barber, immediately taking it for granted 
 that he would be faithful to his word, determined to anticipate him; 
 he therefore stepped aside, and grasped a long knife, with which, as 
 the murderer was passing from his door, he stabbed him, and, repeat- 
 ing his blow, despatched him in the street ; then instantly roaring out 
 for a confessor, he made no attempt to escape. The mob ran together, 
 but, seeing who was the victim, they unitedly declared, that no confessor 
 was wanted for such a wretch; and said, that the barber had done an 
 act of public justice. No proceedings were afterwards instituted, and 
 the barber was regarded, not as a criminal, but as a general benefactor. 
 This story is, perhaps, too dreadful to gain universal credit from 
 Englishmen ; and, it is assuredly too terrific to be admitted on the 
 sole testimony of a barber, as garrulous and credible, perhaps, as in 
 any part of the world ; but the state of things in Spain is really such, 
 as not to render the story, per se , unworthy of belief. And besides, 
 what, in the nature of things, must be the state of that country, in 
 which even a barber could tell such a story, with any hope of being 
 believed, or without fear of being noticed by the eye of justice ? 
 
 Returning to the conversation of Mr. , he confirmed the im- 
 
 pression of his previous representations, by stating, that he was per- 
 suaded, in case of my being arrested by the Spanish authorities, it 
 would be utterly out of the power of the British consul to afford me 
 any kind of protection ; because he knew him to have .received posi- 
 tive orders from his Government, not to interfere at all for any British 
 subjects, who should infringe the existing laws of the country, whether 
 civil or ecclesiastical ; and, by no means, even in cases of the most fla- 
 grant and oppressive injustice, to forcibly resist any attempt of autho- 
 rity, but to report them to his Government, and to leave them for 
 their interference. 
 
 Now, upon the whole, what is the result to which I must come ? 
 Situated as I am, with little Spanish intercourse, with a considerable 
 portion of English work, and with the imperative necessity of English 
 studies, it is impracticable for me to obtain perfect freedom, correct- 
 ness, and familiarity, in the use of the Spanish language; while a very 
 few weeks of intercourse with those, who talk Spanish only, would be 
 of the most essential service to me. But, if I go into Spain, the great 
 subject of religion is prohibited ; and any expression of sentiment re- 
 specting it, would be an infraction of existing law, ecclesiastical if not 
 civil ; and, were this wanted as a pretext, my being a Methodist Mis- 
 sionary would, at once, render me obnoxious to the Government. The 
 only object of my going into Spain at all, at present, must be to per- 
 fect myself in the language, as no opening is perceptible for the very 
 smallest effort to diffuse the truth ; in fact, it would prove fatal to any 
 
 x 2 
 
SOB 
 
 INTRODUCTION OF SPANISH PRATER-MEETINGS. 
 
 one who should attempt it. I am advised to go, for a little while, to 
 Algeciras, and thence to Tarifa; though I am at a loss to imagine, how 
 this can be more advisable than my going to Cadiz. However, at pre- 
 sent, while I hope I shall be able to do something steadily toward 
 advancing in freedom of speech, I have but little expectation of effec- 
 tual success, without more conversation. 
 
 19th and 20th. — The fourth anniversary of my marriage. With her, 
 to whom 1 was then united, by a bond so sacred, so solemn, and so 
 endearing, I have not had a moment’s interview for three years and a 
 half. What is now my connexion with her ? I know not. This 1 
 know, that she was mine in a sense that she never can be again; but 
 something within me still kindles at the thought of a re-union with her, 
 more than with any other. But the awful voice, which says , — 6 What 
 is that to thee ? follow thou me !’ always sounds in my ears, when I 
 turn to reflect upon this subject ; and I am more and more convinced 
 of the sinfulness of indulging my strong and wasting grief. There is 
 something truly astounding to my nature in this lesson. The repeated 
 recurrence of that passage, — 4 What is that to thee ? follow thou me V 
 is, indeed, instructive, but it is tremendous too. O Lord, my God ! 
 I confess thy right in her to be infinitely superior to mine, and thy 
 sovereignty over myself to be absolute. JVow, at length, through a 
 combination that will for ever amaze me, of patient and persevering 
 providence and grace, I am brought to yield my heart, in its deep and 
 hidden springs of affection, to thee ! But what do I say ? Is this, 
 indeed, true ? Do I then give thee all my heart ? 6 Lord, thou know- 
 est all things ; and thou knowest that I love thee !’ But, as to the 
 degree, what can I say or know, the corruption of my nature not only 
 being so sensible, but so great ? However, thou hast, at length, deli- 
 vered my heart from every known and cherished idol. But, oh ! that 
 it might please thee entirely to repair the mischiefs, which I have suf- 
 fered, in soul, in understanding, and in body. Alas ! what a wreck of 
 a creature am I, for a life of activity, and intercourse, and usefulness ! 
 
 Friday, 24th. — This evening we commenced a prayer -meeting in 
 Spanish, at Brother QuierelPs, where about twelve persons were pre- 
 sent ; they seemed deeply serious. I endeavoured to give a short 
 extemporaneous address, though, I dare say, there were mistakes 
 enough ; however, I was understood. I am much tried with two 
 fears ; the one is, that of rendering the attempt ridiculous, the other, 
 that of being ridiculed for a blunderer. I know not how much virtue 
 there may be in the former ; but, in the latter, I am, quite persuaded 
 that there is next to none, and I, therefore, entreat the Lord to deliver 
 me from it. 
 
 28th. — This month has considerably advanced me in the use of the 
 Spanish. I have written and spoken much, and I hope now soon to 
 have it perfectly familiar. In circumstances such as mine, it was, per- 
 
AFFECTING CONVERSATION OF AN EMIGRANT. 
 
 309 
 
 haps, quite as well for me to learn it gradually,, as I have done, by 
 means of books, with comparatively little intercourse with those who 
 speak it, and with a good deal else to do. But, now that I shall be 
 much more completely initiated into a systematic acquaintance with 
 theology than I was, if I were to have another language to acquire for 
 the purpose of preaching in it, I should earnestly desire to go and live 
 with those who speak it; and the people, and my books together, 
 would enable me to gain it in one third of the time. 
 
 I have lately had several conversations with Spaniards, and espe- 
 cially with two or three emigrants. One of them, a man of about forty 
 years of age, seems truly respectable for talents, past condition of life, 
 and well principled manners. He described, in the most feeling 
 manner, the religious state of the Spanish peasantry ; they all know 
 the deceits, the impostures, and the wicked lives of the friars and the 
 clergy ; and even the very women regard them as cheats. 4 These 
 things,’ continued he, 4 have put us all into confusion ; we know not 
 what to believe, and the great majority of us reject religion altogether. 
 Yet there must be truth in it, though I know not what it is. This is 
 the object of my coming to you. I believe the Scriptures to be the 
 word of God, and I see that there is a great difference between your 
 mode of interpreting them and ours ; and having thrown aside all the 
 inventions of men, and sat down, simply to read and to inquire into the 
 meaning of the word of God, I think you are likely to know the 
 truth.’ 
 
 The following I find addressed to an intimate friend of my Bro- 
 ther, at Gibraltar, a pious member of the Church of England. 
 
 Gibraltar , March 8, 1826. 
 
 My very dear Sir, 
 
 I appeal only to your own good nature, for a justification 
 of my attempt to give the substance of our conversation last night, 
 on Rom. viii. 28, & c., a more visible and tangible form. It would be 
 more insulting to my understandirtg than even to yours, to suppose 
 that I have any motive so childish as the hope of swaying your faith, 
 either in a system, or in any favourite notion of my own. My own 
 view on the subject has, I trust, been useful to myself; and, if I 
 wish that it may be so to others, of course I cannot desire that it 
 should be thrown aside by being misunderstood, or even received 
 without being well understood. Pardon my apology, and the in- 
 trusion which has occasioned it ; I mean my paper, as well as my 
 tongue. 
 
310 
 
 ILLUSTRATION OF ROMANS VIII. 28, &C. 
 
 GENERAL OBSERVATIONS, 
 
 The Apostle is writing to believers, that is, those whom he re- 
 garded as real Christians. He has been tracing the history of the ex- 
 perimental application of the Gospel scheme to an individual soul, 
 from his unawakened state, (chap. vii. 8,) through the distresses of 
 conviction and conversion, into the liberty of the Gospel and all its 
 privileges ; these privileges are enumerated throughout the 8th chap- 
 ter. At the 17th and 18th verses the Apostle passes from the enjoy- 
 ments of real Christians in 4 this present time,’ or their actual state, 
 to their sufferings ; and all that follows, from ver. 19 to 25 inclusive, 
 is parenthetical, or rather illustrative of ver. 18. In ver. 26, the 
 Apostle again passes from the enjoyments and sufferings of Chris- 
 tians, to the direct alleviation obtained by the Holy Spirit’s dwelling 
 in them ; He makes intercession for them ; that intercession is known 
 by the Father, it being according to His will, ver. 27 ; and then in 
 ver. 28, 6 all things work thus together for the good of those ’ who 
 are in such a case, they being 4 lovers of God,’ and 4 called accord- 
 ing to that purpose,’ or will, according to which the Holy Spirit in- 
 tercedes within. 
 
 DEFINITIONS. 
 
 1 . 4 Called.’ — The primary and radical meaning of the verb to 
 call , is to invite ; and, predicated of God with reference to man, its 
 primary meaning is, the invitation of His Spirit , or His Gospel , or 
 both. 
 
 2. 4 Purpose.’ — Plan formed for future conduct. 
 
 3. 4 Foreknow.’ — To know before the existence of the object; 
 predicated of God, it means absolute acquaintance and thorough 
 comprehension before the existence of its object. 
 
 4. 4 Predestinate.’ — To determine on the destination of what is 
 foreseen , and that, of course, as it is foreseen. Thus a man is fore- 
 seen by his Maker in a certain condition of soul ; predestination then 
 determines, (at the period of the foresight, which is anterior to the 
 man’s existence,) what in that state of mind shall be his destination. 
 If he should change from that state of mind , that likewise was fore- 
 seen ; and then the effects of a corresponding predestination take 
 place upon him. 
 
 5. 4 Conformed.’ — Formed into resemblance , as far as the two 
 objects compared are capable of similarity. 
 
 6. 4 Justified.’ — The primary import of the verb to justify , is to 
 pronounce officially that one accused is just , according to the equity 
 of the case. Admitting, that, in human administration, a difference 
 
ILLUSTRATION OF ROMANS VIII. 28, &C. 
 
 311 
 
 between law and equity cannot always be avoided, the same difference 
 cannot exist in the Divine administration ; there , law is equity, and 
 equity is law ; and, whatever is decided, w hether less or greater, is 
 decided according to both law and equity. 
 
 7. 6 Glorified.’ — Made glorious . 
 
 My dear Sir, you will permit me again to apologise for these defi- 
 nitions; they do not offer information, but are presented merely to 
 shew, that, in the interpretation of the passage in question, I do not 
 attach any meaning to the words, but that which is plainest, most 
 literal, and most intelligible. 
 
 Now every word in actual use, and forming part of the terms of a 
 proposition, has both a primary and a secondary import ; the former 
 being its own distinctive sense, and the latter that which arises from 
 the manner in which it is employed. In other words, the circum - 
 stances , in zohich a word is actually found in a proposition, must de- 
 termine the modification zohich must be given to its primary accepta- 
 tion ; but a modification can never destroy, and much less contradict, 
 the primary and radical import of a word, for this would be equiva- 
 lent to a denial, that what was supposed to be its primary meaning, is 
 so in point of fact. Thus, for example, if the primary and radical 
 import of the word to call be that of invitation , then it never can be 
 made to mean force , either mechanical, or in any other way that is 
 absolutely irresistible. At least, thus I must think, until it can be 
 proved, that the same word has two primary and radical meanings, the 
 one directly contrary to, or, at least, quite inconsistent zoith , the other. 
 But to return to 
 
 THE INTERPRETATION. 
 
 1. Verse 28. — Real Christians are the persons described; their 
 true Christian character makes them 4 love God,’ and gives them the 
 title to consider c all things working together for their good.’ 
 
 2. These same persons are said to be 4 the called according to the 
 purpose of God ;’ and this is assigned as the proof that 4 all things 
 must work together for their good.’ Now, the great question, on which 
 the entire interpretation of the passage must depend, is, — With refer- 
 ference to what period of time are they denominated 4 the called ?’ 
 Whether, with reference to the period of their conversion? and then 
 the secondary meaning of the zvord refers to the means, by which 
 they were converted. Or whether, with reference to their present 
 and actual state ? and then the secondary meaning of the word re- 
 fers to the means, by which they are called on to 4 conformity to the 
 image of the Son of God .’ In the former case, the action of calling 
 them out of one condition into another, falls upon them in their un- 
 
312 ILLUSTRATION OF ROMANS VIII. 28, &C. 
 
 converted state , in order to convert them ; but, in the latter case, the 
 action of calling them, falls upon them in their converted state , in 
 order to lead them on to holiness and glory. It was the latter of 
 these views, which I wished to maintain; the former I denied ; and 
 in this, the following reasons support me. 
 
 (1.) The having 4 all things to work together for good,’ is the 
 peculiar privilege of those who 4 love God ;’ and, of course, it 
 is not the privilege of those who do not love God. But it is also 
 the privilege of those who are 4 the called,’ in the sense of the 
 term here ; because this is expressive of another property in the 
 character of the same persons, and it is quite consistent with the 
 former. Therefore, the word 4 called,’ here, cannot be applied 
 to their unconverted state, but to them as converted and already 
 4 loving God.’ This must be obvious ; since, if it were applied 
 to their unconverted state, all men equally would have the same 
 privilege, because all men are 4 called’ to be converted. 
 
 (2 ) The Apostle’s assertion, — 4 We know that all things work 
 together for good, to them who are the called according to the 
 purpose of God,’ requires that we should understand the call to 
 conversion, to have been successful ; since we do not know that 
 all things work together for good to them who are not so called : 
 nay, zee know the contrary. Therefore, the word 4 called’ ex- 
 presses some property of their actual state as real Christians. 
 
 (3.) Even they who would interpret the word 4 called,’ as 
 meaning effectually called , so as to denote the efficacy or irre - 
 sistibleness of the grace which produced their conversion, do 
 by this very interpretation admit, that the word cannot be thus 
 applied to men, till after they have been thus effectually 
 called. And, therefore, it is applied to them in their converted 
 state. 
 
 (4.) In whatever manner the word 4 purpose’ may be under- 
 stood, it is evident from the Apostle’s language, that 4 those who 
 are the called according to that purpose,’ are those who at the 
 same time 4 love God.’ But those who love God are real Chris- 
 tians ; since no man who is not truly converted can, in the 
 apostolic sense, love God. Therefore, the word is applied to 
 Christians in their converted state. Now then 
 
 3. When God is said evangelically to cali man, the meaning is, 
 that He invites him either by His Spirit , or by His Word , or by 
 both. 
 
 But He is here said to call the converted ; or, in other words, the 
 converted are said here to be 4 the called according to the purpose of 
 God.’ 
 
 Therefore the passage asserts, that by His Spirit, or by His Word* 
 or by both, God invites the converted, or those who love Him. 
 
ILLUSTRATION OF ROMANS VIII. 28, &C. 
 
 313 
 
 Whether this invitation he resistible or irresistible, is entirely be- 
 side the present point ; the fact only is wanted, that the passage does 
 assert this invitation of the people of God. The rule according to 
 which He does this , and not the mode of His doing it , is the next 
 point which the Apostle asserts : — viz . it is 4 according to His pur- 
 pose.’ 
 
 4. The next question then is, — What is the 4 purpose’ according to 
 which 4 those who love God’ are 4 called?’ 
 
 This the Apostle shews in ver. 29, 30, which are entirely employed 
 in illustrating that purpose , of which the knowledge is sufficient 
 ground for asserting, that 4 all things work together for good to those’ 
 who are its objects. 
 
 5. A purpose is apian for future conduct ; and it involves two 
 ideas, one, of the time when it was made, and the other of the plan 
 which it laid down. 
 
 The time of the Divine purpose, must be anterior to man's exist- 
 ence ; and the plan of the Divine conduct, must be fitted to facts as 
 foreseen , and it must take effect when those foreseen facts are in 
 truth realised. 
 
 6. W e are then led by the Apostle, to refer to the period of the 
 formation of the Divine purpose, and to observe the steps by which it 
 is described. 
 
 This, of course, is language accommodated to our conceptions; 
 but it is, at the same time, sufficiently definite for our instruction. 
 
 7. 4 They who are called’ are foreknown, as 4 lovers of God, — 
 4 Whom he did foreknow.’ To foreknow is to know before the exist- 
 ence of the object. Now, what is the object here said to be fore- 
 known? — We answer, — Men , as real Christians , — as lovers of God. 
 If this should be disputed, the reasons are as follow : 
 
 (1.) No other persons or characters are adverted to in the 
 context. 
 
 (2.) There is, in the context, nothing to fix the attention on 
 Christians at any other period , than that which is subsequent to 
 their conversion. 
 
 (3.) It cannot mean, all that are in every sense foreknown; 
 for all men are foreknown as men, as sinners, or as saints; and 
 this would prove more than objectors would wish. 
 
 (4.) It is admitted, on all hands, that none are predestinated 
 to glory, but those who are truly 4 lovers of God.’ 
 
 8. 4 Whom he did foreknow, He also did predestinate.’ To pre- 
 destinate is to determine on the destination of an object foreseen or 
 foreknown. 
 
 Thus, of those whom God foreknew, as lovers of Himself, and 
 genuine Christians, He determined the destination, as subsequently 
 laid down by the Apostle. 
 
314 ILLUSTRATION OF ROMANS VIII. 28, &C. 
 
 The only question which would probably arise here is, — Whether 
 this determination of the destination of those who are foreknown as 
 lovers of God, be such as to prevent the possibility of their losing 
 the glory to which they are destined? To this we answer, — It is 
 such that they cannot possibly lose the destination, while they con- 
 tinue lovers of God ; but, in any other sense, we deny that it is im- 
 possible ; 
 
 (1.) Because there is nothing in the context, to shew it 
 impossible that they should lose their characters as lovers of 
 God, 
 
 (2.) Because there is nothing in the context, to shew that 
 they might not have avoided to become lovers of God ; and 
 thus have avoided to become foreseen as such, and predestinated 
 as such. 
 
 (3.) Because it cannot be proved inconsistent with the Divine 
 perfections, to change the destination of His moral creatures, 
 when they change their characters. 
 
 (4.) Rather, it is an essential perfection of His government 
 to do so; and, in the Scriptures, there are many examples of His 
 doing so. 
 
 (5.) The use of the word c called,’ in reference to this very 
 case, strongly intimates the possibility of disobedience, — a possi- 
 bility confirmed by Scripture and experience. 
 
 Thus we conclude, that, as the foreknowledge intended by the 
 Apostle was a foreknowledge of men, as 6 lovers of God,’ so their 
 predestination was likewise in the same relation, and with the same 
 limitation. But what was the destination to which the 6 lovers of 
 God,’ foreknown as such, were pre-determined ? 
 
 9. This is the next step in the Apostle’s statement , — c Them He 
 did predestinate to be conformed to the image of His Son.’ Now, 
 conformity is resemblance , as far as the two objects compared are 
 capable of similarity. 
 
 Saints are capable of similarity to the Redeemer, in holiness and in 
 the glory of the better world ; hence they are predestinated to this 
 conformity. 
 
 And thus, the foreknowledge of them, as c lovers of God,’ stands 
 at the commencement, and this 6 conformity ’ at the completion, of 
 the 6 purpose according to which they are called.’ 
 
 10. But it has been said, that a Divine purpose is to be contem- 
 plated in two respects ; the former, referring to the period of its 
 formation; and the latter, to the period of its realisation. We have 
 already contemplated this purpose in its formation, as anterior to the 
 existence of its object. Let us now turn with the Apostle to contem- 
 plate its realisation, when its objects, men as real 6 lovers of God,’ 
 are actually what the Divine foreknowledge regarded them, when the 
 
ILLUSTRATION OF ROMANS VIII. 28, &C. 315 
 
 purpose which He formed was fitted to their anticipated case. What 
 then is the first step in the realisation of this purpose? 
 
 11. 4 Whom He did predestinate, them He also called;’ that is, 
 those whom He foresaw as c lovers of God,’ ‘ He did predestinate 
 to be conformed to the image of His Son,’ in holiness and glory ; 
 and these, being now actually what they were foreseen , He also 
 6 called ’ to this same conformity in order to the full realisation of His 
 purpose. 
 
 Or, if any objection should be founded on the continued use of the 
 past tense, as though not admitting the change of time adverted to, 
 the illustration is not at all invalidated ; for it is only needful to 
 consider the whole passage, as a development of the plan at the 
 period of its formation : — viz. anterior to the existence of its objects. 
 
 Thus, at the period when He foreknew, He predestinated them to 
 the conformity ; and then He likewise determined to call , and justify , 
 and glorify them, as means to that end. For it cannot be said, that 
 He did thus before the existence of the persons in any other sense, 
 than that it formed a part of His plan and determination to do so ; 
 and the figure is common by which an act determined on is stated as if 
 performed. 
 
 12. But when God is said to call man, the meaning is, that He 
 invites him by His Spirit , or His Word , or both. 
 
 Here then the i lovers of God’ are said to be 6 called,’ in conse- 
 quence of their { predestination,’ as 4 lovers of God,’ 4 to conformity 
 to the image of His Son,’ in holiness and glory. 
 
 We conclude thus, that they are invited by the Spirit and the Word 
 of God onward to this great end. 
 
 If, however, any will contend that the word called , means effectu- 
 ally or irrestibly led, we demur; — 
 
 (1.) Because it is contrary to the radical meaning of the 
 word. 
 
 (2.) Because there is nothing in the context, to lead to such a 
 conclusion. 
 
 (3.) Because there are various places, in which the word is 
 used in a similar application to the people of God in their con- 
 verted state; and that under such connexions, as to imply the 
 possibility of resistance and a change of character. 
 
 (4.) Because the doctrine of a possible change of character, 
 is distinctly taught, both by precept and example, in the Scrip- 
 tures ; and experience confirms its truth. 
 
 (5.) To account for the strength of the Apostle’s language, 
 and the closeness of tiie connection between the different steps 
 of the Divine plan, it is quite sufficient to admit, that it was 
 made for those who are 4 lovers of GodJ and that it proceeds 
 with reference to those only who retain that character ; without 
 
316 ILLUSTRATION OF ROMANS VIII. 28, &C. 
 
 saying, or intimating, that it is impossible for them to lose that 
 character ; the fact being that nothing is said about it, and the 
 probability, from the nature and use of the word c called ,’ being 
 that it is possible ; and this is a probability, which is confirmed 
 into certainty by other passages, where the subject is directly 
 handled. 
 
 We conclude, therefore, that the act of calling , in the Apostle’s 
 sense of the word, means those invitations of the Spirit and Word of 
 God, which lead true Christians on to the ultimate end of the Divine 
 purpose respecting them, viz. their conformity in holiness and glory 
 to the image of His Son. What then is the next step ? 
 
 13. 6 Whom He called, them He also justified.’ To justify is to 
 'pronounce officially , that a person or claim is just , according to the 
 equity of the case. 
 
 When God is said to justify man, the meaning is, that He, in an 
 official sense, as Governor of the universe, pronounces the person, or 
 the claim, to be just, according to the equity of the case, when taken 
 in all its relations. 
 
 Man is a sinner, and, therefore, his justification never can be on 
 the ground of the merit of his works ; but it may be on the scheme 
 of the Gospel, that is, through the merits of the Son of God, and 
 according to the equity of the law of faith. And the fact is so. 
 
 In all cases, where a promise is made, or where a benefit is an- 
 nexed to the completion of a precept, the fulfilment of the terms ren- 
 ders the completion of the promise equitable, supposing, of course, 
 that both the precept and the promise themselves are proper ; and thus, 
 the sinner, who by faith puts in his claim for the fulfilment of the Gospel 
 promises, is capable of justification, on the ground of the equity of the 
 law of faith. The merit, however, is not the sinner's , but the Sa- 
 viour's ; and the equity of the law of faith assigns to the Saviour a 
 just return for His sacrifice. But thus it appears , that the principle 
 and the fact of justification may be applied , and actually are , in 
 every instance in which the law of faith is fulfilled , with reference to 
 a promised blessing. 
 
 Accordingly, with a very just and pre-eminent propriety, the sin- 
 ner, at his pardon and regeneration, is said to be justified. See Rom. 
 v. 1, but especially Rom. iii. 24 — 26. 
 
 And this, as every one knows, is a very common use in the New 
 Testament of the word justify, though it is by no means an exclusive 
 one ; for, in several instances, even where this is its principal applica- 
 tion, it does not necessarily exclude every idea but that one act of 
 justification, which immediately follows the first exercise of saving 
 faith in the atonement and intercession of Christ. 
 
 Thus too, in the judgment of the Great Day, men will be judged 
 and sentenced according to the just application of the law of faith ; 
 
ILLUSTRATION OF ROMANS VIII. 28, &C. 317 
 
 so that their eternal safety or condemnation, and all the differences of 
 glory or perdition, will be equitably arranged according to this prin- 
 ciple ; and thus men will for ever remain justified, or not justified. 
 See Matt. ix. 29 ; 2 Tim. iv. 8, and 14 ; Heb. x. 38 ; Jam. ii. 12 ; 
 Rev. ii. 23. 
 
 I will here remind you, that the word righteous is, in the Greek, 
 cognate with justify; although, from their etymology in our language, 
 their similarity of origin does not appear ; a Concordance, however, 
 will easily multiply instances. 
 
 But, between the first great act of justification by faith, in which 
 the sinner is pardoned and regenerated, and the last justification at 
 the final Judgment, there are many cases in which the Christian is 
 necessitous ; and to these necessities corresponding promises are made. 
 Now, in every one of these instances the same process transpires, of 
 the application of principle or law, and consequent justification, or 
 the contrary; though, that application may be less visible, if not less 
 sensible, than in the other cases. For example, a Christian is sanc- 
 tified by faith, as well as pardoned. See Acts xx. 32, and xxvi. 18. 
 By believing 4 the word of grace,’ the principle, on which the Holy 
 Spirit has determined to infuse the sanctifying power, becomes ap- 
 plicable; an appeal, as it were, is made to the law of the case; upon 
 the rule of conduct, which the Author of salvation has laid down, 
 that appeal is justified ; and the power is, consequently, infused into 
 the soul. And so it is with every other blessing : indeed, salvation, in 
 every step of its progress, is carried on in this equitable manner; and, 
 so also, if salvation should retrograde, it is permitted to do so on the 
 same equitable principles of moral and spiritual government. Atten- 
 tively consider Matt. ix. 29 ; but a Concordance will supply numerous 
 instances of this ample use of the word justified. 
 
 Returning now to the word, as it occurs in the passage before us, 
 we know that its radical sense is to pronounce officially a person, or 
 claim , to he just , according to the equity of the case. The second- 
 ary sense must be ascertained from the predicament in which the 
 word stands. What then are the circumstances here, under which 
 the word 4 justified’’ is found? 
 
 It stands between the words 4 called ’ on the one hand, and 4 glo- 
 rified ’ on the other ; and this in evident connection w ith both, as 
 one link between two others in a chain. Hence , the application of 
 its meaning is to a state , which lies between the two states expressed 
 by the other words. 
 
 But the word 4 called ,’ as we have seen, is applied to the real 
 children of God, those who are the 4 lovers of God’ in an evangelical 
 sense ; these, therefore, must have been already justified in the lead- 
 ing and distinguished sense of the term ; that is, they must have 
 been accepted with God, through faith, in the blood of Christ, and 
 
318 
 
 ILLUSTRATION OF ROMANS VIII. 28, &C. 
 
 pardoned, and regenerated ; and, in consequence of this, they have 
 been 6 called on to be conformed to the image of Christ,’ according 
 to the pre-determined purpose of God. 
 
 Therefore we conclude, that the term c justified' cannot here be 
 thus understood ; and, consequently, that it must be applied, either 
 in the other sense of progressive advancement according to the law of 
 faith, or else to the transactions of the Great final Day, or else to 
 both inclusively. It is of little consequence to a satisfactory under- 
 standing of the passage, and still less so to the interpretation proposed, 
 which of these is chosen. 
 
 Hence, the meaning of the Apostle is, that in the Divine plan those 
 whom He called on to conformity to His Son, He justified according 
 to the law of faith, because they advanced in their believing claims, as 
 they were led by His own Spirit; at the same time, He gave them the 
 grace which should produce this conformity, according to their de- 
 sires, and His own purpose. 
 
 If the term 6 justified ’ be referred to the Last Day, the meaning 
 is, that, in the Divine plan, those whom He called on to conformity 
 to His Son, having actually received that conformity, are equitably 
 prepared for all the happy results of that gracious state throughout 
 eternity. 
 
 14. Lastly. There can now be no difficulty in the word { glorified.'’ It 
 means made glorious. And all that is needful to be said here, on this 
 subject, may be said in the language of the Apostle. See 1 Cor. ii. 9. 
 
 conclusion. 
 
 Permit me to attempt a paraphrase of the words on these prin- 
 ciples. 
 
 6 We know, that all things work together for good to them that love 
 God, (they being) the called according to His (own plan, and) pur- 
 pose. For, (before the existence of the universe,) He foreknew them, 
 (who would thus be His obedient and loving children;) and He (then) 
 predestinated, (that all such should) be conformed, (in holiness and 
 glory,) to the image, (likeness, resemblance, or model,) of His own 
 (only begotten) Son, (in order) that He, (this Son,) might be the first- 
 born, (or chief,) among many brethren, (like Himself in some respects, 
 but differing in others, — the children of God.) Moreover, (according 
 to His plan,) whom He did (thus) predestinate, them He also called, 
 (that is, determined to call onward , by His Spirit and Word, to that 
 end of Divine conformity;) and whom He (thus) called, them He also, 
 (in His plan,) justified, (that is, determined to justify , according to 
 the law of faith, in their believing advances toward holiness and glory, 
 — see Heb. x. 38 ; thus pronouncing them prepared for the comple- 
 tion of their conformity in glory, at the Great Day of Judgment. 
 
319 
 
 ILLUSTRATION OF ROMANS VIII. 28 , &C. 
 
 Finally,) whom He (thus) justified, them He also, (in His plan,) glo- 
 rified, (that is, determined to glorify ; thus completing that conformity 
 to which He determined to advance them, and for which He should 
 pronounce them prepared. Now, then, is it not well said, that u all 
 things work together for their good ?” For every thing, in this man- 
 ner, shall bend to the controlling, over-ruling, and sanctifying purpose 
 of God.) What shall we then say to these things? If God be for 
 us, who can be against us ? &c.’ 
 
 If I were not tired of the word apology , I would here use it again 
 on account of the length of this letter ; though I had intended to send 
 only a few lines. However, I now take my leave, barely observing, 
 with reference to the above interpretation, that it appears to me clear 
 in itself, — intimately connected, and perfectly consistent with the con- 
 text, — simple, and scriptural, in the use of its terms, — according to 
 the analogy of faith, — supposing no transposition needful in the order 
 of the Apostle’s words, — requiring no doubtful application of the 
 terms, as epithets which may include the unconverted, as well as the 
 converted, — free from the imputation of Calvinistic predestination, — 
 equally free from the imputation of insecurity to believers, — asking no 
 questionable distinction between persons and characters, — making the 
 persons and the characters to go together, in the Divine purposes, — 
 and, ultimately, as well as through the whole process, gathering all 
 the glory of human salvation to God, while even the finally lost must 
 admit their ruin to have been sealed in equity. 
 
 Praying, with deep sincerity, that both you and myself may be moi'e 
 powerfully called on to this conformity to the image of the Son of God , 
 and more rapidly advanced in it than ever, believe me, dear Sir, very 
 affectionately, 
 
 Your Friend and Servant, 
 
 W. Barber. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Consequences of over-Study — Popish Sermon on the Merits of the Virgin Mary — 
 Voyage to Algepiras, in Spain — Barefaced Smuggling — Indifference of Revenue 
 Officers — Dangerous Situation in attempting to Land — Want of Accommodations 
 in Algepiras — Disgusting Instances of Popish Superstition — Curious Account of 
 a Popish Mission — Popish Sermons — Popular Enmity against the Friars — Ramble 
 to a Spanish Cottage — Popish Processions — Hostility of the Soldiers to the 
 existing Government — Litany of the Saints — Narrow Escapes from the Populace 
 — Pride of the Popish Priesthood — State of Morals in Algebras — Manoeuvre of a 
 Friar — Affecting Statement of the Religious Condition of Gibraltar — Approbation 
 of enlightened Spaniards of the Common Prayer-Book — Occupation of a Week 
 — Hopeful Circumstances of a few Spaniards — Discouragements connected with 
 the Mission — Death of Mrs. Pratten — Conversations with a Sentinel, a Genoese, 
 and some young Jews — Evils of Popish Mysticism — Affecting Case of a young 
 Spaniard — Hopeful Death of a Spanish Gentleman — and of a Penitent Prodigal 
 — First Spanish Watch-Night. 
 
 Journal continued. 
 
 March 20th. — Over-study, chiefly on theological subjects, united 
 with extreme anxiety of mind, in reference to my want of piety, and 
 zeal, and usefulness, has conviuced me of the folly of the hopes, which 
 I had formed in respect of my health. I feel as if both my mind and 
 my body were crushed to pieces, and I, in agony, suffering the conse- 
 quences. And yet what is the fruit of all this ? It seems talking 
 largely, to mention over-study, and injury of health in consequence ; 
 but where is the profiting, which might be expected to appear? Alas! 
 how little is my mind able to bear! how much less to produce! how 
 affectingly weak is my bodily, mental, and spiritual power ! Good 
 God ! I flee to thee in Jesus, thy beloved Son, to hide me and be 
 safe ! O give me, above all things, the benefit of this Refuge ! and may 
 the partial rejoicing, which I have in Him, be increased, and greatly 
 animated ! I plainly see, that nothing can give me any substantial 
 worth of character, but the influence, omnipotent and prevailing, of 
 the Holy Spirit, flowing to me through the blood of Jesus. 
 
 23rd. — I went, last evening, to the Spanish church, to hear a sermon 
 from the Spanish priest. I have not often gone this Lent, and that 
 
ON THE MERITS OF THE VIRGIN MARY. 
 
 321 
 
 tinefly for two reasons ; the former is, that I have not been able to 
 spare the time, and, the latter, that the sight and hearing of what 
 passes there generally pains me too much to be often desirable, espe- 
 cially as nothing can be done to prevent it. Oh ! it is hideous to 
 think of the gross impostures and idolatries, that have thus fast locked, 
 up such multitudes in a contentedness with their natural condition, 
 and a complete neutralisation of all that the Gospel does for their 
 salvation ! 
 
 The subject taken by the priest was , — c Los dolor es de Maria , 
 santissima Madre de DiosJ — 6 The sorrows of Mary, the most holy 
 Mother of God !’ It was, evidently, an attempt at histrionic effect, 
 and quite of a piece with all the preparations for celebrating Good- 
 Friday. His exordium was occupied in fixing the attention of the 
 people on the importance of the period, when the sorrows of the Virgin 
 Mother began with the betraying of her Divine Son. After the Ave- 
 Maria , and the requisite number of crossings, he proceeded to declaim 
 on the condescension of the August Mother, and the Queen of Heaven ; 
 the importance of uniting her sorrows to those of her Son, in order to 
 merit pardon, and all the gifts of God the Father, for sinners; the 
 great need we have of her assistance ; and the amazing love which 
 she bears to all those, who wish to be genuine sons of the church. To 
 these points he devoted much of his energy, evidently endeavouring 
 to move the gratitude and respect of his hearers towards the Virgin; 
 a manoeuvre that must tell mightily on a very numerous class of minds, 
 in rousing their indignation against any religion that does not likewise 
 offer them a Virgin to love. I am convinced, that the Roman Catholic 
 religion itself, must be essentially sensual and demoralising ; and that, 
 even when it succeeds in restraining its votaries from the commission 
 of gross outward offences against morality, a very decided luxuriance 
 and pruriency in the sentiments and emotions, especially of the younger 
 part of the community of both sexes, must be the result of the free 
 indulgence of the thoughts which it inculcates. The Preacher con- 
 cluded with an impassioned exhortation, to pray, with all earnestness, 
 to this Patroness of the Catholic church ; to ask of her the pardon of 
 their sins, as the fruit of her own sorrows, and her Son’s blood ; to beg 
 her protection continually, both for themselves and for the Catholic 
 church, so beset and combated on every side ; to entreat her for her 
 influence in enlightening and restoring all those sons of the church, 
 that have wandered from her, and whom she still so tenderly loves; 
 and, lastly, to implore her protection and assistance for poor unhappy 
 Spain, and her king. Here, he evidently felt himself on tender 
 ground ; but, I hope, notwithstanding all the influence of his clerical 
 subordination and interests, that there might have been some senti- 
 ments of genuine patriotism in the pathetic bewailings which he 
 uttered. 
 
 Y 
 
322 
 
 VOYAGE TO ALGEBRAS, IN SPAIN. 
 
 And yet now, in the face of such preaching as this, as well as in the 
 face of the Litany, and the images, and the pictures, and the incense, 
 and the processions, there are some enlightened Catholics, who con- 
 tend that their church is not idolatrous, and who dishonestly seek to 
 throw upon the ignorance and incapacity of the common people, the 
 blame of every thing resembling Divine worship, as paid to any being 
 but God himself. No, no, it is, exactly in proportion to the sincerity 
 of their belief, the natural and unavoidable effect of the ceremonies 
 which they see, the devotional exercises in which they engage, and 
 the sermons which they hear. The whole scheme indelibly stamps 
 the Roman Catholic church with the characters of immorality and 
 idolatry. 
 
 30th. — I have felt so exceedingly unwell lately, that I have at length 
 determined to suspend my application, and to go for a few days into 
 Spain. The affection under which I have been suffering is, I think, 
 chiefly mental, and it is, in a great measure, chargeable upon my own 
 imprudence. I have lately been pursuing, with considerable ardour, 
 some divinity questions, and, in order to complete my purpose, I have 
 sat up very late at night. In this I am certainly culpable, and I now 
 feel the consequences. My mental distress sometimes seems to border 
 upon distraction. Perhaps I am not, at present, a fit judge to deter- 
 mine how much of this is moral ; but this I know, that I carry about 
 with me the verification of my dearest wife’s last warning, for I am 
 habitually sustaining the consequences of the great evil. 
 
 Having procured a passport from Mr. Martin, and got it counter- 
 signed at the office of the Spanish consul, I immediately prepared to 
 cross the Bay, in one of the feluccas. Till lately, it was not needful 
 to obtain a passport for Algepiras, the town to which I proposed going : 
 how the necessity has now arisen I know not, though the practice of 
 passing at all, without one, must of course have arisen only from cour- 
 tesy. To persons in general, the fee for the passport is a dollar, and 
 that for counter-signing it another. To me, however, as a Minister, it 
 was, at the English office, presented gratis , and at the Spanish office 
 this example was followed. I had formed an agreement with Mrs. 
 Nicldin, whose daughter, Manuela, has been very unwell, to go for a 
 week or two with them to Tarifa ; but, as the wind seems to come 
 steadily from the east, and they are waiting for a person from Tarifa 
 before they make any ultimate determinations, I resolved to go across 
 the Bay, to Algebras, for a few days. My object was, immediate 
 health, conversation in Spanish, and enquiry respecting the possibility 
 of obtaining lodgings, for a little while, in the vicinity. 
 
 After an early dinner, I took my leave of Mrs. Pratten, Mr. P. 
 kindly accompanying me to the water’s edge, whence, after waiting 
 about two hours, the feluccas began to move, and I stepped a-board 
 the first that cast off her moorings. The Patron demanded my pass- 
 
9 
 
 BAREFACED SMUGGLING. 323 
 
 port, Which I shewed him ; but, as he could not read, and it appeared 
 to him to be different from what he generally saw in the hands of 
 foreigners, going by licenses for tracing purposes, he said, that it was 
 of no worth, and, of course not very obscurely, hinted that I must 
 retire. Having expressed my surprise at this circumstance, he called 
 a young man belonging to his crew to examine it. The young man, 
 more learned than his master, pronounced his verdict in my favour, 
 and I took my seat amidst about eight other passengers, an equal 
 number of men and women, but all of the lower class. The distance 
 is about six miles, and we ran it very pleasantly indeed, before an 
 easterly wind, which was a little fresh. The wind, however, together 
 with the swell of the tide, produced a motion of the boat which was 
 sometimes disagreeable. This disturbed, first the fears, and then the 
 stomachs of some of the females ; one especially, at every lurch of the 
 boat, would call, devoutly enough, on 4 Maria /’ But there was very 
 great sobriety in the conduct of all; and, so far as I could understand 
 it, there was nothing improper in their conversation. I do not think, 
 that I ever yet passed half an hour in company, with the opportunity 
 of conversation, without having to regret that I was not more spiritual, 
 and more decided in opening the way of life; the state of my health 
 and spirits, and, I must add, of my faith and zeal, often leaves me 
 tongue-tied in the most painful manner. 
 
 As we drew near the shore, there was played off a fine burlesque 
 upon revenue laws : the patron of the boat took a considerable number 
 of parcels of prohibited goods, and distributed them among his passen- 
 gers, excepting only myself, in order that they might carry them on shore 
 unobserved among their bundles ; they were, however, placed with so 
 much carelessness, that they could not but be seen by the officers, and 
 not the smallest attempt was made to provide for concealment in the 
 event of an examination. These extra parcels were, of course, addi- 
 tional to all that each individual carried for himself; and hence, by the 
 end of the arrangement, the persons and bundles of the whole com- 
 pany, except myself, were of no contemptible bulk. We cast anchor 
 at an inconvenient distance from the mouth of the river, with a very 
 unpleasant motion of the boat, the rocky shore rendering it dangerous 
 to approach any nearer, except by a smaller boat ; so that no ships of 
 burden can come to the port, and all ships of war are obliged to anchor 
 at a considerable distance from the land, in an exposed situation, and 
 in bad ground. As soon as we had cast anchor, a boat’s crew came to 
 us, and, among them, were three revenue officers, of whom one only 
 boarded us ; the chief, who was evidently a military officer, remaining 
 with the other in the boat. This chief had a countenance exceedingly 
 clumsy and ill-looking ; and, upon seeing him, I immediately felt my- 
 self, more decidedly than heretofore, approaching the land, where 
 reigns, in all its strength, that political and religious tyranny, which, 
 
 y 2 
 
324 DANGEROUS SITUATION IN ATTEMPTING TO LAND. 
 
 from my infancy, has been associated with my most penetrating and 
 terrific sentiments, of injury and cruelty, to the souls and bodies of 
 men. For ages after Spain has ceased to be trampled under foot, in 
 intellect and liberty, by the abominable falsehoods of Rome, her name, 
 in all parts of the world, will call up sensations of mingled horror and 
 fear; just as the vulgar listen to stories of awful spirits, that have 
 appeared, but have no existence now. I could not help thinking, that 
 this officer’s countenance must be very much like an inquisitor’s ; it is 
 possible, however, that in producing that miserable picture of a miser- 
 able character, even the corrupting religion of the country had little to 
 do : there is enough, in the political misery of this unhappy land, to 
 account for much of the vice and cruelty of its inhabitants ; and the 
 universal poverty, connected with the universal scramble for places, 
 must create a state of public feeling of the most unpromising and 
 terrible aspect. It is thus that, all things considered, I should appre- 
 hend the whole state of Spain to be gradually, and most certainly, 
 forming the minds of the people for one of those dire explosions in 
 revolution, which only take place when public morals are undone, and 
 which nothing can stop in its desolations, but the necessity produced 
 by exhaustion, or urged by the dictates of self-preservation. Leaving 
 speculations, however, here, before my eyes, are officers playing the 
 farce of enforcing the revenue laws, and yet making no examination, 
 but suffering smuggling to pass, of which nobody can be ignorant, 
 and of which the amount, daily repeated by several boats, must be 
 considerable. 
 
 With some bustle and confusion, after my passport had been exa- 
 mined by the officer who boarded us, we crowded into a small boat, 
 and then proceeded toward the river, and the landing-places. Mean- 
 time, the master of the boat came to all the passengers, to collect hi9 
 payment for this transfer ; and, when I had given him a small silver 
 coin, and demanded the change, in order to pay the same as the rest, 
 he took care not to understand me, but kept the whole ; at which 
 I could not help thinking, as many an Englishman would have done. 
 
 On coming to the river, some misunderstanding seemed to arise 
 between the owner of the boat, and the steersman, respecting the best 
 point for entering. There appears to be a bar running across the 
 mouth , of the river ; and while the owner was fleecing his passengers, 
 the steersman had gone to a place too shallow. Much gabbling and 
 confusion was the consequence, as the boat grounded in the midst of 
 the breakers ; and, instead of being carried by the first wave, across 
 the bar, into the river, we were obliged to wait for a second, which, 
 almost instantly following, broke in upon the stern of the boat, and 
 completely drenched the steersman, and the female passengers who 
 were near him. In consequence of my situation in the boat, I was 
 comparatively protected, especially as I sat before a very stout woman, 
 
DISGUSTING INSTANCES OF POPISH SUPERSTITION. 
 
 325 
 
 who had previously been somewhat an inconvenience by her sickness. 
 The females were quite alarmed, they instantly rose and rushed for- 
 ward, and I feared that the next moment we should find ourselves in 
 the water. Thanks, however, to the care of a good Providence, we 
 were carried safely over the bar. Both before and after this confusion, 
 I sat contentedly still, and left them to their hurry and bustle, till they 
 were all lauded, for which they were sufficiently precipitate ; and se- 
 veral of them were nearly tumbled into the water, through the constant 
 motion of the boat, at the rugged, broken, ruinous, and inconvenient 
 landing-place. 
 
 Upon stepping ashore with my writing-case, I was instantly assailed 
 by several persons, who wished to carry it; but placing it in the hand 
 of one, and thus silencing the rest, I bade him shew me the way to 
 the house of Seaor Brulini, the British vice-consul, for whom I had a 
 letter from Mr. Pyne. This proved of great service to me, for, with- 
 out it, I should certainly not have obtained lodgings. Senor B. sent 
 his servant with me to several inns without success, as they were all 
 occupied by military officers, of whom there is, at present, a very con- 
 siderable number in the town. At length, however, partly by using 
 the vice-consul’s name, and partly by my own persuasions, I suc- 
 ceeded in inducing the landlord of an inferior inn, to lay a bed for me, 
 in a very small room, on a cross bedstead. It was quite well enough 
 for me ; but it was very poor for an inn, and having to be paid for 
 accordingly. 
 
 It was now r dark, but I procured coffee ; and then I determined to 
 go out, and, by the help of the light from the shops and houses, to look 
 about me. Having accepted the offer of a man belonging to the house, 
 and whom I must, by courtesy, call a waiter , to shew me a little 
 through the streets, we walked over to the market-place, which is 
 opposite the inn. It is a large square plot of ground, tolerably covered 
 with pebble stones, and having an entrance at each angle ; the four 
 sides were occupied by small shops, and the middle space by other 
 dealers indiscriminately. At one of the small shops, where I made 
 some enquiries, the man who kept it had for sale, what I at first 
 thought were some small toys cast in lead. They almost exactly re- 
 sembled the small leaden toys sold in England, for a half-penny each ; 
 but these were saints and holy things! There were, likewise, images 
 of clay, which sold, of course, for a higher price. I enquired if they 
 were intended for worship, and was answered in the affirmative. I 
 then asked, if they were ready for religious use; and was told, that it 
 was needful to take them to the church, that they might be sprinkled 
 with holy water, and then to place them in the situation assigned them 
 at home, and then they would be ready. £ And do the people actu- 
 ally say prayers to these images ?’ said I. £ Yes,’ said he. The man 
 spoke as if he had no suspicion, that what he and others did in this 
 
326 
 
 DISGUSTING INSTANCES OF POPISH SUPERSTITION. 
 
 way were questionable. He did not express himself in any trifling or 
 contemptuous manner, and I am sure that I had no disposition of the 
 kind ; but indignation at such a prostitution of Christianity, mingled 
 with pain at the guilt of the upholders of the system, and the danger 
 of those who are involved by it in an almost invincible delusion, kept 
 me in a state of real anguish. 
 
 Among these sacred bits of lead, there was one which the shop- 
 keeper particularly admired and commended : as I glanced at it at 
 first, it looked to me like an unmeaning imitation of the star of some 
 order of knighthood, but I found that it was a representation of the 
 Pix; the man took it up with the greatest reverence, and having first 
 lifted his hat, and bowed gently toward it, he devoutly kissed the 
 thumb that had touched it, and this example was instantly followed 
 by the waiter who accompanied me. c Why, what is that V said I, in 
 a tone of moderate enquiry. c Es Su MajestadV * * * § was tbe answer; 
 and the waiter, willing perhaps to make this the clearer to me, said, 
 in a solemn and subdued tone of voice, — 6 Es Dios V + and then the 
 thumb was kissed again. Why, how does all this differ, I asked my- 
 self, from Pagan idolatry ? Is there any difference, more than in the 
 name ? Or, am I not truly in a Pagan land ? 
 
 Another of these precious articles was intended to represent the 
 agony in the garden ; the figure, made to represent the Bivine Re- 
 deemer, was placed on its knees before a tree, on one branch of which 
 was fixed the figure of an angel, directed attentively toward the kneel- 
 ing figure. ‘ And what is this?’ said I to my guide. He answered, — 
 6 Es Dios rogando al Angel , para que le ayudase d sostener sus tor - 
 mentas , en la huerta! y % and then, seeing in my face some expressions 
 which were unusual, and which, indeed, were excited by this melan- 
 choly evidence of the wide and deep mischief produced by the fatal 
 doctrine of praying to saints and angels, he added, with some degree 
 of hesitation, — c Yo no se si es verdad , pero me lo han dicho asi. y § 
 
 My attention was now called away from this miserable cluster of 
 the fruits of Popery, by an observation which intimated that the 
 tradesmen must soon shut up their shops, as the Mission would shortly 
 pass by, and the Governor had issued orders, that the cafes , and 
 public places, should be closed as the procession passed. I then 
 asked, w hat this Mission meant ; and was told, that it was a Mission of 
 certain friars, appointed by the Bishop of the diocese, the object of 
 which was, to rouse the people to a more general attention to their 
 religious duties ; that it was limited, in Algeqiras, to three days, of 
 
 * It is His Majesty ! 
 
 f It is God ! 
 
 X It is God, praying to the angel in the garden, that he would enable him to 
 endure his sufferings ! 
 
 § I do not know that it is true, but they have told me so. 
 
POPISH SERMON. 
 
 327 
 
 which the present was the first ; that, during the day-time, attend- 
 ance was given at the Confessional for the benefit of those who wished 
 to obtain absolution ; and that, in the evening, a procession sallied 
 forth, the friarS preaching to the people as they walked along the 
 streets. 
 
 After having waited about beyond the stated time, and finding 
 that my informant did not appear to be in possession of all the parti- 
 culars of the business, I walked toward the principal Church, and 
 found it crowded to the very threshold. The principal friar was just 
 then commencing his sermon. After railing a good deal against the 
 philosophy and philosophers of the day, — and, perhaps, the greater 
 part, so denominated, or so denominating themselves, especially in 
 France and Spain, richly deserve to have their principles execrated by 
 all the wise and good, — he insisted largely on the necessity of render- 
 ing up reason to faith, and of being united in attachment to the Holy 
 Mother Church ; illustrating the perilous consequences of a contrary 
 line of conduct, by a reference to England, and other protestant states, 
 as well as France, and the calamities which she had to trace to her in- 
 fidelity. But his chief effort was to work powerfully on the feelings 
 of the people, by a horrible description of the torments of the damned 
 in hell. For this purpose, he personated an individual expiring in 
 mortal sin, seized immediately by devils, and suffering in the dreadful 
 torments of everlasting fire. By this means, he evidently produced 
 some effect ; for, as he went along, deep groans came here’and there 
 from the congregation ; though I much suspect, that the far greater 
 part of them treated what he said, I do not say with contempt, though 
 that was the case with some whom I observed, but as if they thought 
 that much greater reverence was due to their religion in this world, 
 than concern for the terrible things of another : the question seemed 
 to be, more between the Government and the Bishop, on the one hand, 
 and the public attendance on this act of devotion, on the other; than 
 between the friar, and his horrific detail of eternal miseries. There 
 was, I should think, nothing in his address, but what would disgust 
 good sense, when connected with the design, which was plain enough, 
 viz. that of frightening the vulgar into a closer adherence to Romish 
 authority, or, rather, the dominion of the priesthood. He concluded 
 his sermon, of course, by earnestly exhorting the people to flock to 
 confession, and thus to take advantage of those peculiar facilities for 
 obtaining absolution, which were now granted by the Bishop, 4 Que tan 
 dignamente y sabiamente gobierna esta diocesi Oh ! what an op- 
 portunity had this man of declaring, to that great multitude, the free 
 and full salvation of the Gospel, by the all sufficient atonement of 
 Jesus Christ ! But, he neglected it ; and, if he named the blood of 
 
 Who so worthily and wisely governs this diocese. 
 
328 
 
 RAMBLE TO A SPANISH COTTAGE. 
 
 the cross at all, it was but to remind the people, that the Church had 
 the only means of communicating its benefits. 
 
 31st. — On returning home last night to the inn, I found the men 
 there full of the subject of the Mission ; and, as I wished to hear and 
 see all that I could of them, I remained in fhe kitchen, of course with- 
 out informing them of my being a Minister. I occasionally joined in 
 their conversation, and was repeatedly enabled to check the overflow- 
 ings of their minds towards profanity and licentiousness. It was, how- 
 ever, evident, that there is a rooted contempt and aversion, partici- 
 pated by them all, against the friars, as the authors of a great propor- 
 tion of the public miseries of the country. Though, at the same time, 
 it must be admitted, that no dependence can be placed on the just- 
 ness, or even the extent, of an opinion, supposed to be popular, from 
 the lips of the low fellows in the kitchen of an inn : and much less can 
 the purity of their motives be taken for granted, for such persons are 
 likely to be railers against every religion, that would put any kind of 
 restraint upon their vices ; and, I should be sorry to have a Methodist, 
 or any evangelical Minister, thus judged by the profane and abusive 
 frequenters of a public house ; certainly, no just estimate of their cha- 
 racter can be formed from such a source of information. 
 
 This morning I went to look around the town. Upon passing out 
 of the town to the right hand, I crossed the ground on which, very 
 lately, many Constitutionalists, who were taken prisoners by the Roy- 
 alists, were shot for rebellion. I pursued my walk by the margin of a 
 stream, which, mingling with the sea-water, becomes the river in 
 which the boats and lateen craft are moored. At the distance of a 
 mile, or a little more, from the town, I joined a peasant who was 
 going home to his cottage, perhaps about three or four miles off. He 
 appeared a simple-hearted, and well-behaved man, and he was driving 
 home some pigs, which he had purchased for fattening. I endeavoured 
 to engage him in conversation, though I generally find it difficult to 
 understand any person, who has a difference of dialect. I tried to 
 learn from him the names of the surrounding plants, though the ex- 
 treme defectiveness of my memory always renders this a very dry and 
 unpleasing study. In return for the man’s kindness, I endeavoured to 
 make myself intelligible on the sweet doctrines of the existence and 
 providence of God, and the designs of nTercy in the gift of His Son, 
 as well as in afflictive visitations ; for this man had seen affliction, as 
 well as myself. We now passed a party of revenue officers, or rather 
 coast-guards, who are often the worst, as well as the worst-looking of 
 men. As we went by their hut, my guide, thinking that it was best 
 to give them some notice of me, called out, — 4 Ola ! vea v/rid. este Ca- 
 ballero V * 4 Bueno , vaya vmd. con Dios ! + was the surly answer ; 
 
 * Holla ! Look at this gentleman ! 
 t Well, get you gone ! God be with you ! 
 
REFLECTIONS ON MISSIONARY WORK. 
 
 329 
 
 and we walked forward to a wood before us. My companion’s cot- 
 tage was situated in the bosom of this wood, on the brow of a lofty 
 hill. I confess, I did not much like the idea of being here in such 
 circumstances ; for, if my cottager should have proved unfaithful, I 
 might have been quickly despatched out of the way, and no further 
 intelligence of me heard. However, I felt confident in God and my 
 guide. On entering the cottage, a wife, a sister, and four children, 
 came forth to meet the honest peasant ; and I was certainly much 
 pleased with the primitive kind of appearance, presented by the 
 children, as they approached to kiss the Father’s hand, while they ut- 
 tered a short request for a blessing, to which he devoutly responded. 
 The circumstances of this peasant were evidently low, and his cottage 
 presented nothing of those symptoms of comfort, which are exhibited 
 in an English cottage of the same class. He, however, very hospitably 
 provided me with eggs and bread, the only eatables which he had in 
 the house ; and afterwards accompanied me around that portion of the 
 woodland, which appertained to his cottage, and for which he had to 
 pay an annual rent of twenty-four dollars, after having had to clear and 
 work it himself. 
 
 On my return to Algegiras, which I had too long delayed, I found 
 myself benighted at some distance from the town. This gave occa- 
 sion to many reflections on the nature of Missionary work, and the 
 necessity of a special Missionary call. The peculiar habits of my 
 mind, and state of my constitution, cause me many moments of anx- 
 iety. So many difficulties, however, have been removed for me to 
 come to this part of the world, and my coming has removed so many 
 difficulties from me, that it has never appeared to me otherwise, than 
 that I have been directed hither by a particular Providence. But 
 then, for what purpose am I sent ? where are the appearances of good 
 resulting ? where the means to it among these Spaniards ? Beside, I 
 cannot conceal from myself, that I certainly am in a great measure 
 unqualified for usefulness. I am far from possessing the requisite fa- 
 cility of accommodating myself to the manners and expressions of fo- 
 reigners, and thus it must be long before I shall be able to be other- 
 wise than ridiculous in my public attempts to instruct in a foreign 
 tongue ; but the greatest deficiency of all is, the absence of spiritual 
 qualifications, faith, love, hop£, and zeal. These are things which I 
 am in the habit of thinking may be acquired, and yet I remain with, 
 out them. Alas ! they may, indeed, be gained ; but it is only where 
 there is the disposition to use the means, in the determined spirit of 
 a wrestling Jacob, or an importunate widow. In this ramble, how 
 deeply have I felt the need of a Divine influence, which should make 
 me truly and deeply pious, and devoted, if necessary, even unto death, 
 to the Missionary work ! 
 
330 
 
 POPISH PROCESSION. 
 
 On my arrival at Algebras, I went to my inn and procured coffee, 
 and then proceeded toward the Church, in order, again to hear the 
 friar; hut, as I was passing along the street, I heard the grave and 
 solemn tone of a voice, which seemed engaged in some religious act 
 in the open air; and, upon looking down a narrow, dirty street, I 
 caught the first glimpse I ever had of a Popish procession, as it 
 moved along at the bottom of the opening. I hastened down to ob- 
 serve it more closely, and had at once realised the very imagina- 
 tions, which I had often formed from prints and paintings, of these 
 pompous instruments of priestcraft. Many hundreds of the people 
 formed a line on each side of the street, while the middle was occu- 
 pied by the religious orders, the priests, friars, singers, &c , who in 
 their different habits formed the chief part of the procession. In the 
 front, to give the affair the greater eclat , there were carried two 
 standards, ornamented with the representation of coffins, skulls, bones, 
 &c., and surrounded by lights that were elevated in lanterns on long 
 sticks; then followed the friars, then the secular clergy, then the 
 singers, then the Missionary; and the whole was brought up by ano- 
 ther profusion of lights, surrounding a well-executed crucifix, which 
 was borne by an aged priest, who, as far as his physiognomy, habit, 
 and gait could go, was the very realisation of all the essential, but 
 horrible, qualities of a Spanish Father-Inquisitor. There seemed 
 seated on his rugged brow, as if upon a judgment-seat, the most un- 
 bending spiritual pride, authority, cruelty, and, in one word, intoler- 
 ance . He might, indeed, have been very different from all this, 
 
 and this impression might have been the mere effect of the associa- 
 tion of ideas strongly operating, under such novel circumstances, upon 
 my imagination. But, if I were not deceived, the native spirit of 
 intolerance had been operating upon that countenance for more than 
 half a century ; and, aggravated of late years by the struggles of 
 public opinion and successive political agitations, it had, at length, 
 succeeded in nearly perfecting a physiognomy to its taste. The voice, 
 which I had previously heard, proceeded from an elderly friar, who, 
 at the head of the procession, was addressing the people. This was, 
 I suppose, from the nature of his address, which was directed to 
 prostitutes, a noted corner of the town. He spoke many true and tre- 
 mendous things in a mild and persuasive tone, but, at the same time, 
 as one resolutely an enemy to vice ; and there was something about 
 him, and his address, that was really good, so that I ain pleased at 
 feeling convinced, that he was a sincere and good man. I could not 
 think in the same manner of another person, who appeared to be 
 principal friar ; for every thing about him seemed constrained, except 
 when, now and then, he would stop, and talk, and laugh with some 
 of the other young men in the procession, or when he would occa- 
 
HOSTILITY OF THE SOLDIERS TO THE GOVERNMENT. 
 
 331 
 
 sionally get quite pettish with the people for not walking as they 
 should, for he would cry out, — ‘For God’s sake, do walk on! For 
 God’s sake, do not crowd! For God’s sake, move one after ano- 
 ther ! &c.’ But when he moved up and down, in the open space of 
 the procession, exhorting the people, he instantly assumed a tone pe- 
 culiarly modulated, and not very unlike that of some Quakers; and 
 then he would frequently utter some truly excellent and awakening 
 warnings. One thing has to me seemed very remarkable, in all that 
 I have read or heard from the Romish clergy, — it is, that they often 
 talk well, and very movingly, in rousing the consciences and the 
 feelings of the people ; but they immediately fail, when they talk of 
 the way of salvation. The men before me preached the law, yes, 
 the law of God , and that in the most galling manner, but they 
 preached not the gospel ; not a word escaped them, of a free and full 
 salvation in Jesus; not a word of faith, as the condition of salva- 
 tion ; not a word of the Holy Spirit, in the work of regeneration ; it 
 was all respecting the necessity of penitence, and the way to it, and 
 to heaven, by the Confessional door. We, at length, reached the 
 Church, and the friar again ascended the pulpit ; there was a prodi- 
 gious crowd assembled, but the Preacher did not seem so much at 
 liberty as he was on the preceding evening ; he appeared disappoint- 
 ed, and complained much that so few persons had been to the Con- 
 fessional during the two past days. He, however, produced decidedly 
 less etfect than last night. 
 
 On returning to the Inn, I fell into conversation with a fine, in- 
 teresting young man, who had beeen a serjeant in the Constitutional 
 service, and for that reason had been broken by the new officers. He 
 was now a corporal, but he was a very shrewd and intelligent young 
 fellow. We placed ourselves in a corner of the room, and I soon 
 perceived that, as I was an Englighman, he was glad to have an op- 
 portunity to unburden his thoughts to one, who was accustomed to 
 think and speak with freedom. Among other things he told me, 
 that more than three-fourths of the soldiers are decidedly hostile to 
 the existing order of things, and that they were kept down only by 
 the presence of the French troops, and the divided condition of the 
 country. This I knew well enough before, but it is satisfactory to 
 know that they themselves are not ignorant of the fact. This man 
 conversed so freely, that 1 am well convinced every other individual 
 in the room was of the same mind as himself, and that he must have 
 known it. But when the door moved, he always started and looked 
 eagerly around him. Indeed, I think that I went with him to the 
 very verge of prudence in listening and speaking. However, I en- 
 deavoured to draw his attention to the true Gospel, and he very 
 readily admitted a serious difference between the impostures of the 
 dominant Church and the truths of revealed religion ; though un- 
 
332 
 
 LITANY OF THE SAINTS. 
 
 happily, it was too evident, that for those truths he had hut very little 
 taste. 
 
 April 1st. — This evening I went early to the Church to see the 
 procession start. After the celebration of Mass, and some consider- 
 able delay, the procession moved off, chaunting the litany of the 
 saints. There is, to an English Protestant, something inexpressibly 
 shocking in the scene of a multitude of professed Christians joining 
 in this presumptuous and idolatrous office. The lofty arches of the 
 Church, and the long dark passages of the streets, were made to re- 
 sound with the oft repeated exclamations , — 6 Saint Joseph, pray for 
 us! Saint Thomas, pray for us ! Saint Anthony, pray for us! &c.’ 
 In order to see the whole pass by, I placed myself at the corner of 
 a street with my hat on, hoping that the darkness of the night would 
 screen me from observation ; but I was mistaken ; for I had been 
 there, not more than a minute or two, before the keen eye of a zeal- 
 ous old man fell upon me, and he instantly cried out, — 6 Quitate el 
 sombrero V* at the same time, cursing me for a dog and a heretic ! I 
 thought it the best way to take it very cheap, that I could just take 
 my hat off, throw myself into the crowd, and move on. But I could 
 not help thinking, that it was rather unfair that all the clerical gen- 
 tlemen should have a covering for their heads, either a theological 
 cap, or a friar’s hood, while the people must be bare-headed ; and, 
 though it may be a heresy in me to complain of this distinction, that 
 man must be blind who does not perceive, that this also is a portion 
 of the scheme by which the clergy are exalted, by the degradation of 
 the laity. On our way we entered another Church, which was far 
 less gaudy than the first ; though, to my taste, much neater. Its 
 great fault was, that, from the costly and profusely lighted altar at the 
 end, it looked like a temple lent for the night to a conjuror. The 
 Preacher here was evidently a superior man ; he was not a friar, but 
 a clergyman, who, I should think, in the divinity of Rome, must be 
 a very good theologian. He discoursed chiefly from the words of our 
 Lord, — 4 Many are called, but few are chosen but it was with great 
 seriousness and earnestness of manner. I was not sufficient master of 
 the language, to be able to follow him, with precision, through the 
 metaphysical part of his discourse ; but he employed some time, in 
 endeavouring to clear up the difficulty on the subjects of free-will, 
 and the grace of God ; however, the conclusion to which I came, 
 respecting his belief, was, that he inclined to the predestinarian 
 scheme. I could better understand his application, of which there 
 were two points that greatly interested me; the first was, the strong 
 and peculiar way in which he stated his fear, that many would be lost, 
 who think but little of it, and that many in this town would, very 
 
 * Take off your hat ! 
 
STATE OF MORALS IN ALGEBRAS. 
 
 333 
 
 probably, be among the number. In illustrating this, he referred, 
 in a very pointed manner, to breaches of fidelity, respecting the mar- 
 riage-vow ; and he distinctly used an expression to this amount, — that 
 he was surprised, when he estimated the probable proportion of such 
 cases to the population, from the instances with which he himself was 
 personally acquainted : had my special object been, to ascertain the 
 state of morals in the place, I know not whither I could have gone to 
 obtain a testimony so credible, or portable. The other point of his 
 application was, a warning to beware of those who would lead them 
 astray from the truth, and especially to take care of foreigners and 
 others, who might undermine their faith, and induce them to waver in 
 their attachment to the Church of Rome. I was standing by a pillar, 
 as much as possible out of the way, and had before observed, that I at- 
 tracted the attention of some persons, by neglecting to kneel when all 
 the rest did ; but, while the Preacher was proceeding with this part 
 of his application, either those around me again fixed their attention 
 upon me, or else my fancy made me believe it, so that I began to feel 
 myself but ill at ease. I, therefore, seized the first opportunity of 
 letting another into my place, and gradually withdrawing myself, till 
 I had gained the street. After some time, the procession was renewed 
 toward the principal Church, and I again mixed with the crowd, and 
 heard several more addresses. They were all of a similar character, 
 being short, pithy, pathetic, moving exhortations, such, for instance, 
 as, — 4 Awake, sinner, from the sleep of sin, in which thou art buried, 
 before the sleep of death overtake thee ! — Fly at once to the Church, 
 which holds out her arms to receive thee, and which will give thee all 
 her help, that thou mayest obtain salvation ! — Haste ! — Haste ! — Do 
 not refuse, for now, now already, is near, the last terrible hour of 
 death!’ As we entered the church, I observed the Friar carefully 
 repeat a manoeuvre, which I had noticed on the previous night ; he 
 renewed his spirits and voice, and took care to have some appropriate 
 phrase ready for the moment of entering, when his sonorous voice 
 might sound, along the ample aisles of the church, with equal effect 
 upon the multitude already within, and those who Were pressing on to 
 gain admission. The sentence was, — 4 Miser icordia ! Misericordia ! 
 V amos d postrarnos d los pies de un Padre amoroso — de un Dios mi- 
 sericordioso , que se hd dignado a convidarnos. Oh , Padre piadoso ! 
 condescendeos d nuestros ruegos ! pedimos la misericordia V * He 
 then ascended the pulpit, and discoursed for about an hour, when he 
 seemed exhausted, as well as myself ; but, if I might judge by his 
 complaints, he had no very great reason to rejoice in the success of his 
 enterprise. 
 
 * Mercy ! Mercy ! We go to prostrate ourselves at the feet of an affectionate 
 Father — of a merciful God, who has condescended to invite us. Oh, merciful 
 Father ! hear our prayers ! we implore thy pity ! 
 
334 
 
 RELIGIOUS CONDITION OF GIBRALTAR. 
 
 The Mission is now closed, and I am thankful to Divine Provh 
 • dence, that thus I have had the unexpected opportunity of witness- 
 ing what Popery is, where it vegetates rank and undisputed, in a 
 soil of its own. 
 
 To Mr. Thomas Seaward , Assistant Secretary to the Prayer-Book 
 and Homily Society , London. 
 
 Gibraltar , Aug. 16, 1826. 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 I have to acknowledge the double favour of your esteemed 
 letter of the 23rd of June last, and of the acceptable and valuable 
 parcel of the publications of the Society, for which you act. The 
 former was received, in due course, by the packet, and the latter 
 through the medium of the Wesleyan Committee. I must beg you to 
 present my sincerest and most grateful acknowledgments for the pub- 
 lications; and, in reply to the more particular enquiries of your letter, 
 I will proceed to a frank statement. 
 
 My application for the Liturgy, and Homily Tracts, certainly was 
 for gratuitous distribution, as under existing circumstances here, a 
 sale of publications would be almost hopeless, and that for the fol- 
 lowing reasons : — 
 
 1. The general character of the fixed inhabitants of the Rock is 
 that of utter carelessness to religion ; and, therefore, there would be 
 but little care to part with their money for religious tracts. 
 
 2. The emigrants here are, for the most part, exceedingly reduced 
 in circumstances, forced to obtain a scanty and uncertain subsistence 
 by daily labour, and indisposed to the subject, as well as to the du- 
 ties, of personal and vital religion. The majority of them are scep- 
 tical, and many of them wallowing in the crudest and most disgusting 
 blasphemies of Paine. And this unhappy, but headlong, tendency, 
 is greatly strengthened and confirmed by the utter forgetfulness of re- 
 ligion, which is almost universal among the Protestant inhabitants. 
 
 3. There are a few of these emigrants of another description, but 
 these are far from being unbound from their own superstitions ; and 
 the prejudices, in which they have been nurtured against Protestant- 
 ism, makes their acceptance of our publications a favour conferred 
 upon ourselves, but the purchase of them out of the question. 
 
 4. The difficulty, and even danger, of introducing religious publi- 
 cations of any kind into Spain, amount almost to a non-entity of com- 
 munication on the subject ; and, by nearly all the accounts that I can 
 receive, the disgust, which has been conceived by the Liberals 
 against the Priests and Friars, renders the former either incapable 
 or unwilling to discern the difference between hypocrisy and true 
 
SPANISH APPROBATION OF THE PRAYER-BOOK. 
 
 335 
 
 religion; while prejudices of the opposite kind infatuate the Ser- 
 viles. 
 
 The almost only question at present is, — Can any thing be done for 
 the inhabitants of the Rock ? I really believe, that the most valua- 
 ble of all means would be the free circulation of the Book of Common 
 Prayer. On some minds I know that it produces impressions and 
 effects, similar to those so often witnessed in our own happy and glo- 
 rious Reformation. An elderly Spanish gentleman, who has figured 
 considerably in the melancholy political changes of his country, and 
 whose acquaintance I have had the privilege of forming, one day 
 borrowed of me a copy of the Common Prayer-Book ; and when I 
 saw him, shortly afterwards, he said to me with great animation, — * 
 ( Senor, este librito me encanta^ — absolutamente me encanta ; y el 
 escritor que le compuso ha merecido bien de todos sus semej antes.’* 
 Another gentleman, very much reduced in circumstances, who was 
 formerly an Advocate, and is certainly a very excellent Spanish scho- 
 lar, and who, indeed, forms one of a little company in which we 
 use your copies of the Common Prayer every Lord’s afternoon, has 
 often expressed his full approbation of it in very high terms ; and 
 the few of lower education, who join us in this exercise, are delighted 
 with the simplicity, the intelligibleness, and the devotion of the 
 prayers. 
 
 Now, what a pity it appears, that they are not freely circulated ! 
 I believe they would do more good than any tracts, however excel- 
 lent, by shewing the religion itself of Protestantism, rather than de- 
 fences of it ; which, if they are laboured, will not be read, and if 
 not laboured, will be unequal to the subject. To circulate gratuit- 
 ously, this edition of the Common Prayer, is, of course, impractica- 
 ble, and to sell them at the common price, at least equally so ; nay, 
 I believe, that were they sold for much less, or even given away, 
 their bulk, in the present state of indifference to religion, would be 
 a serious hinderance to their being read at all, except by a very few 
 individuals. That which seems to me eminently desirable for present 
 circumstances is, the Morning Service at least, if not the Evening 
 also, with the Litany, the Collects, and the Articles, printed in a 
 cheap tract form, and liberally circulated. I believe that such a mea- 
 sure would shake the very pillars of the temple of the missal idola- 
 try, by shocking the attachment of the people with the contrast 
 which it would exhibit. This appears to me so very much the more 
 desirable here at present, as the new Church, erecting under the or- 
 ders of the Government, will, of course, attract considerable atten- 
 tion ; and I am afraid, that no pains will be taken to check the in- 
 fluence of that fatally pernicious sentiment, that no one ought to aban- 
 
 * Sir, this little Book enchants me, — absolutely it enchants me; and the per- 
 son, who wrote it, is worthy of the highest regard. 
 
336 
 
 MELANCHOLY REFLECTIONS. 
 
 don the religion of his fathers ; a sentiment which here, under the 
 mask of liberality, carries a heart of the most inveterate intolerance. 
 I very greatly regret, that I have not the means of executing my 
 wishes on this subject, persuaded as I am that it would be a most 
 essentially important measure, in connection with the opening of the 
 new Church, which, as I should imagine, will not take place for 
 nearly or quite twelve months. 
 
 I beg, Sir, that you will excuse the freedom with which I have 
 written. I do not forget that I am a Methodist, nor that I am ad- 
 dressing a decided member and friend of the Church of England. 
 Whatever other attachments I may have, I thank God that I greatly 
 love and reverence that Church, and especially do I love the Book 
 of Common Prayer, as believing it a chief instrument, in the hands of 
 God, of all that in England is excellent in the state of religion, and 
 of Methodism itself, and thus, in the salvation of millions of souls ; 
 and, moreover, confidently expecting, that it will be instrumental in 
 the salvation of millions more. Believe me, dear Sir, with the sin- 
 cerest respect and esteem, 
 
 Your Servant in the Gospel, 
 
 William Barber. 
 
 P. S. — At present there are no means of circulating Tracts here, ex- 
 cept gratuitously in the streets ; occasionally, indeed, an opportu- 
 nity offers of sending a small parcel into Spain and South America; 
 but such opportunities are not frequent. Through the kindness 
 of different friends our stock is at present large; but I hope to be 
 able speedily to diminish it, as the weather becomes more moderate. 
 
 Journal continued. 
 
 August 18th and 20th. — Memorable dates ! Memorable every way ! 
 I am much pained at the consciousness, which I feel, of so little 
 profit from the great affliction that befel me four years ago ; for so 
 long a time is it since I bade my lovely wife a final farewell ; but 
 what shall I say of the intervening period ? Facts themselves are of 
 indescribably less importance than the effects which they produce ; 
 at least, thus it is with the events which occur to man’s private his- 
 tory, in the present state of probation. I am deeply guilty before 
 God for the consequences of those events on my spiritual condition. 
 I am but little, very little more holy and devoted to Christ, and his 
 cause, now, than I was four years ago ; and I have still some strong 
 corruptions that are scarcely, if at all, subdued ; yet the thought of 
 yielding to them is to me terrible. My debilitated state, the extreme 
 heat of the weather, and the influence of the climate, which now 
 
HOPELESS ILLNESS OF MRS. PRATTEN. 
 
 337 
 
 seems to be decided upon me, contribute to keep my religious expe- 
 rience low ; but this is little to the almost declining state of the 
 cause here, and some things which operate more directly on my per- 
 sonal comfort in the work of the Ministry. O merciful God ! Thou, 
 in Christ Jesus, art to me, the only source of comfort and strength ! 
 How much of the evident want of success in the English and Spanish 
 work is owing to the defective state of my faith, from which grows 
 my want of zeal, and power, and love, and every Christian virtue ! 
 
 Mrs. Pratten’s case, which has long presented alarming symptoms, 
 now appears decided. This morning I received the following note 
 from Mrs. Hennen, evidently intended to go at once to Mr. P.’s know- 
 ledge: — 4 My dear Friend, I need hardly say, how deeply we are all 
 interested about dear Mrs. P. It seems, that she is now thought be- 
 yond the reach of medicine. This I tell you for her husband’s sake, 
 because I think it cruel to buoy him up with hopes that I fear he 
 will never realise. Now, my dear friend, all that remains for us to 
 do is, to pray for her without ceasing, that she may have 44 an abund- 
 ant entrance into the kingdom of our Lord Jesus Christ.” I have 
 feelings for her that I cannot describe. I myself have been brought, 
 or, at least, I have felt as if it had been the case, to the borders of 
 the grave ; and, therefore, I know what flesh and blood must feel at 
 the prospect of leaving a husband and two children. God alone can 
 enable her to trust them with Himself. My soul prays for her every 
 moment. I weep with her. May I one day rejoice with her where 
 adieus and farewells are sounds unknown !’ 
 
 To the Rev. James Dixon. 
 
 Gibraltar , August 21, 1826. 
 
 My very dear Friend, 
 
 You are, of course, surprised at my long silence; it is the 
 pernicious effect, if indeed it be pernicious, of intending to write a 
 long letter, and of hope deferred for some good to detail; but it saves 
 you from many postages, and puts off the evil day of having to wade 
 through a volume of woes. If you knew how little good I have to 
 tell, you could not be displeased with me for not having written be- 
 fore. The cause of God does not prosper here; there are very few, 
 indeed, who are becoming convinced of sin, and the Society is les- 
 sened by frequent changes. My own heart has precisely the same 
 sort of character, which it had twelve months ago. The climate has 
 this summer considerably affected me. I still, occasionally, spit a 
 little blood, and very often fear, that, through inability, I shall be 
 compelled to relinquish my work. A Missionary ought to be a man 
 of health and of firm nerve. Such has been the effect produced upon 
 
 z 
 
338 
 
 MELANCHOLY REFLECTIONS. 
 
 me by the climate, that close application to study has been almost 
 entirely impossible. Our domestic circumstances also, have long been 
 very painful. Mrs. P., who, for a considerable time before her con- 
 finement, was unable to come down stairs, has ever since been gra- 
 dually sinking, and she is now declared, by the medical men, to be in 
 an absolutely hopeless state of consumption. In a very few weeks, at 
 farthest, we shall have to bury her. I do implore for her 4 an abund- 
 ant entrance into the everlasting kingdom.’ 
 
 As to myself, when I left home I knew that I should have to suffer 
 affliction and trial, because I was convinced that I needed them; and, 
 now that I have them, I find my chief relief in submission, because 
 I still feel that I need them. Yesterday I passed the fourth anni- 
 versary of the loss of my precious wife. Ah ! my convictions and 
 foresight then have been too faithfully realised ! But I have almost 
 infinite reason to dread a doubting, suspicious, and querulous frame 
 of mind. However, unless my health decidedly improve, I cer- 
 tainly shall not be able to continue in the work ; for I have neither 
 strength nor spirit to be very active, and what I do is generally with 
 the entire sacrifice of bodily comfort. My existence has long been a 
 burden to my frame, yet all would be well, if the work of God pros- 
 pered in my own soul, and in those of the poor sheep over whom 
 the Lord hath made us shepherds. I intend, very soon, to write more 
 at la^ge. But you know what to expect. If in my perspective there 
 be any thing bright, it is on that side where runs the River Jordan; 
 and it is very easy to perceive, that its glisten is from beyond the 
 farthest bank. There, I trust, we shall one day meet to enjoy a 
 cloudless day. 
 
 Your very affectionate, 
 
 William Barber. 
 
 To the Same. 
 
 Gibraltar , Sept. 19, 1826. 
 
 My very dear Friend, 
 
 There is a complaint, of which one of the most ordinary 
 symptoms is, reluctance to commence a letter for the purpose of writ- 
 ing a good deal, while self-condemnation is for ever exclaiming against 
 the delay. If you know any thing of sucli a disease, sympathise with 
 me before you severely censure. I have been continually hoping, to 
 have something more worthy of communication than what has been 
 immediately under hand ; however, I will now bring myself at once 
 to the work. You bid me tell you all that is in 'my heart, and there 
 is no man with whom I would rather trust if than yourself. 
 
 You will see, by the farther progress of this letter, that I am again 
 placed amidst circumstances calculated to weigh heavily upon my 
 constitutional depression. Mrs. P. is now in the very last stage of a 
 
occupation of a week. 
 
 339 
 
 consumption, reduced to a mere shadow, and expecting every day to 
 be her last. She is a real, but trembling Christian. But her illness is 
 by no means the whole of what tends to depress me. The want of 
 greater piety in my soul sometimes operates, in conjunction with my 
 morbid constitution, very lamentably to unfit me for my pulpit 
 duties, an evil which is aggravated by my continually having to 
 preach to the same people. I earnestly pray to God, the great Fa- 
 ther and Head of the Church, to pour down His Holy Spirit upon 
 me, and to favour me with that blessing, which may richly compen- 
 sate for the existence of my difficulties. I do not at all wish to con- 
 ceal from myself, that the want of such a blessing is sufficient to ac- 
 count for the exceedingly small share of success, which has attended 
 my efforts. Had I but the spirit which animates many others, — the 
 spirit of zeal, and love, and a sound mind, — the spirit of deep and 
 ardent devotion, — the spirit of animated faith and hope, I should 
 surely be blest myself, and be a blessing to others. Some few proofs 
 of Divine' mercy to me have, indeed, been granted; but the constitu- 
 tion of my body and mind, together with other circumstances, are 
 formidable hinderances. Were my hands less tied than they are, more 
 good might be attempted and done. The Spanish Missionary here 
 ought to be a married man, and to have a house of his own. Were 
 this the case with me, I am quite sure that I could quadruple my 
 means of usefulness ; but as matters are, in so small a house as this, 
 and myself only an inmate, I am cramped and crippled excessively. 
 Had I a house, or apartments, of my own, I might invite the Span- 
 iards to come and sit down with me to join in family-worship, and 
 to enter into such a freedom of communication, as in the house and 
 family of another, is impracticable. However, this, I am aware, ought 
 not to prevent the full and judicious employment of existing means ; 
 but I should wish you to perceive that my time is employed, at least 
 to some extent, in the way which you so strongly and judiciously re- 
 commend. Let me state to you the history of a week : — 
 
 On the Sunday morning, at half past six o’clock, I meet an 
 English class; every alternate Sabbath I preach in the morning at 
 the Chapel, and in the evening at the South ; and the opposite Sab- 
 bath only once at the Chapel ; but every Sabbath afternoon, I read 
 the prayers in Spanish ; on the Monday evening, I meet a class in the 
 South Barracks ; on the Tuesday and Wednesday evenings, I go to 
 some Spanish family to read and expound the Scriptures ; on the 
 Thursday evening, I preach a Spanish sermon; on the Friday even- 
 ing, I attend a Spanish prayer-meeting at Brother Quierell’s, or 
 else go to a Spanish family to expound ; and, on the Saturday even- 
 ing, I hold, if possible, a sort of experience-meeting, or class, in 
 Spanish, at Brother Q.’s. In addition to this, I have been, for some 
 time past, in the habit of spending some hours daily among the Span- 
 
 z 2 
 
340 
 
 HOPEFUL CASE OF A FEW SPANIARDS. 
 
 iards, avowedly for the purpose of assisting them to acquire the 
 English language, but by this means I have gained many opportuni- 
 ties of conversation with them on religious subjects. I have some- 
 times met with men of candour among them ; and several, indeed, 
 have appeared, in their way, sincerely pious; but the great majority 
 are determined and blaspheming infidels, with whom I stand but 
 little chance, and that for these reasons especially ; — 1. The want of 
 spirit, resulting from my constitution and circumstances ; 2. The want 
 of promptness and facility of utterance, greatly the consequence of 
 the former; and 3. The utter and universal unwillingness among them 
 to listen to reason, when ridicule comes to their aid; or to distinguish 
 substantially, and in good faith, between the merits of the question, 
 respecting a Divine Revelation, and the adventitious errors and abuses 
 so erroneously heaped on Christianity. 
 
 In truth, I believe the virtues of good faith and real honour in the 
 maintenance of religious opinions, to be very rare among Catholics ; 
 and, so far as my acquaintance with Spanish Catholics has gone, it is 
 a matter of extreme difficulty to know when they are sincere; for they 
 first oppose the principles of the Christian Religion as if they were 
 merely speculating, as a trial of skill in a contest, and then, perhaps, 
 submit to them as if to escape the inconveniences of a denial. In- 
 deed, it seems as if the terrors of the Inquisition had made Spain a 
 nation of hypocrites. We have repeatedly had several Spaniards at 
 the Sacrament, all of whom have been present by their own earnest 
 request : of these, two or three individuals are free from any mo- 
 tives to deception, and have carried the appearance of being sincerely 
 desirous to know the truth ; but I think it extremely questionable, if 
 there be one instance among them of clear, evangelical conversion ; so 
 far as I can see, there is among them no satisfactory evidence of that 
 real 4 passing from death unto life,’ which marks and distinguishes the 
 New Testament conversions. Nothing can satisfy me, but the proofs 
 of that real and deep work of grace, which will make the mind taught 
 of God, the heart counting all things but loss for Christ, and the 
 life led by the Holy Spirit. At the same same, I greatly rejoice in 
 any hopeful indications, and if any of these poor men should die with 
 such appearances, I should think it right to cherish hope respect- 
 ing them, but it appears to me that confidence would be wrong. 
 
 I must now turn to some particulars of your letter. I entreat you 
 never to fear, that I shall regard any thing from you, as if it were 
 written in the spirit of dictation ; the excellent and truly fraternal 
 counsel, which you offer me, has fixed itself deeply in my mind. I 
 quite agree with you, that nothing is so unfavourable to the disease 
 of my heart as melancholy musings and a state of inaction, as well as 
 that its cure is in the acquirement of habits the least indulgent to its 
 existence. I believe that this cure has been in part effected, but 
 
discouragements. 
 
 341 
 
 the summer has exceedingly tried me, and rendered activity both of 
 body and mind quite impossible. I have many times found it next to 
 impracticable to preach, because it has been so difficult to study, and 
 you know that I have no stock of sermons by me. I very much fear, 
 that the people are growing weary of my pulpit exercises ; and what 
 wonder, when the great Head of the Church honours them so little in 
 the conversion of souls? Were there no other cause, this would 
 greatly depress me. With respect to visiting the poor, in company 
 with Brother Quierell, that is impracticable, as, about the time you 
 left, he was obliged to give up his situation, and ever since he has 
 gained a livelihood by teaching English to the Spaniards, an employ- 
 ment which keeps him fully engaged from morning to night. As to 
 my forming acquaintances with Spanish families, I have my eye con- 
 tinually on this object, and pray to be enabled to press after it; 
 though, if I were possessed of better health and spirits, and more 
 love, and joy, and zeal through faith, I should be more successful. 
 But I suspect, that your conception of my admissibleness, and pro- 
 babilities of welcome and success, among them, are formed rather un- 
 der the influence of your meliorated atmosphere and circumstances, 
 than with a just recollection of the miserable spirit that infects and 
 pervades every class of the people here. To be regarded by nearly 
 all as an object of suspicion, as worse than a Romish priest or Jesuit, 
 and to have to do with people who either hate all religion, or are bi- 
 goted to their own, are circumstances which one of my temperament 
 must feel to be great difficulties. However, they do not, and I 
 trust, they never will, prevent my persevering and increasing in ef- 
 fort, as the Lord may give me strength. As soon as Mrs. P.’s illness 
 is decided, I intend commencing a Spanish service in the house of 
 Brother Q., on those Sunday mornings when I do not preach in the 
 chapel. 
 
 Upon the whole, with regard to continuing or abandoning this en- 
 terprise upon the poor Spaniards, my mind has long been made up to 
 the conclusion, that splendid results, such as have been witnessed in 
 other places, are not to be expected here ; but that there always may 
 be a sufficient, and perhaps a gradually increasing, sphere of labour, 
 to employ the plodding activity of some individual, who has piety and 
 zeal enough to bow himself continually down to an employment, which 
 offers so little to cheer and animate his mind, and so much to damp and 
 discourage it. 
 
 With regard to my mode of preaching, I believe, that if I ever had 
 any over-attentiveness to mere composition, it is now completely crip- 
 pled. Through the heat and oppressiveness of the weather, such has 
 been my incapability of close application to study, that I rarely write 
 at all, except a little in Spanish. But, unfortunately for me, my style, 
 both of talking and preaching, is any thing but ‘a simple, plain, and 
 
342 
 
 DISCOURAGEMENTS. 
 
 perspicuous statement,’ although I try to make it so ; but, for some 
 months past, it has been the sheer want of ideas that, on this subject, 
 has discouraged me ; for I never in my life experienced half such inca- 
 pacity for thinking. Much of the labour of gaining words is now re- 
 mitted, and I may devote myself more to things. I trust, also, that 
 my present plan of reading and expounding the Scriptures, from house 
 to house, will materially assist me in gaining that simpler style of think- 
 ing and speaking, of which I deeply lament the deficiency. But, in 
 the mean time, my life and my means are passing away in almost mere 
 preparation. May God help me, by blessing me with the piety which 
 He can honour with usefulness, and then with the usefulness w ith 
 which He can honour piety ! I follow you in increased attachment to 
 Wesley, Fletcher, and the practical writers ; and, for some time, I 
 have laboured to get into the habit of thoroughly evangelical and expe- 
 rimental preaching, but my heart often betrays me, and therefore I 
 have but little fruit. * * * * Farewell. Believe me, 
 
 Your very affectionate Friend, 
 
 4 W. Barber. 
 
 To the Secretaries of the Wesleyan Methodist Missionary Society . 
 
 Gibraltar , Nov. 21, 1826. 
 
 Reverend and dear Sirs, 
 
 Tiie kind and gentle hint of Mr. Mason, conveyed in his 
 last letter to Mr. Pratten, did not indeed remind me of a forgotten 
 duty, but it determined me at once to lay aside all reluctance to write, 
 arising from the consciousness of having but little to communicate. 
 For this, there are two principal causes, both of which I have been 
 continually hoping would find a remedy in the advance of time ; the 
 former is, the completely stationary situation in which I find myself 
 placed, with a very circumscribed access to those around me; and the 
 latter is, my great and even criminal want of boldness in the use of the 
 language ; for I find that, though I have for some time attempted to 
 speak in Spanish extempore , the want of confidence in myself, and of 
 a more full and regular practice in common life, renders my preaching 
 almost always a great pain to myself, and I fear a much greater to my 
 hearers. I mention this circumstance for the sake of observing, that 
 there is on my mind the constant conviction, which causes me much 
 anxiety, that the work here cannot be said to have had a fair trial, till 
 I can say, that I am sure the hinderance does not lie in me. But this 
 can never be said, till I am not only able to address any Spaniard with 
 fluency and correctness, but to do so alw ays with the strongest motives 
 of zeal and charity. I think? however, truth will allow me to say, 
 that I am advancing. Some degree of power in English preaching, 
 and very profitable class-meetings, are symptoms of this ; but, after 
 
DEATH OF MRS. PRATTEN. 
 
 343 
 
 all, every thing about me of a favourable kind leaves me covered with 
 inexpressible confusion, in the presence of God. I cast myself upon 
 his mercy, in mingled doubt, and faith, and hope, enough sometimes 
 of each to produce an agonized state of mind; and, I entreat Him, to 
 revive His work of grace in me, and all around me, and to open a way 
 for more decided usefulness among the poor foreigners. 
 
 You must be solicitous to know, what is done, and what is doing 
 here. Of the English part of the work, it is not of course my place 
 to say any thing. I may, however, just observe, that the extreme 
 heat of the summer, and the affliction of Mr. P.’s family, combined to 
 make some of the past months a depressing and a trying time. The 
 painful termination of that affliction, in the death of Mrs. P., will, we 
 hope, leave both the Preachers and the people at full leisure to reap all 
 the benefits of a dispensation so solemn and so affecting. Mrs. P. died 
 a remarkable example of these three eminent and cognate Christian 
 virtues, the fear of God, invincible patience, and humble and believing 
 resignation ; there can, therefore, be no rational doubt, that she is safe 
 in the Paradise of God. Mr. P. will, of course, have informed you of 
 his own illness, and of the great additional affliction thus laid upon 
 him. I sincerely sympathise with him, ttat the remainder of his 
 residence here must be spent in the pain of a solitude so dreary as that 
 of an early widowhood. May God help and sustain him through the 
 whole ! 
 
 AVith reference to myself, I know not that I can do better than just 
 state the usual occupations of a week, and then give some extracts 
 from my Journal, which, from the very little incident that my circum- 
 stances afford, I will acknowledge, is but scantily furnished. Until the 
 extreme heat of the summer, and the height of Mr. P.’s affliction, I 
 used to spend a good portion of the mornings, of every week, in the 
 company of superior Spaniards, to whom jji^ained access for the pur- 
 pose of gratuitously assisting them in the\acquisition of the English 
 language ; a plan which, to a limited extent, 1 hope to follow, although 
 I have found it to operate most injuriously on myself, in withdrawing 
 me from the more substantial studies of theology, with which I have 
 formed an acquaintance that is utterly insufficient for the duties of my 
 station. Most of the superior Spaniards, with whom I have conversed, 
 are deliberately sceptical ; and the worst is, that this is accompanied 
 with an utter dislike to the mention of Christianity, though this is not 
 so much a bitter disgust, as a complete indifference ; but thus they are 
 in a state of mind from which, in order to rouse them, it requires both 
 a knowledge and address, of which I have acutely felt my deficiency. 
 Real knowledge, and dexterity in the manner of using it, are two 
 points at which I am incessantly aiming ; but, alas ! I find that a mind 
 but ill-trained and habituated, and possessing no extraordinary vigour 
 to free itself from its difficulties, may disqualify itself for dexterity, 
 
344 
 
 CONVERSATION WITH A SENTINEL. 
 
 by the very application with which it mines for materials. For more 
 than two months daring the summer, so unnerving was the effect pro- 
 duced, both upon my body and my mind, that I found myself almost 
 totally incapable of application ; so that preaching was, not unfre- 
 quently, a very distressing labour, especially as it is always to the same 
 people. 
 
 But that you may see how my time is generally occupied at pre- 
 sent, I will state the employment of every day. On the Sabbath 
 morning, before breakfast, I meet a small English class. Every alter- 
 nate Sabbath morning, after breakfast, I preach in Euglish at the 
 Chapel, and in the evening at the South ; and, on the opposite Sab- 
 bath, I again preach once in English at the Chapel. Every Sunday 
 afternoon, I read prayers, in Spanish, at the house of Brother Quierell, 
 and, generally, something which occurs in the regular lessons furnishes 
 topics for useful conversation afterwards. On many occasions of this 
 kind, we have had sceptical objections started and discussed, some- 
 times in a good spirit, and to good purpose, but at others, not so; 
 for, occasionally, through a want of sufficient readiness to repress it, 
 the true spirit of infidel sarcasm has got the uppermost. In the week, 
 I generally devote the principal part of the morning to private study; 
 but, not unfrequently, I go out into the Almeda, or public walks, and, 
 where an opportunity offers, I usually enter into conversation with 
 some one or other ; either some foreigner, or one of the sentries on 
 duty, with many of whom I have thus had very profitable interviews. 
 A few days ago, the passing of a party of soldiers, full dressed, to at- 
 tend the funeral of a deceased officer, furnished an occasion of conver- 
 sation with a sentinel. 6 Ah !’ said I to him, 6 how painful it is to 
 think of a young man, so lately in the bloom of health, and in the road 
 to preferment, thus suddenly cut down and consigned to the grave ! 
 And yet he had a soul, as immortal as yours or as mine, and just the 
 same need as ourselves of a Saviour, and of mercy to pardon, and grace 
 to save him. But he has not been permitted to enjoy so much time as 
 you and I, to begin and to finish the great work of preparing for 
 death. And then, to think that we need a preparation, at least as 
 much as he, and that we may be cut down too as unexpectedly, or at 
 least with as little direct notice ! — Have you, my friend, prepared? or, 
 are you preparing ? No man can be prepared without a renewed 
 heart, a direct interest in the blood of Christ, and a pardon in conse- 
 quence ; and he, who is yet careless of these things, has not begun to 
 prepare, although he may die to-morrow, or to-day.’ The man was a 
 Scotchman, and, of course, comparatively intelligent. He unburdened 
 hi's soul to me, and told me of the temptations of the barrack-room, 
 and his companions ; he related, likewise, his afflictions, and men- 
 tioned the almost impossibility of his being devoted to religion as a 
 soldier. 1 laboured to convince him, that the seat of irreligion is the 
 
CONVERSATION WITH A GENOESE. 
 
 345 
 
 heart, that this will be carried every where, that it will find indulgence 
 every where, that religion is a scheme of remedy made by God for 
 man in any circumstances, and every condition of life, that therefore it 
 is fit and sufficient, and that, if a man have his heart changed, circum- 
 stances will be disarmed of their evil tendency, or at least that he will 
 have grace to conquer them. In the midst of our conversation, a 
 stranger, who was either an Englishman or an American, came up, 
 and sat himself down near us, and, as I thought, with a design to hear 
 our conversation. I determined that he should hear it, and following 
 the thread of our observations, I said , — 6 The reason of men’s irreligion 
 is to be found in the state of their hearts ; they do not love' its holi- 
 ness and spirituality ; they do not love the holiness of God, and there- 
 fore they flee from Him ; they do not love the spirituality of the Bible, 
 and therefore they at least neglect it ; they hate the light of true reli- 
 gion, and therefore they close their eyes against it, or hide themselves 
 in darkness from it.’ The poor stranger started from his seat, as if he 
 had been shot, and, stepping away a few paces as an excuse, he paused 
 for a moment, and then walked away, giving a very significant and 
 inquisitive glance from under his hat toward the strange being, who 
 had brought this strange sound to his ear. Well ! thus the seed was 
 sown. I ( know not whether shall prosper, either this or that, or 
 whether they both shall be alike good,’ nor, alas! whether both shall 
 be alike fruitless, but 6 with God all things are possible.’ O that He 
 would condescend to bless 6 the labour of my hands!’ 
 
 On another occasion, I met with a venerable Genoese, with whom I 
 fell into conversation, and found him a man sincerely feeling the ne- 
 cessity of real religion. There certainly was sincerity in his manners, 
 whatever there might be of mistake in his views. I consider his to be 
 one of those cases which, it is to be hoped, are not very unfrequently 
 to be found, as the living reproaches of the gross and criminal system 
 of fraud and delusion imposed by Popery on millions of human souls. 
 He entered eagerly into conversation with mo, and I candidly told 
 him that I was a Protestant ; and that my chief reason for being so 
 was, a conviction that the Scriptures are the only sure and sufficient 
 guide in the religion of God. I then read him a portion of the homily 
 on the Scriptures, which extremely delighted him. I urged him to 
 seek salvation through the merits of Christ alone, and, by the work of 
 the Holy Spirit on his heart, to look for satisfactory evidences of his 
 being a true and happy Christian. He spoke with abhorrence of the 
 prevailing infidelity and immorality, and lamented, that hitherto he had 
 been able to find so little to satisfy him in labouring to ascertain the 
 way of salvation. After we had parted, 1 saw him at a distance in the 
 walks, freely using his handkerchief to wipe away his tears ; and I 
 have seen him since, and such is the unusual sincerity and simplicity 
 of that good man’s mind, that should it be my happiness, ( by the 
 
346 
 
 CONVERSATION WITH SOME YOUNG JEWS. 
 
 good hand of God upon me,’ to arrive in the kingdom of glory, I shall 
 certainly expect to meet and embrace him there. 
 
 On another occcasion, I met several young Jews on the walks; one 
 of them I found to be a student, and regarded by the others, as well 
 as regarding himself, as very decidedly their superior. They were 
 very civil, and with great readiness answered some questions, which I 
 addressed to them in reference to the fast which was then pending. 
 But, from some of their descriptions, I took occasion to remark upon 
 the difference which ought to be made between trifling religious cere- 
 monies, which are the mere additions of human authority, and which 
 may be injurious and delusive, and the clear injunctions of the will 
 and word of God. This brought on a conversation on the evidence 
 which the Sacred Records have of being of divine authority, and, con- 
 sequently, binding on the consciences and conduct of men; from 
 which I took occasion to observe, that this forms the basis of the faith 
 of Christians/ who, like the Jews, receive the authority of Moses, be- 
 cause his miracles demonstrated that God was with him to sanction 
 his word ; while, unlike the Jews, who admit the same argument in 
 the one case which they reject in the other, Christians receive the au- 
 thority of Christ, because his miracles demonstrated that he too came 
 from God, for no man could have performed such miracles, as were 
 done by Christ, unless God were with him. This they took in good 
 part, though, of course, they could not give any satisfactory reply. 
 Their principal spokesman endeavoured to take refuge in the nonsense 
 of the story of the theft of the tetragrammaton , with its blasphemous 
 additions. 4 And so/ said I, 4 you who are young and rational men, 
 in this age of the freedom of thought, and in this place, where every 
 man has a right to think as he pleases, are thus contenting yourselves 
 to reason against evidence, and to conclude on subjects of such vast 
 importance from tales, that are ridiculous on their very face, and that 
 merit not the slightest credit. Beside, from your very story itself, it 
 appears, that Jesus must have been a most extraordinary man, to have 
 been able alone to discover and to use that name, and that in the way 
 in which you say he did ; even this might induce you carefully to 
 enquire about him. But I appeal to you, chiefly as men capable of 
 thought, and certainly destined to appear before God in judgment, to 
 give Him an account of the manner in which you have used your facul- 
 ties : you were born of Jewish parents, and you have been educated 
 Jews, are these your only reasons for embracing the. Hebrew faith? 
 Have you never thought — never examined — never come to a rational 
 conclusion on the subject? How can you then be at peace in your 
 own minds ? How can you give a good account to God, if you do not 
 diligently labour to know the truth, and to follow the light wherever 
 it may lead you ?’ — They left the place more seriously than they 
 reached it ; perhaps this was all, and perhaps not, for the progress of 
 
OCCUPATION OF A WEEK. 
 
 347 
 
 thought is like that of a cone from its point, here indiscernible, but 
 onward it widens to an indefinite extent ; and even the kingdom of 
 Heaven is likened to a grain of mustard seed, cast into the earth, and 
 growing up into unequalled greatness. O that I had more simple and 
 ardent dependence on that energy, which alone can effect this ! And 
 
 0 that I had more faith in the accompanying influence of the Holy 
 Spirit, and more sustaining and animating confidence in the faithful- 
 ness of the great Head of the Church ! 
 
 But to return to my regular occupations : on the Monday evening, 
 
 1 meet an English class in the South ; on the Tuesday, I have been in 
 the habit of attending some private family to read and expound the 
 Scriptures in Spanish ; but we have lately opened a meeting at the 
 South, in the house of one of our brethren, for the same purpose, and 
 this must of course take the precedence of a family ; there are but few 
 who attend this means as yet, and its success remains uncertain, if not 
 doubtful, for a genuine appetite after the word is scarcely to be found 
 among the Spaniards ; an utter indifference, and even nausea , at 
 religion, is almost universal, and more to be dreaded than the fear of 
 real persecution. The Wednesday evening is exclusively devoted to 
 reading and expounding, in Spanish families. On the Thursday even- 
 ing, we have our Spanish service in the Chapel, at which, sometimes, 
 very few persons indeed attend, but at others, as for instance last 
 Thursday, from twenty to thirty ; and, I am persuaded, that many 
 more would come, if I could but * speak boldly, as I ought to speak/ 
 When will mercy be given me for this ? On the Friday evening, we 
 have our Spanish prayer-meeting, at Brother Quierell’s ; at this very 
 few generally attend, chiefly because the house is so ill situated : this, 
 however, is an evil which will soon be remedied, as a new house, 
 which he is building, is nearly finished, and into this he intends soon 
 to remove. 
 
 Referring to this new house, brings me to mention another circum- 
 stance of importance. The illness of Mrs. P. had rendered my resi- 
 dence at the Mission-House, for a considerable time, inconvenient ; 
 for some months I, therefore, took my meals chiefly out, indeed I 
 always dined from home ; and, had any convenient opportunity offered, 
 I should have removed altogether. But the new house of Brother Q., 
 who builds it for letting by apartments, as is generally the case with 
 the houses here, seemed to offer a providential opening. But the advan- 
 tages for greater usefulness among the Spaniards, by much greater inter- 
 course with them, in consequence of the numbers that come to him, are 
 so evident, that I could not hesitate to think my course of duty plain. 
 Experience has taught me, that I must introduce myself to the Span- 
 iards, and not hope that they will introduce themselves to me ; but 
 this I cannot do at the Mission-House, for thither they do not like to 
 come, simply because it is the Mission- J louse , and because there is 
 
348 
 
 EVILS OF POPISH MYSTICISM. 
 
 nothing Spanish there, as there is at Brother Q.’s I ought, in truth, 
 to have been among them long before, but fear of expense to the Mis- 
 sion chiefly held me back, though certainly to the injury of my ad- 
 vancement, as well as that of my object at large; and, were I ever to 
 be so placed as to need the acquirement of another language, I should 
 earnestly desire to be allowed to go at once, and altogether, for two or 
 three months among the people themselves, and no others ; as I am well 
 convinced that I have lost much time, and suffered a deal of pain, that 
 might have been saved. Nay, I firmly believe, that if I had possessed 
 apartments, and a wife of my own, I should, by this time, have been 
 far more useful than has been the case ; and this has often made me 
 think, with pain, of my loss of that inestimable woman who once was 
 mine ; but in all this I may be quite mistaken, and Providence, who 
 has decided the point, seems to say, that this is the fact. However, 
 in the family of Brother Q., this difficulty will be greatly obviated ; 
 with this removal I shall be much more devoted to, and familiarised 
 with, the Spanish work ; and if God should smile upon- Brother Q. 
 and myself, we ma/ be able to suggest and pursue such plans, and 
 means of usefulness, as apart are impracticable. In this measure I act, 
 of course, with the approbation of Mr. Pratten, as well as that of out- 
 valued friend Mr. Pyne ; and I am thankful to be able to say, that, 
 notwithstanding the rent of the room which I shall occupy, the removal 
 will not increase the expense of my support. Add to these considera- 
 tions, that thus the Spanish and English work will be kept more sepa- 
 rate, and in no danger of clashing or restriction, the Mission-House 
 being quite too small for more than one Preacher and his family ; and 
 we intend, as soon as possible, to commence a full Sunday morning 
 service in Spanish, on the alternate Sabbaths on which I preach only 
 once. As this statement will put you in possession of the principal 
 motives and objects of the alteration, it will also, I think, satisfy you 
 of its propriety. 
 
 With regard to the direct prospects of forming a Spanish society, I 
 have hitherto been desirous of deferring the measure, chiefly from two 
 motives: the former is, that I have wished to possess more decided 
 evidence of a genuine work of the Holy Spirit, for I cannot yet say, 
 that among the few Spaniards, who generally attend our services, there 
 are those characteristics of such a work that would justify the forma- 
 tion of a Society ; and, the latter is, that I have wanted to attain a 
 sufficient fluency and accuracy of converse, to be sure that I am con- 
 veying to them correct sentiments of what it is to be a Methodist, as 
 well as of the rise and progress of Methodism itself. With some of 
 the Spaniards, it is no great difficulty to talk of what they mean by 
 Christian experience, though, to me, it is a great difficulty to ascertain, 
 whether all this is not the mere mysticism, or animal excitement of 
 Popery : a thing which, I should think, is the most cruelly tormenting 
 
perplexing circumstances. 
 
 349 
 
 bane of vital religion existing, for it blunts the edge of the sword of 
 the Spirit itself, and breaks the point of every arrow that is shot to 
 pierce between the joints of the harness ; it adopts the very phrase- 
 ology of real religion, in a sense which never reaches the heart, and, 
 without being hypocrisy, it involves the danger of imposing the most 
 cruel of all cheats. There are some individuals who would not hesi- 
 tate much to become Methodists, and who, I believe, would even wish 
 it, because something spiritual or temporal might be gained by it, just 
 as they would join any cofradrta or her man dad * among the Catholics ; 
 but then, this, in their opinion, would not disqualify them from conti- 
 nuing Papists, and going to mass. Few as the number is, with whom 
 we have any special intercourse, they yet present a mixture which 
 might be puzzling to men far more sagacious than myself, but it is 
 particularly so to my extreme inexperience. We shall, however, be 
 better able to judge, when matters are a little more settled than at pre- 
 sent ; as yet the trial has not been sufficient, and, although no splen- 
 did results can be expected, there is already some little good done ; 
 and this I do know, that many souls have had, however feebly, the 
 principles of evangelical truth set before them. The discouragements 
 are indeed great, so much so, that I know not any one thing, separate 
 from a direct sense of duty, and hope of usefulness among these wan- 
 derers from truth and happiness, that could make my present circum- 
 stances desirable. But even here, in this truly rugged and unthankful 
 soil, if the Lord would but favour me with much love and gratitude in 
 my own soul, and with the sight of some genuine and decided conver- 
 sions, I should be very happy. 
 
 I had intended to give you some extracts more directly from my 
 Journal, but the length of this letter, I trust, will excuse me. If the 
 admirable Catechism on the Evidences of Christianity were translated 
 into Spanish, it would prove an invaluable boon to millions of souls ; 
 for, by its bulk, its plan, and its limpid clearness of statement, it is 
 already just fitted to the state of multitudes, and that is a state of mind 
 which is yet to be the bitter experience of multitudes more. Perhaps, 
 however, with the facilities for doing this well in London, it may be 
 already accomplished, or at least in progress. O that I were sure that 
 this is the fact ! Our recent heavy losses, in the death of Mr. Butter- 
 worth, the Brethren at Antigua, Brother Threlfall, and the Links’s, are 
 affecting circumstances, which have made considerable impression on 
 some of the people here ; and, I think, that our Missionary Society is 
 somewhat reviving, though removals of late have crippled us sadly. 
 
 It would have been a great satisfaction to me, to be able to send 
 you a more encouraging account, but truth is more valuable thau 
 honour, or than the delight which an honest mind may feel in giv- 
 
 A congregation ; a fraternity. 
 
350 
 
 RETURN OF ENCOURAGEMENT. 
 
 ing pleasure to the benevolent and good. Will you accept the assur- 
 ance of my sincere respect and love ? And I am, dear Sirs, to the 
 Committee and yourselves, 
 
 Your affectionate and obedient Servant, 
 
 In the Gospel of the Lord Jesus, 
 
 W. Barber. 
 
 P.S. — The fresh supply of copies of the Common Prayer, from the 
 Prayer-Book and Homily Society, was most valuable. 
 
 Gibraltar , Dec. 12, 1826. 
 My very dear Father, Brothers, and Sisters, 
 
 * * * * * As to my work in the Minis- 
 
 try, you will easily ’believe that, in my state of health and spirits, I 
 found it very difficult and painful during the heat of the -summer. 
 Many t^me* I had the utmost difficulty to go through the services, and 
 I was so much discouraged, that I should often have gladly buried 
 my head in obscurity and silence for ever. It is now, however, much 
 better with. me, and my delight in preaching the Gospel to the poor 
 and perishing m«n around me, has in some degree returned ; the Lord 
 has in a measure acknowledged and blest me ; but my want of faith, 
 and love, and hearty and zealous devotion, has prescribed very nar- 
 row limits to my usefulness. I am very far from being faultless, and 
 this has made me willing; to bear and forbear ; but, surely, were it 
 otherwise with me, I ought not to be less disposed to patience and 
 kindness. I do and will pray r to be more pious, and full of love and 
 active charity. I have begun, for some time, to preach in Spanish, 
 extempore ; it is true, I have, as yet, had but little pleasure in this 
 exercise, the difficulty of preaching in a foreign language has op- 
 pressed me much ; but, as I am obtaining greater readiness, correct- 
 ness, and abundance in it, my discourses are becoming more interest- 
 ing to my hearers, and our little congregation is, accordingly, in- 
 creasing. Thanks be to God, there are many here who love me, and 
 some who love me very much. I know not what more any man cart 
 hope for in this world ; and, were it not for the consciousness that 
 I am not so useful as I ought to be, I might say that, notwithstanding 
 all my difficulties, I am comfortable. My health is certainly better 
 now than it has been at all ; and my studies are very pleasant to me. 
 * * * * 
 
 I am, 
 
 Your Son and Brother, 
 
 William. 
 
AFFECTXNG CASE 0E A YOUNG SPANIARD. - 
 
 351 
 
 To his second Sister. 
 
 Gibraltar , Dec. 15, 1826. 
 
 My very dear Priscilla, 
 
 * * * * * I am here amidst much that distresses 
 
 me, with the great aggravation of my being but little able to relieve 
 it ; the presence of many of the Spaniards, banished by political con- 
 vulsions from their native land, and without the means of obtaining 
 any thing like an adequate subsistence, is very distressing. They 
 are not all equally reduced, but many of them are absolutely depend- 
 ent upon the casualties of occasional help ; and yet the scenes of ex- 
 cessive misery and want are, I suppose, not nearly so numerous here 
 as with you, though very much more falls under my notice than I can 
 relieve. There is a Spaniard here, a fine young man, from whom I 
 just now parted with a heavy heart ; he was here two years ago, when 
 the recent revolution of Spain had compelled multitudes to fly from 
 their homes, and to seek exemption from the gallows in the shelter 
 of banishment and indigence in foreign lands. To admit a foreigner 
 into this place as a resident, it is necessary for some established sub- 
 ject of the British crown, whose responsibility will be admitted, to 
 take the stranger into his employ, and become bound for him to the 
 Government, both as to his maintenance and good behaviour, under 
 a penalty of about twelve pounds. Hence the difficulty of obtain- 
 ing a license is very great, and, for want of it, this young man was 
 obliged to remove from the Garrison, and return to his own country, 
 taking all the chances that would be involved. The consequence 
 was, as he tells me, that he was compelled to fly from one place to 
 another, -and for about eighteen months could 6 find no rest for the 
 sole of his foot.’ On one occasion, he experienced a remarkable de- 
 liverance from the hands of his persecutors ; they had intelligence of 
 his motions, and he, likewise, of their being in pursuit of him ; he 
 left Cadiz for Seville, and, by the same day’s post, the information 
 went to the police of the latter town, and they were ordered to ap- 
 prehend him ; the very next day, he went into a public ordinary, 
 arid sat down to dine, and the officers, who were in pursuit of him, 
 were at the same table, but did not know him ; they asked him, how- 
 ever, whence he came ? lie replied , — c From Cadiz.’ 6 When ?’ said 
 they. lie mentioned a particular day, which was not the true one. 
 They immediately rejoined , — ( Then you must know the people of Ca- 
 diz ?’ He answered , — ( Many of them.’ c And do you know,’ said they, 
 ( any thing of on e Do?i Jose S., a young man of that town?’ This 
 was his own name, and he immediately perceived his danger, as well 
 as the meana of his escape. He therefore paused, and put himself 
 in the attitude of recollection, and, at length, said, that he had some 
 
352 
 
 HOPEFUL DEATH OF A SPANISH GENTLEMAN. 
 
 indistinct knowledge of him ; and then proceeded to give an account 
 of his personal appearance very different from his own ; he said, that 
 he was a tall, stout man, with a fair complexion, which was the very 
 reverse of himself. He thus, by deception, indeed, got time to finish 
 his dinner, walk quietly to the bar to pay his account, and take his 
 leave. He then went to the place where he had left his trunk, and, 
 taking from it a clean shirt, instantly left the city. And thus, for 
 many months, he was hunted up and dow n the country ; till, at 
 length, his Mother, having a little property, determined to sacrifice 
 a great part, in order to compound the matter with his persecutors, 
 which was ultimately effected. But then, the great trial was to ob- 
 tain a living ; for when I asked him about the state of commerce in 
 Cadiz, he replied , — 6 Ya no existef that is, — 6 It no longer exists. 
 Indeed,’ continued he, 4 to ask for the commerce of Cadiz, is like 
 asking for Catholicism in England ; it once flourished, but it is now 
 destroyed.’ And then, to obtain employment under the Government, 
 compromised as he had been, would have been difficult, if not impos- 
 sible ; but, had it been easy, it could have been only by the sacrifice 
 of principles., which, as an honest man, it was impossible to disavow; 
 so that, had he consented to this, it would have been to stamp him- 
 self, for ever, as infamous to other men, as well as despicable to him- 
 self. He, therefore, determined to come once more to Gibraltar, and 
 to try to gain a livelihood, however lowly, where thought is free, and 
 utterance unshackled by any other restraints than those of liberal and 
 rational law. But then, the commerce of Gibraltar itself is in a state 
 of ruin, great numbers of the inhabitants are already out of employ, 
 and hence to obtain a license of settled residence here is at present 
 impracticable. I have been trying to obtain employment for him, 
 but without success; and I have just had the pain of dismissing 
 him, under the afflictive conviction that no visible remedy remains. 
 
 But such cases as these are only a part of what really pains me ; 
 too many of the necessitous Spaniards would come to me and join the 
 Society, for the sake of some temporal relief, and then withdraw as 
 soon as they discover that nothing can be gained. As they are but 
 little influenced by the love of truth, for its own sake, they dislike 
 or despise us, just as they happen to be impressed with the idea, that 
 we are unable or unwilling to help them. 
 
 And yet there are some few among them, who seem truly pious, 
 or at least under religious impressions. An elderly Spaniard, who, in 
 the time of the Constitution, was a gentleman of considerable import- 
 ance in his own country, lately died here, broken-hearted, for the 
 miseries of that unhappy land. With that gentleman I had frequent 
 interviews, and some very delightful conversations. The very last 
 time that we were together, we talked of heaven through the merits 
 of the Redeemer alone, and of the confidence which a firm faith in 
 
HOPEFUL DEATH OF A PENITENT PRODIGAL. 
 
 35 3 
 
 His atonement may inspire the soul, and of the transport with which 
 we may eventually meet each other in the realms above, and rejoice 
 together in an eternal freedom from sorrow, sin, and pain. And there 
 are several others, who seem to be serious and diligent enquirers; and 
 when I find myself more among them, I hope to see them more de- 
 cided followers of Christ. But I have, on many accounts, a difficult 
 and painful task; however, the_ greatest misfortune is, my want of 
 greater devotedness and zeal. I am sure, that I owe much already 
 to the prayers of my dear friends ; but, in this respect, I want to 
 feel myself under still greater obligations. * * * * 
 
 Your affectionate Brother, 
 
 . William, 
 
 Journal Continued . 
 
 Dec. 24th and 25th. — Two passages in Luke i. have particularly 
 interested me for the important services of these two days. The 
 former, includes the 67th to the 71st verse, descriptive of ardent an- 
 ticipation of the coming of the Saviour, and His salvation, in the in- 
 teresting interval between the birth of John the Baptist, and that of 
 Jesus. I preached from this passage with tolerable liberty, and my 
 mind was somewhat affected by the abundant provision, which is made 
 for guilty man in the gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ. The other 
 passage, includes the 46th to the 48th verse, and embraces the ami- 
 able views of herself assumed by Mary, and her correspondent esti- 
 mation of God’s gracious goodness to her. On this subject, I preach- 
 ed to a small congregation, dwelling particularly on the personal cha- 
 racter and experience of the Virgin Mary, as described by herself, in 
 opposition to the gross and idolatrous abuses of her history made by 
 the Romish church. I intend to translate this latter sermon, and to 
 preach it to my poor Spaniards, on Thurday evening next. 
 
 The poor Soldier at the hospital, as well as Dogherty, is sinking 
 fast. The latter has been so miserable in his life, that, with any 
 measure of conviction respecting its enormity, it is a wonder to see 
 him so little miserable in his death : however, I cannot but entertain 
 very pleasing hopes. 
 
 28th. — The numbers that crowd to the Spanish Church, afford a 
 most affecting comment on the efficacy of Popery, or any other 
 merely formal and national religion, to lull the minds of multitudes 
 into a fatal security, by the discharge of a few prescribed ceremo- 
 nies. But here, around me, is this monstrous system of error revel- 
 ling in all the strength of an almost uncontradicted influence, and 
 pompously and tyrannically guiding men by millions, through the 
 grossest of errors, to the greatest of dangers. Oh ! how is it, that 
 this does not operate with, greater force upon my mind, and make me 
 
354 
 
 FIRST SPANISH WATCH-NIGHT. 
 
 more diligent and faithful in seeking to pluck some, at least, as brands 
 from the burning ? 
 
 I preached this evening to a very good number of Spaniards from 
 Luke i. 46 — 48; and, from the Virgin Mother’s own account, I 
 plainly stated to them her conscious need of the salvation of the very 
 Redeemer, whom she was honoured to bear into the world, her 
 happy enjoyment of that salvation, and the consequent falsehood of 
 the common notions respecting her, and the idolatry of the worship 
 which is grounded on these notions. My hearers were profoundly 
 attentive, and I pray, that infinite mercy may seal the truth upon 
 their hearts. 
 
 31st. — At our Spanish meeting, this afternoon, for reading the 
 prayers, there was a strong party of apparently sincere and serious 
 worshippers. With several of them I am much pleased, although 
 repeated instances have occurred, in which expectation has been, in 
 some measure, raised only to be disappointed in the end. O that I 
 could perceive such clear marks of sound scriptural conversion among 
 them, as would be as 4 a city set upon a hill !’ Brother Q. proposed, 
 what I was, at first, afraid would be deemed burdensome, viz. that 
 we should meet agaiu at eleven o’clock, to spend the last hour of the 
 year in prayer, as it had also been proposed to do at the Chapel, in 
 English. I knew that I was expected at the Chapel, and, therefore, 
 gave no promise to be at Brother Q.’s ; but, upon mentioning the 
 subject to Mr. Pratten, he consented, at once, to my going to the 
 Spanish meeting. When I entered the room, at the appointed time, 
 I was surprised to find about twenty-five persons assembled. We 
 joined in singing and prayer ; several Spaniards engaged with much 
 propriety, uttering not a word of personal merit, or the intercession 
 of saints ; indeed, their prayers seemed as free from the infection, 
 as if their minds had never been imbued with it. They readily 
 entered into the design of the meeting, and expressed desires that 
 had, at least, the appearance of sincerity, to be yielded to the service 
 of God ; but their prayers certainly embraced much more than they 
 themselves are yet aware of ; and they would, perhaps, be astonished 
 at perceiving what is, in spirit and in truth, implied in being a Chris- 
 tian indeed. Following a posse of them toward the Mission-House, 
 I found them in the hands of the patrol, who have received orders to 
 arrest any persons seen in the streets after twelve o'clock at night, 
 unless they have a special license. One of the party possessed a spe- 
 cial license, and was in the act of unfolding it to the patrol when I 
 came up. 4 What is the matter?’ said I. Upon being told, I said, — 
 4 We have been well employed.’ The corporal, who was at the head 
 of the patrol, seemed to know me, for he answered, — 4 You can pass on, 
 Sir, with your friends,’ alluding to those who came up with me. 4 But 
 these too,’ said I, 4 are of our company. I am a Methodist Preacher, 
 
REVIEW OF THE PAST YEAR. 
 
 355 
 
 and we have been together, spending the last hour of the old year in 
 praying for a blessing on the new one .’ — 6 Oh ! very well, Sir,’ was 
 the civil reply, 6 1 am glad that you could employ your time so well ; 
 very few have done the same.’ And thus we passed on. Upon the 
 whole, our time was spent profitably, and it left a good impression on 
 the minds of several who were present. I do pray, that good may 
 result from it, if not in the way of direct and clear conversion, yet in 
 preparing them for that happy event. Thus was celebrated the first 
 Methodist watch-night ever held on the Continent of Europe, in the 
 Spanish language. Would to God, that His providence may perpe- 
 tuate the observance, till the last shall be celebrated in the hour of the 
 coming of the Lord Jesus, in the glory of His final kingdom ! 
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 Review of the past Year — Renewing Covenant with God — Doubtfulness of a 
 Death-Bed Repentance — Left alone again in the Work — Climate of Gibraltar — 
 Encouragements in the Spanish Work — Promising Conversion of a Spaniard and 
 his Wife — Report of the Gibraltar Auxiliary Missionary Society — First cele- 
 bration of the Lord’s Supper in the Spanish Language — Contemplates a Second 
 Marriage — Mixed Character of Success among the Spaniards — Mischief of Hy- 
 per-Calvinism — Grossly inconsistent Conduct of a Spaniard — His consequent 
 and awful Apostacy — Reward of Virtuous Decision — Promising Case of a Span- 
 ish Gentleman and Lady — Interesting Letters from an enlightened Spanish Priest 
 and his Friend. 
 
 Journal Continued . 
 
 January 1 , 1827. — My mind was much affected last evening, while 
 preparing and preaching. I often feel at a loss to determine which, 
 in my case, should preponderate, the sentiment of gratitude, or that 
 of shame, — gratitude for the amazing goodness of God, or shame for 
 the strange obstinacy of that carnality which keeps me always un- 
 faithful. The past year, and especially the latter half, has been a pe- 
 riod of great trial to me; I refer to the exercises of my mind, with 
 reference to a growth in grace, and the prosperity of the work of God. 
 There has been in me so little real piety, either before or during the 
 family trials, that I wonder not in the least, that there should have 
 x 2 A 2 
 
356 
 
 RENEWING COVENANT WITH GOD. 
 
 been so little acknowledgment of my labours. O how afflicting to 
 think, that a young Minister should have been labouring for twelve 
 months with so very few cases of conversion ! 1 have, on various 
 
 occasions, been deeply wounded at the faults of those around me, but 
 very sure I am, that I have suffered most from my own. I have 
 greatly given way to discouragement and unbelief, and degenerated 
 into a comparative waste of time. It is true, I have a great adversary 
 in my body, but I am deeply sensible, that a greater adversary has too 
 successfully impaired the diligence and resolution of my soul. Oh! 
 thou great Head of the Church, the Lord Jesus Christ, Son of the 
 Father, whom I really believe to be present with all thy faithful peo- 
 ple, unto the end of the world, hear my ardent supplication, that the 
 present year, whatever may be its trials, — and trials I fully antici- 
 pate, — may be a season of complete triumph in my heart, of the simple, 
 but meek, humble, diligent, aud zealous principles of thy own truth ! 
 O 4 sanctify me through thy truth, thy word is truth!’ 
 
 But, after all, what are the present state and the prospects of my 
 soul ? I still continue in a wounded and unprofitable condition, 
 ready, every hour, if not shielded by the persevering faithfulness and 
 care of God, to become c the prey of the mighty.’ O Lord God, to 
 whom I now renew my act of self-dedication, I beseech thee, for the 
 sake of my Lord Jesus Christ, thy well-beloved and only begotten 
 Son, to deliver me from the deep-rooted evils of my own corrupt and 
 unbelieving heart ! Remember, oh ! remember thy cause ! — Pour out 
 thy Holy Spirit on my colleague and myself, as well as on the English 
 Society, and the little Spanish congregation ! — Let this be a year 
 distinguished by the baring of thine arm, and the glory of thy grace, 
 in the conversion of souls ! Oh ! I cannot free myself from the im- 
 pression, that it is greatly through my own unfaithfulness, that such a 
 want of prosperity is evident ; and yet I do try to preach the truth, 
 both plainly and strongly ; but then, preaching is not the half of my 
 business. 
 
 5th. — I have this day attended to a note, which I received from a 
 gentleman in the barrack department. It appears, that his housekeeper 
 is in a declining state of health, and that she was desirous to see one 
 of the Missionaries. I found her lying on the sofa much debilitated ; 
 she is about fifty-two or fifty-three years of age, and apparently sink- 
 ing under the exhaustion of death. From her account of the doctor’s 
 treatment of her, I judge that he despairs of her recovery ; but in the 
 present uncertainty, my way is obviously to labour to bring her to a 
 scriptural view of the plan of salvation by faith. She freely stated the 
 leading features of her past life, expressed her thankfulness that she 
 had been enabled to live in an honest and industrious manner, and was 
 very particular, and even earnest, in declaring, that she did not mention 
 this last circumstance, because she had any trust, or reason to trust, 
 
LEFT ALONE AGAIN IN TIIE WORK. 
 
 357 
 
 in it, for she felt herself unworthy of the mercy of God. She empha- 
 tically expressed her sorrow, that she had too much neglected religion, 
 and owned that now she found no consolation which could satisfy her 
 mind. Tn all this, there is of course something hopeful; for it is far 
 better to hear such acknowledgments, than to listen to any boasting in 
 herself, or to perceive an absolute blindness to the danger of that 
 sinful way of life, which, in an honest deportment, wraps up a neglect 
 of the great salvation, and presumptuous hopes of escape together. 
 However, I do not perceive any thing decidedly evangelical in her 
 present feelings. She seems alarmed at finding death so near, and 
 herself unprepared for it ; but how different is this from the brokenness 
 of heart, which makes the doctrine of the cross truly welcome! 
 
 To his eldest Sister. 
 
 Gibraltar , Feb. 7 , 1827 . 
 
 My dear Sarah, 
 
 * * * * * I have just completed, in my 
 
 new residence, the most comfortable month of many that I have spent 
 here. It is a delightful situation, and where I have much better op- 
 portunities of usefulness among the Spaniards, than I had before. I 
 have the use of two excellent rooms, and the advantage of constant 
 intercourse with the objects of my Mission, while there is no addi- 
 tional expense to the Society. Mr. P. has been absent for a month, on an 
 excursion to Lisbon, for the recovery of his health ; and, immediately 
 subsequent to his departure, Mr. Davis, our good old Local Preacher ? 
 was taken ill, and laid up with the gout ; so that, again, I had the 
 whole duty, both English and Spanish, devolving upon me. I was, 
 however, helped by the members of the Society, on those occasions 
 when two services happened at the same hour ; but I am perfectly 
 able to do this work ; and, with the exception of the summer months? 
 I should but little regret its continuance on my own account ; how - 
 ever, the people would, of course, be the worse for it, and I am in 
 no danger of being tried. I shall, on Mr. P.’s return, immediately 
 get deeper into my Spanish work, of which I think some little fruit, 
 through infinite mercy, begins to appear ; but I am fearful of appear- 
 ances, till time has somewhat mellowed them. I most earnestly com- 
 mend to all your prayers, myself, as a poor, unworthy, sinful, and in- 
 expressibly feeble creature, and the work in which I am engaged. 
 
 Your affectionate Brother, 
 
 William. 
 
358 
 
 CLIMATE OF GIBRALTAR. 
 
 To his elder Brother . 
 
 Gibraltar , March 5, 1827. 
 
 Very dear A. 
 
 * * * * In this place we never hear, as we 
 
 do in the West Indies and other places, of persons suddenly falling 
 victims to the climate, and when they suffer beyond mere relaxation 
 to a moderate extent, it is generally attributable to their own negli- 
 gence or excess. Gibraltar is sometimes visited by epidemics, and 
 every autumn some individuals are carried off by fever ; but really, 
 from what I have seen, and from what has transpired for many years, 
 I question if a greater number of persons are carried off here by fe- 
 ver, than in any town of equal population in England. As to the 
 cases of Mrs. Dixon and Mrs. Pratten, I believe that the climate had 
 very little to do with the first, excepting, indeed, the great mistake 
 which was made in coming out in August, and just nothing at all to 
 do with the last ; Mrs. P. having died of consumption, but not super- 
 induced by the climate. In summer, you have not unfrequently 
 greater heat, at mid-day, than we have ; but in North America, for in- 
 stance, Quebec and New Orleans, it is often much greater. Through- 
 out the year, our thermometer is seldom lower than seventy, or so high 
 as ninety; and hence, our barometer is far less variable than yours, and 
 our changes of weather are by no means so uncertain, or so great. In 
 the winter, indeed, it is sufficiently wet and cold, to make a thoroughly 
 good fire acceptable, and, indeed, indispensable to comfort; but, at 
 this moment, we have a very fine clear blue sky, and a warm animat- 
 ing spring atmosphere. We have had a very unusual quantity of rain 
 during the past winter, and the season is very backward ; but there 
 is generally a large proportion of fine days in February, and they are 
 not scarce in January. 
 
 With regard now to myself and my work. The past year has not 
 been one of much prosperity ; but for this, the afflicted state of Mr. 
 P.’s family will, in great part, account. However, that is now past, 
 and Mr. P. is returned from Lisbon in a state of health so mlich im- 
 proved, as to justify the warmest hopes of a great amendment. In 
 the Spanish work, I now engage more fully than ever. We have three 
 services a-week ; a sermon on the Thursday evening in the Chapel, at 
 which we have a congregation of from thirty to fifty persons ; a 
 prayer-meeting on the Friday evening, with about twelve or fifteen at- 
 tendants ; and the Church service, and a sermon, on the Sunday morn- 
 ing in Brother Q.’s house, where I now lodge ; this last service has 
 been commenced since Mr. P.’s return ; and, therefore, it does not 
 permit me to say, what is the number of the congregation ; however, 
 
ARDUOUSNESS OF MISSIONARY UNDERTAKINGS. 
 
 359 
 
 on the only occasion we have as yet -had of this nature, there were 
 thirty persons present, nearly all of whom were Spaniards, who very 
 cordially joined in the liturgy, and afterwards expressed their great 
 approbation of the prayers. We have also Spanish hymns, or rather 
 lines strung together, and somewhat versified, which are very accept- 
 able. to the people; although, poor as my judgment is respecting 
 Spanish poetry, I suspect, that there is little in them to merit the 
 name of poetical composition. Added to this, there are several houses 
 to which I go, during the week, to read either the Scriptures, or 
 tracts, to expound, and to pray. With all this practice, however, I 
 have hitherto found it impossible to acquire sufficient boldness and 
 freedom in the use of the language. I speak and preach with great 
 fear; and, therefore, I easily lose my self-possession, and get con- 
 fused. Indeed, my dear A., I find myself in the midst of an ardu- 
 ous, and very humiliating, scene of labour : at this, I am neither sur- 
 prised, nor disappointed ; but Spanish reading and composition, to- 
 gether with the disgusting labyrinths of the Popish controversy, un- 
 hinge my mind, which is far from a powerful one ; bewilder my me- 
 mory, which has become more than usually defective and unfaithful ; 
 and, in truth, reduce all my faculties into such hyppish fear and de- 
 spondency, as I think must often render me more an object of pity 
 than of any other emotion. In these circumstances, I keenly feel the 
 want of the society of my own family, and especially of that inesti- 
 mable Friend, in whose grave the light of my earthly happiness was 
 extinguished. For this sensation, I have only one relief, it is, that 
 He, who has withdrawn me from all those whom I particularly loved, 
 lias placed me in this insulated condition, because He knew the idol- 
 atrous tendencies of my heart, and the train of evils which idolatry 
 always introduces ; reasons, indeed, of the wisest and most beneficent 
 character. May the kind and gracious God, whom we serve, con- 
 tinue to look down upon you with favour, and shelter you from 
 harm, by saving and sanctifying you in the midst of all things that He 
 giveth you richly to enjoy ! Amen. I am in the flesh, in the Spirit, 
 and in the Ministry, (thank God for such a three-fold cord!) 
 
 Your affectionate Brother, 
 
 William. 
 
 P. S. — There are three or four Spaniards that decidedly appear to 
 have got good, they seem awakened and in earnest for salvation ; 
 indeed, one of them has lately entered into the liberty of the child- 
 ren of God ; but I must, I believe, feel more holy and happy in 
 my own soul before a full blessing will descend. 
 
360 
 
 ENCOURAGEMENTS AMONG THE SPANIARDS* 
 
 By the foregoing Extracts it will be seen, that my dear Brother had 
 one considerable fault, I allude to the habitual tendency of his mind 
 to desponding views of himself and his work; for which, if the tes- 
 timony of others can be depended on, there really was not the oc* 
 casion that he imagined. I am convinced, that this peculiarity arose, 
 on the one hand, from an amiable humility of soul, for which he had 
 long been remarked by those who knew him best ; and, on the other, 
 from a too cautious fear of presenting accounts of his usefulness, 
 which might afterwards appear exaggerated ; but there can be no 
 doubt, that he allowed these motives to carry him much too far for his 
 own happiness* as well as for the glory of God. The consequence 
 of the melancholy statements, which he had repeatedly made to the 
 Committee in London, was an order from them to proceed to Malta 
 forthwith, as to a place of more probable success in the work of the 
 Lord. This at once elicited the truth, which was of a much more 
 encouraging nature than the Committee had supposed, and the result 
 was, that, after waiting till their answer could reach him, during 
 which interval he applied himself to the attainment of the Italian 
 language, in order to qualify himself for a confirmation of his orders* 
 he was directed to remain where he was. It appears from a letter 
 written to Mr. Morley, shortly after the last to myself, that four or 
 five Spaniards had become the subjects of the converting grace of 
 God, that about eight or nine were in a state sufficient to justify 
 their being received into Christian communion, and that from twenty 
 to thirty, speaking 4 within compass,’ were regular attendants on 
 the means of grace. And, when in addition to this, it was stated 
 to the Committee, that so many as fifty persons generally attended the 
 Spanish service on the Thursday evening, it is not to be wondered at 
 that their decision should have been so quickly altered. 
 
 *To his younger Brother. ' 
 
 Gibraltar , May 2, 1827. 
 
 My very dear Samuel, 
 
 * * * * * If any one at home should ima- 
 
 gine, from the glowing and heart-warming representations that are 
 often made from the press, the pulpit, and the anniversary boards, 
 that the Missionary, who sallies forth from- his country, has nothihg 
 else to do than to alight upon some chosen scene of labour, and to be 
 received, and venerated, and listened to, as if he were an angel of 
 light and peace, I can assure you that nothing can be more foreign 
 from the truth. A Missionary has to be despised and rejected, not 
 to say persecuted, by the great majority around him, and it is only 
 
PROMISING CONVERSION OF A SPANIARD. 
 
 361 
 
 in the bosoms of those 4 whose hearts the Lord opens, so that they 
 attend to the things which are spoken,’ that he can find any relief 
 from that painful neglect of sacred things which every where meets 
 his eye. However, I have been much relieved and delighted by the 
 evidences, which have lately occurred, of some success in my Spanish 
 ministry. Immediately on my removal to Brother Q.’s house, I 
 opened my own apartments for public worship, and this was at once 
 followed by an increase in the number of attendants on our different 
 means. Among the rest, one individual came, who has since distin- 
 guished himself as a decided man. He is a mason, a native Spaniard, 
 who, in the former part of his life has roved sufficiently ; but now, for 
 many years, he has been settled on the Rock, following his daily 
 employment, and gaining his bread by the sweat of his brow. He 
 has not been a very bad man, as in truth the majority of Spaniards 
 of his class are ; but he was a man following the course of the world, 
 both in things temporal and spiritual, with, however, this peculiarity, 
 that, while he was strongly addicted to the observances of the Roman 
 Catholic religion, he hated the friars. This is natural enough for any 
 one, in whose breast hatred can exist at all, except, indeed, the 
 friars themselves, and those immediately dependent on them, or de- 
 voted to them ; but it is an essential article in the politico-religious 
 creed of a modern liberal. S.$ for that is his name, some years ago 
 received, through the medium of the Bible Society, first a New Tes- 
 tament, and then a Bible. These, under the guiding influence of 
 Him, who knows how to work by preparative as well as by perfective 
 means, did the poor man immense good. He saw that the religion 
 of the Bible, and that of the Roman Catholics, do not agree ; and he 
 perceived that the guesses, which, under less enlightened circum- 
 stances, he had made respecting the system of fraud and imposture 
 carried on by the priests, were confirmed by examination at the 
 fountain-head of truth. But as yet, no events occurred to unfold to 
 his view a more consistent system, which, seizing on the principles of 
 truth, should reduce them to a saving and experimental religion. In 
 the end, however, he was providentially invited to attend our meet- 
 ings, which he did several times before, in any particular way, he at- 
 tracted my attention. But I was soon informed, that he had been 
 struck and powerfully influenced by the conformity of our teachings 
 with the Scriptures ; as well as with the simple, intelligible, and con- 
 stant use which we make of those divine records. lie quickly ex- 
 pressed his desire to join us, acknowledging, in the deepest and 
 most affecting way, his conviction of the sinfulness of his condition, 
 and his want of the light and enjoyment of vital religion. He was im- 
 mediately instructed in the plan of salvation ; the worth and efficacy 
 of the death, atonement, and intercession of the Lord Jesus Christ ; 
 the work of the Holy Spirit; and the nature, necessity, and exercise 
 
3S2 
 
 CONVERSION OF A SPANIARD’S WIFE. 
 
 of faith, in order to an actual participation in the blessings of the 
 Gospel. He immediately sought those blessings with all his heart, 
 and soon obtained a most delightful answer to his prayers. When he 
 came to inform me of the great inward change which he had felt, in 
 consequence of his remaining ignorance he said, that he thought a mi- 
 racle had been wrought in his favour, and that, as he was fully per- 
 suaded the knowledge of that miracle must convert many of those 
 around him, if not all, it was his bounden duty to proclaim it to the 
 whole world. It was a difficult, if not a hazardous, attempt, to tem- 
 per his zeal without reducing its worth, by endeavouring to convince 
 him, that, without being a miracle, in his sense of the word, the 
 change, which he had experienced, was an answer most graciously 
 given to the prayer, which he had uttered in faith, and thus the ful- 
 filment of a divine and merciful promise. I did, however, succeed 
 in my object, under the care of the great Head of the Church, to 
 whom, my dear Samuel, your soul, and mine, and that of S., and 
 all others, are inexpressibly valuable. i Full of joy and peace through 
 believing,’ S. went on, under the idea, however, that nothing would 
 or could interrupt him. I repeatedly warned him, on this subject, 
 with great kindness, but the great adversary had well nigh been too 
 skilful for him, and too successful for me. The poor man, by and 
 by, disapproved of the attendance on our meetings of another person, 
 who was not adorning the Gospel; and, therefore, wished me to for- 
 bid him. Of course, I durst not do so ; for my business is to call 
 sinners to repentance, and, if they be willing to come to the public 
 means of grace, to help them as much as I can. However 8. was 
 positive, and my resolution fixed. He was on the point of leaving 
 us for ever, and expressed himself so rashly, that I reminded him 
 of my former warnings. He left me much displeased ; but, after 
 passing a miserable night, he came the next day into my room in an 
 agony of distress, and, in tears, threw himself upon his knees before 
 me, entreating me to pardon him. I assured him, that to me, per- 
 sonally, there was no need of apology, the evil had been done to him- 
 self, and the injury to the Holy Spirit whom he had grieved. We 
 then prayed together, and poor S. soon got restored to his peace of 
 mind, and I doubt not that he has gained wisdom by what he has 
 suffered. ^ 
 
 I have proceeded, uninterruptedly, with this narrative, but I now 
 go back to bring up his wife. She was a pious Catholic, devoted to 
 her religion, and as much attached to her husband as he was to her. 
 They had their house full of images, pictures, &c. But, when he 
 became a changed character, he read the Scriptures to her, prayed 
 with her, and told her what had happened. She saw that he was 
 better, holier, and happier than he had been, and, therefore, she also 
 came to our meetings. She soon caught the light which divine love 
 
MORE ENCOURAGEMENT. 
 
 363 
 
 threw upon her willing understanding, and the images, &c. all disap- 
 peared. She also found liberty and peace, and, I believe, with the 
 exception of the interruption caused by the above-mentioned circum- 
 stance, and by a little moving of despicable persecution, she has en- 
 joyed continual peace ever since. In addition to these, several others 
 are getting good. Our prayer-meetings are interesting and solemn 
 seasons, and the public congregations are increased ; but I must leave 
 you, Samuel, to continue the account to our dear and honoured Father, 
 whom it can never be our duty to love and revere less than second to 
 Him, who redeemed us with his blood. May that Redeemer save 
 you, and 
 
 Your affectionate Brother, 
 
 William. 
 
 To his Father. 
 
 Gibraltar , May 2, 1827. 
 My very dear and honoured Father, 
 
 ***** Amidst these light discourage- 
 ments, my maxim is to push coolly and silently forward, plainly de- 
 claring the truths of God, and boldly proclaiming the free and all- 
 sufficient mercy of God, in Christ Jesus. In these circumstances we 
 were, when, about a fortnight since, I most unexpectedly received a 
 letter from Mr. Morley, informing me that the Committee had resolved, 
 that I should immediately proceed to Malta. This has not a little 
 disturbed me, and my few affectionate Spaniards ; and, without being 
 thought to desire to exalt myself, I may add, that the expressions of 
 regret from many others, who, as I had conceived, had no particular 
 regard for me, have been very gratifying. Every one here thinks, 
 that it would be wrong for me now to leave the little rising work ; 
 and, as there was in Mr. M.’s letter an intimation, that the Committee, 
 from my own representations, had but littl§ hope of any very favour- 
 able result of my Mission in this place, the friends considered me cul- 
 pable in not giving a fair account of what was actually doing. Per- 
 haps, there may be in this some truth, at least I am certain, that as I 
 very early resolved, that I never would send home any exaggerated 
 accounts, so I have kept my resolution to this hour. Upon these cir- 
 cumstances, however, is founded the determination to which I have 
 come ; that is, to write immediately to the Committee on the subject, 
 and await an answer confirming their order before I move. Accord- 
 ingly, I am now in a state of complete suspense, respecting what I shall 
 have to do. I should, however, observe, that, during the interval of 
 the passage of Mr. M.’s letter, he must have received other letters, 
 which, perhaps, would have weighed heavily in the balance to induce 
 a different resolution. But, whatever may be the final determination 
 
364 
 
 GIBRALTAR MISSIONARY REPORT. 
 
 respecting me, I certainly intend to execute without hesitation. I 
 commend myself anew to your prayers, and am, 
 
 Your very affectionate and obedient Son, 
 
 William* 
 
 The following is an extract from the Gibraltar Missionary Report, 
 dated June 6, 1827, and written by my Brother: — 
 
 c The principal design of the Annual Report of an Association for 
 Religious Purposes, may be comprehended in three particulars : — 
 First, — To present a view of the progress, and present state, of the 
 Association itself. Secondly, — To shew the condition, at large, of 
 that work, for the furtherance of which the Association was formed. 
 Thirdly, — To offer such suggestions as may be called for by circum- 
 stances, in order to replace the original importance of the object fully 
 in view ; to urge on the attention of those, who may hitherto have 
 stood aloof, considerations to induce them to sympathise with proper 
 feelings; and, to enlist volunteers in the aid of the general cause. 
 
 6 Your Committee will rapidly glance at some of the principal cir- 
 cumstances thus included, so far as their means render information 
 practicable, on occasion of this, the Seventh Anniversary of this Auxi- 
 liary Society. W ith regard to the labours and present state of our 
 Association, there is little to be said ; yet your Committee cannot but 
 be impressed with the conviction, that there is much more reason for 
 gratitude than for despondency, and, it is trusted, that this will be 
 the general feeling. As to the pecuniary efficiency of our Society, 
 there does indeed appear a diminution in the amount actually col- 
 lected ; but this may be fairly attributed to the large deduction from 
 the members of our Church, made by the removal of inhabitants from 
 the Garrison, especially among the troops, which from this place pro- 
 ceeded to join the army in Portugal. But if, in truth, some portion of 
 that diminution must be assigned to either forgetfulness, or negligence, 
 or an insufficient view of the case, it is matter of rejoicing that other 
 persons have thought and felt more appropriately ; and it may be con- 
 fidently anticipated, that a recurrence to principles, and motives, and 
 the great end of all our endeavours will stimulate and quicken again 
 to keener sensibility every individual, who has ever had his heart 
 moved to tenderness on the subject. 
 
 6 Your Committee feel it a pleasing, as well as a bounden duty, 
 again to acknowledge, in terms of warm approbation, their obligations 
 to the different collectors, with the strong conviction, that almost all 
 the little which we can do, for the extension of our Great Redeemer’s 
 kingdom, must depend on the attachment and the perseverance of such 
 persons; if they grow weary in their well-doing, the cause languishes; 
 if they are discouraged, the cause droops ; if they relinquish, the 
 
GIBRALTAR MISSIONARY REPORT. 
 
 365 
 
 cause expires : and what then would be the melancholy scene presented 
 to our view ? It would be almost an anomaly, at the present day, in 
 the Protestant world ; but this would only cover us with deeper shame. 
 Gibraltar, a place so singularly disciplined by Divine rebukes, and 
 favoured with distinguishing mercies, would exist without doing any 
 thing to promote the spread of saving truth, and the emancipation of 
 the world from the bondage of superstition. That cause would, 
 indeed, proceed, but we should have no part in its progress ; the 
 world would be made free, but we should have no share in destroy- 
 ing the oppressor’s yoke ; the Redeemer “ must reign, till he hath 
 put all enemies under his feet,” but we should not be employed in 
 preparing his way before him, nor in making ready a highway for 
 his triumph, nor in “ making the crooked things straight, and the 
 rough places smooth.” And surely then, if we now prove, by our 
 inactivity, that we have no hearty value for his cause, our voices, at 
 his actual coming, must falter, from a consciousness of our being 
 traitors at heart. 
 
 c The addition, lately, of several active collectors, gives rise to the 
 pleasing expectation, that their strength, added to that of those who 
 have preceded them, will create a very marked improvement in our 
 funds ; thus enabling us to transmit a larger amount to the Parent 
 Society, and to give them the proof, as indeed it must be the measure, 
 of how much we value that Gospel which they, at an expense so con- 
 siderable, have established among us. On this subject, your Com- 
 mittee cannot but feel somewhat anxious, because we must ever bear 
 in mind, that other churches have been, as it were, impoverished, to 
 bless us “with the unsearchable riches of Christ;” and though it is 
 true, that much more is expended in support of our present establish- 
 ment, than it can be expected that we should subscribe; yet, the more 
 we actually exert ourselves in this good cause, the more there will be 
 liberated of the means of the Parent Society, for sending the Gospel, 
 and its eternal blessings, “ into those regions beyond ” us, which lie 
 farther off from the seat and centre of that warm and spiritual life, 
 which animates us, and gives us the power and the hope of salvation ; 
 and the more deeply will that Gospel be sent into those countries, 
 where successive generations of our fellow men have, for many ages, 
 been seated in a state of abandonment and wretchedness, amidst the 
 chills and the devastations of spiritual death. 
 
 c Your Committee have turned their attention, with interest and 
 with pleasure, toward some symptoms of usefulness among the Spanish 
 population of this Garrison ; on these they would be far from calcu- 
 lating with expectations too sanguine, but if there have been any one 
 proof of genuine conversion to God among them, — and more than this 
 appears probable, — they would hail this as the demonstration, that the 
 obstacles arising from the education, and the prejudices, of persons 
 
366 
 
 GIBRALTAR MISSIONARY REPORT. 
 
 reared on the favourite soil of the Inquisition, and exposed to the full 
 action of the most refined, defended, and unmitigated abuses of 
 Popery, are not insurmountable to the simple exhibitions of God’s 
 Holy Word. The earnest desire, manifested by several Spaniards, to 
 communicate with us at the table of the Lord, proceeding entirely 
 from themselves , and that amidst circumstances more calculated to 
 repress than to encourage such a feeling ; their actual presence at this 
 sacred means of grace ; their joyful 'participation of the communion, 
 in both kinds ; their distinct recognition of it, only as a means of 
 grace , instituted for the purpose of memorialising the passion, and 
 death, and atonement of Jesus Christ; and their unequivocal declara- 
 tion, of utter disbelief and abhorrence of the false doctrine and delu- 
 sion of Transubstantiation ; — are circumstances, which your Com- 
 mittee cannot but regard as entitled to consideration, and to the 
 renewed and hearty exercise of prayer, that God, far from u despising 
 the day of small and feeble things,” would u make the little one to 
 become a thousand, aud the small one a strong nation.” Surely, were 
 there but an effusion of the Holy Spirit, to bring the Catholics under 
 the full action of renewing grace ; and were that influence but poured 
 upon us liberally, at the present moment, — there would be many born 
 from above, who would rise up to bless God for their deliverance from 
 superstition and infidelity; for there never has been a period, in the 
 history of the abuses of Popery, when its credit was so widely and so 
 deeply shaken, as the present. Let us hope that this lofty, thick- 
 walled tower of error and spiritual tyranny, entrenched and fortified 
 as it is, and covered with the spoils and the dust of many ages, is now 
 trembling to its fall. Let us hope, if human power cannot destroy it, 
 and if it still not only maintain an existence, but is advancing in the 
 repair of those deep and ghastly breaches, which have been made again 
 and again in its works, that the noise which we hear from afar among 
 the nations, whether of political excitements, or religious reformations, 
 may be the rumbling which gives the certain indications of that ap- 
 proaching earthquake, which shall overthrow it utterly and for ever. 
 Your Committee leave entirely to the care of politicians, all subjects 
 and observations appertaining rather to their province, than to that of a 
 Religious Association ; and equally out of place would it be, to dwell 
 upon any doubtful or difficult interpretations of prophecy. But, enor- 
 mous as is the moral evil of Popery ; offensive, as it cannot fail to be, 
 to the God of truth and holiness; and ruinous, as there is every reason 
 to fear it must be, to myriads of human souls; — surely, its annihilation 
 is most ardently to be desired ; every sign of the invasion of truth 
 upon its territory must be hailed with joy; and, encouraged by the 
 unequivocal intimations of prophecy and the signs of the times, we 
 cannot help stretching eagerly forward in hope and prayer, that the 
 moment may quickly arrive, when the Bible alone shall be the religion 
 
GIBRALTAR MISSIONARY REPORT. 
 
 367 
 
 of the world, and when every heart shall be bowed to the happy 
 dominion of Jesus Christ. 
 
 ***** 
 
 4 Not fatigued by the employment, but compelled, by a sense of 
 propriety, to withdraw the eye from the widely excursive glance 
 which we have now taken of the Missionary field, your Committee 
 revert to the circumstances of our own station, in order to conclude 
 the present Report ; and they confess, that, from the melancholy pic- 
 ture, which surrounds them on every hand, they can feel no relief but 
 in the assurance, that their cause is that of God, and that here there 
 exists a a remnant of his people, for whom He will make a highway, 
 like as it was to Israel in the day that he came up out of the land of 
 Egypt.” The day shall surely come, in which, after passipg through 
 difficulties which shall be cleared from before them by the power of 
 God, this remnant shall gloriously pursue their march of prosperity, 
 and rapidly augment the number of their friends, till the Sion of the 
 Christian Church shall be w the praise of the whole earth.” 
 
 6 At present, however, from our narrow and insulated Rock, — which 
 seems reared by Providence, and thrown into British hands on pur- 
 pose that it might hold out to the surrounding nations the clear, un- 
 shifting lights of truth and liberty, — all along the shores which meet 
 the eye both north and south, there is scarcely a single point on 
 which the attention of a Moralist, and much less that of a Christian, 
 can dwell with pleasure, up to the very spot in which the wearied 
 searchers might meet, and sit, and weep on the ruins of Jerusalem, 
 or the profaned and degraded hill of Calvary. And even in our own 
 immediate vicinity how little is done, and how little attempted ! how 
 little, indeed, at present, seems practicable ! Moors, Jews, and Ca- 
 tholics form the bulk of our population ; and who can deny that igno- 
 rance, irreligion, and vice strongly mark their general character ? 
 True, they may, in many instances, be scrupulous about the formali- 
 ties of their peculiar professions, and the more so from their being 
 in the presence of those whose profession is different from their own ; 
 but what avails all this in the presence of Ilim, who is “a Spirit,” 
 and who requires those u who worship Him, to worship Him in spirit 
 and in truth ?” And then, even of the more instructed and enlight- 
 ened among our population, I mean, the English inhabitants, how 
 few are there of whom it can be fairly hoped, that they live accord- 
 ing to the Gospel of Christ, on which all their hopes, in profession at 
 least, are, nevertheless, entirely dependent ! Your Committee con- 
 template these things with great concern, and lament that so little of 
 an efficient agency can be brought to bear, for the purpose of chang- 
 ing this sad condition of those around them. What, however, can be 
 done ? Your Committee earnestly recommend, that each individual, 
 who has the slightest concern on these subjects, should think more 
 
368 
 
 GIBRALTAR MISSIONARY REPORT. 
 
 justly, and talk more frequently, and pray more earnestly, and strive 
 more perseveringly, and subscribe more liberally, than heretofore, and 
 that he should by all means urge others to do the same. And thus, 
 surely, individual exertion will realise a greater collective amount of 
 usefulness ; and, above all, that want of Divine influence which has 
 so long afflicted us, and left us in comparative barrenness, will be re- 
 moved by the descending dews and streams of grace and love, which 
 running freely among our families and friends, shall wrap their moist- 
 ure close around the roots of the individual plants of righteousness, 
 and thus filling them with vigour, and covering them with beauty, 
 shall again make our little spiritual garden rich in the blessings of sal- 
 vation. And thus, indeed, this abundant influence, by spreading from 
 one spot to another, shall produce not merely “ a sight in the night 
 visions,” but the realisation of what they were intended, in the case 
 of Daniel, to predict ; — u And behold ! one like the Son of man 
 shall come with the clouds of Heaven to the Ancient of days, and be 
 brought near before Him ; and there shall be given him dominion, and 
 glory, and a kingdom ; that all people, nations, and languages should 
 serve Him : His dominion shall be an everlasting dominion, which 
 shall not pass away, and His kingdom that which shall not be de- 
 stroyed !” “ Even so; come Lord Jesus!” “And let the whole 
 
 earth be filled with thy glory ! Amen and Amen.” ’ 
 
 To his Father . 
 
 Gibraltar , Aug. 13, 1827. 
 
 My very dearest Father. 
 
 * * * * * On Sunday, the 5th inst., for 
 
 the first time, I celebrated the Lord’s Supper, in Spanish , with se- 
 venteen communicants, all of whom were once Catholics, and some 
 of them of a very bigoted and idolatrous character. With every one 
 I, previously, had repeated conversations ; and, so far as we know, 
 all of them, as to outward conduct, are 4 walking worthy of the Gos- 
 pel.’ Several, I believe, are truly converted to God ; but I cannot 
 say so of others, for, although they profess to be seeking real reli- 
 gion, and to me, in private, they have distinctly renounced the worst 
 errors of Popery, they have not yet given decided evidence of a 
 work of grace in their hearts. Thanks to the protection of the Bri- 
 tish flag, we have, as yet, no violent persecution, but every thing 
 goes on without any one daring to make us afraid ; though, in several 
 quarters, there is enough of ill-will. Perhaps the quietness, which 
 we enjoy, is owing to a special Providence over our feeble beginnings, 
 but it may possibly be attributed to our want of piety, devotion, and 
 zeal. However, peace is a great blessing, it is certainly the fittest 
 
CONTEMPLATES A SECOND MARRIAGE. 
 
 369 
 
 for sowing time, or, as the farmers say, — c the best for broad- 
 cast.' 
 
 I am, at present, spending the heat of the weather with the fa- 
 mily of Dr. Hennen, who is at the head of our medical department, 
 and whose kindness to me is like that of my own family. With this 
 letter you will receive a pair of Morocco slippers, sent as part of a 
 present from the Emperor of Morocco to Dr. Hennen. * 
 
 I am, my dear Father, 
 
 Your very affectionate Son, 
 
 William. 
 
 As the health of my dear Brother had now decidedly improved, 
 and there was every probability of his living to be long useful in the 
 glorious work, in which he was embarked, he had, for some time, been 
 directing his thoughts to a second marriage ; but, in consequence of 
 the peculiar situation in which he was placed, his principal difficulty 
 was to find a person properly suited to be a help-meet for him in the 
 Mission. This was a subject so manifestly full of importance, not 
 only to himself, but to the Church of Christ, whose Minister he was, 
 that it often brought him to ask counsel of the Father of lights ; and 
 he had begun seriously to think, that, if he could obtain the consent 
 of the Committee in London, it would be necessary to revisit the 
 land of his birth in order to prosecute his design. To this measure, 
 however, he felt, on several accounts, a very strong repugnance ; he 
 hesitated at the prospect of expense which would be incurred by the 
 Society, he felt anxious respecting the fate of his little flock during 
 his absence, he feared the loss of his health in a climate which had 
 already proved so prejudicial to his constitution, and he felt a very 
 keen dislike to the nature of his errand ; he, therefore, determined 
 to pray earnestly, that, if it were agreeable to the Divine will, a 
 person, every way suited to him, might be placed within his reach. 
 
 Just at this time a Missionary and his Lady, connected with ano- 
 ther denomination, arrived from England, attended by a young lady, a 
 Methodist, and a near relative of one of our own Preachers, who quickly 
 attracted the attention of William. But his conduct on the occasion 
 shall be stated in his own words. 
 
 To a Friend in England. 
 
 Gibraltar , Sept. 1 0 , J 827. 
 
 Very dear 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 tory you are doubtless acquainted. 
 
 With some portion of my his- 
 You know that I am a widower* 
 
 2 B 
 
370 
 
 CONTEMPLATES A SECOND MARRIAGE. 
 
 I married early to one, who was excessively endeared to me by every 
 virtue, that can adorn the character of woman ; and still her memory, 
 though it is now a thing quite unearthly, is more precious to me, than 
 to a mystic Papist is the belief and recollection of his guardian An- 
 gel; but, on the very day six months after our marriage, my dearest 
 Anne was translated to heaven through the fire of the dreadful ty- 
 phus fever, and I was left in a deeper grief than that of the Pro- 
 phet, without his mantle to console me, or his double portion of the 
 spirit of the departed saint. I am now in the sixth year of my wi- 
 dowhood, and I leave you, to whom the distress of that state is not 
 unknown, to judge what has been my situation. I have passed nearly 
 three years on this rugged Rock in very great discomfort; though, at 
 length, a gracious Providence has, in a good degree, re-established 
 my health, and infinite Mercy has, in some measure, condescended to 
 bless me in my Missionary work. But my widowhood is a serious 
 drawback on my usefulness ; and I have long felt, that, could I but 
 realise the happiness of a union with one whom Providence should se- 
 lect. my comfort, my holiness, and my success in the Ministry would 
 be greatly augmented. I have had serious thoughts of an early re- 
 turn to England, with this object, but I dreaded both the plan and 
 the purpose ; the plan, because of the risk which my health would 
 run ; and the purpose, because I should, in all probability, be un- 
 hinged and greatly injured by the confusion, distress, and anxiety, 
 attending the journeying about with such a view. I had, therefore, 
 though the thought seemed almost hopeless, for some time been desir- 
 ing and praying that God would kindly choose and send along this 
 way the person whom he would desire me to have. In this manner I 
 
 was situated, when Miss arrived at Gibraltar. Two or 
 
 three days passed before I saw her ; but, in the mean time, I heard 
 several very lively descriptions of her, which interested me, and 
 roused me to think that, perhaps, this might really be an answer to 
 my prayers. After one or two interviews, I certainly did not imagine 
 the descriptions which I had received to be exaggerated; and, be- 
 fore I was aware, I found my thoughts very busily engaged in pon- 
 dering, whether this matter was of the Lord for me. I soon ascer- 
 tained that the estimation in which Mr. — and his lady, held 
 
 her character, piety, talents, and temper, was of the highest kind. 
 She was introduced to our friends, and she mixed with them. I set 
 one or two persons, with whom I was intimate, and in whose judg- 
 ment I could confide, to scrutinise as much as possible, and every 
 report was more than favourable. They did not venture to urge, but 
 I saw that they thought I ought, by no means, to let such a treasure 
 escape me if I could secure it. For the greater part of the three 
 weeks of their stay, my mind was acutely exercised ; the past, the 
 present, and the future, all supplied food for my anxiety ; but all my 
 
CONTEMPLATES A SECOND MARRIAGE. 
 
 371 
 
 reflections terminated in this, that, if I could only be convinced that 
 I should possess the approbation of the Lord God of my life, my 
 own heart could be abundantly satisfied. But the difficulty of know- 
 ing this involved me in painful distress, and I felt my spirit sink into 
 despondency, when, conversing with some intimate friends on the sub- 
 ject, I felt constrained to lament the necessity of my having that to 
 do again, which had been once done, and, apparently, so well. — 
 O how keen, — how pungent, were my feelings of the unfaithfulness, 
 which had compelled that dispensation, and placed me in the bond- 
 age which I had suffered so long ! When I retired to my room I had 
 to think on my departed wife, — on my present state, — on my Mission- 
 ary work, — on my want of help, — on Miss , — on the possi- 
 
 bility, propriety, and probable consequences of attempting to make 
 her my own, — and then I had to pray for the help and the blessing 
 of Him, who had given me a wife before and demanded her again, 
 and who might find infinite reason in my own heart to disappoint me 
 anewj and again to wither all my earthly schemes. * * * 
 
 In this cool and cautious way did my Brother proceed on this im- 
 portant business ; and as, after repeated applications to a throne of 
 Grace for direction, and frequent consultation with his private friends, 
 he found his mind more and more impressed, that God had, in this re- 
 markable manner, been answering his prayers, he, at length, opened 
 his views to each of the parties concerned ; and the result w r as just 
 according to his wishes, though the affair was concluded only a few 
 hours before a re-commencement of their voyage. Circumstances 
 obliged the young lady to accompany her Missionary friends to Malta, 
 where she intended to remain, till it could be ascertained from her 
 connections in England, whether her choice were approved. In the 
 mean time, William wrote to the Committee on the subject, request- 
 ing leave to prosecute the plan which he had proposed. By the pe- 
 culiar providence of God, however, as the issue afterwards disclosed, 
 their decision was not exactly agreeable to his wishes ; having de- 
 murred on the yet equivocal state of his health, they strongly urged 
 his deferring marriage till after the ensuing Conference, which, upon 
 the reception of a proper medical certificate, would receive him into 
 full connexion with the rest of his brethren, and, consequently, al- 
 low him to fulfil his intentions. This to him was a painful denial, but 
 as there was no other remedy, he found his relief in submission to the 
 will of his God, and the decision of those to whom was entrusted the 
 management of the Church. 
 
 2 b 2 
 
372 
 
 PROGRESS OF THE SPANISH MISSION. 
 
 To his elder Brother. 
 
 Gibraltar , Oct. 30, 1827. 
 
 Very dear A. 
 
 , * * * * * You will be solicitous to hear 
 
 somewhat of the affairs of my Mission. They have been more pro- 
 mising than they are. For several months from the early part of the 
 year, the Spanish congregation was gradually increasing, and it kept 
 up better than I expected, and that, notwithstanding, from some pe- 
 culiar circumstances, I have not been permitted to continue to them 
 my preaching on the Sundays. Several persons have, I believe, been 
 truly converted to God, and they continue to walk in the liberty and 
 power of the Gospel. A good many communicants, that is, from six- 
 teen to twenty, have urgently pressed to be admitted to the sacred 
 Table, having explicitly declared to me that they abstain from gross 
 sin, that they believe the doctrines of experimental religion, and that 
 they abandon all dependence on the false dogmas of the Romish faith. 
 Of these persons, some, in addition to those above mentioned, have 
 appeared to be under deep impressions, and some little better than 
 mere professors. Among the other attendants on the general means, 
 some have undoubtedly come for mere by-ends. They are, generally, 
 poor labouring men, and dependent on the public works for daily sub- 
 sistence. One of the principal officers of those works is my friend, 
 and he often attends ; thus many come merely to please him, or to 
 gratify me, as having some influence with him. Some of these works 
 are now finished, and this has brought about a discharge of men ; 
 thus some have grown cold, others have given way to sin, and when 
 they are discountenanced by us they forsake us altogether. The 
 members of our congregation are not, however, all thus poor and de- 
 pendent ; for several Gentlemen have attended, and some of these 
 have evidently gained good. An affecting case of this kind has lately 
 transpired, but I cannot stay to recite it. However, neither at home 
 nor abroad, is Methodism generally the religion of Gentlemen, and I 
 feel no objection that my Mission should be to preach the Gospel to 
 the poor. * * * * * 
 
 May the Lord, out of Sion, prosper you with His most cheering 
 smiles ; and may He, not seldom, glance them on 
 
 Your very affectionate Brother, 
 
 William. 
 
NEW DISCOURAGEMENTS. 
 
 373 
 
 To the Rev. James Dixon. 
 
 Gibraltar , Nov. 20, 1827. 
 
 My very dear Friend, 
 
 Your valuable letter was received with the warmest wel- 
 come, and now demands my most grateful thanks ; but I will not 
 employ many words about them, nor in the lighter descriptions of the 
 affection with which I think and feel toward you. He, who is ac- 
 customed by the touch to the pulsations of the heart, can judge better 
 by the patient’s hand than by his tongue. Yet none of your expres- 
 sions of regard are lost upon me. I think them quite few enough ; 
 but then they are deep, weighty, and sincere ; and if, in a desert 
 where there are few springs, we live by the side of but one that is 
 inexhaustible, who would fear death from thirst, maugre all the arid- 
 ity of the sands, or the solitude of the place, or the implacable fire 
 of a sky unshaded by a single cloud ? I may, it is true, be reminded 
 that the term inexhaustible spring is one, which properly belongs to 
 the Lord of the heart alone, to Him who gives Himself, in His word 
 and Spirit, to be, in the believer, c a well of water springing up into 
 everlasting life.’ But I deliberately admit this, and, therefore, think 
 that they, who have 6 Christ in them, the hope of glory,’ for that 
 reason possess within them the fountain from which alone can flow an 
 eternal friendship ; and this makes me turn with delight to yours, away 
 from all the painful evidences around me, of the instability of what is 
 not divine, but merely human. 
 
 6 Why, what is the matter now ?’ you ask : c I thought that affairs 
 were going on better with you.’ And so they were, but 6 Satan is 
 now hindering ;’ and to tell you a little about this, will be to give 
 you an answer to your enquiries, respecting the work among the Span- 
 iards. More than twelve months ago, I gave a tract in the street to a 
 
 man named S , and this was accompanied by a few words, 
 
 and, among the rest, of invitation to our Spanish services. He ac- 
 cordingly came, got powerfully affected, and joined us with heart and 
 hand; his wife quickly followed, and they both appeared soon to ob- 
 tain Christian liberty, and to be filled with the power and love of 
 
 the Gospel. lie is employed under , a Gentleman of whom 
 
 you must have often heard. Providence seemed to mark out this 
 Gentleman’s attachment to me, his influence among the Spaniards, his 
 belief in the genuine change wrought in the character and conduct of 
 
 S , his promptitude in attending the Spanish services, and 
 
 his zeal in countenancing them among the Spaniards, as reasons why 
 J should cultivate his acquaintance and try, through it, to profit the 
 
374 
 
 REASONS FOR CAUTION. 
 
 souls who were thus induced to attend. This I have, therefore, done 
 all along, though with caution, for I know something of human na- 
 ture ; and human nature in Spaniards seems a more than ordinarily 
 suspicious thing. Many came zealously forward to renounce their de- 
 pendence on the false dogmas of Rome, and to beg admission to com- 
 municate with us at the table of the Lord. Those of them who seemed 
 sincere, and who declared that they were not under the influence of 
 worldly views, nor in the habit of committing any known sin, were 
 allowed to attend ; but several were refused, because, when, they were 
 told that they must break off all their wilful sins, and become decided 
 and spiritual followers of Christ, they could give no satisfactory ac- 
 count of themselves. Circumstances, however, have hitherto with- 
 held me from forming any Society in Church-membership. I had 
 not sufficient confidence in the people for the purpose ; and 1 could 
 not discern that powerful working on their hearts, by the Spirit of 
 God, which was necessary to satisfy me that they would properly 
 consider the importance of such a step, or stand fast in the day of 
 trial; beside, there was now approaching a period when they would 
 be put to the test, — the public works were about to be closed, and the 
 people, of course, to be discharged, and then we should see which 
 of them came for the bread of life, and which for the loaves and 
 fishes. There were, however, §ome on whom I thought I could have 
 reckoned, and among them S. andTiis wife ; of these few I was about 
 to form a Society; I had already spoken to them about it; they had 
 gladly entered into the design, and had assured me, S. especially, 
 that I might depend upon them, and that nothing would ever separate 
 them from me, &c. & c. in the usual Spanish style. Meantime, various 
 intimations, floating and occasionally reaching me in some vague form, 
 made me still hesitate and defer the measure. I heard that S. was 
 ambitious and tyrannical, and that he did not govern his temper and 
 tongue. Several times he greatly grieved me, and once, especially, by 
 a quarrel w'hich he had with a certain man, against whom he took a 
 violent dislike, and who, indeed, is not a man of firm principle. S. 
 insisted that this man should be expelled from the house, or else he 
 himself would not come. I remonstrated with him, on the impro- 
 priety of shutting the doors of the public services of religion against 
 any man because he is a sinner ; and shewed him also now utterly in- 
 admissible it was, that any man should presume to dictate to me whom 
 I might receive into my own house ; assuring him, at the same time, 
 that I neither could nor would, for the love of any man in particular, 
 allow him to insult a person in my presence, nor to assume an undue 
 influence over me in the management of things spiritual. The next 
 morning he came back, threw himself on his knees before me, de- 
 claring that he had passed a sleepless and distracted night, and im- 
 plored my forgiveness. I immediately knelt by his side, and we im- 
 
GROSS MISCONDUCT OF A SPANIARD. 
 
 375 
 
 plored God together for a real work of the Holy Spirit on his heart, 
 and for the fruits of genuine humility and holiness. 
 
 Somewhere about this time I perceived, by various indications, that 
 the germ of hyper-Calvinism was spreading among us ; and while I 
 was at the Naval Hospital, with Dr. Hennen, during the heat of the 
 summer, poor unstable T., over whom you have felt so much, and who 
 had become, as I had hoped, somewhat established, turned a violent 
 Calvinist, giving way to the spirit of Huntington, whose works he much 
 read. I have perceived, that the same germ has been working among 
 the Spaniards also. Poor S., the man whom I have mentioned above, has 
 repeatedly got his mind so completely overwhelmed by it, and so much 
 ingulfed by doubts and difficulties, which I am sure must have been 
 suggested to him by an agency of the devil, that, at some times, he 
 has been nearly distracted, and at others nearly insulting to me. I 
 have, however, borne all this, because I loved him, thought him sin- 
 cere, and therefore believed, that the Good Spirit of God would shew 
 him the evils of his heart, and enable him to overcome them. I treated 
 him with all imaginable tenderness and care ; and, I am sure, that I 
 sought by example, as well as by precept, to shew him the right spirit 
 of the Gospel. But he is, constitutionally, a violent, passionate, ob- 
 stinate, ambitious, and jealous man ; and he could not conceal, that no 
 one must rival him in his influence with me, and his employer in the 
 public works; nor, indeed, would he allow even us to question the 
 propriety of any one of his suggestions. This ungovernable spirit 
 burst all bounds on Friday week last : he and his wife came in rather 
 early in the evening, and sat down to converse with me; as & drew 
 nearer the time of the prayer-meeting, the unfortunate fellow, whom 
 he so much disliked, came in and sat down also. He has been long 
 evidently afraid of S., and I can testify, that he has sometimes gone 
 out of the way to soothe and flatter him into tolerance ; however, the 
 poor man, on the present occasion, began an unlucky story, which 
 tended to exalt the family of another of our Spaniards, the most truly 
 valuable man among them, and who really is of a superior family, he 
 having been a Captain in the Spanish service, for I have myself seen 
 his testimonials and commissions. While he was telling this story, I 
 was watching poor S., from one corner of my eye, and I saw that he 
 was waiting only for an occasion to vent his dislike ; at last, he thought 
 he had found it, and, rising in a passion, he declared, that what the 
 other had said was false, and, after uttering a few irritating expres- 
 sions, he left the room. The other presently followed, for the purpose 
 of explaining, and pacifying him. Both, however, shortly afterwards 
 returned into my room, S. in an absolute fury, which he proceeded to 
 vent in the most opprobious language, in which the words, mentira y 
 embuste , embustero ,* &c. made the room of prayer resound again, f 
 * A lie, a cheat, an impostor. 
 
376 GROSS MISCONDUCT OF ,1 SPANIARD, 
 
 entreated in vain ; I then arose, and putting myself between the dis- 
 putants, who were already wringing their fists at each other, I insisted 
 that, in my presence, they should instantly drop the conversation. At 
 length, I prevailed upon poor S. to sit down, but he could not recover 
 himself ; he certainly was silent, but he presently began to tremble 
 with fury to such an extent, that he sensibly agitated the room, and 
 the table, on which he was leaning, shook like an aspen-leaf. He 
 presently seized his hat, and withdrew entirely ; our meeting was of 
 course spoiled, several persons present were greatly stumbled, and the 
 mischief appears irreparable. I have, however, sent S. several kind 
 messages, and I have written him a faithful pastoral letter, but he 
 insists that the other man shall be forbidden the house; a thing which 
 it would be impossible to admit from any one, even if it were deserved ; 
 but much more so in this case, when, not only was the conduct of the 
 latter on the above occasion irreprehensible, but, as I have since veri- 
 fied, he told the very truth in the story which he was relating. Yes- 
 terday, I received a letter in reply from S. ; at first I did not intend 
 to open it, because I had reason to apprehend its spirit ; but, desiring 
 to inform you of the whole, I have just read it, and, as I expected, I 
 find it full of self-justification and violence. I have, therefore, how- 
 ever reluctantly, given him up into the hands of the Lord. The con- 
 sequences will be very painful, for he will influence the minds of. 
 many ; and the separation will do immense mischief to this little infant 
 cause, indeed, I should not wonder if it seemingly destroy it. I have 
 only one consolation equal to the occasion, and that is, when the devil 
 moves, God will move too. But if there have been, as I fear, an im- 
 proper use of means to disseminate the principles of hyper-Calvinism, 
 and with its speculative points, instead of those which are fundamental, 
 to occupy the minds of these mere peepers into the hidden mystery of 
 the wisdom of the Gospel, a line of conduct which, on my side of the 
 question, I have most scrupulously avoided, I would not for the world 
 be in the place of those who will have to bear the blame ; but 4 the 
 fire shall try every man’s work, of what sort it is.’ I am, however, 
 greatly grieved and depressed by this circumstance, but God knows 
 why it is permitted. Perhaps it will prevent greater mischief; though 
 truly my hopes of usefulness are fluttering in the wind, there is so 
 little evidence of any deep work of the Spirit of God. O my beloved 
 friend ! pray for me, 4 that my faith fail not.’ * * * * * 
 
 Your very affectionate, 
 
 William Barber. 
 
AND CONSEQUENT AWFUL APOSTACY. 
 
 377 
 
 To the Rev. George Morley . 
 
 Gibraltar , Jan . 21, 1828. 
 
 Reverend and dear Sir, 
 
 I cannot but feel it very desirable, that you should have 
 full information just now, as to the state and prospects of the Mission 
 confided to my care ; for, though it has been to me, and still is, the 
 source of great anxiety and disappointment, it is yet not without in- 
 terest, nor by any means without hope. It is not, of course, necessary 
 to repeat what I stated to the Rev. Joseph Taylor, respecting the 
 unhappy failure of my apparently well-founded expectations, from the 
 friendship of a certain officer in the public works, and of a Spaniard 
 under him, who seemed the most promising of all our congregation. 
 
 Before I pursue the story, let me however just state, lest, at the end 
 of the letter, it should escape my memory, that I have been for some 
 months reviving and ardently pursuing the study of Greek, and that, 
 if the Committee continue to wish it, I shall soon be able to enter with 
 energy on Arabic ; but, for this latter language, it will be indispen- 
 sable that books be sent me from London, as nothing of the sort can 
 be procured here ; a good Grammar and Lexicon are all, however, 
 that I want, it matters not for which of the South- European languages 
 they are framed ; but I earnestly beg that I may be furnished with 
 these, as well as a copy of Buxtorf’s Hebrew Lexicon, new edition. 
 Meantime, until I can fairly start with the Arabic, I shall make all 
 possible progress in Greek and Hebrew. 
 
 Our Thursday’s congregation has materially suffered from the con- 
 duct of poor S., the Spaniard, who, I fear, has but too plainly proved 
 the truth of those suspicions of his sincerity, which some had formed ; 
 as well as that of the positive declarations of others, that he would 
 soon shew himself in his true character. Upon his leaving us, he went 
 to the Spanish Vicar, to be reconciled to the Church of Rome, and, I 
 suppose, to tell all that he knew of us; though, thanks to the grace of 
 God! that could be nothing evil. He has again gone publicly to 
 Mass, and forced his poor wife to do the same. He has, also, become 
 quite a profligate, daringly licentious with his tongue, and, I fear, 
 equally so in his conduct. lie is now an old man, perhaps more than 
 sixty years of age, and, only in September last, was severely ill by the 
 rupture, as I supposed, of a blood-vessel in the lungs. At that time, 
 we all most anxiously wished, and prayed for, his recovery; but, whe- 
 ther his actual restoration was in answer to prayer or not, it has been 
 an awful thing for him. God knew him better than we did, or than 
 he knew himself; but the issue is a mystery to us, for it seemed that 
 death, at that time, would have been to him the glory of a better 
 world, but now the case is widely different. Yet how apparently 
 
378 
 
 REWARD OF VIRTUOUS DECISION. 
 
 sincere he was ! how seemingly genuine his conversion! I thought 
 that, amidst some faults, which evidently still hung about him, I could 
 perceive the traces of a real } renewing in the spirit of the mind ;’ and 
 he gave an account of the work of grace upon his heart, which, I am 
 persuaded, would have been admitted any where in England, as a very 
 fair, if not a remarkably clear, statement of the 6 justification of the 
 ungodly that believeth in Jesus.’ If he really were sincere, then I 
 
 fear the mischief must be charged on the hyper-Calvinism of , 
 
 who, most imprudently, and against my earnest indirect cautions, many 
 times repeated, introduced and urged those sentiments on the minds 
 of some of our weak ones, and thus irreparably poisoned and injured 
 the souls of several. I certainly thought his friendship a providential 
 opening for usefulness, and, on that account alone, I cultivated it; how- 
 ever, I have ceased to c trust in that man,’ and to 6 lean on that arm 
 of flesh.’ I wish I had equally done so in all other cases. 
 
 As to poor S., he has not only done himself, but others also, great 
 mischief. His poor wife is greatly to be pitied ; her very appearance 
 is quite altered ; she comes now and then, by stealth, to see us, and she 
 says, that she has left Heaven for Hell; her husband, who, while with 
 us, never treated her unkindly, beyond a scolding word, now uses his 
 hands or his feet, without heeding where he strikes her; and even the 
 vile and the profligate of the place speak with surprise and disgust at 
 the visible change for the worse, which he has suffered. I am afraid 
 that he will soon sink into general detestation, and then into the grave; 
 in that hour, may the infinite mercy of our Lord Jesus Christ save 
 him from sinking still lower! 
 
 Yet, if we have lost in one way, we have gained in another, and, it 
 may be, that we have gained more than we have lost. In character 
 and reputation, at least, we have gained ; for we have thus given a 
 decided testimony to the world, of what has really not been lost upon 
 it, that we will not swerve from our principles for the sake of prose- 
 lytes, and that the avowed and explained principles of our Founder 
 and Society, fixed as they are on the scriptural base of a Christian 
 church, are the only terms on which we will hold fellowship with any 
 one. The Spaniards, especially, are somewhat struck at perceiving, 
 that we will not on any account, no, not for fear of the greatest losses 
 and want of success, receive to the bosom of our communion those who 
 openly walk in sinful darkness. A very little time before the occur- 
 rence of the unhappy event which withdrew S. from us, and made him 
 our enemy as well as his own, a certain emigrant Dignitary of the 
 Church several times visited us, attended our services, and was pre- 
 sent, as a spectator, at one of our sacramental services ; he expressed 
 to me, in strong terms, his approbation of our proceedings, and his 
 wish for our prosperity ; at the same time regretting, that he was 
 unable to stay in Gibraltar long enough to give our system a full exa- 
 
LETTER FROM AN ENLIGHTENED SPANISH VICAR. 
 
 379 
 
 mination. While he was waiting for a wind to take him to America, 
 the unhappy business occurred, and poor <S. went to him and dis- 
 charged into his mind all the venom, which was dictated by his 
 malignity. The Clergyman repelled, and even rebuked him for his 
 improper temper ; but, as he did not call upon me again, and no op- 
 portunity was offered me for undoing the mischief, I have reason to 
 believe that an unfavourable impression was really made. Yet a friend 
 of the Reverend Gentleman, who is a resident here, and a man of 
 decided respectability in character and station, was so struck with S.’s 
 improper conduct, and our manner in reference to it, that he, and his 
 lady, have ever since continued constant attendants on our public 
 worship, and they now appear among the most humble and promising 
 of all our hearers. The latter presented herself, at our last sacramental 
 service, dissolved in tears of spiritual sorrow and joy, told me that she 
 was determined, cost what it would, to give herself to God among us, 
 and exclaimed, — 4 O what an alteration do I feel ! I have heard very 
 many arguments against my Church, though nothing ever moved me 
 till now; but your reading the Scriptures, and explaining them so 
 simply, and so plainly, has made me feel what I never felt before.’ 
 This was delightful, but now for the proofs ; hitherto she and her 
 husband are doing well, may God, of His infinite mercy, verify my 
 hopes and prayers for the future ! 
 
 The emigrant Captain, whom I think I have mentioned to you 
 before, continues our fast friend ; his story is one of most affecting 
 interest ; and there are several others, of whom I entertain strong 
 hopes. Our discussions are often very interesting ; but every Mission 
 to European Roman Catholics must be one of extreme trial to patience. 
 I cut short every thing now, however, to give you an important letter 
 from a Clergyman, now in Spain ; he is the Vicar of a large parish, 
 and a man of liberal and pious views. It was sent to an intimate 
 friend, an emigrant deputy of the Cortes , with whose friendship I am 
 favoured, and who is doing every thing that he can, to secure the 
 spread of true and enlightened religion. I may, hereafter, refer to 
 him again, but now I must give you an extract from the Clergyman’s 
 letter, from which you will see the mutual sentiments which they 
 entertain of us ; and you will have, moreover, an additional evidence 
 that, even in that most degraded nation, the Lord has still, as I hope, 
 ‘ a remnant according to the election of grace.’ Every indication of 
 the Clergyman’s residence is of course suppressed. 
 
 ‘ , Aug. 18, 1827. 
 
 4 My dear Friend, 
 
 4 I cannot express the satisfaction which we felt, from re- 
 ceiving your valuable letter, with the inestimable little packet of five 
 Bibles. I assure you, that this precious remittance will produce 
 
380 
 
 LETTER FROM AN ENLIGHTENED SPANISH VICAR. 
 
 abundant fruits of blessing in this neighbourhood. I had already 
 received the new translation by Amat; its decided superiority to that - 
 of Scio, is very evident and transcendent. Oh ! that we may realise, 
 as indeed may be hoped, the seeing it printed by those evangelical 
 men, as well for the sake of having it freed from the deforming and 
 excrescent mass, with which, from a wish to obscure its supernatural 
 brilliance with the darkening shadows of mere human opinions, the 
 Divine Word is profaned, as on account of its typographical execution 
 for the generality of readers. 
 
 c I think it probable, that the British Bible Societies will imme- 
 diately determine to print this translation, since it so greatly improves 
 on that of Scio ; beside, this superiority would conduce to its more 
 rapid spread, as the little, which has been said about it in the Gazette 
 of Madrid, excites enquiry for it ; and the greater number of those, 
 who seek the Book of Life, would accept it without scruple, though 
 without notes ; and, it is also to be remembered, that the reduction in 
 bulk and cost are not trifling considerations. 
 
 6 Believing that you will not feel it irksome to promote, by any 
 means, so worthy an object, we venture to entreat you, meantime, to 
 profit by the first opportunity of sending us at least three more Bibles 
 of the same form, that is, let them contain the full Old and New Tes- 
 taments ; and we limit our request to this number, because it is diffi- 
 cult to send the cost with safety ; and as, indeed, it must be difficult 
 for you to .send your parcels to us, we will not, until happier circum- 
 stances permit, abuse your kindness by requesting a larger number. 
 However, if you could find a proper opportunity, by which you might 
 receive the amount, little as it is, do not fail to embrace it, and pur- 
 chase for us twelve Bibles complete, and twenty-five copies of the New 
 Testament, unless, indeed, you can direct us how to get them from 
 Portugal, whence communications to us are far more easy. You are 
 
 avvare, that these requests are equally agreeable to Don , and 
 
 and to our mutual and respectable friend, the neighbouring Yicar. 
 
 & * * * j n order that the Scriptures may begin to circulate 
 
 in Spain, they must be precisely the translation of Amat or Scio com- 
 plete, and just such as they are, except the notes, &c.; and, I repeat, 
 that for the impression to be executed in Spain would be extremely 
 desirable. 
 
 6 The tracts, which you enclosed, we have highly appreciated. The 
 
 Sermon on , and the Life and Epistles of St. Peter, have 
 
 greatly pleased the Vicar; of the latter, especially, we wish to have 
 more, as well as similar tracts, if there be any, relating to the other 
 Apostles. Of the tracts on the Lord’s Prayer, we likewise wish more. 
 One observation has occurred to me, it is, that nothing of this sort 
 could be more useful than the printing of the Decalogue, the original 
 form of which you know how maliciously all the Spanish, rather say 
 
LETTER FROM AN ENLIGHTENED SPANISH VICAR. 381 
 
 Roman, catechisms have disfigured. Perhaps such a tract is already 
 printed, and it has not occurred to you to send us copies ; in this case, 
 try to send us all you can obtain; and, if there be none such, promote, 
 if you can, a work so worthy. Represent the Gentile idolatry, in 
 which so large a part of Spain lies involved ; you know it as well as 
 myself ; but, if you have forgotten our conversations on the subject, I 
 would remind you that the altar of • still exists ; and so 
 
 do the battles between the processions of Jesus and the Virgin in 
 
 -, and the stripping and abuse of the image of Jesus; and so 
 
 also the conflicts between the people of , and those of 
 
 ; between the Holy Christs of , and those of 
 
 ; between the Virgin of , and that of ; 
 
 beside many such proofs equally sacrilegious, as in all parts are pre- 
 sented of the deplorable idolatry, which profanes our soil, and which 
 is found in the same degree on that of other provinces, and in almost 
 all the towns infected with Monkery. 
 
 6 Let those Apostolic men,* so respectable for their going, as you 
 say, even to the very Antipodes, to carry the light of the Gospel, know 
 that there is a nearer field which yet more loudly demands their zeal. 
 But, at least, let these convenient little vehicles of the word of God 
 be given us. We need, for circulation, such extracts as Isa. liv. and 
 Jer. x., &c., but, above all, the Decalogue, without mutilation ; and 
 advise particularly, as the most desirable mode in such extracts, that 
 there should be much text, very much text, and little discussion or 
 exhortation ; remembering about the oldness of the cloth, in order to 
 avoid doing the greater mischief by unwisely applying the amendment. 
 
 ( If there are Methodists in , as I cannot doubt, for it is 
 
 not possible to suppose that a zeal so fervent as theirs would disregard 
 what is so near, when it goes forth to what is so much more distant, 
 endeavour to obtain for me the address of some one who understands 
 Spanish ; at all events, whoever is there could easily find some one 
 to understand written Spanish, while he might answer me in English ; 
 just as I understand written English, though I cannot write it. From 
 that place it would be as easy to correspond, as it is difficult and 
 perilous from Gibraltar; and on this account, however I may wish it 
 otherwise. I shall write to you only by the few opportunities that are 
 safe. 
 
 6 The information, which you ask, respecting the ancient Mozarabic 
 Spanish liturgy, and the use of it having been happily preserved in 
 the chapel at Toledo, our friend, the Vicar, will charge himself to 
 furnish, as he can do it more fully than myself. I only know the 
 general history of that interesting subject, and the having been present 
 at the celebration of Divine Service according to that liturgy ; and, on 
 
 Alluding to the Wesleyan Methodists. 
 
382 
 
 LETTER FROM AN ENLIGHTENED SPANIARD. 
 
 these two points, you know as much as myself. I know not whether 
 it may be possible to obtain the liturgy, and a detailed account of its 
 history ; but what may be, shall be done, and we will send you the 
 result.’ * * * * * * 
 
 With the copy of this letter there was sent the following, from the 
 above-named friend of the Clergyman to our friend, the Captain. 
 
 c Dear Friend, 
 
 6 In deference to you, to the Methodists, and to that good 
 
 friend the Clergyman, who has the cure of a town in , and 
 
 who is one of the few of his profession worthy of esteem, I have co- 
 pied largely from his letter, which I do not send in its original form, 
 because it refers to other subjects which require reserve. I have 
 concealed every thing which could indicate the place of his residence, 
 because, as he is an enlightened man, he is watched and compromised, 
 
 and only the — — has hitherto saved him. I require you most 
 
 sacredly not to shew my writing, which is well known ; and, in order 
 to give it to any one, I beg you to copy it. 
 
 6 It is very desirable to put this person into correspondence with 
 the Methodists, but not with those of Gibraltar, because he cannot 
 write more than twice a-year, when another Clergyman, a friend of 
 
 his, comes to . Enquire if there be any Methodists in 
 
 , and ask the address. As to what is requested, procure 
 
 me, if you can, two copies, at least, of the Bible, as I cannot now 
 afford to pay for more ; and send them as when I sent the five to 
 which he refers, and I will seize the very first opportunity. What he 
 says is, in truth, very important. 
 
 6 Tell the Methodists, that if we receive that of the ancient Spanish 
 liturgy, it is for them that it has been solicited, in order that they may 
 profit by it, and print it ; for it is very desirable, that they should 
 immediately print something on the subject. You must well know 
 and be able to explain what I mean ; but, if not, do understand and 
 impress upon them, that, not only during one, but more than two 
 thirds of the centuries that Christianity has subsisted, that is, until 
 the time when Rome reached both predominancy, and the summit of 
 corruption, Mass and the offices were said to Spaniards in their own 
 tongue ; tell them also, how much it cost that Rome to make Span- 
 iards listen to Latin, which they should not understand ; and the in- 
 trigues which she employed, during the feeble reign of the concur- 
 ring fanaticism of a Queen governed by a Romish Confessor, &c. &c.; 
 then too, the ancient duel, fought before the court of Talavera, to 
 decide which liturgy ought to prevail ; and, although the champion 
 
LETTER FROM AN ENLIGHTENED SPANIARD. 
 
 383 
 
 of the national liturgy conquered, that the, two books were submitted 
 to the trial of fire, and both were burnt, contrary to what was hoped, 
 from a certain trickery with which the Latin liturgy had been pre- 
 pared ; and, that, at last, Rome bore down every thing, and all that 
 could be gained was, that the national liturgy should, by special pri- 
 vilege, be continued in one chapel of Toledo. 
 
 6 This liturgy, and what relates to it, is that which I had asked, in 
 order to put it into the hands of the Methodists, who, I suppose 
 would publish it in Spanish ; and you well know how much that 
 would avail, in the present state of our countrymen, in emancipating 
 them from Rome. To let them know, that for more than two-thirds of 
 the time since Christianity began, the Mass and offices were in their 
 own language, would be, to the multitude, quite novel intelligence ; 
 for they verily believe, that even Christ Himself spoke in Latin. If 
 the Methodists wish to have this liturgy, and the notices of the mode 
 of celebrating it in the chapel of Toledo, I will inform you how they 
 may obtain them ; but it will cost them some money, and I, at pre- 
 sent, do not possess this. One thing I may, indeed, offer, on condi- 
 tion that you promise me to conceal that I am the author ; it is a disser- 
 tation actually in progress on the historical fact of the change of the 
 liturgies ; for I have sounded the subject to the bottom, as its import- 
 ance demands, and 1 am well acquainted with the history of our 
 country. I only want the volume of Mariana, (the learned Spanish 
 historian,) in which the business is treated, in order to refresh my 
 recollection of particulars and dates, and not to depend entirely on 
 my memory. I limit my request to Mariana, because any one has 
 that, rather than any other history to the point. Let us cultivate the 
 friendship of those good Methodists, since it is so important for the 
 religious reformation that we need in Spain, a necessity as urgent as it 
 is inevitable. Send me the book I want.’ 
 
 6 Yours ever, &c.’ 
 
 I will not, dear Mr. Morley, add any thing to this ; it will greatly 
 gratify you, amidst all that may be deficient and discouraging. Bro- 
 ther Quierell desires to be remembered; he says, that I have not 
 dealt fairly with our little cause here, that our congregations are im- 
 proved and improving, and that matters are much more favourable than 
 the former part of this letter would seem to imply. Well ; I do not 
 flatter. I sometimes do the reverse ; and lately my mind has been 
 bowed down and tried. By going, however, oftener to Jesus, and 
 by closely applying to study, I hope I am rising. I beg to be re- 
 membered with affectionate respect to the Committee, and am 
 
 Your Servant, 
 
 In the bonds of the Lord Jesus, 
 
 W. Barber, 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 Discussions among the Soldiers on Experimental Piety — Journey from Almeria 
 to Granada — Unexpected Meeting with an old Friend of his Father — Interview 
 with a Spanish Prior — Reflections on the pernicious Influence of Popery — De- 
 scription of the Country — Manners and Customs of the Inhabitants — Ludicrous 
 Effects of Bigotry upon a Fat Spaniard — Candour in Reference to Ministerial 
 Deficiencies — Offer of the Education of the Officers’ Sons — Medical Certificate 
 of Health — Affecting History of an unfortunate Spanish Emigrant, with a Let- 
 ter to his Son — Letter of Condolence on the Death of Mrs. Dixon. 
 
 Journal Continued. 
 
 January. — On the last day of the old year, at a tea-meeting of 
 the Soldiers, there was excellent order, and a very admirable spirit 
 of hearing and prayer. The tea concluded and laid aside, after sing- 
 ing and prayer, a conversation was introduced on religious experi- 
 ence. Two questions, chiefly, were proposed ; the former was, — What 
 should a Christian do when he prays from a sense of duty, without 
 feeling an answer to his petition ? and the latter, — What is the best 
 evidence of a justified state? The discussion of the first of these 
 questions, drew forth the observations of several of the soldiers, and 
 shewed them to be well acquainted with the exercises of Christian ex- 
 perience. They generally thought it the duty of a Christian to pray 
 on, and more fervently, till the arrival of the answer; but some ap- 
 peared to lean too much toward the idea, that such seasons of barren- 
 ness are special appointments of God for some end of His own, and, 
 therefore, that our duty is to wait His pleasure for their removal. This 
 afforded an opportunity of endeavouring to shew, that though the 
 barrenness may be the result of the Divine will, yet it is very im- 
 probable for that will to be so directed, but for some reason founded on 
 an impropriety in the Christian himself ; and, therefore, that its re- 
 moval would probably follow only on a removal of the cause, whatever 
 it might be. The Scripture does not warrant our believing, that God 
 would be more glorified by our barrenness than by our happy fruit- 
 
DISCUSSIONS AMONG THE SOLDIERS. 
 
 385 
 
 fulness ; and, much less, that it can be His will to refuse answers to 
 prayer, which has, for its only object, the fulfilment of His own de- 
 clared purposes toward believers, unless there should be some fault 
 in them. Consequently, the duty of a Christian, who prays with- 
 out being answered, is self-examination, and importunate faith in ex- 
 press and appropriate promises. 
 
 The second question brought out different sentiments, but the only 
 one which seemed to hold the minds of the brethren in suspense, was 
 the evidence arising from the love of the people of God, — 4 We know 
 that we have passed from death unto life, because we love the bre- 
 thren.’ Some seemed persuaded, that this is enough to prove the jus- 
 tified state of any one. To this it was remarked, that, if we were 
 not on our guard, we should be betrayed into a very erroneous conclu- 
 sion ; not that what the Apostle asserts can be at all doubtful, but 
 that we may attach to his words a meaning which he never intended 
 them to bear. This will arise from two circumstances ; first, the 
 violent separation of the text from its connection; and, secondly, the 
 fixing on the word love a signification which it was not designed to 
 convey. In the connection of the passage, the Apostle has described 
 the Christian character in terms which leave it impossible to doubt, 
 that liberty from guilt and sin, and holy communion with the Father 
 and Son, are inseparable from its possession. Therefore, nothing 
 which may be called the love of the brethren , apart from these other 
 characteristics, can prove a justified state, because the absence of the 
 other qualifications would prove the contrary; and it would, more- 
 over, prove, that the love of the brethren, which such a person may 
 have, is not that which the Apostle meant. Hence we should greatly 
 mistake by making the word love in the text expressive of affection 
 in general, because the Apostle evidently intends some particular kind 
 of affection, which is possible only when the saving qualities of a jus- 
 tified state concur. Now we know, that many persons, either by 
 education, or by a peculiar tenderness of conscience, or by conviction 
 produced in various ways, have an esteem for the people of God, 
 and some delight in their society ; but it would be most unsafe, nay, 
 most delusive, for them to suppose that, on this account, they are 
 truly justified ; for they may never have felt any power over inward 
 sin, nor love of the Saviour, nor deliverance from guilt, nor witness 
 of the Spirit, nor faith in Christ, nor struggling to enter the king- 
 dom of God, nor any particular conviction of sin ; in short, they 
 may have appeared to themselves, as well as to others, too amiable 
 to need much change ; and thus the truth may come out, that they 
 never experienced a change of heart, and that they are in their na- 
 tural state, notwithstanding that love of the brethren which they have 
 felt. Much less, therefore, ought any one, who has formerly lived 
 in wilful sin, to be beguiled into the imagination, that he is justified 
 
 2 c 
 
386 
 
 DISCUSSIONS AMONG THE SOLDIERS. 
 
 before God, merely because, having become the subject of religious 
 convictions, he has felt, along with other pleasing sensations of which 
 the Lord does not leave the repentant sinner entirely destitute, a very 
 cheering affection and admiration of the people of God. He may be 
 4 seeking the kingdom of God and his righteousness,’ and he may 
 be at the very door of mercy, but that love of the brethren, which 
 he has, is no evidence that he has already found 4 redemption in 
 the blood of Jesus.’ He must seek still further proof, and for that 
 he must have further experience. What then is the best evidence 
 of a justified state? I answer, — The testimony of our own spirits , 
 that we do actually now come to God, through the atonement of 
 the only begotten Son, confiding in it, and appropriating it to our- 
 selves for pardon and regeneration ; together with, the answering tes- 
 timony of the Holy Ghost , that we are adopted into the family of 
 God, and that we can in the Spirit of adoption call Him Father. 
 This testimony of the Holy Spirit cannot deceive any one who pos- 
 sesses it ; and, therefore, every such person must feel his evidence of 
 justification to be clear. But the same cannot be said of any other 
 evidence; for, as itjs not in the nature of any other evidence to be 
 quite clear and assuring, so every other may be imitated, and the timid, 
 though genuine Christian, will be the most likely to b^ dissatisfied. 
 It is true, a person may profess to enjoy the witness of the Holy 
 Spirit, who has it not, and therefore he can give no assurance that 
 what he says is true. I reply, — We are talking of the best evidence 
 for our own satisfaction, and not as a proof to others ; now a man’s 
 own satisfaction must arise from the testimony of God’s Spirit, for he 
 cannot, or at least he ought not, to be satisfied with any thing else ; 
 and that, if he possess it, will satisfy him, because it always comes so 
 attended as to leave no room for uncertainty. If it should be said, — 
 What then will reach the case of one, who thinks that he has the wit- 
 ness of the Holy Spirit, without really possessing it ? I answer, — He 
 is either sincere, or not so : if he be insincere, he must take the wages 
 of his hypocrisy; but if he be sincere, his believing erroneously, that 
 he has the witness of the Spirit of God, is almost impossible ; many 
 possess it, who will not call it by that name ; but that any sincere soul 
 should not possess it, while he believes that he does, can hardly be; 
 for his sincerity must prevent his saying what he knows is not true, as 
 well as his believing any thing to be true without reason and evidence; 
 and if he be truly anxious for the Spirit of adoption, by faith in the 
 atonement, there is no reason against his receiving it ; but if he be 
 not, he will not believe that he has it. But let the case be granted as 
 just possible : then I contend, that it cannot, in the nature of things, 
 endure long ; for the Good Spirit will not leave such a sincere soul 
 without bringing him to God, through Jesus Christ, and thus to jus- 
 tification ; and then the witness will be given in truth : on the other 
 
INTERVIEW WITH AN OLD FRIEND OF HIS FATHER. 
 
 387 
 
 hand, still allowing the witness to be false, the fruits of justification 
 will be obviously deficient, and, his soul being sincere, must soon, 
 inevitably, be thrown off its balance of enjoyment; whereas, were 
 the witness truly divine, neither would the fruits be absent, nor 
 would the soul be quickly shaken from its hold. 
 
 To a Friend in Malta. 
 
 Almeida, April 15 , 1828 . 
 
 My very dear Friend, 
 
 This is a place in Spain, which may just be called a com- 
 mercial town, because a few ships occasionally come hither for lead, 
 of which there are mines and works at the distance of about seven 
 Spanish leagues, reckoning nearly four English miles to each league ; 
 and here I am, removed from the immediate protection of English 
 law, and under the government of a country on tvhich I cannot look 
 but with compassion. But I have no other object, than to see and 
 hear whatever occurs, and, by this employment, to gain that strength- 
 ening of my system, which shall enable me to persevere in the prose- 
 cution of my various duties. 
 
 This has been to me a day of considerable enjoyment, occasioned by 
 the unexpected meeting of an old friend of my honoured and beloved 
 Father. He is a Captain Rosewell, a member of our Society, and, I 
 believe, a truly pious and experienced Christian. He knew my Father 
 long before his marriage; was present in Bristol when that event took 
 place ; and now, at the distance of some thirty years, he has had 
 the opportunity, by a singular Providence, of meeting in a foreign 
 land one of the fruits of his friend’s marriage, in the form of a Minister 
 of the Cross of Christ. I cannot easily describe the pleasure, which 
 this meeting has afforded me : it has revived associations of the most 
 gratifying kind ; it has renewed the memory of my boyish days ; it 
 has called up to my imagination my Father’s delight in friendships, 
 and his worth in forming and maintaining them ; and it has made me 
 bow in spirit before the throne of Him, who has promised to His 
 believing people a blessing upon them, and their children, and their 
 children’s children, to the third and fourth generation; a promise not 
 annulled by afflictions, but often verified and established in them, as 
 well as by events which wear an aspect more grateful to flesh and 
 blood. How sweet was it also to bow, together with this old friend of 
 my Father, and Captain Ducker, the pious master of the brig, in which 
 I have come hither, and his fine little boy, before the throne of Grace; 
 and that too, in a country so unaccustomed to the prayers of British 
 Christians, and whose inhabitants so universally regard as i heresy, the 
 way after which we worship the God of our fathers!’ From that 
 
 2 c 2 
 
388 
 
 VISITS IN ALMERIA. 
 
 Bible, which has been my companion in many sore troubles, we read 
 together the twelfth chapter of Luke, and then threw' ourselves before 
 the mercy-seat of our glorified Lord, imploring, with our little power 
 of faith and prayer, the Almighty blessing, upon this unhappy coun- 
 try, particularly with reference to those points, in which we cannot 
 but judge that it is most needed. We prayed also for each other, for 
 the church, for home, and for those whom we love; and that which 
 is generally considered common-place, was, in our circumstances, by 
 no means viewed in such a light. When it came to my turn, I could 
 not forget to pray, as if I had been alone, for that truly endeared 
 Parent, who has yet his days to finish, and his work to complete, 
 before his entrance into that glory, which will hereafter be his por- 
 tion ; and from whose side has been taken away that other Parent, 
 who was equally worthy, and equally beloved, the Mother of his 
 children, the balm of his anxious active years, the aid of his piety, and 
 the diligent hand that helped him to sow all those seeds of holy prin- 
 ciple, which have rooted themselves in our younger minds, as well as 
 all those, which our negligence has suffered to wither away, or our 
 impiety to blight in their earliest shootings. 
 
 This evening I have been profiting a little, by an opportunity to 
 cast some seed by the way-side, among the family of the inn-keeper, 
 in whose house I am staying. I meddle not with their prejudices, 
 because it would be worse than useless. I touch only on those grand 
 and leading principles, which are common ground to all Christians, 
 and which are indeed the essentials of Christianity ; and I strive to 
 lead all to a knowledge of the heart, to a feeling of the depravity of 
 human nature, and the evil of sin ; and to a consequent improvement 
 of the fitness, and the value, and the efficacy, and the indispensable 
 necessity of the blood of atonement. I could perceive, that I gained 
 the confidence, and the hearts, of my hearers, and, perhaps, the Divine 
 blessing may multiply this very scanty and inefficient seed of life. 
 
 I visited, in succession, several of the churches; pitied the inhabit- 
 ants o^ three convents of monks, and two of nuns; noted the levity 
 of a young clergyman, as he went to say mass ; observed several indi- 
 cations, in public inscriptions, which manifest the abhorrence that 
 reigns around, of the fallen form of government ; but saw nothing that 
 can particularly interest a stranger. 
 
 The principal part of the evening has been spent in a visit to two 
 different families ; the former of which, was that of a person born in 
 Ireland, educated in England, a rambler through the world, and, at 
 length, a settler in this southern corner of Europe. At this house I 
 met two Clergymen ; the one, who was once a Friar, but is now a secu- 
 lar Clergyman, was apparently a man of but little interest ; the other, 
 was the Prior of the cathedral ; for I should have remarked, that this 
 is a Bishop’s see, with no very indifferent income, since 1 am told that 
 
JOURNEY FROM ALMERIA TO GRANADA. 
 
 389 
 
 it reaches to at least four guineas a day. This Prior is quite a gentle- 
 man ; he is also learned, affable, and, in the common sense of the 
 word, though not in the political, he is liberal. I enjoyed his conver- 
 sation, and wish to renew the pleasure, though l observed that he 
 very dexterously shifted the turn of the conversation, when it tended 
 toward any subject which might cause a difference of opinion. Yet 
 the queer, semi-Irish, Englishman, said things which surprised me ; 
 for I should have thought it impossible, with impunity, to talk so 
 freely, as he did on certain subjects. The good Prior very kindly 
 told me much about Granada, in the university of which he was edu- 
 cated ; and he concluded by writing for me, notices of certain books 
 on the Spanish theology, which may best initiate me into its mysteries. 
 
 My other visit was to a very afflicted family, into whose hearts I 
 had the mournful pleasure of pouring some little sad consolation. But, 
 of them, 1 must speak hereafter. 
 
 I have been before the Governor with my passport, and for permis- 
 sion to pass on to Granada. I have experienced no kind of interrup- 
 tion, all is prepared, and to-morrow, at day-break, I start, on horse- 
 back, for this celebrated inland city, a distance of twenty-four leagues, 
 under the conduct of a man of confidence called a Cosario. 
 
 April 16th. — I arose at five o’clock, and, after the devotions of the 
 closet, I saw my little luggage placed on the capachos , on a mule’s 
 back. These capachos are panniers, made of dry grass platted, and 
 extended over a frame-work of sticks ; they are certainly very strong 
 for what they are, though Englishmen are fond of more substantial 
 articles, even if they should be of a more costly kind. I then pro- 
 ceeded out of Almeria to the suburbs, where the Cosario resides, and 
 there I found, waiting for me, a Spanish horse, very much resembling 
 myself and Don Quixote ; that is, he was long-legged, raw-boned, and 
 very uncertain in his gait and actions. The British Consul had kindly 
 lent me an English saddle, a thing which the horse had never yet 
 borne upon his back, and which the Cosario had never used in all his 
 life. While I was waiting, several neighbours came to look on ; with 
 these I began to converse about the road, and the vicinity of Granada. 
 Their description of the former was not very animating, for [ soon 
 learnt that it was hilly, and infested with robbers; but when they 
 came to speak of the latter, they were all in raptures, and it was plain 
 that Granada is regarded as the Paradise of the present inhabitants of 
 the province, as it used to be by the ancient Moors. I began here too, 
 to remark a very decided difference in the dialect of the language ; 
 there is a general difference in the tone and pronunciation, which 
 sometimes disappointed me of the meaning ; and the more particular 
 difference, which 1 subsequently found to be universally prevalent, 
 now first fixed my attention, — l mean, that in the almost ceaseless use 
 of diminutives, (that is, of words which are made to include the idea 
 
390 
 
 DESCRIPTION OF THE COUNTRY. 
 
 of our word little , by the addition of a syllable at the end. as, fof 
 instance, cos a , a thing, cosita , a little thing,) they change the letter 
 t or /, before the last vowel, into c ; for example, instead of saying 
 una cosita bonita , a very pretty little thing, they would say, una co- 
 sica muy bonica . I insert this observation, to impress my own me- 
 mory rather than yours. 
 
 At length, our arrangements being made, we started on the road 
 at about half past 6 o’clock. The morning was very fine ; and our 
 way lay up a gentle acclivity towards the north-north-east, so that 
 we soon obtained a fine land and sea view, such as I have not had 
 since I left England. The most prominent objects were, 1. The long 
 tongue of Rock, which stretches away far to the south into the sea, 
 and the extremity of which the Spaniards call Cabo del Gato , but 
 which we denominate Cape de Gatte , although the proper translation 
 would be Cape Cat ; 2. On the opposite side of Almeria Bay, were 
 situated the snowy mountains of the Province, rising in succession 
 one over another ; while the strengthening beams of the sun were ra- 
 pidly clearing away from their bosoms the cool grey mist of early morn- 
 ing, and, like too many other over-heated friendships, by his very 
 ardour sporting about both beauty and comfort ; 3. Between these 
 two scenes appeared the Town itself, with its long train of cultivated 
 gardens, seated, as it were, upon a throne on the margin of the sea, 
 which was prostrate immediately before it, and seeming to bow ill 
 homage by the successive waves, which it sent bending, rippling, and 
 murmuring out its kisses on the beach. The whole scene to me was 
 new, for nearly four years I had seen nothing like it, and it cannot 
 be surprising, that, while beholding it, I felt a momentary enthu- 
 siasm ; but, to an Englishman, and a conscientious Protestant, such 
 a sensation can be only momentary ; for how can he avoid reflec- 
 tion ? God has made all this to be possessed and enjoyed by His obe- 
 dient children, and He has vouchsafed them a clear revelation of His 
 will, that they might be made and kept obedient ; but, alas! they are 
 not obedient ; even that very revelation has been made subservient to 
 grossly anti-christian institutions, which are idolatrous in their nature 
 and influence, and grossly anti-christian doctrines, which are misleading 
 in their instructions and effects. And those very towers which I see ris- 
 ing above the rest of the town, and glistening in the sun, like the diadem 
 of a monarch in the splendour of his coronation, are but the signals of 
 the existence, and the residence, and the activity of a systematic con- 
 spiracy against the authority, unmixed and unmutilated, of the Son 
 of Gnd ; and they only remind me of the violence and fraud, by 
 which they continue to cover and give shelter to the 6 spiritual wick- 
 ednesses,’ which are still domineering in these 4 high places.’ How 
 grievous, also, the reflection, that you, my dear friend, are travel- 
 ling amidst thousands and myriads of your fellow-beings, who are, at 
 
DESCRIPTION OF TIIE ROAD. 
 
 391 
 
 least the victims, if not the willing and active agents, of a system, 
 whose operation is to turn the pure elements of Christianity into a 
 powerful machinery of misinformation, by which it fetters, cripples, 
 and destroys the liberty, and knowledge, and prosperity, as well as 
 the eternal well-being, of the soul! Under the most favourable col- 
 lective circumstances of a town or nation, the difficulties in the way 
 of salvation must be great, and many individuals will be lost ; he 
 therefore, who multiplies those difficulties, diminishes the probabili- 
 ties of salvation, and augments the numbers of the eternally undone. 
 Does not Popery accomplish this ? Let the condition of any Catholic 
 country be examined, and let its moral state be compared with the 
 descriptions, found in the Bible, of the condition, which genuine re- 
 ligion originates, and which is, indeed, the only infallible proof that 
 such a religion exists. Let it not be said, that the melancholy con- 
 clusion, to which this examination would lead us, is not chargeable 
 upon the system itself; for the connection between some of its doc- 
 trines and downright immorality, is obvious ; and whatever proxi- 
 mate causes of a civil or political kind may be assigned, these too 
 equally owe their origin, though, of course, somewhat higher up, to 
 Popery. 
 
 We very soon lost sight of Almeria, and found ourselves upon a 
 very excellent road, well constructed and maintained by those but- 
 tresses of masonry, which occasionally support a road when the turn- 
 ings are sharp, and when the ground has to be raised from its ori- 
 ginal level, in consequence of the gullies and unevennesses that it 
 occasionally presents. This good state of the road occasioned me some 
 surprise, for I had anticipated a much worse provision for travelling in 
 Spain. I expressed my thoughts to my companion, and asked him 
 who maintained the road in such excellent order. He told me, that 
 it was the King. 4 And how,’ said I, 4 are the moneys raised, which 
 are thus appropriated ?’ He replied, — 4 Partly by certain tolls, which 
 are paid at particular points by a certain description of passengers ; 
 but chiefly by a revenue, raised from taxes on all the inhabitants of 
 the country.’ 4 And how far does this good road extend ?’ said I. 
 
 4 There is,’ said he, 4 a cart-road which reaches quite to Granada; 
 but it is not all the way so good as this.’ Indeed, I soon found his 
 words too true, and my pleasing reverie was, at once, at an end ; the 
 good road lasted us not more, I think, than six or seven miles, be- 
 fore we lost all traces of it, for a considerable distance. I should, 
 however, have observed, that, at about four or five miles from Alme- 
 ria, we reached a point from which a very charming view of a rich 
 vale opened before us, apparently in a high state of cultivation ; and, 
 as far as the eye could reach, studded with villages, from the midst 
 of each of which rose, conspicuously distinguished, the tower of a 
 Church of good stone erection; many of these towers were neat, and 
 
392 
 
 DESCRIPTION OF THE COUNTRY. 
 
 some even elegant, and they gave the whole picture an air of anima- 
 tion, which I had by no means anticipated. But, on a nearer inspec- 
 tion, my pleasure quickly vanished ; the villages, through, or by which 
 we passed, are wretched in the extreme, the Church or Convent is 
 the only good building, which any of them can produce; for the 
 houses are built of a kind of mud, or, at least, they betray very poor 
 masonry, of which the wretchedness is not concealed by the daub- 
 ings of white lime which look so brisk at a distance: this was the 
 character of all the houses, with the occasional exception of a quinta 
 or country-house of some rich citizen, merchant, or nobleman, which 
 stood forth to shew the greatness of the gulf existing between the 
 peasant and the grade above him, in this country. There seems here, 
 an absolute want of that variety of stations, which, even in the coun- 
 try of England, enables you to ascend by almost indescribable ap- 
 proaches, from the lowest and the poorest of the people to the rich- 
 est and the most endowed. 
 
 As we passed along the road, I could not help observing tbe vary- 
 ing nature of the soil, which successively presented beds of sand ; 
 sand and gravel ; clay of several classes, from the light-coloured, of 
 the consistency of the potter’s, to the deep grey, of the consistency 
 of soft and brittle slate ; then slate itself of almost all grades ; then 
 massive stone, in fragments ; and, lastly, continuous rock : and I fre- 
 quently said to myself, — Why, all this must once have been the bed 
 of the sea ; here are the clearest evidences, that, for ages, this ground 
 must have formed the bottom, over which, to a great depth, the wa- 
 ters must have passed and repassed, and now it is land redeemed and 
 appropriated to the use of man. I looked round to observe tbe con- 
 figuration of the country, as it reached out toward the sea ; and I 
 clearly saw, to my own satisfaction, that a mighty river had once 
 found its outlet at the very spot where the town of Almeria now 
 stands, between the long promontory formed on the left by Cat Cape, 
 and on the right by the high hills, at the base of which the town is 
 situated. I expressed my persuasion to the Cosario , and he immedi- 
 ately confirmed it, as he pointed to the valley, in. which the culti- 
 vated lands and the villages stand so thickly. 4 There,’ said he, c is 
 the channel of a river which, during a great part of the year, is dry ; 
 but, in the winter, the fresh water from the surrounding hills swells 
 it into a considerable torrent, and in that direction flows out into the 
 sea.’ But when could this have been? For, if this ever were the 
 bed of a deep river, what must have been the level of the Mediter- 
 ranean ? and what must have been the difference of its visible shores ? 
 These were some of the thoughts which amused me ; but I could 
 bring them to no result; for geological enquiries have never been my 
 study, and of so mighty a change in the elevation of the sea we have 
 no certain record in history. 
 
MANNERS AND CUSTOMS OF THE INHABITANTS. 
 
 393 
 
 After descending into the vale, and passing some of the above- 
 mentioned villages, and the bed of the torrent, we came again into 
 a decent road, and continued our journey in a north-westerly direc- 
 tion, which, with only occasional trifling deviations, continued all 
 the way afterwards to Granada. At about twelve or fourteen miles 
 from our starting point, we stopped to breakfast at one of those dens, 
 for the accommodation of passengers, which in Spain are called Posa- 
 das ; they are instead of our English inns, but are, in reality, 
 wretched hovels, where almost nothing is to be had for either love or 
 money. The family were taking their morning meal, which consisted 
 of a handful of small dried fish, I believe they were anchovies dried 
 in the sun ; they were prepared by being thrown upon the embers of 
 a wood fire, and then rudely stirred up with the ashes; and, when in 
 this manner they were sufficiently warmed, they were eaten with 
 coarse brown bread ; as to coffee, or tea, it is a luxury rarely admit- 
 ted among the peasantry, in this part of Spain ; and their only be- 
 verage appears to be water, or the poor sour wine of the country, or 
 occasionally the aguardiente , which is distilled from annise. 
 
 I was much surprised by the appearance of a girl, belonging to 
 the family, who had not completed the fifteenth year of her age, and 
 who was so large in pregnancy as to be scarcely able to support her- 
 self. I beheld her with great compassion, and the more so, because 
 I could not imagine that she was the wife of any man. In the course, 
 however, of conversation, a young man of about eighteen or twenty 
 years of age was presented to me as her husband, and I was, so far, 
 relieved of the apprehension of any thing worse. On enquiry, I 
 found it quite customary here to marry so early. And thus it is, 
 thought I, that wherever there is but little in life to be enjoyed, peo- 
 ple marry very young. Here there are, evidently, but few comforts 
 attainable by the poor, for there are almost no resources, or objects of 
 industry ; the manner of living requires, indeed, but little ; and hence, 
 a child soon becomes as able to procure a livelihood as his Parents, 
 because nothing is possessed, by either, except a hovel and the food, 
 coarse and scanty, of every day. In consequence of this, there is 
 nothing to prevent an early recurrence to marriage ; for the Parents 
 will not object, because it relieves them of a burden ; and to their 
 children it is the almost only source of peculiar comfort. But mar- 
 riage so very early must, in many ways, be mischievous. IIow, for 
 example, can families be well ordered, since the people become Pa- 
 rents before they have ceased to be children? And, although the 
 peasants of Spain seem a fine and hardy race, it is what I could 
 scarcely have expected where such very early marriages are common ; 
 perhaps, however, they are far from being general. 
 
 I was here accosted by a poor mendicant sailor, who had long 
 
394 
 
 MANNERS AND CUSTOMS OF THE INHABITANTS. 
 
 served in the Spanish navy, and who had been engaged in the battle 
 of Trafalgar, against the English, under Lord Nelson. I was cer- 
 tainly interested by his tale, and more so by the circumstances, in 
 which the poor fellow was placed ; for he was begging of a man, be- 
 longing to the very nation against which he had fought, and on the 
 very soil on which he had been engaged. J thought of the unques- 
 tionable bravery, with which he and his companions had conducted 
 themselves; and of the thousands, who, on that day, under the tremen- 
 dous attack of the English, had lost either their lives, or their liberty 
 and property; and of the mercy, which has preserved my own coun- 
 try from the devastations, which Spain has, since that time, expe- 
 rienced ; and of the difference in the circumstances, which had pro- 
 videntially led this poor man to me as a beggar, and me to him with 
 the ability of relief, in acknowledgment of the distinguishing good- 
 ness of God towards me. I wish that it had been in my power to do 
 more than I did ; and I could not avoid feeling a deep regret, that 
 those who fight and bleed for their country, should ever, in their age 
 and decrepitude, be abandoned to the uncertain resources, and the 
 certain wretchedness, of a mendicant beggar of alms. This man 
 indeed, like many others, may possibly have proved himself unworthy 
 of any thing better; but without knowing that such is the fact, I have 
 no right to think so ; and even the vilest of men should, on account of 
 their very vileness, have some safer mode of subsistence ; but alas ! 
 my own country sees many cases of the wretched abandonment of old 
 servants, without an adequate provision ; and, in a crippled and ex- 
 hausted country like this, the Government can have no resources for 
 generosity. 
 
 At this posada , I began to prove the benefit of having made some 
 provision before I started on my journey. A good piece of roast 
 beef, and a couple of pairs of chickens, together with coffee, sugar, 
 wine, and brandy, were not very despicable means of subsistence on 
 the road ; for in this part of Spain, an Englishman can obtain nothing 
 to which he is accustomed, except bread, eggs, and occasionally milk; 
 as to meat of any kind, or vegetables, or fruit, I do not say that there 
 are none, but I could neither get nor see any, during the whole of 
 the journey. The peasants chiefly use bread, fish, and eggs, which 
 last they fry in oil and milk. I had taken the precaution to pur- 
 chase a couple of pewter spoons, or I should have been puzzled how 
 to get at the inside of my egg-shells; for they have no spoons, except 
 the wooden ones, with which they eat their prepared messes out of 
 the frying-pan, or the crock. Pocket-knives are universally used at 
 table, and no such thing as a fork could I discern, from one end of 
 the road to the other. Ollas , or crocks, are always used for boiling 
 water; and in these my coffee was prepared, except twice, when a tin 
 
THE BIItTII-PLACE OF GOD. 
 
 395 
 
 Chocolate-pot seemed a little more civilised. When the coffee was 
 ready, a glass, or some kind of basin, was used to drink it, for no- 
 thing like a cup or a saucer Was any where visible. 
 
 Soon after quitting the place, where We had breakfasted, we left 
 the cart-road, which had already become indifferent, and we struck 
 into the bed of a mountain-torrent, where there was no road at all s; 
 along this, lay our way for many a weary mile, the advantage of 
 going by it being, that it is much nearer than by the cart-road, 
 though it is not passable by any kind of carriage. We afterwards 
 ascended some hills, which presented themselves one after another, 
 in very varying heights and proportions. The slaty substance of 
 these hills shone with a natural polish, exactly resembling black- 
 lead ; and the numerous chrystalisations of white spar, which are em- 
 bedded in the very substance of the stone, gave a pleasing sparkle to 
 the general appearance, and made many detached pieces look very 
 pretty. At the distance of some few leagues. I understand, there are 
 lead mines ; but whether there is any connection between the bright 
 polish of this slate-stone at the surface, and the lead ore in the bowels 
 of those hills, though to me it seemed most probable, I am not mine- 
 ralogist enough to determine. In our progress, we found ourselves 
 continually rising ; but the ridge of hills, which we were passing, 
 seemed only as the younger brothers of the loftier ridge immediately on 
 our left, which are denominated Sierra Nevada , or the snowy ridge ; 
 or rather, our hills might be considered as the mere children, gam- 
 bolling in their rising strength, at the feet of their Parents, whom the 
 bleaching frost of many winters had whitened with the snow of age. 
 We had subsequently to descend, and to pursue our way again along 
 the bed of the mountain-torrent ; and now the sun, striking down his 
 beams between the hills, which of course reflected them upon us, and 
 pouring his strength from a very high elevation on the sand and 
 gravel, over which we travelled, made both men and animals rapidly 
 weary. 
 
 I forget .the exact distance which it was from Almeria, that, on 
 emerging from the narrow ravine which we had taken on our way, 
 we entered the town of Nacimiento de Dios , 4 the birth-place of 
 God.’ ‘Aye,’ said the Cosario, with an arch smile, 4 God the Al- 
 mighty was born here, so they say.’ He treated the idea with nothing 
 but contempt, but I should not be surprised if there are to be found 
 people of the neighbourhood, ignorant enough to believe that the 
 town has received its name from the Redeemer’s having been born 
 there. This town is one of the best on the road, and, as it was past 
 mid-day when we entered it, we staid an hour or more to dine, and 
 to repose ourselves. To the Cosurio I handed the beef, and I laid 
 my account with a chicken ; but feeling little appetite, a couple of 
 eggs, and a little brandy and water, assisted me mightily. My at- 
 
396 
 
 HUMOUROUS DESCRIPTION OF A FAT SPANIARD. 
 
 tention, however, was soon aroused by the entrance into our posada of 
 a personage, whom I soon discovered to be a man of huge conse- 
 quence, though of what precise class, or calibre , I could not accurately 
 divine. He was one of the fattest men that I ever saw, being, I 
 should think, of a bulk by no means contemptible by the side of 
 Daniel Lambert ; for I do not question, that five or six such men as 
 myself might have beep buttoned within his waistcoat, without any 
 other inconvenience than a little close and clever packing. His neck 
 was really of an inordinate capacity, and that which was visible of it, 
 together with his chin and cheeks, were of an ominous purple hue, 
 and seemed continually to menace the bursting of the vessels, through 
 which the blood was straining, and the instant extinction of life by 
 apoplexy. Indeed his whole appearance was such, that I could uot 
 help thinking of the probable dangers attending au accidental inci- 
 sion ; and it was a problem, of which I had no means of procuring the 
 solution, whether, in such a case, the catastrophe would most resemble 
 the ripping up of a porpoise, or the bursting of some capacious vat of 
 foetid liquor. I am sure, that, from my heart, I pitied the poor soul, to 
 which such a monstrous mass of body was linked, in order continually 
 to drag it about wherever its impeded motion might find it necessary 
 to repair. It is worse, I am sure, than the wedding of a short, spright- 
 ly, active, good-tempered girl to a tall, slim, melancholy, and morose 
 companion, whether Scotch or Englishman. Aye, it seems to me, 
 much more unnatural than the conduct of the little dwarf ivy, which 
 is often seen to fling its arms around some tall pine of the forest ; and 
 creeping slowly, yet diligently, up its sides, seems to promise, as if in 
 acknowledgment of the benefit of such an alliance, and the value of 
 such an elevated support, to hang about its spare and barren limbs, in 
 unfading evergreen, abundance of luxuriant leaves and berries. 
 
 But to return, for comparisons are always odious when invidious ; 
 that soul, though so oppressed and evidently fatigued, could yet 
 manage to make itself heard, out of the midst of its thick-walled 
 dungeon; and, being already disposed by pity to favour, it soon in- 
 terested and occupied my attention, even more than the exterior of its 
 massy prison. My new acquaintance, who was supported by a sound 
 and substantial staff; which was indispensably needful to prevent the 
 fall inevitable, when by loco-motion his centre of gravity was thrown 
 out of the line of direction, gradually approached the end of th e posada 
 where I was reclining upon a bench, and observing the process by 
 which he moved along. It resembled, more than walking, that opera- 
 ration, by which porters sometimes move about a heavy package 
 by setting it on end, and sidling it onward, alternately balancing it 
 on two of the lower corners, which become successively the pivots on 
 which the opposite side is made to gain something in advance. Well; 
 arrived at last, down he sat, (but oh, what a crush !) upon the ample 
 
IMPERTINENT CURIOSITY. 
 
 397 
 
 provision, made of board and brick-work, around the wood fire- 
 place. Though it was not without a speculative thought, about the 
 probable quantity of superincumbent weight upon the spot, I was 
 glad to observe, that the dogs, and cats, and fowls, which were nu- 
 merous about us, had previously made a timely escape ; for had any 
 ordinary animal been at the moment beneath, all hope, even in mere 
 witnesses, of deliverance, must have been instantly extinguished, while 
 the luckless creature itself could not have had an instant left, in 
 which to hope at all. 
 
 He began by asking the landlady, (if that epithet, so significant 
 and intelligible in England, be not dishonoured by an application to 
 the mistress of this wretched place), some trifling question, as the 
 occasion of his call ; but its very frivolousness left one at full liberty 
 to think, that the real motive was, that, having heard of the arrival 
 of a stranger, his curiosity was excited to know something about him. 
 I soon perceived, that curiosity in him spoke with a tongue superior 
 to the rest of his neighbours ; and I dare venture to affirm, that he is 
 reckoned a prodigy of erudition by the town and neighbourhood ; 
 surely therefore, enjoying such a reputation for qualities, both intel- 
 lectual and corporeal, his happiness must be great. He soon attacked 
 the Cosario with questions, evidently intended to find out something 
 about me, while I sat silently listening and pondering what might be 
 the issue. At length, finding my Cosario rather dexterous in evading 
 the true point, to which his inquisitions were directed, he determined 
 neither to keep, nor to be kept, any longer at bay, so he plumply 
 asked him, of what nation I was ? whither I was going ? what was 
 my object ? and what my profession? To run from these queries, 
 there was at hand no ready loop-hole, to which the fat man would be 
 prevented by his bulk from following ; and hence, the Cosario re- 
 solved, manfully to stand his ground, and to give his answers with 
 patience. He therefore replied , — 6 The Gentleman is an English Cap- 
 tain of a vessel, going on business to Granada !’ No sooner, however, 
 did I hear this, than I began to be a little uneasy ; for I am not fond 
 of Jesuitical evasions of truth. I am not, thought I, a Jesuit Mis- 
 sionary, but a Protestant, and a Methodist, two names, pre-eminently 
 consecrated to Truth, and to its bold and uncompromising avowal. It 
 is true, that I am not certain, I am in conscience bound to tell here, 
 who and what I am ; nor am I bound to correct any mistakes, into 
 which others may fall, respecting me; but here may arise an occasion 
 for useful conversation, and who knows, but this man’s curiosity may 
 be the instrument of Providence, for his good, as well as my own ? 
 I therefore said to the Cosario , — 6 No, my friend, you are mistaken ; 
 some one has misinformed you, I am not a Captain of a vessel.’ 6 In- 
 deed !’ replied he, i I was told so by the English Consul at AlmeriaJ 
 6 It is,’ said I, 6 nevertheless a mistake.’ It, however, at once oc- 
 
SQ8 
 
 LUDICROUS EFFECTS OF BIGOTRY. 
 
 curred to me, that the Consul might possibly have said so, with a 
 view to conceal the truth, and to save me from importunity, or insult, 
 or at least from inconvenience, in consequence of the ignorance and 
 bigotry of the people, among whom I should have to pass. By my 
 reply, however, the fat man’s curiosity was redoubled, and it seemed 
 as if he had felt suddenly illuminated by having discovered just no- 
 thing ; and persuaded, that where the truth was thus involved in 
 mystery, there must be something worth seizing, if it could but be 
 disinterred. 4 You are a Merchant then ?’ said he. 4 I am not a 
 Merchant answered I. 4 Of course then,’ rejoined he, 4 you are 
 employed by the Government as a military or naval officer ?’ I re- 
 plied, — 4 I am not in the employ of any Government.’ 4 A physician 
 then,’ said he, 4 or a lawyer ?’ 4 I am neither,’ said I. This was 
 
 worse and worse, what could this non-descript be ? for as to suppos- 
 ing me a Clergyman, that evidently never entered his thoughts; and 
 if it had, the probability is, that he would have instantly rejected the 
 supposition, because he had been accustomed to see animals of this 
 species to differ so much from me in the head, the neck, the skin, 
 and the tails, that he could not have imagined me to be one of the ge- 
 nus ; and it seems, that he was not naturalist enough to suppose it likely 
 that a difference of country and clime may produce effects of the 
 most extraordinary character upon creatures, of even the same class. 
 But who can paint to the life, the effect produced on this mountain of 
 a man, when I satisfied, or rather alarmed his curiosity, by the ut- 
 terance of four simple words, — 4 Yo soy Clerigo Ingles /’ — 4 I am an 
 English Clergyman !’ He even started, and began to roll from side 
 to side, somewhat as, I presume, a whale does when first struck with 
 a harpoon ; he drew back his head as far as his neck would allow him, 
 and the blood, shocked from his heart, came rushing up into his faee, 
 just as we may imagine in the case of seamen, when, upon the sudden 
 Striking of their ship, they spring from below, in order to see where 
 the danger lies, In a moment, what was visible of his body assumed 
 a hue deepened in the most extraordinary manner, and the sweat began 
 to pour profusely out of the pores, like the condensed steam from a 
 boiling engiue furnace. I observed all this as coolly as I could, though 
 I confess, that I was somewhat alarmed, both for myself and him. 
 At length, however, he contrived to suffer some exprestions to escape, 
 in the shape of words, among which were the following, — 4 Aye! 
 Aye ! — Que lastrJna l — Que desgracia ! — Homhre ! — Aye Dios mio ! 
 — Esto nje da pesadumbre ! — Estosi que me hacetriste ! — Aye , bucn 
 Dios!’ — 4 Oh dear! dear! — What a pity! — What a misfortune! — 
 Alas ! — O my God ! — This greatly distresses me ! — This makes me 
 melancholy indeed ! — Oh, good God !’ Seeing the poor man so ter- 
 ribly affected, I began to think, that no time was “to be lost ; though 
 I could not tell how far the bigotry, which such a bulk might possibly 
 
CHARACTERISTIC CONVERSATION. 
 
 399 
 
 contain, would be likely to influence the pity that he expressed. So 
 with a plaintive tone and accent I said, — 4 Que hay ? — Que hay ami- 
 go ? — Que es esio? — Que es loque le hace a vo tan triste , y le causa 
 tan grande pes aclumbre de esperilu ?' — 4 What’s the matter ? — What’s 
 the matter, my friend? — What is it? — Do tell me what it is, that 
 makes you so sad, and causes you such great distress ?’ He soon af- 
 terwards obtained relief, by uttering the tremendous words, — 4 P or que 
 esto es una cisma ! — Si , Senior; nada menos que una cisma , in el 
 gremio del Sehor 4 Because this is a schism ! — Yes, Sir ; nothing 
 less than a schism, in the flock of the Lord !’ For a few moments I 
 allowed him to proceed, without interruption, in the same strain ; but 
 I perceived, that his politeness made him abstain from using the words 
 here gift and herege , heresy and heretic, and I began to reply in a tone 
 of kind concilation,' — 4 Perhaps Sir, if we knew each other better, 
 we should love each other more. I am very strongly inclined to believe, 
 that many persons greatly dislike each others’ principles and persons 
 from a want of knowing their opponents’ sentiments. Superstition 
 may be the result of mistake ; but bigotry and prejudice are the birth 
 of ignorance ; and even the errors of our fellow-men, in order to be 
 refuted with effect, should be examined with patience.’ 4 True,’ said he, 
 4 but you cannot make anything of this but a schism ; and one which 
 has devastated the true Church. England was once the garden of the 
 Church, but you have rent it away, and you have taken millions of 
 souls from the true Shepherd.’ 6 Stay a moment, my good friend,* 
 said I, 4 let us proceed slowly and cautiously. You say that I am in-, 
 culpated in the charge of schism ; you are, it is true, a little older 
 than myself, but we were both born only a very few years ago ; you, 
 in the providence of God, happened to be born here in Spain ; and 
 I, by the same providence, happened to be born there in England. 
 Now I ask, why did you become what you are, a decided Romau 
 Catholic ? It was, because your fathers before you were such, for 
 you were early baptised, and initiated into all the rites of the Church, 
 to which you belong. I might plead the very same reasons, for be- 
 ing a Protestant. You have been accustomed to hear your Ministers, 
 and to form the belief that what they say is true ; and so have 1, with 
 reference to Protestant Ministers; thus you and I are, so far, on 
 equal terms; but had you been born in England, and I in Spain, the 
 case would most probably have been reversed in this only, that you 
 would have been the Protestant, and I the Catholic. If then you 
 have reason to blame me for my creed, it must be, because that is 
 wrong, and yours is right; but can you shew me this ? I am ready 
 to hear, if you can. Nay, how can I possibly be chargeable with 
 schism, when there is not one fundamental principle of the Gospel 
 of our Lord Jesus Christ, which I do not hold and verily believe?’ 
 
400 
 
 CHARACTERISTIC CONVERSATION'. 
 
 He listened with attention, admitted the force of my observations^ 
 but expressed his doubts as to the truth of what I averred, respecting 
 the agreement of my faith with the Gospel. 4 For how otherwise,’ 
 said he, 4 are you not united with the true Church ?’ I entreated him 
 to name the fundamental articles of the Christian faith, and I would 
 answer him sincerely, whether I believed them or not ; but finding 
 him rather tardy, I began to do so myself, and I enumerated several 
 leading articles, nearly in the words of the Apostles’ Creed. 4 And 
 do you believe,’ said he , 4 in the doctrines of the Trinity, and the di- 
 vine nature of Jesus Christ, the only Son of God ?’ I immediately 
 answered , — 4 Most assuredly we do ; it is the general belief of Pro- 
 testant Ministers and Churches; and the very Apostles’ Creed, which 
 your Church regards as the symbol of her faith, is equally the sym- 
 bol of ours ; and we are in the constant habit of using it, in the same 
 words, and in the same sense, as your own Doctors generally.’ He 
 then questioned me about the Virgin Mary. I disclaimed the giving 
 her any divine honours, but said , — 4 We treat her memory with re- 
 spect, as a woman, as a Christian, and as the Mother of our Lord 
 Jesus Christ.’ He enquired, as to the doctrine of the perpetual vir- 
 ginity. 4 As to that,’ said I, 4 Protestants, as well as great numbers 
 of your own Church, say that it cannot be known ; it is neither re- 
 vealed, nor is it necessary to know any thing about it ; and, there- 
 fore, we neither affirm nor deny.’ When, however, we came to talk 
 of the expiation of the death of the Son of God, and the merits of 
 His blood and intercession, he gave me an excellent opportunity of 
 preaching to him Jesus, and the way of faith. 4 Aud now, in con- 
 clusion,’ said I, 4 let me repeat, what I have already said, that if we 
 knew each other better we should love each other more.’ 4 Ah ! Sir,’ 
 said he, 4 but do you acknowledge his Holiness, the Pope ?’ 4 Yes,’ 
 
 I replied, 4 we acknowledge him as the Bishop of Rome.’ 4 Aud no- 
 thing more ?’ said he. 4 Nothing more,’ answered I, 4 for, as to those 
 claims, which he makes of universal sovereignty and dominion, over 
 the Churches of Christ, and the consciences of men, we cannot ad- 
 mit that they are any thing but usurpations.’ 4 Aye, there now,’ said 
 he, 4 it is, as I said, for you do not acknowledge the only centre of 
 unity, and the Vicar of Christ.’ 4 As to the centre of unity,’ I re- 
 plied, 4 we believe, that it is Jesus Christ Himself, who is the foun- 
 dation of the Apostles and Prophets. And what need is there of a 
 Vicar, when we have Christ Himself, continually present with us by 
 H is Divine Nature, and by His Spirit? Now you still think that I 
 am wrong : well ; I am doing, what I think should be done by every 
 one else who can, that is, I am using the means to gain a knowledge 
 of the truth ; I am going to Granada to see your religion at a sort of 
 fountain-head; I am going to converse with your learned men and 
 
BLESSINGS OF PROTESTANTISM* 
 
 401 
 
 Clergymen, to see your College, to look at your books, and to pur- 
 chase some of them, that I may read and know the truth ; if, on 
 examination, I should find that your Doctors are right, and that I 
 am wrong, I will not hesitate to acknowledge it ; and I wish that 
 every one else would do the same. Meantime, I again repeat, that 
 if we knew each other better we might, perhaps, love each other 
 more.’ 4 Ah! Sir,’ said he, rising, after two or three desperate ef- 
 forts, 4 1 believe, that, at present, you are out of the way of salva- 
 tion ; may God guide you into it! I am sorry that I must leave you, 
 but, if we sat for seven hours together, I think that we should talk 
 on all the time.’ I then took a melancholy leave of him, for I was 
 oppressed by my feelings for the people, who are kept in such utter 
 ignorance of the means of knowledge ; and, though capable of the 
 most generous and affectionate emotions, worked up to intolerance by 
 delusion and priestcraft. 
 
 After being cheated by the landlady, who, though she had listen- 
 ed very piously to our conversation, and seemed greatly edified by 
 the learning and zeal of her comely neighbour, charged me about two 
 pisettas for four eggs, a bit of bread, and a little straw ; we pursued 
 our way, still following the bed of the torrent, which, at this place, 
 widens into a passable road. 
 
 Ah ! my friend, what an infinite mercy it is that you and I are 
 Protestants ! Not merely because we were born such, but because, 
 having the means of knowledge open to us, we have read and thought 
 for ourselves ; we have examined the testimony of God, we have stu- 
 died and felt the words of Jesus Christ Himself; and, therefore, 
 as His Word and Spirit, have instructed and guided us, we have 
 4 believed with the heart unto righteousness, and with the mouth we 
 have made confession unto salvation.’ This is evidence of the highest 
 grade ; — this is the crowning proof of being right ; — for, 4 he that be- 
 lieveth hath the witness in himself.’ Whatever we may gain or lose 
 may we retain this! may we prove our sincerity by this ! and may 
 its glowing clearness of testimony confirm us every hour in the reso- 
 lution, to 4 run without weariness, and to walk without fainting,’ in 
 the way of holy obedience to His sacred and divine commands! 
 Yes, may we thus be even enabled to 4 mount up with wings as 
 eagles,’ constantly exhibiting, both in our experience and our prac- 
 tice, the noblest elevation of a devoted, animated, and still aspiring 
 piety ! 
 
 I see the end of my second sheet ; I, therefore, release you for the 
 present, intending, at another time, to resume my narrative from this 
 place. I hope that this will interest and entertain you; and if your 
 gratification, in reading, should correspond with mine, in writing, I 
 shall be richly repaid for the labour of planting such a thicket of 
 
 2 D 
 
402 
 
 IMPROVEMENT OF HEALTH AND STRENGTH. 
 
 words, in the shade of which you may recline, and cherish your affec- 
 tion for one who sincerely loves you. Adieu ! 
 
 I am, my dear Friend, 
 
 Your very affectionate, 
 
 William Barber. 
 
 I greatly regret that, among my Brother’s Manuscripts, I can find 
 no other documents than the above, respecting this journey to Granada. 
 
 To the Rev. George Morley. 
 
 Gibraltar , May 21, 1828. 
 
 Rev. and dear Sir, 
 
 * * * * * The different topics and ques- 
 
 tions of your letter, require me to write with conscientious frankness, 
 in reference to my own capability for the work, and the state of 
 things here, as it regards the hope of future prosperity. 
 
 As it regards my bodily fitness for the work, I answer, conscien- 
 tiously, that there is no labour to be done here, which I do not feel 
 myself adequate to accomplish. Your first letter asks, if I can un- 
 dertake to preach four times a-week, and your second five, beside 
 performing the other duties. I answer, that I have long been preach- 
 ing three times a-week, and occasionally four, beside attending 
 meetings every evening except Saturday, and daily prosecuting my 
 own studies ; and all this has been without difficulty, nay, with con- 
 stantly progressive improvement ; and I now anticipate no bodily dif- 
 ficulty, with any moderate increase of labour. 
 
 As to the mental labour of continuing constantly to preach to the 
 same people, both in English and Spanish, which is what your en- 
 quiries regard ; I confess, that after being here between three and 
 four years, and feeling myself, as I do, comparatively inexperienced, 
 with little theological knowledge, a very faulty style of preaching, 
 no stock of sermons upon which to improve, and each discourse being 
 literally no more than the earnings of daily labour, I feel strongly 
 disposed to pity the people, and to fear for myself, if I should be 
 left here, and especially alone ; for, by the tenour of your letters, 
 and the questions which you propose, this appears to me to be the 
 line on which the Committee is tending. If I am right in this con- 
 jecture, there are involved several things of great importance; and, 
 since you desire me to write freely, I will not be restrained. 
 
 I take it for granted, that the only motive for continuing me here 
 
SUGGESTIONS IN REFERENCE TO THE MISSION. 
 
 403 
 
 any longer, if that be resolved on, is my possession of the Spanish 
 language ; and this, in truth, is the only ruling consideration which 
 makes me abstain from expressing a decided wish to be removed ; 
 for it is obvious, that, were I removed to another station, I should 
 not be under so severe an obligation to new sermonising, as must be 
 the case if I am continued here ; and, consequently, I should be 
 more at liberty to prosecute the study of languages, than can be pos- 
 sible, if I am here alone ; there are other considerations to which I 
 will hereafter refer. But as it cannot be the intention of the Com- 
 mittee to continue me here always, nor even for any great while 
 longer, how is the N Spanish work to be continued? It will not do to 
 give it up, for there are enough of serious hearers to render it im- 
 portant to continue the preaching in that language, at least twice 
 a-wfeek; and there are some, whose minds are really impressed with 
 Divine truth, and who demand this much of us. How, then, is it 
 to be maintained, unless some other Preacher learn the language ? All 
 these ’ considerations will, probably, be of equal force, one, two, or 
 three years, hence, as now. This has suggested to my mind a thought, 
 which I now offer only, and instantly leave. In the event of my being ^ 
 continued here another year, would it not be worth while, to send out 
 some young man to reside with me during that time, and to learn 
 the language, in order to take my place, when, according to the or- 
 der of our connexion, I am removed elsewhere ? Were such a plan 
 adopted, I have only to say, that he should find in me a friend, and 
 a diligent, willing, and affectionate help in Spanish, as well as in 
 some other languages, if need were ; while our mutual study of di- 
 vinity and composition might be, as I believe it would, a very fertile 
 source of benefit to each other. Thus then, what with Spanish, di- 
 vinity, composition, and pastoral duties, to use an expression of Mr. 
 Wesley’s Father, 6 we might be idle if we could;’ and thus, too, 
 might not that Preacher be, afterwards, left for a considerable time 
 alone ? I hope, however, that neither from this, nor from any of my 
 other suggestions, any thing like designing selfishness may be imputed 
 to me. I know, that I have it not ; but, not even the fear of seem- 
 ing to have it, shall deter me from saying what I think my duty, as 
 seeming to me best. 
 
 But, what would be the feeling of the people, at finding me left 
 alone, here, for a season, if that were resolved upon ? May 1 be 
 permitted to express myself on this delicate point, not without feel- 
 ing, but with the same frankness as on any other? I do say, then, 
 that I have unequivocal proof, that the great majority of the pious 
 and affectionate members of our Society are strongly attached to me, 
 and l believe that they would be glad of such a measure. But I 
 have reason also to believe, that this is not universally the case ; for, 
 
 2 d 2 
 
404 
 
 COMPLAINTS AGAINST HIS MINISTRY. 
 
 though no one has given me any painful proof of it, various reasons 
 may be assigned why it should be so. 
 
 I have some great faults, in the style of my public Ministry. I 
 have heard complaints of the length of my prayers and sermons. But 
 that is neither the whole, nor the worst, of the business; for I am 
 considered obscure, and too recondite, and indeed sometimes unintel- 
 ligible. With regard to the first, and the last, of these complaints, 
 I have no difficulty in believing them to be just; for when a Preach- 
 er’s ideas are obscure to himself, they cannot be otherwise to his hear- 
 ers. But as to the second, it cannot be true, for my mind has been 
 too much engaged on other subjects than those, which relate to exten- 
 sive reading and investigation in divinity, to allow of the justness of 
 this complaint. My sermons, I am ashamed to say, have been almost 
 always comparatively unstudied ; not that my time has been wasted, 
 but otherwise employed. I am glad, however, that I have lately 
 been made acquainted with the existence of these complaints ; as, 
 whether I remain here, or am removed elsewhere, I am determined, 
 by such a diligent attention to divinity and composition, and especially 
 in its clearness and spirituality, to labour in the sight of our blessed 
 Redeemer, and by His grace to amend of these grievous faults. 
 
 Another circumstance, which has displeased some persons, is my 
 seldom visiting them, and my having displayed a partiality in favour 
 of particular individuals or families. To this, the observations above 
 made, will serve, in some degree, as a key ; the ground is also too 
 limited, to admit of the constant visits of more than one Preacher ; 
 my duty and my taste, have equally led me to keep closely to my 
 room; and I have no time for gossipping. I will also admit, that, as 
 my duties have lain chiefly among the Spaniards, and the members of 
 my own Classes, I have visited them principally ; while the little 
 time for other visiting, which I have had, has of course been chiefly 
 employed among those, whose piety, and intelligence, and consist- 
 ency in the rearing of their families, have in truth made them the 
 objects of my preference. With regard to cultivating acquaintance- 
 ships among the worldly-minded, though of superior rank, and oc- 
 casional attendants at the Chapel, in whose society there is no taste 
 for serious conversation, and no spirit for serious prayer, I neither 
 desire them, nor will I seek them ; such associations offer me no- 
 thing worth gaining, and risk me every thing that can be a loss ; 
 the very least that I can fear from them, is, that they would unfit my 
 taste for the simple, but more profitable society of their inferiors, 
 who c live in the Spirit, and also walk in the Spirit ;’ and among 
 whom the probabilities of usefulness are, at least, a hundred to one. 
 
OFFER OF THE EDUCATION OF THE OFFICERS’ SONS. 405 
 
 The Rev. Mr. Keeling, of Malta, has expressed a strong wish, 
 and even hope, to have me with him as a Colleague ; if I should be 
 removed, there is no spot to which I would rather go. The Spanish 
 work, and many endeared friendships, here, are the only motives, 
 which would induce me to regret the change ; for, as it regards Mr. 
 K. himself, I have no doubt, but that, 4 as a son with a Father, I 
 should serve with him in the Gospel.’ But I will have no choice, 
 either to go there or elsewhere, or to stay here. I am ready to sub- 
 mit to any arrangement of the Committee. X will only pray to Hea- 
 ven, that I may largely possess for any place, the fear of God, the 
 love of Christ, and the unction of the Iloly Ghost. And to the 
 Conference I will request, that I may not be thought unworthy to be 
 received by them into full connexion with my Brethren ; and that, 
 with their forbearing kindness to a young man, they will permit me 
 to labour with them, as the I^ord may enable me, in the service and 
 cure of souls. It may be proper here, however, just to say, that in 
 no point of doctrine or discipline, has my mind swerved from the 
 principles, which I professed on my examination before the Commit- 
 tee ; that the only difference which I find in my views is, the con- 
 firmation gained in the conception of truth by increasing time, reflec- 
 tion, and experience ; and that I am not conscious of holding any 
 view of these subjects, which the Committee could wish me to change, 
 or which they coufd regard with regret. 
 
 I am sorry to be tiresome to you ; but one thing more I must add ; 
 my only reasons for it being, the difference of opinion to which it has 
 given rise, and the desire that I feel not to appear to neglect any 
 thing likely to further the interests of the Mission. Some time 
 since, an Officer of rank sent to say, that he wished to see me ; on my 
 waiting upon him, he said, that several Officers had been conversing 
 together on the subject of the education of their sons, and lamenting 
 that no good and well-conducted Academy exists here ; that they had 
 resolved to provide some premises, which should save a Master the 
 expense of rent, which is so heavy here; that they would subscribe 
 a handsome salary for him ; that, at first, they had determined to in- 
 vite a Clergyman from England, for the purpose ; but afterwards, 
 having understood that I had been accustomed to the work of tuition, 
 that it was resolved to make the first proposal to me. I answered, 
 that I felt greatly favoured by the ^consideration of me, which he had 
 expressed; but that the engagements, into which every Minister en- 
 ters among the Methodists, prevent his being occupied in any secular 
 means of gain ; that all my time is required for those studies, to 
 which our Committee had directed me, and for the discharge of my 
 Ministerial duties ; and, therefore, that, impressed as I was by such 
 attention to me, I must unavoidably decline the favour. He rejoined, 
 that he had understood I hud been so occupied in the Garrison, and 
 
406 
 
 DECLINES THE OFFICE OF A TUTOR. 
 
 that I intended to increase ray engagements in that way. I replied, 
 that it was true I had assisted two or three individuals occasionally ; 
 that it was only in the way of private friendship, and totally without 
 pecuniary considerations ; and that I never had any intention of fixing 
 such an establishment. He then asked, if I could not give private les- 
 sons to a few pupils. And I answered, that the reasons before stated 
 would prevent me. Thus I considered the affair quite terminated ; 
 but in a conversation, subsequently held with Dr. Iiennen’s family, 
 I was surprised to find that they, as well as Mr. Pratten and Mr. 
 Pyne, thought I had been too precipitate in my answer ; and that to 
 be an accredited instructor of the children of the Officers here, would 
 do more to further the interests of the Mission in the Garrison, than 
 any one thing which an individual Missionary could do besides. I 
 certainly never imagined, that a single doubt could have existed on 
 the subject ; and I well knew, that when Mr. Pratten should remove, 
 it would be impossible for me to attend to any such occupation. Be- 
 sides, as I could not of course expect, or desire, to be settled here 
 by the Committee, I could not enter into an engagement of the kind, 
 when I might at any period, and possibly very soon, be called away. 
 Added to this, it certainly is not a secular, but a ministerial and pas- 
 toral life, to which I am devoted, and which I desire to lead. The 
 door is indeed now closed ; but after what has been said, I deem it 
 right to submit my conduct in the affair, to your judgment. 
 
 If I am so fortunate as to induce you to wade through this letter, 
 I shall deem myself happy, though at your cost ; for I am impressed 
 with the truth of my statements, and their importance to the prosper- 
 ity of the work in this place. 
 
 May the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, preside, by 
 Ilis Spirit, over all the deliberations of the Conference! May He 
 greatly bless you, and your family at home, as well as your numerous 
 family of Missionaries abroad ; nor leave unrefreshed 
 
 Your affectionate Servant 
 
 In the Gospel, 
 
 William Barber. 
 
 P. S. — We of course know not when to expect Dr. Bialloblotzky ; 
 but, whenever he comes, I shall receive him with the affection and 
 respect due to his rank in literature, and in your estimation. There 
 are two things which I ought to have mentioned before; the first 
 is, the work which must be done here ; viz. in English, four ser- 
 mons and one prayer-meeting ; and in Spanish, two sermons and 
 one prayer-meeting, weekly; but, with the help of our Local Preach- 
 ers, I cannot see why one Missionary would not be sufficient for 
 this work. The second is, that, immediately Mr. Pratten leaves, I 
 intend removing to the Mission House, with a young man, a Span- 
 
MEDICAL CERTIFICATE OF HEALTH. 
 
 407 
 
 iard, to attend me. Of this Spaniard I have great hopes, he is a 
 genuine fruit of the Mission. 
 
 With the above letter, was sent the following certificate of my Bro- 
 ther’s health ; with a view to his admission into full Connexion, at the 
 ensuing Conference. 
 
 To the Rev. George Morley. 
 
 Gibraltar , May 19, 1828. 
 
 Rev. and dear Sir, 
 
 Mr. Pratten informs me, that your Committee are desir- 
 ous to obtain some further information on the state of health of their 
 Missionary, the Rev. W. Barber. It gives me much pleasure to say, 
 that, since the date of my last communication, upon that subject, in 
 November, 1827, Mr. B. has progressively amended. Within the 
 last three months his improvement has been very marked : he has 
 made a tour to Granada, from which he has recently returned, appa- 
 parently, in a state of perfect health. I entertain, that he may now 
 undertake, without risk, any duty which, in the ordinary course of 
 Missionary labours, he may be called upon to fulfil. My friend, Mr. 
 Pyne, who proceeds to England in a few days, will deliver you this. 
 I remain, Rev. and dear Sir, 
 
 Yours, very sincerely, 
 
 I. Hennen, M. D., 
 Inspector of Hospitals. 
 
 To the Secretaries of the Wesleyan Missionary Society . 
 
 Gibraltar , Aug. 1828. 
 
 Rev. and dear Sirs, 
 
 * * * * * I gladly seize this part of my 
 
 sheet, to state to you some interesting particulars respecting a Spanish 
 Gentleman, who, while a refugee here, frequently attended our meet- 
 ings ; most evidently gained spiritual good ; and, being eventually 
 compelled, by circumstances, to sail for the Havannah, has just writ- 
 ten me thence, in a way which, not only revives all the affection and 
 hope that I formerly felt for him, but has led me to confide that we 
 shall, one day, see him, among many others, crowned with glory in 
 our heavenly Father’s kingdom, and evidently the fruit of our 
 Spanish Mission. 
 
 It may be well for me to premise, with regard to his earlier his- 
 tory, that he is of a respectable family, that he was himself possess- 
 ed of property, and that he was for many years successfully engaged 
 in an extensive mercantile concern. lie is a person rather advanced 
 
408 
 
 AFFECTING HISTORY OF A SPANISH EMIGRANT, 
 
 in life, and evidently a man of education, reading, and thought ; but 
 that which gives a singular impression in his favour is, the more than 
 ordinary simplicity, integrity, and cordial affection, which severe mis- 
 fortunes have not been able to disguise. He has a wife and one son ; 
 the latter was given him in answer to many prayers after, I think, at 
 least 12 or 14 years’ childless marriage. His wife and son, for whom 
 his affection is, at once, most exemplary and most distressing, are not 
 the companions of his flight, but the living victims at home of the 
 persecution, by which it has been caused. Some years ago, he pro- 
 cured a copy of the Scriptures from Gibraltar, but whether it was 
 more than the New Testament I doubt, but do not know. The 
 perusal of this copy, the events of the late revolution in Spain, the 
 disclosure of many popish impostures, and above all the good work of 
 the Spirit on his heart, produced much of the enlightening of his 
 mind on the nature of inward religion ; and he often sought in the 
 retirement of reading, and in the devotion of secret prayer, those con- 
 solations which mere ceremonies, always pompous when they are not 
 ridiculous, could never yield him. 
 
 The re-establishment of despotism in Spain, put the enemies of all 
 liberal and enlightened men into power, and of this an unprincipled 
 relative took a cruel advantage. He laid an unjust claim to a portion 
 of my friend’s property, and when the attempt was steadily resisted, 
 he accused his relative of crimes against Religion and the State, and 
 created against him a severe and most unmerited persecution, which 
 compelled him to seek in flight his personal safety from assassination, 
 long imprisonment, or an ignominious death; while, in the mean time, 
 his property was wasted among the Friars, his vile relative, and the 
 officers of injustice ; and his beloved wife and child, were reduced to 
 poverty and dependence. He was for some months in Gibraltar, en- 
 deavouring to find means of establishing himself here ; and he eagerly 
 clung to this hope, because of the liberty with which we are favoured, 
 and the comparative vicinity of this Garrison to his home. But the 
 commercial interests of Gibraltar have long been rapidly declining, till 
 at length they seem to be near the lowest ebb. After many strug- 
 gles, therefore, my good friend came to the resolution of going to the 
 Havannah, where, remote from the scene of persecution, and neither 
 having nor having had any treasonable designs, he might be guided 
 by the hand of God to some means of provision for himself, and his 
 tenderly endeared wife and son. 
 
 One day, when he called to see me, I perceived that he was much 
 depressed, and, upon enquiring the reason, he informed me of his reso- 
 lution ; and added, as he drew some papers from his pocket, that he 
 could not rest without writing to his son a letter of paternal advice, 
 which he had brought for my perusal, that I might candidly express 
 my views of it, and point out its defects. He had great difficulty in 
 
WITH A LETTER TO IIIS SON. 
 
 409 
 
 proceeding, and, sobs frequently interrupting him, he was at length 
 obliged to give up the task. I took a copy of the letter, which I will 
 now transcribe. 
 
 ‘My very affectionate Son, 
 
 k With tears in my eyes, I have taken up my pen to write 
 thee this letter; those tears spring from the fountain of thy Father’s 
 heart. Let it not be wearisome to thee, for me to repeat what I have 
 already often said, — Fear God, obey thy Mother and thy superiors, 
 and be a good boy. Fix for ever thy attention on what I am about 
 to say. Remember, that it is thy affectionate Father, who speaks to 
 thee, by means of the present writing, for thy spiritual and temporal 
 good; indeed, this he desires for thee, as much as for himself. The 
 malice of certain persons has been, in the secret judgments of God, 
 the principal cause, so far as I can see, why I have seen myself com- 
 pelled to separate from thy endeared society, and that of thy beloved 
 Mother. She may ever tell thee, with truth, of the struggling feelings 
 of our hearts mutually, in the moment when I took leave of her, in the 
 afternoon of the sixth of April, in the present year, (1827 ;) and thou 
 canst not cease to remember, when I made the sign of the cross upon 
 thy innocent face, that thou sawest fall from my eyes the tears, which 
 sprang from the grief and emotion which filled my heart ; while I 
 thought, that perhaps this would be the last time, and that possibly 
 thou wouldst never again kiss my hands, nor I thy beloved face, as we 
 then did that very afternoon, just before thou wentest to school. And 
 thus it was, that thou wast separated from the bosom of thy Father, 
 till God’s will be served. 
 
 ‘ I arrived on the 20th of the same month at this place, where Eng- 
 lish generosity has opened to me an asylum, and here I still remain. 
 I have endeavoured to find some means of subsistence here, until I 
 might be restored to thy company, and that of thy Mother; but, in 
 spite of all the enquiries which I, as well as other good persons, have 
 made, it not possible; especially as I do not possess the English 
 language, and the place is overflowed with emigrants, many of whom 
 converse in various languages. Finding myself in such critical cir- 
 cumstances, and not gaining a farthing, but, on the contrary, being 
 upon daily expenses, I have not ceased to implore God to direct me, 
 as to what I ought to do. Beside this, 1 have consulted with dif- 
 ferent persons of maturity and experience, who have advised me, that 
 the best appears to be, that I should go to the Ilavannah; as, from 
 their knowledge of affairs, they think it likely, that there I should 
 find employment, and make money ; thus then, I have resolved to do, 
 more for thy good, and that of thy Mother, than for my own alone. 
 
 ‘Now then thou mayest consider, that the farther I remove from 
 thee, and thy Mother, my spirit is beyond measure distressed ; but. 
 
410 
 
 LETTER OF A SPANISH EMIGRANT TO IIIS SON. 
 
 though I clearly see that God calls me to try the bitterness of poverty 
 and misfortune, yet not on this account have I failed, for a moment, to 
 confide in His power and clemency; and, if His omnipotent arm has 
 dashed me down, I hope that, as He listens to my submissive and 
 reverent prayer, His supreme power will one day raise me up again. 
 I have told thee all this, in order that, during my absence, and in 
 proportion as thou growest up, thou mayest know, with certainty, the 
 motives of my separation; as well as my manner of thinking and 
 acting; and that thou mayest be convinced of my truly paternal 
 feelings. 
 
 4 Notwithstanding the length of time it may please God that I may 
 be separated from thee, or whatever it may be His will to do with 
 my person, and although I know that thou hast a good Mother, who 
 will well understand how to replace my absence in watching over 
 thy moral education ; yet I cannot avoid giving thee some precepts for 
 thy spiritual and temporal welfare, as well as that thou mayest know 
 my mode of thinking, in the belief of the religion which we profess. 
 
 4 1. Have always fixed and present in thy memory, my Son, that 
 the end for which thou wast created is, to love and serve God in this 
 life, and to see and enjoy Him in eternity. 
 
 4 2. If the law of God be written in thy heart, and His love shed 
 abroad abundantly there, obedience to His commandments will be 
 easy and agreeable to thee, because 44 the yoke of Christ is easy and 
 His burden light.” The law of God is comprehended in one word, 
 viz. in loving God, for what He is in Himself, and for the benefits 
 which He dispenses to us ; and in loving our neighbour, in the fear of 
 God. 
 
 4 3. Thus then 44 love that LORD with all thy soul, with all thy 
 heart, with all thy understanding, and with all thy strength ; and love 
 thy neighbour as thyself because charity is the grand disposition of 
 good men, and without it every thing is in vain. The Lord has said, 
 44 My son, give me thy heart !” and, if thou do this, all the affec- 
 tions of thy soul will be holy and heavenly ; thou wilt consider Him 
 as thy supreme Good, and the fountain of thy happiness ; thou wilt 
 love the creatures for the sake of God; and all the beauty or sweet- 
 ness, which thou mayest find in them, will lead thee to adore Him 
 more and more; in short, thou wilt fulfil His law, of which the sub- 
 stance is Love . 
 
 4 4. God is a most pure Spirit, and for this reason He ought to be 
 44 worshipped in Spirit, and in truth ;” and vain therefore will it be to 
 trust in appearances, or to have Him near with words, when in reality 
 the heart is far from Him. 
 
 4 5. 44 Do not take the name of God in vain, for the Lord will not 
 hold thee guiltless,” if in this way thou profane it. Always rever- 
 ence Ilis holy Name, so that thou never take it into thy lips without 
 
LETTER OF A SPANISH EMIGRANT TO IIIS SON. 411 
 
 making a pause, which may give thee time to remember, who He is, 
 and how terrible ! 
 
 4 6. Observe the Lord’s day, which is Sunday, since His goodness 
 has condescended to establish this day, that we may particularly de- 
 vote it to His worship and adoration. Abstain, therefore, on this day, 
 from all work, and other things, which are not either of absolute ne- 
 cessity, or mercy. Let this day be, with particularity, thy heavenly 
 pleasure; and let thy house be the house of God; let the preaching 
 of the Divine word be thy spiritual food, and prayer the breath of thy 
 soul. Do all this, and God will love thee, the Lord Jesus Christ will 
 grant thee His grace, and the Holy Spirit will enlighten thy mind. 
 
 c 7. Honour continually, in every time and age, thy Mother and 
 me ; for, besides its being a thing natural and becoming, God ex- 
 pressly commands it ; and to observe this, is so pleasing to Him, that 
 He has promised that he who obeys shall live long upon the earth. 
 To do this, therefore, take care to obey thy Parents, to preserve their 
 reputation, to assist them in their labours and distresses, and to help 
 and sustain them in their old age. And thou oughtest to do the same, 
 proportionally, in respect and honour of any other superior, equal, or 
 inferior; and always shew a love to thy neighbour, equally with refer- 
 ence to his life, and to his salvation ; for he who is truly good is so 
 relatively. 
 
 4 8. The love of thy neighbour, as it respects the purity of thy 
 heart, thy words, and thy actions, is another duty binding upon thee. 
 And thus thou must be very continent, modest, and chaste ; for any 
 action, word, look, or thought, which is immodest, will make thee 
 offensive in the presence of God, although it should be done so se- 
 cretly, that only God and thy own conscience may know of it. There- 
 fore, maintain the most perfect purity in heart, in conversation, and in 
 conduct. Flee from all bad company. Respect the reputation and 
 good name of others, for thou oughtest to have as much concern for 
 the fair name of another as for thy own ; hence, avoid all sorts of wit, 
 censure, or ridicule, which thou wouldst not like to fall upon thyself. 
 Especially be grateful to benefactors. 
 
 4 9. When the proper time arrives, be content with the lot which 
 God will assign thee ; and neither envy nor injure another’s enjoy- 
 ments, nor wish to deprive him of them, that thou thyself mightest 
 possess them. In a word, the secret desires of thy heart are not per- 
 mitted thee, for obtaining any one thing which God has prohibited. 
 
 4 10. Be humble ; for this virtue is the root of all others, as also it 
 is the very soil in which they grow. And our Lord Jesus Christ has 
 promised, that He will exalt the humble and confound the proud. 
 Moreover, He commands us to be meek and lowly of heart, as He 
 Himself is. Therefore, my Son, be humble, and thou wilt know thy- 
 self; thou wilt see, with all clearness, the state of thy conscience, and 
 
412 
 
 LETTER OF A SPANISH EMIGRANT TO HIS SON. 
 
 learn to live constantly dependent on the wisdom, the grace, and the 
 power of our Heavenly Father. 
 
 *11. u Faith is the foundation of the things which are hoped for, 
 and a conviction of those which are not seen ;” wherefore endeavour 
 to gain true faith, and thou wilt be able to look at temporal things 
 with the indifference which they deserve, and thou wilt live as. if thou 
 wert a citizen of Heaven. But thou must know, that, 44 without faith 
 all thy works are as dead ;” because our religion does not consist in 
 being merely a business of the lips, or of the knee, but of the heart, 
 inflamed with the love of God, and convinced of the faith by means of 
 the understanding. By this thou wilt perceive, that 44 the kingdom of 
 God consists in righteousness, peace, and joy in the Holy Ghost.” 
 Never, never cease to implore this influence, and to thee shall be ful- 
 filled what our Divine Saviour has said, — 44 Ask, and it shall be given 
 you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto 
 you and he has equally assured us, that, — 44 Every one that asketh, 
 receiveth ; and he that seeketh, findeth ; and to him that knocketh, 
 it shall be opened.” 
 
 6 12. Endeavour, as thou growest up, to be a wise Christian ; and, 
 for this purpose, devote thyself to moral philosophy; and let the Bible 
 be thy companion, for it will make thee wise in the science of salvation. 
 As to this worldly wisdom, and the science of the world, it is not es- 
 sential to Those, who, with humility and diligence, seek the other. 
 But remember, that by this, I do not mean to say to thee, abandon 
 the instruction which thou oughtest to appropriate to thyself, in the 
 class and rank which thou occupiest in society ; rather thou must en- 
 deavour to learn whatever becomes thee, for fulfilling the obligations 
 of thy situation, and for knowing how to gain a livelihood. 
 
 4 To close : 44 The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of 
 God, and the communion of the Holy Ghost, be with thee. Amen.” 
 
 4 This, my beloved Son, is what appears to me my duty to say 
 to thee ; and though thou art not yet old enough to comprehend it 
 well, yet, growing up, thou wilt know its importance ; and thy fulfil- 
 ling it will be the greatest satisfaction that, as thy Father, I can have. 
 
 4 To my wife, thy tender Mother, say, that I wish her to be con- 
 formed to the will of God ; and that, though I am far from you, I 
 have you always present, and feel more painfully your sufferings than 
 my own banishment. Obey her as a good son, console her in her af- 
 flictions, and never abandon her: as thy Father, who with his bowels 
 loves thee, I charge this upon thee, as well as implore it of thee, 
 by the glory of my own Father and Mother, and by the love of God. 
 Adieu, my beloved Son ! Adieu, thou joy of my eyes, and consola- 
 tion of my heart! Give a thousand embraces to thy Mother for me. 
 Adieu, till we meet by the will of God ! Or, if we never meet 
 again, let His holy and divine will be done in me! I remain, thy 
 
DEATH OF MRS. DIXON. 
 
 413 
 
 Father, longing to see you, and to embrace you both, thee and my 
 wife, thy Mother, if God permit.’ 
 
 I regret, dear Sirs, that I am not able to detail, in this sheet, the 
 conversation to which the above letter gave rise, nor the note accom- 
 panying it to my friend’s estimable wife, nor the letter which 
 I have lately received from him, from the Havannah. But you see, 
 that the Spanish work here is not altogether in vain. This, hoWever, 
 is not the only individual whom, I trust, you will one day see in 
 glory, as the fruit of our feeble, and almost unknown, little work. I 
 hope for better days. Last ordinance we had thirteen communicants. 
 The congregations are a little improving. I trust, that we shall re- 
 cover from the severe blow, which we had some months since, and 
 which has cost me much feeling. But I am now waiting the deci- 
 sion of Conference respecting me, and am ready for removal, if to 
 God and you it shall seem best. Meantime, I am fairly happy, and 
 the people of my temporary charge give me every proof of affection 
 that I can wish. Good old Mr. Davis labours heartily and well, and 
 is made a blessing to the pious ; what greater favour can any man 
 have of heaven ? 
 
 Your affectionate Servant, 
 
 William Barber. 
 
 The following letter was written to the Rev. James Dixon, in con- 
 sequence of the recent decease of his excellent wife. 
 
 Gibraltar , Aug. 16, 1828. 
 
 My very dear Friend, 
 
 I had, several times, almost determined not to write a word 
 to you just now, but to leave your knowledge of me to intimate, how 
 sincerely I must sympathise with you, and how anxiously I must wish 
 for you the help of the Almighty, both in consolation and direction. 
 It would, perhaps, be quite difficult, if not impossible, to say ex- 
 actly why I now do otherwise ; for what can I say to purpose ? The 
 moment is now gone by, and to enlarge at the present time may be 
 worse than useless ; and, after all, what can be effected by sympathy, 
 as the ordinary condolence of friends is called ? Surely, it cannot be 
 in the topics which they suggest, nor in the new direction given to 
 thought by those topics, a thousand times repeated, and a thousand 
 times felt to be too feeble for the occasion, that the secret is sup- 
 posed to lie, by which the stormy feelings of affection, or grief when 
 tempestuously agitated by a gust of the wind of adversity, may be 
 laid to slumber in the peaceful and well regulated heart, in which they 
 
414 
 
 LETTER OF CONDOLENCE. 
 
 are found for a while vexed and vexing the very soul. No ; I rather 
 incline to think, that every man feels, as it were, instinctively, that 
 if a friend have lost, by the irreversible decree of death, one dear to 
 him, it will not do to lose another, by the reversible predominancy 
 of sorrow. And, therefore, each sets about giving the best appear- 
 ance possible to the wish, that his friend may remember the claims of 
 society upon him ; but, at the same time, without allowing this to be 
 the ostensible reason. 
 
 The claims of society ! — Ah ! how impotent is such a plea as this 
 to a mind, under the recent pressure of distress, and inclined to in- 
 dulge its sorrow ! If the mind be weak and enervated, it will, in- 
 deed, prove an impotent plea; but if not, then it will be the staff, 
 on which principle will lay its strong and venturous grasp, in order 
 to rise above the load, under which it had sunk. 
 
 The claims of society ! — Yes; they are inalienable, and bound up 
 with our duty to God, the salvation of souls, the glory of Christ, and 
 the welfare of our dear children, now far more endeared than ever. 
 I should think, that a living child, whose one Parent God has seen 
 best to remove, must be to the remaining Parent far dearer than be- 
 fore. And how many persons have the strong affections of the heart, 
 gathering round such defenceless and dependent beings, roused by an 
 influence and a strength, that seemed supernatural, to heave off their 
 load of unmanageable sorrow ! an effect, this, which would have been 
 impossible from any other motives. 
 
 I cannot easily tell you, my dear Mr. D., what I have felt from the 
 reflection, that the manner in which I bore that tremendous shock, 
 amidst the most tremendous heavings of which you were by my side, 
 has for ever deprived me of the fair opportunity, which I had of ho- 
 nouring the Saviour’s grace, by triumphing, through principle, over 
 the tumults of passion. Nor can I enough regret the power over me, 
 which one ever-recurring thought had to prevent my rising. When it 
 was suggested to me, c that the consolations of God might enable me 
 to surmount all my distresses;’ my inward answer was, — C I do not 
 feel them, and I scorn to pretend to them ;’ — as if those consolations 
 could be obtained without effort ; or, as if God, though infinitely lov- 
 ing to us, could consistently comfort and console us, against our own 
 severe and sturdy refusal of Him as a Comforter. 
 
 But I scarcely either know what I am writing, or consider to 
 whom, or remember my ignorance of what, in fact, may be the state 
 of his mind. I will, nevertheless, let this go. You know me. You 
 are acquainted with my heart, my soul, and my way of thinking, if 
 any way I have. And you know, that the deep and continued anxiety 
 of my heart for you is, that you may now be preserved, comforted, 
 directed, and made happy, by seeing your precious babes placed in 
 
ADMISSION INTO FULL CONNEXION. 
 
 415 
 
 the way to follow to Heaven yourself, and their estimable and glorified 
 Mother. 
 
 Wherever you are, or under whatever circumstances you may be 
 placed, both you and those babes will be inexpressibly dear to 
 
 Your truly affectionate, 
 
 William Barber. 
 
 P. S. — I mentioned the intelligence of your loss to the Congregation 
 here ; it excited considerable feeling, for you are greatly loved 
 among the people, and many hearty prayers have been offered to 
 God in your behalf. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Admission into full Connexion by the Conference — Commencement and Awful Ra- 
 vages of the Yellow-Fever, at Gibraltar — Final Letters — Accepts the Office of 
 Acting Chaplain to the Forces — Numerous Calls to visit the Sick, and bury the 
 Dead — Death and Character. 
 
 At the London Conference, which, just about this time, was brought 
 to a conclusion, my dear Brother’s testimonials of established health, 
 and general fitness for the work of the Ministry, were examined and 
 unanimously approved ; it was, consequently, agreed, that he should 
 be forthwith received into full connexion with the Preachers; and, of 
 course, permission was given him to prosecute his intentions with re- 
 spect to marriage, as soon as he pleased. But, alas ! 4 the thoughts 
 of God are not as our thoughts, neither are His ways as our ways !’ 
 Before the decision of the Conference could possibly reach him, the 
 calamity had occurred to the town and garrison of Gibraltar, which 
 eventually terminated his valued life. 
 
 I greatly lament, that the anticipations which, from certain pass- 
 ages of his subsequent letters, we had encouraged, respecting a full 
 account of the rise and progress of this awful pestilence, have not 
 been realised. The only documents on the subject, which I can find 
 among his papers, shall now be submitted to the public. 
 
416 
 
 COMMENCEMENT AND AWFUL RAVAGES 
 
 To the Committee of the Wesleyan Missionary Society. 
 
 Gibraltar , Oct. 10, 1828. 
 
 Rev. and dear Sirs, 
 
 I cannot neglect the opportunity, offered by the packet, of writing 
 to you, interested as you must be in our present situation. The news- 
 papers will, no doubt, have informed you that the yellow-fever, so fa- 
 tal here in 1804 and 1813, has again made its appearance; and, in 
 spite of the most vigorous measures to prevent it, has prevailed to a 
 very painful extent. It is probable that report has exaggerated the 
 truth; I shall, therefore, confine myself to a simple statement of facts, 
 for which, indeed, I am in some measure qualified, by the friendship of 
 Dr. Hennen, the Head Physician of the Garrison ; and by the fre- 
 quency of my visits to his office, for the purpose of rendering myself 
 useful, if possible, combined with my activity, at present, in a some- 
 what official capacity, in the place of the Garrison Chaplain, who is 
 ill of the disorder. 
 
 It was in the end of the month of August, that alarm was first ex- 
 cited, by the successive illness of several of the members of a very 
 respectable family, in the habit of attending at our Chapel. The ser- 
 vant of that family sickened, and, at length, after removal from the 
 house to another situation at no great distance, she died. The disease 
 was taken, before this event, by two individuals ; the one a Mrs. Sil- 
 cox, who unfortunately concealed her illness, till it was too late to re- 
 medy it ; the other a Mrs. Smith, who, after a very severe illness, was 
 kindly, in the mercy of God, restored to her husband and numerous 
 family. The police and medical regulations of this place are always 
 put especially on the alert in autumn ; and these cases, as they were 
 immediately known, became instantaneously the impulse of increased 
 precaution and daily examination. A very few days, however, de- 
 cided all doubt in the most competent quarters ; for new cases of dis- 
 ease occurring, it became clear, that we should have to see the progress, 
 and to contend with the miseries, of a very decided and malignant 
 epidemic fever, to which the Medical Gentlemen gave the appellation 
 of c autumnal bilious remittent ;’ I suppose, because the popular term? 
 6 yellow-fever,’ is either not scientific, or of very alarming sound : 
 but of the nature of the disease there exists, I believe, in no quarter 
 capable of forming a just estimate, the shadow of a doubt. 
 
 There is also another very important point connected with this dis- 
 ease, which seems equally to have fixed all the Medical Gentlemen in 
 one uniform opinion, with reference to its origin. Many have main- 
 tained that yellow-fever is not a native of the place, but always im- 
 ported when found at all. I suppose the history of the fever this 
 year will leave no more doubt remaining ; it is most plainly and cer- 
 
OF THE YELLOW-FEVER AT GIBRALTAR* 
 
 417 
 
 tainly of native origin ; and whoever contemplates the circumstances 
 of the place from actual observation, will be surprised, not that infect- 
 ious bilious fever should originate here, but rather that any year should 
 pass without its appearance, and unmarked by its awful devastations. 
 What the atmospheric influences may be in originating this cala- 
 mity, must remain, I suppose, as it always has been, a mystery too 
 deep for investigation, and too uncertain to admit of consistent theory : 
 one thing, however, is certain, that the past has been the coolest sum- 
 mer known here for many years ; most assuredly the coolest I have 
 spent here ; and to this, the very unusual prevalence of westerly 
 winds, which are always regarded as by far the most healthy for us, 
 has mainly contributed. Another circumstance, singular enough, is, 
 that while there have been each year insulated cases of decided yel- 
 low-fever, they have been for years confined to the individual suffer- 
 ers ; while in this, the coolest, and, every one thought, the healthiest 
 year of many that have passed over us safely, the cases which, when 
 they commenced, seemed slight, almost immediately became epidemic, 
 and now it is hidden among the secrets of God, when and where it 
 shall stop. 
 
 But my business is not to indulge reflections, but rather to give 
 you a sketch of facts ; which, if I should be permitted to live till 
 these calamities are overpast, I may more particularly fill up. 
 
 Alarm began to spread about the 4th of September; and on the 5th, 
 an order was issued from the Government, that every individual liv- 
 ing in the district infected, should immediately leave home, and en- 
 camp on the Neutral Ground, tent-equipage being provided for them 
 there. You are aware, I suppose, that the Neutral Ground is that 
 portion of the sands forming the isthmus which joins the Rock to the 
 main land ; it is outside the fortifications, but may be swept by 
 the Garrison guns. The impression, produced by this decided and vi- 
 gorous measure, was both strong and painful : some imagined it unne- 
 cessary ; others exclaimed that it was tyrannical ; while many, remem- 
 bering the sufferings of former epidemic years, felt a gloomy terror ac- 
 companying the apprehension of witnessing similar scenes of aggra- 
 vated distress. It would be very difficult to convey any just idea of 
 the scene presented to view. The order, to be of any use, was ne- 
 cessarily urgent : it was hoped, that, by clearing away the entire po- 
 pulation of the district, all the infected individuals might be put out- 
 side the town : but this expectation was speedily baffled. The dis- 
 ease took, for some days, a well marked course from the very spot in 
 which it commenced ; till mingling, at length, with the mass of the 
 population, all effort to trace or restrain it was in vain. Very soon, 
 nothing was left but to thin the population as much as possible, and, 
 bending every effort of medical and police regulation to lessen the 
 
 2 E 
 
418 
 
 AWFUL RAVAGES OF THE YELLOW-FEVER. 
 
 mischief, to mitigate an evil which God would not allow to be ex- 
 tinguished. 
 
 Upwards of ten thousand people, it is calculated, have left the Gar- 
 rison ; and yet, it is supposed, there are not fewer than three thou- 
 sand within who have not passed the fever ; although nearly two thou- 
 sand five hundred cases have already occurred, and more than four 
 hundred and fifty have died. It is fearful to figure to one’s mind the 
 possible, perhaps probable, range of the disease among so many, es- 
 pecially as the worst part of the season has yet to be passed. How- 
 ever, I cannot avoid expressing my deep personal conviction, that we 
 owe it to the distinguished zeal and vigilance of the measures autho- 
 rised by his Excellency the Governor, and urged by the head of the 
 medical department, Dr. Hennen, that we have not the whole town 
 and territory of Gibraltar one great mass of disease and death. When 
 I consider the amount of the population, estimated at nearly thirty 
 thousand, including soldiers, the peculiar malignity of the disease, 
 the subtlety of its infection, and the number of actual cases of sick- 
 ness, I am surprised that our deaths are not even more numerous than 
 they are ; nor is there a day I live, but I feel grateful to God, that, 
 by the measures adopted, one-third part, at least, of those who could 
 be food for this unsparing devourer of human life, are placed almost 
 in assured safety : for, on the Neutral Ground and in the Bay, the 
 probability of security is very great. 
 
 On the 7th of September, our Chapel was opened for the last Sab- 
 bath services ; but the congregation was so diminished, that we oc- 
 cupied no more than the lower part. We celebrated, on that day, the 
 two ordinances of Baptism and the Lord’s Supper. The child bap- 
 tised was an infant of Serjeant Grey, of the Royal Artillery. He 
 and his excellent w ife were present : they had set their minds on the 
 day’s exercise with peculiar feeling; and w r e w r ere more than ordina- 
 rily happy in the celebration. Our circumstances were very solemn ; 
 we apprehended that it was the last time the Chapel would be open ; 
 and every one seemed to feel the uncertainty of ever faceting in it 
 again; though, on looking round, no one seemed likely to die. On 
 pouring the water on the face of the infant, I felt myself urged to 
 offer up a prayer for its preservation, and for its Parents, with more 
 than common power. These were friends, with whom I was in ha- 
 bits of the greatest intimacy ; both were persons of superior mind, 
 and eminent for piety of the most consistent kind. He, for solidity 
 and firmness of principle and conduct, has been seldom equalled, per- 
 haps never surpassed : she, for animation, and energy, and zealous ef- 
 fort, has not left her superior behind. But both are gone ! They 
 were incessant in their attentions to the neighbours in the next house, 
 who were slightly attacked by the fever ; and this, with the very bad 
 situation in which they lived, being in the line of the fever’s direc- 
 
AWFUL RAVAGES OF THE YELLOW-FEVER. 
 
 419 
 
 tion, and of a drain from the side of the hill, from which the disease, 
 it is most probable, arose, prepared them for a heavier stroke. I was 
 with them this night three weeks ; we spent some time in conver- 
 sation, and closed with prayer. They were then both well ; and talk- 
 ing, among other things, of what was to be done in case of an attack 
 of disease. The next day, or that which followed, Mrs. Grey sick- 
 ened : in four or five days, Mr. Grey himself was incapable of hold- 
 ing up any longer. I called that morning to enquire after them, and 
 was told that he was just going to the hospital. He was still the same 
 unmoved, but deeply feeling, man that, in more happy times, I had al- 
 ways found him. I assisted him to the hospital waggon. He just told 
 me. that he felt his circumstances very painful, but was quite satisfied ; 
 nothing like a murmur escaped him, though, from his appearance and 
 manners, I felt persuaded that his recovery was highly improbable ; 
 and I think he felt so himself. Mrs. Grey revived for a day or 
 two, but, at last sunk, after leaving the most delightful testimony of 
 clear and animated faith, and love, and hope. 4 Oh !’ said she to a 
 friend, who is himself at this moment ill with a severe attack of the 
 disease, 4 Oh ! if this be dying, why, O why, did not the Lord let me 
 go just now? Should I recover after this, no more names or parties 
 for me, — none but Christ and his faithful followers !’ A few minutes 
 before she expired, she was probably delirious, for she thought she 
 saw a friend, of whose death, two or three days before, she had not 
 been informed. After pointing, and mentioning his name, she said, 
 4 He is beckoning me to come to him ! — Well,’ said she, addressing 
 him, 4 just stay a minute, and I’ll come with you.’ And so she did, 
 for she almost instantly expired. This excellent pair are thus removed 
 together, for her husband died the same night at the hospital. They 
 were very dear to me, and I shall feel the loss of them greatly. They 
 were not members of our Society : he was of the Scotch Church, and 
 she an Independent, of Mr. Parsons’ Church, at Leeds : but their de- 
 cided piety commanded my veneration, while their personal attach- 
 ment won my heart. 
 
 Another invaluable friend whom we have lost, is Quarter-master Ser- 
 jeant Vagg, a member of my Class, and my very intimate friend. The 
 last time w r e met in Class, several observed the peculiarly happy and 
 holy state of his mind. He, like Mr. and Mrs. Grey, was universally 
 esteemed : even the profligate admired him, and would gladly oblige 
 him. But 1 cannot say more of him, or of others now : my paper is 
 full, and my time is gone ; and my heart recoils from the recital of 
 such losses, even though I am strongly reminded, of the probability 
 that, ere long, 1 may cease to have power to deplore them. 
 
 All places of public assembly were ordered to be closed on Sep- 
 tember 9th ; and almost all business was immediately suspended. The 
 respectable, I mean the monied, inhabitants, who could, made their 
 
 2 e 2 
 
420 
 
 OFFICIATES AS CHAPLAIN TO THE FORCES* 
 
 escape, in every direction which was open ; though, by this time, a 
 cordon was laid down by the Spaniards ; and soon after, a proclama- 
 tion, denouncing the punishment of instant death to any one landing 
 from Gibraltar, was published by the Governor of the Province. 
 
 Some days ago, a letter was addressed to me from the Governor, re- 
 questing the use of the Chapel, in this emergency, as an hospital. I im- 
 mediately called together several of our leading members, and read the 
 Governor’s letter ; when it was instantly, and without difference of 
 opinion, decided that the Chapel should be placed, with all cordiality, 
 at the disposal of His Excellency. 
 
 The Chaplain of the Forces has taken the complaintvery severely. Dr- 
 Hennen told me just now, that it is most likely by far he will die. He 
 is, at present, on the verge of the last hope ; and I have been requested 
 by the Government to officiate in his stead, in the melancholy work of 
 burying the dead. Twice a-day, therefore, I have the painful duty of 
 going a mile and a half to the ground. Thence I have just returned, 
 after burying five bodies in one grave, and a civilian separately. The 
 correspondence on these subjects you will, one day, receive, if I live ; 
 if not, it is perhaps enough to know, that my conduct has been ap- 
 proved in the highest quarters here : and I hope if I drop, that this 
 will hereafter turn out to the furtherance of the Gospel. I am, un- 
 doubtedly, now so exposed, that nothing but a special Providence in- 
 deed can protect my life. I have it now, indeed, in my hand. But 
 when better motives run low, I ask myself, — Why should not I be ex- 
 posed, as well as medical men and others ? And there is nothing in 
 me better than another to make me exempt, by merit, from a death, 
 however sudden and calamitous, into which others, far, far more worthy, 
 and more pious, than I, have sunk. Of course, I feel deeply at the pos- 
 sibility, that this is the last letter I shall write to you ; for I have no 
 constitution to stand against a violent attack of fever. But should that 
 be the case, I now leave my deliberate testimony, that I believe sal- 
 vation by Jesus Christ to be the true and only worthy object of human 
 life, as a whole. I lament and bewail my own personal unfaithfulness, 
 and Ministerial insufficiency. I feel most deeply that I have nothing 
 to trust to for eternity, but the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. 
 The atonement of the Son of God, and the sanctification of the Spirit 
 of Jesus, are the only ground of hope to your affectionate servant. 
 
 I forgot to mention, that my man-servant took the fever and died. 
 I am living at the house of Mr. Barnard, whom I hope, should I die, 
 you will remunerate. The family are very dear and kind friends. 
 
 Our greatest number of deaths in one day, according to the official 
 medical report, is twenty-nine ; but the number has diminished since, 
 so that some slight hope is felt of a turn in the course of the disease ; 
 but the east wind has set in, and the heavy rains keep off, Well ! it 
 is the will of God ! — it is the will of God! Yet He hears and an- 
 
FINAL LETTER TO HIS FATHER. 
 
 421 
 
 swers prayer. O ! pray for us, then ; for our need of the mercy of 
 God is very great. 
 
 Your affectionate and obedient Servant, 
 
 In the Gospel of the Lord Jesus, 
 
 W. Barber. 
 
 The following, to his Father, is the last Letter that my dear Bro- 
 ther ever wrote to either of his relatives. 
 
 Gibraltar , Oct . 12, 1828. 
 
 My very dear Father, 
 
 I cannot let the Packet depart, without hastily scribbling 
 enough to let you know, that your son William is thus far safe from 
 the disease, which is raging around him ; though how long he may 
 continue so is, of course, to the last degree uncertain. It is most 
 probable, that you have heard exaggerated accounts of the yellow-fe- 
 ver’s prevailing here. I shall, however, have only just time to state 
 two or three leading facts. 
 
 The disease is ascertained, as nearly as any thing of the kind can 
 be, to be of local origin. It appeared, at first, in the end of Au- 
 gust, at a house situated about 200 yards from our Chapel. On the 
 4th of September, alarm spread ; and then the Spaniards put on a 
 cordon , and proclaimed instant death, as the penalty of any attempt 
 to land, on their territory, from Gibraltar. On the 5th, the infected 
 district of the Town was ordered to be entirely cleared of its inha- 
 bitants, who were provided with tents on the Neutral Ground. On 
 the 7th, we had our last Sabbath-day exercises; for, on the 9th, an 
 order from the Government was issued, for closing all places of pub- 
 lic assembly ; and apprehension, now, so generally prevailed, that al- 
 most all business was suspended. No stroke could have been more 
 fatal than this, to the interests of Gibraltar just now; it is regarded 
 as the last of a series of misfortunes, destined to accomplish its ruin. 
 
 The Mission-premises were soon in the very centre of infection, 
 and I, therefore, thought it best to remove. I accepted the offer of 
 some friends, to receive me at the South part of the Rock, and 
 strongly advised Paulo, my servant-man, and his younger brother, to 
 go out to Camp. He, however, entreated me to allow him to stay 
 at the Mission-House, as he had no fear respecting the issue ; and 
 I, at length, unhappily complied with his request. He soon after- 
 wards sickened ; and, contrary to my earnest and express desire, 
 concealed his illness from me : in four or five days he died. 
 
 It is supposed, that upwards of ten thousand persons have gone out 
 of the Garrison, either to encamp on the Neutral Ground between us 
 
422 
 
 riNAL LETTER TO HIS FATHER. 
 
 and the Spaniards, or to escape in different ways ; but there is, of 
 course, great difference between alarm and precaution, and the actual 
 prevalence of disease. You may Alien rely on the following facts : — 
 the number of cases in all, which have as yet occurred, is 2500, a 
 few, and but a few, more or less; and the number of deaths, is some- 
 thing more than 450; but tl\ere are still, beside the soldiers, nearly, 
 or quite 3000 persons, who have never had the fever ; these, in- 
 deed, are all encamped, and, therefore, out of the Town ; but there 
 are, at least, 3000 more within the walls, who may be victims of the 
 disease; and now we are only at the 12th of October, having the 
 worst part of the season to pass ; for, from the number of cases and 
 deaths which have occurred, our atmosphere must be full of disease ; 
 yet, hitherto, God has generally favoured us with strong winds. 
 
 Our Chapel has been required as an hospital, though it ^is not yet 
 employed ; 'but the new Church is already occupied. Three medical 
 men have died, and several more are ill. I attribute it, under God, 
 to nothing but the unparalleled vigour and efforts of Dr. Hennen, that 
 we are not all in the most horrid confusion, and one vast heap of 
 disease and death. The disease is so insidious, malignant, rapid, and 
 infectious, that, had not the people been greatly thinned, our situa- 
 tion would have been far worse than it is ; and, had it not been for 
 the wise arrangements which have been made, the evil would have 
 been far more oppressive ; but, after ail, great numbers of the poor 
 people, that are excluded from the town, have to be kept from star- 
 vation by public charity. 
 
 The Garrison Chaplain is now lying at the point of death, and I 
 have been requested by the Government to officiate on the burial- 
 ground, in his stead. I have buried twelve persons in one day, this, 
 as yet, is the highest number. I am, however, thus in the very 
 midst of infection continually, and hence, I have very little hope of 
 escape. Indeed, how can I hope it ? or why should I ? since I am 
 no better than others, who sicken and die. 
 
 I have lost several of my dearest, and most intimate, friends on the 
 Rock, and many of my acquaintances. Well; if disease should be 
 permitted to take me as a victim, it shall find me at the post of duty. 
 I commend myself most heartily to your prayers. Oh, my dear Fa- 
 ther, Brothers, and Sisters! how gladly would I once more embrace 
 you ! But I trust, that the blood of Jesus will be the means of our 
 meeting in Heaven. 
 
 I have received the kind and cheerful letters of my friends in Eng- 
 land, relative to my full admission into Connexion. I thank them 
 heartily for their congratulations; but what do they all avail now ? — 
 
 E , dear lovely girl, is, by a special Providence, detained, 
 
 and that in a remarkable manner, at Malta ; and, by this time, she 
 must have received my letter, to direct her to wait sometime longer in 
 
LETTER FROM DR. HENNEN. 
 
 423 
 
 safety, where she is. But now, after all, I shall, perhaps, have to 
 leave her an unmarried widow. Should that, unhappily, be the case, 
 I am sure, that I shall not commend her -in vain to your earnest affec- 
 tions, if you should ever see her. With love to all my Brothers and 
 Sisters, 
 
 I am, my dearest Father, 
 
 Your affectionate Son, 
 
 William. 
 
 The following two letters, the former by Dr. Hennen, and the latter 
 by my Brother, were written on the same sheet to Mr. Pyne, of 
 Gibraltar, f who, by some peculiar circumstances of a providential cha- 
 racter, had been detained in England, away from all this scene of con- 
 fusion, pestilence, and death. 
 
 Gibraltar , Oct . 16, 1828. 
 
 My very dear Friend, 
 
 Nothing can be worse than our situation up to last night. 
 We have lost 566 persons, as appears by the returns ; but I have no 
 doubt, that 100 more may be added of persons, who have died in 
 their houses, without being reported to me. Five medical men have 
 already fallen; but the Almighty still defends me, sinner that I am, 
 and ungrateful for all his mercies ! Your Clerk was very ill, but is 
 now better. Mrs. Hennen is better. To state deaths to you, would 
 far exceed my power. I shall, however, name a few : the Rev. Mr. 
 Hatchman, (Garrison Chaplain) ; Mr. Walsall ; Sergt. and Mrs. Grey ; 
 the two daughters of Mr. Cresswell ; and Deputy-Commissary Smith. 
 We had, last night, 915 sick on the reports; and, perhaps, there 
 were 150 more, that were not reported : 1 leave my paper to Mr. Bar- 
 ber; and, if we live, I shall shew you such letters from him, as place 
 him at the very head of the class of men of practical piety. I shall 
 send those letters* to the Conference ; and they ought to be printed. 
 Do not come here. 
 
 Ever Yours, 
 
 I. Hennen. 
 
 * What those letters, to which the Doctor refers, really were, I have no means 
 of ascertaining ; for, alas ! he, also, soon fell a victim to the all-devouring fever. 
 — A. B. 
 
424 
 
 [•INAL LETTER. 
 
 Gibraltar , Oct. 16, 1828. 
 
 My dear Mr. Pyne, 
 
 Every remaining friend is to us, now, very dear indeed. What 
 a scene surrounds us ! What a scene have I before me every day on the 
 Neutral Ground! I rejoice more than I can tell you, and am more 
 thankful than I care to describe, that you, by the good providence of 
 God, were led away before this awful calamity burst on this unhappy 
 place. Had your valuable life been spared by the disease, it would 
 have been sacrificed by distress ! a mind and heart all sensibility must 
 either burst now, or change its very nature. But this is no time for 
 any very particular expression of feeling, or description of facts ; in 
 some future time you will hear enough, — too much, from those who 
 may be survivors. As for myself, I know not what reason I have, 
 and I am sure I have no right, to hope to be spared ; yet God has, in 
 mercy to me, and in answer to the prayers, as I may without vanity 
 believe, of many dear friends here and in England, spared me to see 
 the 16th of October: but no man can now calculate upon a single 
 hour ; and deaths are very, very numerous, at three or four days ill- 
 ness. Among the members of our congregation, beside poor Mr. Wal- 
 sall, we have lost both Mr. and Mrs. Grey. Their infant is spared, and 
 under the guardianship of Captain Cameron. Quarter-master Serjeant 
 Vagg is likewise gone; Mrs. Vagg and the children are spared. But 
 the list is too painful to run over. You see, I have lost some of my 
 most intimate friends in the Society, to whom my warmest affections 
 were linked, for their piety and love. Great God! how terrible is 
 this ! A fierce disease, which you can neither see, nor hear, nor touch, 
 springs invisibly on its victims ; and not by ones or twos, but by scores 
 and hundreds, we are putting them into the grave. The number of the 
 dead is so great, that to bury them in single graves is impracticable. 
 Trenches are dug, and the coffins (for, thank God, as yet coffins can 
 be had, though only by the most praise-worthy vigour of the Govern- 
 ment,) are laid side by side, in regular but most afflictive order. Yes- 
 terday, for example, I read the funeral service over nineteen bodies in 
 the Protestant Ground ! More than that number, of course, were 
 likewise interred in the grounds of the Catholics and Jews. This 
 morning I had to discharge the same melancholy duty for ten more ; 
 and how many may follow in the afternoon, I cannot guess. You will 
 not think me stretching my respect beyond the bounds of truth, when I 
 say, that I regard it as one of the most special mercies of God, amidst 
 the judgments of this awful time, that Dr. Hennen was stationed here 
 before it began, and that his health has been hitherto preserved. To 
 his vigorous and decided measures we owe it, under God, that we have 
 not one universal waste of disease and death. It is generally believed, 
 
 
FINAL LETTER. 
 
 425 
 
 that the kind or type of the disease is fully as malignant as in 1804 ; 
 and the only reason why effects so dreadful, as of that year, have not 
 yet resulted, must be found in the superiority of the measures adopted. 
 Think of the crowded state of the Garrison ; think of its pouring forth, 
 at Land-port, at least ten thousand of the inhabitants ; of the Neutral 
 Ground, covered with tents and sheds of the most temporary nature ; 
 of the thousands out of employ, dependent on the charity of others for 
 daily support; of the sacrifices which every body must make; of the 
 numbers who have fled from danger and duty ; and of the many, — for, 
 thank God, they are not few, — who stand manfully, amidst the raging 
 of disease, and the threats of famine, to alleviate the miseries of the 
 rest; among whom, Mr. T. G. Turner, and Mr. Cochrane, who is 
 to-day down with the fever, are pre-eminent. But I must close. Miss 
 Hennen continues in health ; she is the life and soul of her invaluable 
 Father, to whom this afflicted place is infinitely more indebted than it 
 can ever be possible for the inhabitants to acknowledge, or the world 
 to know, though much will, and ought to be known. I perceive that 
 Dr. Hennen has expressed himself strongly about me. There is more of 
 friendship in this, than the occasion calls for. The Governor has re- 
 quired the use of the Chapel as an hospital, and requested me to act 
 as Chaplain, ad interim . The mournful duties of this station I have had 
 to fulfil for Mr. Hatchman, among others : never have I had duties so me- 
 lancholy to discharge. The burial-ground and the hospitals are spots 
 of intense infection, and I am every moment with my life in my hand. 
 But, * What do ye more than others ?’ There are very many who 
 deserve infinitely higher praise, if praise at such a moment can be 
 thought of with innocence, than I. With a very, very sinful heart, 
 and a life that looks to me only in the light of something far worse 
 than a blank, I prostrate myself at the feet of Jesus, and hope for 
 every thing through His atonement alone. Yet that heart feels that it 
 is very affectionately yours. 
 
 W. Barber. 
 
 The above is the last letter which I can find, as written by my de- 
 ceased Brother ; for it will be seen, by the following accounts, that in 
 a very few days subsequently to its date, he himself was arrested by 
 the disease, which quickly proved fatal. 
 
 The first account, which the family received, respecting this dis- 
 tressing circumstance, was addressed to myself, in a letter from an old 
 and intimate friend and Brother in the Ministry, at that time stationed 
 in Swansea. I shall proceed to lay it before the Public. 
 
PARTICULARS OF HIS 
 
 456 
 
 Swansea , Nov. 19, 1858. 
 
 My dear Brother, 
 
 You will, no doubt, feel much surprised at the receipt of a 
 letter from an old friend. Certain information, however, which I re- 
 ceived this morning, induced me to determine on writing you imme- 
 diately ; and, in so doing, you will give me credit for saying, that I 
 have been guided only by those feelings of friendship, which have so 
 long subsisted between us. I would fain, that any other event than 
 the one, which I am about to mention, had been the occasion of our 
 renewing our epistolary correspondence, and which my hand almost 
 refuses to write. 
 
 You are aware, that my excellent friend and Superintendent, Mr. 
 Pratten, was, for the last three years previously to his coming to Swan- 
 sea, stationed with your Brother, and my much esteemed Friend, on 
 the Rock of Gibraltar ; and you have, no doubt, seen in the public 
 papers accounts of the very awful manner, in which the fever has of 
 late been raging there. Mr. P. has this morning received a letter 
 from Gibraltar, and — * the rest you may surmise! 
 
 With Mr. P.’s permission, I send you the following extracts from 
 the above letter, which is dated the 5th inst., and written by a Mrs. 
 Barnard. After giving an account of several persons, who "have fallen 
 victims to the fever, the writer proceeds : — 
 
 4 When the district, in which the Mission-House is situated, began 
 to feel its ravages, we offered Mr. Barber to cast his lot in our family. 
 At first, however, he said, that he thought of going to Serjeant Grey’s, 
 near Southport Gate; but afterwards, fearing that it might bring the 
 Serjeant into difficulties, he came and told us, that he would accept 
 our offer, and this we considered a great privilege. On the 7th of 
 September, we were permitted, for the last time, to tread the hallowed 
 courts of our God ; there were, however, very few present. Mr. 
 Davis preached in the morning, and afterwards Mr. Barber baptised 
 Mr. Grey’s little boy, and then administered the Lord’s Supper. It 
 was a solemn season, and I believe I may truly say, that the Lord was 
 in our midst, and that to bless us. In the evening, Mr. B. preached 
 from the barren fig-tree. Not long afterwards the Garrison Chaplain 
 was taken ill, and died ; and, as there was then no one to perform the 
 funeral services for the dead, Mr. B. offered himself for the purpose, 
 and was accepted. Twice a-day, therefore, he went to the ground on 
 horseback, at eight o’clock in the morning, and at four in the after- 
 noon. He likewise had to visit the sick in the hospital, which was 
 running a great risk ; but as he saw that it was the path of duty, he 
 did not shrink from it. 
 
 4 On Sunday, the 19th of October, he went in the morning to the 
 
LAST ILLNESS. 
 
 427 
 
 Neutral G round, and again at two o’clock in the afternoon, when he in- 
 terred a Doctor’s wife in the sands. On his return home, he baptised 
 the child of a soldier, belonging to the 94th Regiment, and then went 
 again to the Neutral Ground to bury many persons ; the exact number, 
 I cannot say ; but he has read us a list of eighteen names of persons 
 that were put into one trench, at one time ! You will naturally say, 
 how awful to hear of such things ! What then must it haVe been to 
 see them ! When Mr. B. came home again, he was quite tired, but 
 after tea he went to see Mr. Abercrombie, and others, who were ill in 
 the hospital ; so that you see, he must have had a great deal of fatigue. 
 However, he w ent to bed tolerably well ; and the next morning he 
 said, that he felt quite well. 
 
 6 On the Tuesday evening, he was sent for by the Doctor to see a 
 sick man in the hospital, and he therefore went ; but when he re- 
 turned, he said, that he felt sick at the stomach. He took some .castor- 
 oil, and went to bed ; but between twelve and one o’clock he was 
 taken very ill, with symptons of fever. He immediately alarmed the 
 family, and Mr. Barnard went for Dr. Matthews ; but found that he 
 was gone home, and we afterwards heard, that he was taken ill about 
 the same time, and is since dead. However, Dr. Hennen came, and 
 brought with him Dr Doe, who both said, that it was a severe attack. 
 Knowing his constitution, and fearing the consequences, we certainly 
 were much alarmed. He soon became delirious, and spoke at random. 
 Mr. B., and myself, sat up with him the remainder of the night, during 
 which he was very reStless. In the morning Dr. H., and three other 
 medical men, visited him, but they gave us little hope. The next 
 night Mr. and Mrs. Herbert sat up with him ; he spent a better night 
 vthan the former, and in the morning we thought him improved. At 
 intervals he became sensible, and, during his illness, he conducted him- 
 self with great patience. Every possible attention was paid him, by 
 his medical friends ; and, I trust, that we were not slack on our part, 
 in doing every thing for his comfort and restoration. But, alas ! it 
 pleased God to remove him from us. On Saturday night, Mr. B., and 
 myself, sat up with him. He slept till just before four o’clock in the 
 morning, when he awoke, as one that had been dreaming, and began 
 talking at random. We immediately saw, that he was changed for 
 the worse. He was very restless, and when we asked him, if he was 
 in pain, he replied, u No but complained of lightness in his head. 
 Early in the morning Messrs. Davis and Caulfield called, and they 
 both thought, that he was dying ; but we could not believe, that his 
 end was so near. A number of friends called, and remained with us 
 for some time At about teh o’clock, he had the black vomit. He 
 seemed now quite sensible of the approach of death. He looked 
 round the room, and not seeing Hannah or myself, he said , — u Call all 
 the family together, and let me see you once more before I go.” When 
 
428 
 
 HIS DEATH. 
 
 we came, he did not say any thing to us, but looked upon us with a 
 smile, and then seemed lost again. Shortly afterwards, Mrs. Fraser 
 said , — u You are going to glory !” He immediately answered, — 
 <£ Amen ! Amen !” My husband then asked him, u if he felt Christ 
 precious?” He said , — 66 Yes, very precious ! happy! happy! happy!” 
 and soon afterwards he added , — 66 Glory ! Glory !” But, though I was 
 present, I cannot describe the scene. 
 
 £ It was a great trial to part with one, who had lived seven weeks 
 under our roof, and who was become as one of the family. We all 
 loved him much. He was as an elder brother to our children ; and 
 we pray, that the many lessons, which he has impressed upon their 
 minds, may not be easily forgotten. At a quarter before four o’clock 
 in the afternoon, on Sunday, the 26th of October, his happy spirit took 
 its flight into the realms above, doubtless, to sing the praises of re- 
 deeming love for ever and ever.’ 
 
 I trust, my dear Brother, that both yourself, and your excellent 
 Father and family, will be graciously supported under this painful 
 dispensation. 6 God is a very present help in time of trouble.’ But 
 I need not direct you, whence to obtain consolation. Believe me, 
 
 Your sincere, and 
 
 Sympathising Friend, 
 
 John Wesley Button. 
 
 Somewhere about the same time, that the above intelligence reached 
 me, the Missionary Secretaries in London received the following com- 
 munication from Mr. Davis, of Gibraltar. 
 
 6 It falls to me to forward to you the melancholy account of the death 
 of our highly-esteemed, and much-loved Brother and Pastor, the Rev. 
 Wm. Barber. He was seized with the existing fever on Tuesday, the 
 21st of October, in consequence of attending to the call of a sick sol- 
 dier, belonging to the 23rd Regiment ; and he died on the Sunday 
 following, surrounded by myself, and many of his flock. On Monday 
 morning, at eight o’clock, his remains were attended by as many of 
 the Society, as could make it convenient, and interred in our own 
 ground, according to his own request, while in health ; and I per- 
 formed the last rite over him, while many were in tears. 
 
 ( As I know that it will give you pleasure, I would beg leave to 
 add, that as he was highly valued and esteemed in life, by all ranks 
 who knew him, so he is deeply regretted in death. 
 
 6 As soon as the awful visitation, through which we are passing, 
 shall subside a little, a more minute account of his sickness and death 
 shall be transmitted to you.’ 
 
LETTER OF CONDOLENCE TO HIS FATHER. 
 
 429 
 
 Nothing, therefore, now remains for me, but to present the Reader 
 with as many of those particulars, to which the last paragraph alludes, 
 as I have been able to collect. 
 
 The following is an extract from a letter received by my sorrowing 
 Father. 
 
 Gibraltar , Nov. 11, 1828. 
 
 Respected and very dear Sir, 
 
 A stranger has to address you, — a stranger, indeed, to you 
 personally, but not so to your name and character ; having often heard 
 them dwelt upon, with all the emphasis of filial affection. But on 
 what subject have I to address you ? It is, my dear Sir, on one that 
 will call the Christian’s graces into full exercise, and particularly the 
 grace of submission to the dispensations of an Almighty God, and 
 Sovereign Disposer of all events. I address you, therefore, with 
 prayer to God, that He who sees us, and knows whereof we are made, 
 will look graciously upon you, and afford you that assistance, which 
 you will need, so as to enable you still to maintain the Christian’s cha- 
 racter, in a Christian-like resignation to his will. It is my painful 
 duty to inform you, that the God, whom you have so long endeavoured 
 to serve with comfort to your own mind, and to the encouragement of 
 your family and others, has been pleased, in his inscrutable provi- 
 dence, to take to Himself the soul of your loving and beloved William. 
 Yes, he was beloved, not only by yourself, and by his friends in Eng- 
 land, but also by his Church and people at Gibraltar, in whose spiri- 
 tual life and welfare all his affections seemed concentred. We had 
 hoped and expected, that the Lord would more abundantly bless his 
 endeavours in this place ; but, alas ! while we were expecting most 
 from the object, to whom we looked as an instrument in the hands of 
 God, he was suddenly removed from our eyes. Mysterious are the 
 ways of God, indeed they are past finding out ! But u Shall not the 
 Judge of all the earth do right?’ Let the Christian answer, — 4 Yes, 
 O Lord ! and let thy will be done, not only upon us, but also within 
 us ; and teach us to bow to it with holy submission, however painful 
 to flesh and blood !’ Such submission, my dear Sir, you are now 
 called upon to shew ; and may God, of his infinite mercy, help you so 
 to do ! 
 
 On the appearance of this dreadful fever, your dear William be- 
 came alarmed, especially as it had commenced its ravages near the 
 Mission-House, where he then resided. Being, however, on the most 
 friendly terms with Dr. Hennen, who was then director of all the 
 movements which were made for the preservation of the public health, 
 he applied to him for his advice ; and he was consequently recom- 
 mended, to remove from the Town to the South, which latter place 
 was at that time, and for some weeks afterwards, in a healthy state. 
 
430 
 
 ADDITIONAL PARTICULARS 
 
 He, therefore, determined to take up his abode at the house of my re- 
 lative and partner in business, Mr. Robert Barnard ; who, with his 
 wife, had kindly offered him an asylum there; and he afterwards ex- 
 pressed himself with gratitude to God, for having thus directed his 
 mind. One day, Mr. Barnard and myself, after having attended the 
 funeral of a Christian friend, at which your Son conducted the service; 
 and knowing that he was uneasy about a servant-man, whom he had 
 left in charge of the Chapel and Mission*House ; we determined to see 
 how matters were going on ; but, to our astonishment, we found, that 
 the man had just expired. When we had informed your Son of this 
 melancholy circumstance, his emotion was very great, and he ex- 
 claimed, — 4 Oh, what a mercy that I came to this house ! Had I re- 
 mained on the Mission-premises, I also might have fallen a victim 1* 
 On another occasion, when a pious Serjeant of the Artillery, (Grey,) 
 and his wife had expired so nearly at the same time, as to be carried 
 out and interred together, your Son exclaimed, — 4 What a mercy that 
 I did not go to live with them, otherwise I too might have gone !’ at 
 the same time explaining, that he had been inclined to remove to their 
 house, but that, as they were of the Military, he had been afraid that 
 some fault might be found at their receiving him. 
 
 I ought also to take some notice of the conduct of your Son, when 
 the Chaplain of the forces, the only one in the Garrison, was taken ill 
 with the fever of which he eventually died. In a note to Dr. Hennen, 
 Mr. Barber generously offered his services, in performing the funeral 
 rites for the dead. This note was forwarded to the Lieut.-Governor, 
 General Don, by whom the offer was accepted, and your Son’s name 
 appeared in Garrison orders as Acting Chaplain. The Doctor then 
 pressed him to accept the allowance of the regular Garrison Chaplain, 
 which was fifteen shillings a day ; but this he peremptorily refused, 
 observing, that 4 for what he did in this way, he would not upon any 
 account be benefited a single farthing.’ When this circumstance became 
 known, it caused a general feeling in his favour, in addition to the 
 esteem which was previously felt for him by the public ; nor can we 
 meet with a single individual, even among those who slight the things 
 of God, that is not loud in his acknowledgments of your Son’s worth, 
 and the loss which the community has suffered in his death. Such 
 testimonies as these are not to be despised, for by them God cau work 
 upon the people’s minds; nay, it is evident that God has already 
 worked by them, for He has thus borne testimony to the faithfulness 
 of His servant. 
 
 But now your Son, having to sustain the office of the regular Chap- 
 lain, of course was called to visit the beds of the sick and the dying, 
 to administer consolation to whom, he constantly attended to the 
 numerous applications, which he received ; aud thus was opened 
 before him, a new scene of exposure and peril. On one of those oc« 
 
OF HIS LAST ILLNESS. 
 
 431 
 
 casious, after returning, at half past seven o’clock in the evening, from 
 a visit to a sick soldier of the 23rd Regiment, he came into our sail- 
 loft, when we were at work, and stretched himself along the floor, 
 expressing his distress at the awful scenes of the hospital, which he 
 had just left, where the straining and vomiting of the sick, and the 
 shrieks and groans of the dying, surrounded him on every hand. He 
 also complained of head-ache, and felt persuaded that he had inhaled 
 the fever, and therefore must immediately take some castor-oil. We 
 endeavoured to cheer up his spirits, and, after he had taken the me- 
 dicine, he went to bed : but a little after midnight, he called up Mr. 
 Barnard, who went directly to Town for a Doctor; but, not being able 
 to procure his assistance, he with the advice of the Doctor’s assistant 
 administered what remedies were usually given. He then continued 
 with him till day-break, when Dr. Hennen, to whom he had commu- 
 nicated the case, repaired to the house, bringing with him Dr. Doe, 
 who was the next in command to himself. To the care of Dr. Doe, 
 your Son was committed ; and, to his praise it should be known, that 
 the attention, which he paid, was far beyond what, in such times, 
 could be expected ; for which he received our warmest thanks. Dr. 
 Hennen also daily visited him, attended by other medical men ; so that 
 the patient had the benefit of the best professional assistance, that the 
 place could afford. And in other attentions, nothing was withheld 
 that could be given ; Mr. and Mrs. Barnard, their daughter twenty 
 years of age, and son eighteen, myself and wife, and occasionally 
 other friends, were always about him, both night and day. Indeed, 
 Sir, Mr. Barnard’s family could not have done more for an own rela- 
 tive, than they did for your dear William, of which he himself was 
 duly sensible. It was between seven and eight o’clock, on the morn- 
 ing after he was taken ill, that I saw him, and I then perceived that 
 the stroke was heavy. There were about him temporary wanderings 
 of expression, but at first they did not continue long, before reason 
 re-assumed her seat. But, by and by, his intellect became totally un- 
 settled, for long intervals together ; yet it was surprising, that amidst 
 all his wanderings, to the last day of his life, he knew, and could call 
 by name, every one that was admitted to see him. From the period 
 of his first attack, till the following Saturday, he had experienced no 
 settled rest ; but at ten o’clock that night, he fell into a sound sleep, 
 till about 4 on the Sunday morning. We were in hopes that this 
 would have recruited nature, and therefore regarded it as a token for 
 good; but when he awoke, we were undeceived; it was with a wild 
 manner, an unsettled mind, and a glossed eye. Between that hour 
 and ten o’clock, the time was employed by ourselves, and some friends 
 who were present, for the purpose of improvement. Mr. Barnard 
 frequently pressed him to give us some testimony of happiness in his 
 present experience, not for our own satisfaction, but for your comfort, 
 
432 AWFUL CONDITION OF GIBRALTAR. 
 
 and that of his friends in England. At length, when his reasoning 
 powers returned, he was asked , — I * * * * 6 Is Jesus precious ?’ To which he 
 answered , — 6 Yes, — precious ! very — very — very precious !’ A friend, 
 near him, then said , — ‘ The Lord is going to take you to glory !’ 
 And he answered, 6 Amen ! Amen !’ About ten o’clock, he threw up 
 the black vomit ; after which he lingered till a quarter before four, 
 when his spirit took its flight to be for ever with the Lord. His 
 friend, Dr. Hennen, died eight days afterwards. 
 
 The scenes and sufferings of Gibraltar are truly awful; by the 
 public accounts, above a thousand souls have been hurried into eter- 
 nity, and some believe them to be many more. The highest number 
 of deaths in one day, is 46; yesterday’s report was only 15. The 
 troops have suffered greatly in their young and strong men. It was 
 
 fortunate that Miss — did not leave Malta ; she was expected 
 
 here, but was detained. Your Son’s private Doctor was taken ill on 
 the same day as himself, and died one day earlier. With respect to 
 the remains of your Son, they were followed to the grave by many of 
 our friends, and tears fell plentifully while Mr. Davis, our aged Local 
 Preacher, read the burial rites. 
 
 I remain, my dear Sir, 
 
 Your sympathising friend, 
 
 John B. Herbert. 
 
 P.S. Nov. 29. — Cases are now something more favourable, as will 
 appear from the 27th statement ; the deaths were, on that day, only 
 6; the total number of cases, that have been published, is 5353; 
 and the total number of deaths, 1154. With regard to this state- 
 ment, I would observe, that numbers of persons have been cured by 
 their relatives, without the Doctors’ knowledge ; and I have this 
 morning heard, from some persons who have noticed the burials, 
 that the deaths exceed 1 500. But I must leave these matters, 
 for persons better informed to decide : to us however it is truly 
 awful ! May our God quickly appear in altogether staying this 
 pestilence ! 
 
 I have copied thus largely from Mr. Herbert’s Letter, not merely 
 
 on account of the additional particulars, which it relates ; but like- 
 
 wise to express the sense, which myself and family have, of the un- 
 
 solicited and hazardous kindness manifested by him, and his worthy 
 
 relatives, towards my dear departed Brother. But 6 their record is 
 on high ;’ for ‘ whosoever shall give you a cup of water to drink, in 
 
 my name, because ye belong to Christ, verily, I say unto you, he 
 shall not lose his reward.’ 
 
FURTHER PARTICULARS. 
 
 433 
 
 To the Rev. George Morley. 
 
 Gibraltar , Nov . 30, 1828. 
 
 Rev. and dear Sir, 
 
 In my letter to you, dated Oct. 30th last, I observed that, 
 as soon as the awful visitation through which we were passing should 
 subside a little, a more minute account of the death of our late worthy 
 and much lamented Brother Barber would be sent for your informa- 
 tion, as well as for the comfort and satisfaction of his friends. At 
 that time I did not think, that it would have fallen upon me to fulfil 
 that promise, but that it would have been undertaken by some person 
 better qualified than myself. However, the illness of our worthy 
 friend was of such a nature, as to render him incapable of saying 
 much, and therefore but little can be expected from me. 
 
 I observe then, that from the time when the existence of the fever 
 was fully ascertained, he resolved, I believe, to retire from the Town 
 to the South part of the Garrison, and to reside with a most kind 
 family belonging to the little Church here ; and, who, I am persuaded, 
 did all in their power to save his life ; I allude to the family of Mr. 
 R. Barnard. I think that Mr. Barber might have had a tent supplied 
 him, and encamped outside the Garrison, with some thousands of the 
 troops, and other inhabitants ; but he preferred remaining with the 
 members of his little flock, to be ready to do them good, and to share 
 the common calamity with them. I had an opportunity of seeing 
 him almost every day, and I frequently pressed upon him the very 
 great necessity of remaining, as much as possible, at home. I did 
 this from a conviction, that his body was exceedingly susceptible of 
 the disorder, and from a desire to preserve his life. He always gave 
 me to understand, that he would take my advice ; but, at the same 
 time observed, that he must go where duty called him. He, more 
 than once, said to me, that he knew the state of his body to be such, 
 that if he caught the fever he never could survive it ; and particularly 
 on one occasion, after interring the body of one of our valuable friends, 
 as we walked home together he observed to me , — 6 It is very probable 
 that in a few days you will have to do this for me.* 
 
 But now a scene opened upon him, which brought him into a line 
 of action, that he never could have anticipated. On the 13th of Oct. 
 the Rev. Mr. Hatchman, the Chaplain to the Garrison, died. On his 
 being taken ill, Mr. Barber thought it his duty, through his friend Dr. 
 Hennen, who is since dead, to tender his services for the public good. 
 This was done without my knowledge, though, when I became ac- 
 quainted with it, I certainly approved of the measure. The offer 
 was immediately accepted by Sir George Don, the Lieut. -Governor ; 
 and the very next day, his name was put into Garrison orders as 
 
 2 JF 
 
434 
 
 FURTHER PARTICULARS. 
 
 Acting Chaplain to the Forces, and for which he was to be allowed 
 the handsome income of ten shillings a-day ;* but this, I have the 
 pleasure to inform you, he directly gave up for the use of the poor 
 upon the Neutral Ground; this I have from a respectable Gentleman, 
 who is a member of the Committee for their relief. He w r as now 
 employed under Government in burying the dead, to which he had to 
 attend twice a-day, and the numbers, which he interrred, must have 
 made a great impression upon his feeling mind. But beside this, he 
 was frequently called to visit the sick in the Hospital, and particularly 
 those of his own flock ; and, as I observed in my last, it was from per- 
 forming this latter part of his duty that he was taken with the disease, 
 which caused his death. I saw hm the next day, and I believe it 
 was then that I proposed to sit, read, and talk with him ; but he gave 
 me to understand, that it would not be advisable. In the commence- 
 ment of his illness, he told me that, could the medicine be brought to 
 have a proper effect upon his bowels, there might be some hope of his 
 life ; but, if not, he must die; that effect was however produced, and 
 we had a hope that he would recover, but the Lord ordered other- 
 wise, and we must submit. I think it was the day before his death, 
 while I was sitting by his bed-side, that I said to him, — ‘Sir, do you 
 know me?’ He replied, — ‘Yes; and I love you too;’ but I believe 
 he said no more. I think it was on the morning of the day on 
 which he died, that he called all the family together, and took his 
 last farewell of them, and then at about four o’clock in the afternoon, 
 he fell asleep in the Lord. This was on Sunday the 26th of last 
 month. * * * * * * 
 
 Yours respectfully, 
 
 Davis. 
 
 * A slight discrepancy will be perceived between the amount stated in this letter, 
 and that which is given in Page 430 ; but which is correct, I cannot tell. — A. B. 
 
TERMINATION OF THE PESTILENCE. 
 
 435 
 
 It will be gratifying to the Reader to know, that, as a token of re- 
 spect to my departed Brother, the inhabitants of Gibraltar have 
 placed in the Chapel a Tablet to his memory, and in the Burying- 
 Ground a Tomb-Stone, the expenses having been defrayed by sub- 
 scription. The following is the inscription.* 
 
 « 
 
 In Memory of 
 
 The Rev. William Barber, 
 
 Wesleyan Missionary, 
 
 Who died of the Epidemic, on the 26th Oct. 1828, 
 
 In the 30th Year of his Age. 
 
 On the death of the Chaplain to the Forces, 
 
 He diligently performed the duties of that Station, 
 
 And fell a Victim to his Zeal. 
 
 He took the Fever, in administering Christian Consolation 
 To a dying Soldier, of the 23rd Regiment. 
 
 This Tablet 
 
 Is erected, as a Tribute to departed Worth. 
 
 A. D. 1829. 
 
 It may not be amiss now, to lay before the Reader the following 
 Extract from the Gibraltar Chronicle. 
 
 Jan . 12, 1829. 
 
 c In consequence of the return of the troops into the Barracks from 
 their different encampments, during the last three days, we are ena- 
 bled to congratulate our Readers upon the cessation of the cruel ma- 
 lady, of which it has been our painful task to record the melancholy 
 progress for several months. The number of victims, which it has 
 carried off, amounts to 1,618; a considerable number, certainly, but, 
 thank God ! far short of that, which we had to notice, after the epi- 
 demic of 1804, upwards of 5,500. The speedy removal of the troops, 
 and inhabitants of the Town, upon the first appearance of the fever, and 
 the immediate and constant assistance afforded to the sick by their 
 numerous friends and relations, who had passed it in some former year, 
 have contributed much to this diminished mortality. If there were 
 any doubts, as to the nature of the disease, at its commencement, none 
 can exist at present ; for it is ascertained, that it is the same as that 
 which committed such ravages in the Garrison, in the years 1804, 
 1813, and 1814; and the same as that which appeared in 1810, and 
 
 * This Epitaph is stated as accurately as I have been able to ascertain it. — 
 A, B. 
 
 2 f 2 
 
436 
 
 CHARACTER. 
 
 was cut short or exterminated, by the prompt and decided measures 
 adopted by our principal medical officer, Dr. Pym.* 
 
 It now only remains for me to give a summary of the character of 
 my estimable Brother ; but as, if I gave it in my own words, I might 
 be suspected of undue partiality, I choose rather to be indebted to the 
 assistance of other and more competent judges. 
 
 The first testimony shall be extracted from the Report of the Wes- 
 leyan Methodist Auxiliary Missionary Society for the London Dis- 
 tricts, for 1829. It may be well to premise, that this Report was 
 written by one, who, for years, was an intimate friend of the deceased, 
 and well acquainted with his character. 
 
 c The Gibraltar Station has, in the course of the year, gained for 
 itself a melancholy notoriety, by the existence of the fatal fever, which 
 has swept into the grave many hundreds of its inhabitants. This 
 calamity has affected the Mission there, in the way of closing the 
 Chapel, and converting it into an Hospital ; depriving the Society of 
 all the public and private means of grace, and leaving them to stand, 
 in the midst of the general devastation and havoc, without the usual 
 encouragements afforded by sympathetic and united piety ; it has cut 
 off many of the most pious, zealous, and useful of the flock ; and, to 
 crown the melancholy catastrophe, it has consigned to an early tomb 
 one of the Society’s most valuable Missionaries ; — a young man, who, by 
 his talents and piety, was the ornament of his profession ; who, by his 
 benevolence and amenity, won the esteem and affections of his flock, 
 and of the public ; who, by his faith in God, was enabled to stand 
 firm, and diligently to discharge his duties in the midst of the desolat- 
 ing scene ; and who, by his death, drew forth the tears and lamenta- 
 tions of a people, who were placed in circumstances to u mourn, every 
 family apart,” but were impelled, from a sense of his public worth, to 
 start from their privacy, to follow him to the grave, and to sorrow over 
 him with a great lamentation.’ 
 
 The second, is from the Minutes of Conference, for 1829; in which 
 maybe seen the sentiments entertained respecting him, by his Fathers 
 and Brethren in the Ministry at large. 
 
 6 William Barber was born in the city of Bristol, of pious and 
 respectable parents ; and his education, which was strictly religious, 
 issued, in early life, in his saving conversion to God. When very young, 
 
CHARACTER. 
 
 437 
 
 he manifested a glowing zeal for the conversion of sinners ; and put forth 
 all his energies, to prepare himself for the efficient discharge of the 
 duties of the Christian Ministry. He was deeply pious, and possessed 
 considerable strength of mind. From the period of his entrance upon 
 the Ministry, he manifested an eager thirst for knowledge; and, by 
 diligent study and constant application, attained considerable eminence 
 in various branches of learning. After many disappointments, arising 
 from ill-health, he was sent to Gibraltar, as a Missionary to the Span- 
 iards ; and exerted all his powers of mind to prepare himself for this 
 new and arduous Station. He speedily gained the confidence of his 
 charge, and had the happiness of living in the affections of the peo- 
 ple, and of seeing some considerable fruit of his labours. After he 
 had laboured on the Mission for three or four years, it pleased God 
 to visit Gibraltar with the dreadful fever of last autumn, to which, 
 with hundreds of others, he fell a victim. From the commencement 
 of this epidemic, he had a presentiment that he should fall a prey to 
 its ravages. Notwithstanding this, he resolved to attend faithfully to 
 the duties of his office. Faith in God snstained him ; and, in the 
 midst of the 66 pestilence which walked in darkness, and the destruc- 
 tion which wasted at noon-day,” he was found at his post. While vi- 
 siting the hospital, he was seized by the disease : he was prepared for 
 the event; and, in the exercise of faith in the atonement of Christ, 
 enjoying the richest consolations of the Holy Spirit, and in the earn- 
 est hope of eternal happiness, he expired, after an affliction of 
 five days, Oct. 26, 1828. His death was lamented by all who knew 
 him.’ 
 
 The third is from a letter, which I have received, from the excellent 
 successor of my Brother at Gibraltar. 
 
 Gibraltar , Sept. 9, 1829. 
 
 6 My dear Brother, 
 
 ‘ Agreeably to your request, I have obtained the enclosed 
 number of Subscribers for the Memoirs of your late excellent, and 
 much-lamented Brother. I should have been glad to have sent you a 
 much larger list ; but the late awful fever has swept away a very great 
 number of your dear Brother’s friends, and occasioned many others to 
 leave Gibraltar, who, doubtless, would have been happy to take a 
 book, in which they could retrace those virtues, which, in his life, they 
 had witnessed and admired. It is saying but little to observe, that at 
 Gibraltar, as a man, as a Christian, and as a Minister, he was highly 
 esteemed; and that, for many years to come, the name of William 
 Barber will be remembered by hundreds on this Rock with affection 
 and regret. 
 
438 
 
 CHARACTER. 
 
 c That, after he had acquired such a correct knowledge of the Spanish 
 language, as well as the confidence and hearts of the people, and had 
 in his power so many means of doing extensive good, he should have 
 been so suddenly cut off, is one of those mysterious dispensations 
 which astonish and confound us ; and we are only enabled to bear up 
 under our reflections from the conviction, that God is u too wise to 
 err, and too good to be unkind.” That the Lord may, in this painful 
 bereavement, support and comfort both you and your family ; and that 
 every event may be sanctified, is the fervent prayer of 
 
 Your affectionate Brother, 
 
 Joseph Stinson/ 
 
APPENDIX 
 
 MEMORIALS 
 
 OF 
 
 THE LATE MRS. BARBER, 
 
 OF 
 
 EongCortf ^tatremp, near (ffiloucester, 
 
 Obit . Aug. 20, 1822, JEta,t. Ann. 21. 
 
 BY HER HUSBAND. 
 
 In silent anguish, O my friend, 
 
 While I record thy worth. 
 
 Thy lovely life, thy early end, 
 
 I feel estranged from earth ; 
 
 My soul with thine desires to rest. 
 Supremely and for ever blest. 
 
 MONTGOMERY. 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 ■ 
 
 
 • ' * 
 
 
 
 ' 
 
 
 
 
 ■ 
 
 
 . 
 
 
 . 
 
 ' 
 
 * * 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
PREFAC E * 
 
 Of all the motives for putting these Memorials into the con- 
 tinuity of a Narrative, only One Being can be the Judge; — 
 to His unerring decision those motives are commended : to 
 justify the measure itself, it is sufficient that it was demanded 
 by the affection of relatives, and urged by the circumstances of 
 the case. 
 
 To those who happen to take into their hands this circum- 
 scribed account, without knowing the reasons of its appearance 
 in a printed form, it may be needful to say, that the principal 
 inducement for the use of type, was the prevention of the labour 
 of transcription, in order to satisfy the wishes of numerous 
 connections. Yet, if the assignment of the wish of friends, as 
 a reason for printing, must appear suspicious, because it is 
 common-place ; it should be recollected, that the commonest 
 maxims are the most frequently exemplified, and the very inci- 
 dent that serves to remind us of a trite observation, at the same 
 time serves to illustrate its truth. 
 
 Those sheets which shun the popular gaze, and which seek 
 not the profit of extended circulation, are not the legitimate 
 subjects for minute examination. While it may be expected, 
 that what a man writes for his friends he will try to write well; 
 there must be in a Narrative intended to illustrate principally 
 
 * I have thought it advisable, to make a considerable abridgment of this Pre- 
 face, 'as it was originally printed. — A. B. 
 
TV 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 the close of a life, and that the life of a Young Person, a pre- 
 ciseness of description, and a particularity of detail, very un- 
 suited to public taste ; but which will, at the same time, be 
 highly gratifying to those who have reasons to be interested in 
 them. For the painting presented to general inspection, and 
 designed to attract universal admiration, the labours of art, and 
 the ornaments of taste, and all the foils of representation, may 
 be justly required, and fairly employed ; — but of the miniature 
 intended to lie concealed in the bosom of friendship, the chief 
 commendation must ever b e— fidelity. 
 
 Some expressions in the correspondence with him, who was 
 afterward the husband of Mrs. Barber, may arrest the attention 
 of the supercilious, only to make them force out a smile : he 
 cannot regret yielding them such an opportunity, since a mi- 
 nute’s reflection will serve to apprise them, how gratuitously a 
 smile may be raised at the expense of what does its subject ho- 
 nour ; and how very confiding affection may become, even pre- 
 viously to marriage , when freed by f pure religion’ from the 
 fetters and trammels, which confine and oppress the frigid con- 
 nections of merely temporal interests ; and how hallowed too, 
 under the sacred influence of piety, may be the warmest effu- 
 sions of a soul, glowing with an early and ardent attachment. 
 
 In these Memorials, I do not present a standard of piety. It 
 is too much a habit, as it is certainly a misfortune and a fault, 
 that experience is made a standard, when the Bible only should 
 be so : but to those of my friends, who study their best in- 
 terests, and who, in some degree, properly estimate invisible 
 realities, I present the history, as far as can now be known, of 
 a soul in present connection with eternity itself. And this 
 must be especially desirable and interesting, as it is the history 
 of a soul greatly endeared to us, and very lately in our midst. 
 That very soul, which is now c clothed upon ’ with the ineffable 
 splendour and glory of an imperishable and heavenly nature, 
 was lately among us, imprisoned in a frail and mortal frame ; — 
 that very soul, which now has her c robes washed and made 
 white in the blood of the Lamb,’ was lately at our side polluted, 
 penitent, and believing, — praying, struggling, and conquering, 
 as we are now; — that very soul, which now enjoys the beatific 
 vision, and indulges in the rapturous gaze upon the risen and 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 V 
 
 glorified humanity of our Redeemer and Lord, lately looked out 
 upon us through the medium of those eyes, which are now to 
 her useless and undesired ; — that very soul, which now employs 
 its powers of voice in the high praises of 6 the Lamb that was 
 slain/ lately told us of its probationary feelings, and its grow- 
 ing faith, and its ardent hopes, through the means of those 
 organs of speech, which are now silent in the grave ; — that very 
 soul, which now has left us, hoping to rejoin her soon on terms 
 of a most happy equality, yet, at present, at the distance of an 
 almost immeasurable inferiority, was lately accessible to us — 
 c our equal, our acquaintance, with whom we took sweet coun- 
 sel together, and went to the House of God in company /■ — 
 that very soul, which is now made meet to enjoy realities invi- 
 sible to us, and which has passed the dreary gulf of death, and 
 opened her astonished sight upon eternal things, and trodden 
 on that concealed shore, the land of immaterials and immortals, 
 before untried, unseen, unfancied, but now become for ever her 
 land and her home, has, at length, ascertained the character of 
 her future unchangeable destiny, and entered into the joy of 
 her Lord, though lately among us, looking forward with im- 
 pressions and anxieties similar to our own, as she c thought of 
 being disembodied, — of passing into an unknown world, — of 
 being ushered into the presence of a pure and holy God,— and 
 of having her state determined for ever.’ See page 28. 
 
 Eternity loudly demands and closely awaits ourselves ; we 
 are, in some just degree, awakened to perceive, and alive to 
 feel, our momentous and transcendent interests. There are 
 certain principles, upon which we are forming our habits, and 
 determining our characters for ever ; and, of course, we feel 
 ourselves making very much to depend upon the issue of our 
 conduct. To recognise in another those self-same principles, 
 and, if possible, to detect in them their legitimate effects, is 
 very desirable ; but, if this be not possible, then it must be in- 
 structive to observe the actual measure of their influence, and 
 the reasons of their failure or excess ; and, in reference to the 
 momentous interests involved in the embracing and professing 
 of religion, it is encouraging and profitable to reflect, that the 
 very principles of faith in our adorable Redeemer, upon whom 
 we are resting our all, are precisely the same which, in their 
 
VI 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 appropriate and happy realisation, enabled our dear departed 
 relative to endure so much suffering, in such a Christian man- 
 ner as she did ; as well as to enjoy the great benefits of those 
 principles, at a period when, of all things in this world that are 
 accounted valuable, right principles only are proved to be so. 
 
 To one point of special interest I will venture to solicit 
 particular attention ; I allude to the entire sanctification re- 
 quired by the Gospel, as a preparative for heaven. The impres- 
 sion, which rested on the mind of our late very dear Friend, of 
 the solemn necessity of entire holiness ; and the distinct view, 
 which she had of the privilege of Christians, under our dis- 
 pensation of the Holy Ghost, to be freed from all the dominion 
 and the very in-being of sin; and the painful feelings, wdiich she 
 sometimes suffered, from a consciousness of not living so as to 
 uninterruptedly glorify this great grace of God; — are subjects 
 on which it will be most becoming for me to make no observ- 
 ations ; but, with a silence that has earnest meaning, I would 
 urge my friends, after a perusal of her sentiments, and an in- 
 spection of her experience, to an express, and sedulous, and 
 docile examination of their Bibles on the subject. 
 
 Her favourite topics, in both conversation and writing, were 
 the Love of Christ, — Holiness as the fruit of the Spirit, — and the 
 Faithfulness of God ; upon these her soul rested : but, while she 
 carried her sentiments into the regular activity of every-day 
 life, she perceived the inseparable connection, which must sub- 
 sist between the compassionate and saving love of Christ, and 
 the grateful communion of the soul with Him, — between the 
 fruit of the Spirit, and the operations of the Spirit, — between 
 the invariable faithfulness of God, and the implicit and affec- 
 tionate obedience of man. In the visible circumstances of her 
 dissolution, we may, in part, see the consequences; but it 
 is well to remember, that the dying feel as it is impossible 
 for any survivor to do, — that little words have a deep meaning, 
 from the quivering lips of an expiring saint, — that mental suf- 
 ferings, in the hour of death, are not trifles, — and that spiritual 
 supports, to an awakened soul, are not delusions. We cannot 
 get at all, that the dying mean by what they say ; we must die to 
 know, and then our meaning will be as great as theirs, and as 
 much too big for utterance to those around us. In the agonies 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 VII 
 
 of death the soul cease s to communicate with us, because the 
 bodily powers are perishing; but there must be something 
 transcendently momentous and interesting in the feelings and 
 activity of the spirit, as it makes its last struggles to disen- 
 tangle itself from the yet not breathless corpse. And Oh, my 
 endeared friends, when the soul, unfettered and unburthened, 
 first expands itself amidst spiritual existences, in illimitable 
 eternity, think, I pray you, how ineffable the happiness of 
 meeting, eye to eye, the complacent and approving smile of the 
 Redeemer ! 
 
 The present glory and happiness of the dear Friend, who has 
 left us, forbid us to regret the exchange on her account ; and 
 the wise and sovereign will of our great Lord glances down all 
 murmurs on our own : — c Clouds and thick darkness are truly 
 round about Him ; but justice and judgment are the habitation 
 of his throne !’ Within the darkness and the clouds there re- 
 side a Presence and a Wisdom, changeless and unimpeachable ; 
 and, surely, while the thick volumes, though rayless and imper- 
 vious in themselves, are unsettled and shifting round about, we 
 may hope that, between the interstices, there shall stream upon 
 us, from afar, a light and a glory, which shall serve both to 
 illustrate the dispensation, and to shine upon the way for our 
 faith and hope. As our Friend was eminently fitted for use- 
 fulness on earth, so we fondly deemed her destined to it ; 
 the hope that these Memorials may, through the demonstra- 
 tion and the power of the Holy Spirit, accomplish the salva- 
 tion of some around, will help to sustain the affliction of 
 her removal, until the full disclosure in eternity of what we 
 know not now, shall, on this very account, ,produce a higher 
 rapture of joy. The salvation of one soul would far more than 
 counterbalance all the miseries of bereavement, indescribably 
 great as they certainly are. 
 
 Let me now gratify myself, by only adding, for the sake of 
 reminding my friends, that the bitterness of disappointment, 
 and even the ungovernable ebullitions of grief, may find some 
 alleviation, in the just and scriptural indulgence of such senti- 
 ments, as those which the sweet Moravian Singer has vested in 
 the charms, and empowered with the magic, of poetry ; they 
 are sentiments which derive commendation, higher than all 
 
VIII 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 others that can array them, from the authority of God, from 
 the vicarious atonement of Christ, from the effectual working 
 of the Holy Ghost, and from the immutability of the plans and 
 the promises of Divine Revelation : — 
 
 ‘ Thou art not dead ! thou couldst not die ! 
 
 To nobler life new born, 
 
 Tbou look’st with pity from the sky. 
 
 Upon a world forlorn. 
 
 Where glory is but dying flame. 
 
 And immortality — a name. 
 
 * Farewell !— but not a long farewell ; 
 
 In heaven shall I appear. 
 
 The triumphs of my faith to tell 
 In thy delighted ear, — 
 
 Shall sing with thee th’ eternal strain, 
 
 “ Worthy the Lamb that once was slain !’* * 
 
 WILLIAM BARBER. 
 
 Gloucester , Oct. 20, 1822. 
 
JH entertain 
 
 SECTION I. 
 
 The deceased, Mrs. Anne Barber, was born May 12, 1801, at Tre- 
 worgan, in Herefordshire : she was the fourth, and youngest daughter, 
 of Mr. James Howell. 
 
 The aged Father survives; but of the counsels and care of the 
 Mother, the family, consisting of a husband and ten children, were 
 deprived, when Mrs. B. was only eight years of age. 
 
 The painfulness of this bereaving affliction was as overwhelming, as 
 its mysteriousness was unsearchable : but the suffering which it in- 
 volved, and the aspect of impenetrable gloom which it wore, conspired 
 to produce in the survivors only a state of motionless astonishment ; 
 they were too feeble to resist, and too fearful to reply to, the Al- 
 mighty ; but their minds were yet not sufficiently enlightened, by the 
 shining in upon them of the light and glory of another and a better 
 world, to allow an immediate yielding to the spiritual lessons of a loss, 
 which was apparently ruinous in its results to individual comfort and 
 domestic welfare ; and yet every depriving dispensation of Divine 
 Providence is, unquestionably, charged with such instructions as 
 would, if properly regarded, lead directly to the most important and 
 advantageous consequences, to the souls of those who are called to 
 suffer. 
 
 Mrs. Howell was possessed of a superior understanding; she had 
 also the advantages of an excellent education, to which she superadded 
 the qualities of sterling piety. With these attractive and imposing 
 advantages, she presented to her family the admonitions of a consistent 
 example ; she controlled them by her authoritative influence ; and she 
 succeeded in restraining them from the vices which degrade, the 
 
2 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 follies which injure, and the vanities which seduce, very many whom 
 prosperous circumstances surround, and dissipated connections attend. 
 The sudden death of this excellent Lady removed the restraints, which 
 her presence and precaution imposed upon the inexperienced inclina- 
 tions of her children ; while it bore at once away the almost only 
 barrier, which could effectually check their progressive advances for 
 indulgence. 
 
 The occurrences of her death were alarming and impressive. Some 
 presentiment of approaching dissolution had fixed itself strongly on 
 her mind ; and this was much strengthened when, in the latter part 
 of the last week of her life, as she was in the effort of turning a heavy 
 cheese on a high shelf in her dairy, something internal suddenly burst, 
 with a noise, as she expressed it, equal to the report of a gun when 
 discharging. On several occasions, she expressed her persuasion, that 
 she should not live long, but, especially, on Saturday, the day previous 
 to that on which she died. On this occasion, her youngest child was 
 brought by the nurse to the arms of its Mother ; for some minutes she 
 fondly pressed it in silence to her bosom, and, as she returned it, she 
 repeatedly exclaimed , — 4 I shall never see thee again ; — no — I shall 
 never see thee again !’ 
 
 Twice during the following day, Mrs. H., though, in very imper- 
 fect health, attended Divine service at the parish Church, which was 
 at a considerable distance from home. In the evening, as usual, she 
 called her family together, catechised her children, read a portion of 
 the Scriptures, and engaged in prayer. 
 
 Every incident is observable, which will never be repeated ; and 
 every moment memorable, w 7 hich will be numbered near the last. That 
 evening was rendered remarkable by Mrs. H.’s administering to a ser- 
 vant-boy, whose conduct had been irregular or vicious, some faithful 
 reproofs, and salutary counsels; at the moment of solemn assembling 
 around the altar of family worship, she expressed to him, with the 
 fidelity of a Christian mistress, and with the feelings of deep spiritual 
 concern, her fears that his conduct would exclude him from heaven, 
 and bring upon him the curses and the vengeance of a justly offended 
 God. She adverted, with affecting interest — still fresh in the memory 
 of her family, after the lapse of thirteen years — to the state of her own 
 children, and especially to the mode which had been adopted of edu- 
 cating her eldest son, at a distance from home, where his principles 
 were liable to corruption, and his heart to alienation from the affections 
 and interests of his nearest relatives. According to her usual practice, 
 before she herself retired, she saw her whole family consigned to rest. 
 About midnight, in perfect darkness, her husband was alarmed by 
 her sudden illness ; but dismay and confusion, the most appalling and 
 terrific, prevailed and spread, when, before a light could be procured, 
 or other assistance afforded — without uttering a word — she expired ! 
 
MEMORIALS OF MRS. BARBER. 
 
 3 
 
 The situation of the husband was one of indescribable distress; be- 
 reaved, — of such a wife, — in such away, — without the consolations 
 of experimental piety, — in the midst, too, of ten children, of whom 
 the eldest daughter was quite too young to assume the office and the 
 reins of management, and the youngest, though only eight years of 
 age, had five brothers yet younger than herself. i How unsearchable 
 are the judgments of the Most High, and His ways past finding out!’ 
 
 Such occurrences, afflictive as they were, might have been expected 
 to produce some lasting moral benefits ; for 4 they spring not out of 
 the ground,’ but are forced from the hand of a tender and reluctant 
 Parent, who inflicts one pain to prevent many greater, a momentary 
 chastisement to preclude the need of eternal alienation. That, in the 
 case now recorded, affliction produced no moral benefits, it would be 
 impious to assert ; for, though the prayers of the pious Mother had 
 seemed to be offered in vain, — and her eyes had now closed in death, 
 without having been delighted with the sight of one instance among 
 her family of the efficacy of Divine Grace, — and her heart had ceased 
 to throb, without ever being dilated with that glowing pleasure which 
 6 burns within,’ while members of one household 4 talk of Jesus by 
 the way,’ — and years subsequently rolled away, without presenting 
 any symptoms of spiritual vegetation from the seed, which had been 
 sown with such assiduous care, and so repeatedly watered with tears ; — 
 yet, at length, the energy of God produced a pleasing verdure of mo- 
 ral reformation, and to a dreary winter of disappointed waiting, suc- 
 ceeded a rapid ripening of abundant hopes. Death has presented Mrs. 
 B., as the very first fruits of the motherless family, to the Lord of Life 
 and Glory ; and the glorified Parent has thus received the pledge of 
 many relatives, who remain stationed, as yet, in 6 a field which the Lord 
 hath blessed.’ 
 
 The junior members of the family were yet too young to perceive 
 extensively their own privation, or to retain the impressions, which, 
 under more fostering circumstances, might perhaps, have resulted im- 
 mediately in the most enduring good. Some years passed away of in- 
 dulgence in { walking according to the course of this world but the 
 wants of souls demand more than can be supplied from the vanities of life ; 
 a round of dissipations is repeatedly trodden, only the more easily to 
 weary by its fruitless labour ; and the provisions of pleasure are served 
 up with new forms, and with new splendour, only to pall upon the ap- 
 petite, and to fill even to loathing the satiated taste. In the case of 
 the Howells, the enjoyment of trifles, and the repetition of attempts 
 to settle down in worldly satisfaction, were followed by the vexations 
 of disappointment, and the weakening struggles of enfeebled hope. 
 Thus, in the wisdom of God, were the minds of a numerous family 
 prepared for the reception of that free grace, which, it is presumed, 
 has already accomplished, in different stages of realisation, the sal- 
 
4 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 vation of eight or ten of its members; besides which, it has intro- 
 duced the Gospel, with its saving power, into several families of the 
 neighbourhood, established the regular Ministry of the Word among 
 the surrounding villagers, formed a society of professing Christians, 
 as a Church of the Living God, issued in the erection of a Place 
 of Worship among a destitute and neglected population, and thus 
 presented a very splendid proof of the power and the prevalence of 
 Redeeming Mercy. 
 
 No extravagant folly, — no excessive criminality, — no deeply co- 
 loured crime, is at all essentially requisite, in order to establish the ne- 
 cessity of being 4 renewed in the spirit of the mind.’ The need of 
 a sound and scriptural conversion fastens itself on principles in the hu- 
 man soul, which-may either lie deeply concealed in the bosom, while 
 they never carry themselves out before the eyes of those around into 
 tangible and rebukable actions ; or, as opportunity may offer a sufficient 
 inducement, and concealment may promise shelter from detection, or 
 shamelessness may endow with unblushing defiance, they may come 
 forth into all the gradations of immorality, between the pettishness of 
 infancy, and the most flagitious deeds of the long-practiced, hardened, 
 and adventurous worker of iniquity. There is one commmon danger 
 spreading itself over all those minor distinctions, which form among 
 men perceptible differences of mischievous tendency, and power, and 
 effect ; and that danger, in the day of grand classification of all men 
 either to the right hand or the left of the infinite Judge, will merge 
 all those comparatively trivial and human distinctions beneath the 
 broad covering of the name, — 4 Alienation from the life of God? 
 4 The fearful,’ without courage to avow, and 4 the unbelieving,’ with- 
 out care to embrace, as well as 4 the abominable, and murderers, shall 
 have their part in the lake which burneth with fire and brimstone ; 
 which is the second death.’ — Rev. xxi. 8. 
 
 Of those among Mr. H.’s household, who received 4 the truth in 
 the love of it,’ Mrs. B. was the second. Her conversion to God, 
 though not instantaneous, was decisive ; and, though it was not accom- 
 plished amidst violent feelings, it was deep, evident, and enduring. 
 
 In the year 1815, the family removed to Arkstone, near Hereford, 
 where they passed more than two years in those customs of dissipation, 
 which their situation admitted, and their habits confirmed. The spring 
 and summer of the following year commenced a new era in the family- 
 history. The Ministry of the Rev. H. Gipps, a Clergyman of the 
 Established Church in Hereford, had been rendered beneficial to an 
 intimate acquaintance, a young Lady residing in the neighbourhood 
 of Arkstone. Between Miss W. and Miss Lydia H. a more than com- 
 mon friendship subsisted ; and the familiarity thus authorised was in- 
 stantly employed by Miss W. in earnestly recommending to her friend 
 those religious pursuits, which had become so powerfully engaging to 
 
MEMORIALS OF MRS. BARBER. 
 
 5 
 
 herself. That friendship which fears not to urge, as well as that 
 which refuses not to listen, when important differences are unex- 
 pectedly presented in order to be canvassed, is stamped with the 
 characters of indelible honour and imperishable value. In the instance 
 to which we now refer, it must forever be regarded as a most happy cir- 
 cumstance, that persuasion prevailed on the side of truth, of religion, 
 and of the best interests of the soul. Induced by her friend, Lydia 
 went to hear for herself the Minister, whose preaching had produced a 
 change so unexpected and so undesired ; and again the great Head of the 
 Church was pleased to acknowledge the ministrations of his servant, 
 and to send them, with the demonstration of the Spirit, to an en- 
 quiring and attentive mind : from that moment Lydia was awakened 
 to consciousness and activity in her spiritual concerns. 
 
 The alteration soon became visible to Anne , the only sister then at 
 home. Her spirit appears to have previously been in that state of 
 anxious and inquisitive uncertainty, which is often observed to pre- 
 cede the reception of Divine Truth. There had fallen to her lot one 
 advantage, among some evils occasioned by her youth ; she had been 
 prevented from frequently attending those places of vain and fashion- 
 able amusement, which introduce the dissipated to each other, and 
 often captivate the soul, by injurious associations and employments. 
 Her tender conscience was neither hardened by familiarity with 
 folly; — nor seared against the applications of Divine Mercy, by the 
 habits of the gay or the indolent ; — nor tutored to defy its dangers, 
 and to brave its wounds, by often meeting the cheerful immoralities, 
 which, hand-in-hand with worldly pleasures, trip along in the circle of 
 worldly entertainments. Thus was her case exceedingly hopeful ; 
 though, at the same time, there was much in it to excite apprehension, 
 for she was spiritually unenlightened, — and much to require repentance, 
 for she lived in a state of affections utterly alienated from God, — and 
 much to create self-suspicion and distrust, for her mind was not at rest, 
 and she was restricted only by circumstances from that ampler field 
 of earthly delights, which she contemplated at a distance, and to 
 which her fancy often gave the attractiveness of many sprightly and 
 delusive decorations. ' 
 
 With her own condition she was however dissatisfied, and for the 
 state of those around her she felt a dread. In the case of an intimate 
 acquaintance, she had an early opportunity of witnessing the misery 
 of a life yielded to depraved appetites ; the distractions of discord 
 repeated through successive days, and weeks, and years ; and the 
 wretchedness of a death unsupported by religion, and undefended 
 from the poisoned stings of a guilty conscience. These tremendous 
 events, with no one to improve them upon her heart, failed indeed to 
 bring her to 6 that light which makes manifest yet they served to 
 produce a hatred against vice, and a feeling favourable to the approach 
 
 2 g 2 
 
6 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 of any form of real piety. This was presented in the visible altera- 
 tion in the manners, the appearance, and the state of mind, of her 
 elder sister Lydia. On the very first day, when the Ministry of Mr. 
 Gipps produced its decisive effect on the mind of Lydia , Anne 
 became deeply interested in the details, for she perceived that it was 
 true religion which she wanted ; and she resolved to close at once with 
 her sister’s views, for she felt that to be undecided, and yet to be 
 innocent, was possible no more. 
 
 In the August of 1817, the minds of the two sisters became, more 
 than ever, united by similar impressions, partialities, and pursuits ; 
 and, during some months prior to their obtaining clear and satis- 
 factory spiritual light, they presented, in the condition of their feel- 
 ings, and in the peculiarity of their habits, one of the most interesting 
 spectacles that imagination can picture. 
 
 In a retired situation, they were insulated from the society of every 
 one, whose experienced age could correctly inform or guide them, 
 by either obviating their difficulties, or soothing their discourage- 
 ments, or enlightening and expanding their views. But, under the 
 guidance of the Holy Spirit, the incipient experience of Christianity, 
 and the knowledge of its doctrines, soon lead to the practice of its 
 duties, and the fulfilment of its obligations. The spiritual appetite, 
 like that of the body, fails only when diseased ; if restored to health- 
 fulness and vigour, as though recovering from fever, it becomes keen 
 in its relish, intense in its gratifications, and imperative for regular 
 and sufficient supplies Education and habit had long attached the 
 Howells to the Established Church ; and, for reasons already obvious, 
 the Ministry of Mr. Gipps was peculiarly attractive : by the two en- 
 quiring and diligent sisters all fatigue was forgotten, and before them 
 all difficulties disappeared ; for they often walked, when other modes 
 of conveyance were inconvenient, the entire distance to Hereford and 
 home again — twelve miles — before mid-day on the Sabbath, for the 
 benefit of a single sermon. To those, who may affect surprise at this 
 great earnestness, and who, in the heat of their fervent zeal against 
 over-much righteousness, may apply to it the epithet extravagant , it 
 would perhaps be nothing strange, if one, in a state of starvation, 
 should risk his life, *>r his liberty, for a momentary alleviation of his 
 pining want; but who, that recollects how soon the subject of the 
 present Memoir was to die, can regret that, precisely five years 
 before, she became so decided in her preparation for eternity ? Or 
 who, that justly considers how much spiritual joy transcends that 
 which is worldly, — how well the favour of God repays the frowns of 
 men, — and how far eternity exceeds the longest period of probationary 
 existence, can regret, if even a life protracted to the very extreme of 
 a human term, should be entirely employed in the consistent earnest- 
 ness, and the zealous enterprise, and the habitual holiness of that love 
 
MEMORIALS OF MRS. BARBER. 
 
 7 
 
 to God and man which never faileth ? Regret ! — the term is totally 
 inapplicable on this side of the statement, it belongs only to the other; 
 a deep degradation of taste, habit, and pursuit, settles on the person 
 living in merely worldly pleasure, — 4 he is dead while he liveth f but 
 a nobleness of mind, and an elevation of affections, and a worth of 
 morals, attach themselves where this world is only duly estimated, and 
 6 used as notabusing it,’ — where, holding earthly things in just subor- 
 dination to things more lasting and advantageous, a man places his 
 foot upon them, in order to rise the nearer by them to heaven and to 
 God : — 4 For the fashion of this world pass eth away!’ 
 
 The sisters very early felt it incumbent on them, to establish in the 
 family the habitual worship of their God ; and thus would these young 
 females, in the midst of the numerous servants of a large farm, regu- 
 larly read a portion of the Scriptures, and, as they felt the immaturity 
 of their own knowledge and experience, offer up from a printed form, 
 their fervent petitions to the Almighty. These interesting employ- 
 ments were productive of substantial good ; they received the atten- 
 tion, and the approval, and the blessing of Heaven ; and, in the midst 
 of their comparatively unassisted situation, God graciously watched 
 over their steps, and fulfilled their wishes, and acknowledged their 
 efforts. Of this the simple testimony of an aged and illiterate servant 
 may be admitted, in reference to the departed sister; while similar tes- 
 timonies, though not wanting, it would be indecorous to produce for 
 the survivor: — 4 I do like,’ said the almost sinking old man, 4 to hear 
 Miss Anne read the Bible ; her do seem to drive it into my heart.’ 
 For some considerable time the sisters were allowed, in the per- 
 sonal experience of vital piety to beat out a way, which seemed to 
 them untrodden and uncertain ; they toiled against many difficulties, 
 and struggled amidst much doubt; but they freely communicated with 
 each other, and were mutually sustained ; they were closely united in 
 affection, and they successively mingled with each other the tears of 
 sorrow, the prayers of repentance, and the joys of hope. 
 
 More than a year elapsed, while the mind of Anne was gradually 
 advancing into the light of a clear evangelical dispensation. 4 Her 
 hope deferred ’ often 4 made her heart sicken ’ and faint, in tremulous 
 anxiety ; but she persevered in seeking the Lord, and was often en- 
 couraged by those partial revelations of Redeeming Love, which were 
 appropriate to her state, and according to her faith : there is reason 
 for more than a supposition, that, had her mind been well informed 
 of the privileges of the experimental Christian, she would have per- 
 ceived, with greater clearness, the felicities of that state, into which 
 the effectual working of the Holy Spirit had graciously advanced 
 her, — and that she would have held, with a more unwavering stability, 
 the evidences of acceptance with God by Jesus Christ, the Spirit of 
 Adoption, and the joy and peace which come through believing the 
 
8 
 
 appendix. 
 
 Gospel of the grace of God. It is not to be understood, that even 
 then she ( walked in darkness,’ — nor that she was unhappy, — nor that 
 she was ever irresolute as to her continuance in a course of watching, 
 and waiting, and praying, and labouring in all the duties of life, and 
 of exterior godliness ; — but she did not yet clearly perceive how 6 a 
 man is justified by faith onlyj — and that 6 he becomes a child of God 
 by faith,’ — and that, when 6 justified, he lives by faith ,’ — and that he 
 6 enjoys access to God by faith ,’ — and that 6 Christ dwells in his 
 heart by faith,’ — and that i he waits for the hope of righteousness by 
 faith ,’ — and that he i receives the salvation of his soul, as the end of 
 his faith? 
 
 In those deep investigations of her own heart, into which she was 
 sometimes led, she saw enough to repress a confidence of security ; 
 and she was not yet fully aware, how a contrite spirit, laid bare to 
 its own inspection, may discover its unindulged vileness, and 4 abhor 
 itself, repenting in dust and in ashes,’ and yet feel 6 justified freely by 
 grace, through the redemption that is in Jesus Christ ;’ — she was not 
 yet able to discover to what extent, 6 God may be just, and yet the 
 justifier of him that believeth in Jesus.’ Notwithstanding this, how- 
 ever, what rendered her in after-life remarkable, had already begun 
 to characterise her investigations ; for what her faith was demanded, 
 she required scriptural reasons ; but, when convinced, she confided. 
 
 In the midst of these varied exercises of the mind of Anne , her 
 sister Lydia married, and removed to Gloucester ; but the Lord had 
 previously wrought upon the heart of another sister, Elizabeth , and 
 prepared her as an associate in the future searches after rest for the 
 soul. 
 
 The Providence of God was about to introduce the Wesleyan 
 Methodists into the neighbourhood ; for, though a Minister of the 
 Baptist denomination, who resided in Hereford, and occasionally 
 preached in some of the villages around, was the first who opened his 
 apostolical commission beneath the roof of Arkstone House, yet his 
 occasional labours afforded ample opportunity for the association of 
 additional efforts. Mr. Wm. Howell, the eldest brother, had already 
 joined the Methodist Society, at some distance from his Father’s resi- 
 dence; and an additional connection of the family with the same reli- 
 gious body, had been formed by the marriage of Lydia with Mr. 
 Wheeler, of Gloucester. To the united requests of his son and son- 
 in-law, supported by the wishes of his daughters, Mr. H. sen. there- 
 fore cheerfully acceded; the assistance of the Methodist Minister 
 was immediately solicited, and readily gained. The Rev. John H. 
 Adams was then Superintendent of the Hereford Circuit ; and, in the 
 winter of 1818 — 19, he commenced the preaching at Arkstone. 
 Early in February, 1819, the 'Rev. Philip C. Turner formed the 
 first class; and, in the week following, on February 24, Mr. Adams 
 
MEMORIALS OF MRS. BARBER. 
 
 9 
 
 admitted fifteen Members of Society upon trial, of whom Mr. H. sen., 
 and his two daughters, were at the head. 
 
 To the subject of this biographical Sketch, these were events of 
 infinite importance. Her intercourse with Mr. Wheeler, while she 
 was yet in the noviciate of Christian experience, was, to her, ex- 
 tremely useful ; and, for him, on this account, she cherished to the 
 last a most fraternal affection. The public Ministry, and the private 
 counsels, both of Mr. Adams and Mr. Turner, were advantageous to 
 her in the highest degree : for both she eutertained a very great es- 
 teem ; the former she regarded almost as a spiritual Parent ; and the 
 latter was her friend, even unto death. She now rapidly 4 grew in grace, 
 and in the knowledge of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ;’ and 
 though she was rather progressively, than suddenly, introduced into 
 the liberty of God’s children, yet she 4 walked in the light of the 
 countenance of the Lord,’ and enjoyed, almost without interruption, 
 the witness of God’s Spirit with her own of 4 her acceptance in the 
 Beloved,’ and her adoption into the family of God. Her conduct was 
 now consistent, and her example impressive. In connection with her 
 sister Elizabeth, the abodes of affliction were often visited ; and with 
 temporal relief, were always administered the instructive admonitions, 
 or the supporting consolations, of pure religion. 
 
 Sin, if it openly presented itself before them, met its merited re- 
 buke ; and the sinner often felt convicted by the mild expostulations, 
 with which his conscience was assailed ; — expostulations, which were 
 endured, perhaps, because from the lips of females, but which were 
 successful, because the convincing Spirit of God acknowledged and 
 honoured the truth as his own, and gave an impulse and a pungency 
 to its faithful representations. Several of Mr. H.’s servants became 
 deeply and abidingly impressed with concern for spiritual safety ; and 
 among the surrounding peasantry many have been roused, from an 
 utter carelessness of God, to those habits of thoughtfulness and mental 
 exercise, of which the expression is, — 4 The desire of our soul is to 
 Thy name , and to the remembrance of Thee' 
 
 One incident may be interesting, as an illustrative sample of the 
 part, which Christian zeal urged upon the subject of the present Me- 
 moir, in her labours of Christian love. While visiting an aged woman, 
 in very indigent and afflictive circumstances. Miss H. heard, at a little 
 distance, a passionate voice, precipitating, one upon another, the bit- 
 terest oaths and imprecations; she left the house, and advanced to the 
 angry man who had uttered them, — she arrested and fixed his atten- 
 tion, — and then reasoned with him upon the impropriety of his con- 
 duct, and the condition of his soul. She left him, according to his 
 own account, for the first time in his life, convinced, and thoughtful, 
 and mortified for his soul. The next day she saw him in a corn-field, 
 
10 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 sitting at dinner apart from the other men ; she perceived the oppor- 
 tunity, and followed the previous admonitions with additional advice ; 
 the mildness of her manner added force to her persuasions, and what 
 she said, as he expressed it, never left him; — he has ceased to be a 
 swearer, — he has learned to be a Christian. 
 
 To such occasional efforts as this to do good, were added the re- 
 gular labours of a Sunday-School, opened in the preaching-room of 
 Arkstone House ; these engagements, together with endeavours for 
 the aid of Bible and Missionary exertions, and other works of cha- 
 rity, frequently contributed to render the time of leisure the period 
 of activity, and the close of business the commencement of fatigue. 
 
 By a few extracts from Miss H.’s letters, the state of her soul may 
 be estimated, and her spiritual progress observed. The unaffected 
 simplicity, with which she uniformly wrote, rather illustrates, than 
 derogates from, the strength of her understanding ; while it is, in- 
 deed, gratifying to observe, how a mind of a superior order may be 
 adorned by the sanctity of exemplary piety, and ornamented by the 
 graces of unassuming humility. 
 
 When about seventeen years of age, she wrote, in the following 
 manner, to her married sister : — 
 
 July 1, 1818. 
 
 * * * * * Jesus has, of late, been more 
 
 precious to me than ever; I daily see more and more of the blessed- 
 ness of true religion. Oh, for a heart given wholly to the Lord ! for 
 I find that he will not accept a divided one: creature enjoyments are 
 dangerous, — 
 
 * The dearest idol I have known, 
 
 Whate’er that idol be. 
 
 Help me to tear it from Thy throne, 
 
 And worship only Thee !’ 
 
 I regret the loss of those hours, which I have spent in vanity, and 
 wounding the cause of my Redeemer. * * * * How 
 
 prone we are to be proud of our mercies ! I will appeal to your ex- 
 perience, my dear Lydia ; when your soul has been enlarged in 
 prayer, — carried out in humblings — meltings — longings — aspirings, — 
 when you have heard the Word with warm affection and heavenly joy, 
 — when you have talked of Christ with sweetness and liberty, — have 
 you not, in all these, found pride arise ? and approval of self, instead 
 of looking to Christ ? Alas! I have ; — but let us attend to that re- 
 proof of St. Paul : — c Who made thee to differ from another ? and what 
 hast thou that thou didst not receive ? now, if thou didst receive it, 
 why dost thou glory as if thou hadst not received it?’ May the Lord 
 
MEMORIALS OF MRS. BARBER. 
 
 11 
 
 enable us to look simply to Jesus in all things ! Wishing you every 
 blessing that a holy God has to give, 
 
 I remain yours, affectionately, 
 
 Anne Howell. 
 
 Another letter, to the same Sister, was written immediately on her 
 return from a visit to Gloucester : — 
 
 Oct. 13, 1818. 
 
 * * * * * I have seen, since I came 
 
 home, that I did not improve my time, as I ought to have done, when 
 at Gloucester. Was it for want of opportunity ? No. Alas ! it was 
 my own sinfulness. I sometimes wonder at God’s long suffering with, 
 and kindness to, me ; — when I see others so vigorous, and myself so 
 slothful, — others running, and I scarcely creeping, — it shews me, very 
 forcibly, that I am an unprofitable servant, — but 
 
 ‘Yonder, amazing sight ! I see 
 Th’ incarnate Son of God, 
 
 Expiring on th’ accursed tree. 
 
 And weltering in His blood.’ 
 
 Were it not for this, my own unworthiness would forbid me to hope, 
 — but, as it is, I will be confident in my Saviour, and say, 
 
 ‘ Thy mercy, my God, is the theme of my song, 
 
 The joy of my heart, and the boast of my tongue j 
 Thy free grace alone, from the first to the last. 
 
 Hath won my affections, and bound my soul fast.’ 
 
 I want to be more like my God in all things, — to be more holy, — 
 more heavenly-minded : and why do I not obtain these blessings ? — it is 
 because I ask not, — or because I ask amiss. I want to be very dif- 
 ferent from what I am, as much as I do differ from what I was; and 
 the only way to attain to it is, to watch, pray, and believe. We 
 should recollect, that we have an unchangeable world before us, and 
 an unchangeable God with us, — that the agency of the Holy Spirit is 
 exerted for our instruction and guidance into the way of all truth, — 
 and that, when we have made a necessary advancement, we shall be 
 taken to the mansions of our Heavenly Father, where our joy, which 
 is here incomplete, shall be full. Oh, that we may live in the ha- 
 bitual exercise of grace ! and, being found in Jesus Christ, have nothing 
 to do but to yield ourselves up, when the summons shall be sent 
 for us! 
 
 Yours affectionately, 
 
 Anne Howell. 
 
12 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 SECTION II. 
 
 In the determination and completion of character, there are commonly 
 some distinguishable periods, the events of which operate strongly, 
 either to give a new direction to the mind’s pursuits, or to fix a con- 
 firming impression on its habits. And if the minor incidents of daily 
 occurrence, like the individual strokes of a sculptor’s hammer, all tell 
 toward etching out the lineaments, or finishing the features, it cannot 
 be but that the more important transactions of life must, either dis- 
 tinctly trace out 6 a beauty and a glory,’ or irretrievably injure the 
 whole. ‘ Deliberation ,’ then, must be the watch-word for the move- 
 ments of prudence; — 6 Decision ,’ the characteristic of the resolutions 
 of wisdom. Prevailing frivolousness and extreme versatility, are so 
 invariably and essentially connected, that they may be almost con- 
 vertibly affirmed of the same mind ; they arise from an imbecility of 
 mental habits, which is the more to be dreaded, because it com- 
 monly appears natural, and therefore, seems the more nearly hope- 
 less. And to this same cause, as an accompaniment to its other un- 
 happy tendencies, is it to be ascribed, that a fickle and a trifling mind 
 is, in general, entirely captivated by any novelty which either is , or at 
 least appears , important, and which is developed, no rratter how par- 
 tially, in the dimness of futurity. The powers of such a mind are so 
 engrossed for this one distant object, that the immediate and pressing 
 duties of the present are, either totally neglected, or receive a very 
 impatient attention. In no circumstances, perhaps, is there a more 
 ready and general toleration given to some of the symptoms of this 
 propensity, than in the engagement of the affections for a matrimo- 
 nial connection ; — in no case is the inducement to this propensity 
 stronger than in such a case, or more likely to bring out, if they 
 exist within, the evidences of mental feebleness into visible dis- 
 play; though it must be confessed, that, in general, no circum- 
 stances of human life, more than those incipiently producing a connec- 
 tion between the sexes, which is to endure so long as life, can justly 
 demand coolness of deliberation, and prompt and vigorous decision. 
 
MEMORIALS OF MRS. BARBER. 
 
 13 
 
 It is gratifying to reflect, that Miss Howell maintained, under such 
 pleasing and bewildering engagements, that degree and that kind of 
 self-possession, which are, at once, an ornament to an understanding, 
 and a grace to a Christian profession. 
 
 The residence, for some time, of her future husband, in an ill state 
 of health, under the same roof with herself, afforded her an ample 
 opportunity of consideration ; but when she felt her way clear, and 
 her mind satisfied of the propriety of the step to which she was so- 
 licited, she entered upon the correspondence with the fulness of that 
 judicious and unreserved confidence, for which she was eminently re- 
 markable. Of her it may, without hesitation, be said, that, subse- 
 quently to her forming a connection for prospective union with Mr. B., 
 and during the whole of the fifteen months which thus passed away, 
 she differed in nothing from her former self, excepting her visibly 
 increasing conformity to the will of God, and her anxious enquiries 
 after the qualifications which she deemed necessary for the change 
 contemplated. 
 
 An extract from one of her earliest letters to her new correspond- 
 ent, will serve to shew with what a cautious, yet approving, and 
 truly pious judgment, she pursued the object placed before her : — 
 
 December , 1820. 
 
 I take up my pen with a full determination to write you 
 freely and unreservedly ; charging myself not to hide, by coolness of 
 expression, the warmth of an affection, which, I assure you, strengthens 
 by reflection, and by approaches to the throne of Grace; where, 1 feel 
 confident, that my Heavenly Father sits with an attentive ear, and ten- 
 der solicitude for my present and eternal welfare. Having such a de- 
 lightful view of God, as I now possess, as a kind, indulgent, and all- 
 wise Parent, whose wisdom renders it impossible for him to err, and 
 his goodness to be unkind ; I feel assured, and I believe this assurance 
 comes from himself, that our plans will be realised, if it will promote 
 his glory and our own happiness. When at the Love-Feast last even- 
 ing, at Hereford, my soul was so exceedingly blest, that I felt, for 
 some time, full of the love of God. I was so filled with holy exulta- 
 tion, and my confidence was so strengthened, that I enjoyed, for some 
 time, much of the overwhelming presence of the Lord. I then made 
 up my mind, to be more devoted to him, and to make every sacrifice 
 which he required. The assurance which I then felt, of being for 
 ever with the Lord, was very delightful. In the midst of these sweet 
 feelings, I thought of you, and felt as though you had been with me. 
 I implored the Lord’s blessing for you, and Ilis direction for us both ; 
 declaring, that, if it were not his will, I would willingly sacrifice my 
 feelings, however painful it might be. After thus simply laying it be- 
 fore him, I felt perfectly assured, that he did not disapprove ; and it 
 
14 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 is an assurance of this kind, which I have always had, when asking 
 counsel of him respecting it. 
 
 An intimation has been already given of the ill state of Mr. B.’s 
 health ; but, even with the recollection of this, some passages in the 
 following extracts might be almost imagined, without great extrava- 
 gance, as dictated under a prophetic influence. 
 
 Jan. 15, 1821 . 
 
 I now’ thankfully acknowledge the receipt of your welcome 
 letter on Wednesday last, and should, ere this, have answered it, but 
 for unavoidable engagements another way. How much solid satisfac- 
 tion it affords me, to know that I have a hold upon the affections and 
 anxious solicitude of one, who is dear to my God ! Is it not an irre- 
 sistible argument in favour of our connection, that it increases in pro- 
 portion as we love God, and are conformed to his image? and that 
 what renders us more dear to him, renders us more dear to each 
 other? Oh! let us become the Lord’s entirely; and then, if he 
 should give realisation to our plans, our life will be happy, and we 
 shall finally have the felicity of seeing each other raised to that high 
 degree of glory, which is in reserve for all the faithful. To know that 
 we occupy a place in the remembrance of those whom we love, and 
 that we are daily borne by them to the throne of God, are very pleas- 
 ing thoughts; but the hope of dwelling with them in eternity, where 
 every barrier to our full enjoyment of their society will be removed, 
 affords a degree of present transport. I believe that it would be im- 
 possible for those, whom affection has closely united, contentedly to 
 dwell asunder : but, though we have hitherto been permitted to com- 
 municate our thoughts and feelings to each other, this, perhaps, will 
 be of short duration, and will, like the tender plant by the chilling 
 frost , be cut down before it has arrived to a state of maturity : — 
 such, however, is the uncertainty of all earthly good ! It becomes us, 
 then, to secure an interest in that place where all is certainty : there 
 is the greatest degree of importance to be attached to this. The 
 thought frequently intrudes itself, — that, perhaps, this is the last time 
 you will ever be permitted to address him, whom you now feel a plea- 
 sure in calling your William. Well, then, I reply, if it be the Lord’s 
 will, that it should be so, I must — I will yield obedience, let it cost 
 me what it may, because I believe that such a sacrifice would be well- 
 pleasing to Him. I now find more pleasure in pleasing my God, than 
 I do in gratifying myself; and this must arise from an increase of love 
 to him. With holiness I am increasingly in love; and when I see its 
 delightful fruits manifested in others, it excites my admiration, and 
 
MEMORIALS OF MRS. BARBER. 
 
 15 
 
 makes me long to possess it more fully myself, — not for the sake of 
 being admired, but because I believe that I could then bring so much 
 more glory to my Heavenly Father, and be made so much more capa- 
 ble of enjoying those heights of glory, which, as you observe, it is my 
 privilege to realise. ***** Should a bar be 
 placed between us, all that I can do is, to exercise Christian resigna- 
 tion, and this the Lord enables me to do. I have had a conflict for 
 it ; but, since that time, I have felt perfectly confident, that not one 
 ingredient will be withheld from the cup of kindness, which the boun- 
 tiful Donor of all good is providing for us. Surely, for the things 
 which we want in time, we can trust Him, to whom we commit our 
 souls for eternity. I have, for some length of time, enjoyed delightful 
 communion with the Saviour. There is in religion — Oh ! yes, there 
 is a blessed reality ; there is nothing, that we can possess, which is 
 worthy to be compared with it. 
 
 Feb 3, 1821. 
 
 My feelings, after you left on Wednesday, were of a very 
 peculiar, and, I may add, of a very painful cast ; I have felt something 
 similar to them before, but not equal in force; and it was not till I 
 had approached the throne of Grace, with strong cries, and earnest en- 
 treaties, that I found any relief ; I was then given a measure of assur- 
 ance, that the Lord would again restore you to health, when his wis- 
 dom should discover, that it would be beneficial and productive of real 
 advantage; and this end we must ever keep in view. Oh ! William, 
 what would it profit us, if, while we possessed each other, and 
 every thing which this world has to offer, the blessing of God should 
 be withheld ? Would it not all be misery and woe ? On the other 
 hand, we may say, that, possessing each other, and only a little of this 
 world’s good, with the approbation and blessing of Heaven, it would, 
 in a considerable degree, be happiness and joy. We are, in a very 
 peculiar way, called to trust in the Lord ; let us, then, be faithful to 
 this call ; and, though, like Abraham, we may be much tried, and he 
 may appear to be about 4 to remove from us the desire of our eyes 
 with a stroke f yet, like that holy Patriarch, may we be 4 found stead- 
 fast and immoveable,’ possessing a resolute determination, in all things 
 to yield the most perfect obedience! And . should his dispensation 
 towards us be the extreme of painfulness , may we meekly resign our- 
 selves to Him, and say, — 4 It is the Lord, let him do as seemeth him 
 good !’ But, 4 Ah !’ say you, 4 perhaps, Anne, while you are thus 
 writing , the Lord may be purposing to deal in this way with you. 7 
 Well, if he call, I must obey. I dare not say, What doest thou? 
 You are his, and at his disposal ; if he give you to me, I shall be 
 
16 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 thankful; but, if he withhold, I have no right to complain. But I 
 trust that things will prove more favourable than, in some dark mo- 
 ment y, it appears probable they may prove . We have had Mr. 
 Turner ministering to us to-day in holy things : this morning, he 
 dwelt very sweetly on the nature and blessedness of Christian expe- 
 rience ; and, this evening, he set before us the day of Judgment, in 
 its awful grandeur. My mind has been very much solemnised; 
 eternity, with all its important consequences, appeared very near, and 
 I am led to enquire, — Is my religion such as will bear me out in that 
 important period ? Can I stand that strict scrutiny, which will ex- 
 tend to the very thoughts ? Oh ! it is serious work. May you and I 
 be ready, having our lamps trimmed, and our lights burning ! And 
 thus, while some, for confusion, will not be able to lift up their heads, 
 we, with joy, shall be enabled to behold our Judge. I awoke, on 
 Friday morning last, with very pleasing and profitable feelings, having 
 those lines strongly impressed on my mind : — 
 
 * Oh ! may I live no longer than I live 
 To breathe my soul to Him, who gave my soul. 
 With all her infinite of prospect fair ! — ’ 
 
 And this is now my intense desire. 
 
 How well tutored the mind of Miss H. must have been for the 
 active and relative duties of life, may be estimated from her habitual 
 sense of the presence and observance of God : and that, amidst the 
 happy attainments to which Divine Grace had rapidly advanced her, 
 she was not unfitted for the exercise of strong sympathy in suffering, 
 we may offer a valuable testimony. 
 
 The following letter was addressed to a Sister, under the pressure 
 of some painful circumstances. » 
 
 Feb. 2, 1822. 
 
 The receipt of a letter from my dear Sister, afforded me 
 great pleasure. I have been painfully exercised on your account, and 
 do deeply sympathise with you in your distress. The enemy of souls 
 tempted me to murmur against God for thus trying you : he suggested 
 to me, that such a trial as this must surely amount to cruelty ; but I 
 repelled this evil insinuation, and instantly recollected, that whatever 
 Jehovah permits, is for the purpose of promoting our spiritual welfare. 
 The Lord may, in many respects, be compared to a physician : he first 
 uses gentle means ; but, if these prove unsuccessful, he is obliged to 
 
MEMORIALS OF MRS. BARBER. 
 
 17 
 
 have recourse to others of a more severe and powerful nature. Disease 
 sometimes creeps on us unawares, and secretly takes its seat, while we 
 know nothing of it, but by its effects ; it then requires the wisdom of 
 the physician to discover, and his skill to remove it. But then, it is 
 necessary that we should pay attention, not only to the prescriptions, 
 in order to have it removed, but to the rules laid down to prevent a 
 relapse. It may be, that Satan has been saying of you, as he did of 
 Job , — 6 Let their substance he removed from them, and they will 
 curse thee to thy face ;’ — but then, what happiness will be the result, 
 if circumstances render it possible, to give that subtle fiend the lie, and 
 prove yourselves faithful ! — Oh ! stand firm , as Christians ; and shew 
 that you are such, whether in ease or pain — prosperity or adversity — 
 life or death : in all things let it appear, that you are the Lord’s real 
 servants. We are, indeed, surrounded by temporal, as well as by spi- 
 ritual, dangers, and we cannot, in time, arrive at any thing like cer- 
 tainty : how much it becomes us, therefore, to make sure work for 
 eternity. Let us get deep piety ; and then, boisterous as the storm may 
 be, we shall eventually arrive in safety in the haven of everlasting fe- 
 licity ; — we shall there, without a cloud between, fully gaze on Him, 
 whom we now feel such pleasure in beholding, by the eye of faith. 
 May the Apostle’s comprehensive prayer for the Ephesians be an- 
 swered in you and me; — may we be c filled with all the fulness of 
 God !’ 
 
 Yours, affectionately, 
 
 Anne Howell. 
 
 The rapid advance, which she was now making in spiritual attain- 
 ments, became very apparent; the discovery was not confined to her 
 chief correspondent, though he beheld it with an exultation, that was 
 only tempered by conscious inferiority, and tremulous forebodings. 
 To those who surrounded her, — who were privileged by her society, 
 — who weighed the expressions which very sparingly fell from her 
 lips, — who associated with her in the ordinances of religion, — and 
 who accompanied her to a throne of Grace, — her growing stature in 
 spiritual life was observable and exemplary. It was, indeed, in the 
 family-devotions, and in the Society-meetings for prayer and Christian 
 experience, that the soundness of her understanding, aiding the depth 
 of her piety, was chiefly visible to those around her. She was not 
 forward to converse ; the idle chat of the silly and uninteresting, she 
 extremely disliked ; and the good sense, which produced this feeling 
 in her mind, accompanied by the diffidence, that gave her an undue 
 impression of personal inferiority, often sealed up her lips in total 
 silence, or painfully embarrassed her efforts to talk. Yet she shrunk 
 not from duty ; for, when sensible of the obligation, from the compa- 
 
18 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 ratively destitute situation of the pious few with whom she was con- 
 nected, she would, without hesitation, engage in the solemn exercises 
 of religion ; and often the Ministers present, and the most sensible of 
 her friends, have been delighted, when, in her vocal addresses to the 
 God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, she would pour forth a 
 strain of supplication, that surprised them by its sublimity, — affected 
 them by'its pathos, — awed them by its spirituality, — and carried them 
 out into the deepest devotion, by the force of its efficacy and fervour. 
 There was divinely fixed in her mind, a clear conviction of the indispens- 
 able necessity of complete conformity to the will of God : this became to 
 her the standard upon which the principle of a holy ambition settled its 
 eye ; inferior to this, she felt herself deficient, — if deficient, faulty, — and 
 if faulty, inexcusable, while living under a dispensation of 6 the power 
 of God unto salvation.’ The insatiable ardour with which, compara- 
 tively 6 forgetting the things which were behind, she reached forward 
 to those before,’ was met by very gracious manifestations of Christ to 
 her soul. It can thus be easily accounted for, that she should often 
 6 rejoice with joy unspeakable ;’ while she had yet an habitual sense of 
 blame-worthy and sinful distance from God, so long as she felt not 
 that state of ineffable union with our Lord and Saviour, which he has 
 graciously proclaimed as his will, (John xvii. 11, 20 — 23,) and of 
 which the enjoyment brings, abidingly to the soul, the in-dwelling of 
 a reconciled and holy God. 
 
 The following extracts from her Correspondence, are illustrative of 
 these remarks. 
 
 March 16, 1821. 
 
 * * * * * But, perhaps, you are anxiously 
 
 waiting to hear, how I am going on in my spiritual career, and in my 
 search after knowledge. I am not, I believe, in either respect, stand- 
 ing still, though my progress is slow. I have often told you, that I 
 desire to be made entirely holy ; but these desires have abundantly 
 increased, during the last week ; they began to increase one evening, 
 while in retirement for meditation and prayer. My mind was led to 
 consider the employment and happiness of those blessed spirits, who 
 are immediately engaged in praising the Triune God above. After 
 a few moments’ consideration, the thought suddenly came, that they 
 were admitted into that world of joy, because they are entirely holy, 
 6 having washed their robes, and made them white in the blood of 
 the Lamb.’ To be with them, and^to partake of the felicities which 
 they possess, appeared very desirable ; but the conclusion was na- 
 tural, that the same process which made them meet, was necessary 
 too for me. I, therefore, covenanted afresh with my Heavenly Fa- 
 ther, to be entirely his. Since that period, I have been led earnestly 
 
MEMORIALS OF MRS. BARBER. 
 
 19 
 
 to seek the blessing of entire sanctification ; and I do believe, that I 
 shall obtain it. I have not only asked for this perfect love for myself, 
 but for you; and Oh! may we henceforth 4 walk in newness of life !’ 
 
 March 30, 1821. 
 
 While eagerly perusing your very welcome letter, I felt the 
 truth of what you said, — 4 that calls for gratitude abundantly thicken.’ 
 The pleasure, which I felt on reading its contents, has not been equalled 
 on any former occasion. The first thing which particularly excited 
 my gratitude was, that I could observe the growth of my Friend in spi- 
 rituality ; because this, as well as my own spiritual improvement, I 
 believe I have desired more than any thing else. To understand, that 
 you had greater power at a throne of Grace, much rejoiced my heart; 
 as there is the store whence we procure all 4 the armour of righteous- 
 ness,’ with which to fight our battles ; — there , too, we obtain that spi- 
 ritual food, which is necessary to strengthen and refresh our souls ; — 
 by applying to that throne, where our God sits dispensing His favours, 
 we get our spiritual appetites more keenly whetted, so that our food 
 becomes more palatable, our desires after it more intense, and our en- 
 joyment of it abundantly augmented ; — in fine, ’tis there we grow 
 hungry , and there we are Jilted ; — ’tis there we feel our poverty, and 
 there we are made rich. Hence, to have more power there , must be 
 the beginning of good days, and this is the case with you ; — Oh ! do, 
 then, go on ; — cultivate a still greater freedom with your Heavenly 
 Father. I always find my soul most blessed when I can do thus: — 
 I do not mean a light familiarity — no — this I abhor, — but a mixed 
 view of His greatness and infinite kindness ; — such a view as will pro- 
 duce, at the same moment, reverence and love . But another call for 
 gratitude was, that any thing, which I had said, should, in any way, be 
 made a blessing to you; — Oh, yes ! that is just what I want, to lead 
 each other deeper into God . The satisfaction which I feel in bearing 
 you to a throne of Grace, as my dearest Friend, by the permission of 
 Heaven, is more than I can express ; — I can there view you, not as my 
 Lord’s rival, but as mine 4 in the Lord.’ I cannot help regarding it 
 as a peculiar mercy, that I have never felt you a hinderance to me in 
 my spiritual course, but the contrary. Never, I believe, have I had 
 such a view of the infinite kindness of our Heavenly Father, as I had 
 on Thursday last, while thinking on those words, — 4 He that toucheth 
 you, toucheth the apple of mine eye.’ I saw the unbounded and 
 wonderful tenderness of the Lord towards us, which caused me to feel 
 amazed that we can ever distrust Him. What great love must He bear 
 to us, whom He so graciously honours with the appellation of child- 
 ren ! Nothing, which has been necessary to make us happy, has been 
 
 2 H 
 
20 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 spared ; let us, then, repose in our kind Benefactor a steady and con- 
 stant confidence, with the delightful persuasion, that what will be best 
 for us, His kindness will induce Him to impart ; and what will prove 
 injurious, His wisdom will determine him to withhold. — With such a 
 God, who has any need to fear ? 
 
 But you say, that you are anxiously waiting to know, whether I 
 have 5 faith enough to venture for full salvation — I cannot say that I 
 have ; — there seems but one step more, and that I am afraid to take ; 
 I firmly believe that the Lord will do it, and yet I fear to think, that 
 He will do it this moment. I think thus : perhaps He sees fit to try 
 me, by withholding the blessing, in order to prove whether I shall be 
 steadfast in seeking it : this I feel determined to do, and not to be sa- 
 tisfied until I possess it. But then, am I to believe that He has done 
 it, until the Spirit clearly bears witness to the accomplishment of the 
 work ? Please to give me your thoughts on this subject ; as I want 
 to know, if the witness of the Spirit is not as necessary to sanctifica- 
 tion, as it is to justification. I will, as nearly as possible, describe to 
 you my feelings. I most ardently desire deliverance from all sin ; — I 
 believe in the Lord’s ability and willingness to do this, because I 
 know that I could so much more glorify Him in the enjoyment, than 
 in the absence, of this blessing. I expect to receive it by faith I am 
 sometimes almost ready to believe, that He has destroyed all sin ; — 
 but then, as I before said, I am afraid to venture so far, until I have a 
 bright evidence of it. But, I rejoice to tell you, that I feel exceed- 
 ingly happy in the Lord : it is not a rapturous joy, but a more solid 
 feeling, arising from a sense of my union with the Lord Jesus. Oh! 
 who can rightly calculate upon the blessedness of being one with Him 
 and His Father? — of dwelling in Him, and He in us? I think I can 
 appeal to Him, and say, in return for His love to me, I love Him 
 supremely. Yes, I believe I can, in addressing Him, make those very 
 expressive words my own : — 
 
 * Thee I can love, and Thee alone, 
 
 With chief delight and inward bliss; 
 
 To know thou tak’st me for thine own, 
 
 O what a happiness is this !’ 
 
 The Lord has lately shewn me so much of my own littleness, and 
 emptied me so completely of all self-confidence, that I can with sin- 
 cerity say, I feel myself nothing before Him. I use not the above ex- 
 pressions as mere religious cant , for that I detest ; but as expressive of 
 real feelings on the subject. Those feelings lead me very willingly to 
 join you, my dear Friend, in offerings of thanksgiving to our indulgent 
 God ; and the causes for the exercise of gratitude, to which you have 
 called my attention, I deeply feel. O that we could form a right 
 
MEMORIALS OF MRS. BARBER. 
 
 21 
 
 estimate of our privileges ! but this, perhaps, we shall never fully do, 
 till the light of eternity shines on our minds. 
 
 I think, with trembling, of some whom I have known, and many 
 of whom I have heard, who, when the Lord first blessed them with 
 each other’s affections, promised well, and felt a delight in cherish- 
 ing in each other the rising of every good desire, in order to obtain a 
 greater depth of piety ; but alas ! when the Lord has further blest 
 them, by giving consummation to their wishes, and a tolerable share 
 of this world’s goods, their care for each other’s better interests has 
 almost ceased. I say, I tremble at this, fearing, lest it should ever be 
 our case; but we know, that it will not need to be thus. Should the 
 Lord bless us, then, with a union, may our solicitude for each other’s 
 spiritual welfare be ever kept alive ! 
 
 I have not read either of the works, which you mention. I am pe- 
 rusing Paley’s Natural Theology, and feel much interested in it; do 
 you not think it a very useful work ? Oh ! William, how much I re- 
 gret my want of time ; all that I can secure is obtained by early ris- 
 ing ; but I consider myself deprived of it, by a heavy stroke from the 
 Lord, I mean, the death of my dearest, dearest Mother. It was with 
 her a settled purpose, to give her children every opportunity for gain- 
 ing useful knowledge ; but alas ! how liable to overthrow are human 
 purposes ! Her’s, in reference to her children, were not accomplished? 
 even in one instance, before she was commanded to leave them to the 
 care of those, whose solicitude for them could not be expected to equal 
 her own. None can tell the loss of a judicious Mother, but those who 
 have sustained it : I think of it, and weep , but I dare not complain ; 
 it was the Lord’s doing, and who am I, that I should reply to Him ? 
 * * * * * It has necessarily followed, that a great 
 
 deal of care and exertion has devolved on the female part of our dear 
 Parent’s offspring. I must, then, endeavour to be content, bear my 
 loss with submission, and meekly say, ’tis best, because the Lord hath 
 done it. And now, may 4 the God of hope fill you with all joy and 
 peace in believing!’ 
 
 May 4, 1821. 
 
 My feelings lead me to commence my letter, by congratulat- 
 ing you on the Lord’s great kindness to you. — I go back to the time, 
 when I first knew you ; your desire then was, that the Lord would 
 restore you to health, and place you in some situation, where you might 
 employ your talents, so as, in some degree, to promote the welfare of 
 the Lord’s great family, as well as to add to your own personal advant- 
 age ; and how much, towards the accomplishment of this, has your in- 
 dulgent Parent done for you! Oh! let us wonder, admire, and adore! 
 Our God is, indeed, one who delights to deal out to His creatures his 
 loving kindnesses, and tender mercies ; you and I can testify this, 
 
 2 li 2 
 
22 
 
 appendix. 
 
 from experimental knowledge ; it is confirmed by His dealings towards 
 us every day : yes, He takes more pleasure in the happiness of His 
 creatures, than in their distress ; this has been made very conspicuous 
 to us. And now, can we be so impious as to present Him with any 
 thing less, in return, than our own whole hearts ? I think, I hear you 
 say , — 6 No, the Lord shall not be slighted and insulted, so as to be 
 offered a part only, when He has solicited the whole. The offering is 
 too mean to be divided ; our Lord shall have it, then, entirely yielded 
 to himself.’ 
 
 I was rejoiced to hear, that the savour of Sunday evening continued 
 to dwell upon your soul. Oh ! William, nothing but deep piety will 
 do ; I have tried all other states, but have not found them really satis- 
 fying, and now, with help from the Lord, I am determined to try this. 
 
 * * * * * I find, on reflection, that I lost 
 
 ground during my stay at Gloucester, inasmuch as I was not so dili- 
 gent in seeking the great blessing which I want, as I ought to have 
 been ; it pains me, when I think, that, had I been more earnest in the 
 pursuit, in all probability, ere this, the candle of the perfect love of 
 God would have been shining upon my soul. Oh ! pray for me, that 
 I may be made what I desire to be, — what you wish me to be, — and 
 what my Lord is waiting to make me. I want to be able to hold con- 
 stant communion with my adorable Redeemer, and to get into a state 
 of close intimacy with Him ; what bliss must this bring into the soul! 
 surely, more than the mind of man can conceive, till it is actually pos- 
 sessed ; and of it, then , he can give to another only a faint idea, in 
 comparison of what it really is. How incalculable are the blessings, 
 which our Lord died to purchase ! Viewing the degraded situation, 
 into which man was fallen, and comparing it with the exalted state 
 to which Christianity raises him, we may, without wondering at the 
 circumstance, be lost in admiration ; and yet, Oh, strange to say! the 
 Lord has frequently to bring against us the accusation , — ( My people 
 have committed two evils ; they have forsaken me, the fountain of 
 living waters, and they have hewed out unto themselves cisterns, — - 
 broken cisterns, that can hold no water.’ We are, indeed, unwise; 
 ’tis a mercy our Lord is long-suffering. 
 
 Mai/, 18th, 1821. 
 
 * * * * * I thank you, my dear Friend, for 
 
 your tender sympathy and judicious advice ; it was made a blessing to 
 me, although it did not arrive till my days of mourning were ended, 
 and I was again enjoying the smile of my kind Lord. That part of your 
 letter, to which I now allude, affected me much. When I thought, 
 how unfaithful I had been to my Lord, and that he has again caused 
 me to feel his great love towards me, I was melted by his kindness, 
 
MEMORIALS OF MRS. BARBER. 
 
 23 
 
 and resolved to be more watchful ; and, while writing this, I re-re- 
 solve and determine, to keep a jealous eye over myself, lest I should 
 again yield up that heart to another, which Jesus claims as his own. 
 Should I ever again treat my Saviour as I should shudder to treat au 
 earthly friend, would it not prove that He, who ought to have the as- 
 cendancy in my affections, has, on the contrary, an inferior station ? 
 I believe, that the feelings, which your illustration excited, will prove 
 a stimulus to greater faithfulness, even after many days. I now feel, 
 with deep abasement, my own unworthiness, as I do also the truth of 
 your sentiment, — 4 that a sense of unworthiness needs be no barrier 
 to enjoyment ;’ for, possessing a consciousness of this, as I now do, I 
 never felt so substantially happy, as at the present time. For the last 
 few days I have been in a very delightful frame of mind. On Tues- 
 day evening, while engaged in prayer with the family, the Lord gra- 
 ciously revealed himself to my soul in such a way, as induced me, for 
 some time, to believe, that what I enjoyed was a commencement of 
 that 4 perfect love, which casts out all fear,’ and purifies the heart. 
 My feelings were blissful, — my happiness was of such a solid cast — 
 was ! did I say ? Yes, it is so now ; although I have been to-day some- 
 what depressed, in consequence of a violent pain in the head, which 
 in me, always produces lowness of spirits, leaving behind it a sensation 
 of dulness and stupidity. I have just been at the throne of Grace, 
 and there sweetly felt that Jesus is 4 touched with the feeling of our 
 infirmities,’ and that he can sympathise, in a most tender manner, with 
 a suffering follower. Oh ! what a mercy is this ! How much it en- 
 dears the Saviour to us, when he so kindly takes us in his arms, and 
 sheds over us the tears of pity ! * * * * * This 
 
 morning, while meeting you at the throne of Grace, I had unusual 
 power in wrestling with the Lord, for the blessing of inward holiness 
 for you ; and I came away, with increased confidence that it will be 
 accomplished. As to myself, I am afraid to say positively, that it is 
 done ; and yet I fear to say, that it is not : I want a bright evidence. 
 This, however, I will say, that I increasingly love and delight in my 
 Lord ; and am determined, with you, sincerely to consecrate myself 
 to Him, which is, indeed, my 4 reasonable service.’ My heart was 
 truly affected with a sense of his unbounded goodness to me, when 
 I read that very pleasing part of your letter, which more immediately 
 called my attention to his gracious dealings with me, to the present 
 moment. His every act proves, that he is Love. Oh ! what an en- 
 dearing name ! and how strange it is, that we should ever, even for a 
 moment, allow our attention to be diverted from him, to any objects 
 that are mean and unworthy of our notice ! * * * * 
 
 I have been thinking of the temptation to which you allude, — to re- 
 frain from holiness, lest you should soon be removed from the world by 
 death. Oh, how subtle is this! The Arch-Fiend thus takes advan- 
 
24 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 tage of your desire to live ; if you had a desire to die, perhaps he 
 would insinuate, that you had better not become holy, lest the Lord 
 should protract your stay ; as you would be so much more calculated 
 to be useful, and to promote his glory in the Church Militant, than 
 you had ever yet been. Ah ! listen not to him : the probability is on 
 the other side : it appears more reasonable to suppose, that holiness 
 would lengthen your stay. Surely, the Lord is more kind to those 
 who are still 4 sitting in darkness,’ than to remove those lamps, which 
 have arrived at a state of vigorous brilliancy in burning ; and to leave 
 the tapers, whose glimmering light is scarcely perceptible, and will 
 have hut little influence on those who are encircled 4 in thick darkness.’ 
 4 Ye,’ says our Lord, 4 are the lights of the world.’ That light, then, 
 which burns the brightest, must be the most useful to him, as he con- 
 descends to use such instruments for the accomplishment of that great 
 end — the enlightening of all nations. 
 
 June 5, 1821. 
 
 * * * * I can enter precisely into the feelings ex- 
 
 cited, by contemplating your departure from under the roof of your 
 kind and excellent Parents : there must, indeed, have been something 
 peculiarly interesting, in recounting the mercies received, the dangers 
 escaped, the pleasures enjoyed, and the pains endured, during your 
 residence there ; all which have been so arranged, as to 4 work together 
 for your good, so long as you continue to love God.’ How edifying and 
 stimulating it is, to trace the dealings of our indulgent Parent with 
 ns ! How pleasing to reflect, that he has made us the subjects of his 
 grace, and the objects of his peculiar care ; and that by a process, part 
 of which may sometimes appear strange to us, not knowing the salutary 
 results that it will produce, he is preparing us for high and incon- 
 ceivably great felicity ! And this, then, is the conduct towards us of 
 that God, whom we sometimes can so unwisely distrust, fearing to 
 venture our little bark on the ocean, notwithstanding he has kindly 
 promised to be the Pilot, and has assured us of success, provided we 
 receive him, and attend to all his directions, carefully avoiding the 
 rock which had nearly caused poor Peter’s overthrow. Let us not 
 give the Saviour ocasion to upbraid us with, — 4 O faithless and per- 
 verse !’ Why is it that we can ever doubt, when he has uttered such 
 words as, — 4 All things whatsoever ye desire, when ye pray, believe 
 that ye receive them, and ye shall have them?’ Why then, — Oh! 
 why is it, that we stay so long without the spiritual blessings, which 
 we so intensely desire ? Do we not frequently err in reference to the 
 simplicity of the way to obtain them? Are we not simply to depend 
 on Jesus every moment ? I think we often make our way dark by 
 reasonings, when it would otherwise have been perfect 4 light in the 
 
MEMORIALS OF MRS. BARBElt. 
 
 25 
 
 Lord :* this I say from experience. How frequently has my weak- 
 ness been exposed, by raising a defence against some particular and 
 fanciful notions, which have only tended to mislead, and which have 
 obliged me again to resort to the plain, simple Gospel plan ! 
 
 Your letter excited mixed emotions of pleasure and pain : — the pain 
 was produced by imagining that you were distressed, while penning 
 some of your lines. Was it not the case ? I thought, that, feeling the 
 importance of the situation of business, in which you will shortly be 
 placed, you seemed to tremble ; but I would remind you, that 
 you are affectionately invited to 4 cast your burden upon the Lord,’ 
 with the kind promise, that 4 He will sustain you;’ and his pro- 
 mises are all as sure, as the pillars of heaven. I think I may risk the 
 assertion, that, if you resolutely and constantly dedicate yourself to 
 the great Governor of the universe, all will be well. I will recal 
 your attention to your favourite text : — 4 In all thy ways acknowledge 
 H im, and He will direct thy steps.’ But then I must remind you, 
 that the safest way to pass through such a world as this, — beset, as we 
 continually are, on every hand, with dangers, — is to keep close to our 
 Guide. ’Tis true, we may even there be troubled, but not forsaken ; 
 but should we ever stray from our Omnipotent Conductor, into any of 
 the by-paths of folly, his love will then, if I may so speak, compel 
 him to take the rod, in order to drive us back to his bosom, which we 
 had so foolishly quitted We might, I am persuaded, save ourselves 
 from many painful feelings, by being more watchful. How many 
 wounds, caused by the fiery darts of the wicked one, should we 
 escape, if we had the shield of faith always in exercise ! Will you, 
 then, join me in determining, that we will, in future, be more wise ? 
 While I am writing this letter, I do resolve — and I trust that, when 
 you read it, you will unite with me — that I will be wholly my 
 God’s. 
 
 4 June 29, 1 821 . 
 
 The kindness, which you have manifested by a punctual 
 compliance with my request, I know not how to acknowledge ; and 
 fearing lest words should not faithfully portray my feelings, I leave 
 it to you to judge by your own, under similar circumstances. Do 
 you not think with me, that attention to little things, is by no means 
 unimportant in maintaining our hold on each other’s regard ? Could 
 we trace out the cause of the miserable indifference, which we ob- 
 serve in too many, who, doubtless were once united by real affection, 
 should we not frequently learn, that it had its origin in something 
 trifling and apparently unimportant? ******** 
 Considering the bright and animating dispensation, under which we 
 are favoured to live, what poor work it is to be one day gaining a little 
 
26 
 
 appendix. 
 
 spiritual strength, and the next, perhaps, losing it! We certainly 
 should blush at such conduct in ourselves, and severely condemn it in 
 others, in reference even to worldly pursuits. What should we say of 
 the man, who, by attention and perseverance in business, would one 
 day acquire a little wealth, and the next go and foolishly squander it 
 away, when he might, by wisely using it, have it augmented every 
 day ? Of such a one, I think, we should say, he is unwise, — he does 
 not study his own interest. ****** if I were dis- 
 posed to believe all that you say of yourself, what a picture would this 
 present to my view ! You say, that you have been fearing you are 
 6 naturally and habitually of a melancholy turn of mind, — discontented 
 and restless.’ Do not indulge in the practice of writing bitter things 
 against yourself. I wish I could persuade you to throw off all those 
 gloomy apprehensions, which too often creep into your mind. Re- 
 collect with whom we have to do, — a God who is * abundant in good- 
 ness ,’ — 6 a High Priest, who is touched with the feeling of our infir- 
 mities, and who was, in all points, tempted like as we are.’ Look to 
 him, then ; gaze on him, until you are 6 changed into his image.’ I 
 perfectly agree with you in thinking, that complaint will be of no avail, 
 and that it will rather aggravate, than heal, our spiritual disease ; it 
 must then, evidently, be a useless manner of employing time. Praise 
 becomes us best. We are each other’s, and we are God’s, and He is 
 our’s, — causes, these, for thankfulness ; but here his mercies do not 
 stop, we already possess many more; and Oh, what a rich abundance 
 has he in store for us! c Seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his 
 righteousness, and all other things shall be added unto you.’ And 
 here let me remind you, that you are not to be too anxious about 
 those things, which the Lord well knows are necessary for you, and 
 which he has promised to bestow ; and, remembering his faithfulness, 
 what reason can there be for doubt ? 
 
 ‘ Should nature 'fail, and darkness hide the stars. 
 And cover with a sable veil the sun, 
 
 Unchang’d and fix’d the truth of God remains, 
 Nor knows the least decay.’ 
 
 Here, then, will we rest secure. 
 
 * * * * * My mind was solemnised and blest 
 
 this morning, while reading Rev. xiv. : the awful threatenings de- 
 nounced against the wicked, and the blessedness of the righteous, sti- 
 mulated me more earnestly to beseech the Lord to fully 4 conform me 
 to the image of his dear Son.’ / fear , that I have been too much 
 satisfied with a gradual work , instead of agonising with the Lord , 
 until He should destroy all sin out of my soul. I find, that I have 
 
MEMORIALS OF MRS. BARBER. 
 
 27 
 
 not persevered enough in seeking ; my language has not enough been,— 
 
 4 1 will not let thee go, unless thou bless me — 
 
 ‘ Till thou, with full 
 
 And cloudless demonstration to my soul, 
 
 Confirm thy promised grace.’ 
 
 I am, indeed, dissatisfied with myself, when I reflect how very small 
 my attainments are, in comparison of what they might be. But here 
 I am stopped by you, — 4 What is the use of complaint ?’ I confess, 
 that I never experience its utility ; and, therefore, will not uselessly 
 employ my time. 
 
 * * * * * I was very thankful to hear, that you 
 
 arrived safely at home, and that you there met with some mercies. 
 At the same time, you had something to perplex you. Thus you 
 must expect it all through life : and, perhaps, when the secrets of 
 eternity will be unfolded to our view, we shall be constrained to praise 
 Him most for the severe. * * * * * But I must 
 
 leave you. Commending you to, God, 4 whose you are, and whom 
 you serve,’ and praying that his choicest blessings may sweetly de- 
 scend and rest upon you, I am, &c. 
 
 There was most manifest this one mark of the genuineness of Miss 
 H.’s piety, and it strikingly commended it to the attention of the 
 thoughtless, and the approval of the judicious ; — by it she was nei- 
 ther unfitted for the busy and industrious occupations of her situation 
 in life, nor for its social duties, nor for its tender affections. The 
 correctness of this remark may be illustrated by the following extract; 
 and it will, at the same time, serve to shew, that her mind was 
 preparing for that state of blissful union with God, which she had 
 long ardently desired, and upon which she had now considerably ad- 
 vanced : — 
 
 July 16, 1821. 
 
 * * * * * Oh ! what a luxury would it be 
 
 to me, to be able to devise any means, whereby I could rescue you 
 from your perplexities ! but, alas! this I am unable to do. I was, on 
 Saturday, after reading your epistle, in distress on your account ; and 
 thus I went on my knees, and with strong cries, and earnest entrea- 
 ties, besought the Lord, to extricate you from your present difficul- 
 ties, telling Him, that I would gladly suffer any thing myself, so that 
 you might be spared ; — when a kind messenger seemed to whisper, in 
 a soft, yet dignified tone, — 4 There is no need to talk thus ; — knowest 
 thou not, that He, whom thou art addressing, regards him with a love 
 infinitely superior to thine ?’ I felt it, and rose, somewhat confident 
 that deliverance would be granted. Oh ! what an unkind world we 
 
28 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 have to do with ! — but, what am I saying ? — perhaps imputing that to 
 an unkind world, which is the work of an indulgent Parent, who sees 
 that a path strewed with roses,* would be more likely to conceal a 
 serpent, than one that is hardened by driving winds and chilling 
 frosts. He is 
 
 ‘ Good when He gives, supremely good, 
 
 Nor less when He denies.’ 
 
 Let us then meekly acquiesce, and say, let the trial be ever so se- 
 vere , — 6 It is the Lord, let Him do as seemeth Him good.’ 
 
 My mind, for many days, has been much occupied with thoughts 
 of eternity ; its concerns have frequently been presented to my view, 
 clothed with awful importance ; the thought of my spirit being dis- 
 embodied, — of passing into an unknown world, — of being ushered into 
 the immediate presence of a pure and holy God, — and of having her 
 state determined for ever, — impressed me with a conviction that these 
 are things of infinite moment. That which would most tend to make 
 us meet to enjoy these invisible realities, should, I think, be most 
 esteemed, and with the greatest eagerness pursued. The contempla- 
 tion of these things has been beneficial to me; it has caused the pre- 
 sent world, and all that it has to offer, to sink very much in my es- 
 teem ; it has caused me more than ever, to be willing to sacrifice 
 every thing for God. My feelings , latterly , have been so new , — so 
 strange , — so indescribable , that I am inclined to think the Lord is 
 about to do something for me , of which I have now no knowledge. 
 Well, be it what it may, the design will, undoubtedly, be the pro- 
 motion of my spiritual prosperity ; and that is the object for which 
 I most ardently long. This is far preferable to all the riches or ho- 
 nours, which a mouldering world has to afford. The two awful cir- 
 cumstances related in your letter, and particularly the last, made a 
 deep impression on my mind; they are, indeed, terrifying, and speak, 
 with a voice that demands attention; — 4 Be ye also ready, for in such 
 an hour as ye think not the Son of Man cometh.’ My dear Friend 
 will not, I think, be displeased, if I entreat him to let it have its 
 proper effect on his mind. Let it stimulate you to more vigorous ex- 
 ertion. I think you render yourself still more weak in spirit, by 
 looking so much at your own feebleness ; — turn your eye another 
 way: — 4 Look unto mej says Jehovah, ‘and be ye saved.’ By con- 
 tinually thinking of your short-comings, you gain nothing but feelings 
 of dissatisfaction ; but, by thinking of Jesus, of what he has done, 
 and of what he is willing to do, your soul would get fired with love, 
 and filled with confidence; your language would soon be altered, and, 
 instead of complaining that, comparatively, you cannot do any thing, 
 you would, with holy boldness, exclaim, — 4 1 can do all things through 
 Christ, which strengtheneth me.’ The feebleness which you feel. 
 
MEMORIALS OF MRS. BARBER. 
 
 29 
 
 should, in my opinion, stimulate you to make a desperate effort to 
 believe in Jesus ; and, thereby, I am persuaded, you would get rid of 
 it altogether. You feel the need of a deeper work in your soul, and 
 must be fully aware, that you will never be more able to seek it, than 
 you are now. I do, indeed, anticipate the time, as not far distant, 
 when you, and myself too, will not only be emptied of sin, but 
 6 filled with all the fulness of God and when we shall be able to go 
 hand in hand up to the plains of light, tasting those immortal sweets, 
 which are let down to refresh and animate weary travellers, and to 
 give them some earnest of what they shall hereafter enjoy. But do I 
 not weary you, by always insisting on this one thing? If I do, you 
 must forgive me ; it is the effect of anxious solicitude for you ; I want 
 you to be really happy; and how can I help feeling thus? If Wil- 
 liam is happy, then Anne can rejoice; but if not, she is unavoidably 
 sorrowful ; and the only thing, which can restore her to joy, is the 
 breath of her Friend, allowed, when his atmosphere is cleared, to 
 pass to her untainted. Do you not see, then, how many things bind 
 you to make the exertions, to which I have been inviting you ? You 
 would be able continually to please and glorify your God ; — you 
 would delight me even to ecstacy ; — and you would secure to yourself 
 present felicity, and, hereafter, an eternal weight of glory. Are not 
 these motives stimulating ? The second, I own, is the weakest, but 
 even that may have some influence. There are three things in parti- 
 cular, which, when I receive your letters, I am anxious to know ; the 
 first is, whether your soul is prospering ; the second, if your health 
 continues to improve ; and the third, how you are getting on in 
 temporal affairs. You must, therefore, guess what my feelings are 
 now ; you said nothing at all about the second particular, but I trust, 
 that you are freed from suffering on that head ; and I hope it will, 
 very speedily, be the same, on the first and last. Oh ! yes, your 
 6 God will,’ I believe , 6 supply all your need ;’ your temporal wants are 
 comparatively small, and He will not, I am sure, let you sink, when 
 so little would bear you up. His ability we cannot doubt; we re- 
 member, that 6 the silver and the gold are his, and the cattle upon 
 a thousand hills.’ I am inclined to think, that you will call me a very 
 poor comforter; but the fact is, my spirits are so much depressed on 
 your account, that I am unable to be cheerful, or at all interesting ; all 
 that I can do is, to commend you to God, who has promised to be 
 unto his people, 6 as the shadow of a great rock in a weary land.* 
 * * * * * You did not, in your letter, state any par- 
 
 ticular time for prayer ; do not let us omit that, as I believe it has 
 already been, and will yet be, very beneficial: perhaps the afternoon 
 would be more convenient for you than the morning. * * * 
 
 I should like for us to commence a regular reading of the Scriptures ; 
 beginning them, and, every day, perusing a stated portion ; and when 
 
30 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 a passage occurs with particular force, to notice it to each other ; it 
 would, perhaps, be profitable; you will let me know, if you approve 
 or not.* I anticipate much profit from the perusal of Lady Max- 
 well’s life, which I have just commenced: have you read it? As to 
 literature, my thirst for it continues, though but little satisfied. But 
 my sheet reminds me, that I must say farewell. 
 
 SECTION III. 
 
 The value and necessity of entire holiness had been presented to 
 the mind of Miss Howell, long before she understood the phraseology, 
 which the Wesleyan Methodists are accustomed to use, with reference 
 to the subject; and long, too, before she perceived how distinctly the 
 Scriptures inculcate the experience, which that doctrine prescribes. 
 But, subsequently to her feeling the need of being made evangelically 
 4 pure in heart,’ and to her being attracted by the loveliness of a state, 
 which promised her that closeness of communion with God, for which 
 she had incessantly panted ; when she saw expanded before her, the 
 clear and ample views of holiness, which, from the institution of the 
 Wesleyan Methodist Societies, + have been distinguishingly main- 
 
 * The plan adopted and continued, was a division of the Inspired Volume into 
 three parts, — the Historical Books, the Prophetical, and those of the New Testa- 
 ment, —a chapter in each to be read daily, seriatim, besides other excursive and 
 optional reading. — W. B. 
 
 + It would be, perhaps, no mis-statement, as a general outline, of the senti- 
 ments of the Methodists on the spiritual privileges attending the Christian Dis- 
 pensation of the Holy Spirit, to refer to our Lord’s Sermon on the Mount ; to 
 St. Paul’s comprehensive prayer for the Ephesian believers, (chap. iii. ver. 14, et 
 seq. ;) to his exhortations to the Philippian Church, (chap. iv. ver. 4—9 ;) to his 
 admonitions to the Thessalonian disciples, (1 Epist. chap. v. ver 14, et seq . ;) and 
 to the glowing description from the beloved disciple, (1 John iv. 16—19;) and 
 then to say, that all the moral and spiritual qualifications for an entrance into the 
 glory of another world, either expressed or implied in these portions of holy 
 writ, are regarded, to use the expressive words of a distinguished living writer, 
 as ‘ matters of asking and receiving ’ by faith, at the throne of Grace ; as well as 
 matters of practical exemplification, by the continued power of Divine grace, to 
 the full meaning of the sacred authors, in the midst of this world’s lawful business 
 and employments. — W. B. 
 
MEMORIALS Of MRS. BARBER. 
 
 31 
 
 tained among them ; she listened with eagerness to the illustrations of 
 the Scriptures that were offered, she studied the reasonings upon 
 which her hope, and her confidence, successively took their stand, 
 and then, with her characteristic firmness, she bent all her energies to 
 acquire what she believed her Saviour’s promise held forth to her 
 acceptance. 
 
 Her Correspondent had perceived, with delightful interest, the ob- 
 vious hastening of her soul towards the rest of 4 perfect love , which 
 casteth out all fear that hath torment ;’ for he well knew, that, as it 
 is 4 shed abroad by the Holy Ghost,’ it so operates with its purifying 
 energy, both upon the principles of the mind, and upon the affections 
 of the heart, as to render believers holy, and 4 written among the 
 living ,’ in the estimation of Him, who 4 gave himself for them , that 
 He might redeem them from all iniquity , and purify unto Himself 
 a peculiar people , zealous of good works. ’ At the same time, from 
 the powerful and definite exercises of her mind, on the subject of 
 closer union with her Saviour, her Friend anticipated some speedy and 
 peculiar manifestation of the things of Christ, to be revealed by that 
 Holy Spirit, whose transforming influences were already very visibly 
 displayed. Every letter, accordingly, prepared him to open the next 
 with more impatient expectation ; and it was distinctly requested, 
 that if any peculiar spiritual blessings were vouchsafed from above, she 
 would describe with particularity, and relate with freedom ; — but it 
 was then utterly out of imagination, that any eye, but his own, should 
 ever trace the account. 
 
 He, who has watched the progress of believing minds, will not be 
 much at a loss to observe the symptoms of a growth in grace ; nor will 
 he be unprepared to expect, or to credit, the report of brilliant spi- 
 ritual successes, achieved under the guidance of the Holy Spirit, by 
 4 as many as believe , to whom the Son hath given power.’ If such 
 an observer have had, beyond the common interest of brotherly affec- 
 tion in the family of God, an interest which only one can be permitted 
 to feel, in reference to the case contemplated, he will be qualified to 
 judge, with what eagerness the seal was broken of the letter contain- 
 ing the following extract, and with what indescribable pleasure its 
 contents were perused. 
 
 The relation of the sudden death of a man of awful character, in 
 one of the meadows of Miss H.’s Father, is closed by the following 
 remarks, which immediately precede the account of that great mani- 
 festation of God to her soul, from which she continued to enjoy, 
 almost without interruption, the indwelling presence of her Saviour. 
 
32 
 
 appendix. 
 
 July 31, 1821. 
 
 There is to me something so alarming in sudden death, that 
 I cannot help praying that it may never be my lot, nor that of any 
 who are dear to me. Greatly should I prefer having those, whom I 
 love, weaned away by protracted illness, though that would be suffi- 
 ciently dreadful, than torn from me unawares ; however, 4 sufficient to 
 the day is the evil thereof.’ 
 
 The Lord was, indeed, about to do something for me, of which I 
 had but a faint idea. On Wednesday evening, after reading your 
 letter, I desired, with fresh intensity, to possess the blessing of per- 
 fect love : after praying a few minutes, 1 went to hear Mr. Turner 
 preach, from Peter’s beginning to sink, when he saw the sea troubled, 
 and the winds boisterous. He urged our looking to the Saviour every 
 moment, and thus sweetly shewed the possibility of having great 
 things effected for us ; — 4 But,’ said he, 4 it must be by continually 
 looking to Him.’ The sermon was blest to me at the time of hear- 
 ing it, but not in any uncommon way. I retired directly to my room, 
 saying within myself, — 4 I will now wrestle with the Lord, for the 
 blessing which I have so long wanted ; and, perhaps, this will be the 
 time of my visitation.’ I kneeled down, about the place in which I 
 am now sitting to write this letter, and, in an agony of spirit, I en- 
 treated the Lord to empty my heart of all remaining corruption , and 
 to fill it with Himself I prayed for some time, and then rose from 
 my knees, without knowing that the Lord had heard me ; I paced 
 the room, my mind being exercised in various ways, between hope 
 and fear ; Satan, too, did not fail to present some artful temptations, 
 such as, — 4 You had better not venture ; it is a hazardous piece of busi- 
 ness ; and, even if you should gain the prize, you will be sure to lose 
 it again.’ He also suggested, — 4 It is so much the safest way to be con- 
 tent with what may be called common blessings f — 4 it is something 
 like pride to be reaching out for such great things.’ But, however, I 
 determined I would try till I succeeded, and I again besought the God 
 of love to impart His nature to my soul ; and, when I rose the se- 
 cond time, I felt, that it was no vain thing to wait on the Lord ; still 
 I seemed afraid to believe, that this was the very thing ; I again 
 prayed and begged the Lord to shew me precisely the way, and He 
 did graciously reveal Himself to me , as my sanctification ; — and then, 
 Oh! William, what sweetness did I enjoy! — it was, indeed, 4 the 
 o’erwhelming power of saving grace and yet, that scarcely expresses 
 it so well as, — 
 
 ‘ The sacred awe that dares not move. 
 And all the silent heaven of love !’ 
 
MEMORIALS OF MRS. BARBER. 
 
 33 
 
 I felt, that to be thus near Jesus, was truly the most delightful situa- 
 tion I ever occupied. 
 
 On Friday evening, when returning from Hereford, I enjoyed so 
 much holy ecstacy, that I began to fear I should fall from my horse ; 
 every thing around me appeared full of God. As I was proceeding, a 
 circumstance, which would sometimes have alarmed me, occurred, but 
 then it had no such influence : — it was rather late, and two men, who 
 were passing along the road, very rudely addressed me ; it did not, 
 however, excite any feeling, but that of pity, not even a fear, I so 
 sweetly felt, that I was in the hands of my Heavenly Father ; and 
 thus coolly passed on, without any further interruption. These very 
 delightful feelings continued for some time. For the last day or two, 
 I have not been able to see my way quite so clear, though I can still 
 trust in Him. 
 
 I was truly rejoiced to hear, that your soul, for the last few days 
 previously to youi writing, had prospered; need I invite you, my dear 
 Friend, again to press into the enjoyment of full salvation ? Is Anne 
 to go on without you, or to tarry back to wait for you ? Neither : 
 she hopes to go on, and to enjoy your company. 
 
 Such a state of mind, as that which is here described, must offer 
 striking moral and religious phenomena to attentive consideration ; — 
 its novelty must create a tremulous anxiety ; — its extreme and delicate 
 sensibility must give it a pleasing interest ; — and if, in the future pro- 
 gress of the soul, there be a visible retaining of the vantage ground on 
 which faith had secured its triumphs, and a visible exemplification of 
 the important fruits of victory, there will be, in a Christian Spirit , un- 
 affected joy, and the confiding anticipation of yet more elevated ad- 
 vancements. These observations shall introduce another letter, con- 
 taining an ample exposition of the good resulting from the spiritual 
 exercises already detailed. For the almost entire transcription of it, 
 no apology is presented; for when it is read none will be wanted, and 
 its extraordinary length will be amply compensated by its distinguish- 
 ing interest. To this interest some augmentation will be made, when 
 the Reader is reminded, that this letter was written on the very day 
 six months previous to her marriage, and on the very day twelve 
 months prior to her death : — 
 
 Aug. 21, 1821. 
 
 With my mind sweetly stayed on my Redeemer, and by 
 Him kindly permitted to make every lawful effort to increase the stock 
 of my Friend’s happiness, I sit down to write him. Had your letter of 
 Wednesday come unaccompanied by that of Friday, I should have 
 been quite uneasy, on account of your mental sufferings ; for it would 
 
34 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 have made me uncomfortable to be uncertain, whether you had ob- 
 tained relief or not. At the moment of reading it, I felt a sort of im- 
 patient wish, that I could fly through the dreary space which separated 
 me from you, and chase away the gloom that hung upon your brow ; 
 but that wish subsided, pleasant as the task would have been, when I 
 remembered that it was not my Heavenly Father’s will, and that He 
 could do it without my aid ; I felt a confidence, yea, that he had par- 
 tially done it, before I was made acquainted with its necessity. I feel 
 it a peculiar mercy, that we can have access to a throne of Grace ; 
 and that we can there mingle our spirits, and get them transformed 
 into the likeness of the Redeemer. I will not say, do not feel at all 
 about the continuance of present circumstances, as that would be to 
 urge an impossibility ; but I must say, let your solicitude for a close 
 alliance with Jesus preponderate. I know, that this is somewhat dif- 
 ficult, and that considerable exertion is necessary to accomplish it ; 
 because, a desire for it above every thing else, and that resolute and 
 persevering manner of seeking, the result of which will be the realisa- 
 tion of your wishes, are inseparable ; but, though it be thus difficult, 
 yet reflect, what a victory you will achieve ! Suffer yourself to be sti- 
 mulated by the conduct of the warrior, who, though he cannot be cer- 
 tain that success will crown his endeavours, or that the laurels will 
 surely be his own ; and, though fully alive to the possibility of great 
 danger, and the poignancy of disappointment ; yet goes fearlessly on, 
 determined that he will lose nothing which effort can procure : contrast 
 your circumstances, as one chosen to be a soldier for Jesus ; ’tis true 
 you will be exposed to danger, and the more valiant you are, the more 
 furious will be the enemy ; but then, success is certain, for 4 whatso- 
 ever is horn of God, over cometh the world,’ — 4 and this is the victory 
 that overcometh the world, even our faith.’ The combat, to which you 
 are called, differs in another point from an earthly one ; the latter tends 
 to enfeeble its combatants ; while in the former, the more we are en- 
 gaged, the more vigorous we shall become. To prove this, let us take 
 a view of one just commencing his Christian career : feebleness marks 
 his every step, and his language is, — 4 I can do nothing ;’ — let us fol- 
 low him a little further, and we shall observe, that he grows stronger; 
 and, by pursuing him onward in his course, we shall by and by hear 
 him exclaim, — 4 1 can now do all things through Christ, which strength- 
 eneth me.’ Let us, — Oh ! let us , then, manifest something like holy 
 ambition to attain all those honours and dignities, which will be ours, 
 if we obtain and retain the laurels of perfect love ! 
 
 I have, for the last few days especially, been thinking of our very 
 great privileges as Christians ; they are, indeed, inexpressibly great. 
 When my mind enters into this subject, with any degree of energy, I 
 seem astonished at what I have been doing, or rather at my inactivity, 
 since I first knew any thing of spiritual things. How bewildering and 
 
MEMORIALS OF MRS. BARBER. 
 
 35 
 
 stupifying is the carnal mind, that the soul, when under its influence, 
 can be satisfied to grovel below, when it might be soaring above, and 
 feasting on angels’ food ! It is my ardent desire and prayer, that, if 
 the Lord shall see fit fully to give us to each other, He will enable us 
 every moment to give Him the supreme sway. What then shall be 
 able, in the least degree, to make us unhappy ? Neither want of riches, 
 nor any thing of the sort ; O ! no ; these are things, for which I can- 
 not ask, in any greater degree than as they are absolutely needful, and 
 for that I can rely. He is a God of Providence, as well as of Grace, 
 and He has promised that we 4 shall not lack any good thing ;’ we may 
 be tried, by not having temporal blessings precisely at the time, or in 
 the way, in which we wish them ; and is it not so frequently,. in refer- 
 ence to spiritual ones? but the reason is, 4 our thoughts are not as His 
 thoughts.’ I feel now, that I can trust Him for every thing, and I will 
 praise Him for everything, butmostfor Himself, — a blessing which, in 
 a degree, I already possess, and which I would not exchange for all the 
 wealth or honour of the w'orld ! Could imagination sketch a picture of 
 bliss, which to some might appear perfect, yet, if my eye could not dis- 
 tinctly trace in it the God of my salvation, it would be to me a poor 
 production. 
 
 In re-perusing the letter, which I received from you the night be- 
 fore I saw you last, I can now perceive entirely what you mean. I 
 allude to that part, in which you so kindly endeavoured to guard me 
 against believing, that what I had received was not the very blessing 
 which I expected. I see that it is just the idea, towards which my 
 mind seemed bending ; and the enemy has, indeed, whispered,' — 4 Are 
 you certain it is the very thing ?’ While reading the 9th chapter of Mat- 
 thew, those words, — 4 According to your faith, be it unto you,’ came 
 with peculiar force into my mind, and an unusual degree of light was 
 cast upon them ; I now so distinctly see, that it must be the work of 
 every moment, that I am convinced I shall every moment enjoy just 
 as much as my faith embraces, and no more ; my past experience cor- 
 roborates this. What did I use to believe ? — Why thus, that the Lord 
 would occasionally bles^me with a manifestation of His love, and that 
 now and then , I should have a visit from Him ; and thus it was; I 
 had all that I expected ; every thing that I looked for. I could then 
 say, that the Lord had graciously visited me, and the remembrance 
 of it always made Him precious; but, at the same time, I knew no- 
 thing of His dwelling in me ; my feelings were frequently like those 
 of a person, who is conscious that he has received a favour from a 
 friend ; but, ble s sed be my God ! I can now say, that they are similar 
 to those of an individual, who knows that he is receiving , and at the 
 present moment living on the bounty of his friend ; and, the more I 
 feel myself the Lord’s debtor, the more am I willing to be so : but 
 ah ! there was a day, when this was not the case ; — yes, I believe, 
 
 2 i 
 
36 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 there was a day, (I speak it to the glory of my God, who hath now 
 made me to differ,) when my proud rebellious heart would have re- 
 coiled with indignance at the idea, that I was under an obligation even 
 to my Creator; for I then felt such a haughty and independent spirit, 
 that it refused to bow to any one. Yes, if there be any thing in me, 
 which may appear valuable to you, you owe it all to God ; and Oh, 
 that you were under greater obligation in that w ay to Him ! for, 4 what- 
 soever things are pure, or lovely, or of good report,’ I wish to possess. 
 
 As you are so solicitous to know every thing that passes within and 
 without me, I will now tell you, that, in a sort of indefinite way, I 
 used to think, and it frequently distressed me, that it was likely, — 
 yea, almost certain, that if ever we should be united, we should lose 
 our earnestness about spiritual things. I can account for my fears, on 
 this subject, in no other way than by observing, how frequently this 
 has occurred with others ; but I do not now think, that it will be the 
 case with us. O ! no ; I have a sweet persuasion, that, if we keep on 
 with a steady pace, we shall be made eminent blessings to each other; 
 the design of our Heavenly Father will not be answered, if it be not 
 so ; and hashe not given us the earnest already ? — ’Tis true, there is, as 
 you say, a difference between 4 living at a distance, and thus receiving 
 a letter, which affection dictates — and religion colours — and kindness 
 interprets ; — and living together, and being thus called to witness each 
 other’s conduct in the particulars of daily avocations.’ However, it 
 strikes me, that, in the latter situation, we shall be most likely to be 
 useful ; our aim, you know, is not to excite mere feeling, but holy 
 living ; and, certainly, we shall be more likely to do this when alzcays 
 together , than by an occasional epistle from a distance ; for, when 
 such is penned, we do not exactly know what will be most useful, on 
 account of our being ignorant of what is going on within each other’s 
 hearts. Our object should likewise be, to suppress any risings of evil 
 which we may perceive, and to fan the glimmering sparks of purify 
 into flames ; now, how unfavourable to this is distance, because igno- 
 rance of much that is passing must be the result. I am conscious, that 
 deep devotion, and happy communion with God, are necessary to our 
 being thus useful to each other, and this should stimulate us to obtain 
 them. I beseech you, then, by the great love which your God bears 
 towards you, by the gratitude which you owe him in return, and by 
 the affection and solicitude which we mutually feel to be helps-meet 
 for each other, in the Christian course, that you struggle on till you 
 obtain the victory. 1 regard that sweet manifestation, which you had 
 on Friday, as a drop which portended the speedy arrival of a shower, 
 the fructifying influence of which shall never again disappear, until 
 you shall become, as a shock of corn, fully ripe, and fitted for the 
 garner of God. You ask, — 4 Shall I struggle through, and regain my 
 ground?’ — Yes; if you persevere in the way of faith. How much 
 
MEMORIALS OF MRS. BARBER. 
 
 37 
 
 more have you to encourage you, than the poor Canaanitish woman, 
 who had not even a promise to animate her mind ! and yet, behold 
 her faith ! Animating and encouraging, indeed, was the passage 
 which you so kindly sent me; I have thought of it, until I am asto- 
 nished ; what may we not do, in the way of overcoming evil ? The 
 whole of the Epistle, from which you selected that sweet portion, is 
 full of encouragement ; ’tis much , indeed, in a small space. 
 
 The more we know of the corruption and bitter enmity that exists 
 against God in the world, the more shall we be surprised and de- 
 lighted with that plan, by which means are furnished so completely to 
 remove it all. My heart was deeply affected last Sabbath, at witness- 
 ing a scene so awful, as that which I was obliged to see.* We ob- 
 
 * This is an allusion to. a practice, which obtains almost throughout Hereford- 
 shire, of holding the parish wake, or feast, as it is called, in the Church-yard, on 
 the Lord’s Day. Surely, this is one of the strangest and most preposterous out- 
 rages of all law and decency, to which, among professed Protestants, custom can 
 give the sanction of an acknowledged institution. One may think of it, and won- 
 der, that all men of considerate minds in the county, whether evangelical or not, 
 do not raise their voices in united and general execration, at this foul disgrace 
 upon their thoughtfulness as men, and their consistency as professors of faith in 
 the supreme authority of the Bible and that they do not repeat, with increasing 
 eagerness, their demands for an alteration, until they, in whose power it is, shall 
 wipe out the stain that rests with deepening guilt upon the jurisdiction, which they 
 administer to so little purpose but even then, when the evil shall have been 
 swept away, so as to exist in actual repetition no longer, an enlightened me- 
 mory will never cease to be pained on every recollection, that such an evil 
 should have existed so long. 
 
 The writer of this note had, lately, an opportunity ofwitnessing the celebration 
 of such a parish feast, within five miles of the city of Hereford. While advanc- 
 ing toward the Church-yard, individuals and groups, — comprising all ages, from 
 the imbecility of infancy, to the very imbecility of age, — were seen moving along 
 to the scene of festivity, decked out in the holiday style ; the females with that 
 profusion of ribbons, and other trifling decorations, which are so common on such 
 occasions. Occasionally were seen, too, persons carrying their baskets full of va- 
 rious wares, to sell in the common mart of profanation and impiety. In the 
 Church-yard itself, the scene was truly impressive. The service of the sanctuary, 
 if that awful phrase may be so applied without violation, had been celebrated in 
 the morning at an early hour, and followed by the administration of the conse- 
 crated elements of the Lord’s Supper ; as if it were advisable, to give a practical 
 exhibition, on the *Same ground, and in the same day, of the readiness with 
 which human beinga can make the extremes of vice, and of religious formalities, 
 meet and embrace each other; having first, by familiarity with both, contrived to 
 remove the mask, which it generally wears, from the face of vice, and unnaturally 
 disguised with it the fair features of religion. Two parties against different sides 
 of the tower were, with full eagerness and activity, playing at balls; around 
 were the stands of various commodities, chiefly eatables, exposed for sale ; on 
 them were large heaps of fruit, pastry, and confectionery, and a few toys ; gam- 
 bling tables were scattered in different situations, and various games of hazard 
 were displayed upon the ground ; while the impure breath of those miscreants, 
 who gain a living by practising upon the simplicity of ignorance, and the inexpe- 
 
 2 I 2 
 
38 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 served many pass by the sound of the Gospel, with ridicule and dis- 
 dain, while they eagerly pursued the way that leads to destruction ; 
 even Parents were leading their children, who were unable to go 
 without assistance. It really oppressed me much, and I was glad, 
 when the service was ended, that I could 6 turn away my eyes from 
 beholding such vanity.’ I felt toward them, as I once heard Mr. 
 Turner express himself in the pulpit, — that, 4 if laying down my 
 body to be a carpet for them, would bring them to Jesus, I would 
 have gladly done it.’ But, oh ! if the laying down of the life of Jesus, 
 for their transgressions, will not do, my attempt would be vain 
 indeed. 
 
 At the appointed time of reading them, I felt those words in Mat- 
 thew, to which you alluded, referring to God’s peculiar care, even for 
 our bodies. Yes, he has given us proofs that he regards us, as being 
 
 riencc of youth, was employed in vociferating their disgusting yells of invitation, 
 to ‘ try the luck,' where, by long practice, imposture had become dexterous, and 
 chicanery adroit. To a visitant from a more moral, or less heathenish, province 
 of the empire, such a display must be loathsome. A heart, not hardened by ac- 
 customed familiarity with it, must grow sick, at seeing such an impious defiance 
 of all human and divine authority. But here, on almost every countenance, there 
 sat a tranquillity as easy and as pleasant, as if all authority had been on the 
 side of what was seen, and what was done ; and, as if the people felt themselves 
 safe in disobedience to God, while so very near the Church, they walked with 
 confidence in hostility to Him upon consecrated ground, and skipped with impu- 
 nity over the graves, which, on this privileged occasion, were hushed into unusual 
 silence, and uttered no such voice, as generally urges on the conscience, to warn 
 them off from the vice and profanity, which will surely make transgressors, at 
 last, * to lie down in sorrow !’ An attempt was made to gain the attention of the 
 people to a short expostulation with them, founded on the account which they 
 must individually give on the great Day of Judgment ; it is right to say, that 
 many listened with attention ; but, to some of the lewd and drunken ‘ sons of 
 Belial,’ this gave offence; they endeavoured to create confusion ; but, not suc- 
 ceeding thus, they had recourse, — and the expedient was obvious, and merry, and 
 practicable, — to ringing the bells ! 
 
 If anything additional were wanted, to make this scene terrific, or to render it 
 as an exhibition of morals yet more affecting, it is supplied in the consideration, 
 that all this takes place, at regular periods, in a country which acknowledges 
 Christianity as part of the iaw of the land that all this is done amidst Christian 
 Ministers and Magistrates , in an English county, during the nineteenth century, 
 within a few miles of a diocesan Church, and upon ground devoted to the solemni- 
 ties of religious consecration, and secured by the strong mounds and fences of 
 legal sanction, to the worship of the God of Sabbaths and of Ordinances ! I will 
 not dwell upon the calculation, — it would be an overwhelming labour, — of the 
 sum of guilt thus accumulating upon those, who perpetrate these odious enormi- 
 ties ; — but it is so serious, that it may be useful to ask, — With what eyes must that 
 just and holy God, who exclaims, — ' Vengeance is mine : I will repay,’ — look on, 
 while these insults to his despised authority are multiplying ? and, with what feel- 
 ings must He look down upon them, whose capabilities and influences, if not 
 employed to encourage these malepractices, are not employed to prevent them ? 
 — W.B. 
 
MEMORIALS OF MRS. BARBER. 
 
 39 
 
 6 of more value than many sparrows.’ Free yourself, therefore, as 
 much as possible, from needless anxiety. I have, this evening, had 
 more than ordinary poAver to wrestle with the Lord for you, that all 
 your mental sufferings may subside, and that your heart may be com- 
 pletely subdued by almighty Grace ; and I feel inexpressibly happy, 
 in anticipating the period, as very near, when the work shall be 
 accomplished. I know, my dear Friend, that the peculiar construc- 
 tion of your mind renders it less possible for you to be happy without 
 it, than many others. And I do wish for you to enjoy all the felicity, 
 which is attainable below, and, of course, above. Every day makes 
 me feel more anxious about your welfare. Affection, you know, en- 
 twines around its object, like the fond ivy round the friendly oak. 
 Neither has your affection been unlike it in its progress : the little 
 shrub first secretly took root, — it then ventured to shew its head, — 
 and then, becoming more bold, it ventured on, till, at last, it is as part 
 of the tree itself. The oak, you know, gives no repulse, or it might 
 nip the sapling in its growth ; I must say, I am glad that it does not. 
 I cannot, now, with you, feel any thing like a divided interest : in 
 whatever concerns you, I must be busying myself. And, oh ! I can- 
 not help praying, that the period may be very far distant, ere we shall 
 be severed from each other. 
 
 The following extract is offered, as an evidence of the clearness of 
 Miss H.’s views of the way, by faith, to a life of holiness; and as an 
 example of the propriety of the manner in which she reasoned 
 against unbelief, and urged the exercise of unwavering reliance on the 
 fidelity of God to His promises: — 
 
 September 18, 1821. 
 
 Oh ! my dearest Friend, are my attempts to promote your 
 spiritual welfare really successful ? — do they, indeed, in any degree, 
 forward your steps towards the Redeemer, and make you more soli- 
 citous to be like Him ? — What a luxury of feeling does this give me ! 
 if my heart do not deceive me, I can appeal to my Saviour, and say, 
 that I desire, more than any thing else, that you may be transformed 
 into Ilis likeness ; and it is a draw-back upon my happiness when 
 this does not appear, in a degree so great as it might. It is, indeed, a 
 weighty argument in favour of our correspondence, that it is produc- 
 tive of so much spiritual benefit to us. How very painful it would be, 
 if, on the contrary, we were mutual hinderances; and thus, instead of 
 urging each other forward, we were continually retarding our progress 
 to heaven ! It is, however, just as I wish ; and for this, before I write, 
 I invariably pray, that my letters may be made means of grace to 
 
40 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 you. It is to me delightful, that I can, in any way, be made the 
 channel through which good is conveyed to one, whose interests lie so 
 very near my heart as your’s ; and, at the same time, that I can do 
 something for that Redeemer, who is, above all others, the delight of 
 my soul. 
 
 And are you still kept in bondage, having the fetters of unbelief 
 bound around your soul ? It appears to me, that you keep putting 
 off the time of deliverance to some future period. You are aware of 
 the willingness and ability of the Saviour. You know, too, that de- 
 liverance, come when it may, must be preceded by your act of faith ; 
 — and, why, then, not now ? — Who will give you more strength than 
 you now have, previously to your going to Jesus? Are you to be 
 partially cured, before you apply to the Physician ? Surely not. It is, 
 I think, precisely the same with the soul, as with the body ; delay 
 will only tend to confirm the disease, and to render it the more incur- 
 able. You surely are not fancying that you can do nothing, and 
 therefore lazily ceasing to struggle ; in effect, saying, that God must 
 do all ? Oh! no; your understanding will revolt from this, as ab- 
 surd. When, then, will you be more able than at the present mo- 
 ment ? Surely, never, until the Saviour makes you so ; — then go to 
 Him now, just as you are. Do not try to shun His knowing the 
 worst of your heart’s corruptions ; and remember, that you are going 
 to him, who 6 will not break the bruised reed, nor quench the smok- 
 ing flax.’ Jesus is, indeed, all-compassionate. How very soon was 
 he moved to the relief of the poor man’s son, when, with tears, the Fa- 
 ther said , — 6 Lord, I believe, help thou my unbelief!’ 
 
 But you talk of the depth of your disease, as if that were a sufficient 
 argument to prove the impossibility of its removal ; it might be, if you 
 had one with whom to deal, potent only like yourself; but, surely, 
 your malady, which may be called trifling, when compared with the 
 salvation provided for its removal, will not dare to say to Omnipo- 
 tence, — ‘ I am too hard for thee.’ You say , — ( Supposing you knew 
 all the evils of my heart, and especially the power of the sins that 
 most easily beset me and prevail ; do you really think, that I should 
 find them gone, if, in the name of the Lord Jesus, I were to say to 
 them, — u Be ye removed, and utterly cast out !” — at the same time, 
 not doubting in my heart, but believing that the expulsion should 
 come to pass ?’ I reply, — Let the evils be as great, or of what nature 
 soever they may, if you were thus to act, I believe victory would be as 
 certain, as that you have a soul. 
 
 But you say , — 6 Your soul rejects the promises, as inapplicable to 
 itself, on account of some differences between your circumstances, and 
 those of the persons to whom they were addressed.’ Not for whom 
 they were intended ; for, I believe, you are one of that number. 
 Shall I say, — 4 O haughty spirit ! which, because it could not have 
 
MEMORIALS OF MRS. BARBER. 
 
 41 
 
 the first choosing of the promises, will have nothing to do with them?’ 
 The fact is, Satan will endeavour to keep you from thinking any pro- 
 mise applicable to yourself; he well knows what the result would be, 
 if you thought otherwise ; but do now foil him in his attempt, resist 
 his insinuations altogether, and he will flee from you. It may be, 
 that you may not obtain all you want in a moment ; but do not be 
 discouraged, and give up, or relax in seeking ; be bold at a throne of 
 Grace in exercising faith. Thus, put the Lord humbly and fully to 
 His word, and I am sure you will please Him in a greater degree, and 
 bring far more glory to His name, than by being timid, and afraid to 
 venture; for that seems to imply, that you fear whether the Lord 
 will be as good as His promise, and meet you according to His 
 word. 
 
 You surely shut your eyes, when you say, that you cannot see it 
 possible for you to exercise such a faith, as is described in the words 
 alluded to ; and, seeing the Lord has so repeatedly promised, and 
 you so acutely feel your need of it, cannot you really go and ask for 
 the blessing of entire sanctification, without doubting in your heart that 
 you shall receive it ? — Oh ! yes ; I am sure you can, if you will but 
 resolutely venture. Now do, pray, let your Anne’s entreaties be re- 
 garded ; do make up your mind to venture on Jesus. Satan will, I 
 know, immediately present your usual doubts to your mind, and sug- 
 gest, that for you to attempt to move towards God, without these old 
 companions, is impossible; but reject the suggestion immediately; do 
 not stop to parley with your enemy ; say, — 4 I need not, and I will 
 not doubt, — I am determined now to be victor.’ What I mean is 
 fully expressed in these lines — 
 
 * Faith, mighty faith, the promise sees. 
 
 And looks to that alone ; 
 
 Laughs at impossibilities, 
 
 And cries,— It shall be done !’ 
 
 But you fear believing a lie : surely, there is little danger of doing 
 this, while you have an immutable promise to bear you out. * * 
 
 * But, perhaps, ere this, I have tired your patience, 
 without being interesting or edifying ; if so, I must beg your pardon ; 
 the importance of the subject, and the solicitude which I feel, that 
 you may be fully happy in the love of God, must be my apology. 
 
 Your Anne continues, yea, believes that she increases, to feel the 
 blessedness of looking to the Redeemer, every moment , for a present 
 deliverance from evil, and for the fulfilment of that gracious promise, 
 — 6 I will dwell in them, and walk in them ; and they shall be my 
 people, and I will be their God ;’ and, at the same time, she feels, 
 that what she now possesses is little, in comparison of what she may 
 
42 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 yet enjoy. Do let us both be in earnest ; the fruits of the Spirit are 
 worth taking pains to pluck, and, after they are plucked, they will 
 deserve our care to preserve them. 
 
 Sept . 28, 1821. 
 
 * * * * * As to heaviness, there needs 
 
 be no discouragement on that account. I have read the experience of 
 several pious saints, and they all seem occasionally to have felt it, and, 
 at the same time, they enjoyed perfect love. Mr. Wesley, you know, 
 thinks it sometimes unavoidable, and even permitted, by the Lord, 
 c for the trial of our faith, which is much more precious than gold 
 which perisheth.’ By the whole tenor of his Sermon on the subject, 
 he seems to set forth the possibility of a Christian’s being in heaviness 
 of spirit, and, at the same time, knowing the constancy and faithful- 
 ness of Him with whom he has to do, able firmly to rely upon the 
 promises, as made to him c yea, and amen,’ in Christ Jesus his Lord. 
 Under such circumstances, we shall certainly do well to keep the 
 shield of faith in lively exercise, and never, for a moment, to lose sight 
 of our Captain ; we need not then fear loss ; but, on the contrary, 
 the former will increase in brightness, and become well-proved for 
 engagements, while the latter will approvingly smile on us, as good 
 "soldiers. What a blessed state of salvation is that, to which our Lord 
 hath called us ! I more than ever see, that if earnestness and dili- 
 gence are necessary to obtain the blessing, they are equally so, com- 
 bined with great watchfulness, to keep it in possession. I have many 
 times thought of that sentiment of the Rev. Mr. Griffith’s, noted in 
 Mrs. Cooper’s Diary , — c The Holy Spirit is infinitely delicate ;’ — the 
 more attentive I am to His operations upon my soul, the more I feel 
 the truth of this expression. And, when He has so condescendingly 
 entered our souls, while they were the store-houses of corruption, and 
 removed all impurity, in order that they might become fit habita- 
 tions, not merely to receive Him as an occasional visiter, but that He 
 might dwell in them ; should we not be very solicitous and careful to 
 -keep out those fiends, who would again dethrone and drive away our 
 Celestial Guest ? May we then, my dear Friend, give all diligence to 
 guard the sacred treasure in our hearts ! 
 
 Sabbath Evening . — A few more moments to talk to my very dear 
 Friend of the goodness of our God. I cannot tell you, what a sweet 
 serenity has to-day pervaded my soul : I have truly felt, as a little 
 child at the feet of my Redeemer; thus delightfully catching his ap- 
 proving smile, and learning of Him the lessons of His grace. How 
 very false the idea, that even perfect love will tend to puff* up and fill 
 
MEMORIALS OF MRS. BARBER. 
 
 43 
 
 the mind with pride ! I am sure, the more I feel the love of God in 
 my heart, the more I see my own weakness and utter helplessness. 
 When I think of myself being taken into God, I regard it as some- 
 what similar to a drop of impure water being cast into a clear ocean ; 
 its impurity is soon lost, and it partakes of the nature of that in 
 which it is lodg< d ; but, surely, the little drop will not vainly assume 
 to itself, that it has benefited the ocean, or, that it has any thing in 
 which to glory, but what it has received ; for how very insignificant 
 would it again appear, if separate ! It is just thus, that I feel I 
 should be, if disunited from my God. I should indeed be less than 
 
 nothing and vanity. I could enter into the feelings of — , 
 
 when he said, that he felt 4 indescribably blessed and feeble, sup- 
 ported and timid as a little child;’ they are in perfect unison with my 
 own : and is it not proper, that we should thus feel ? for 4 he that 
 will receive the kingdom of God, must be converted and become as 
 a little child.’ Tell me, if we agree in thinking and feeling, that the 
 mind, when holding communion with God, has more sweet peace and 
 heavenly serenity, than rapturous joy : my own mind approves of 
 such a feeling, as being most consistent with the state, as described by 
 St. John, 1st Epistle, when he speaks of the babe, the young man, 
 and the father in Christ. A child certainly appears to have more joy, 
 than one farther advanced in age ; but how much more solid and sa- 
 tisfying are the enjoyments of those, who have arrived at years of 
 maturity ; having their capacities expanded, and being made so much 
 more capable of receiving the largest draughts of pleasure ! 
 
 Monday . — I experienced something of the truth of the former part 
 of my letter, that the mind may be peacefully stayed on God, and yet 
 be in heaviness. When I read your letter, on Thursday evening, 
 though my joy was great, my sorrow, with regard to your health, was 
 great too ; for, although you said you were better, my fears have been 
 most rebellious. I went to bed in tears, and rose again on Friday, with 
 a heart ready to break ; my distress all day was very great ; wherever 
 I went, an almost unbearable load followed me. I began to write, but 
 I could not go on. I laid my distress before the Lord ; I told him, 
 that I would submissively drink the bitter cup, if it were his will ; 
 yet, if it could be so ordered, I entreated him to spare you to me; 
 and a degree of assurance that he would do so, in some measure, 
 caused my fears to subside ; I can, however, and will say, — 4 Let the 
 Lord do as seemeth him good.’ I have, I believe, desired for you the 
 blessing of entire holiness, more than even life itself; and, if my heart 
 do not deceive me, I had rather live my days out in sorrow and in soli- 
 tude, for you to be happily with the Lord, than for me to enjoy the 
 comfort of your society, with the probability that this blessing would 
 not be your’s ; and, while I thus write, having had a sort of foretaste, 
 
44 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 I am fully aware, that I should have to wade through seas of deep dis- 
 tress. However, I leave it to the Lord, and hope for the best. 
 
 October 15, 1821. 
 
 * * * * * ’Tis well, I allow, to be careful that 
 
 we are not deceived ; and is it not well, too, to beware that Satan does 
 not turn that solicitude, which we may feel, iuto a means of exciting 
 doubt ? When we should be praising our Heavenly Father for his be- 
 stowment of what we have been asking, the enemy may be leading our 
 minds out into unprofitable reasonings, as to whether we had received 
 it or not, insinuating, thereby, an intention to honour God, and to pro- 
 mote the safety of our souls. We have need of wisdom, to discern 
 betw een sin and temptation : and by looking to Him, who is our wis- 
 dom, surely we shall riot be suffered to err. 
 
 I confess to you, that part of your letter, in which you stated your 
 reasons for concluding you are not fully saved from sin, somewhat per- 
 plexed my mind. The enemy suggested to me, — 4 Perhaps, you are 
 not really delivered from all sin. though now you have power over it ; 
 for William thinks and says, that the latter blessing may be enjoyed, 
 while the former is still absent from the soul ; and, that to have power 
 over sin is no proof of itself, that the propensity to it is destroyed.’ 
 ’Tis true, I have felt anger, since I believed that I received the bless- 
 ing ; and I have, sometimes, given way to a degree of trifling cheer- 
 fulness ; and, on one occcasion, I felt the rising of what has many 
 times destroyed my peace, viz. a haughty spirit, which refuses to brook 
 an insult ; the last of these feelings was excited by imagining, and it 
 proved to be only an imagination, that one of the servants spoke to me 
 in a manner improperly familiar; not that I think I am required to 
 suffer such faults to pass without correction, but it was the feeling that 
 I had, which I think was wrong. I took it, however, to Jesus, and 
 soon felt all was well. But, when I read your letter, and remembered 
 these things, I began to doubt ; however, I determined not to give 
 up my confidence, but, rather to lay hold on Jesus afresh, and 
 to believe in Him again that moment for full salvation ; I did so, 
 and felt the blessedness resulting. 
 
 This has made me feel the necessity of being extremely watchful, 
 and the Redeemer seemed to whisper, — 4 Take care, thou poor help- 
 less soul, trust not thyself a moment from me, keep close to my wounded 
 side in future, and thou shalt be safe ; thou knowest, by painful ex- 
 perience, that of thyself thou canst do nothing ; and, if the enemy 
 find thee at any time straying from me, thy Heavenly Guide, he will 
 surely use his utmost strength to prevent thy ever returning to me 
 again ; and then, should he prevail, — should he entangle thee again, — 
 
MEMORIALS OF MRS. BARBER. 
 
 45 
 
 though he might not be finally successful, yet thou knowest the trou- 
 ble, that it will cost thee, to free thyself from the jaws of that de- 
 voured Be wise, therefore, be diligent.’ My heart was affected by 
 the kindness, the unbounded love of Jesus ; and, in grateful accents, 
 it replied, — 4 I will — I do love thee, — I will devote myself continually 
 to thee thou art mine, I know, nor shall earth or hell persuade me 
 to the contrary ; while thy Spirit tells me so, I will listen.’ 
 
 I am sure, that 1 suffer loss from being so little connected with those, 
 who know much of Christian experience ; I seem to want a father or 
 mother in Israel, to whom to look up Tor counsel and direction: per- 
 haps I am denied this, in order that I may look directly to my Hea- 
 venly Father, who, I feel, does graciously afford me the privilege of 
 asking and receiving counsel from Himself. I am, and my heart ex- 
 ults to think of it, united to Him who is the 4 altogether lovely,’ and 
 from whom nothing but my own disobedience can ever separate me. 
 Oh ! yes ; if I continue faithful, I am my God’s for ever : help me, my 
 dearest Friend, by ardent supplications for me, that I may be watchful 
 and diligent. Oh, praise Him! praise Him! shall we ever cease to 
 praise Him ? — I am sure we shall find eternity itself short enough for 
 this work. 
 
 December, 1821. 
 
 As we have read through Leviticus, my mind has been de- 
 lighted in observing, what an excellent and correct outline the former 
 dispensation is of the present ; and my heart has been filled with the 
 grateful feeling, that you and I enjoy the substance of those things, 
 for which the Jewish nation only hoped . Thank God, Jesus has died , 
 and finished the work of human redemption, and, after having fulfilled 
 and abolished all types and shadows, again taken His seat at His Fa- 
 ther’s right hand ! How very onerous the offering of so many sacri- 
 fices, and attending to so many modes of purification, must have 
 been ! — and, then, the latter appears to have been effectual, not to the 
 sweeping away of the filth of inward corruption, but only to the pu- 
 rifying of the flesh. 
 
 And, then again, at what a distance the people were obliged to live 
 from God ! No going directly to a throne of Grace, but every peti- 
 tion offered through a high-priest taken from among men. This, how- 
 ever, sweetly shadows forth the office of the Redeemer, as an Inter- 
 cessor for us. In how many delightful characters we are taught to re- 
 gard Him , by reading over the arrangements of the Mosaic Economy ! 
 I agree with you in thinking, 4 that there is no single means so well 
 calculated to bring us acquainted with the entire of our holy religion, 
 as a connected perusal of those arrangements, illustrated by the New 
 
46 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 Testament.’ The necessity of holiness, as a binding duty upon us, 
 appears to me, from this perusal, in a stronger light than ever. That 
 God absolutely requires it, seems certain ; for, how often were the Is- 
 raelites commanded to wash themselves, that they might be ceremoni- 
 ally clean ! but this, no doubt, was ‘ a shadow of good things to 
 come,’ even the best of all things, the entire sanctification of our na- 
 ture. Oh ! my dearest Friend, do not let us, by remaining without its 
 enjoyment, become like those professors, who manifest an impious and 
 unwarrantable indifference, yea, even aversion, to that upon which 
 Jehovah has laid so great a stress, as really needful to make us meet 
 for His presence. Where the room for cavilling, when He has said, — 
 ‘ Be ye holy, for I am holy,’ and that nothing unclean shall enter His 
 presence; also, ‘ Be ye perfect, as your Father which is in heaven is 
 perfect ?’ Now, it is most absurd to say, — ‘ I cannot, because I am 
 so feeble.’ When devising and executing the plan for the recovery 
 of mankind out of the jaws of the devourer, did the Lord, I wonder, 
 forget the condition of those whom He was thus going to ransom ? 
 Surely not ; 6 He remembered that they are dust,’ — very feebleness 
 itself; and thus viewing them, 4 His own arm brought salvation,’ — 
 such a salvation as was altogether fitted for them ; so that man is left 
 without the least excuse. And then, when we consider, on the one 
 hand, that, in the corrupt and degraded condition of our nature, God 
 was obliged to place us in disgrace, at an infinite distance from Him- 
 self ; and when we contemplate, on the other, those means which were 
 contrived by infinite kindness to counteract the hellish contagion, and 
 to restore us to the favour and likeness of our Maker ; — how beauti- 
 ful — bow enamouring — how desirable is entire holiness ! In such cir- 
 cumstances, is it not surprising, that we should manifest any thing 
 like supineness or indifference on the subject ? 
 
 Another thing to be admired in our circumstances, as compared 
 with those of the old dispensation, is, the simplicity of the way of 
 attaining holiness, and to this we must pay constant attention ; — no 
 vast requirements, — no costly sacrifices, — nothing of the sort, — nothing 
 but simple faith in the atoning blood ! And is it not there that my 
 Friend sometimes fails, in consequence of the enemy’s presenting to 
 his mind discouragements, which weaken his faith ? then, when faith 
 is weakened and destroyed, fear springs up, and grows ; and when fear 
 reigns, there will be sure to result, in private, a distance between God 
 and the soul. How careful should we be, then, to resist Satan in his 
 first onset ! But, if we have failed to do this, it will not be wise in us, 
 any longer to delay, by heaping up loads of condemnation and accusa- 
 tions against ourselves ; but it becomes us, instantly to flee to the foot 
 of the cross, and to humble ourselves there, and, without hesitation, to 
 cast our souls afresh, with all our sins, on the atoning Lamb. Oh! 
 precious Saviour ! Do not let us, my Friend, for a moment doubt of 
 
MEMORIALS OF MRS. BARBER. 
 
 47 
 
 His willingness to embrace us again, and again. Let me beseech you 
 to repeat your application for entire holiness; you will not tell me, — 
 I am sure you will not, — that you cannot gratify me ; if you did, I 
 should be obliged to say, what I have never yet had occasion to say, 
 that William does not try, in every possible way , to please me. 
 
 The three following extracts, which close the selection from Miss 
 H.’s Correspondence, offer pleasing evidences of the deep and be- 
 coming thoughtfulness, with which she contemplated the station of her 
 future life : — 
 
 Dec. 25, 1821. 
 
 I am very willing, that there should exist a degree of sin- 
 gularity in us on the subject of love, so long as the standard is set by 
 the majority of persons so very low, indeed, I believe, so much lower 
 than Jehovah intended that it should be. I am persuaded, that the 
 connection is, in many instances, too lightly regarded ; I mean, even 
 among professors of Christianity ; there is so little reference to it, as a 
 sacred institution, established by the Lord for the happiness of His 
 people ; it is viewed in its obscured condition, instead of its state of 
 primitive purity; and thus one fallen creature imitates another, instead 
 of being guided by the rules laid down by the Founder of the institu- 
 tion ; thus, its true glory is caused to depart, and a something, raised 
 by fallen human invention for only temporal benefits, is established in 
 its place. May we be so warned by the follies and errors of others, 
 as to avoid what we cannot but condemn ; and in this, as in every 
 other case, in which we wish to go right, may we attend minutely to 
 the directions given by our Heavenly Father! What He has said, on 
 the subject, has often delighted me ; it adds to the mass of evidence, 
 which goes to prove, that He takes pleasure in felicitating, in every 
 consistent way, the lives of the creatures whom He has formed. 
 What would He not do for us, in the way of bestowing temporal 
 mercies, if we ourselves did not compel Him, by our foolish and 
 absurd conduct, to withhold His hand, when He opens it widely to 
 us! and what mercy there often appears, even in His withdrawing 
 blessings from us! J am persuaded, that it will abundantly heighten 
 the joy of our song of praise in the eternal world, that He ever did so; 
 for then He will unfold to our astonished sight the multiplied dangers, 
 from which we were rescued, and the invaluable blessings, which were 
 secured to us, even by circumstances which, when they occurred, 
 made us almost doubt whether God was really so kind, as lie was 
 represented, and as we had before thought Him. I have sometimes 
 imagined the Lord looking on us with peculiar pity, when we have 
 
48 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 been doing things, for which He sees lie must correct us, in order to 
 promote our spiritual welfare ; so that we sometimes will not permit 
 Him to do, as He otherwise would. May I not say, my dear Friend, 
 that, so long as we continue melted down by our God’s providential 
 displays of kindness, and so long as we carefully avoid making them 
 obstructions in the way of His grace , we shall never want them? Is 
 it His will, that, while He displays Himself as a God of grace, He 
 should be obscured as a God of providence ? Who, indeed, can help 
 being softened, when they view Him displaying his loving-kindness, 
 in either of these characters, so full of benefit to mankind; and, 
 especially, when such displays exclusively affect their individual 
 interests? We have certainly enough to encourage us , to trust Him 
 for what is to come. He will not, surely, after having led us thus far, 
 leave us the prey of disappointment and distress.* 
 
 Jan. 21, 1822. 
 
 Is it really possible that the time is so near, when we shall 
 be united, never again to be separated, till death divides us? I have 
 some work to persuade myself, that this can be true ; perhaps you will 
 not be surprised, — but if you are, you must not, and I may say, you 
 will not be displeased, — that sometimes, when thinking of our marriage 
 as so near, I almost shrink from the idea ; do not be alarmed, it is on 
 account of its carrying with it so much importance, and so much respon- 
 sibility, that I appear to myself advancing with a faltering step ; but 
 I am sustained by what you said in your last, — that we are ‘Christians, 
 and therefore may look at it fearlessly.’ I do not fear any thing, nor 
 any one, but myself. I know too much of Anne, not to be afraid of 
 her. But I need not tell you of my faults, for your own penetration, 
 doubtless, has discovered enough; and what remains yet obscured, I 
 dare say your affection will not let you believe, until it shall be brought 
 to light by your own discoveries. I will, however, leave talking of my 
 own faultiness, as, perhaps, it is a subject to you very uninteresting ; 
 though, by the way, it is one that materially concerns you ; and I will 
 just advert to a subject, which has often occurred to my mind, even 
 when it was improbable that it would, till a late period, immediately 
 concern me. It refers to the line, of conduct to be pursued by married 
 persons, with regard to faults that may exist in each other. 
 
 I suppose all to have some faults; or, at least, some peculiari- 
 
 * How frequently may a thoughtful Christian, though long experienced, and 
 variously exercised, perceive a principle of the Divine administration, without 
 detecting the cases in his own history, in which it shall be applied, or be inappli- 
 cable ! And how frequently, too, will he be the subject of a dispensation of the 
 Divine government, without being capable of tracing out, with certainty, the 
 principle on which the ministration has come upon him ! — W. B. 
 
MEMORIALS OF MRS. BARBER. 
 
 49 
 
 ties, winch occasionally generate faultiness. What made me first 
 think about this, was the observing, by the conduct of some whom I 
 have known, that they took a secret pleasure in exposing, to the gaze 
 of any who chose to look, the little imperfections that had crept into 
 each other: such conduct always excited disgust in my mind. I have 
 seen others, who do not merit so high a degree of censure ; they are 
 those, who do not busy themselves, either to expose or conceal ; for, 
 should an opportunity offer them to throw a shade over any deformity, 
 they will not trouble themselves to embrace it. But I have seen 
 others, again, who seemed to make it, in part, the business of their 
 lives, to extract every thing of a defective nature ; and if, in their efforts 
 to accomplish this, they were defeated, they would have recourse 
 to other measures ; and try, meantime, to screen from the observation 
 of those around, what they could not annihilate : surely, such conduct is 
 admirable, it is worthy of imitation, and, may I not say? it is Godlike. 
 If so, it is worth our attention ; I recommend it, especially to you, my 
 dear F riend; because it is probable, that you will have more occasion for 
 it than I shall : at least, it is well for me to make, provision for what is 
 possible. It must be our care, when any thing appears wrong, to 
 check it, and to use every means for its extirpation ; and, till we can 
 accomplish our purpose, let us use all the little arts, which pious 
 affection can invent, to conceal it from the view r of any but ourselves. 
 
 Considering the influence, which our union will have on the remain- 
 ing part of our lives, and its bearing upon our eternal interests, I do 
 not wonder at what you say respecting it. I have thought of the 
 many duties, which we shall then owe to each other : you will have to 
 love and cherish your Anne, and to bear with her infirmities, even as 
 Christ has to do with his weak members. On the other hand, I 
 shall have to love , and that of course takes in all the various ways into 
 which love has to branch itself; and to honour , — tell me, will you? 
 all that you think that word implies; arid to obey , of course, in every 
 thing where the laws of God and propriety do not forbid. And how 
 much will our spiritual interests depend on each other as instruments! 
 If our affection remain strong, we certainly shall be, either eminent 
 blessings to each other ; or, on the contrary, the greatest hinderances, 
 and, consequently, curses. To marry is then, indeed, a serious busi- 
 ness : it requires much thought, and much care in approaching; and, 
 when arrived, it demands great cautious watchfulness, that, while we 
 pluck the roses, we do not gather any of the thorns. That this may be 
 the case, we shall need to apply daily to our Heavenly Father for his 
 aid ; otherwise, we too, it is probable, shall split upon the very rock, 
 where, as we have lamented, others have made shipwreck of piety, or 
 affection, or, perhaps, both. 
 
 But our responsibility will not be confined to ourselves, it will ex- 
 tend to our household ; they will have claims upon us, both as it re- 
 
50 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 gards their bodies and their souls ; — claims to which we cannot be 
 inattentive, and be blameless; and which, in order to answer, will 
 require much thought, judicious arrangement, economical manage- 
 ment, and spiritual influence. The neighbourhood, likewise, in which 
 God may place us, will have a right to expect some benefit : in truth, 
 wherever we go, we shall be surrounded by those, to whom we owe 
 duties ; to discharge which, will require all the thought, and the 
 wisdom gained by thought, and all the prayer, and the piety gained 
 by prayer, that we can exercise. 
 
 It is well, that we have some ballast, just to keep us from being 
 lifted up above measure ; this would expose very much to danger her 
 who is, and ever wishes to be, &c. 
 
 Feb. 3, 1822. 
 
 With what strange, — what novel, — what peculiar feelings, 
 do I now take my pen to address my dearest earthly Friend ! Is it 
 possible, that I am now commencing a letter, which will, on my part, 
 close a correspondence, that has been so very interesting, edifying, and 
 important? Solemn thoughts occupy my mind, while I reflect that it 
 is next to certain, that I shall not, from Arkstone, write another letter 
 to you. And why, may it be asked, do you feel peculiarly about 
 that? The answer to such a query is, — that, not to say any thing 
 of the important event itself which is approaching, the impression 
 dwells on my mind, that I am shortly to quit the place, where I have 
 received some of the greatest blessings of my life. It was here, that 
 my mind became savingly affected by the Spirit of my God ; — here, 
 the sighs of penitence first heaved my heart ; — here, the confessions of 
 guiltiness first escaped my lips; — here, the cry from my lips, of dis- 
 tressing need for mercy, first reached the ears of Jehovah; — here, 
 the sweet whispers of peace and pardon, through the blood of the 
 Redeemer, were first heard : — and here, I first saw the countenance 
 of him, who is about to be my husband, and commenced, with him, 
 an acquaintance of the most interesting, and, I believe, beneficial na- 
 ture ; one that will have a mighty influence on all the after part of 
 my life, and even on my eternal state. These I consider the most 
 prominent blessings, which I have received under this roof, — to me a 
 sacred roof. Oh ! it has, indeed, been to me the house of mercy. 
 What wonder at my being the subject of a good deal of feeling, when 
 I look forward to a speedy removal from Arkstone, where it is likely 
 I shall never again enter ? 
 
 And is this my last letter to you, William ? and shall I not write 
 you another letter till I am your, I hope, affectionate and faithful 
 wife? Anne Howell will never again, then, have an opportunity 
 
MEMORIALS OF MRS. BARBER. 
 
 51 
 
 of urging you to the possession and practice of Christian holiness, — 
 of encouraging you to believe in the Saviour, — of endeavouring to dis- 
 pel your doubts, — of trying to make distrust give place to confidence 
 and reliance, — grief to joy, — fear to hope, — and unbelief to living 
 faith. It would, indeed, be distressing to me, if I had to reflect, 
 that, while on my part, closing our correspondence, my opportunities 
 of, at least, attempting to be useful to you were to be entirely closed ; 
 but this needs be no source of uneasiness, as such opportunities will 
 be increased in a ten-fold degree. I have, in reality, then, cause 
 for joy, that this is my last letter ; because, I shall be always with 
 my dearest Friend, see him everyday, know his every want, and, as 
 far as I can, supply them ; and thus try to disperse every cloud, that 
 anxiety or distress may gather on his brow. Our union will, I am 
 sure, be a very happy one, if we continually seek unto our Heavenly 
 Father for his blessing ; and without this, I am persuaded, our very 
 blessings would prove the worst of curses. 
 
 You request me to tell you the state of my soul : — A few days 
 back my mind was ( in considerable heaviness, through manifold 
 temptations;’ the enemy i thrust sore at me, that I might fall and, 
 as I found a cloud resting between my soul and my Redeemer, so as 
 to render me unable to gaze on him with the delightful consciousness 
 that he was my Saviour, as I had before been enabled to do, I 
 must have given way to his insinuations ; but, blessed be my God ! 
 this is dispersed, and I again feel freedom of access to Him. I have, 
 of course, the humbling recollection, that I have not held out faithful 
 without .wavering; but, blessed be the Saviour! he does permit me 
 to cast myself, with all my sins, on His atoning blood ; my heart 
 is, indeed, affected, when I think of having grieved such love. I 
 hope and pray, that I may never, never do it again ; entreat for me, 
 that my faith fail not any more. My heart rejoiced when I read, that 
 you had been favoured with a gracious visit from Jesus; your soul will 
 prosper, if you are diligent in watching unto prayer, and resolute and 
 persevering in the exercise of faith. How very easy the way of faith 
 seems, when the mind has acquired the habit of constantly believing ! 
 but when faith is seldom exercised, then to believe is, indeed, a diffi- 
 cult work. 
 
52 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 SECTION IV. 
 
 In February, 1822 , Miss H. entered the marriage-state, and arrived 
 with Mr. B., at his residence at Longford Academy. 
 
 In a memorandum-book, she has briefly noticed this event, in the 
 following terms: — 4 Tuesday, 1 9th. Feb. 1822. United to my very 
 dear William, I believe, 44 in the Lord.” What a mercy do I esteem 
 it, that after so many months of fearful suspense, He has now real- 
 ised my wishes! May my heart ever be alive and sanctified to 
 Him!’ 
 
 Imagination might innocently indulge itself in contemplating, with 
 pleasing interest, the attending circumstances, and the flattering 
 prospects of these truly auspicious events. With the full approba- 
 tion of her own mind, she had given herself to the person whom, as 
 she believed, God himself, in His Providence, had commended to 
 her affection. It was the consummation of a virtuous and exemplary 
 attachment, which had been nourished amidst the alarms and the fore- 
 bodings of her intended husband’s protracted ill-health. She was met 
 by the approving congratulations of very numerous relations and friends ; 
 — she was followed by the tears and the prayers of the neighbour- 
 hood which knew her, and reluctantly resigned her to another which 
 knew her not ; — and she at once occupied a situation affording many 
 opportunities of extensive usefulness, — a situation in which no talent, 
 that she possessed, might be negligently thrown aside. Her constitu- 
 tion seemed strong; her appearance was remarkably indicative of 
 health ; she had never, since infancy, suffered more than one week’s 
 serious illness ; and the views, which opened before her of success in 
 business and life, were, at least, alluring and flattering. From the 
 usual dealings of Divine Providence, a long-continued enjoyment of 
 life was to be fairly anticipated ; but God has been pleased to dis- 
 appoint all such expectations; — He has loudly proclaimed the utter 
 vanity of earthly hopes and happiness; — in His unerring wisdom, He 
 has seen fit to dissolve the most endeared connections; — and, in His 
 sovereign authority, He has been pleased to wither and dissipate the 
 most promising prospects. Who shall 4 reply against God ?’ 4 He 
 
MEMORIALS OF MRS. BARBER. 
 
 53 
 
 doeth whatsoever pleaseth Him and whatsoever pleases God, must 
 be holy, and just, and good. 
 
 Nearly five months rapidly passed away, without interruption or 
 alarm. Alas! they passed away, only to leave the recollection of a 
 momentary happiness, as complete, perhaps, as this world ever ex- 
 hibits ; and to be hastily succeeded by a withering of earthly hopes, 
 as sudden and as universal, as even the history of youth can well pre- 
 sent to observation. In the visitation of Divine Providence, which 
 terminated in her removal to another world, there is presented one of 
 those mysterious dealings of the Almighty’s hand, which suddenly 
 arrest and astonish those connected with it, and silence every reply 
 against Him, in the agony of a trembling and breathless pause. To 
 herself, only, it was not terrifying; she 6 knew whom she had be- 
 lieved,’ and was sure respecting that which she had committed to 
 Hi ra. During the whole of her illness, she did not evince one symp- 
 tom of terror or alarm at the nearness of death ; and this, not be- 
 cause she' was not aware of her danger, though of this she was partly 
 ignorant, in the former periods of the attack ; much less, because she 
 was indifferent to its consequences, for she had long contemplated 
 eternity, and the realities of the invisible world ; but her soul was 
 c steadfast in faith ;’ her eye was fixed on the Redeemer ; and she was 
 assured, that for her i to live would be Christy but to die , gain .’ She 
 had obtained enlightened views of the truth as it is in Jesus, and a 
 clear experience of 4 Christ in her the hope of glory f and this not 
 only characterised the short course of her Christian life, while in 
 health, but supported her amidst the mental and bodily trials of a 
 very painful affliction, and an unexpected bed of death. 
 
 The scenery of death was familiarised to her mind by frequent con- 
 templation ; of this, the Extracts given, and others which might be 
 multiplied, bear sufficient testimony. Her own dissolution she often 
 realised to her apprehension, with the solemnity of a rational crea- 
 ture, mingled, with the calmness of Christian resignation, and sus- 
 tained by the hopes of daily growing piety. It was not with refer- 
 ence to herself, that she felt the terribleness of death ; but the pre- 
 carious condition of her husband had taught her some of the terrors 
 of alarm, and some of the anticipations of bereaving distress ; however, 
 in both cases, there were spiritual lessons fixed upon her mind by the 
 exercises of her feelings; and those lessons were eminently practical. 
 In her own last sickness, death, though quite an unexpected intruder, 
 was readily recognised, almost without producing even a momentary 
 surprise ; and, though at one period of her increasing disorder, she 
 felt some of that distress, towards which she had often looked fear- 
 fully forward, yet she soon regained the firmness and the resignation, 
 which her letters previously describe. Those lessons of submission, 
 and holy acquiescence to the will of God, with reference to her hus- 
 
 2 k 2 
 
£4 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 band, which she had learned at the expense of so much anxious feel- 
 ing, she has left, as a sort of prophetic legacy, to him who has sur- 
 vived her, to receive the full weight of a blow, which even she antici- 
 pated with some dismay. 
 
 The state of her mind, previously to marriage, has been made suffi- 
 ciently evident ; it was one of the most desirable security, and the 
 most enviable enjoyment. But how far she afterward maintained her 
 ground, amidst the dangers of a condition of life so essentially differ- 
 ent from her former, it would have been instructive to ascertain with 
 precision ; — but this is impossible. It can never cease to be matter 
 of regret, that the whole of her papers in her own possession, she 
 burnt, about the time of her marriage, as unworthy of any notice ; 
 and if, since that time, she wrote at all extensively, as her husband 
 sometimes supposed was the case, nothing was preserved. 
 
 It will not be supposed, that the object of this sketch is merely 
 to eulogise the departed, w ithout presenting a faithful delineation of 
 her character. Eulogy, indetd, is laid loathsomely bare, if it lie not 
 mantled on the vesture, and decked in the ornaments of truth ; but 
 who, that himself loves virtue, and sees it exemplified in a living 
 individual, shall be required to restrain his admiration ? To search 
 out faults, in order to demonstrate imperfection, would be to warp 
 
 the interests of truth, and to baffle the aim at utility, as effectu- 
 
 ally as could be done by unprincipled and unmerited applause ; it 
 would be, to sanction in the careless their defects, and to hold out a 
 justification to the self-deceived of some secretly cherished imperfec- 
 tion. It is not, then, the business of biography to portray faults ; 
 but were this, in the case of Mrs. B. required, let her husband de- 
 clare, that, if she had faults, (and some imperfections are inseparable 
 from human nature in its present state,) they may possibly have been 
 observed by others of keener penetration, or more impartiality than 
 
 himself, but he knew them not; and if, during her short married 
 
 life, there were any momentary mental aberrations fiom the line of 
 closest walking with God, (and some such, though perceived only by 
 herself, she occasionally lamented,) he, who, however unintention- 
 ally, must have been their cause, deplores, but commends them, 
 with fearless confidence, to Him, who has, for the Redeemer’s sake, 
 forgiven them all, and snatched her hastily away to eternal union with 
 Himself. The exposure of novelty, the interests of business, and the 
 perplexities of worldly changes, surround even a pious spirit with 
 dangers, and present a test of stability, to which exalted attainments 
 are often, in some respects, unequal. Happy they, who pass with- 
 out injury, — and they, who, if injured, apply at once to the 4 so- 
 vereign balm, ’-—and they, too, who, though smitten and staggered, 
 recover their strength, and rise superior to all ! 
 
MEMORIALS OF MRS. BARBER. 
 
 55 
 
 Mrs. B. found herself at once placed at the head of management, in 
 a family of upwards of thirty members; a great variety of tempers, 
 both within and without the domestic circle, was to be met ; she felt 
 her responsibility, and the expectations respecting her that would be 
 formed. She had her plans to digest, and her arrangements to make ; 
 and she entered upon her charge in the spirit of a resolution, to 
 effect whatever obligation might reasonably demand, or business fairly 
 expect. During the four months prior to the vacation, activity in 
 such engagements could leave but little leisure for retirement ; and 
 from the little that was forcibly abstracted, much was spoiled by fa- 
 tigue, some was sacrificed by pain, and more must have been absorb- 
 ed by anxiety. Mrs. B.’s soul, as well as body, suffered some dis- 
 tress from such close application ; for, although the state of her mind 
 was generally peaceful, and even happy, and her intercourse with 
 her Heavenly Father open and refreshing, she sometimes sunk a lit- 
 tle, perhaps needlessly, under a depression of spirits, that somewhat 
 weakened the exercise of faith, and clouded her happiness, till she 
 could retire to lay all in private before her Redeemer. It will be 
 long remembered, with gratitude and joy, how, in the most retired 
 acts of worship with her husband, her humble confessions, and her 
 sorrowful tears, were uniformly followed by the earnest pleadings of 
 faith, and the happy thanksgivings of an accepted state. 
 
 A happy experience of the religion of the Redeemer is distinguished, 
 by its endowing with great patience in suffering, and arming with great 
 fortitude in danger. Little suffering, and no apparent danger, had 
 hitherto been allotted to Mrs. B. : — she was soon to experience both. 
 In her last illuess, the pain, which she sometimes experienced, was ago- 
 nising ; though, at other times, she was perfectly free from suffering ; 
 yet, during the sudden, and even violent transitions from the one to 
 the other, no murmurs escaped her lips ; her patience astonished her 
 relatives, and, on several occasions, drew from her medical attendant, 
 who adds to great professional skill the knowledge of evangelical re- 
 ligion, expressions of surprise. 
 
 That the patience and firmness of mind, which she evinced, were 
 the fruits of the Holy Spirit’s operations, was fully evident; for, while 
 she felt fully alive to her own situation, and to the distress of her 
 friends, she silenced every suspicion or complaint, by sweet and ani- 
 mating references to the wisdom, the goodness, and the faithfulness 
 of God 
 
 Although no danger was apprehended for some time, from the state 
 of Mrs. B.’s health ; it was hoped, that the relaxation of the weeks 
 of the coming recess would re-invigorate her system, and establish her 
 in every evidence of health, upon which the expectation of her friends 
 could reasonably calculate. 
 
56 
 
 appendix. 
 
 During the Midsummer vacation, Mrs. B., in company with her 
 husband, and her eldest sister, visited their friends in Bristol and He- 
 refordshire ; and among these her husband listened, at first, with a 
 mixture of alarm and incredulity, to some intimations of suspicion re- 
 specting her heallh. The fatigues of preparation for re-opening the 
 Academy on a larger scale, undoubtedly hastened the calamity, which 
 soon frustrated every project. Until Monday, July 15th., however, 
 the stream of domestic happiness was unruffled by any serious inter- 
 ruption ; but that day terminated the short-lived felicity. Mrs- B. 
 had walked with her husband from Longford to Gloucester and back, 
 a distance of about three miles ; but in the evening she was so unwell, 
 as to feel it necessary to retire, rather earlier than usual, to bed : in 
 the mind of her husband, however, no greal alarm was excited, and 
 she herself thought, as little as any of her relatives around, that from 
 that bed she was to rise no more. Medical assistance was procured 
 without Mrs. B.’s knowledge, as she had been always very averse to 
 that resource ; and, although the skilful surgeon, who attended, saw 
 much greater seriousness in the disorder, than any of the family ; yet, 
 from her husband and herself, all apprehension of danger was with- 
 held, until the following Saturday, when a bowel-obstruction, accom- 
 panied by violent inflammation, for some hours, threatened almost imme- 
 diate dissolution. In the midst of these appalling circumstances, when 
 her pain was almost too great to allow the exercise of thinking, her hus- 
 band, who could but ill conceal the distressing alarm, into which the 
 information had thrown him, found her depending, with unshaken 
 confidence, on the fidelity of her Saviour; and expressing a fearless 
 trust in Him, for either life or death. She was not, at that time, in- 
 formed of the opinion of her medical attendants ; yet she afterwards 
 told Mr. B., that the pain which she felt, the appearance of every 
 countenance which she narrowly watched, and the calling in of a 
 physician, fully convinced her, that her danger was urgent. For the 
 threatened affliction, every mind was yet unprepared ; and, in answer 
 to fervent and importunate prayer, the stroke of death was withheld ; 
 hope, which had ebbed with so much violent rapidity, returned with 
 a flow of very cheerful congratulation ; but it was only to repeat its 
 disappointment, till its last effort subsided. During the ensuing fort- 
 night, although some symptoms seemed to maintain a forbidding hold 
 of her constitution, she appeared gradually recovering. It was thought, 
 that 4 the bitterness of death was past and with her husband she 
 freely conversed of the danger, which had so threatened and gone by, 
 and of the influence, which such a severe trial ought to have on fu- 
 ture life. 
 
 A somewhat extended conversation transpired on the evening of Sa- 
 turday, August 3rd., w hen she was so much better as to have recovered 
 
MEMORIALS OF MRS. BARBER. 
 
 57 
 
 much of her usual appearance and cheerfulness. The reasons of the 
 Lord’s dealing out so painful a dispensation, became the interesting 
 subject of enquiry. Leaning on the bed beside her, Mr. B. said, — 
 4 Why, my love, are we thus so early visited, and so heavily afflicted ?’ 
 She intimated , — 4 It must be done wisely and graciously, and we shall, 
 by and by, receive the benefit intended.’ 4 It seems,’ rejoined her 
 husband, 4 as if the Lord had some controversy with us. He has long 
 blest us with a knowledge of Himself, and with some vie wsof the power 
 and extent of the Gospel, as the dispensation in which He calls us to live. 
 But He will not suffer us to live, without a full experience of them. 
 You and I must be holy ; and our God seems to shew us, that He will 
 spare us in nothing, in order to make us so.’ In these views she cor- 
 dially acquiesced, but added some encouraging remarks on the invari- 
 able faithfulness and love of the Redeemer ; at the same time, express- 
 ing her heart-felt regret, that the doctrine and experience of entire ho- 
 liness had not been sufficiently urged upon each other, during the few 
 last months of life. She regretted, too, with some painful emotion, 
 that the multiplied engagements of the large family, over which she 
 was placed, had too greatly engrossed her attention ; but, she firmly 
 resolved, that, when the Lord should restore her, she would find some 
 means of managing her family affairs with less fatigue to herself, and 
 with a more limited assignment of her time. It must long dwell upon 
 the memory of her bereaved husband, with what affecting humility, 
 and earnest sincerity, she contested with him the point, that it must 
 be on her account that the trial was permitted. The alternated assur- 
 ance, — 4 It is I, and not you, who have drawn down the visitation,’ — 
 sunk, at last, into mutual acknowledgments of unworthiness, and into 
 united submissions to chastisements merited at the hands of the Lord. 
 These dissolving sentiments were succeeded by very supporting views, 
 in Mrs. B.’s mind, of the parental wisdom and love of her Heavenly 
 Father. In the expression of regret at past unfaithfulness, and of 
 resolutions for future zealous devotedness, her husband heartily joined ; 
 but, at the same time, expressed his fear, lest the deceitfulness of the 
 heart, combined with the attractiveness of business, should again be- 
 tray the purposes, and disappoint the expectations, formed in circum- 
 stances of distress. To this, she replied, and her reply is memora- 
 ble : — 4 It is true, there is reason to fear ; but it is best not to look too 
 much at that, but, relying on the strength of God, to begin at once, 
 and to fear nothing for the future.’ 
 
 She seemed to feel, that she had been rather mistaken in her esti- 
 mate of life, and of the attention due to the concerns of business ; 
 and, on this account, she felt humble, and somewhat sorrowful. After 
 some pointed expressions of acknowledgment, it was felt desirable to 
 ascertain, whether her feeling was that of condemnation ; the question 
 was therefore proposed : — 4 Do you now feel distressed by the guilt of 
 
58 
 
 appendix. 
 
 unfaithfulness, and the fear of death ?’ she replied, — 4 No ; not at all.’ 
 4 Why, how can that be ?’ 4 Jesus has atoned, and all is forgiven me 
 for His sake.’ The question was here pressed with earnestness, — 
 4 Do you feel sure that all is forgiven ?’ 4 Yes,’ said she, 4 quite sure.* 
 
 4 Have you no fear of the consequences of death ?’ 4 No ; I leave it to 
 
 the Lord : I know that he is faithful. If I die, I shall die unto the 
 Lord.’ 4 Do you now feel the efficacy of His blood in atoning for 
 you, and the presence of His Spirit in rendering you holy ?’ 4 Yes; 
 
 I bless His holy name, I do feel it clearly.’ 4 Is Jesus then precious 
 to you ?’ 4 Oh, yes ! He is very precious ! He is a precious Saviour, — 
 a very present help in time of need!’ 
 
 The disorder, in its progress, was of the most harassing descrip- 
 tion, — perplexing the skill, and baffling the efforts, of her eminent pro- 
 fessional attendants : alternately, there were presented reasons for very 
 assuring confidence of recovery, and for utter hopelessness. Death, 
 however, made his advances upon her sure, and ultimately completed 
 his triumphs in one of his most trying and terrific forms. 
 
 On Sunday, August 4th., all the hopes, which had been raised with 
 so much care, and sustained with so much flattering pleasure, were 
 unexpectedly borne down and overwhelmed. A violent shivering, 
 which came on suddenly at five o’clock in the morning, in connection 
 with other symptoms, indicated an attack of typhus fever. The as- 
 sistance of the physician was again requested; but all'the favour of 
 of his opinion was, that the symptoms of danger were not so urgent 
 as they had been before. Various means were at ouce repeated or 
 added. Through very prompt and energetic assistance, the danger 
 again seemed to subside; and, for a time, success appeared to crown 
 the watchful and indefatigable efforts of the attending surgeon; every 
 symptom abated, and even disappeared ; towards the end of the week, 
 she seemed once more in a state of decisive convalescence ; nothing 
 was apparently wanted for restoration, but careful nutrition. 
 
 This, indeed, was cheering; but the repeated disappointments, 
 which had been experienced before, were powerful checks upon a 
 confidence, that might again prove treacherous. Her husbaud felt, 
 that the Lord had now taken her into his His own hands, and was sub- 
 jecting both to a very searching and afflictive trial, respecting the 
 termination of which they were kept in total suspense. To say, that 
 the sufferer, amidst all, maintained an unruffled composure, is to say 
 little of the truth : though not at all rapturously joy ful, nor, indeed, by 
 any means, communicative on the subject, except in reply to the ques- 
 tions of those around, her soul rested with confidence upon the pro- 
 mises of God, and the sufficiency of her Saviour ; and she enjoyed a 
 peace, which, while she retained the use of her understanding, neither 
 disease nor approaching dissolution at all disturbed. She frequently 
 appeared very earnest in prayer, and sometimes, while engaged in 
 
MEMORIALS OF MRS. BARBER. 
 
 59 
 
 that exercise, her countenance exhibited the strongest emotions of de- 
 light. But it was felt by the husband and the wife, — who, in the 
 midst of this awful uncertainty of their being continued to each other, 
 often mutually looked with a tremulous anxiety, better imagined than 
 described, — that, while every possible care was taken, and every pos- 
 sible assistance procured, for the body, it was far best to direct their 
 chief attention to the state and progress of the sou!. It was well that 
 they did so ; for they were thus saved from the excessive keenness of 
 suffering, which further disappointments might otherwise have pro- 
 duced. 
 
 In a conversation between them during the week, when recovery 
 was again confidently hoped, Mr. B. felt desirous of ascertaining pre- 
 cisely the state of mind, under which the successive threats of death 
 had been sustained. He said , — 4 Our situation has been, and still is, a 
 very trying one. Surely the Lord sees something in us, that needs a 
 very painful correction.’ Mrs. B. replied , — 4 It is painful indeed 
 but, at the same time, adverted to the unchangeable kindness and 
 faithfulness of God, as giving reason to believe, that the dispensation 
 proceeded more from love than anger. 4 Suppose, my dear,’ said her 
 husband, 4 it should, after all, be the purpose of God to remove you 
 to another world ?’ 4 Well,’ she interrupted, 4 and what then, my 
 
 love ?’ 4 Are you not afraid to die ?’ 4 No ; not at all.’ 4 Why not ?’ 
 
 She instantly again referred to the atonement of the Saviour, and to 
 her assurance of an interest in Him. 4 But then,’ rejoined her hus- 
 band, 4 God is holy, and without holiness no one, in a disembodied 
 state, can see Him with joy.’ She instantly referred to the work of 
 Divine Grace in her soul, declaring her confidence, that the Holy 
 Spirit would perfect that which concerned her. To some further 
 questions respecting her personal interest in the saving grace of God, 
 and the presence with her of the Holy Spirit to sanctify and support 
 her, she gave replies equally satisfactory and delightful. Mr. B. 
 asked , — 4 Do you now feel the Saviour with you, as though in the 
 room ; or rather, 44 Christ within you, the hope of glory ?” ’ 4 I feel 
 
 strong confidence in Him as my Saviour, though I sometimes feel so 
 much pain and languor, that I cannot perceive Him very clearly ; I 
 can do nothing except trust Him, but that I can do.’ She again ad- 
 verted to recovery, upon which, it should be recollected, we, at that 
 time, confidently reckoned ; and she expressed her deliberate resolu- 
 tion, to live, in future, very near to God, and in habits of more close 
 attention to spiritual duties. 
 
 It may be readily supposed, that, if such were her happy state of 
 mind, at the time when every appearance was indicative of restora- 
 tion, it must supply very pleasing reflections; but, very soon, another 
 heavy disappointment crushed the cherished anticipation. The re- 
 turn of Sunday brought another attack of disease. In the earlier part 
 
60 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 • 
 
 of the day, though she was thought to be still improving, a very 
 slight flush in the countenance produced a feeling of hesitation in the 
 mind of Mr. Cooke, her cautious medical friend. The afternoon was 
 rather advanced, when Mr. B , who had been long watching by her 
 side, stepped, for a few moments, out of the room ; almost instantly 
 after, he found her suffering under a return of acute pain, which she 
 was describing to her sister Margaret as very peculiar, and unlike what 
 she had felt before. It almost instantly produced abstractedness and 
 delirium ; and, in less than one half-hour, her countenance was changed, 
 from the cheerfulness and vivacity of a state of decisive convalescence, 
 to the very indications of impending death. It was now evident, that 
 her medical attendant feared the worst, and apprehended some speedy 
 decision. Several days, however, passed away, without producing 
 any alteration, except an abatement of some of the symptoms. Her 
 husband could not believe, that she would die. He trembled with 
 astonishment and fear ; yet he could not but hope, for many others had 
 been restored. Repeatedly, in answer to his queries, whether she 
 fejt any impression of her being about to die, she replied in the nega- 
 tive ; a£ the same time, hinting, that she had to lay herself entirely 
 upon the faithfulness of God, for his ultimate dealings with her. As, 
 however, the symptoms again very visibly subsided, and her youthful 
 constitution seemed to struggle hard with the disease, hopes once more 
 were entertained respecting the issue ; indeed, she herself had not 
 given up the expectation, that the Lord would restore her. But, after 
 all, she was called to resign life, when, if at any period of its history, 
 it might appear most desirable ; the circumstances of the very recent 
 marriage had been so flattering, and the persuasion of the Divine ap- 
 proval so strong, that both the husband and the wife felt great difficulty 
 in believing, that a gracious and tender, though unerring, Providence, 
 would proceed to sever them so soon, and so unusually, from each 
 other. On the evening of the following Friday, Aug. 16th., the dis- 
 tressing suspense was determined, and the sovereign pleasure of God 
 was unequivocally expressed. A new attack of pain was accompanied 
 by a return of fever, and distressing fits of vomiting : and delirium, 
 which had occasionally discovered itself, returned with the threat of 
 overwhelming her understanding. She now felt herself sinking, and, 
 in the course of the night, repeatedly expressed her belief, that she 
 should die. On the following morning, it was the painful duty of 
 Mr. Cooke, — to whose assiduous attentions, and anxious labours, and 
 fraternal watchfulness, no acknowledgments can be adequate, nor any 
 gratitude a compensation, — to communicate the intelligence, that his 
 patient was inevitably sinking, and that all the powers of nature were 
 rapidly giving way. On receiving this afflictive information, Mr. B. 
 hastened to his wife, who coolly, yet inquisitively, asked what Mr. 
 Cooke’s opinion was. The reply was, that he apprehended, as the 
 
MEMORIALS OF MRS. BARBER. 
 
 61 
 
 consequence of the sickness, that she would ultimately sink. He then 
 solicitously asked, — 4 Are you afraid, my dear, to go into the presence 
 of your Heavenly Father? — Are you afraid of your Saviour?’ 4 Oh, 
 no !’ she replied, 4 1 am not afraid, — I can trust Him, — He is a very 
 present help.’ 6 Do you now feel the Saviour precious?’ 4 Yes.’ 
 
 4 Do you feel Him with you ?’ 4 Oh, yes!’ Her mind became then 
 
 a good deal abstracted ; she was evidently engaged in me-ntal prayer. 
 
 The request of the Medical Gentlemen had hitherto excluded, from 
 access to her, all persons, excepting her attendants and relatives ; but, 
 now that every hope of restoration was resigned, her husband suggested 
 the propriety, for the sake of her relation to the Church of Christ, of 
 her seeing some one beside her personal connections, and of allowing sa- 
 tisfactory answers to any, who might enquire into the state of mind, in 
 which she was leaving the world. She instantly caught the sugges- 
 tion, and said, — 4 Yes; I know what you mean, — a Minister; I have 
 been thinking of it and wishing it.’ She then expressed an earnest 
 wish to see the Rev. Mr. Hunter, a pious Clergyman in the Esta- 
 blished Church, settled in Gloucester. The case of the late excellent 
 Mrs. Hunter, had dwelt with very strong impression on her mind. 
 Mr. H. saw her on Saturday afternoon. To him she expressed, with 
 clearness, the peaceful state of her mind ; and, in reply to an enquiry, 
 whether she had accustomed herself to close self-examination, she 
 said, — 4 Yes ; but I very greatly regret, that I have too much 
 neglected it of late.’ 4 Do you now feel the importance of entering 
 the presence of a pure and holy God, and the need of your being 
 made holy, in order to go to Him with joy ?’ 4 Yes; and I am per- 
 
 suaded, that He will perfect the work which he has begun, before He 
 removes me.’ To Mr. B. she likewise expressed, with clearness, her 
 full persuasion, that the atonement of Jesus is the only ground of a 
 sinner’s hope ; and that, in a firm reliance upon it herself, she felt the 
 fullest satisfaction. Mr. H. left her, with the earnest advice to look 
 for a very special out-pouring of the Holy Spirit, to make her fully 
 meet for glory. 
 
 It was the earnest wish and prayer of her husband, that God would 
 be pleased to allow some glorious manifestation of Himself to her soul, 
 in order to prove her final triumph over pain, and sin, and death. The 
 '‘God of all comfort ,’ who had seen it necessary to reject other previous 
 petitions, graciously condescended to answer this. He gradually broke 
 away from her the last expectations of life, while He filled her with the 
 consolations of II is own presence. He allowed the full persuasion of 
 approaching death, to be accompanied by such a manifestation of His 
 grace and II is glory to the dying believer, as completely 4 swallowed 
 up death in victory ’ to her ; and even forced away from her afflicted 
 husband and sister, who were at the time attending her, the deep an- 
 guish of their souls, while it awed them into reverence, and gratitude, 
 
62 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 and joy. That evening, after remaining for some time silent, she sud- 
 denly exclained, in a tone of holy exultation, — 4 Oh ! lie does — He 
 does — Oh! now I see He does intend to remove me to glory; 
 — I shall go to glory ! — I am going to glory !’ 4 What ! my love,’ 
 
 said her husband, 4 do you think you shall die? — Will the Lord, 
 then, take you from me?’ 4 Oh ! yes, — He will, — He will, — a very 
 little while more, and I shall be in glory ! — a few more struggles, and 
 all will be over ! — I shall be in glory ! — I shall soon — 
 
 “ Take my last triumphant flight 
 From Calvary to Zion’s height!” 
 
 Jesus is precious to me, — very precious! — and God the Holy Spirit is 
 very precious ! — and God the Holy Father is precious — very precious 
 too ! — all are precious ! 44 Glory to God in the highest, and on earth 
 
 peace, and good will toward men !” ’ Thus she continued her 
 exclamations of triumph, till her strength was exhausted, and the 
 sickness returned. 
 
 Serious apprehensions were now entertained, that she would expire 
 that night. Her sister Elizabeth asked, — 4 What shall I say to Fa- 
 ther and brother John?’ 4 Give my dying love to my Father,’ said she, 
 
 4 and tell him, that I am going to God ; and, oh ! do exhort him to be 
 in earnest about his soul, and not to loiter in the way to the kingdom. 
 He will soon follow me : those that are young are called, and he can- 
 not live long ; entreat him, oh ! entreat him, to be in earnest. Give 
 roy dying love to John; tell him to seek the Lord with all his heart, 
 and not to trifle any longer with things of such vast importance.’ 
 
 An impressive and affecting scene now transpired, the effect of 
 which no ordinary measure of Divine influence was needful to support 
 and sanctify. Her husband and sister Elizabeth, unable any longer to 
 suppress their feelings, burst into tears, and wept without restraint. 
 She turned towards each, looked attentively for some moments, and 
 then wept herself. Mr. B , struggling in vain with his own sensa- 
 tions, endeavoured to support hers; and she affectionately recipro- 
 cated the effort, striving, in broken accents, to encourage him to 
 trust in the Lord ; and assuring him, that the Lord would direct and 
 bless him ; thus was their distress mutually aggravated. At length, 
 in order forcibly to change the current of thought, her husband asked, 
 — 4 Why, my love, do you weep? Are you afraid to die, — afraid of 
 God your Heavenly Father, — afraid of the Redeemer?’ 4 Oh, no!’ 
 she eagerly replied, 4 no ; but ’tis hard, — hard indeed, to part with 
 very dear friends!’ and her tears redoubled as she exclaimed, — 4 And 
 O my husband ! — my dear husband ! -I must weep — I must weep for 
 my poor husband!’ This was too deeply affecting; and the most vi- 
 gorous efforts became necessary to restrain their almost ungovernable 
 
MEMORIALS OF MRS BARBER. 
 
 63 
 
 emotions. She took off her rings, and presented them to him, with 
 the request that he would keep them ; but, upon his requesting her 
 not to remove them, she replaced them, and said 5 — c Well ; you can 
 take them off when I am dead.’ She soon regained her usual pla- 
 cidity of mind ; and it became a mutual engagement to give each 
 other, and all things, up to the will of God. For this she was 
 strengthened by Divine Grace; for, though she frequently afterward 
 evidenced very tender affection, there was no farther appearance of 
 distress on the subject. From this moment, she regarded her disso- 
 lution as certain, and hastily approaching : she anticipated, that she 
 should die on the following night. 
 
 There was an extraordinary cheerfulness about her, during the Sab- 
 bath morning ; she conversed freely of her dissolution, enquired where 
 it was intended to bury her, and, with perfect collectedness, disposed 
 of some little trinkets, as mementos of affection, among her sisters. In 
 the after part of the day, the delirium returned, with a most dis- 
 tressing state of mental exercise ; the Prince of Darkness was per- 
 mitted to exert a very painful and extraordinary influence ; it was 
 truly 6 the hour and the power of darkness.’ There suddenly came 
 over her an apparent indifference to her own condition and spiritual 
 things, that was otherwise unaccountable. When asked, if Jesus 
 was precious to her, she replied, — c Yes ;’ but without her usual 
 emotion, and with an evident wish to avoid the addition of any con- 
 versation. The distress, to her husband and friends, of these bitter 
 moments, was indescribably painful. Mr. Wheeler and Mr. B. re- 
 tired, for the purpose of prayer, and spent some agonising minutes 
 in that important exercise ; they rose, confidently believing that God 
 would, in mercy, interfere, and dissipate the gloom which hung with 
 so much horror over the spirit of the latter,* on account of the appa- 
 rent advantage gained by the adversary of souls. Of the result, the 
 description will be interesting, as it was given, in a letter to a friend, 
 by Mr. W., who sat up with the sufferer on the Sunday night : — 
 
 c She was, on Sunday evening, much distressed by delirium ; in- 
 deed, so much so, as greatly to affect William’s mind. What could 
 be done ? — A throne of Grace was accessible ; and to it we repaired, 
 and besought the Lord, that she might not expire in this painful situ- 
 ation. After he and I had been agonising apart, for some time, in 
 earnest supplication, we rose, and entered the room of the dying 
 saint, but there was no apparent alteration. In connexion with Lydia, 
 
 * Perhaps he was wrong in his apprehensions and his feelings, by not attribut- 
 ing so much to the influence of disease, and the perishing of the bodily powers, 
 as the facts of the case would have justified. The object in the narrative has 
 been, to give a faithful relation of what was, and not of what might, or should 
 have been. — W. B. 
 
64 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 Bess, and our servant Mary, we again prostrated ourselves around 
 her bed before the Lord, and most importunately pressed our request, 
 feeling a persuasion, that our petitions would not be disregarded by 
 Him, to whom they were offered. William was quite exhausted, and, 
 at the persuasion of Lydia and myself, went into the adjoining room 
 to lie down. He had not left the room half an hour, before I thought 
 I perceived, as I watched her countenance, something like a lucid 
 aspect; upon this I said, — “My dear, do you know me?” She re- 
 plied in the affirmative, most affectionately kissed me, and then broke 
 out into such a sweet and energetic strain of praise, as deeply affected 
 me. I recollect her saying distinctly, — “ Glory to God in the highest ! 
 — on earth peace, — good will to men !” — “Bless the Lord, all ye His 
 angels that excel in strength !” — 
 
 “ Praise Hina above, ye heavenly host ; 
 
 Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost!” 
 
 c I sent for William to witness the goodness of God, in that which I 
 did, and do still, regard as the answer of our prayer. After giving 
 him the strongest assurances of her interest in the Redeemer, at our 
 request he again retired, if possible, to rest. Lydia said to her, — 
 “My dear, ‘the Lord’s ways are not as our ways, nor His thoughts 
 as our thoughts.’ ” “ No !” she answered, “ His thoughts are, indeed, 
 
 not as our thoughts : I should have supposed that I should long out- 
 live you; but I am going first.” As Lydia, in consequence of fatigue, 
 felt disposed to dose a little on the sofa, it devolved upon me to 
 watch. She was wakeful and lucid during the whole of the night. 
 It was on this occasion, when every thing around seemed awed into 
 the silence of approaching death, that I had an opportunity of learn- 
 ing for myself, what the religion of Jesus had done for our dearest 
 Anne. Her real affection for me, and the delightful testimonies 
 which she bore to me for Jesus, were such as I hope never, never to 
 forget. During the night, I proposed many questions to her, in refer- 
 ence to the state of her mind ; to which she invariably replied, not 
 only in such a way, as to be highly satisfactory to my own mind, but 
 so as to mark, in the strongest manner, a deep experience of the things 
 of God, uniformly characterising a mind now hanging sweetly upon 
 Jesus. The impression at those highly interesting moments, upon 
 my own mind, was, this then is the religion that I must possess by 
 which to die; “it is good, indeed, for me to be here!” I shall not 
 soon forget the way in which she charged me, respecting her dear 
 husband. She looked at me with uncommon interest and solicitude, 
 and observed, — “ Oh ! do take care of William ; I should very much 
 like for him to go and live with you ; do take care of him.” I assured 
 her, that it should be the object of Lydia and myself to do whatever 
 
MEMORIALS OF MRS. BARBER. 
 
 65 
 
 we could, in order to contribute to his comfort; and she appeared 
 quite relieved and satisfied. I recollect also, that we congratulated 
 each other on the goodness of God to us, as a family, in making us una- 
 nimous in our religious views and pursuits; concluding that we might, 
 therefore, anticipate the period, as not far distant, when we should 
 meet without the most distant prospect of another parting. She ex- 
 pressed her uncommon thankfulness, that so many of the members of 
 the family were already brought to a knowledge of the Truth; and her 
 firm persuasion, that all the younger branches would likewise become 
 subjects of saving grace.’ 
 
 There were several occurrences deeply interesting and impressive, 
 which, in order of time, transpired a little previously to some of the 
 latter incidents related by Mr. W. Before Mr. B. was called into 
 the room, she affectionately took leave of her brothers, James and 
 Richard, to each of whom she successively addressed some suitable 
 and earnest advice. She was much affected, while bidding James 
 farewell : when a little composed, she exhorted him to trust in the 
 Saviour with all his heart ; and added, — 4 It is not well to look back 
 too much upon indecision, even in the service of the Lord.’ 
 
 When her husband re-entered the room, she was talking with 
 Mr. W. about him. 4 What does he mean to do ?’ said she; ‘does he 
 intend to keep on the concern here?’ When he had reached the 
 bed-side, she put the same question to him. His reply was, — 4 O no! 
 surely I cannot ; and why should I, when you are gone ?’ She ap- 
 peared affected, but expressed her approbation, and urged the ques- 
 tion, — 4 What, then, will you do?’ The reply was, — 4 Perhaps the 
 Lord intends thus, to bring me fully into the Ministry.’ She paused, 
 looked thoughtful, and then emphatically said,— 4 Perhaps He does.’ 
 Her husband could not repress some expressions of distress. She 
 took his hand, pressed it eagerly to her lips, and said, — 4 44 Thy 
 Maker is thy husband!” reverse that— He will be as a wife to you, 
 my love ; — He is the Husband of the widow, and the Father of the 
 fatherless, — He will be as a Wife to you, — as a Friend, — He will be 
 your portion !’ 
 
 Her youngest brother was then introduced ; when she saw him 
 very deeply affected, she addressed to him her parting advice : — 4 Oh ! 
 Theophilus, give your heart to the Lord at once, now, while you are 
 young; give it to Him fully. Oh! what should I do, if I had now 
 first to seek Him ? You have a Mother in heaven, and a sister nearly 
 there; and will you not go there too? — 
 
 “ Youth is the time to serve the Lord, — 
 
 The time to’ ensure the great reward ; 
 
 And while the lamp holds out to burn, 
 
 The vilest sinner may return.” ’ 
 
66 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 Being reminded how soon she would see her Mother, she exclaimed, 
 with peculiar energy , — 4 That thought fills me with ecstacy !’ Mr. W. 
 added , — 4 Our dear little girl is there too, you know ; and perhaps 
 their two happy spirits will be the first to hail you.’ She was greatly 
 delighted at the thought, and her countenance beamed with lively 
 animation. Early on Monday morning, although previously much ex- 
 hausted, she appeared strengthened beyond all expectation. She was 
 anticipating, with eagerness, the administration of the Sacrament, 
 which she had requested from the hands of the Rev. Mr. Hunter ; 
 and the sight of her aged Father, for whom a messenger had been de- 
 spatched at midnight. 
 
 At an early period of the morning, her husband engaged her, for a 
 few moments, in conversation: it was their last extended conversation 
 upon earth, and it was directed to the progress of the work of pre- 
 paration for glory. 4 Does the holiness of God terrify you, my dear ?» 
 4 Oh ! no.’ 4 Is He making you fit to go?’ 4 Yes, He is’ 4 Do 
 you feel your soul ripening for departure ?’ 4 Yes, very delightfully.’ 
 
 4 Does the Holy Spirit sanctify you ?’ 4 Yes, I feel that He does; I 
 
 have had some blessed visits from Him, and Jesus is very precious to 
 me.’ 4 My love, you will soon be with your excellent Mother.’ 4 Oh ! 
 that is animating indeed! — that is animating, — very animating!’ 
 4 You will soon join the company of the blessed, — the Patriarchs, 
 the Prophets, the Apostles, and, above all, your Redeemer, in his 
 own person ; 
 
 “ There sits our Saviour, crowned with light, 
 
 Cloth’d in a body like our own * 
 
 She appeared much animated with the prospect, and said , — 4 Oh ! I 
 shall be with God, — 
 
 “ Far from a world of grief and sin, 
 
 With God eternally shut in 
 
 4 My love,’ said her husband, 4 what are now your thoughts respecting 
 the blessing of entire holiness; do you retain your former views?’ 
 She looked impressively at him, and answered, with firmness and con- 
 fidence, — 4 Ye s, I do.’ 4 My dear, you are now in the view of eter- 
 nity, and going to God ; can you now recommend me to preach the 
 doctrine of full salvation freely ?’ She replied, with distinguishable 
 emphasis , — 4 Yes, I do, fully ; I believe, that it is the truth and 
 the glory of the Gospel ; and you ought to preach it constantly.’ 
 
 The Rev Mr. Collier, one of the Wesleyan Ministers at that time 
 stationed in the Gloucester Circuit, called that morning to see her. 
 To the questions proposed by him, and directed to ascertain the 
 condition of her soul, she returned unhesitating and satisfactory an- 
 
MEMORIALS OF MRS. BARBER. 
 
 67 
 
 swers. After he had prayed, and commended her to God, she re- 
 peatedly expressed her delight at the visit, and said, that she had 
 been greatly blest during Mr. C.’s prayer. To the Rev. Mr. Dixon, 
 the other Wesleyan Minister of the Circuit, who called soon after, 
 what she said was equally satisfactory. 4 Have you any fear to die V 
 said he. 6 Oh! no;’ she replied, 4 none; that is all taken away; 
 Jesus is very merciful and good ; — He is precious to me,— very pre- 
 cious!’ 4 Has He made you ready to go?’ 4 Yes, I believe He has; 
 He has taken away my sins, He has washed me, and made me clean 
 in His own blood.’ While Mr. D. was present, the Rev. Mr. Hunter 
 arrived, to administer the Sacrament. He first held a short conver- 
 sation with her, in which he asked her views of the ordinance itself. 
 She instantly disavowed any dependence upon it, as of saving effi- 
 cacy,- or of utility, excepting as a means of grace, and as perpetuat- 
 ing the remembrance of the Redeemer’s atoning death. He then 
 asked, if she had thought of his former recommendation, and had 
 been looking for the influences of the Holy Spirit. She answered, 
 — 4 Yes; and I have had some very blessed manifestations of Him to 
 my soul, — very blessed indeed !’ She then partook of the elements 
 with great pleasure, and joined in the prayers with collectedness 
 and emphasis ; but appeared exhausted by the length of the service. 
 
 About mid-day her Father arrived ; she was eagerly desirous of 
 seeing him. The interview between them was very affecting : after 
 the first emotions had subsided, a by-stander said a few words to Mr. 
 Howell, informing him how gracious the Lord had been to her, and 
 that very happy manifestations of His love had been granted her. 
 She instantly confirmed the statement, saying, — 4 Oh, yes ! He has been 
 very good to me. Jesus is very precious, very precious indeed!’ then 
 earnestly addressing her distressed Parent, she asked, — 4 Is He pre- 
 cious to you ?’ The question was not heard ; she therefore, raised her 
 voice, and with great eagerness enquired, — 4 Is He precious to you ?’ 
 and, receiving an affirmative answer, her countenance was lightened 
 with animated pleasure, and she expressed her joy in a fervent excla- 
 mation of gratitude. 
 
 But disease was now making very rapid advances, and delirium re- 
 peated its attacks on the sufferer’s intellects : for some hours, she was 
 insensible to the attentions of those around her; she did not recog- 
 nise their persons, and became painfully restless. It was about this 
 time, that the great 4 Accuser of the Brethren’ was permitted to make 
 his last desperate effort to destroy her faith. The distress of the pre- 
 ceding evening was renewed, except that no symptom of indifference, 
 or want of emotion, was exhibited. The dying believer was evidently 
 suffering, in the activity of a very sharp and vigorous conflict ; the 
 energetic motions of her countenance, and its changes alternately to 
 expressions of pleasure and of pain ; the strong movements of her 
 
 2 L 
 
68 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 hands, — sometimes lifted up, and rapidly waving, as is often done to ex- 
 press the action of flying, — and sometimes used to push with all the 
 violence of her remaining strength, as if to thrust away some object 
 of terrifying approach ; were all indications of some sharp contest, 
 from which she evidently suffered considerable, and sometimes very 
 painful, exercise. In the midst of these truly afflicting moments, when 
 every one around was looking on, with astonishment, at such a trial 
 of faith in its last exercises ; with distress, at the utter insufficiency 
 of human help or sympathy ; and, with confidence, in the ready faith- 
 fulness of the Redeemer, 4 in whose sight the death of His saints is 
 precious /’ she became for a few moments recollected, and, in a tone of 
 astonishment, exclaimed, — 4 Oh ! the iuscrutableness of God !’ A few 
 minutes after, she again cried out, in evident distress and surprise, — 
 
 4 O God ! O God ! — gone again ! — gone again !’ and she then sunk into 
 delirium. Here again sensations of the acutest anxiety were excited 
 in the by-standers. Her Husband, Father, brother William, Mr. 
 Wheeler, and her Sisters, kneeling around her, again earnestly besought 
 the Lord to rebuke the adversary, and to grant a speedy deliverance. 
 She presently turned toward her husband, and, looking earnestly at 
 him with a countenance of unusual emotion, exclaimed, — 4 Oh! sancti- 
 fication — entire sanctification — Oh ! full salvation — I want — I want full 
 salvation !’ He eagerly said, — 4 Oh ! my love, ’tis the enemy — ’tis the 
 enemy assaulting you! — Fear nothing ; — boldly believe in Jesus ; — trust 
 your Saviour, and you will certainly conquer ! — Jesus is here, and He is 
 faithful! — But, even if the work be still incomplete, Oh! remember, 
 that 44 the blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from all unrighteousness 
 and do remember, that it can cleanse you in a moment !’ With great 
 earnestness, she enquiringly repeated the words, — 4 In a moment ?’ 
 4 Yes;’ he rejoined, 4 in a moment: you know, that 44 in the twink- 
 ling of an eye” the greatest change may be effected.’ She again re- 
 peated the words, — 4 In a moment ?’ 4 Yes ; in a moment !’ 4 In a 
 
 moment?’ 4 Y^es; in a moment!’ Her countenance then indicated 
 relief, but delirium again prevented any further coherent utterance. 
 Iier friends could now perceive an increasing alteration every hour : 
 that she would expire that night was generally anticipated ; and her 
 anxiously expecting relatives stood weeping around her, most pain- 
 fully apprehending her death during the fit of delirium. While they 
 were thus excited, another lbcid interval occurred ; it was kindly 
 permitted to the distressed husband, as a mixing of mercy with the 
 judgment of the dispensation. She raised herself, as if from sleep, and 
 enquired, — 4 Where am I ? — Oh ! where am I ? — Am I in heaven, or 
 on earth'?’ After a few moments, she added, — 4 Oh ! now l see that 
 I am here ! I thought I was gone ! Oh ! I thought I was in heaven !’ 
 She now looked around at each of her relatives, and took an affect- 
 ing leave of several: of whom some, who were previously unable to 
 
MEMORIALS OF MRS. BARBER. 
 
 69 
 
 see her, gladly seized the opportunity to be recognised by her for the 
 last time. Her sister Margaret, who had most laboriously attended 
 her, night and day, from the commencement of her illness, but who, 
 for the last feAV days, had been confined to her room, the victim of 
 arxiety and fatigue, was, among these, supported to the bed-side. 
 Death was now disarmed of its terrors. The serenity, which results 
 from the triumph of Christian faith and feeling, kept dovvn undue ex- 
 ptessionsof grief, and moderated even its allowable sensations. The 
 two sisters seemed to embrace and bid farewell, as if separating only 
 for a journey, which would detain them but a little while from each 
 other. Mrs. B. then held the hand of her eldest brother, William ; 
 after bidding him adieu, and pausing for a few moments, as she 
 looked around from one to the other, she again fixed her attention on 
 him, as if suffering some painful sensations from the view of distress 
 around her; she then withdrew her attention from every object of 
 this world, exclaiming with ineffable sweetness and composure', — 
 
 * Earthly passions far remove, 
 
 Swallow — up — my soul — in love !' 
 
 The long and dreary succession of hours after this, — during which 
 she suffered much from the prevalence of delirium, and the sinking 
 of her system into final ruins, — was interrupted by three lucid inter- 
 vals. In the first, she bade a final adieu to her Father, charging him 
 to deliver the assurance of her love to her friends in her former neigh- 
 bourhood, and the members of the little Church with which she had 
 been there connected. Some time distant from this, as her husband 
 was reclining by her, and watching her countenance with the intense 
 and tremulous hope, that there might be, at least, one more evidence 
 of recognition, and of triumphant faith ; she awoke from her deli- 
 rium, and, perceiving him, she pressed him affectionately to her bo- 
 som, and said the last words which to him she ever uttered. In a 
 faint tone she whispered, — for articulation had nearly failed, — 4 Oh ! 
 do not give way to excessive grief: it is a great evil. Oh ! remem- 
 ber, that I have warned you against it. The Lord will be your por- 
 tion !’ She endeavoured to add more ; but what she said, or meant, 
 was unintelligible ; and she was immediately interrupted by a return 
 of delirium. 
 
 The sight of her sufferings now became almost insupportable, and 
 death, which had been dreaded so much, was now felt as very desir« 
 able. Her husband earnestly implored that the Lord would hasten to 
 complete His own inscrutable purposes, and liberate the spirit of the 
 expiring sufferer. In a state of agonised feeling, he, for a few mi- 
 nutes, left the room ; during his absence, she had the last return of 
 
 2 l 2 
 
70 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 consciousness, and uttered her last words. Her sister Elizabeth was 
 watching by her side, and, observing her appear somewhat intelligent, 
 instantly asked her, — 4 My dear! is Jesus precious to you now?’ 
 She answered, — 4 Oh ! yes, He is very, very precious! — I am happy 
 — I am happy — very, very happy !’ 
 
 When Mr. B. returned, life was very near its close ; — the eye was 
 fixed ; — there was no motion, but that of the chest; — the cold sweat 
 of death covered her lately vigorous and healthy limbs and features; — 
 and her breathing was quickened into rapid and painful respirations. 
 At that moment, the goodness of God granted him most extraordinary 
 support. He, Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler, Miss E. Howell, and the serv- 
 ant, threw themselves on their knees, commending the departing spi- 
 rit to her waiting Saviour. The solemnity of those moments is unut- 
 terable ; — the assurance of the Redeemer’s presence, which pervaded 
 every mind, — and the confidence of the believer’s instant entrance 
 into the glory and happiness of heaven, as accepted in the Beloved, 
 which sustained and overwhelmed every soul, will never be for- 
 gotten To those who felt it, there could be scarcely greater evi- 
 dence in a sensible demonstration. Mrs. B. expired between one and 
 two o’clock on Tuesday, August 20th, 1822; but the moment, when 
 the spirit escaped, was not rendered remarkable by any evidence, 
 except a sudden closing of the eye-lids, as she ceased to breathe. 
 
MEMORIALS OF MRS. BAIIBEK. 
 
 71 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 There must be, — there assuredly is, — something in the doctrines of 
 the Redeemer’s Religion, divine, — and in the influence of its truths, 
 omnipotent, — and in the consolation of its assurances, infinitely valu- 
 able,- — which could thus sooth the mind into acquiescence, under the 
 perceived approaches of a dispehsation of Divine Providence, that 
 came, so soon and so suddenly, upon the earthly happiness of a young 
 pair, and dissipated it for ever; that invaded their flattering pros- 
 pects, and their fondly-cherished hopes, and swept them all utterly 
 away. 
 
 The providence of God, — the sovereignty of His administrations, — 
 the power, the promptness, and the sufficiency of His grace, — His 
 glory in the success of His Redeeming Plan, and in the triumphant 
 death of His saints, — are all in this case illustrated ; while it is 
 equally to be inferred, that, if there are some 6 matters of which He 
 givcth none account to any, it is, because they are too grand to be 
 comprehended by finite minds, or too unsuitable to the present state 
 of existence to be communicated. The sure refuge of faith is, that 
 llis will is 6 holy , and just , and good;' and that His Word , in 
 which His Will is expressed, can never fail. Heaven and earth shall 
 pass away, to complete its fulfilment. 
 
 I dare not trust myself to delineate the character of my late very 
 dear wife, whom, if I should but accurately describe, I should, by 
 those who did not intimately know her, be certainly disbelieved, as 
 not impartial ; for those, who had the pleasure of her acquaintance, 
 such a delineation is needless ; and for them, chiefly, this narrative 
 is intended. In them I shall meet a counterpart of that interest, 
 which cannot be exhausted by dwelling in minute detail, — too mi- 
 nute, and even tedious, for general circulation, — upon the incidents 
 in the progress of that fierce disease, which has broken in violently 
 upon our happiness, and left us to lament an irretrievable loss. 
 
72 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 But, Oh ! it is indeed cheering to reflect, that, if the happiness of 
 Mrs. B.’s society is withdrawn from this world, and the light of h°r 
 Christian example has thus early been shrouded by the clouds of hea- 
 ven : yet, as she disappeared from human sight, she left pictured on 
 the memory of survivors the mild radiance of her parting glory, 
 breaking through the deep darkness that must otherwise have over- 
 whelmed them, to illustrate their path, to dissipate their dread, to 
 allure their affections, and to animate their hopes, in their yet pro- 
 tracted journeyings to the abode of holiness and deathless joy, where 
 she now resides in perfect safety ! 
 
 W. B. 
 
 Dec . 1822. 
 
L O N D O N: 
 
 Printed by T. S. CLARKE, 45, St. John-Square.