Chapter IV: Part 4

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

From a letter to one of her sisters.

Ipswich, 3d Month.

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

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

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

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

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

I stayed at Ipswich three weeks after the birth
of my precious little niece, Frances Elizabeth; rejoicing
in her daily growth, and calm trustful fearlessness--a
lesson which nothing ever preached to
me so loudly before. Respecting my spiritual state
at Ipswich, I would say that great blessings, and I
would fear great ingratitude, must be acknowledged.
Some evening hours in my chamber were exceeding
sweet, and some meetings solemn indeed. * * *
I returned in rich and flowing peace. Many a lesson
I had through my four months' absence, but none
like that which awaited my return. My father met
me at Plymouth; we reached home about eleven
o'clock at night, and went at once to the chamber,
where four months previously I last heard the voice
of my uncle, and, though he still breathed, I was
not to hear it again. He had sunk gradually for
weeks, and now, though his lips moved a little, a
word could not be heard. His face was sunk and
pallid, his breathing uneasy, and his eyes were closed.
After a short time we left, and at four o'clock in the
morning, without a struggle, his spirit passed quietly
away to his "eternal inheritance." "They that turn
many to righteousness shall shine as the stars for
ever and ever." I never, I believe, shall forget how
forcibly came to my mind, as I sat beside his lifeless
form, the words, "To this end Christ both died, and
rose, and revived, that He might be Lord both of
the dead and the living," and my thoughts turned
on many a solemn and blessed trust implied in them.

Her uncle, Samuel Rundell, died on the 4th of 5th Month, 1848, at the age of eighty-five. In the _Annual Monitor_ for the following year is a short Memoir of his life.

It had been for some years a frequent occupation with Eliza, together with her sisters and cousins, to spend the long winter evenings with her aged uncle and aunt, and after the decease of the former these attentions were more constantly needed by the survivor. It was striking to notice Eliza's cheerful alacrity to relinquish, when her turn came round, her favorite pursuits, often for some weeks together, in order to comfort and enliven the declining days of this aged relative.

_7th Mo. --th_. My mental condition a quiet but
not painless one. I had been much favored, though
in pain and trouble, amidst which I had a kind note
from J.T., who says, "When at Liskeard, and since,
I have believed that it might be said unto thee, 'The
Master is come, and calleth for thee;' and I wish, if
thou hast been made sensible of this, it may be thy
very earnest concern to sit at His feet in great humility
of mind, that thou mayst hear from season to
season the gracious words that may proceed as out
of His mouth. It may be that in the ordering of
His gracious designs, He may see fit, as He has done
with many others, to allure thee and bring thee into
the wilderness; but I have no doubt that He will
also give thee vineyards from thence, and thou wilt
be made sensible that indeed it is His own right
arm that has and will bring salvation unto thee"
Though at present incapable of feeling as I have
done, yet, being desirous of finishing up my Journal,
I must acknowledge that great and gracious have
been the dealings of my heavenly Father with me,
causing me to rejoice in Him who has done for me
"exceeding abundantly above all that I could ask
or think," chiefly in the way, which I have found a
very blessed way, of enabling me to give up my own
will to His, and to be subject in things little and
great to Himself. As far as I have known the yoke
of Christ, it is indeed a sweet and easy yoke; and
the chiefest sorrow which I have found during my
endeavor to bear it has been from my aptness to
throw it off. The worst of snares are the most
secret.

We are now quietly and unexcitedly at home; and
I wish industriously to do my little duties, and follow
my little callings: of these the Workhouse women supply
one of the most satisfactory to myself. They are a
sad sight; but I feel that my small labors with them
are not rejected, but desired, and I hope to a few at
least they may be of some use. On First-days I now
first read a short tract, then read in the Testament
two or three chapters, verse by verse, with the women,
then hear them say hymns,--which three or four learn
gladly: this fills the hour. And once in a week I like
to go in and try to teach those who cannot read. I
have much felt, lately, that it is vain to try as a mere
satisfaction to conscience to do these things, because
we _ought_: it must be from a better motive--true
keeping of the "first and great commandment," and
the second, which "is like unto it." No busy doings
at home or abroad will ever do instead.

_8th Mo. 5th. 7th-Day_. I must in thankfulness record
free and great mercies this week. First-day was
a happy one. In the morning rain and a cough kept
me at home. I read the crucifixion and resurrection
in different Evangelists, and cannot tell how meltingly
sweet it was. Surely I did love Jesus then because
He had first loved me. Sundry sweet refreshing
brooks have flowed by my wayside, and some dry lonely
paths I have trodden, (since,) but think He who is
alone the foundation and corner-stone, immovable
and undeceiving, has become more precious. Oh, how
shall I be enough careful to trust him alone? I have
got on a little with Gibbon's Rise and Fall, and have
begun Neander on the Emperors, finished one volume
of Goethe with L., and begun Milton with M., and
English history with R.

_9th Mo. 2d_. The week tolerably satisfactory; but
how truly may we say, "A day in thy courts is better
than a thousand"! This evening's unexpected, unsought,
unasked, free, gratuitous mercy has made the
last two hours worth more than some whole days of
this week. Oh, how kind is He who knows how to
win back and attract to Himself by imparting ineffable
desires after what is good, even to a heart that has
grown dry and dead and worldly! I have thought
that some measure of our growth in grace may be found
in the degree in which our carnal natural reluctance
to receive Christ back into our vessel, come how He
may, is diminished. How full of significance is the
inquiry, "To whom is the arm of the Lord revealed?"
Blessed revelation; and well is it for those who feel
ready to adopt the prayer, "Awake, awake, O arm of
the Lord," if they know the way of its coming. Oh,
how does its acceptance presuppose an experience of
something of the kind, so awfully set forth as from
Omnipotence Himself!--"I looked, and there was no
man, therefore mine own arm brought salvation unto
me." Yes, it is when He sees that we have no human
expectance or confidence left, and are, as it were,
at our wits' end; it is then that His own arm brings
salvation, that He says, "Stand still, and see the salvation
of God; for the Lord shall fight for you, and ye
shall hold your peace." Oh, how great the condescension
which has given me a glimpse of "so great
salvation"! But I have remarked that it never has
been in answer to any questionings or searchings of
my own. Some great perplexities I have had lately,
being so unable to satisfy myself how far religion or
its duties should be the act of ourselves--so confused
about prayer, etc. Difficulties, hardly capable to be put
into words, put me in real distress; but the good seems
to be _revealed_, if I may use such a word, to another
part of me; or, as I. Pennington would say, "to
_another eye_ and _ear_ than those which are so curious
to learn." The Lord grant that I may at last become
an obedient and truly teachable child; for that faculty,
whatsoever it be, that asks vociferously, seems not to
be the one which, as I.P. says, "_graspingly receives,"_
but is rather a hinderance to its reception.

_10th Mo. 14th_. Outwardly, the chief variety in my
experience has been an interesting visit with my
mother at Kingsbridge and Totness. A solitary walk
in the garden at Totness, on First-day afternoon, I
think I can never forget. No sunshine--though not
mere darkness--was upon me during nearly all the
week: yet I wondered to find that at Kingsbridge,
though visiting was a constant self-denial, in withdrawing
me from the earnest search in which I was
engaged, I got on more easily than common, and felt
much more love than usual to my friends. The first
gleam of sunshine did not come through any man's
help, but in my lone matin the day after our return.
I tried to cast my care on God, and on Seventh-day
morning was favored with a blessed evidence that He
did care for me. Since then it has not been repeated;
but earnest have been my cries in secret to my heavenly
Father, whose mercies indeed are great; and
my lonely hours have been employed mostly in seeking
Him, having little taste for reading of any general
kind. One morning in particular, at Trevelmond, in
the plantation, waiting for my father, was my heart
poured out to God. Calmness has often succeeded;
and then I dread the coming of indifference and coolness.
Oh, this is surely the worst of states! I had
rather endure almost any amount of anguish.

Yesterday, the probability that my course on earth
may be short occurred forcibly. I recurred to the
words quoted by J.T., "The sting of death is sin,"
with encouragement to hope for "the victory." However,
the future is not my care. May I be the care
of Him whose care the future is, and then----

_10th Mo. 22d_. At home with a cold, and may
just record my poor spirit's lowness and poverty
amid, as I trust, its honest desires to become wholly
the Lord's. "Ye ask, and have not, because ye ask
amiss, that ye may consume it upon your lusts," is
surely true of spiritual food. We should desire it
that we "may grow thereby," not from mere spiritual
voluptuousness; and, oh, in my own desires for the
will of God to be done, how often have I not known
what spirit I was of! How often have I been tenaciously
standing on the very ground that I was asking
to have broken up and destroyed! A short lone
meeting in the parlor, blest chiefly with humiliation,
and this I would regard as a blessing.

Letter to ----.

I am tempted to spend a few lonely minutes in thanking
thee for thy truly kind salutation, advice, and encouragement;
though I fear to say much in reply. I hope
and trust thou art not altogether mistaken in me: in one
respect I know thou art not,--that I have seen of the
mercy and love of a long-suffering Saviour, whom I do
at times desire to love and serve with all my heart; and
not the least of His blessings I esteem it that any of His
children should care for me for His sake. I dread depending
on any, even of these, which, as well as the fear
of man, I have found does bring a snare; and as far as
experience goes, I seem to have tasted more of the "tree
of the knowledge of good and evil" than of the "tree
of life;" which, however, I would fain hope, "yielding
its fruit every month," has some for the wintry season
of darkness and of frost. Yes, my dear friend, thou hast
rightly judged in this also, that the winter is sometimes
very cold, and the night very dark. May thy desires
for me be accomplished, that these may indeed work for
my good; much as the utter absence of feeling would
sometimes tempt me to think it the result of that worst
of all sentences, "Let her alone;" to which the added
memories of many a "mercy cast away" are very ready
to contribute. Am I in this repining? I hope not; for
every day brings fresh cause to acknowledge that because
my enemies, though lively and strong, "do not
quite triumph over me," therefore I may still trust that
He favoreth me. It is seldom that I write or speak in this
way of myself. May we learn more and more of the
utter insufficiency of any earthly thing, or of any power
of our own to do what is essential for our salvation, and
then, when we hang solely and entirely on the Lord
Jesus, we shall be safe. Of this I feel no doubt or fear:--the
fear is of having confidence in any thing besides, of
spiritual pride, of self-sufficiency. Yes, I find self
has many lives, and the very sorrows and humiliations
of one day, if we do not beware, may become the idols
of the next. "We have eaten and drunk in thy presence:"
can such a language ever be used in vain-glory,
while we remember "the wormwood and the gall," which
we now see to have been administered in fulfilment of
His own words, "Ye shall indeed drink of my cup"?
Indeed, it seems to me that nothing is too high, too good,
or too pure for Satan to make use of, if he can but get
us and it into his hands. May the Lord be pleased to
rebuke this devourer for our sakes, and give at length to
the often-desponding heart to know that Himself hath
promised, "when the wicked are cut off, thou shalt see
it," and that the "God of peace shall bruise Satan under
our feet."

_12th Mo. 4th_ To the same.

* * * I am sorry for thy physical state, yet doubtless
it is but the inverted image of a counterbalancing
mental good, which is, or is about to be, perhaps to signify
that

"God doth not need
Either man's works or His own gifts; who best
Bear His mild yoke, they serve Him best;
They also serve who only stand and wait."

It is surely not for the value of the service itself, that
He calls for it so long and so repeatedly, till at last the
iron sinew gives way: no, but for the sake of bending
the iron sinew itself, and when it _is_ bent in one direction,
I conclude He does not mean to stiffen it there, but
would have it bend perhaps back to the very same position
as at first it was so hard to bend it _from_, with this
one wide difference, that in the first case it was so in its
own will, but now in His will. Perhaps thou thinkest I
am darkening counsel: I do not wish to do so, but write
just how things have happened to me in my small way.
Ought we not to be willing to be bent or unbent any
way? and if a bow is to "abide in strength," it must be
unbent when it is not wanted. But as we have all different
places to fill, and different dispositions and snares,
and besetments, we must not measure ourselves among
ourselves.

It is indeed very good, as thou sayest, to be sometimes
alone, and at times I trust I have found it so; but it has
its dangers also, especially to me, who am perhaps more
apt to make self of too much importance than to shrink
from "due responsibility and authority." Indeed, this
latter word belongs not to me at all, and if I may but
keep life in me, (or have it kept,) well indeed will it be.
Oh, till we have grace enough willingly to do the smallest
matters, thankfully to "sit in the lowest room," meekly
and patiently to be put out of our own way, and see our
plans and intentions frustrated, and find ourselves of
small account or value in the Church or in the world,
yes, till we have grace enough to forget self altogether,
"content to fill a little space, so thou art glorified," I
know not where is our claim to be followers of Him
"who made Himself of no reputation." I am very far
from this. Couldst thou have seen how much hold the
many small duties of my lonely week have taken on my
mind, how little time I have found for the purpose for
which we both value solitude, and how much my "lightly
stirred" spirit has been hurried about from one object to
another, I fear thou wouldst scarcely think even this
note other than presumptuous. Oh, how should I be rebuked
by the thought,

"One thing is needful, and but one:
Why do thy thoughts on many run?"

_12th Mo. 30th_. To-day ends the week, and to-morrow
the year. Very unfit am I to speak of it as I
would. I have felt very happy on some occasions,
yet I have feared lest what should be on a good
foundation is yet but built of "hay and stubble."
If so, who can tell the fierceness of the fire that
burns between me and my wished-for rest? There
is no way to true safety but through it; and, oh, to
part with all combustibles is very hard; but why
waste a thought on the hardness, could it but be
speedily and simply done? My old difficulty--what
is duty when the sensible help of grace is out of
sight--renews its strength. Doubtless to wait for it,
and perhaps ask for it also; but how? Oh that I
had crossed the great gulf from myself to my
Saviour! Oh that I were in His hands and out of
my own!

_2d Mo. 3d_, 1849. I have been sorely tried with
apparent desertion and darkness; "yet not deserted"
is my still struggling faith; and some consoling
thoughts have visited me of days still I trust in
store, when, "as one whom his mother comforteth,"
the Lord will comfort me. Dear J.T.'s counsel has
seldom been absent from my thoughts; but, manifold
as have been my heavenly Father's instrumental
mercies, I never was more impressed with the absolute
need of His immediate preserving care.

"Can I trust a fellow-being?
Can I trust an angel's care?
O thou merciful All-Seeing,
Beam around my spirit there."

And not less _here_, in this shady vale of life, than in
the deep of death. Oh, how desirable, how infinitely
sweet, to sleep in His arms, on His bosom! An early
translation, if it were His will, would indeed be a
blessed portion; but I do not expect such indulgence,
and desire not to wish it. It is enough if I may
know that "to live is Christ," and that to die will
at length be "great gain."

_2d Mo. 13th_. Seldom does any appeal to my heavenly
Father seem more fitting than this, "Thou
knowest my foolishness;" and, oh, may His arm of
mercy and compassion be one day revealed.

_3d Mo.--th_. Letter to ----.

* * * Oh, how desirable it is to be willing to be
made of much or of little use!

"And careful less to serve thee much,
Than to please thee perfectly:"

and, very far back as I feel in the race, and insensible of
advance, I think we may be encouraged to believe that
we make some approaches to the "mark for the prize,"
if we have a clearer and more desirous view of the yet
far-distant goal. "Thine eyes shall see the King in his
beauty, they shall behold the land that is very far off,"
must have been addressed to one still "very far" from
the promised land. Thus I scribble to thee the musings
with which, in my now shady allotment, I try to encourage
myself to hope; and which perhaps are as incorrect
as the lament which the beautiful spring will sometimes
prompt, "With the year seasons return, but not to me."
It would, however, be most ungrateful to complain. To
live at all is a _great_ favor--an undeserved and unspeakable
favor; and though it be a life of pain and weariness,
and even grief, may it never become a life of
thankless ingratitude! We who have tried our heavenly
Father's patience so long, dare we complain of waiting
for Him?

_4th Mo. 13th_. Letter to M.B.

* * * However high be the capacity of the mind,
it is humiliating to find what small things can distract
it, if its anchor-hold be not truly what and where it
ought to be; and who does not find the need of this
being often renewed and made fast? The little experience
I have had, that even a life comparatively free
from trial, except as regards its highest significance, "is
but vanity," and the belief that it is so infinitely surpassed
by another, has much modified to me the feeling
of witnessing (might I venture to say of _anticipating?)_
the transition for others or for myself. I nevertheless
cannot say much from experience; for it has not yet
been my lot to lose one of my own intimate or nearly
attached friends, except where the course of time had
made it a natural and inevitable thing; and I know
there must be depths of sorrow in such events only
fathomed by descending to them.

_4th Mo.--th_. Letter to M.B.

What a privilege it is to be permitted to
expect and look for a better guidance than our own
judgment or inclination, even in the small things of our
small lives; small though they are, compared with the
great events which are ruled by our heavenly Father's
will, how much is involved in them as far as _we_ are concerned!
and we need not measure the controlling care
of Providence by the abstract greatness or littleness of
any event. Compared with His infinity, the fate of an
empire would be not more worthy of His care than the
least event of our lives; but it is _love_--the same wonderful
love that can comfort and bless the dying-pillow of
a little one, in which we want more practical faith for
our safe conduct through this uncertain life. Did we _live_
in such a faith, it would be sweet and easy to _die_ in it.

_4th Mo. 30th. Bristol_. Yesterday was a memorable
day to me; the evening meeting found me very
sad and burdened; when I thought I was made sensible
of something like an offer from One who is infinite
in power and love, to take this burden away,
to bear it Himself, and to do in me His own will.
There seemed something like a covenant set before
me, that all this should be done for me on condition
of my acquiescence with and subjection to that
supreme will, that I should refuse neither to suffer
His own work within me nor to do His manifested
will. It may be that I stamp too highly what was
most gently and calmly spread before my heart. It
may be that the relief, the peaceful calm, which
followed my endeavor to unite with this precious proposal,
was a mistaken thing; but I believe not.
Strikingly in unison with all this was the evangelical
and practical sermon of S. Treffry which followed,
and my feelings in returning home and sitting down
alone for a few minutes to seek a confirmation, were
like a seal to all that I had heard in meeting. This
morning I am far from rich or lively, but seem
bound neither to doubt nor to complain; but only
and constantly to endeavor to submit every thought
of my heart to my dear Saviour's will; and thus,
after many a tossing, I have been enabled to say,

"I rest my soul on Jesus,--
This weary soul of mine."

There may I ever be, O Lord.

_5th Mo. 13th. First-day evening_. Oh that here
I might once more set up my Ebenezer, and say,
"Hitherto Thou hast helped me, O Lord." "My
Father's arms, and not my own, were those that held
me fast." Ah! my own hold in the last fortnight
has often relaxed, though many a heart-tendering
evidence have I had that "He is faithful that hath
promised." Yesterday morning when I awoke, dead
as ever in myself, some sweet whisper of goodness at
hand saluted my ear, and, oh, it was but a sound of
the abundance of heavenly rain that soon made my
heart overflow.

_8th Mo. 4th_. Letter to ----

* * * At our Monthly Meeting, only a few words
from ----, advising young ones to be patient and submissive.
And surely we may well be thankful to learn
so wholesome a lesson, seeing how many sorrows we
have often brought upon ourselves by the contrary disposition,
and how faithful is the promise that "the
meek He will guide in judgment and teach His way."
How contemptible, as well as sinful, that rebellious spirit
sometimes appears (when we honestly weigh it) that
wants to make in its own special favor exceptions to
the wise management of our kind and gracious heavenly
Father! Oh, why should we prolong our woes by such
perversity, when we feel at times as if it would be our
highest joy to be what He would have us to be, and our
very meat and drink to do His will?

_8th Mo. 13th_. This evening we had a precious
meeting indeed. A solemn silence, in which much
had been felt, was followed by a fervent prayer from
----. Truly my heart's response was, "Let thine
own work praise thee." Do I write too much if I
record the blessing of ability to crave for myself this
evening an increased knowledge of and obedience to
the Shepherd's voice, and that no disguise of Satan
may ever impose on me for this?

_9th Mo. 7th_. Letter to M.B.

* * * I often wonder at the attractions so many
find in merely following the multitude in their recreations.
* * * Do we not sometimes find, if our
honest wish is to refresh ourselves for duty, and not to
escape from it, that even our rest and recreation is
owned by a blessing to which one would not for all
the world be strangers? How kind was He who had
welcomed back his faithful twelve from their labors for
others, when He said, "Come ye _yourselves_ apart into a
desert place, and rest a while; for there were many coming
and going, and they had no leisure so much as to
eat." But even then they were to learn no selfish indolence,
and rest was quickly laid aside to share their
morsels with thousands. If we were always His companions,
did "all our hopes of happiness stay calmly
at His side," how would our sitting down to rest and
rising up to toil be alike blessed! And then, when the
scene is changed, and sorrow and care become our portion,
the same who was our joy in prosperity will be
our refuge in adversity; and "because thou hast made
the Lord thy habitation, there shall no evil befall thee."

I write my wishes for us both; may it be thus with
thee and me, and when it is well with thee, think of
one who longs sometimes to know these things for herself.
But how well it is that our safety is in other
hands than ours! how often, had it depended even on
our continued desire for that which is good, had all been
over with us!

"Thy parents' arms, and not thy own,
Were those that held thee fast."

_11th Mo. 4th_. "Hunted with thoughts," as J.
Crook so truly describes it, "up and down like a
partridge on the mountains," often feeling in meeting
as if nothing could be compared with the joy
of _resting_ in Jesus, a rest to which I am still much
a stranger; no more able to command the mob of
unquiet thoughts than to hush the winds. At other
times, as this evening in my chamber, a sort of
strained anguish of soul, wherein my desire has been
that my eyes might he ever toward the Lord, that
He, in His own time, may pluck my feet out of the
net. The mental pain I have passed through makes
_some_ escape seem most desirable. If to lay down
the body were all I needed to escape, and I were fit
for it, how willingly would I accept such an invitation!
But I dare not ask it, nor any other thing,
but only that He who alone can, may make me in
His own time what He would have me to be; and
this evening I have been thinking that the painful
feelings I suffered might be the means appointed for
freeing me from the bondage of the worldly mind,
and from those tormenting, hurrying thoughts. Oh,
be it so; whether by means utterly incomprehensible
to me, or not, be the needful work done. I trust the
comprehension is not needed; and that the simplicity
and submission which _are_ needed may be granted
me; and that still [if] my enemies be expelled, as I
hope they will be by "His own arm," (as dear J.T.
said,) their presence will not be laid to my charge.
Alas, that I am so often guilty of dallying with
them! What wonder that the wilderness is so long
and tortuous, when I reckon the molten calves, the
murmurings, the fleshly desires?

_1st Mo. 17th_, 1850. Letter to M.B.

* * * Canst thou feel any sympathy or compassion
for one who pleads guilty to the folly of a flurried
mind, "wasting its strength in strenuous idleness," and
that, too, with open eyes, seeing its own weakness and
despising it? One of the worst things such a folly includes
is that it allows no leisure to the mind; whereas,
I believe well-ordered minds, however much care may
be placed upon them, can throw this aside, when not
necessarily engaged, and repose in the true dignity of
self-command. This is, I believe, some people's natural
gift; but it surely ought, by supernatural means, to be
within every one's reach if only the government were
on the shoulders of the "Prince of Peace." Oh, how
much that means! What "delectable mountains!"
What "green pastures!" What "still waters!" What
"gardens enclosed!" What "south lands," and "springs
of water," are pictured in that _beau-ideal_ "on earth as
it is in heaven"! Well my second page has spoken of a
land very far off from the haunted region described in
the first; but to "turn over a new leaf" is easier in a
letter than in a life. Thy idea of the next ten years
altering us less than the last will perhaps prove true;
but, oh, the painful doubts that force themselves on me,
whether the present channel is such that we can peacefully
anticipate it only as deepening, and not as having
an utter change of direction! How much harder to live
in the world and not be of it than to forsake it altogether!
So lazy self says; and, in turning from present duty,
tries to justify itself by the excuse that it would willingly
leave this world for another.

_2d Mo. 4th. First-day evening_. Little as I have
felt inclined to put pen to paper of late, I thought
this evening that some small memento might be left,
as it were, at this point of the valley, just to say,
Here were the footsteps of a weary halting pilgrim at
such a time--one that brought no store of food or
raiment, no supply of wisdom or subtlety, no provision
for the way, nothing but wounds and weaknesses,
household images, secret sins; but by favor
of unspeakable long-suffering, continuing unto this
day--and, as she would fain hope, not deserted. A.
troop of thoughts doth grievously overcome her, and
faint is her hope that she shall overcome at the last;
yet does she desire to set up the Ebenezer, if not of
rejoicing, which as yet cannot be, yet of humble hope,
in a cloudy and dark day, that He who has said,
"Light and gladness are sown for the upright in:
heart," will yet verify His promise in the day-spring
of the light of His countenance, if any measure of
integrity remain within. Oh, that He may keep, as
the apple of His eye, that which a troop of robbers
are watching to spoil, and may provide it with a
hiding-place in His pavilion of love! And for one
thing is my earnest wish directed to Him, that, unable
as I am to direct my own steps aright, He would
provide a leader for me, and a willing heart within
me, and grant me _enough_ of His guidance to keep
me in the way, and enough of a willingness to walk
therein and not stumble.

_3d Mo. 7th_, Letter to M.B.

* * * I know well that impatience will sometimes
put on the pretence of something much better, and that
we shall never run to good purpose unless we "run with
patience." Unhappily, a slow gradual progress is sadly
opposed to my inconstant nature, and after one of the
many interruptions it meets with, how prone am I to
wish for some flying leap to make up for the past! It
seems so hard a thing to get transformed, and therefore--strange
inconsistency indeed--one would be translated.
But truly it might be said, "Ye know not what ye ask."
* * * I have been interested with reading the early
part of "No Cross, no Crown," and especially the chapter
on lawful self, where the receiving back again, as
Abraham did Isaac, the lawful pleasures which had been
resigned to the Divine will, is so nicely spoken of; and I
do believe it explains the cause of half the gloom of
would-be Christians. They do not quite refuse, nor
quite resign their hearts, and so they are kept, not only
without true peace, but without the enjoyment of those
earthly goods which have been called for, not to deprive
their owners of them, but to be restored in _this life_ "an
hundredfold." How is it to be wished that these half
measures were abandoned, and that if we have put our
hand to the plough, we might not look back, as we so
often have done, to the unfitting ourselves for that kingdom
which is not only righteousness, but peace and joy.
"That your joy may be full," is plainly the purpose of
our Saviour towards His children; and yet how many,
as Macaulay says, "have just enough religion to make
them unhappy when they do wrong, and yet not enough
to induce them to do right."

_5th Mo. 28th_. It is an unspeakable blessing to be
permitted and enabled to pray. How can I be sufficiently
thankful that it has been mine? Last night
my heart was fervently engaged towards my God;
and this evening, though the sense of my utter destitution
and weakness was very painful, was it not a
blessing if it led me to Him? I have thought of the
test, "In quietness and confidence shall be your
strength." There is danger in fleshly confidence;
yet there is no strength, but a new danger in fleshly
fear. Oh, I would be stripped of _all_ fleshly dispositions
of whatever kind, or however specious: they
war against the soul; but because mine enemy has
not quite triumphed over me, may I not believe that
_He_ favoreth me in whose favor is life, and whose is
a faithful love? Oh for its perfect dominion in me!
His will is my sanctification, my perfection. It is
His "good pleasure to give me the kingdom"--even
to me. Amazing grace! What in me but my greatest
foe could hinder the full adoption of the prayer,
"Thy will be done"?

_6th Mo. 3d_. The little measure of faith I have is
not worn out, but rather purified and strengthened;
but, oh, when I think of the reality, the momentous
import, of the change of nature from sin to holiness,
which has to be effected, what a baptism may I not
have yet to be baptized with, and what perils to pass
through! Oh, if it might please my heavenly Father
to shorten and hasten the process, and deliver me
from earth and its dangers into a changeless state of
safety and peace in His dear presence! But I do
believe He would rather be glorified by living Christians
than by only dying penitents. A watchful,
holy life is His delight. Oh that this high calling
may not be slighted or cast away! The near approach
of my birthday has led me to look back over
the brief notes of twelve months. The interesting
details we have received of the Yearly Meeting
remind me of what I felt at the conclusion of the
last. The Lord has again been with the Church's
gathering, faithful as of old, and, where seats were
vacant, hath filled His people with joy.

_6th Mo. 5th_. I wish simply to record how last
night, when in bed, I was favored with a calm, watchful
frame, and lay enjoying the mental repose till
long after my usual hour of sleep. This morning at
breakfast-time it was renewed, with a sweet sense of
the willingness of our heavenly Father to enable His
children to serve Him. He made them for that end:
it is His will that they should do so. It cannot be
that He will refuse them the indispensable assistance.
How sweet was this feeling! but hurry, and too much
care about little things, sadly dissipated me in the
day. This evening I have had a gracious gift of
some of those _Sabbath_ feelings again, after reading
the seventeenth chapter of Jeremiah. The verses
referring to the Sabbath-day, and bearing no burden
therein, were solemnly instructive. The utter inability
of my natural heart to attain or retain such a
state shows me the necessity of all being done for
me through faith in Divine power, "His name,
through faith in His name." Oh for watchfulness
unto prayer continually, and that the cumber of
earth may be cast away! "Take heed that your
flight be not in the winter," has been my watchword,
though how imperfectly obeyed! and if, through
infinite mercy, the season be changing, if He who
has faithfully kept me from utter death there-through
is beginning to give me more of rest, oh,
let me never forget the solemn addition, "neither on
the Sabbath day."

_6th Mo. 13th_. * * * I wish now to record
the very solemn and encouraging visit of James
Jones from America to our meeting this day. How
wondrously did he speak of trials and afflictions, and
the necessity of entire resignation through all!
Though oceans of discouragement and mountains of
difficulty loom up before thee, thou wilt be brought
through the depths dry-shod, and be enabled to
adopt the language, "What ailed thee, O thou sea,
that thou fleddest, and ye mountains, that ye skipped
like rams?" Thou wilt be "led through green pastures,
and beside still waters," speaking of the call
to service in the Church, which he believed was to
some in an especial manner in the early stages of
life. I heard all; but such was my dejection that I
seemed to _receive_ little, though I could not but feel
the power. I seemed incapable of taking either
hope or instruction to myself. J.J. left us after
dinner, and, on taking leave, took my hand in a very
solemn manner, and, after a few minutes silence,
said, tenderly, but authoritatively, "If the mantle
falls on thee, wear;" words which will long live
in my heart. Would that the power which sent
them may fulfil them! None other can.

_7th Mo. 1st_. Last week at Plymouth Quarterly
Meeting. An interesting time. I trust that which
silenced and solemnized my spirit was something
better than myself. What could I do but endeavor
to lie down in passiveness under it, and crave that
nothing might interfere to mar the work of the
Lord? Much was said to encourage the hope that
those who truly love the Lord will at length be
brought into more peace and liberty in Him; that
He will qualify them to fill just that place He designs
for them in His house. Oh, how I long to
become that, and that only, which pleases Him, that
neither height nor depth might separate me from
His love! And when I think of the deceitfulness of
my heart, the danger of being lifted up seems so
appalling that the former deliverance seems yet
greater than the latter.

_7th Mo. 23d_. I have been glad to be released
from some of my charges and cares, as well as to
share the loving interests of home with all my dear
sisters, and trust it is not all laziness which makes
me shrink from engaging in new though useful
objects. I seem to have much need of quiet, and
have enjoyed many hours with dear F.'s precious
children. Often, as now, I am very destitute, and
sometimes very sad; but sometimes, though rarely,
"all is peace." Long shall I remember a moonlight
half-hour, on Sixth-day, in the fields and garden,
where I sat down to enjoy the cool of the day, and
for a time all sorrow was far away, and the very
"Prince of Peace" did seem to reign. Then did I
feel I had not followed "a cunningly-devised fable,"
and the precious words did comfort me, "If children,
then heirs." But, oh, how otherwise I often am!
how utterly destitute! This day we have had a
sweet little visit from ----. His encouragement to
the tribulated children saluted my best life, overborne
as it felt with the burden of unregenerate
nature--ready to say, "Who shall deliver me from
the body of this death?" and, amid many a giving
way to the worryings of earthly thoughts, struggling
to say, "Lord, I believe: help thou mine unbelief."
Often have I remembered dear Sarah Tuckett's
encouraging words, "But through all, and underneath
all, will be the everlasting Arms." Amen, and
amen.