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having taken on herself such a burden. She kept a little day-school, and taught the cottagers' children to make lace and to read the Bible; and as the child in question turned out a cripple, he also was put to make lace until he grew a great lad and was able to go to light work out of doors. Many a child did she live to teach both to labour and to read; and many of them continued to respect their dame to her dying day; for Molly would ever and anon drop a kind word of caution and encouragement, and endeavour to lead their minds towards a better world. It was, indeed, for several years her great delight to speak of the goodness of the Lord, and to comfort others with words concerning the kingdom of God. The cottage which Mary inhabited, and wherein she passed through so many mercies and trials, was not lightly esteemed by her. There, for more than twenty years, she kept her little school, and received such kind friends and neighbours as called to see and converse with her. But, alas!
"Changes and trials are our lot Long as we sojourn here."
And these changes levelled her cottage to the ground, and entirely changed the face of that part of the parish. To quit this residence, although it was an uncomfortable one, was a trial to Molly. It stood at the foot of the church hill, and many on their way to and from the house of God passed by her door. These could now and then cheer her heart with a word in season as they stopped a few minutes by the She could also see from her window and door the rising grounds, and admire the grain, and trees, and hedges, through the changes of the season; and as she was an observer and an admirer of nature, this was no small gratification. But when she was carried to her new and last earthly dwelling, she could neither behold the
trees put forth or shed their leaves, nor observe the fields advance to harvest, nor see the people pass along at the call of the "churchgoing bell." As far as personal accommodation went, the change of residence was undoubtedly to her advantage; but elderly people are so attached to their old places of abode, that I could have wished to have seen her end her days where she had passed the most interesting part of her life. But this could not be; and she submitted, with great resignation and patience, to the painful necessity of being carried to a new building, though it was the unavoidable cause of much suffering to her bulky and afflicted frame.
Molly was fond of reading, and would frequently read out to her neighbours while they sat at their lace-pillow by her bedside or easy chair; and as she had a good natural understanding, and a large share of experimental religion in her heart, and had passed through many trials and afflictions of body and mind; she could, and frequently did, give very suitable advice and edifying instructions to her tried and tempted neighbours. My acquaintance with her was confined to the last eighteen months of her life. It is possible, I believe, to find individuals in this parish whose cold hearts never warmed with gratitude to God at the conduct of Molly B.; and there may be others who, though they knew her personally, yet never knew her spiritual character. These may think too much is said about her; but there are many others who live near, as well as some who reside in distant parts of the kingdom, who will attest with me, that a visit to her cottage never failed to impress the mind with an exalted estimate of real Christianity in the soul. They will affirm with myself, that while her bodily afflictions made them shudder at the very idea of what they saw it possible their own might one day be ;
yet, at the same time, while they contemplated her resignation, her spirituality of mind, her faith and hope, they could not but exclaim, O that such a state were my own! For my part I feel thankful that I was permitted to see and converse with her so long. During eighteen months I had an interest in her prayers; and often through that period did she refresh and cheer my mind when it was disposed to droop under a variety of exercises. But she is gone from among us, and her now sinless and painless body rests beneath the green turf of our churchyard; and the rich foliage of a widespreading sycamore-tree casts a deep and refreshing shadow over her grave. The day before her departure a few of her Christian friends met at her cottage to receive the sacrament of the Lord's Supper with her. It was a refreshing season, and will not be forgotten by any of the party. Mary was now in a state of great restlessness and pain, and quite unable to hold a regular conversation. When the ordinance was concluded, and I approached her bedside to bid her farewell, I took her by the hand and said, "Molly, you have for some days past earnestly desired to eat of this bread and drink of this cup, and now that desire has been granted: henceforth you will receive it no more until you partake of it new in your heavenly Father's kingdom-you will soon be there."- "I hope I shall," she replied. "Hope," said I; "why, have you any doubt ?"-"No," she answered, with much firmness, “I have no doubt at all." Here ended our conversation on earth; for on the following day, Sunday, she departed this life early in the morning, and commenced a perfect and an eternal Sabbath in heaven.
The news of her departure was received with thanksgiving by all her friends. They knew how much and how long she had suffered in
the flesh; they had no doubt whatever of the meetness of her state for the kingdom of God, and hence they were assured that for her to depart was far better. In these feelings I myself participated. But while I rejoice for her, I had cause to mourn for myself. Under the many and various trials ever attendant on the ministerial office, it is no small consolation and support to the pastor of a flock to know, that the most devout of his fold offer up strong cries and prayers unto God for him. This was here my own case: Molly well knew how many trials I had to encounter; she saw my spirits sometimes depressed, and my bodily strength sometimes fail me; and well I knew that her fervent prayers were offered
up for every needful grace and mercy in my behalf. So long as she dwelt at the foot of the church hill, and could sit up in her great chair, so long did she invariably watch my passing by; and when but the nod of her head caught my eye, it cheered my heart, because, as I advanced up the hill towards the earthly courts of the Lord's house, I knew that her fervent effectual prayer was going up as incense before the throne of Heaven, that I might be enabled to glorify God, and benefit mankind, by rightly dividing the word of truth in preaching among my people the unsearchable riches of Christ.
When, therefore, she was gone, I felt such a sense of my loss, as I rarely had experienced before. It never was my lot to have a friend who was a favourite of any earthly monarch; but here I had one who was beloved by the King of kings, one who was as often as she pleased admitted into the audiencechamber of heaven. Smile not, O vain world, at this my highly esteemed privilege; for I knew and felt it to be great, while it lasted, and the day that removed it from me could not but afflict the soul.
When this brief history meets
12 A Visit to the Cottage and Grave of the Dairyman's Daughter.
flesh, but she ceased not day or night to implore blessings on them; and the day will come, when they shall see and know her in the kingdom of God and the Lamb.
the eyes of some distant friends, they will learn that she, to whose necessities they oft-times kindly administered, is now removed beyond the reach of pain and want. Some of those never beheld her in the
A VISIT TO THE COTTAGE AND GRAVE OF THE DAIRYMAN'S DAUGHTER.
BEING this summer within a few miles of the village where the Dairyman's Daughter once resided, was induced by some friends to accompany them on a visit to this strictly retired spot. The excursion was pleasant. The morning rose upon us with great beauty; and as we travelled to the place of our destination, a very lovely scene of hill and vale, of ocean and of wood, opened to our view. We reached the village about midday. The sun was shining in his strength. The labourers were at their employ; the gleaners were picking up their scanty pittance, and some returning to their cottages laden with the fruit of their toil. This sight was animating. It gave us the hope, that though the season of the year had hitherto been unfavourable to the harvest, and the clouds and the rain had filled the husbandman with despondency, yet that eventually we should have to admire the God of providence, for storing our barns with plenty.
On reaching the village we alighted from our car; and having some tracts with us, we began to distribute a few among the persons who were near. Scarcely had we entered on this employment, before a group of little children running from the adjacent cottages, gatherod round us, and with a smile upon their rosy cheeks, looked earnestly, that each one might receive a tract. Happily we had a sufficient quantity. It was with no small degree of pleasure we heard that the chil
dren were instructed in a Sunday school, by a lady residing in the village. Her work is truly noble. Situated as these little rustics are, the children of labouring parents, remote from any town, and many of them employed in the fields every day, it is delightful to find, that there is some one who feels solicitous for their moral and spiritual welfare, and who is willing to teach them to read the Scriptures, which are able to make them wise unto salvation, through faith which is in Christ Jesus.
Having enjoyed the luxury of doing good, we went to the churchyard, to view the grave of the Dairyman's Daughter. The spot which conceals her poor remains is enchanting, both for its beauty and its sequestered situation. After walking in pensive mood through these silent abodes of the village poor, we at length came to the grave of Elizabeth. A stone, which bears the record of some other branches of the family, designated the spot where her dust was embosomed. The grassy green sod covered her, and the nettles skirted the hillock. We paused for a few moments, and thought of the peaceful manner in which she closed this mortal life, and the unutterable felicity her spirit is now enjoying, with the spirits of the just made perfect. "Blessed are the dead that die in the Lord, for they rest from their labours, and their works follow them." The retirement of the spot, the waving of the trees, the gentle murmuring of the wind through the branches, added much to the inte
rest of the scene, and for a moment one was ready to say,
would be sepulchred:
Here It is a lovely spot! The sultry sun From his meridian height endeavours vainly To pierce the shadowy foliage.
We rode from the churchyard to the adjacent village; and there, with an enthusiasm great as any antiquary could look upon a fragment of former times, we took a glance of the cottage in which she once lived and died. This humble abode was the picture of beauty and neatness. The thatched roof nearly covered with moss, the white walls, around which the rose-bush is beautifully spread, and the elms which stand at a little distance, waving, and throwing their shadows on the dwelling, give it an indescribable loveliness. Some of the family are still residents. On our approaching the wicket, and making a few inquiries, they very kindly favoured us with a sight of the interior. We were shown the chair in which she was accustomed to sit during her illness, and the room in which she died.
Many years have rolled away since Elizabeth dwelt in this humble cot, but her memory is still cherished. We
e were gratified in seeing the eye of a female relative glistening with tears, while she related the peaceful end of the deceased, and adverted to the excellent clergyman who attended her dying moments.
The cottage, I find, has many visitors. Many, no doubt, look at it with the simple eye of curiosity. But if the mind be rightly directed, the visit may be rendered very profitable. Her situation may remind us of the sovereignty of God's grace; her obscurity, that God has his hidden ones; her peaceful end, of the powerful support of the Gospel, when drawing near to the grave; her early dissolution, of the uncertainty of life; and her whole character, of the importance and blessing of personal religion, "that we may be followers of them who through faith and patience inherit the promises,"
I am, dear Sir,
LETTER FROM THE LATE REV. JOHN NEWTON.
YOUR letter, dated the 15th of August, did not reach my house till the 2d of this month, the day of my return from Southampton. I take the first opportunity of answering it.
I hope I am no party man. I know there are many excellent people, and some judicious useful preachers, in Mr. Wesley's connexion; and I would, yea, I do rejoice in the good which the Lord is pleased to do among them. Arminians, as they are called, who love the Saviour, and, by faith in him, walk according to the rule of the Gospel, and overcome the world, are no less dear to me than Calvinists. And I find persons of this character agree with me in expe
rience, though they differ from me in expressions, and perhaps hold some religious sentiments which I deem erroneous. But whoever does the will of God, I would say the same is my brother, and my sister, and my mother.
I endeavour to preach the truth to the best of my light, and meddle not with controversy. Many of Mr. Wesley's people are among my stated hearers; and by avoiding party phrases and points of disputation, I give them no offence, and they seem to be well satisfied with my ministry. With some of them I am personally acquainted, and I think we have _not_more excellent Christians in London. But these are not the people who hold the doctrine of sinless perfection. Some
of them, indeed, have been induced by their teachers, for a time, to think it attainable; but it is a tenet so unscriptural in itself, and so mischievous in its consequences, that I should be greatly staggered and grieved, if any persons, of whom I have a good opinion, were to tell me that they had attained to that perfection which is so strenuously preached to them.
While I believe my Bible, I must take it for granted, that they who embrace this dangerous delusion, know but little as they ought to know, either of the law, or the Gospel; either of God, or themselves.
As to the law, the more sober part of them, when pressed, give up the point; for though they say, a Christian may be free from all sin, they allow that he is subject to infirmities and temptations. Hence they speak of innocent infirmities, but I know of none such, unless they mean the head-ach, lameness, or other bodily complaints. Every defect or omission, whatever does not fully answer to the law of God, is sinful. Not only the transgression of the law, but the want of complete conformity to it, is sin. For instance; there is a certain temper of mind which becomes a sinner; a degree of reverence and self-abasement, whenever he mentions the name of that holy and glorious Majesty, before whom the angels veil their faces; and, therefore, when in prayer or in preaching I take that name upon my polluted lips, without feeling that impression, either of his majesty or his mercy, which I ought to do, so often I sin; and therefore, when I have done my best, and in the most favoured moments of my life, I should be ruined, if I had not a gracious Advocate engaged to take away the iniquity, even of my holy things. They say, likewise, that Christ himself was tempted, and therefore a believer may be perfect, and yet endure
temptation. But the prince of this world could find nothing in him. It is otherwise with us. In temptations we not only suffer, but we sin; we are not only disturbed, but defiled by them. They who are not sensible of this, must be great strangers to themselves.
As the notion of sinless perfection dishonours the law, so it contradicts the nature and design of the Gospel. The true Christian perfection consists in a broken, contrite, dependent, and devoted spirit. The most eminent Christians do not much talk of their own attainments, but of the excellency of their Saviour. They have low thoughts of themselves, and are more disposed to say, with Job,
Behold, I am vile;" than, Behold, I am perfect. But Jesus is glorious in their eyes, and precious to their hearts. His love constrains them to hate sin; to watch, pray, and strive against it, yea, to overcome it, so far as respects their conduct in the view of their fellowcreatures; but still they feel the workings of inward and inbred evil, which makes them groan, being burdened. This warfare illustrates their sincerity, and the grace and faithfulness of their Lord. It likewise increases their humility and self-abasement; and instead of glorying in themselves, as the manner of some is, they can only glory in Christ Jesus and his cross.
When Isaiah saw the majesty of the holy God, he cried out, I am undone-Abraham fell on his face, and took no higher title than dust and ashes. The heavens are not pure in his sight, how much less man that is born of a woman! Job was, in the scriptural sense, a perfect man, before his great trials came upon him. He did not suffer so much in vain. He expected, that when God had tried him, he should come forth as gold. At length the Lord appeared for him. What was then the sum total of his