I WAS born in the year 1701, in Fleet-ſtreet, London; my father's name was James Brindley, who kept a china ſhop at the corner of Fetter-lane. I was the youngeſt of fourteen children, and my mother died when I was one year and a half old; after which my father removed to Lambeth, to the houſe called Vauxhall, where he erected a pot-houſe; there my father married a ſecond wife, who, dying before him, left two children; my father himſelf died when I was about ſeven years old, leaving ſix orphans, two of them younger than myſelf, having no other relation that we knew of, except my aunt, who was my father's ſiſter, and married my preſent uncle, the perſon hereafter mentioned. My father dying without a will, left things in diſorder, and Elias Turner, who was one of the three directors of the South Sea Company, proving himſelf my father's greateſt creditor, ſent for my uncle to London, from Leek, and adviſed him to ſtand guardian for us. Three of us, at my father's death, were under the care of his houſekeeper, then wife to one of his clerks. She was very careful over us, and brought us up ſtrictly in the proteſtant religion; my eldeſt ſiſter, being weakly, lived much with my aunt in the country, except in the time of her education; and my little brother and ſiſter were brought down by my aunt, on her return from viſiting us children, after my father's death; but the little boy did not live long. My uncle had a mind, at this this time to have had me down alſo, ſaying that, upon ſeeing my innocent amuſements, he had a particular reſpect for me; but Elias Turner would not conſent to it, and I, with my brother and ſiſter, was continued under the care of the houſe-keeper ſome years longer. My uncle at times repeating his deſire to have us with him, and it being left to my choice, in the year 1713 I came down.

I had conceived the country a more delightful place than I at firſt thought it, and expreſſed to the maid, that accompanied me, my diſſatisfaction and diſappointment. She ſtaid with me till the return of the coach, and left me a little ſad: yet was my uncle and aunt full of love towards me, and I was careful of my expreſſions on the different ſituation I was in; but what added at this juncture to my grief, was the behaviour of my eldeſt ſiſter, who, before my coming down, I did not remember to have ſeen. She gave my uncle ſo much uneaſineſs, that he ſent her out of town, and, though he ſtrove to prevent it, ſhe married his apprentice, and never was re-admitted to his houſe while I lived there. On occaſion of this, and the irkſomeneſs of my ſituation, my uncle thought proper to board me at ſchool, though not altogether on account of my learning, for I was then thought dextrous at my needle beyond moſt of my years; and indeed I have obſerved in myſelf, that from a child there was a flexibility in my temper, which, as the ſoftened wax, ſeemed fit for impreſſion and improvement. My uncle concluded I might meet with ſomething there to improve on and divert my mind, though I concealed my ſorrow to the beſt of my power: he took me to Governeſs Hide's, in order to board me there; yet it thus fell out: there lived in Smythy Door, Mancheſter, a widow whoſe huſband died ſome pounds in my father's books, and my uncle calling for the money, and telling her whoſe daughter I was, ſhe ſaid, if he pleaſed, ſhe would board me, and I might go to ſchool as a day ſcholar. My uncle enquired into her character, and adviſed with one Nichols, a yarn merchant, in the Deanſgate, who adviſed my uncle to accept the proffer, telling me, his houſe, if I did not like the other, ſhould be my home; and here to be ſure I always met with a kind reception.

My uncle ſtaid with me a few days, and then left me with the widow and her daughter, the only child ſhe had. I liked my place very well, being much more agreeable to me than Leek. This widow and her daughter were Preſbyterians, but my uncle ordered me my liberty, and that I ſhould go to church, which ſhe never forbid, though ſhe was very ſtrict in her own way of worſhip, and kept good orders in the houſe, with family prayer night and morning, which I never abſented myſelf from, and I ſtill remember the pleaſure which the books I read, the repetition of my catechiſm, and thoſe forms of prayer adapted to my years, then gave me; always eſteeming thoſe I believed to be religious.

I ſtaid at Mancheſter till the latter end of the year, and ſpent the winter agreeably both to my uncle and myſelf. In the ſpring he took a journey to London, and as my yonnger ſiſter had been brought from thence young, he thought fit to take her with him for her improvement, and there ſhe ſtaid four years. Though I was left at my uncle's as by myſelf, I did not regret the loſs of theſe two ſiſters, who were indeed but as ſtrangers to me, and amends were fully made by my uncle at his return, in bringing my other ſiſter, with whom I had lived under the care of our houſekeeper, down to ſee me. This gave me, as it were, new life again, for the month that ſhe ſtaid with us; but her departure went very hard with me; and my uncle, who ever ſought (before I went to meeting) to make me happy according to his notion, propoſed to take me to Mancheſter again. This was pleaſing to me, and the widow received me kindly. She never aſked me to go to chapel, yet I many times went at pleaſure, and have ſince found occaſion to remember what I met with there. I ſtaid with her till the town was in confuſion about tory and whig; and as ſhe was afraid of the conſequence, ſhe deſired my uncle to fetch me home.

I was now paſt thirteen, and quite reconciled to my ſtation, growing in my uncle and aunt's favour, and in love towards them. They punctually fulfilled their promiſe, that I ſhould want for nothing that was fit for me to have, and there coming a dancing-maſter, though I had learned that performance at London, my uncle ſent me to him with others, it being a diverſion which (as I was very agile) they ſaid I was fit for, and indeed it was an amuſement I was very fond of.

When I had paſt fourteen, my brother came down to ſee me, and my uncle, ſtill ſtudying my improvement, ſent me to learn writing, to the paſtry, and (on the return of my ſaid maſter) to the dancing ſchool again. This gave me a large acquaintance, and as I had acquired, from the teachings of my London maſter, a different air, as they term it, I generally went off with applauſe; and this ſeemed not leſs pleaſing to my uncle and aunt, than to myſelf. He often ſhewed his fondneſs for me at my return, taking me to his knee, aſking if there was any thing wanting in my dreſs, which my acquaintance had, and I had a mind to have, ſaying he would buy it for me; but his love prevented my much aſking, for no ſooner did he ſee a new mode than he mentioned it; nor do I know that I ever aſked him for any thing by which he was ſo far diſpleaſed as to deny it me.

I was now paſt fifteen, and there coming two ſinging maſters, who taught to ſing pſalms by notes, my uncle ſent me to them. I went with many more, having great delight therein, as alſo in the worſhip of God, as I had been taught.

Here I cannot but obſerve, how many different inventions there are, to divert the minds of youth from opportunities of ſeeking after the one thing needful; yet it was in the midſt of theſe hurries that I began to make reflections in myſelf concerning the clergy, and to account them worthy of double honour; eſteeming them moſt happy, as their employment led them in their devotion towards God; and therefore concluded they had a peculiar advantage in the myſteries of divine things, and a more thorough knowledge of the Lord, and his ways to man; often ſaying to myſelf, and others, if I had been a boy I would have been of their cloth, (and brought up, as my brother was deſigned by my father to have been, at the Univerſity.)

About this time ſome particular perſons ſought my company, by way of courtſhip; but it would by no means take with me, I keeping myſelf much reſerved on that account, and going on in a moſt earneſt purſuit of my duties, as I had been taught, it proved a comfort to my uncle and aunt.

When about ſixteen, my uncle made me an aſſiſtant in the family, and on the firſt days, I not only read and gave out the pſalms, but alſo the family prayers, when my uncle was from home, or any way indiſpoſed, ſo that now I ſtood high in their favour, both with reſpect to their religious and temporal enjoyments; and indeed, I have many times ſince thought of my diſtreſſed uncle as ſimilar to Micah, who, we read, thought himſelf bleſt when he had conſecrated the Levite for his prieſt; but, alas! how ſoon did the prieſt not only leave Micah, but take away his image: ſo, though I ſtole not my uncle's god, yet I broke his peace, and left him to contemplate the uncertainty of that delight we fix on tranſient objects.

My uncle now intending my advancement, as he ſaid, would leave his own little, though convenient, houſe, to take a larger, for the better accommodation of me and my acquaintance, of which I had a great number; he little ſuſpecting this removal deſtined to overthrow his purpoſed happineſs; but ſo it was. This houſe ſtood oppoſite the leach gates of the church, ſo called, where I was frequently reminded of the mortality of the body, and was thereby ſtruck with many ſerious reflections on the ſtate of eternity, and the immortality of the ſoul.

As I lived ſo near, I often waited upon the corpſe to the grave, muſing in myſelf how it muſt be with the deceaſed in the hour of death; for, though I had often heard that ſentence pronounced, by the prieſt, in which it is ſaid, "we commit the body to the ground, (note) in ſure and certain hope of the reſurrection to eternal life;" yet, upon the ſtricteſt review, I could not find I had any evidence of that hope abiding in me; and though my reaſonings would have led me to conclude it was an immediate gift of God to the ſoul at the time of departure, yet my eſteem for the clergy led me to believe, that it was an aſſurance given to them, and that the people muſt build their hope thereon. But ſtill my uneaſineſs was not to be ſo allayed, for that foundation was ſo ſhaken, that my faith could not ſtand thereon, and I ſtill grew uneaſy; but although it was ſuch a myſtery to my natural conceivings, that I could not fathom it; yet did I believe it was a matter neceſſary for a Chriſtian to find, while in health, the better to ſupport his illneſs, and help him to ſubmit himſelf to the will of God in his death; and ſurely my ſoul was at this time under a weighty preſſure, and although I was then ignorant what it was, I have ſince believed it was no leſs than the drawings of the Father's love: yet as the natural man diſcerneth not the things that be of God, ſo he knoweth not where to ſeek them. I was now encreaſingly fervent in my prayers, thinking I wanted that zeal which I ſaw in others, I made new additions to my private, and waited with attention on my public devotions; and ſometimes went on with vigour in the repetition of thoſe exerciſes.

About the ſeventeenth year of my age there came a biſhop to the town, in order for a confirmation, which I thought was a ſingular good for me, for from that I conceived a ſteadier hope and faith in Chriſt would ſeize upon my ſoul, entertaining thoughts that there was a peculiar power given to this high and holy function, from which I was to reap that which was divine; and ſurely I may ſay, I doubt not but the Inviſible Being looked with compaſſion on the fervent deſire of my ſoul, and viewed the reverential awe in which my mind, as well as my body, kneeled to receive the earneſt of my wiſh; and I know that my behaviour, both before, at, and after that time, was taken notice of by my relations and intimates.

A little while after, my uncle aſked what I thought of receiving the ſacrament. I told him I did not believe it was proper for ſo young perſons to adventure; for, as it is ſaid, "thoſe who receive it unworthily, do procure to themſelves damnation;" I durſt not receive it. He told me of ſome that were as young as myſelf, and whom he thought as unfit: I told him I knew it, but they ſeemed to exalt themſelves amongſt their companions on account of that, which I durſt not in the greateſt humility, partake of; neither did I find, that my faith was ſufficiently ripe to comprehend the myſtery betwixt the outward bread and wine, and the body and blood of Chriſt.

Here I began to flag in my hopes of my having received any benefit by the laying on of the biſhop's hand, and what if I ſay, I ſtaggered not only at one thing or two, but at all that I had done on a religious account. Did I now believe there was no God? Oh no! but to my inexpreſſible grief, I could not find how to worſhip him, ſo as to prove my own acceptance, or the aſſurance that I longed for, nor could my ſoul reſt without it.

Here had I laboured in my inventions, ſpent all my hopes, and as a perſon quite fatigued, ſitting down, was made to bear ſuch a mortification as I had never before known; to ſee myſelf dwindling away from that, which I thought was moſt expedient for me to be exerciſed in, and that my performances were no more than ſo many fleeting comforts continually waſting in their fruition.

At laſt ſo heavily went I on, that I began to be weary of them, and willing to leave the burden I had contracted in my own will. I found enough to do to go on with them in their courſe, for I ſound I had got them only by tradition. This was a cloſe time, wherein I was far from exaltation of any kind, for it was to me hard drawing on without faith, which I now concluded was the immediate gift of God. Under this belief I had to cry like the poor publican, "Lord have mercy on me;" and my ſoul was more juſtified from theſe breathings, than it had ever been in all the weariſome labours I had engaged in. But the enemy, who is ever near to damp the good in us, troubled me with many of his ſuggeſtions, that it could never be the way to attain to happineſs, to diſcharge myſelf of the worſhip due to God for his favours; yet the more I gave way to the thoughts of flinging myſelf on the mercy of God, the more alſo I found a hope to ſpring within my ſoul, that the Lord would point out a way for me. This drew me ſtill farther from all ceremonies, and gave my mind ſuch a turn from thoſe diverſions I once took delight in, that my uncle and aunt took notice of it, and called it melancholy. But it was, to be ſure, a deep ſolidity of thought, as not knowing in what manner or path I ſhould be directed, how I ſhould recover a proper ſenſe of my afflictions, or obtain a ſatisfactory aſſurance. This penſiveneſs my uncle and aunt uſed their endeavours to prevent, and aſked my acquaintance to viſit me oftener; but their company ſo frequent, ſuited not my taſte; thoſe nights, that were ſpent in what I had once thought innocent amuſements, were now made to procure dull mornings, and my deſire of being alone, with the fatigue of ſo much hurry, put me on thoughts of ſhunning the occaſions. I therefore deſired my uncle to let me go out as a waiting-maid; but they would not hear of parting with me.

I being then paſt eighteen, we heard that S. Taylor was about ſelling off her ſhop, and going to live at Stafford. I deſired my uncle to buy it for me, thinking that ſuch an employment might abate the perplexities I was in. I was then a ſtranger to her, and my uncle, who liked this propoſal better than the firſt, being ever ready to pleaſe me, ſent for her, and in a little time after, agreed that I ſhould have the goods, and be with her at times for my better information of the buſineſs and cuſtomers. This gave that family and me our firſt acquaintance, though I had not the leaſt thought at that time that ever I ſhould have changed my name in reſpect to religion. Hence, however, many imagined my perſuaſion aroſe, of which I ſhall touch upon in its more proper place. I went at my own conveniency, according to our agreement, ſtill keeping my exerciſe to myſelf; nor did I remark any thing particular in my new acquaintance, their more private exerciſes lying hid, as well as my own.

When the time came that I was to enter the ſhop, my uncle had ſo good an opinion of the Quakers, that he left the appraiſing of the goods entirely to her. I ſtill boarded with him, and made it a conſtant rule to go directly home at night, when I ſhut the ſhop, and thus ſhunned my former aſſociates: the day I ſpent in buſineſs, and part of the nights in much thought, the deſire of my ſoul increaſing after that revival of hope, which, as my little faith in what is called the ſervice of God, ſtill diminiſhed, I found at times drawing me nearer to a reliance on him, and a patient waiting for what might follow.

Being about nineteen, we received an account of the death of my ſiſter Lydia, for whom our family went into mourning, and I not only mourned in clothes, but in heart, for I loved her more dearly than any ſiſter I had, and may truly ſay, her death added to the weight of my exerciſe, as well as to my belief, that it was requiſite for me to know my own election to be ſure; and, oh! the diſtreſs that I here was in! when I looked upon myſelf and others, to ſee them poſting on with cheerfulneſs in the reſpective duties of their religion, and myſelf not only barren in my deſires thereof, but my ſoul ſo oppreſſed in the performance, that I could neither aſſiſt my uncle, nor myſelf that way. Thoſe that have known the activity of nature, can beſt judge of my ſtate here, when my uncle, who uſed to ſhew me a deal of indulgence, ſignified how joyed he was in my ſo good behaviour; ſaying, he could ſcarcely go into any ſort of company, but they were ſpeaking in my commendation. It was, indeed, a thing very pleaſing to my kind uncle, who told me a little after, he would have me be prudent, for, ſays he, there are thoſe eyes upon you that you are not aware of; and I believe he was then, in his own thoughts, near having his ambition concerning me gratified, which was, to ſee me happily ſettled in the world, and I conclude, that at this time, the parents of my aſſociates had generally a reſpect for me; for, although I was of a briſk and lively diſpoſition, yet was I, through the goodneſs of God, preſerved from that which was immodeſt or profane, and kept within the bounds of what is termed innocent behaviour and good breeding. This engaged many, that had daughters, to encourage my company. But how ſoon did I ſee a turn in theſe affairs▪ for that which ſurely ought to have raiſed me higher in their eſteem, now ſeemed to prove my overthrow therein. So true it is, that the greater like, once turned, proves the greater diſlike. But to go on; I could no longer remain under the cloud of inſenſibility; for the day ſpring from on high viſited me, and the veil was ſo far rent, that I ſaw the work of God was in the ſecret of my heart, and that a ſpiritual worſhip muſt have place there.

I now remembered I had heard the Quakers recommend people to mind that of God in themſelves, and to follow the teachings of the Spirit. This I thought looked ſomething ſuitable to my condition; and indeed my mind ſeemed preſſed to look at their doctrine again. In order to this, as I was not willing to be taken notice of, I went out between the times of ſervice, as though I would walk. This was an exerciſe that was allowed by the moſt ſtrict, to take off any drowſineſs that might hang on the mind, and unfit it for the ſupport of their evening devotions. Though this was not what I had a real neceſſity for, being one of good ſpirits, and before I knew the want of faith in my way of worſhip, was in my devotions zealous, in my diverſions lively▪ and in my work induſtrious; yet here did I take this freedom, becauſe the meeting lay in my way, where I had a mind to inform myſelf, and as I paſſed by the gate, would make a ſtop; but if I heard no voice, I ſoon went off; but if any one was ſpeaking, I uſually ſtepped within the door, the little end being, as I then thought, a good ſhelter to me from the eyes of thoſe who ſat in the body of the meeting. I uſed to make theſe viſits as often as I could, and ſurely I have to ſay, the Lord was very condeſcending, and gave me a more clear underſtanding than ever I had found within myſelf at the other meetings I had been at, and which, from our houſe being ſo near, I had oportunities of. My intentions were good in reſpect to theſe freedoms, and I uſed to ſtay as long as I durſt for time, then take a turn down the next field, and ſo to my worſhip again; whereby to be ſure I proved the effect which the different doctrines had on me, the former anſwering to the hope of that juſtification I have before ſpoken of, and the latter fruitleſs and dull; yet ſo far did I proceed in the repeating of theſe trials, that I plainly ſaw it was with me like thoſe that are hard to believe the things they would not have to be true; but ſo cloſe did the truth and mercy of God follow me, that I found judgment in myſelf from the hand of the Almighty, for perſiſting in that which gave me not the leaſt ſatisfaction. Here, how willingly would I have retained this old profeſſion, that I had been brought up in from my childhood; and was as dear to my natural deſires as Iſhmael was to Abraham. But I ſaw it muſt not remain, and therefore I made a ſtop, and refuſed to go to church, ſo called, which my aunt would know the meaning of.

I had ſignified ſomething of my uneaſineſs to my ſiſter, who was coming down from London again, and ſhe had told my aunt that I favoured the Quakers, and did not intend to go to church. This greatly incenſed her, and ſhe left me, ſaying, ſhe would fetch out the parſon and people to carry me in. But ſo far had truth wrought with me, that I found I muſt not only venture that, but alſo ſtruggle againſt the oppoſitions which I felt within myſelf.

The following night was ſpent in more confuſion than common, and the next day my uncle and aunt went to the parſon's, and ſometime after ſent for me. He looked on me with ſurpriſe, ſignifying his great miſtake in one whom he had thought ſo religious and ſo good an example to others; for I was, indeed, a conſtant attender upon thoſe called Saint's days, as well as other times ſet apart for worſhip. He aſked me how long I had been uneaſy. I told him a great while, and could not find that, in any thing I could do, I had any real ſatisfaction. He ſignified that a perſeverance in thoſe duties I had been inſtructed in, was the only way, and would, no doubt, bring on that ſatisfaction I ſpoke of. But, ſays he, your uncle is afraid you are going to be a Quaker. I anſwered, I believe not, though I have met with that ſatisfaction from their preaching, which I never met with elſewhere. He ſaid, that was no more than a deluſion of the grand enemy of our ſouls, and then ſet forth how dangerous a thing it was for young perſons either to go to hear them, or read their books; ſaying theirs were ſeducing, erroneous principles, and he would have me promiſe, never to hear them any more.

Many heavy things he ſaid of them, and aſked me particularly about the family of the Taylors; theſe I could juſtly clear, and ſaid, that neither they, nor any other perſon had ever endeavoured to inſinuate their principles, or turn me from one profeſſion to another. He then ſaid, if I would deſiſt from hearing them, or reading their books, I might do well, and through the continuance of my duties, and good company, might overcome my uneaſineſs 〈…〉 , he ſaid ſo much againſt 〈…〉 of the Quakers, that, 〈◊〉 with the reſpect I had for the clergy, and the indifference I found in myſelf to the formalities, as I then termed the cuſtoms of the ſaid people, I ſeemed reſolved never to go to hear them again; ſaying, and that very truly, I would never be a Quaker, if I could help it: nor was I one till the deſire of my ſoul after peace could be no other way ſatisfied; and no one could wreſtle more to eſcape it than I did, as the following account will ſhew:

Such now were my childiſh conceivings, that though I had witneſſed the work of God to be among them, yet I thought, could I but come to a poſſeſſion of that which they preached, and which I found a • avour of in my heart, it would not then matter whether I attended on any form of worſhip or not. My uncle then ſaid, Mr. Leay, who was the parſon, would board me, and they th ••• ht very well of it. I underſtood hi • 〈◊〉 and thanked him, but ſaid, that would only give the town to believe there had been a difference amongſt us, and on condition they would be eaſy, I would ſee what I could do in going to church again. But I well remember, what a heavy trial it was; I went with ſo much indifferency, that it gave my uncle and aunt great uneaſineſs, and myſelf no leſs.

Not long after, parſon Bennet ſent for me to the widow Brueton's: he alſo expreſſed himſelf ſurpriſed at his being ſo miſtaken in me, ſaying, had it happened ſo with many others he ſhould not have wondered half ſo much. We being more equal and intimate, I could be more free with him; he aſked me if I was for being a Quaker; I ſaid, I do not know, yet I believe not. Why, ſaid he, they deny the Scriptures! I ſaid, if they do, I promiſe you I will never own them, but I know they do not. Why then, ſaid he, they wreſt them to their own deſtruction, and they deny baptiſm. I ſaid they do of water, but they preach a baptiſm. Yes, ſaid he, and a ſtrange one too; put your finger into that fire, a fire being in the room, and ſee how you can bear that baptiſm. This filled my mind with indignation, and I ſaid, no, I ſcorn it; for I believe they no more mean elementary fire, than the baptiſm of elementary water. At this time I may conclude that neither he nor I knew that myſterious baptiſm, which my ſoul has at times ſince experienced. He went fluently on reſpecting the principles of the Quakers, ſetting ſome of them forth as quite ridiculous, and told me, if I could not believe him, he would lend me ſome of their own writings. I thanked him, ſaying, I was not in a diſpoſition to read the ſentiments of any one profeſſion; and to be ſure I was not, for even the ſcriptures themſelves, in which I had been ſo converſant, and took delight, ſeemed now to me of little moment; and ſo great was my ſeparation from all duties, that I found nothing left to truſt in, but God alone. But to return, I ſaid, I cannot judge them by their writings, but I was aſſured they were ſo far in the right that, as God was a ſpirit, he muſt be worſhipped in ſpirit and in truth. He ſaid but little after, only, if you have got a notion of the ſpirit, you are paſt hopes.

The uneaſineſs of our family was now no longer a ſecret, my intimates, one after another. would accoſt me by the name of flat-cap, friend; or deridingly aſk, does the ſpirit move thee? with which, and ſuch other mockeries, I muſt ſay my natural inclination was much buffetted, and now the ſtorm began to be more boiſterous, both within and without; my acquaintance abroad and my relations at home; but above theſe, the enemies of my own houſe, who were always ready, at each difficulty I met with, to turn the balance againſt my ſmall hope, and by inſinuating the neceſſity of my being cautious, and deliberate in my proceedings, had run me ſuch a length in trying to go on in the way that I was trained in, that the righteous judgments of the Almighty ſeized my ſoul again, and in ſo weighty a manner, that it made that heart, which uſed to ſpring with joy at the chiming of the bells, now to fear; that ſoul, which uſed to approach the conſecrated houſe with reverence, now trembling at the entrance; and thoſe ſteps, that uſed to advance towards the pew with pleaſure, loſt their former activity, and nothing but horror and darkneſs enſued, in the room of the once delightful ſcenes of prayer and praiſes unto God.

Oh! ſurely I have enough to remind myſelf of here, without particularizing the afflictions, which the anxious deſire of my kind uncle and aunt, for my eternal welfare, produced. Such, I believed it was, and therefore endeavoured to bear them with ſubmiſſion and reſignation, as proceeding from a principle of love; indeed, I did all in my power to allay their trouble: the loſs of their reſt and appetite, and the continual diſquiet of their minds, being a cauſe of real grief to me, under which, the little comfort that I could find within myſelf was, that I was not acceſſary to it any farther than by ſtudying to find the anſwer of a good conſcience towards God, and an aſſurance of that which might go with me beyond the grave: but this I could not find, in the preſent diſtreſſed ſituation of my mind, notwithſtanding which, I ſecretly longed to • ear the Quakers once ••• e, and muſt account it a peculiar favour, that there came a young woman from Newcaſtle to viſit us, as my uncle kept a ſtrict eye over me, that I might have no opportunity of gratifying my deſire; ſhe was a ſtranger to our uneaſineſs, and my mind being ſtill preſſed to hear as above, I took her out, as though for a walk, and when we were near the meeting, aſked her if ſhe had a mind to hear the Quakers; ſhe anſwered me willingly, yes; for, ſaid ſhe there is no meeting of that people at our town. I am ſure, had ſhe known the leaſt of our family's uneaſineſs, ſhe might have read my confuſion in my looks when I aſked her the queſtion, and much more when I entered in at the door, and heard ſet forth the diſadvantage thoſe lay under, who halted between two opinions; proving, from the apoſtle's expreſſions, "that a double-minded man is unſtable in all his ways;" and proceeding in that doctrine, it ſurely reached my hope and faith, that the Lord would ſtill be gracious unto me. I had before known the witneſs of God that is placed in the heart, ſpoken to by ſeveral Friends, yet this unexpected teſtimony was ſo adapted to my preſent circumſtance, and anſwerable to the ardent deſire of my mind, of being directed to that path which wo • ld lead me to the favour of God, that by this, and our non-acquaintance, all prejudice was removed, and a clench given to the nail of my new profeſſion; for, though I did not immediately join the ſociety, yet as I could not but aſſemble with ſome community, I found it muſt be with thoſe whoſe doctrines my ſoul now ſucked in, with a reſolution, and good intention, not to perſiſt any longer in a way that I had no faith in, but to ſubmit myſelf to the will of the Almighty, and to follow that which weaned my ſoul from a dependance on formal worſhip.

We returned home, ſhe ſatisfied with her curioſity, and I no leſs with the hand of Providence in this thing; both filled with admiration, ſhe at the whimſies of the Quakers, and I at their doctrine. We well reſembled the two women at the mill, the one taken with the truth and the other left. I could have concealed where we had been, but ſhe could not; my uncle was informed of it, yet did not take any notice while ſhe ſtaid, but when ſhe was gone, he engaged himſelf in liquor, as I have reaſon to believe he did one night before, in order to give a fuller vent to his paſſion, otherwiſe he would hardly have carried it ſo far above his own reaſon, as to uſe me as he did, that according to his own words, he had watched occaſion to have chaſtiſed me as a child, yet could find no fault with me, which he thought could give him ſufficient excuſe for ſo doing; but now ſurely he thought nothing was ſo cruel as to ſuffer me to run on to my ruin, both of body and ſoul.

About this time I had put by a young man whom my uncle thought was likely to make me happy; he had propoſed to ſettle on me a ſufficient jointure, and my uncle had offered, out of his own generoſity, to advance a hundred pounds in addition to what I had of my own; but here how different were our views, my uncle thought of the advancement of my body, and I was no leſs anxious for the welfare of my ſoul, for I could think of no delight but the immediate favour of God, and this, (as I apprehended it ſtood oppoſed to my new propoſals) I muſt prepare to ſuffer for.

My uncle, as I have obſerved, being much in drink, was violent in his behaviour, though I could well cover all, as to his intentions, one raſh expreſſion excepted, which eſcaped him in the concluſion of that night's diſorder; and which I mention, to ſhew the reaſon of my departure from them, and to give an idea how it fared with me. He ſaid, if I ever went to the meeting again, he would bereave me of my life. I ſtood trembling, yet received the threat in a tender ſtate of mind, and I could perceive he ſuffered for it the next moment. My life was not much in my notice, neither could I believe my uncle would execute his vow; but oh this ſeparation overwhelmed m • mind with ſorrow; for I found, at that moment that I durſt not flinch from the truth with which my mind had been impreſſed, nor could I think of leaving my neareſt relations thus.

Many thoughts revolved within me, and many tears flowed, under the conſideration of my unhappy circumſtance, as I then termed it. The enemy of my ſoul here manifeſted his malice, by ſuggeſting to me, how unlikely I was to obtain any conqueſt over either myſelf or my relations; and that my raſh proceedings might bring on a maſſacre. But here has my ſoul to commemorate the condeſcenſion of Divine Goodneſs, which, in this very low ſtate, inſpired my mind with ſome encouragement; and a deſire prevailed, though I ſought it not, to re-eſtabliſh my little faith, by again hearing the moſt penetrating word; and I concluded it would be beſt, to moderate my uncle and aunt's paſſion by returning directly back from meeting to my own apartment, which was furniſhed with a bed and ſome few neceſſaries, bought at my entrance upon the ſhop; I had hopes they would look upon my ſo doing with a favourable eye, and when their hurry was a little over, ſend for me home.

They did not miſs me till I came from that meeting, and thought fit to let me ſtay where I was till the next. They then ſent a perſon to ſee if I was there; but I did not find an engagement in myſelf to go, either at that time, or for ſome weeks after; nor was I ſo much taken with this new fangle, as my uncle called it, as to force my inclination in the leaſt degree; for, could I have indulged myſelf in the perſuaſion, that one might ſerve God acceptably, without going to any public worſhip, I could, with eaſe, have remained ſeparate from all. This deliberation, however, gave encouragement, as well as opportunity, for my old acquaintance to viſit me by turns; the youngeſt ſort to ſhew their wit, by railing at what they called the principles of the Quakers; and the more grave to ſet forth, according to their notion, the diabolical tenets of that people; whilſt, as one ſtruck dumb, I had but little to ſay in reply; only, at times, would ſignify that their doctrine beſpoke better things; but as I had not yet obtained knowledge, by a peruſal of their writings, I durſt not attempt, nor did I deſire, to be buſy in making any defence for them. My mind, indeed, had not hitherto inclined to conſult either men or books, leſt thereby I ſhould be ſeduced to believe what was not of God; for I plainly ſaw, that nothing ſhort of what was ſo, would ſatisfy my ſoul; and I may ſay, in thankfulneſs to that Eternal Power, which ſtill preſerved me, their arguments did not abate my travail of ſoul after the Divine favour; and, though I hope I never was one wiſe in my own conceit, yet ſo far did the truth of God in the ſecret of my ſoul exalt itſelf, that I proved its influences to be more wiſe than all my teachers, who, at beſt, were but as the hammer to the nail, in faſtening in my ſoul the impreſſions which I had received.

In this ſituation, my uncle alſo viſited me, and the ſternneſs of his countenance was altered. He kindly ſignified to me, how hard our ſeparation was to them. and if I would but bind myſelf by a promiſe, that I would never be a Quaker, he would give me a deed of gift, that at his and my aunt's deceaſe, I ſhould have all they were worth. I anſwered him, if I could make ſuch a promiſe, I wanted no farther encouragement than the continuance of their love; but, oh! I could not do it. We both ſat and wept our paſſion out. My uncle mentioned my leaving them ſo abruptly, but, inſtead of inviting me home, he ſignified he could now take no pleaſure in ſeeing me, without an alteration.

In a little time I found the balm of Eternal Goodneſs, which healed the wound my mind had been made to endure on truth's account.

There came a young man to viſit me that had been a ſtudent, and had received Orders with a Benefice, not one of the moſt thoughtful, as will appear. After the compliment of, Madam, how do you do? and I had thanked him, he ſaid, why I hear you are turning a Quaker. I anſwered, we ſometimes hear that which is not altogether true; but I ſuppoſe what you have to ſay. Why then, ſaid he, there muſt be a great change in you; and a deal of ſobbing and ſighing, and thouing and theeing. And pray, ſaid I, what have you againſt that language? Why, ſaid he, it is not within the line of morality, or common civility; but what is uſed betwixt men and their beaſts, and more fit to be uſed to brutes than men. I replied, I am very ſorry you ſhould think I have already forgotten myſelf; but I remember, and know, it is that language which we, in all our prayers, and in the Litany, put up our petitions 〈◊〉 therefore, take heed what you ſay, fo • by your ſaying it is ſit to be uſed only to brutes and beaſts, of what do you make your God? O, ſays he, I perceive you ſide with the Quakers: yes, ſo far, ſaid I, as to believe that language good enough for man, which is uſed in honouring of God.

He went off, nor was it long before my uncle made me his ſecond viſit. As I now ſeemed to him at a ſtand, dubious with whom to join, he laid before me the profeſſion of the Preſbyterians, ſaying, he would freely give me leave to join with them. But from the knowledge I had of thoſe people, whilſt twice at Mancheſter, I knew they dwelt much upon the ſame things I was in the practice of before; therefore was not likely to find with them the ſatisfaction I was in purſuit of. My uncle further propoſed, to take the ſhop and bear the loſs he might ſuſtain in the ſelling it off, if I would chuſe a place agreeable to board at, in any other town; for he thought the removing me out of the way of ſhame and diſgrace, as he called it, might be a means to alter my reſolution. But the idea I had conceived of ſpiritual worſhip, was ſo fixed in my breaſt, that it ſeemed to me, had I been removed to to uttermoſt corner of the earth, I muſt have carried it with me. I ſignified this to him, and he, much wondering at my fooliſhneſs, left me with ſaying, I was certainly bewitched. Indeed, I myſelf could not, at times, but wonder what it was poiſed my ſoul againſt the many hard things I met with from others, and the ſecret temptations that daily preſented themſelves to my own mind, which ſo filled it, that, in the little ſleep I got, I frequently dreamed of ſomething relative to my exerciſes.

In one of my dreams, a man was preſented to me, coming up to my door with a ſieve in his hand, and a bag. He ſat down, and opening the bag, put out ſome wheat into the ſieve. I aſked him what he was going to do; he ſaid, to ſeparate the chaff from the wheat. Here the enemy ſhot his empoiſened dart againſt that fear which lodged in me, and, through his inſinuations, made me believe myſelf the chaff, blown from my former quietneſs, by aſpiring after the knowledge of things too high for me; and oh! the conſternation that my ſoul was in from theſe aſſaults of this enemy, who now ripped up every miſcarriage of my life, and all my fooliſh actions, as ſo many witneſſes againſt me, whilſt I endeavoured to withſtand him by repentance, and purpoſes of amendment, pleading with myſelf the juſt ground of my preſent proceeding. But as I had not the evidence of my hope at my own command, I was obliged to ſuffer, till I was again revived by the mercies of a God, who would not break the bruiſed reed, nor quench the ſmoaking flax.

In this interval, my uncle came with parſon Leay again, and ſtill with hopes, from my ſtaying at home, that they might gain me; but they found their miſtake: for, though I ſaid but little, I was as reſolute in myſelf, to prove the truth as ever. We ſat down, and the parſon offered to take, in writing, any ſcruples I had to make, promiſing either to anſwer them himſelf, or get them anſwered by the biſhop. I acknowledged his kindneſs; ſaying, I did not ſee how any one could be ſerviceable to me, fo • it was faith I wanted in the whole, He ſignified, it was not for the unlearned to pry into the matter of faith, but to believe according to the canons of the church; going on largely in commendation of the wiſdom and great care there had been amongſt the learned fathers, that there might be no default or error in the articles of our faith; from thence inferring, that it was requiſite we ſhould believe them. I ſignified I could not place my truſt in man, but had received a better faith already; and that I did believe, I ought to ſeek God for myſelf. He ſaid, you are obſtinate, and if you do not take care, you will renounce your vow of baptiſm. I anſwered, I do not find that troubles me; for I hold it as a matter of indifference, which will neither do me good nor hurt. He ſaid, you are hardened; and if you perſiſt on, you will be damned. This ſtruck us ſilent; and as ſoon as I could take my looks off him, I caſt them on my dear uncle, whoſe eyes plainly beſpoke his grief. The parſon got up, and ſaid, you have need of the prayers of the congregation; I ſaid, I know I have need of the prayers of all good people, and deſire to have them. As they paſſed the ſhop, I heard him ſay ſomething of my being quite loſt, and my uncle ſhook his head, and left me in abundance of ſorrow.

This was a double and treble trial to me, for the enemy aimed his dart again to give the fatal blow▪ by inſinuating into my mind, the doctrine of election and reprobation; which ſtrengthened thoſe doubtings my late converſation had raiſed. What had I here to do? no perſon in the world to flee to, with whom I could entruſt my ſoul! no book to try my cauſe by! the Bible itſelf being still to me as if written in an unknown tongue! no God or Saviour at hand, nor even any comfortable deſire that I was ſenſible of! Read, in theſe expreſſions, the deep afflictions of my ſoul, thus lying under the tramplings of a moſt deſperate fiend! Could I have found juſt reaſons for his upbraiding me with my lightneſs, it would at this time have certainly appeared; or could I have believed that God was unjuſt, and would inflict eternal puniſhment on the innocent, or on a ſinner that was willing to turn from every evil way; I ſay, could I have reconciled this to his attributes of mercy and goodneſs, I muſt aſſuredly have fallen by theſe ſuggeſtions of the cruel deceiver, who now appeared to me in the moſt ſurpriſing manner; producing that exerciſe which, to this preſent time, gives me aſtoniſhment: for, one night, as I lay in bed, on a ſudden, a voice, as I thought, audible and like my own, curſed the Lord, and defied Heaven; ſaying now an • I damned, for I have ſinned againſt the Holy Ghoſt, which will never be forgiven. When the words were paſſed I found myſelf in a maze, and immediately flung myſelf upon my face, crying out, Oh, Lord! forgive me! but it's not me, yet, oh, Lord! forgive me. Thus, in confuſion, went I on, ſometimes begging for forgiveneſs, and denying the fact; and when I did ſo far recover myſelf, as to know how I was, I found myſelf, from the agony that I had been in, all over in a ſweat; and the bed, whereon I lay, for ſome time after, ſhook with the ſtrong trembling of my body; and it was a conſiderable time ere I could compoſe myſelf; yet when I could, I found my great God did not accuſe me; but encouraged the ſincerity of my deſire to look up to him, as God, who mercifully ſaveth thoſe that truſt in his providence; and is willing to remit the paſt tranſgreſſions of the truly penitent. And here did I prove my hop • renewed, and my faith eſtabliſhed; yet, even here did I ſtumble at the honour I had been taught to give to thoſe divine oracles, as I eſteemed the clergy; and thought I muſt ſurely be miſtaken, in ſuppoſing there was 〈◊〉 more in them than other men; nor yet could I well ſtep over the ſtream of their learning. and ſet the illiterate, as I had been taught to call them, on an equal footing of wiſdom, with the high title of right reverend. Yet here did my God help me; thus, one evening as I ſat, low in mind, muſing by myſelf, the Everlaſting Truth ſeized upon me, in an expoſition of that remarkable thankſgiving of our Saviour, when he ſaid, "I thank thee, O Father, Lord of heaven and earth, that thou haſt hid theſe things from the wiſe and prudent, and haſt revealed them unto babes." This immediate favour, from the loving kindneſs of the Lord, had a vaſt influence over me; I aroſe from my chair, and fell upon my knees to receive the overſhadowings of his power; and ſuch was its effect, that by its aſſiſtance, I did let out from my ſoul, a few words of ſupplication to the Lord, begging a farther manifeſtation of his will, and his preſervation therein. This, I apprehend, was the moſt lively prayer I ever had then made.

When I had waited for a time on my knees, I remembered that I had read the paſſage, yet deſired to look at it again. I had no Bible of my own, my aunt having taken it from me, telling me I ſhould have no uſe for it, as indeed I had not much till this time; yet, being provided with one, I looked for the text, and caſting my eye upon it, found a great alteration in myſelf, and cauſe to ſay, ſurely the Lamb of God is found worthy to take the book, and to open the ſeals thereof; and from this time I knew it was not in my power to read the ſcriptures in their right ſignification, but only as I had the key of interpretation lent me, which I did now often receive, to my great profit and conſolation. Thus became I again familiar with my book, and prized that good companion more juſtly than ever I had done in all my life; deſiring to be kept in the way I was to go; and have bread to eat, and raiment to put on, and to be returned to my Father's houſe, in peace; concluding that the Lord ſhould be my God.

Whilſt I reſigned myſelf to his holy will, it pleaſed the Almighty to ſhew me, it was not right that I ſhould thus believe, and yet live alone, without aſſembling myſelf with thoſe that I was ſatiſfied were believers in the ſame Divine Prinoiple, neither do I now think it would have been good or right; for, as ſure as the Lord thought proper, in his wiſdom, to provide helpmates for the body, ſo ſurely does he condeſcend to qualify many of his faithful ſervants, to be helpful in a ſpiritual ſenſe, to each other. I therefore believed it was right for me to attend meetings, in order to retain my favour with him.

In this my aunt did not interrupt me till I had been a few times: this I might readily excuſe, for, indeed, I had enough to do within myſelf; the tears I ſhed at my entrance at the door, and preſenting myſelf before the Inviſible Being, were ſo many renunciations of my own will. I uſed to ſit down at the firſt or the neareſt ſeat I came to; yet ſo well did it anſwer, that what I ſowed in tears, at my getting there, I reaped with joy at my coming away.

As I went with a ſoul deſirous of improvement, I was often highly favoured, and had to remember S. Radford's recommendation to me, to buy the truth and ſell it not, as alſo to be convinced of the juſtice of the Almighty; and, that man's deſtruction is of himſelf. I think it was about, or a little after this time, that I heard my now uncle, Joſhua Toft, give in his teſtimony for the truth, and remember it was as one having authority, preſſing friends to come out of Babylon: and exhorting them, not to partake with her, of her ſins, leſt they ſhould alſo be partakers of her plagues; and though I was but very young in the truth, yet the Lord was pleaſed ſo to enlighten my underſtanding, that I read him ſpiritually, and was made a partaker of that life from which the power came. Nor do I forget the encouragement which I received from another friend, when, like a ſhower of the former and latter rain, he watered the plantation of the Lord, by ſetting forth the bleſſedneſs with which he will reward thoſe who forſake all for his name's ſake, &c. But, though I could take delight, yet I was not to build a tabernacle here, my troubles were not quite over; for, though my aunt let me go free, a few times, yet ſhe propoſed to perplex me in my new deſign, by aggravating the paſſions ſhe found in herſelf, and by giving way to the fooliſh excitations of others.

The firſt time ſhe met me, in my going to meeting, was with a whip, and the next with a black hood and green apron; but I ſhall endeavour to be as quick here as I can, for I cannot well, nor do I deſire to remember the fooliſh pains ſhe took to mortify me; yet do I find myſelf engaged, gratefully to acknowledge, that I was preſerved above all the ridicule I met with; though, to many I was a ſubject of entertainment and diverſion. Some, however, ſeemed to have compaſſion for me, though I cannot ſay that I knew, at that time above three or four. Amongſt theſe there was one that frequently expreſſed a concern for my preſervation, and offering to aſſiſt me in having my aunt bound over to her good behaviour; but I found myſelf more deſirous to be preſerved in a proper decorum towards her.

There was another of my well-wiſhers, who adviſed me to leave the town; pro • fering me a room in their houſe, and liberty to ſell my goods with them. This, I muſt ever acknowledge, was a kind part; but, though they preſſed my compliance, I could not find an inclination thereto; for I conceived, that quitting the town would look as though I had done ſome bad thing; and I knew no one could, juſtly, ſay any worſe thing of me, than that I was a Quaker. Therefore, though I could willingly have been out of the noiſe that my change had occaſioned, yet I rather choſe to commit myſelf to that hand, which I now believed could preſerve me, and ſubmit to the confuſion of this time, till my God ſhould ſay, it is enough; not doubting, but theſe things were permitted for the trial of my faith: yet, ſo far did their kindneſs prevail, that I inclined to aſk farther advice upon it; and, as S. Leay had been a few times to aſk me how I did, I told him my deſire, and requeſted him to procure me an opportunity of ſpeaking with one of the friends, Toft; he aſked me which; I ſaid, either of the three brothers, that I could moſt conveniently go to, without my uncle or aunt's getting intelligence of it; for I was much more troubled at their abuſe of others, than of myſelf. He told me the next day, that he had ſpoken to Samuel Toft, who was willing to give me the hearing that night.

Accordingly I went in the duſk of the evening, Nicodemus like; though not ſo much for the ſhame of the thing, which I now was ſo uſed to, as for fear that my aunt ſhould get knowledge of it; and did not know, by the name of Samuel, which was to receive me; but, knocking at the door, he let me in, to whom I paid my compliments; and, after ſitting down, introduced our diſcourſe, by ſignifying, I ſuppoſed he was no ſtranger to the hurry of the town, and the angry mood my uncle and aunt were in concerning me; I ſignified I could not help it, but that, notwithſtanding this, I found myſelf engaged to join the ſociety: I farther told him, of the kind proffer made me, but as doubting in my mind what would be for the beſt, I had a deſire to aſk advice. He told me that going was the likelieſt way to rid myſelf of thoſe troubles; but aſked if I had no hopes of my relations being better humoured. I told him, no; but was rather afraid they would be worſe, for they ſaid they could never reſt while I was a Quaker. He then ſaid, it was a nice point to give advice in, for who can tell what thy relations may do in their anger, or how thou thyſelf canſt bear it; perhaps the ſureſt way to be quiet from them is, to accept the propoſals of thy friends.

This however, was not what I expected, nor, indeed, what I deſired; and to bring him more over to my views, I ſaid, Do you think, Sir, there is room to believe I ſhouldbe preſumptuous, if I ſhould ſtay, and receive an injury from them? He ſaid, he thought not, ſo long as I gave them no juſt occaſion; and added, Young woman, what doſt thou think is beſt thyſelf? I anſwered, that I would not, willingly, run myſelf into danger, neither act any way purpoſely to provoke them; nor yet do I ſee how I can, at this time fly from their anger, and leave the town, without giving myſelf ſecret uneaſineſs. To this he replied, that, to be ſure, we ought to mind; for we might go out of one trouble into another, and perhaps a worſe. He further aſked me, how I thought I could bear the trial; ſaying, I had already known ſomething of an exerciſe of this kind. I ſaid, Yes, I have; and, the truth I have ſound ſo much on my ſide, that I have been hitherto ſupported through it, and now do not doubt, but if I ſhould loſe my life, in the way of my relations' anger, my ſoul would ſtill be happy. He ſignified, if ſuch was my belief and my reſolution, he could ſay nothing better to me than, Go on and proſper.

I then, wiſhing him the compliment of the night, returned, deſiring to remain ſtedfaſt to what, I apprehended, was my duty; but when at home, I could not forbear reflecting on the ſmall aſſurance I had given my friend; and more ſo, on what an odd appearance, for a Quaker, I had made; for, beſides my ſpeech, I went in my full trim. I had on my hoop, rings on my fingers, and ear-rings in my ears; my clothes, indeed, were black and white crape mourning, which I wore for my beloved ſiſter, and therefore my linen was without lace; neither was I thoughtful, at this time, about my outward dreſs, my work lay more within; neither did my friend regard my appearance ſo much, as to make him overlook the intentions of my heart, for Samuel Leay told me, the next time he ſaw me, that S. Toft ſaid, he was ſatisfied there was that within me, that would prevail on me to lay my compliments aſide; nor was it long ere I found it my place ſo to do, which I muſt leave to mention; a probable reaſon why I was not allowed to give my friend a fuller aſſurance; and which may alſo ſhew how blind I was to my own ſtate, and how much need I had to crave the illuminating ray of Divine light? to ſteer my courſe by; for, though I ſeemed, to myſelf, to be quite fixed in my purpoſe, yet I ſoon found, by experience, how weak I was.

I received a letter from my dear brother, who kindly gave us a viſit on the death of my ſiſter. The letter gave me an account, that he had heard, from my uncle, the melancholy affair that was amongſt us; deſcribing the fanatical and fantaſtical deportment of thoſe I was about joining with; the utter miſtake they lay under, in reſpect to the doctrines of Chriſt, and giving me a kind invitation to come to him, with a promiſe to take care of me and my fortune. He affectionately mentioned an opportunity he had of placing me with a near relation of his wife's, who was a millener in the city, if I liked that buſineſs; and concluded, in much brotherly love, and with deſires for my welfare every way.

This ſo ſenſibly touched the natural affection I had for him, that had I not been favoured, from the Moſt High, with a ſight of the ſnare which my enemy had laid for me, I ſhould certainly have accepted of this offer, from my only brother, the conſideration of whoſe love, in this inſtance, and of the grief I had given my other near and dear relations, cauſed me to turn my exerciſes round and round again; and to introſpect the cauſe thereof. In this affecting ſurvey, many were my ſecret ſupplications to the Lord, for his preſervation and aſſiſtance, that thereby the enemy might be defeated in all his ſtratagems. Thus was I attacked on my weakeſt ſide, for this tender treatment, from my brother, and my uncle's three laſt viſits gave me more affectionate concern, than all their abuſes. But now I was to anſwer the letter, and I did it ſo thoroughly, according to that wiſdom, which my Heavenly Father was pleaſed to favour me with, that I never heard any more from my brother on that ſubject; but, whenever afterwards he wrote to me, it was in great love and reſpect.

I had, through the condeſcenſions of the inexpreſſible love of my God, ſurmounted many difficulties and doubtings in my own mind; yet had I divers trials ſtill to wade through, as now will appear.

The alteration of my ſpeech was in this manner: one morning, as I lay in bed, a weighty exerciſe came cloſely over my mind; and as I waited to know the cauſe, it came before my view, that I muſt uſe the plain language. I had this at times under my notice before, and now had hardly time to reconſider the thing, and prove it was the truth, ere my aunt knocked. I knew her ſtep, which made me to tremble, and therefore made no great haſte to dreſs; but as I knew I muſt ſubmit, I went towards the door, ſaying, Who is there? What doſt thou want? ſhe ſaid, Let me in, and I will tell thee. I did not in the leaſt queſtion that; and ſhe quickly let me know it, by many threatenings of what ſhe would do, if ever I thou'd her again. I could not but think it was a very hard allotment to me, that I muſt begin this required alteration with my aunt; yet, from the ſatisfaction which I felt in my own breaſt, I was encouraged in the truth, and from that time I did not ſhrink from that part of my teſtimony, except to my aunt, who I did no ways delight to vex, and therefore, as much as poſſible, evaded the ſingular language; and yet, rather than uſe the plural, would many times break the thread of our diſcourſe; till I plainly ſaw it would not do, and that I muſt either break my peace, or commit myſelf to my aunt's fury. This I ſoon experienced, from uſing the word thee to her; it ſo inflamed her, that, as there ſtood a fire-ſhovel in her way, ſhe took it up, and ſtruck at me. My ſiſter being in the little room, catched hold of it, or ſhe would probably have done as ſhe had threatened, for the room, or cloſet, behind the ſhop was ſo narrow, that I had no room to draw back. Thus was I once more preſerved; but had reaſon to fear I ſhould yet be the cauſe of bringing my aunt to much diſgrace, as ſhe often declared, ſhe believed it was no more ſin to kill me, than a dog.

I found ſhe had heard of my being adviſed to leave the town; and, I believe, I ſuffered much for that kindneſs of my friends. My aunts hopes ſeemed now, that either they would draw me, or ſhe ſhould drive me out of the town, ſaying, if I would be a Quaker, I ſhould not be one in her ſight. And now, again, I had the former kind proffer renewed; P. Meller ſent me an invitation to come to Whitehaugh, for a quarter of a year, till my aunt ſhould be better reconciled. This was indeed a kind invitation from one that I had never ſpoken to: and I might have gone for any buſineſs or ſchool that I then had; for my aunt's behaviour had ſo frighted the ſcholars, that their parents thought fit to keep them at home; and, had it not been for the ſake of ſeeing one called a Quaker, I ſhould hardly have ſold ſo many trifles as I did; but there ſeemed a general curioſity to ſee me.

Standing, thus, as an object of diſdain and deriſion, I could willingly have accepted the kind invitation of my friends; yet, when I caſt my eye toward the Captain of my Salvation, I found I had not liberty to move; and, therefore, with an acknowledgement of their kindneſs, paſſed it by.

Another proof of my aunt's unguarded paſſion ſoon after occurred, which was this: we were ſitting together in the little room, as we very often did, and it was drawing towards the middle of the night; when, in the courſe of our converſation, ſhe obliged me to uſe that language which ſhe could not bear, and a braſs candleſtick ſtanding betwixt us, ſhe flung it at me with ſuch force, that it dinged againſt the wall; I had juſt time to ſee her intention, and, by bowing my body, eſcaped the blow. Thus did David's God again preſerve me, for the ſake of the ſtem of Jeſſe, that now began to bud within my breaſt; and although I ſtood here in jeopardy of body, yet was I mercifully preſerved in ſtability of ſoul, and in a ſupporting belief that I was in the way of my duty, and favoured with hope as an anchor in this aſſurance, that if it pleaſed the Lord to permit the death of the mortal part, he would be pleaſed to let his mercy light on my immortal ſoul, and I ſhould die as a martyr to my ſaith in Chriſt; yet, a fear for my aunt prevailed over me, and though I had concealed her carriage towards me as much as poſſible, yet this I durſt not conceal, leaſt I ſhould be chargeable with the conſequence. I therefore deſired my ſiſter to tell my uncle of this violent action, and my fears. He returned for anſwer, that whatever treatment I met with, was good enough for me; and as to my aunt, it was impoſſible to keep her at home.

The grief that I paſſed under, for fear of my aunt's going quite diſtracted, was great, and the bowings-down of ſoul and body were frequent, with earneſt ſupplication to the Almighty for the preſervation of us both: ſhe in her ſenſes, and me in the way of my duty towards him, and in a juſtifiable behaviour to my uncle and aunt. I believe my uncle had, at that time, more compaſſion for me than he would ſuffer to be ſeen: he had my aunt talked to, and would not ſuffer her to come at ſuch unſeaſonable hours again; for ſhe had ſeveral times before ſpent moſt of the night with me alone, and what I then received from her, the Almighty knows, and, indeed, did make it up to me in her reconciliation afterwards. Her nightly viſits here ended, but they had been ſo long continued, late and early, that I had habituated myſelf to ſpend the nights, (as I uſed to keep a fire) in the little cloſet. I ſat much there, and when it was bed-time, (if my aunt was abſent) would put my candle out, and ſit as ſtill as I could, leſt I ſhould be ſuſpected of keeping diſorderly hours.

I had here no intimate to converſe with, or encourage me, and was left as a perſon quite alone; but the immediate viſitations of divine favour, at times, did moſt graciouſly eſtabliſh my faith; and when almoſt overwhelmed, would, in the condeſcendings of his compaſſion, direct my mind to ſome paſſage in the Scriptures for my conſolation; and I ſeldom read, or contemplated on them without tears; yet how quickly did I loſe the ſight and effect of theſe favours; whilſt, like a traveller, driven away from the haven of his happineſs by contrary winds, I was forced by grief into a confuſion of thoughts, and have frequently ſat under the violent ſuggeſtions of the enemy till two, three, four, or five in the morning; and was ſometimes no ſooner in bed, than my aunt would call me up. It is hardly credible how little ſleep I went with: but, ſurely, I ſympathized with my uncle and aunt in the affliction I gave them. My meat was to me as trifling as my ſleep, wherein I proved on what a little nature will ſubſiſt; my meals were no ways conſtant, a bit of bread and cheeſe, with a little water; or a little milk and bread and butter, with a diſh of tea, were my only food for months! nor had I any deſire after any thing elſe, till neceſſity obliged me to alter my courſe.

My aunt, though under ſome reſtraint, uſed to tell me, ſhe would make me ſuffer yet; ſaying, no one had any buſineſs with what ſhe did to me. One marketday, ſhe followed me as I went behind the counter, and kept me there for ſome hours; though I deſired her to let me go, yet ſhe would not; nor did I chuſe to put her away, ſhe ſaying, ſhe would hear my language to day: I was, indeed, under ſome exerciſe, and deſirous to do my duty in the ſight of the Divine Being, though I was apprehenſive I muſt ſuffer for it. When any one came into the ſhop, ſhe told them, I was the new-made Quaker; and filled thoſe who were ſtrangers to her with admiration of us both; and I may ſay, I bluſhed as much for her as for myſelf. Each time ſhe thus expoſed me, ſhe held me by the left arm, which was next to her; and when I uſed the plain language ſhe pinched me very bad; and ſo often renewed her pinche • , that it was very hard for me to bear them; yet I ſaw no way to help it without uſing her as I never had done, and bringing guilt on myſelf; I therefore endeavoured to hold out a little longer; and have ſince wondered how I bore it without the leaſt complaint. She had, indeed, inured me to ſuffer; and, from my behaviour at the firſt, would often ſay, the Quakers had taught me; and if ſhe ſmote me on one cheek, I muſt turn the other. She tried me ſo, that I many times deſired her to forbear. I had no hopes that ſhe would regard my petition, but as my arm and hand were very viſibly ſwelled, I wiſhed them to plead for me; and, by often looking at them, brought them under her notice: when ſhe tauntingly ſaid, I doubt I have hurt thy arm; and in a little time went off. When ſhe was gone, I tried to unbutton my ſleeve, but my arm being ſo prodigiouſly ſwelled, I could not.

Doctor Graveſnor's daughter, knowing my aunt had been with me a long time, and ſeeing her go out, ſtepped in, and helped me to unbutton my ſleeve, and, ſeeing the condition I was in, went for her father. When my wriſtband was looſe, my hand and arm ſwelled to ſuch a degree, that, before the Doctor came, I could ſcarcely ſhut my fingers. When he ſaw my arm, he ſaid it was a very bad bruiſe; it ſeemed, for the compaſs of the palm of my hand, to be like a jelly, and exceeding black toward the ſhoulder. The Doctor ſeemed ſurpriſed, and ſaid, he was afraid it would mortify; then went home, and quickly returned with a medicine. He was one who always had ſhewn me great reſpect; and his daughters were my ſcholars, till my aunt thought proper to break up my ſchool. I believe it was both from his reſpect and fear for me, that he took the freedom (after he had dreſſed my arm) to ſcold and blame me for my fooliſh, childiſh ſufferance; ſaying, my caſe was dangerous, and I might loſe my arm, if not my life; yet continued ſaying, he would do all in his power to prevent it. I told him I was ſatisfied with his kindneſs and judgment; and ſurely, was more willing, at that time, to give up my life than my arm: yet did I ſtruggle in the ſecret of my mind to ſubmit to the will of God; and the Doctor, ſeeing my tears fall, ſaid, Nay, indeed, you have enough to bear, without being chid; and ſo I found; for, beſides my inward exerciſe, his application was very ſharp: He often ſignifying, he was afraid of the bone; and ſaying, it was ſuch a piece of cruelty, as ſure no perſon in their ſenſes could be guilty of. He ſtaid with me a good while, repeating the dreſſings often, which ſtill renewed my pain. My fingers were ſwelled, ſtiff, and uſeleſs, for I could neither cloſe nor ſtir them. The Doctor aſked me, who I had to be with me, ſince I left my uncle's; and ſaid, that now I could not do without aſſiſtance; and charged his daughter not to leave me, till I had got ſomebody. When he left me, he directly ſent for my uncle, and told him how unchriſtian-like my aunt had uſed me: ſaying, ſhe was more • it to be bound, than go looſe: and that he ought not to ſuffer her to come to me. My uncle promiſed ſhe ſhould not: yet this did not move his pity, ſo as to induce him to come and ſee me, which was what I greatly deſired.

It was a month after this, before I could turn my arm behind me, to dreſs myſelf. My ſiſter was ſent to ſchool at Mancheſter before this, for fear, as I have thought, of her catching the infection of a Quaker; nor did I much repine at the loſs of her company, for I had found out, that ſhe had carried very treacherouſly betwixt us. I had but few in this illneſs that came to ſee me; yet I heard that many were diſpleaſed at my aunt. Among thoſe few that came, my preſent aunt, S. Whitehead, was one; and her viſit was very acceptable, though I had then no acquaintance with her. She ſpoke to my encouragement, and invited me, when I was better, to come to ſee her; which I could willingly have done, but thought proper to delay ſome time, for fear my aunt ſhould know it, who ſpared no one, that ſhe heard did but in a friendly way ſpeak to me.

S. Taylor, at this time, lived with John Winter, at Stafford; and, long before this, (ſeeing my uncle and aunt's groundleſs diſlike to that family) I had deſired they would not viſit me often; they ſaw my motive, excuſed the freedom I took with them, and, when I went to them, behaved to me in a loving and free manner.

Here I ought not, and hope I never ſhall forget the beſt of viſitors, the Inviſible Comforter; who, in a good degree, made my af • ictions eaſy, and conſolated my ſpirit, under a belief that I ſtill was perſevering in the way of my duty.

From the encouragement that I thus met within myſelf, was I excited, as ſoon as proper, to endeavour to go to meeting again; and when I was ſo far recovered that I could dreſs myſelf, I thought, from the weakly ſtate I was in, it would be better for me to board in a family, that I might be in the way of getting ſuch proviſion as my conſtitution required, which never was very ſtrong, and was now much impaired by exceſs of trouble, and the different courſe of living which I had of late been in.

As there was a door that went out of the chamber of my apartment into the other part of the houſe, I thought it convenient that I ſhould board with Thomas Turnock, who lived there, and was well ſatisfied therein.

I had now ſome hopes, from my aunt's abſence during the laſt month, that ſhe would no more interrupt me in my going to meeting; but ſoon found them fruſtrated, whether by accident or information, I know not; for, one day, when I came to the corner, near my uncle's houſe, I ſaw her coming towards me: the thoughts of the Doctor and my arm quickly occured; and I concluded, ſhould I ſuffer it to be hurt again, the conſequences would be very bad. As I was at liberty, it ſeemed right to keep ſo, and make the beſt of my way; yet, ſo fettered did I find myſelf, that, before I had gone many yards I faultered in my purpoſe, and my aunt got up with me, before I was half way to the meeting.

I now ſaw my miſtake, and that it would have been better if my aunt had overtaken me ſooner; for the place looked dangerous, and the want of room to ſhake and puſh me about in, gave me many apprehenſions that ſhe would throw me headlong down the precipice. It was about the time that friends were going into the meeting, and this vexed her the more; for I have reaſon to believe ſhe could not endure the ſight of a friend, on my account. She did not ſpare to tell me of hurting my arm, nor to ſhake me by it; but as it had ſome folds of flannels round it, it was preſerved. My endeavouring to out-walk her was not ſuddenly forgot; ſhe, many times after, making mention of it, and would ſignify that God was above the wicked ſpirit ſtill.

Thus, with many admonitions and exhortations, as ſhe called them, ſhe kept me till ſuch time as ſhe might expect the meeting would break up, and then left me.

As I was at liberty, I went towards the meeting, and, as it was not over, ſtepped within, that my aunt might know that my intention was reſolute. This ſeemed to be as a renewal of our acquaintance, for ſhe ſoon returned her viſits as uſual, though not at the former unſeaſonable hours.

I have, many times, ſeriouſly reflected how it was with me in theſe ſtraights, and may acknowledge, my compoſure of ſoul was owing to a divine power, which ſtayed my mind on God, and kept down thoſe paſſions of nature, which otherwiſe might have exceeded their bounds. But, oh! the calmneſs and tranquillity that did in theſe times of trial poſſeſs my heart, whilſt innocency prevailed over ſhame; and I found, by ſubmiſſion to theſe leſſons of mortification, that I grew in patience and reſignation, in the deſire after the Lord's favour, and the manifeſtation of his will, who had wrought my heart into ſo good a degree of ſubmiſſion, that I was willing to undergo, or be termed any thing, rather than loſe the enjoyment of that in which I had now got a ſmall poſſeſſion.

It was about this time that I knew an extacy of joy at the freely giving up my name to that, which I once thought the moſt deſpicable. There came a London harberdaſher to my ſhop, with whom I dealt in my way of buſineſs: he approached me in his accuſtomary manner; and I, not anſwering his compliment, as uſual, he looked full at me, and ſaid, Are you a Quaker? My ſoul was ſtruck by this home queſtion; I ſolemnly anſwered, yes; and immediately a ſpring of joy ſeized my heart, accompanied with this deſire, viz. Not only a Quaker, Lord; but grant me to be an Iſraeli • e indeed.

From this time I found my deſires were ſtrengthened, and the ambition of being an Iſraelite, run in the current of my exerciſe. But here, I cannot but remark, how like a fool I appeared in my own eyes; for there ſeemed as great an alteration in me as could poſſibly happen from ſuch a change. I could not now be fluent in compliments, and ſaw it beſt to keep out of the extravagancy of words, and ſuch a latitude in diſcourſe as I formerly indulged myſelf in. So many croſs words and knotty queries lay in the way of all I ſeemed to have to do, that nature was abaſhed, almoſt beyond the hope of recovery; yet I often contemplated the benefit that accrued to Zaccheus from that moſt heavenly call, Make haſte, and come down: and how willingly would I have made my ſituation ſimilar to his; believing there was ſomething in that call alluding to the glories of eternity; which now appeared in brighter luſtre to my eye, than all the glittering objects of a tranſitory life. Surely, the time would glide ſweetly on in reciting thoſe refreſhing proſpects which then attended my intervals of grief; but the ſequel of my ſtory calls on me to croſs my inclination.

It was about this time John Toft gave me an expectation of a viſit; but that evening I was threatened with a diſappointment; for, my aunt came in high diſpleaſure, and by her upbraidings, raiſed a crowd about the door, which was the occaſion of his paſſing by. When ſhe had wrought herſelf into a diſpoſition to be more quiet, ſhe ſhut the door and ſat down. I turned out of my mind the thoughts of her unkind behaviour, yet could not help feeling regret at the loſs of the friend's company, being deſirous to ſee him, as he had been inſtrumental for my good. Whilſt I was muſing on theſe things, a meſſenger came and told me, that although my aunt was there, if I thought it convenient, he would come to ſee me. I heſitated a little, to prove what would be beſt. I knew my aunt's weakneſs, that ſhe would not ſpare me, or mind, in her paſſion, what ſhe expreſſed; yet hoped, as it was his deſire to come, he would excuſe what might fall upon himſelf, and ſee through the falſities ſhe might caſt on me.

In this concluſion I deſired his company, and my aunt being preſent, ſaid ſhe would ſtay to ſee this friend. On his knocking, I let him in, with a degree of fear, and watched to hear the ſalutation ſhe gave him; which was, "Thou deceiver! thou antichriſt! thou haſt ſeduced this ſilly wretch." Had ſhe known what my heart could have told her, ſhe might have thought differently; for, on the appearance of the friend, I was made very ſenſible of that power by which I had been drawn into the truth.

He endeavoured to ſhew her the unreaſonableneſs of her charge, by aſſuring her, he had never had any converſation with me, nor had viſited me before. She anſwered, If thou haſt not, thy brethren have, and was running on with violence againſt the Quakers; he ſtill tried to engage her attention, by reminding her that his mother and ſhe uſed, as neighbours, to be acquainted. She ſignified that was true and if ever there was a good Quaker in the world, his mother was one.

She kept walking between the ſhop and the cloſet, laying many heavy things to my charge, which I had learned with ſilence to bear, till ſhe touched my modeſty, and told the friend the freedom which, ſhe ſaid, I gave to young men; then I deſired her to keep to the truth; and ſhe ſaid, If I ſpoke another word, ſhe would knock my head to the wall, which, I well knew, a word or two more would have aggravated her to have done. Upon his aſking how long I had been ſo bad, ſhe ſaid, ever ſince I had been deluded; for I was well enough before I was bewitched.

Thus ſhe went on, as long, I believe, as ſhe had power; for, going out ſhe ſaid, I will go, but I will come again: but ſhe came no more till next day, when ſhe laid on me with blows, ſaying that I ſent for the friend on purpoſe to vex her. She ſhewed ſo much of her paſſion, as to make the friend ſignify to me, that he could think no other than that ſhe was out of her ſenſes; and that he could not ſee, if I had not truth for my foundation, how it was poſſible for me to ſtand. I told him that I had no other view of coming amongſt friends, than to procure the truth and peace of God unto my ſoul; and that I had ſtill hopes I ſhould be preſerved. I remember, he obſerved to me, the emptineſs of a barren profeſſion; and adviſed me to wait on God in the ſecret of my heart, to rely on his wiſdom, and to truſt in his power, ſignifying a deſire that I might be preſerved; and adding, he had come to ſee me ſooner, but found himſelf engaged to take the apoſtle's advice, to "lay hands ſuddenly on no one;" and, after kindly inviting me to his houſe, took leave. This viſit I returned in about a month.

When he was gone, I conſidered what had paſſed, and was thankful to the Great Diſpoſer of all things. I thought there was ſomewhat extraordinary in my aunt's leaving us, for ſhe had never left me with any perſon before, and was glad I had an opportunity of gaining ſuch inſtruction, the like of which I never had before received in converſation; nor could I leſs admire the friend's prudent care, in obſerving the apoſtle's advice, which I had before time thought alluded only to the laying on of the biſhop's hands, at the time of the young ſtudent's admiſſion into holy orders, and the confirmation of the youth; but now I knew, by experience, that, for want of prudence in particulars, I had been a ſufferer; and, as an inſtance, ſhall mention one of the moſt uneaſy meetings I ever was at, which was occaſioned by a friend's overcare, who had often preſſed me to come up higher in the m •• ting than where I frequently ſat. I ſignified to that friend, that the higheſt place in the meeting would be as little regarded by my aunt as the loweſt, ſhould ſhe be inclined to make a diſturbance there; yet, by frequent importunity, being willing to ſhew ſome reſpect to my friend's advice, I was prevailed with to advance a form or two; but when the friend came and ſaw I had not thoroughly taken her advice, ſhe plucked me by the arm; and although I ſignified my deſire of ſitting ſtill, as far as civility would bear, yet ſhe compelled me to riſe, and, notwithſtanding I ſhewed a deſire of turning in at the next, and the next ſeat I came to, yet ſhe would not let me reſt, till ſhe had placed me by herſelf. Then, oh! the hurries that my mind was in; for ſurely, had my aunt herſelf been there, ſhe could not have confuſed my thoughts half ſo much; for though, at this time, when at meetings, I had a deſire to draw nigh to fri •• ds in ſpirit, yet it went much againſt my inclination to ſit ſo near the place which, my aunt uſed to tell me, muſt be my ſeat; ſaying, all proſelytes muſt be made preachers, and tell to the brethren the abominations of the wicked. Often would ſhe teaſe me with ſuch things; well knowing, I had in my nature a great averſion to woman's preaching.

Here I ſat, in a reſtleſs condition, ſeveral times purpoſing to go out; yet the kindneſs I had for my friend prevailed on me to ſtay. Glad, however, was I when the meeting broke up; and when it was over, the friend gave me her hand; which I anſwered with my own, in token of my forgiving her too forward, though loving, fault; yet not without telling her, when at home, the trouble she had given me, and deſiring her never to uſe me ſo hardly again.

Shall I here ſay, that good came out of evil; no ſure, but ſweet came out of bitter; for, by my friend's freedom of giving me her hand, ſeveral that were in the meeting did the ſame; and though this did not prove a time of confirmation to my faith, but rather otherwiſe; yet it ſeemed like a ſign of union, no one having done ſo before, and was pleaſant.

But I loſt, for a time, the deep impreſſion, which the friend's apprehenſion of my aunt's being diſtracted, had made on my mind; but thought, afterwards, if, from the little he ſaw, he could not but entertain apprehenſions of that kind, what had I to fear, who had ſeen her ſo many times, a great deal worſe; yet, what could I do, or what was there to be done; I could not renounce my ſalvation in order to appeaſe my aunt.

Theſe reflections cauſed diſtreſs in my countenance, which occaſioned my aunt to ſay, she read the very Quaker in my face.

It ſeemed hardly poſſible I could ever know any ſorrow like that I then felt; and my aunt, either by information, or her own obſervation, became acquainted with it; and by many frantic geſtures, wrought in me a belief, that she was really as I imagined. My ſoul now fled to the Almighty for refuge, and I ſat before her a witneſs of her frenzical behaviour, with more ſolidity and compoſure than she expected. At laſt, she came up to me, and ſaid, I am mad; thou, thou haſt driven me mad! and I am mad! I was ſurpriſed to hear her ſay ſo, and thought there was ſome hopes for me, as she had yet ſo much reaſon left as to tell me of the thing she knew I was ſo afraid of.

Upon my shewing ſo much indifference about it, she dropt that ſcheme, and in a little time after, as one fainting in her hopes of victory, declined interrupting me in the ſtreet; yet, being willing to obſtruct my deſire of going to meeting, she would come to my room before the hour appointed; telling me, we would have a ſilent meeting. I would gladly have had her kept to it, but it ſeemed an impoſſibility, on her part.

When I ſaw it was her intention, by this means, to keep me at home; in order to prevent it, I ſet out ſo much the ſooner; and ſhe, on the other hand, came earlier ſtill, till ſhe ſaw, without ſhe roſe ſooner in the morning, my reſolutions would outgo her.

Many were the paces which I was forced to take in the fields on this account; but I may ſay my labour was not in vain, for my aunt then left me to my liberty, and many precious meetings I enjoyed.

As I had nothing of tradition, when there, to truſt to, my earneſt deſire was to ſeek the Lord, and he was found of my ſoul, to my inexpreſſible conſolation.

In reſpect to ſilent meetings, my ſpiritual exerciſes at home had taught me how to improve by them: my heart inclined rather to ſit in fear and reverence, and to watch againſt the tumult of unneceſſary thoughts, than to be buſy, as formerly, in the florid appearances of lip-worſhip. But, yet, I would not have it ſuppoſed, that I knew no difficulty in my exerciſes; for ſurely, I often felt the throng of natural cogitations to preſs ſo hard upon me, that I have • ound cauſe to implore the divine aid, often breathing forth this ejaculation; Lord, if thou keep not the city, the watchman waketh but in vain!

But though I was freed from my aunt's moleſtations, I found it was only as the changing of a ſcene, and that the ſubtilty of the ſerpent was now more dangerous to me than it had been in the form of the lion.

My freedom of attending meeting, which I had hitherto been much reſtrained from, and the Lord's mercifully ſubduing thoſe ſpirits which were a hinderance to me, in the way of my ſoul's ſerenity, I could not but gratefully acknowledge, with deſires that I might anſwer the obligation. But I was yet inexperienced in the craft of the enemy and deceiver of men, and needed the aſſiſtance of ſome prudent confident, whoſe counſel might have ſet right bounds to my zeal.

This ſubtile one, taking advantage of my earneſtneſs cunningly twined a thread of his own into that work which I was endeavouring to render acceptable to my God. I had, till this time, been taken up in ſeeking after an increaſe and eſtabliſhment in the knowledge of the truth, and in keeping up a ſtrict circumſpection in my behaviour, that thereby I might not give my relations and acquaintance juſt occaſion of trouble, or a pretence for villifying the way of truth.

I had not as yet made any great obſervations on dreſs, but thought to make a ſtand, and judge what was beſt to be done; and, doubtleſs ſo far I was in the right, whilſt I made ſome alterations.

But now I found the prowling adverſary, what he ever was, a malicious, deceitful, twining ſerpent, who, if he can but get in his head at the leaſt place of our inadvertency, will ſoon draw in his body, under an appearance of ſanctity, to effect, if poſſible, the utter deſtruction of the ſoul. He ſaw that his aim of drawing me into any groſs, obvious evil, was defeated; and as I had ſeen leſs of his ſtratagems in the angelical form, he now inſinuated himſelf into my deſires of being zealous for the honour of God, and elevated me above my proper height, ſo that I fell to judging, cutting, and trimming off every ſuperfluous ſcrap from my dreſs; and, not content with this, I went from my apparel to my ſhop.

In leſs than one week, I made ſeveral ſacrifices of value; and ſo hurried was I in this blind zeal, that I ſeemed impatient for more fuel. And having gone through, as I thought, at home; I next let out the buſy eye on others. There were but ſew who could eſcape my judgment, forgetting that tender advice, vi. Luke, 37, "Judge not, and ye ſhall not be judged; condemn not, and ye ſhall not be condemned." I noticed each point of behaviour and apparel: till, ſo great a critic was I got, that I ſeemed all ſpeculation on the more minute things; and neglecting the weightier matters, as faith, mercy, and the love of God, which, ſurely, I ought to have regarded, though not to have left the other wholly undone.

To what extravagancy I had gone in this line, the moſt penetrating eye beſt ſaw, and was pleaſed to look in compaſſion on the miſtake of my intentions, and moſt graciouſly to illumine my underſtanding; giving me plainly to ſee, I was quite out of that charity, without which, the apoſtle ſays, all our works profit nothing.

So tenaciouſly did I adhere to this thing, that I ſaw not the deceiver, till I diſcovered ſuch paſſions predominant in me, as I had never obſerved before. My temper became uncharitable, and unmerciful, looking with an evil eye on the innocent; and being incapable of either pleaſing myſelf or being pleaſed with others; but, according to the greatneſs of my error herein, ſo was my abaſement, when I was brought down ſo low, 〈◊〉 to be capable of hearing the ſmall voice of Wiſdom, ſaying, Who hath required this at thy hand?

Now was I filled with ſhame; the ſerpent had beguiled me, and by his cunning he had given me more uneaſineſs than by all his roaring. I acknowledged my fault, I begged forgiveneſs and future protection of the Almighty, who in his great condeſcention, made up the breach and reſtored the path to walk in. Yet had I given the vaunting one room to ſport with my indiſcretion, and he would often bring the loſs I had ſuſtained, by his poiſonous inſinuations, into my thoughts, even when no more of the remembrance of it remained than was neceſſary to guard me againſt the ſame devices in future.

This exerciſe was ſcarcely abated, before another trial occurred.

My relations being ſtill diſpleaſed that I ſhould ſtay in town, thoug • 〈◊〉 another ſtratagem againſt me, which greatly ſurpriſed me, and added to the trouble which the deſtuction of my ſubſtance, as above related, had given me.

My uncle having been at London, about our affairs; reported on his return, that on account of a large debt of my father's, who had been dead thirteen years, a ſuit in chancery was commenced againſt him. This report ran current; and my uncle gave out, that as I was under age, he would take again thoſe effects he had put into my hands, though I had not received one quarter of my equivalent.

The unwelcome news was brought to me by many. I ſay unwelcome, becauſe I had contracted ſome debts in the way of buſineſs, which, my uncle ſaid, he could, and would, refuſe to pay. And, again, as my aunt had broken up my 〈◊〉 , and my former acquaintance had withdrawn their cuſtom, my trade ſeemed at a ſtand, and had been ſo above a year, except for ſome few trifles, as before mentioned; beſides which, I now was ſenſible, that the things I had deſtroyed were not my own. But, having ſome acquaintance with Counſellor Hollingſhead, I laid before him my ſtraights, and he civilly told me, I might be quite eaſy on account of the debt; ſaying, if there had been any truth in it, he should have heard of it from my uncle, who uſed to take his advice; and, beſides, he knew my father's creditors had met with due honour. In reſpect to my uncle's taking back the effects he had entruſted me with, it was at his pleaſure, and he might refuſe to pay the debts contracted if the bills were made in my name, unleſs he had given his promiſe to pay them. The Counſellor deſired me, if I had any further trouble, to let him know it, and he would ſpeak to my uncle for me.

Thus was I fully ſatisfied concerning my father's debt; and, in a little time after, was comfortably aſtonished with the breathings in of the love of God, in theſe few comprehenſive words; Fear not, I have overcome the world. Had my trouble been even redoubled, like Job's, ſurely I should in this ſeaſon of favour have forgotten them; yet, when it ſubſided, I found there remained two occaſions for ſorrowful reflection. The one was, paying of my creditors; which I ſoon got over, as I had cash enough to balance all but one, from whom I had received a parcel, which, through the ſmallneſs of buſineſs, was nearly entire; and this I ſent back, with money to anſwer any deficiency or damage. It was kindly received, and I was very eaſy reſpecting it. But as to the other affair, by deſtroying the articles, I had put it out of my power to reſtore them; and this dwelt longer with me; yet, as I lived to come to age, I took the debt upon myſelf, and became reconciled to bear it; though not without a belief, that if I had had a friend to have given me advice, it would have been otherwiſe.

Here I bemoaned myſelf, before the Almighty, that I had loſt my parents, diſobliged my relations, and now had no friend to take more notice of me than what is common amongſt the generality of profeſſors; and, indeed, how could I expect, that any one would buſy themſelves to take the care of me, in any degree upon them, without my deſire?

I became more and more ſenſible of the danger to which my years, as well as other circumſtances, might expoſe me; and I preferred many ſtrong deſires to the Moſt High, that, in his wiſdom he would appoint for me a faithful friend, who would check my errors, as well as encourage me in virtue; one that was capable of inſtructing me by their own experience. Theſe deſires were often accompanied with a promiſſory hope, and belief that I could ſubject myſelf to the counſel, and bear the reproof of ſuch an one; but where to find ſuch a friend I knew not; I was afraid to truſt my own judgment, and often ſupplicated the Inviſible Being to direct me in the choiſe.

Accordingly, in a ſpace of time it thus happened: J. Toft was viſited with ſickneſs, and brought ſo low, that ſeveral friends, who met, did not know but it muſt be to take their final adieu. I had alſo the favour to be in the chamber, and heard many things worthy of regard; but that which ſtruck me deepeſt was, an earneſt deſire for my preſervation in the truth, and kind recommendation of me, as a young perſon, to theſe friends then preſent, that they would have me under their notice. I was truly touched with this ſenſe of paternal care, and ſecretly deſired his life, and the reſtoration of his health; which, as it pleaſed the Almighty to grant it, I was myſelf no longer at a loſs for a friend, conceiving that one, whoſe kindneſs towards me was manifeſted under ſuch circumſtances, I might reaſonably hope to find ſuch an one as I deſired. And from that time I looked on him with a juſt regard, and with a reſolution that, whenever I found occaſion for advice, I would apply to him for it. Nor was it long before my exigency ſeemed to require it.

The beloved of my ſoul, who, in my tender ſtate, had ſo graciouſly repleniſhed my heart, now hid his face from me; and I was not indulged with thoſe times of ſolace, which I before had ſo plenteouſly enjoyed; I waited, and waited, the return of the deareſt object of my ſoul, often querying, Why ſtayeth my beloved ſo long? or, What have I done ſince his laſt embraces, to occaſion his thus hiding himſelf from me? Impatient, I ſought him in my chamber, the meetings, and the fields; places where I had uſed to receive his favour; but theſe ſeemed now to have loſt their luſtre, as well as my beloved his benevolence towards me. I ſought him, but I found him not: like the ſpouſe, in the Canticles, I was ready to aſk, Did you ſee my beloved? I was diſconſolate days and nights, and, I may ſay, I mourned as one wanting her mate. Still I thought my tears moved not his pity, and his ear ſeemed deaf to all my cries,; whilſt the imperious watchman wounded me, and the cruel enemy upbraided me with all I had gone through for my beloved's ſake, telling me, I had better have ſtaid in Egypt, than thus to languiſh in the wilderneſs. Great indeed were the conflicts I here met with, not knowing why it ſhould be thus; and • earing I was dying to all that was ſpiritual, I at length reſolved to make application to my friend.

I went to his houſe; and remember, while I waited a ſuitable opportunity to ſpeak to him, the tears trickled down my cheeks; yet, when I had unboſomed my complaint, I received great ſatisfaction; for, from his kind enquiry of my paſt conduct, I found my opinion of his friendſhip confirmed. From his tender advice my ſoul was encouraged to hope a little longer: and to my inexpreſſible joy, in ſome days after, I felt the influence of Divine Love ſuggeſting to my mind, Follow on to know the Lord; Joſeph, the ſpiritual Joſeph, is yet alive. Oh! ſure here I found again that ineſtimable jewel, the pearl of my beſt affection, and the life of my hope, with ſuch revivings as Jacob experienced, when he ſaw the aſſurance of the welfare of his ſon. And my ſoul bowed under an humble ſenſe of gratitude; ſaying, It is enough, I will go down and ſee him ere I die.

It was a time of true humility, tenderneſs, and love. My covenant was renewed, and it remained for ſome time as a ſummer ſeaſon; or, "as the time when the voice of the turtle is heard." Yet, at intervals, I could not but reflect on former days, and conclude, the ſmalleſt degree of my uncle's and aunt's reconciliation, would add to my happineſs. And, as theſe thoughts increaſed, ſo did my deſire of making a trial; and, one evening, I went to their houſe, and knocked at the door, ſtranger-like, as indeed I was, not having been there for above two years.

Their maid let me in; and, I ſuppoſe I much ſurpriſed them. They were ſitting alone by the fire. I juſt ſaid. How do you do? and ſtood within the houſe, a little diſtant from the door. My uncle looked very ſorrowful, and if he ſpoke at that time, he only ſaid, I have no pleaſure in ſeeing thee. My aunt ſaid enough, and called me many impudencies for coming. I ſtood about half an hour, and then bidding them farewell, my aunt came with me part of the way back, ſcolding me as we went.

I thought this was but poor encouragement, yet was truly glad I had ſeen them.

In about ſix weeks, I had a deſire to go again. I went in the former manner, knocked, and ſtood as before; and, after a little while, my uncle ſaid, Thou mayeſt ſit down. My aunt then fetched ſome books, which, I believe, were the ſame that Bennet would have lent me, and read ſeveral abſurd paſſages; to which I only ſaid, I hope you do not think any ſect can be ſo ridiculous as to believe and practiſe thoſe things. I ſtaid a little longer than before, during which my uncle ſat very ſolitary, and my aunt let me come home quietly.

Thus I went ſeveral times to ſee them, eyeing my permiſſion; as believing, that to go without it, might expoſe me to danger; but, in my fourth or fifth viſit, my uncle ſaid to the maid; Set her ſomething to eat. I could truly have ſaid his love was ſufficient; for I was ſo ſatisfied, with this little return of his love, and my aunt's increaſed quietneſs, that my heart was ready to overflow. I thought proper to go to the table, and, before I ate, there was a contrite thanſgiving aroſe in my ſoul to God.

After this, I took the liberty to go at ſundry times to ſee them, and had frequent opportunities to remark, I ſtill had a place in their affection; which anſwered my deſire; nor could I hope for more, as there always was, and is, a contrariety betwixt the ſpiritual and natural diſpoſitions. They were ſo kind as to return my viſits, till I was married, [to S. L. the huſband's name] which was a little paſt the twenty-fourth year of my age, with the approbation of my friends.

My uncle would not come to the meeting, but came to our dinner; and my aunt viſited us the next day. They both behaved loving and affectionate to my huſband; and, afterwards, were very tender of our children, my aunt exceedingly ſo; and, indeed, it yields me ſatisfaction, as often as I remember the public teſtimonies ſhe gave, before her death, of my behaviour towards her in the time of my convincement; though, I believe, ſhe continued to think it was right in her to reſtrain me from going on in a way ſo different from her own judgment, and what ſhe thought was right; yet acknowledged ſhe was angry, and did exceed; and that ſhe never ſaw me behave unbecoming, or heard me give her an unhandſome word. She was, again, as civil to friends as before I went to meetings; and at times aſked ſeveral friends of my acquaintance to her houſe, and entertained them freely.

I may now conclude my •• rrative thus far, with truly ſaying, how bleſſed in my ſituation was I; having a loving, kind and tender huſband; our lawful endeavours made proſperous; the affections of my relations reſtored; and, above all, the bleſſing of the Almighty ſanctifying theſe enjoyments to my ſoul, to the praiſe and adoration of his love. Here was I permitted to dwell as under the pavilion of the goodneſs of God, yet not without ſomething to combat with in my ſecret exerciſes.

I thus perſevered on comfortably for two years after my marriage, when the beſt Phyſician, whoſe penetrating eye ſaw the malady of my ſoul, prepared a bitter cup for the purging out a venom that lurked there, which I had ſucked in from the malicious adverſary of truth; before, and even after, my going to meeting, and which remained to this time. Hence iſſued a fiery trial, by which my profeſſions of love and affection were to be proved.

This may well be as a ſecond part of my hiſtory, and is the moſt trying, as it went very near to my ſpiritual, as well as temporal, life. This war was not with fleſh and blood, but with the Majeſty on high; under the prince of the power of the air, who rules in the children of diſobedience.

I have before obſerved, that to be an Iſraelite indeed, had attracted my deſires; but little did I ſuſpect what I had to undergo, before my heart was cleanſed from guile, and delivered from that wrath which the enemy had been heaping up in me againſt the day of wrath.

To introduce this heavy relation, I muſt go back to my childhood, and ſay, that the firſt time I ever heard a woman preach, from a prejudice imbibed from my companions, and, probably, an averſion in my own nature, I thought it very ridiculous; and the oftener I had opportunities to ſee it, the more I ſecretly deſpiſed it. At the time that I joined with friends, this was one of my ſtrongeſt objections to them; but I endeavoured to ſilence it, by concluding, that others might do as they pleaſed, and ſo would I.

My aunt, as I have hinted, gave me many remembrances thereof, as ſhe knew my diſlike to it, from my former confeſſion; and, I have no doubt, the ſerpent, by means of this prejudice, injected his venom the deeper; for ſince I have found out his workings, I have remembered a ſecret fear, which I had at times on this account, and which this cunning enemy had allayed, by reminding me of my many proteſtations againſt it. The apprehenſion, however, continued, that I ſhould certainly come to be a preacher; which greatly diſtreſſed me: the allowance of women's preaching being the only diſlike I had to the diſcipline and order of the church; yet ſtill I ſatisfied myſelf with many inconſiderate reſolves againſt it.

But here I may remark a good opportunity allotted me for the ſhaking off thoſe ſhackles which the fiend was faſtening on me; but which I loſt, and have remembered it many times with ſorrow.

Being in diſcourſe with a friend, he frankly aſked me, if I had any ſcruples? or whether I was ſatisfied with the principles of friends? I ſtopt ſhort in my mind apprehending, if I ſhould mention women's preaching, he would think I ſpoke with regard to myſelf. Thus was I baffled; and I anſwered, that I was ſatisfied in the principle itſelf. At that time my idea of preaching was, that it was an act of love and friendſhip, ſeparate from obedience; and glad could I have been, like Moſes, if all the Lord's people had been ſo inclined; women excepted.

I continued thus for ſome years, till I became ſuch a ſlave to my fears, that I could not ſay, "Thy will, O Lord, be done." But like Naaman, the captain of Syria, would fain be excuſed from this thing. I now began to believe that ſuch expoſures were ſomething more than voluntary offerings, and was convinced, from many proofs, that my ſtate had been as clearly ſpoken to by my own ſex, as by the other; yet, ſuch was my perverſeneſs, that, one day, 〈◊〉 had much ado to ſtay the meeting, though I could not help acknowledging within myſelf, that it would have been an acceptable teſtimony, had it came from a man. So great was my prejudice; but greater, yes, may I ſay, infinitely greater, were the condeſcentions of God; for I was ſtill favoured in my waitings with a ſenſe of his living preſence. The myſteries of true divinity were opened to my underſtanding, and through the influences of divine love has my cup overflowed with ſuch acknowledgments as theſe; "Oh, my beloved! if thou dealeſt ſo bountifully with me, my breaſt will be too narrow to contain thy love; oh! withhold thy hand, or I ſhall certainly ſpeak of thy goodneſs to others." And, I really believe, had I embraced that opportunity, and joined with the Lord in his workings on my mind, I ſhould have been delivered from my fears, and eſcaped thoſe croſs occurrences I have ſince waded through: but here my poor ſoul ſhrunk from the croſs of Chriſt, whoſe yoke, to the paſſive mind, becomes eaſy, and his burden light. Yet ſuch was my weakneſs, that, through ſhortſightedneſs, and the falſe ſuggeſtions of the enemy, I ſtarted aſide; and may truly ſay, the longer I carried my burden, the heavier it proved; and I now have, with regret, to look back and confeſs, that inſtead of cloſing with the viſitations of love; I joined with my inveterate enemy, and reſolved not to wait for, or encourage any farther diſcoveries. Thus did I harden myſelf, wretched creature that I was; and when I have felt the power of the Almighty moving with love upon my mind, I have no leſs than ſaid; I will have no more underſtanding; and ſundry times ſhut mine eyes upon the book that has been, as it were, put into my hand, when the beſt of interpreters has been near, and ſo withſtood that tender love which followed me; and I have riſen from my chair, to fix my thoughts on other objects.

My ſoul is really affected with the goodneſs of God, in the continuation of his mercies towards me; and under a ſenſe of the horrible ſtate I was then in, whilſt the worſt of enemies had full rule; and He, who ſhed for me his moſt precious blood, was rejected, at the hazard of the ſalvation of my ſoul; ſitting down far ſhort of a true Iſraelite.

Thus went I on, stifling conviction; till I was lulled into a ſpiritual lethargy, where I lay, till the compaſſionate God, who wills not the death of a ſinner, was pleaſed to arouſe me to a conſideration of what I had been doing; and I found enough to do, to keep from ſinking under the bitter reflections I had brought upon myſelf, by my rebellious proceedings; and yet, through the unutterable goodneſs of God, I was again revived by his favours.

Having got a little recovery from this ſtate of deep affliction, I was viſited with weakneſs of body; ſo that both myſelf and others thought I was nigh unto death; but it pleaſed the Lord, in an unexpected hour, to give me this aſſurance, "Thou ſhalt not die, but live to declare what I have done for thee." This was ſtill ſo contrary to my deſires, that I could not rejoice at all at the lengthening of my days; for now I did believe I ſhould certainly be tried. Oh! the days and nights of conflict that followed this intimation. My countenance changed, my health ſeemed daily impaired; the ſolitary places were made witneſſes of my grief; and, as the years increaſed, ſo did my exerciſe, till I had another viſitation of ſickneſs, and was, to all appearance, paſt recovery. Moſt willingly would I have yielded unto death; chuſing rather to die, than live to be any more diſobedient; and it pleaſed the Lord to prove me again and again in the ſecret of my ſoul, whether I would live to be obedient to his requirings, or die; and my choice was, rather to die, than live to be a preacher. Yet it pleaſed him in his wiſdom to raiſe me again, contrary to the expectation of thoſe that beheld me; none of whom, at this time knew any thing of the exerciſe of my mind, which increaſed to ſuch a degree as cannot well be expreſſed. My body would tremble as a thing ſhaken: and my groans were like thoſe of a dying man. But now I had learned, by dear experience, to cleave unto the Lord; and when I have felt the power; what, if I ſay, of his might; I ſought out places moſt proper to receive it, and bowed in proſtration. From the weight whereof I have paſſionately or affectionately burſt forth in this language, "Lord, what wouldſt thou have me to do?" And as I believed it was a preparation for a further exerciſe, I often begged he would be pleaſed to make me able to bear whatever he ſhould think meet in his wiſdom to lay upon me; and, indeed, ſweet was his love and merciful his dealings, many times renewing his covenant with my ſoul. Yet here I was not to continue, but led again to the teſt of my fidelity.

Being in meeting, in a comfortable frame of ſpirit, I found a motion in my ſoul, moving me to worſhip God in vocal prayer; and, although I had known the ſame power in my own chamber, and with pleaſure ſubmitted to it there, yet here not yielding to the impulſe, my heart, and all that was within me, became confuſed; the whole fabric was ſhaken; and this was taken notice of by a friend that ſat behind me, who, as ſoon as meeting was over, aſked me how I did; ſaying, ſhe was ſure I had been ill. I anſwered, I was but indifferent; as well I might. This ſeemed a good caution to me, as I deſired to keep my exerciſe to myſelf.

Not many more meetings paſſed before I was tried again; when I fixed my body as firm as I could, but found it impoſſible to ſtill my mind. I knew too well how it was with me; though the whiſperer would perſuade me it was all imagination.

In this way did I trifle ſo long, that the diſpleaſure of the Almighty ſeemed hot againſt me, and life and death were ſet before me. I was all in confuſion, both at home and abroad, wiſhing myſelf any other creature; and here I moiled and turmoiled, till I could bear it no longer; and, at length, concluded it beſt to break it to a friend; when he ſignified it had been for ſome time in the ſecret of his thoughts, that ſomething of that ſort lay upon me; and, though I here proved, that it was not in man, by the force of argument and tender advice, to ſubject my ſtubborn will; yet I received ſome advantage from it, and acknowledged the truth of that advice, which I did not cloſely follow, but became in myſelf as a piece of contradiction. Sometimes I would follow the Lord, and then reſolve otherwiſe. I went to meetings as a ſlave to his labour. At home, I durſt not ſit down in ſolitude, being ſure to meet with judgment, and into company I could not go, without wounding myſelf, by pretending to be what I was not; leſt I ſhould be ſuſpected grave; concluding, every one that looked on me earneſtly, knew how it was with me.

Thus was I harraſſed, as betwixt the upper and the nether millſtone, often wiſhing for death, and that I never had been born: ſo great was my ſtraight, I could not go back again, becauſe I was not able to ſhake off the principle of truth; and had thoughts of flinging myſelf into the jaws of death. Yet, for ever praiſed be the name of the Lord, his mercy withheld the devourer, and preſerved me; giving me to ſee into his falſe inſinuations, and to believe that the life, which was in his power to take at his pleaſure, would not be a ſufficient atonement for those rebellions I had been guilty of; and I was brought to an abhorrence of thoſe thoughts which I had been made to conceive. And herein did the goodneſs of the Lord appear ſo evident, that I reſolved to keep cloſe to meetings. But, alas! when there, inſtead of keeping cloſe to my exerciſe, I, through fear kept myſelf from it, and ſat, as it appeared to me, empty, void, and waſte: empty of thoſe deſires I uſed to poſſeſs; void of all that was good▪ and waſte, as being laid aſide by the Almighty; and all through a ſlaviſh fear that I could not draw nigh to God. I ſat as though I had nothing to do, but to ſee with a wiſhful eye others partake of that food, which my ſoul ſtood in need of; yet my ſtate was different from thoſe who are at eaſe in Zion; for when I have looked at thoſe who, I thought, were in a right frame of mind, they ſeemed to be feeding at the Lord's table, whilſt my hungry ſoul ſtood in a ſtate of eſtrangement from him, without courage enough too ſeek the ſcattered crumbs.

Thus it was with me many days; till in one meeting, growing faint, a ſtate of drowſineſs overtook me, a thing which I was not naturally given to; yet ſo far did it prevail, that I was forced to pinch myſelf, to keep awake. Now I thought myſelf worſe than ever I was in my life; for, in my childhood, I had the form, which I left to poſſes the power; yet here I found not ſo eaſy an acceſs as I had expected; and though I ſought, and ſought; inſtead of meeting with my true friend, I met with my enemy, dreſſed in the doctrine of election and reprobation. This I had been led into ſome years before, and now had much ado, through the ſenſe of my own unworthineſs, to ſhake it off; labouring hard againſt the temptation of deſtroying myſelf and fooliſhly wiſhing ſome accident would do that office. But here the riches of God's grace again appeared. I was brought to ſee and acknowledge, that, if my ſoul periſhed eternally, the Lord was but juſt in his dealings with me; and theſe conſiderations had ſome effect: I deſired to be brought back to my former ſtate, that I might have acceſs to his power, be a witneſs of his love, and tried once more. My pen ſurely would fail, ere I could fully ſet forth the condeſcenſions and long-ſufferings of the goodneſs of my Creator towards me. I here knew my pardon ſealed; but my peace laſted not long; for I was quickly tried again and again; and ſtill I did not give up. I was ſenſible that I flinched from that power which was ready as a hand to help me; and therefore worſe and worſe, ſaid I to my ſoul. It will never be better with thee, ſuggeſted the enemy. I knew not which way to turn; I was weary of my own obſtinacy. I would now ſee what I could gain by ſelf-mortification; and as I could not work, I would eat but little. I ſtudied ſeveral ways to afflict myſelf; and have thought, glad ſhould I be, if I had no tongue. Here again I had cauſe to know the old prompter to be near to augment my diſtreſs; which, with my own diſobedience, made the whole creation appear to be againſt me. Oh! I was in ſuch perplexity, that I ſaid, Now ſhall I fall by the hand of my enemy. I fretted, and chafed at myſelf, and every thing about me, and could not come at ſubmiſſion.

At one time, as I was ſeriouſly reflecting on my ſituation, theſe thoughts paſſed my mind, and ſurpriſed me; "if thou be a God of power, make me willing." This was no ſooner paſt, but they were followed as quick, in compariſon, as lightning, by, "Soul, deteſt thou this preſumption; for though he is a God of power, it is in his time he will redeem." I was aſtoniſhed, and ſaid, "Lord, what is it?" and it came thus before me, "there is war in heaven, Michael and the Dragon." When the flutter was over, I remembered the paſſage where it is ſaid; "in the day of my power, my people ſhall be a willing people;" and I was conſolated by it. There alſo fell out another ſingular occurrence about this time, which I cannot well omit. I was fully perſuaded in myſelf, that if I went on in this obſtinacy, my houſe would be laid waſte; and, within a month afterwards, we had in the view of many ſpectators, a wonderful deliverance from fire: during which, whilſt others were buſy, in conſidering how it ſhould happen, I was as buſy in reflecting on myſelf as the cauſe; and it weighed me down in humble acknowledgments unto God, for his merciful preſervation. The world, in a comparative way of ſpeaking, ſeemed now to be near an end with me; and, as if a total eclipſe was drawing on; every ſcene and object looked gloomy; and which ever way I turned my eye, an angry God appeared. There was no ſhelter for me; nothing now to defend myſelf with, or way of eſcaping; and nature muſt yield. In a little time the trial came again; and, in that moment, the enemy of my ſoul ſuggeſted, that if I got up, I ſhould not be able to ſtand; but, thanks to the Almighty, I was ſtrengthened to try, and found him a liar. The expreſſion of a few words produced a bleſſed change. There ſeemed now a new heaven and a new earth; old things paſſed away, and all things belonging to my ſtate, became new; no more guilt for paſt diſobedience remained; but new embraces and new covenants filled up that joyful day. Yet I looked forward with anxiety to another meeting day; and thought I formerly thought meetings did not come faſt enough, yet now they ſeemed to come too ſoon. In two or three of them, I ſat under a degree of ſlaviſh fear; yet truly deſired to keep my integrity and obedience. At length, a ſecond trial came; I was moved to kneel down, and, while I viewed the place, my ſoul ſecretly breathed thus before the Lord, "Here is the place of my execution;" and ſeeing the boſs, "This is the block whereon I muſt yield up the pride of nature, for a teſtimony of my obedience; remember me, oh Lord! and the conflicts that I undergo to ſerve thee. Accept, O Lord, the ſacrifice." I then kneeled down; and when I aroſe, this came into my mind; "the life that I muſt now live, muſt be by faith in Jeſus Chriſt."

Thus perſevered I in obedience, which wrought unſpeakable ſatisfaction, and brought my ſoul, by degrees, out of the place of thraldom and bondage; and thus, by the goodneſs of God, were the ſtrong holds of ſin and ſatan brought down, and the joy of my ſalvation reſtored. Meeting-times and days were pleaſant again, whilſt my ſoul worſhipped the living God, as in the houſe of prayer; and whilſt I ſtand as on the bank of deliverance, reſounding hoſanna in the higheſt; having the harp of thankſgiving put into my hands, my ſong ſhall be of mercies and of judgments, through which my ſoul has been ſo far redeemed; and of the victory of the Lamb; by whoſe right hand and everlaſting arm, my ſoul's enemies have been driven back, ſcattered, and put to flight.

Now, what have I to render to my God for this moſt glorious work, the ſalvation of my ſoul, but the humble acknowledgments of the moſt unworthy and vileſt of ſinners: who, by his moſt gracious condeſcendings, is enabled and encouraged to aſcribe honour, adoration, dominion and renown, with praiſes and thankſgiving, as due to his eternal love, for ever more.