• TABLE OF CONTENTS
HIDE
 Front Cover
 Frontispiece
 Title Page
 Copyright
 Introduction
 Brief Sketch of the Life of Rev....
 The Dairyman's Daughter
 The African Servant
 The Young Cottager
 Back Cover
 Spine














Title: Annals of the poor
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Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00001940/00001
 Material Information
Title: Annals of the poor consisting of The Dairyman's daughter, The African servant, and The Young cottager...
Alternate Title: Dairyman's daughter
African servant
Young cottager
Physical Description: 140 p. : ill. ; 16 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Richmond, Legh, 1772-1827
Hawes, Joel, 1789-1867
Smith, Thomas B., 19th cent ( Stereotyper )
G. & C. Merriam Company ( Publisher )
Publisher: G. & C. Merriam
Place of Publication: Springfield Mass
Manufacturer: stereotyped by Thomas B. Smith
Publication Date: 1852
 Subjects
Subject: Christian life   ( lcsh )
Salvation   ( lcsh )
Poverty   ( lcsh )
Slavery   ( lcsh )
Pictorial cloth bindings (Binding) -- 1852   ( rbbin )
Bldn -- 1852
Genre: Pictorial cloth bindings (Binding)   ( rbbin )
non-fiction   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage: United States -- Massachusetts -- Springfield
 Notes
Statement of Responsibility: by Rev. Legh Richmond...With a brief memoir of the author and an introductory letter, by Rev. Joel Hawes.
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00001940
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: ltqf - AAA2105
notis - ALH7097
oclc - 00937448
alephbibnum - 002236621

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Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front cover 1
        Front cover 2
    Frontispiece
        Page 2
    Title Page
        Page 3
    Copyright
        Page 4
    Introduction
        Page 5
        Page 6
    Brief Sketch of the Life of Rev. Legh Richmond
        Page 7
        Page 8
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 13
        Page 14
    The Dairyman's Daughter
        Page 15
        Page 16
        Page 17
        Page 18
        Page 19
        Page 20
        Page 21
        Page 22
        Page 23
        Page 24
        Page 25
        Page 26
        Page 27
        Page 28
        Page 29
        Page 30
        Page 31
        Page 32
        Page 33
        Page 34
        Page 35
        Page 36
        Page 37
        Page 38
        Page 39
        Page 40
        Page 41
        Page 42
        Page 43
        Page 44
        Page 45
        Page 46
        Page 47
        Page 48
        Page 49
        Page 50
        Page 51
        Page 52
        Page 53
    The African Servant
        Page 56
        Page 57
        Page 58
        Page 59
        Page 60
        Page 61
        Page 62
        Page 63
        Page 64
        Page 65
        Page 66
        Page 67
        Page 68
        Page 69
        Page 70
        Page 71
        Page 72
        Page 73
        Page 74
        Page 75
        Page 76
        Page 77
        Page 78
        Page 79
    The Young Cottager
        Page 82
        Page 83
        Page 84
        Page 85
        Page 86
        Page 87
        Page 88
        Page 89
        Page 90
        Page 91
        Page 92
        Page 93
        Page 94
        Page 95
        Page 96
        Page 97
        Page 98
        Page 99
        Page 100
        Page 101
        Page 102
        Page 103
        Page 104
        Page 105
        Page 106
        Page 107
        Page 108
        Page 109
        Page 110
        Page 111
        Page 112
        Page 113
        Page 114
        Page 115
        Page 116
        Page 117
        Page 118
        Page 119
        Page 120
        Page 121
        Page 122
        Page 123
        Page 124
        Page 125
        Page 126
        Page 127
        Page 128
        Page 129
        Page 130
        Page 131
        Page 132
        Page 133
        Page 134
        Page 135
        Page 136
        Page 137
        Page 138
        Page 139
        Page 140
    Back Cover
        Page 141
    Spine
        Page 142
Full Text

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PAGE I\IOT
AVAilAB1E
TO BE
SGANMED

































THE DAIULYMAZ'W CO-TJXAd.


U~YYIIIllu~u*l~*~lia~?lii~ C~C ----








ANNALS OF THE POOR:

CONSISTING OF

THE DAIRYMAN'S DAUGHTER, THE AFRICAN
SERVANT, AND THE YOUNG COTTAGER.


AUTHENTIC NARRATIVES.



BY REV. LEGH RICHMOND,
or B DrFOItDSHlNt ENe.



WITH A BRIEF MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR,
AND AN INTRODUCTORY LETTER,
BY REV. JOEL HAWES, D.D.



"Let not ambition mock their humble toil,
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure;
Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile,
The abort and simple ANNALe oF THl POORt.
Gasi's ELECT.



SPRINGFIELD, MASS.:
PUBLISHED BY G. & C. MERRIAM,
00RNvE OF MAIN AND STATE STREETS.
1852.






























*TER3EOTYPED BT
TtOMAS B, SMITH,
'16 William St., N. Y.














IIATFORD, Dec. 2, 1851.
MR. CHARLES MERRTAM,
DEAR Sji-When some time since you requested me
to write an Introductory Notice of the three Tracts by
Rev. Legh Richmond, viz., the Dairyman's Daughter, the
Young Cottager, and the African Servant, which you
proposed to publish in a small volume for general circu-
lation, my thought was, that I would do so at once. But
on re-perusing them,-for I read them first some thirty
years ago with great delight,-I could not but feel that
no Introduction was needed for these admirable Tracts--
so widely are they known, so benitiful in style, so sweet
in spirit, so full of evangelical truth and so deeply inter*
testing, as they have always been to all who have read
them. I must, therefore, beg to be excused from writ-
ing the Notice I gave you reason to expect from me; and
would simply say that in my judgment you could not put
in circulation a more interesting little volume than that
you are about to publish, comprising the three Tracts
above named by the excellent Legh Richmond. His
name is as ointment poured forth. Though dead he
speaketh, and through the medium of these little publi-
cations, he will, I trust, continue to live and do good till
time shall be no more.
Affectionately yours,
J. HAWES.






















































I?










I,










N;











BRIEF SKETCH

or T"

LIFE OF REV. LEGH RICHMOND.

BY REV. JOHN AYRE.




LoGH RICHMOND was born at Liverpool, Jan. 39, 1772.
He was the eldest child of Dr. Henry Richmond, the de-
scendant of an ancient and honorable family. A remark-
able casualty befell him in his childhood, the effects of
which he never recovered. At a very early age, in leap-
ing from a wall, he contracted an injury in his left leg,
which issued in incurable lameness. It is somewhat sin.
gular that an accident nearly similar occurred to his
younger and only brother, and also to his second son.
Each of them, in infancy, fell from an open window.
The former was killed, and the latter was ever after
afflicted in the same limb with the same kind of lameness
as his father.
After a private preparatory education, Legh Richmond
was admitted a member of Trinity College, Cambridge.
While an under-graduate, he pursued his studies with a
talent and a zeal which gave fair promise that the highest
honors of his year were not beyond his reach. These
hopes were however blighted by a severe illness, which
was partly owing to his anxious and unrmwitted applica.
tion. Precluded by this cause, from engaging m the
honorable contention of the senate-house, he received


9






8 LIFE OP

what is academically termed an aegrotat degree; come
tuencing B.A. in 1794; and, with some intermissions, he
resided in the university three years longer.
We are now to view Mr. Richmond in a totally differ-
ent character. In the summer of 1797, he became, with.
in the space of a very few weeks, (to borrow his own
words,) "academically a master of arts, domestically a
husband, parochially a deacon." He had been originally
destined to the law; but having imbibed a distaste for
that profession, his attention was subsequently directed
to the ministry, and he was now admitted to the sacred
office. Brading, a secluded village in the Isle of Wight,
was the scene of his earliest pastoral labors. He was
ordained to the curacy of this place and the little adjoin-
ing village of Yaverland; and in Yaverland church he
delivered his first sermon.
These scenes will long be dear to Christian remem-
brance. Lovely in themselves, and consecrated by the
pen of Legh Richmond, they will be viewed with no or-
dinary feelings; and he who disdains not the "simple
annals of the poor," while he treads the sod which covers
"little Jane," or visits the lowly cottage of the "Dairy-
man," will not fail to glorify God for those who here
have slept in Jesus, and" though dead, yet speak."
At the time of his ordination Mr. Richmond saw little
of the magnitude of that work in which he was engaging.
As yet, he was hitnself but little acquainted with the
things of God, and was therefore little qualified to be-
come the spiritual instructor of others. His habits of life
Were decorous and exemplary, his, pulpit compositions
interesting and moral, but as yet he was little imbued
with the spirit of vital godliness. This man, however,
(may it not be said,) was "a chosen vessel to the Lord."
Ere many months elapsed a complete revolution was
effected in his religious sentiments. This is, under God,
mainly to be ascribed to the perusal of Mr. Wilberforce's
"Practical View of Christianity." le now with enlight.
ended understailing and decisive zeal, set himself to do
the work of an evangelist." Not only was he in the pul.






LEGH RICHMOND.


pit, instant in preaching the word," but he was also to
be found with his pastoral admonitions in the dwellings
of his flock, and could descend, with sweet and winning
gentleness, to feed his lambs." The fruit of his labors
was speedily apparent. "Little Jane" was the first
flower which bloomed from the good seed he was sow.
ing.
The circumstances attendant upon his intercourse with
the subjects of the Annals will be found narrated in the
several Tracts. I only observe in this place, that "little
Jane" died January 30th, 1799, in her fifteenth year: that
the conversations with the African Servant" were held
during the summer of 1803, and that the death of the
" Dairyman's Daughter" took place May 30th, 1801: her
age was thirty-one.
After a residence of about seven years in the Isle of
Wight, where his labors had been evidently and largely
blessed, Mr. Richmond removed to London. He was
here to take a share in the duties of the Lock Chapel.
The very first sermon he delivered from the pulpit of this
place was, there is every reason to believe, under God's
blessing, the instrumental means of effecting a saving
change in the heart of at least one individual.
Scarcely, however, was he well settled in this new
scene, when the good providence of God removed him to
the rectory of Turvey, Bedfordshire. He was presented
to this living by Miss Fuller, in 1805.
Long will the Aame of Richmond be venerated at Tur.
vey; long will the savor of his affectionate ministrations
abide in the hearts of his mourning flock. A singular
blessing still attended him. From the earliest to literally
the latest, his preaching was visibly in demonstration of
the Spirit and of power."
It was during his residence at Turvey that most of Mr.
Rfhmond's publications were undertaken. He had pre-
viously printed two or three single sermons;* but it was
These were, a Fast-day Sermon, and one on the Clos of the Jar,
preached at Brading; and a Sermon on Cruelly to the Brute Creatto~, de
slivered ( Bath,






1uFE or


at Turvey that his great work, "The Fathers of the En-
glish Church,' was carried on. For the superintendence
of this important undertaking he was eminently qualified.
Accident, or I would rather say, a remarkable providence,
had, in the first instance, introduced him, while in the Isle
of Wight, to the writings of our earlier and greatest the.
ologians; and the study of them he had ever since zeal-
ously prosecuted. To a familiar acquaintance with the
works of these divines, Mr. Richmond united'the greatest
impartiality and judgment in forming his selections. His
work therefore presents, in a comparatively small com-
pass, the large proportion of the most valuable of the re-
mains of our martyrs and confessors. It is not perhaps
too much to say that it has been mainly instrumental in
awakening to the reformers that attention and interest
with which they are now increasingly regarded.
It was during his residence at Turvey also that Mr.
Richmond drew up the narratives which are contained in
the present volume. They were originally (in substance)
inserted in the earlier numbers of the Christian Guardian.
Having here attracted considerable attention, they were
then published in the form of separate Tracts, and after-
wards, with considerable augmentations, in the first edi-
tion of this volume.
It may perhaps appear unnecessary to pronounce an
opinion on productions which have been circulated by
millions, and translated into twenty languages; and which,
in a multitude of well-authenticated instances, have been,
by the blessing of God, signally effective of good. I
cannot however forbear to say, that in Legh Richmond's
writings, more than in those of perhaps any other author,
you behold the character of the man. His beautiful sim.
plicity, his lively imagination, his tenderness of feeling,
his devoted piety, were the characteristics of the man
which enshrined him in the affections of all who knew
him. And who can read a page of his annals, and not
recognize in those interesting narratives the same simple
plainness, the same glowing fancy, the same touching
pathos, the same ardent piety. In sketching his villagers,


10






LEOG RICHMOND. 11

he has unconsciously delineated himself. He admits us
to his retirement and meditations, shows us his hopes
and fears, and presents us with all the secret workings of
his soul. We admire the gifted minister of God, who in
the deep humility of his spirit disdained not to listen to
the voice of admonition, though it reached him from the
lowly cottage; we cannot withhold our affection from the
man.
If I were called on to say which of the narratives I
prefer, I should most probably be inclined to fix on that
of the "Youg Cottager." There is something, in my
judgment, irresistibly engaging in the character and his-
tory of that simple girl. I can venerate the high and ex-
alted piety of the "Dairyman's Daughter," who, with a
masculine strength of understanding, had ever her word
of counsel even for the minister; but I love the little back-
ward, neglected, retiring child, who starts forth at once in
all the moral beauty of Christian attainment. There is
somAthing too in the condition of Jane which seems
especially to call for our sympathy. The Dairyman's
Daughter was constantly surrounded by a circle of affect
tionate relatives, who regarded her with reverence and
love; while Jine's religion was, at best, little appreciated,
often despised and ridiculed by her family, and her last
hours were disturbed by sounds of blasphemy proceeding
from a parent. Many of the incidents also of this tale
might be appealed to as conferring upon it a peculiar in-
terest. The scene, for example, where Mr. Richmond, on
his first visit to her, while speaking of the good news of
the Gospel, inquires, Who brings this good news?" and
is answered, Sir, you brought it to me," I know not who
can read unmoved. Her parting benediction too-" God
bless and reward you"-when with an unexpected exer-
tion she threw her arms around him and died-is inex-
pressibly affecting.
During his residence at Turvey, Mr. Richmond became
extendedly known to the public as the cordial friend and
ready advocate of the different religious societies which
have, within the last thirty years, grown up amongst us.
t- 1





12


LIF OF


His persuasive and pathetic eloquence in the pulpit or on
the platform, when awakening Christian sympathy in be-
half of the idolatrous Gentile, or the unbelieving Jew,
will not be readily forgotten by the multitudes who have
so often delighted and instructed, hung upon his lips. I
believe his earliest appearance in this character was on
the Ninth Anniversary of the Church Missionary Society,
before whom he was appointed, in 1809, to preach their
annual sermon. This sermon may be appealed to as a
fair and characteristic specimen of his powers in the pul-
pit; though I must be allowed to say, th4 his flowing
and harmonious language, his graceful delivery and sweet
expression of features, beaming with love to God and
good-will to men, imparted a charm which the mere read-
er of a printed sermon can by no means duly appreciate.
His preaching, for a long series of years, was altogether
extemporaneous. His ready utterance' his exuberant
fancy, his aptness of illustration, his deep knowledge of
divine things, rendered his sermons always interesting
and useful. Perhaps he did not, upon common occasions,
allow himself sufficient previous study; but if this were
his fault, he acted upon principle. Why," he would
often say, why need I labor, when our simple villagers
are far more usefully instructed in my plain, easy, familiar
manner? The only result would be, that I should ad-
dress them in a style beyond their comprehension."
His appearance on the platform of a public meeting was
universally hailed with pleasure. His ready adaptation of
passing incidents, the suavity of his addresses, sometimes
solemn, sometimes even jocose, interspersed with inter-
esting narratives, which he could so well relate, deservedly
placed him high in public esteem.
I ought perhaps to state, that-in 1814 Mr. Richmond
was appointed chaplain to the late Duke of Kent, by whom
he was honored with a share of his Royal Highness'
friendship. In 1817 Mr. R. was presented, by the late
Emperor Alexander, of Russia, with a splendid ripg, as a
testimony of the approbation with which his Imperial
Majesty viewed the narratives in this volume,






LEJH RICHMOND. 1

Many peaceful years were passed at Turvey. Happy
in the bosom of his family, no man more excelled as a
pattern of domestic virtues than Legh Richmond.
At length, in 1825, Mr. R.'s domestic happiness sus-
tained a severe blow by the death of his second son, a
youth in his nineteenth year. For this beloved child he
had fostered many a fond hope and anxious expectation,
and beheld, with all a father's joy, his fair promise; but
this flower was withered by consumption, and the bereaved
parent, though he submitted as a Christian, yet sorrowed
as a man. In a few'short months the stroke was re-
peated. Intelligence arrived that his eldest son, who had
been absent many years, had died on his voyage from
India to England.
These afflictive dispensations had a marked and pecu-
liar effect upon Legh Richmond. He who used to be the
life of the domestic and social circle, would now be silent
and abstracted; yet it was not the morbid gloom of a
repining heart, it was rather the solemnity of conviction
that he should ere long rejoin his lamented children. His
bodily health too seemed, in some measure, decaying.
His multitude of pastoral duties were too heavy for his
strength. For the last twelve months of his life he was
troubled with an irritating cough, which seemed to indi-
cate an affection of the lungs. At length, (March, 1827,)
he contracted a violent cold, which issued in pleurisy;
from which, however, he shortly appeared to be recovering.
During all this time, when certainly no immediate danger
was apprehended, he was peacefully and quietly setting
his house in order. To his family he knew the idea of
separation would -be agony; he therefore scarcely hinted
to them what he felt was nigh at hand, but to a clerical
friend, he, in striking words, professed that simple reliance
on the atonement of Christ which alone can cheer and
support the soul in the hour of dissolution. It soon
became evident to those around him, that the flood of life
was qbing calmly yet fast; and at last, (May 8,) without
pai*4 struggle, the ready spirit sweetly and softly passed






LIFE OF LEGH RICHMOND.


from her mortal tenement, and Legh Richmond slept in
Jesus!
Farewell, dear friend and father! Very pleasant were
the hours and years of our communion; but they are
passed away, and the savor only, sad yet sweet, remains.
"Farewell, dear friend, till the morning of an eternal day
renew our personal intercourse!" May I meet thee in a
better world.
I cannot but connect the closing hours of my beloved
friend with that affecting prayer which he has breathed in
the Young Cottager. He had been describing the useful
course and peaceful termination of a little rivulet which
glides through a very lovely glen, by which he was media.
eating. May my course be like unto thine, thou little
rivulet! Though short be my span of life, yet may I be
useful to my fellow-sinners as I travel onwards! iLet me
be a dispenser of spiritual support and health to many!
Like this stream, may Iprove the poor man's friend by
the way, and water the souls that thirst for the river of
life wherever I meet them! And if it pleases thee, O my
God, let me in my latter end be like this brook! It
calmly, though not quite silently, flows through this scene
of peace and loveliness, just before it enters the sea.
Let me thus gently close my days likewise; and may I
not unusefully tell to others of the goodness and merec
of my Saviour, till I arrive at the vast ocean of eternity,
That prayer was surely answered. He did tell to men,
with abundant blessing, of the goodness and mercy of his
Saviour: he did thus gently close his days.
Soldier of Christ, well done I
Praise be thy new employ;
And while eternal ages run,
Rest In thy Saiour'e joy,
X A.


14




A11


THE


DAIRYMAN'S


AN AUTHENTIC


DAUGHTER:


NAtRATIVE


BY REV. LEGH RICHMOND.

















ii










I
f?

/





















IT is a delightful employment to discover and trace the
operations of divine grace, as they are manifested in the
dispositions and lives of God's real children. It is pecu-
liarly gratifying to observe how frequently, among the
poorer classes of mankind, the sunshine of mercy beams
upon the heart, and bears witness to the image of Christ
4 which the Spirit of God has impressed thereupon. Among
such, the sincerity and simplicity of the Christian charate
ter appear unencumbere by those obstacles to spirituality
of mind and conversation which too often prove a gfre
hindrance to those who live in the higher ranks. Many
are the difficulties which riches, worldly consequence,
high connections, and the luxurious refinements of polo
ished society, throw in the way of religious profession
Happy indeed it is, (and some such happy instances I
know,) where grace has so strikingly supported its conflict
with natural pride, self-importance, the allurements. of
luxury, ease, and worldly opinions, that the noble and
mighty appear adorned with genuine poverty of spirit,
self-denial, humble-mindedness, and deep spirituality of
'I




























phertwi
Operations of digeneral, if we want to see re manifestedgion in its mosthe
simple and pure charactto obser, we how frequentlyook for 'it among the
poorer classes this of mankind, thd, who are unrich in faith. How oben is








2*





18


ANNALS OF THE POOR.


the poor man's cottage the palace of God! Many of us
can truly declare, that we have there learned our most
valuable lessons of faith and hope, and there witnessed
the most striking demonstrations of the wisdom, power,
and goodness of God.
The character which the present narrative is designed
to introduce to the notice of my readers, is given from real
life and circumstance. I first became acquainted with the
Dairyman's Daughter by the reception of a letter, a part
of which I transcribe from the original, now before me.

"Rev. Sir,-I take the liberty to write to you. Pray
excuse me, for I have never spoken to you. But I once
heard you preach at church. I believe you are
a faithful preacher, to warn sinners to flee from the wrath
that will be revealed against all those that live in sin, and
die impenitent
"I was much rejoiced to hear of those marks of love
and affection which you showed to that poor soldier of
the S. D. militia. Surely the love of Christ sent you to
that poor man; may that love ever dwell richly in you by
faith. May it constrain you to seek the wandering souls
of men with the fervent desire to spend and be spent for
his glory.
"Sir, be fervent in prayer with God for the conviction
and conversion of sinners. He has promised to answer
the prayer of faith that is put up in his Son's name. 'Ask
what you will, and it shall be granted you.' Through
faith in Christ we rejoice in hope, and look up in expect.
tion of that time drawing near, when all shall know and
fear the Lord, and when a nation shall be born in a
day.
"What a happy time, when Christ's kingdom shall
come! Then shall 'his will be done on earth, as it is in
heaven.' Men shall be daily fed with the -manna of his
love, and delight themselves in the Lord all the day long.
Sir, I began to write this on Sunday, being detained
from attending on public worship. My dear and only
sister, living as a servant with Mrs -, was so ill that






DAIRYMAN'S DAUGHTER. 19

I came here to attend in her place, and on her. But now
she is no more.
She expressed a desire to receive the Lord's supper,
and commemorate his precious death and sufferings. I
told her, as well as I was able, what it was to receive
Christ into her heart; but as her weakness of body
increased, she did not mention it again. She seemed
quite resigned before she died. I do hope she has gone
from a world of death and sin, to be with God for.
ever.
"My sister expressed a wish that you might bury her.
The minister of our parish, whither she will be carried,
cannot come. She died on Tuesday morning, aS will be
buried on Friday or Saturday, (whichever is most conve-
nient to you,) at three o'clock in the afternoon. Please
to send an answer by the bearer, to let me know whether
you can comply with this request
"From your unworthy servant,
"ELIZABETH W----

I was much struck with the simple and earnest strain
of devotion which the letter breathed. It was but indif-
ferently written and spelt; but this the rather tended to
endear the hitherto unknown writer, is it seemed charac-
teristic of the union of humbleness of station with emi-
nence of piety. I felt quite thankful that I was favored
with a correspondent of this description; the more so, as
such characters were, at that time, very rare in the neigh-
borhood. As soon as it was read, I inquired who was the
bearer of it.
He is waiting at the outside of the gate, Sir," was the
reply.
I went out to speak to him; and saw a venerable old
man, whose long hoary hair and deeply wrinkled counte-
nance commanded more than common respect. He was
resting his arm upon the gate, the tears were streaming
down his cheeks. On my approach he made a low bow,
and said,
"Sir, I have brought you a letter from my daughter;





20


ANNALS OF THE POOR


but I fear you will think us very bold in asking you to
take so much trouble."
"By no means," I replied; "I shall be truly glad to
oblige you and any of your family in this matter.'
I desired him to come into the house, and then said,
"What is your occupation ?"
SSir, I have lived most of my days in a little cottage
at six miles from here. I have rented a few
acres of ground and kept a few cows, which, in addition
to my day labor, has been my means of supporting and
bringing up my family" .
What family have you I"
"A wife, now getting very aged and helpless ; two sons
and one daughter; for my other poor, dear child is just
departed out of this wicked world."
"I hope for a better."
"I hope so too; poor thing, she did not use to take to
such good ways as her sister; but I do believe that her
sister's manner of talking with her before she died was
the means of saving her soul. What a mercy it is to
have such a child as mine is I I never thought about my
own soul seriously till she, poor girl, begged and prayed
me to flee from the wrath to come."
"How old are you r?
"Turned seventy, and my wife is older; we are get.
ting old and almost past our labor; but our daughter has
lef a good place, where she lived in service, on purpose
to come home and take care of us and our little dairy,
And a dear, dutiful, affectionate girl she is."
"Was she always so '
"No, Sir; when she was very young she was all for
the world, and pleasure, and dress, and company. Indeed
we were all very ignorant, and thought, if we took care
for this life, and wronged nobody, we should be sure to
go to heaven at last. My daughters were both wilful,
and, like ourselves, were strangers to the ways of God
and- the word of his grace: But the eldest of them went
out to service; and some years ago she heard a a Mon
preached at --_* church, and from that time mhe be.






DAIRYMAN'S DAUGHTER. 21

came quite an altered creature. She began to read the
Bible, and became quite sober and steady. The first
time she came home afterwards to see us, she brought us
a guinea which she had saved from her wages, and said,
as we were getting old, she was sure we should want
help: adding, that she did not wish to spend it in fine
clothes, as she used to do, only to feed pride and vanity.
She would rather show gratitude to her dear father and
mother; and this, she said, because Christ had shown
such mercy to her.
We wondered to hear her talk, and took great delight
in her company, for her temper and behavior were so
humble and kind, she seemed so desirous to do us good
both in soul and body, and was so different from what we
had ever seen her before, that, careless and ignorant a
we had been, we began to think there must be something
real in religion, or it never could alter a person so much
in a little time.
"Her younger sister, poor soul, used to laugh and
ridicule her at that time, and said her head was turned
with her new ways. 'No, sister,' she would say, not my
head, but I. hope my heart is turned from the love of
sin to the love of God. I wish you may one day see,
as I do, the danger and vanity of your present condi.
tion?.
"Her poor sister would reply, 'I do not want to hear
any of your preaching: I am no worse than other
people, and that is enough for me.'-' Well, sister,'
Elizabeth would say, 'if you will not hear me, you can-
not hinder me from praying for you, which I do with all
my heart.'
"And now, Sir, I believe those prayers are answered.
For when her sister was taken ill, Elizabeth went to wait
in her place and take care of her. She said a great deal
to her about her soul; and the poor girl began to be so
deeply affected, and sensible of her past sin, and so thanli
ful for her sister's kind behavior, that it gave her great
hopes indeed for her sake. When my wife and I went
to see her as she lay sick, she told us how grieved and






22


ANNALS OF THI POOR.


ashamed she was of her past life; but said, she had a
hope, through grace, that her dear sister's Saviour would
be her Saviour too; for she saw her own sinfulness, felt
her own helplessness, and only wished to cast herself
upon Christ as her hope and salvation.
"And now, Sir she is gone, and I hope and think her
sister's prayers for her conversion to God have been
answered. The Lord grant the same, for her poor father
and mother's sake likewise."
This conversation was a very pleasing commentary
upon the letter which I had received, and made me anx-
ious both to comply with the request, and to become ace
quainted with the writer. I promised the god old
Dairyman I would attend the funeral on Frin at the
appointed hour; and after some more conversaln re.
specting his own state of mind under the prese fl6,l, he
Went away. *
He was a reverend old man; his furrowed cheeks,
white locks, weeping eyes, bent shoulders, and feeble
gait, were characteristic of the aged pilgrim; and as he
slowly departed, supported by a stick, which seemed to
have been the companion of many a long year, a tib of
reflections occurred which I retrace with emotion and
pleasure.
At the appointed hour I arrived at the church; and af-
ter a little while, was summoned to meet at the church-
yard gate a very decent' funeral procession. The aged
parents, the elder brother and the sister, with other rela-
tives, formed an affegijpg group. I was struck with the
humble, pious, and pleasing countenance of the young
woman from whom I received the letter: it bore the
marks of great seriousness without affectation, and of
much serenity mingled with a glow of devotion.
A circumstance occurred during the burial service, i
which I think it right to mention.
A man of the village, who had hitherto been of a very
careless and even profligate character, came into the
church through mere curiosity, and with no better purpose
than that of a vacant gazing at the ceremony. He came






DAIRYMAN'S DAUGHTER.


23


likewise to the grave; and during the burial service his
mind received a deep, serious conviction of his sin and
danger, through some of the expressions contained there-
in. It was an impression that never wore off, but gradu.
ally ripened into the most satisfactory evidence of an
entire change, of which I had many and long-continued
prdofs. He always referred to the burial service, and to
Some particular sentences of it, as the clearly ascertained
instrument of bringing him, through grace, to the knowl-
edge of the truth.
The day was therefore one to be remembered. Re-
membered let it be by those who love to hear the short
and sinrl annals of the poor."
W AdLre not a manifest and happy connection between
theft t il states that providentially brought the serious
and A lireless to the same grave on that day together!
Holw such to they lose, who neglect to trace the leading
of Gdd in providence, as links in the chain of his eternal
purpose of redemption and grace I
0 Wbile may Ioff, let Is adore,"
A&t the service was concluded, I had a short conver-
sation'with the good old couple and their daughter. Her
aspect and address were highly interesting. I promised
to 4isit their cottage; and from that time become well
acquainted with them. Let us bless the God of the poor,
and pray continually that the poor may become rich in'
faith, and the rich be made poor in spirit.

A sweet solemnity often possesses the mind, whi
retracing past intercourse with departed friends. How
much is this increased, when thy were such as lived and
died in the Lord The remembrance of former scenes
and conversations with those who, we believe, are now
enjoying the uninterrupted happiness of a better world,
fills the heart with pleasing sadness, and animates the soul
with the hopeful anticipation of a day when the glory of
the Lord shall be revealed in the assembling of all his
children together, never more to be separated. Whether






24 ANNALS OF THE POOR.

they were rich or poor, while on earth, is a matter of tri-
fling consequence; the valuable part of their character is,
that they are now kings and priests unto God. In the
number of departed believers, with whom I once loved to
converse on the grace and glory of the kingdom of God,
was the Dairyman's Daughter.
About a week after the funeral I went to visit the
family at -- where the youngest sister had lived and
died, and where Elizabeth had remained for a short time.
She was in deep mourning; but there was a calmness and
serenity in her countenance which exceedingly struck me,
and impressed some idea of those attainments which a
farther acquaintance with her afterwards so much in-
creased. After a brief interview, I left her with an assu-
rance that I proposed very shortly to visit her parents, to
whom she was about to return.
I quitted the house with no small degree of satisfaction,
in consequence of the new acquaintance which I had
formed. I discovered traces of a cultivated as well as a
spiritual mind. I felt that religious intercourse with those
of low estate may be rendered eminently useful to others
whose outward station and advantages are far above their
own.
How often does it appear that "God hath chosen the
weak things of the world to confound the things which
are mighty: and base things of the world, and things
which are despised, hath God chosen, and things which
are not, to bring to naught things that are; that no flesh
should glory in his presence."
It was not unfrequently my custom, when my mind
was filled with any interesting subject for meditation, to
seek some spot where the beauties of natural prospect
might help to form pleasing and useful associations. I
therefore ascended gradually to the very summit of the
hill adjoining the mansion where my visit had just been
made. Here was placed an elevated sea-mark: it was in
the form of a triangular pyramid, and built of stone. I
sat down on the ground near it, and looked at the sur.






DAIRYMAN'S DAUGHTER.


25


rounding prospect, which was distinguished for beauty
and magnificence. It was a lofty station which command-
ed a complete circle of interesting objects to engage the
spectator's attention.
Southward the view was terminated by a long range
of hills, at about six miles' distance. They met, to the
westward, another chain of hills, of which the one whereon
I sat formed a link, and the whole together nearly encom-
passed a rich and fruitful valley filled with cornfields and
pastures. Through this vale winded a small river for
many miles; much cattle were feeding on its banks.
Here and there lesser eminences arose in the valley;
some covered with wood, others with corn or grass, and
a few with heath or fern. One of these little hills was
distinguished by a parish church at the top, presenting a
striking feature in the landscape. Another 9f these ele-
vations, situated in the centre of the valley, was adorned
with a venerable holly-tree, which has grown there for
ages. Its singular height and wide-spreading dimensions
not only render it an object of curiosity to the traveller,
but of daily usefulness to the pilot, as a mark visible from
the sea, whereby to direct his vessel safe into harbor.
Villages, churches, country-seats, farm-houses, and cotta.
ges, were scattered over every part of the southern valley.
In this direction also, at the foot of the hill where I was
stationed, appeared the ancient mansion which I had just
quitted, embellished with its woods, groves, and gardens.
South-eastward I saw the open sea, bounded only by
the horizon. The sun shone, and gilded the waves with
a glittering light, that sparkled in the most brilliant man-
ner. More to the 'east, in continuation of that line of
hills where I was placed, rose two down, one beyond
the other, both covered with sheep, and the sea just visi-
ble over the farthest of them, as a terminating boundary.
In this point ships were seen, some sailing, others at
anchor. Here the little river, which watered the southern
valley, finished its course, and ran through meadows into
the sea in an eastward direction.
On the north the sea appeared like a noble river, vary.
3





ANNALS OF THE POOR,


ing from three to seven miles in breadth, between the
banks of the opposite coast and those of the island which
I inhabited. Immediately underneath me was a fine
woody district of country, diversified by many pleasing
objects. Distant towns were visible on the opposite
shore, Numbers of ships occupied the sheltered station
which this northern channel afforded them. The eye
roamed with delight over an expanse of near and remote
beauties, which alternately caught the observation, and
which harmonized together and produced a scene of pecu.
liar interest.
Westward the hills followed each other, forming seven.
ral intermediate and partial valleys, in a kind of undula.
tions, like the waves of the sea; and, bending to the south,
completed the boundary of the larger valley, before
described, to the southward of the hill on which I sat. In
many instances the hills were cultivated with corn to their
very summits, and seemed to defy the inclemency of
weather, which, at these heights, usually renders the
ground incapable of bringing forth and ripening the crops
Of grain. One hill alone, the highest in. elevation, an4
about ten miles to the south-westward, was enveloped in
a cloud, which just permitted a dimi and hazy sight of a
signal-post, a light-house, and an ancient chantry, built
on its summit.
Amidst these numerous specimens of delightful scenery
I found a mount for contemplation, and here I indulged it,
How ruech of the natural beauties of Paradise still
remain in the world although its spiritual character has
been so awfully defaced by sin! But when divine grace
renews the heart of the fallen sinner, Paradise is regained,
and much of its beauty restored to the soul. As this
prospect is compounded of hill and dale, land and sea,
woods and plains, all sweetly blended together and re.
living each other in the landscape, so do the gracious
dispositions wrought in the soul, produce a beauty and
harmony of scene to which it was before a stranger."
I looked towards the village, in the plain below, where
the Dairyman's younger daughter was buried. I retraced


26






DAIRYMAN'S DAUtGTEIR 27

the simple solemnities of the funeral: I connected the
principles and conduct of her sister with the present
probably happy state of her soul in the world of spirits,
and was greatly impressed with a sense of the importance
of family influence as a means of grace. "That young
woman, I thought, "has been the conductor of not only
a sister, but perhaps a father and mother also, to the true
knowledge of God, and may, by divine blessing, become
so to others It is a glorious occupation to win souls tb
Christ, and guide them out of Egyptian bondage through
the wilderness into the promised Canaan. Happy are the
families who are Walking hand in hand together, as pil-
grims, towards the heavenly country. May the number
of such be daily increased!"
Casting my eye over the numerous dwellings in the
vales on my right and left, I could not help thinking,
"how many of their inhabitants are ignorant of the ways
of God, and strangers to his grace! May this thought
stimulate to activity and diligence in the cause of immor-
tal souls! They are precious in God's sight-they
ought to be so in ours."
Some pointed and affecting observations to that effect
recurred to my mind as having been made by the young
person with whom I had been just conversing. Her
mind appeared to be much impressed with the duty of
speaking and acting for God while it is day;" con-
scious that "the night cometh when no man can work."

I soon rode, for the first time, to see the family of the
Dairyman at their own home. The principal part of the
road lay through retired, narrow lanes, beautifully over-
arched with groves of nut and other trees, which screened
the traveller from the rays of the sun, and afforded many
interesting objects for admiration in the beautiful flowers,
shrubs, and young trees, which grew upon the high banks
on each side of the road. Many grotesque rocks, with
little streams of water occasionally breaking out of them,
varied the recluse scenery, and produced a romantic and
pleasing effect

L






ANNALS OF THE POOR.


Here and there the more distant and rich prospect be-
yond appeared through gaps and hollow places on the
road-side. Lofty hills, with navy signal-posts, obelisks,
and light-houses on their summits', appeared at these in-
tervals: rich corn-fields were also visible through some
of the open places; and now and then, when the road
ascended a hill, the sea, with ships at various distances,
opened delightfully upon me. But, for the most part,
shady seclusion, and objects of a more minute and con-
fined nature, gave a character to the journey, and invited
contemplation.
What do not they lose who are strangers to serious
meditation on the wonders and beauties of nature! How
gloriously the God of creation shines in his works Not
a tree, or leaf, or flower-not a bird or insect, but pro-
claims, in glowing language, "God made me."
As I approached the village where the good old Dairy-
man dwelt, I observed him in a little field driving a few
cows before him towards a yard and hovel which adjoin-
ed his cottage. I advanced very near him without his
observing me, for his sight was dim. On my calling out
to him, he started at the sound of my voice, but with much
gladness of countenance welcomed me, saying, "Bless
your heart, Sir, I am very glad you are come; we have
looked for you every day this week."
The' cottage-door opened, and the daughter came out
followed by her aged and infirm mother. The sight of
me naturally brought to recollection the grave at which
we had before met. Tears of affection mingled with the
smile of satisfaction with which I was received by these
worthy cottagers. I dismounted, and was conducted
through a very neat little garden, part of which was sha-
ded by two large, overspreqding elm-trees, to the house.
Decency and cleanliness were manifest within and with-
out. Everything wore the aspect of neatness and pro.
priety. On each side of the fire-place stood an old oaken
arm-chair, where the venerable parents rested their weary
limbs after the day's labor was over. On a shelf, in one
corner, lay two Bibles, with a few religious books and


28






DAIRYMAN'S DAUGHTIZ. 29

Tracts, The little room had two windows; a lovely proo
pect of hills, woods, and fields, appeared through one-
the other was more than half obscured by the branches
of a vine which was trained across it; between its leaves
the sun shone, and cast a cheerful light over the whole
place.
This, thought I, is a fit residence fbr piety, peace, and
contentment. May I learn a fresh lesson in each, through
the blessing of God on this visit.
Sir," said the daughter, we are not worthy that you
should come under our roof. We take it very kind that
you should come so far to see us."
"My Master," I replied, came a great dea farther to
visit us poor sinners. He left the bosom of his Father,
laid aside his glory, and came down to this lower world
on a visit of mercy and love; and ought not we, if we.
profess to follow him, to bear each other's infirmities, and
go about doing good, as he did?"
The old man now came in and joined his wife and
daughter in giving me a cordial welcome. Our converse.
tion soon turned to the late loss they had sustained; and
the pious and sensible disposition of the daughter was
peculiarly manifested, as well in what she said to her pa.
rents, as in what she said to me. I was struck with the
good sense and agreeable manner which accompanied her
expressions of devotedness to God, and love to Christ,
for the great tnereies which he had bestowed upon her.
She seemed anxious to improve the opportunity of my
Visit to the best purpose tor her own and her parents'
sake; yet there was nothing of unbecoming forwardness,
no self-con-equence or conceitedness in her behavior,
She united the firmness and earnestness of the Christian
with the modesty of the female and the dutifulness of
the daughter. It was impossible to be in her company,
and not observe how truly her temper and conversm
tion adorned the evangelical principles which she pro.
fessed.
I soon discovered how eager and how successful also
she had been in her endeavors to bring her father and
8*





30


ANNALS OF THE POORLY


mother to the knowledge and experience of the truth.
This is a lovely circumstance in the character of a young
Christian. If it hath pleased God, in the free dispensaa
tions of his mercy, to call the child by his grace, while
the parent remains still in ignorance and sin, how great
is the duty of that child to do what is possible for the
conversion of those to whom it owes its birth I Happy
is it when the ties of grace sanctify those of nature!
This aged couple evidently looked upon and spoke of
their daughter as their teacher and admonisher in divine
things, while they received from her every token of filial
submission and obedience, testified by continual endeavors
to serve and assist them to the utmost in the little con-
cerns of the household.
The religion of this young woman was of a highly
spiritual character, and of no ordinary attainment. Her
views of the divine plan in saving the sinner, were clear
and scriptural. She spoke much of the joys and sorrows
which, in the course of her religious progress, she had
experienced; but she was fully sensible that there is far
more in real religion than mere occasional transition
from one frame, of mind and spirit to another. She be-
lieved that the experimental acquaintance of the heart
with God, principally consisted in so living upon Christ
by faith, as to seek to live like him by love. She knew
that the love of God toward the sinner, and the path of
duty prescribed to the sinner, are both of an unchangeable
nature. In a believing dependence on the one, and an
affectionate walk in the other, she sought and found the
peace of God which passeth all understanding;" "for so
he giveth his beloved rest."
She had read but few books besides her Bible; but
these few were excellent in their kind, and she spoke of
their contents as one who knew their value. In addition
to a Bible and Common Prayer Book, "Doddridge's Rise
and Progress," Romaine's Life, Walk, and Triumph of
Faith," Bunyan's Pilgrim," Alleine's Alarm," Baxter's
Saints' Everlasting Rest," a hymn-book, and a few Tracts,
composed her library.






DAIRYMAN'S DAUGHTER.


I observed in her countenance a pale and delicate look,
which I afterwards found to be a presage of consumption;
and the idea then occurred to me that she would not live
very long. In fact, it pleased God-to take her hence about
Sa year and a half after I first' saw her.
Time passed on swiftly with this interesting family;
and after having partaken of some plain and wholesome
refreshment, arir enjoyed a few hours' conversation with
them, I found it was necessary for me to return home-
wards.
"I thank you, Sir," said the daughter, "for your Chris-
tian kindness to me and my friends. I believe the bless.
ing of the Lord has attended your visit, and I hope I have
experienced it to be so. My dear father and mother will,
I am sure, remember it, and I rejoice in an opportunity,
which we have never before enjoyed, of seeing a serious
minister under this roof. My Saviour has been abun-
dantly good to me in plucking me 'as a brand from the
burning,' and showing me the way of life and peace: and
I hope it is my heart's desire to live to his glory. But I
long to see these dear friends enjoy the comfort and
power of religion also."
"I think it evident," I replied, that the promise is ful-
filled in their case: It shall come to pass, that at evening
timp it shall be light."
"I believe it," she said, and praise God for the blessed
hope."
Thank him too that you have been the happy instru.
ment of bringing them to the light.' "
"I do, Sir; yet when I think of my own unworthiness
and insufficiency, I rejoice with trembling."
S Sir," said the good old man, "I am su the Lord will
reward you for this kindness. Pray for us, that, old as
we are, and sinners as we have been, yet he would have
mercy upon us at the eleventh hour. Poor Betsy strives
hard for our sakes, both in body and soul; she works
hard all day to save us trouble, and I fear has not strength
to support all she does; and then she talks to us, and
reads to us, and prays for us, that we may be saved


31





ANNALS OF TH1T P OOn.


from the wrath to come. Indeed, Sir, she's a rare child
to us."
P Peace be to you, and all that belong to you."
"Amen, and thank you, dear Sir," was echoed from
each tongue.
Thus we parted for that time. My returning medita-
tions were sweet, and, I hope, profitable. Many other
visits were afterwards made by me to this peaceful cot-
tage% and I always found increasing reason to thank God
for the intercourse I enjoyed.
I soon perceived that the health of the d ghter was
rapidly on the decline. The pale, wasting ohsumption,
which is the Lord's instrument for removing so many
thousands every year from the land of the living, made
hasty strides on her constitution. The hollow eye, the
distressing cough, and the often too flattering red on the
cheek, foretold the approach of death,
I have often thought what a field for usefulness and
affectionate attention on the part of ministers and Christian
friends, is opened by the frequent attacks and lingering
progress of consumptive illness. How many such pre.
cious opportunities are daily lost, where Providence
seems in so marked a way to afford time and space for
serious and godly instruction! Of how many may it be
said, The way of peace have they not known;" for not
one friend ever came nigh to warn them to flee from the
wrath to come."
But the Dairyman's Daughter was happily made ac-
quainted with the things which belonged to her everlast-
ing peace, before the present disease had taken root in
her constitution. In my visit to her, I might be said rather
to receive information than to impart it. Her mind was
abundantly stored with divine truths, and her converse
tion was truly edifying. The recollection of it still pro-
duces a thankful sensation in my heart.
I one day received a short note to the following effect
DEAR SIR,
I should be very glad, if your convenience will allow
that you would come and see a poor unworthy sinner i


82






DAIRYMAN'S DAUGHTER 83

my hour-glass is nearly run out, but I hope I can see
Christ to be precious to my soul. Your conversation
has often been blessed to me, and I now feel the need of
it more than ever. My father and mother send their duty
to you.
From your obedient and
Unworthy servant
ELIZABETH W .

I obeyed the summons that same'afternoon. On my
arrival at the Dairyman's cottage, his wife opened the
door. The tears streamed down her cheek, as she si-
lently shook her head. Her heart was full. She tried
to speak, but could not. I took her by the hand, and
said,
My good friend, all is right, and as the Lord of wis-
dom and mercy directs."
"Oh! my Betsy, my dear girl, is so bad, Sir: what
shall I do without her ?-I thought I should have gone
first to the grave, but--"
But the Lord sees good, that, before you die yourself,
you should behold your child safe home to glory. Is
there no mercy in this ?
"Oh! dear Sir, I am very old, and very weak; and she
is a dear child, the staff and prop of a poor old creature,
as I am."
As I advanced, I saw Elizabeth sitting by the fire-side,
supported in an arm-chair by pillows, with every mark of
rapid decline and approaching death. She appeared to
me within three or four weeks at the farthest from her
end. A sweet smile of friendly complacency enlightened
her pale countenance, as she said,
"This is very kind indeed, Sir, to come so soon after I
sent to you. You find me daily wasting away, and I
cannot have long to continue here. My flesh and my
heart fail, but God is the strength 'of my weak heart, and
I trust will be my portion forever."'
The conversation which follows was occasionally inter.
erupted by her cough and want of breath. Her tone of





ANNALS OF THE POOR.


voice was clear, though feeble; her manner solemn and
collected; and her eye, though more dim than formerly,
by no means wanting in liveliness as she spoke. I had
frequently admired the superior language in which she
expressed her ideas, as well as the scriptural consistency
with which she communicated her thoughts. She had a
good natural understanding; and grace, as is generally
the case, had much improved it. On the present occasion
I could not help thinking she was peculiarly favored.
The whole strength' of grace and nature seemed to be in
full exercise.
After taking my seat between the daughter and the
mother, (the latter fixing her fond eyes upon her child
with great anxiety while we were conversing,) I said to
Elizabeth,
"I hope you enjoy a sense of the divine presence, and
can rest all upon him who has been with thee,' and has
kept' thee in all places whither thou hast gone,' and will
bring thee into 'the land of pure delights, where saints
immortal reign.'"
Sir, I think I can. My mind has lately been some-
times clouded, but I believe it has been "partly owing to
the great weakness and suffering of my bodily frame, and
partly to the envy of my spiritual enemy, who wants to
persuade me that Christ has no love for me, and that I
have been a self-deceiver."
And do you give way to his suggestions? Can you
doubt, amidst such numerous tokens of past and present
mercy T
"No, Sir, I mostly am enabled to preserve a clear evi-
dence of his love. I do not wish to add to my other sins
that of denying his manifest goodness to my soul. I
would acknowledge it to his praise and glory."
What is your present view of the state in which you
were before he called you by his grace ?"
Sir, I was a proud, thoughtless girl; fond of dress
and finery; I loved the world and the things that are in
the world; I lived in service among worldly people, and
never had the happiness of being in a family where wor-


84





DAIRYMAN'S DAUGHTER.


35


ship was regarded, and the souls of the servants cared
for, either by master or mistress. I went once on a
Sunday to church, more to see and be seen, than to pray,
or hear the word of God. I thought I was quite good
enough to be saved, and disliked and often laughed at re.
ligious people. I was in great darkness; 1 knew nothing
of the way of salvation; I never prayed, nor was sensible
of the awful danger of a prayerless state. I wished to
maintain the character of a good servant, and was much
lifted up whenever I met with applause. I was tolerably
moral and decent in my'conduct, from motives of carnal
and worldly policy; but I was a stranger to God and
Christ; I neglected my soul; and had I died in such a
state, hell must, and would justly, have been my portion."
How long is it since you heard the sermon which you
hope, through God's blessing, effected your conversion ?"
About five years ago."'
"How was it brought bout ?"
It was reported that a Mr. -, who was detained
by contrary winds from embarking on board ship, as
chaplain, to a distant part of the world, was to preach at
.church. Many advised me not to go, for fear he
should turn my head; as they said he held strange no.
tions. But curiosity, and an opportunity of appearing in
a new gown, which I was very proud of, induced me to
;tsk leave to go. Indeed, Sir, I had no better motives
than vanity and curiosity. Yet thus it pleased the Lord
to order it for his own glory.
"I accordingly went to church, and saw a great crowd
of people collected together. I often think of the con.
trary states of my mind during the former and latter part
of the service. For a while, regardless of the worship of
God, I looked around me, and was anxious to attract
notice myself. My dress, like that of too many gay,
vain, and silly girls, was much above my station, and
very different from that which becomes a humble sinner,
who has a modest sense of propriety and decency. The
state of my mind was visible enough from the foolish
finefy of my apparel.





86 ANNAM THE POOR. I

"At length the clergyman* gave out his text: Be ye
clothed with humility.' He drew a comparison between
the clothing of the body and that of the soul.* At a very
early part of his discourse I began to feel ashamed of my
passion for fine dressing and apparel; but when he came
to describe the garment of salvation with which a Chris-
tian is clothed, I felt a powerful discovery of the naked-
ness of my own soul. I saw that I had neither the
humility mentioned in the text, nor any one part of the
true Christian character. I looked at my gay dress, and
blushed for shame on account of my pride. I looked at
the minister, and he seemed to be as a messenger sent
from heaven to open my eyes. I looked at the congre-
gation, and wondered whether any one else felt as I did.
Looked at my heart, and it appeared full of iniquity. I
trembled as he spoke, and yet I felt a great drawing of
heart to the words he uttered.
"He opened the riches of divine grace in God's method
of saving the sinner. I was astonished at what I had
been doing all the days of my life. He described the
meek, lowly, and humble example of Christ; I felt proud,
lofty, vain, and self-consequential. He represented Christ
as Wisdom;' I felt my ignorance. He held him forth as
*Righteousness;' I was convinced of my own guilt. He
proved him to be Sanctification ; I saw my corruption.
He proclaimed him as' Redemption;' I felt my slavery to
sin, and my captivity to Satan. He concluded with an
animated address to sinners, in which he exhorted them
to flee from the wrath to come, to east 'off the love of
outward ornaments, to put on Christ, and be clothed with
true humility.
From that hour I never lost sight of the value of my
soul, and the danger of a sinful state. I inwardly blessed
God for the sermon, although my mind was in a state of
great confusion.
The preacher had brought forward the ruling passion
of my heart, which was pride in outward dress; and by
the grace of God it was made instrumental to the awa-
kening of my soul. Happy, Sir, would it be, if many a





DAIRYMAiN'S-A 'PT1(TEt. 3s8

poor girl, like myself, were turned from the love of out.
ward adorning and putting on of fine apparel, to seek
that which is not corruptible, even the ornament of a
meek and quiet spirit, which is in the sight of God of
great price.
"*The greater part of the congregation, unused to such
faithful and scriptural sermons, disliked and complained
of the severity of the preacher; while a few, as I after-
wards found, like myself, were deeply affected, and ear-
nestly wished to hear him again. But he preached there
no more.
From that time I was led, through a course of private
prayer, reading, and meditation, to see my lost estate as
a sinner, and the great mercy of God, through Jesus
Christ, in raising sinful dust and ashes to a share in the
glorious happiness of heaven. And ohI Sir, what a
Saviour have I found! He is more than I could ask or
desire. In his fullness I have found all that my poverty
could need; in his bosom I have found a resting-place
from all sin and sorrow; in his word I have found strength
against doubt and unbelief."
"Were you not soon convinced," said I, "that your
salvation must be an act of entire grace on the part of
God, wholly independent of your own previous works or
deservings?"
"Dear Sir, what were my works ,before I heard that
sermon, but evil, carnal, selfish, and ungodly ? The
thoughts of my heart, from my youth upward, were only
evil, and that continually. And my deserving, what were
they, but the deserving of a fallen, depraved, careless
soul, that regards neither law nor Gospel ? Yes, Sir, I
immediately saw, that if ever I were saved, it must be by
the free mercy of God, and that the whole praise and
honor of the work would be his from first to ast."
What change did you perceive in yourself with re-
spect to the world?"
"It appeared all vanity and vexation of spirit I found
it necessary to my peace of mind to come out from
among them and be separate.' I gave myself to prayer;
4




38


ANNALS OF THE POOR.


and many a precious hour of secret delight I enjoyed in
communion with God. Often I mourned over my sins,
and sometimes had a great conflict through unbelief, fear,
temptation to return back again to my old ways, and a
variety of difficulties which lay in my way. But he who
loved me with an everlasting love, drew me by his
loving-kindness, showed me the way of peace, gradually
strengthened me in my resolutions of leading a new
life, and taught me that, while without him I could
do nothing, I yet might do all things through his
strength."
"Did you not find many difficulties in your situation,
owing to your change of principle and practice?"
Ye, Sir, every day of my life. I was laughed at by
some, scolded at by other, scorned by enemies, and pitied
by friends. I was called hypocrite, saint, false deceiver,
and many more names, which were meant to render me
hateful in the sight of the world. But I esteemed the
reproach of the cross an honor.-I forgave and prayed for
my persecutors, and remembered how very lately I had
acted the same part toward others myself. I thought
also that Christ endured the contradiction of sinners; and,
as the disciple is not above his Master, I was glad to be
in any way conformed to his sufferings."
"Did you not then feel for your relatives at home"
"Yes, that I did indeed, Sir; they were never out of
my thoughts. I prayed continually for them, and had a
longing desire to do them good. In particular I felt for
my father and mother, as they were getting into years,
and were very ignorant and dark in matters of religion."
Ay" interrupted her mother, sobbing, ignorant and
dark, sinful and miserable we were, till this dear Betsy-
this dear Betsy-this dear child, Sir, brought Christ Jesus
home to her poor father and mother's house."
No, dearest mother, say rather, Christ Jesut. brought
your poor daughter home to tell you what he had done
for her soul, and I hope, to do the same for yours."
At this moment the Dairyman came in with two pails
of milk hanging from the yoke on his shoulder,. He





DAIRYMANI'S DAUGHTER 39

had stood behind the half-opened door for a few minutes,
and heard the last sentences spoken by his wife and
daughter.
"Blessing and mercy upon her," said he, "it is very
true; she would leave a good place of service on purpose
to live with us, that she might help us both in soul and
body. Sir, don't she look very ill I think, Sir, we
shan't have her here long."
Leave that to the Lord," said Elizabeth. All our
times are in his hand, and happy it is that they are.
I am willing to go; are not you willing, my father, to
part with me into his hands who gave me to you at
first ?"
"Ask me any question in the world but that," said the
weeping father.
I know," said she, "you wish me to be happy."
"I do, I do," answered he: let the Lord do with you
and us as best pleases him."
I then asked her on what her present consolations
chiefly depended, in the prospect of approaching death.
Entirely, Sir, on my view of Christ. When I look at
myself, many sins, infirmities, and imperfections cloud the
image of Christ which I want to see in my own heart.
But when I look at the Saviour himself, he is altogether
lovely; there is not one spot in his countenance, nor one
cloud over all his perfections.
I think of his coming in the flesh, and it reconciles me
to the sufferings of the body; for Ife had them as well as
I. I think of his temptations, and believe that he is able
to succor me when I am tempted. Then I think of his
cross, and learn to bear my own. I reflect on his death,
and long to die unto sin, so that it may no longer have
dominion over me. I sometimes think on his resurrec-
tion, and trust that he has given me a part in it, for I feel
that my affections are set upon things above. Chiefly I
take comfort in thinking of him as at the right hand of
the Father, pleading my cause, and rendering acceptable
even my feeble prayers, both for myself, and, as I hope,
for my dear friends.




U


40 ANNALS OF THJ POGW.

"These are the views, which, through mercy, I have of
my Saviour's goodness; and they have made me wish
and strive in my poor way to serve him, to give myself
up to him, and to labor to do my duty in that state of
life into which it has pleased him to call me.
A thousand times I should have fallen and fainted, if
he had not upheld me. I feel that I am nothing without
him. He is all in all.
"Just so far as I can east my care upon him, I find
strength to do his will. May he give me grace to trust
him to the last moment! I do not fear death, because I
believe he has taken away its sting. And oh I what hap-
piness beyond! Tell me, Sir, whether you think I am
right. I hope I am under no delusion. I dare not look
for my hope at any thing short of the entire fulness of
Christ. When I ask my own heart a question, I am
afraid to trust it, for it is treacherous, and has often de-
ceived me. But when I ask Christ, he answers me with
promises that strengthen and refresh me, and leave me
no room to doubt his power and will to save. I am in
his hands, and would remain there; and I do believe
that he will never leave nor forsake me, but will perfect
the thing that concerns me. He loved me and gave him-
self for me, and I believe that his gifts and calling are with-
out repentance. In this hope I live, in this I wish to die."
I looked around me as she was speaking, and thought,
SSurely this is none other than the house of God, and
the gate of heaven." Every thing appeared neat, cleanly,
and interesting. The afternoon had been rather overcast
with dark clouds, but just now the setting sun shone
brightly and rather suddenly into the room. It was re-
flected from three or four rows of bright pewter plates
and white earthen-ware arranged on shelves against the
wall; it also gave brilliancy to a few prints of sacred sub-
jects that hung there also, and served for monitors of the
birth, baptism, crucifixion, and resurrection of Christ. A
large map of Jerusalem, and a hieroglyphic of "the old
and new man," completed the decorations on that side of
the room. Clean as was the white-washed wall, it was






DAIRYMAN'S DAUGHTER. 41

not cleaner than the rest of the place and its furniture.
Seldom had the sun enlightened a house where order and
general neatness (those sure attendants of pious poverty)
were more conspicuous.
This gleam of setting sunshine was emblematical of
the bright and serene close of this young Christian's de-
parting season. One ray happened to be reflected from
a little looking-glass upon the face of the young woman.
Amidst her pallid and decaying features there appeared a
calm resignation, triumphant confidence, unaffected hu-
mility, and tender anxiety, which fully declared the feel-
ings of her heart.
Some further affectionate conversation, and a short
prayer, closed this interview.
As I rode home by departing daylight, a solemn tran-
- quillity reigned throughout the scene. The gentle lowa
ing of cattle, the bleating of sheep, just penned in their
folds, the humming of the insects of the night, the dis-
tant murmurs of the sea, the last notes of the birds of day,
and the first warblings of the nightingale, broke upon the
ear, and served rather to increase than lessen the peace-
ful serenity of the evening, and its corresponding effects
on my own mind. It invited and cherished just such
meditations as my visit had already inspired. Natural
scenery, when viewed in a Christian mirror, frequently
affords very beautiful illustrations of divine tVuth We
are highly favored, when we can enjoy them, and at the
same time draw near to God in them.,

Soon after this I received a hasty summons, to inform
me that my young friend was dying. It was brought by
a soldier, whose countenance bespoke seriousness, good
sense, and piety.
I am sent, Sir, by the father and mother of Elizabeth
W--- at her own particular request, to say how much
they all wish to see you. She i going home, Sir, very
fast indeed."
"Have you known her long ?j I replied.
"About a month, Sir; I love to visit the sick, and
4*





42


ANNALS OF TH' POOR.


hearing of her case from a serious person who lives
close by our camp, I went to see her. I bless God that
ever I did go. Her conversation has been very profitable
to me."
I rejoice," said I, to see in you, as I trust, a brother
soldier. Though we differ in our outward regimentals, I
hope we serve under the same spiritual Captain. I will
go with you."
My horse was soon ready. My military companion
walked by my side, and gratified me with very sensible
and pious conversation. He related some remarkable
testimonies of the excellent disposition of the Dairyman's
Daughter, as they appeared from some recent intercourse
which he had had with her.
"She is a bright diamond, Sir," said the soldier, and
will soon shine brighter than any diamond upon earth."
We passed through lanes and fields, over hills and val-
leys, by open and retired paths, sometimes crossing over,
and sometimes following the winding of a little brodk,
which gently murmured by the road side. Conversation
beguiled the distance, and shortened the apparent time of
our journey, till we were nearly arrived at the Dairyman's
cottage.
As we approached it we became silent. Thoughts of
death, eternity, and salvation, inspired by the sight of a
house where a dying believer lay, filled my own mind,
and, I doubt not, that of my companion also.
No living object yet appeared, except the Dairyman's
dog, keeping a kind of mute watch at the door, for he
did not, as formerly, bark at my approach. He seemed
to partake so far of the feelings appropriate to the cir-
cumstances of the family, as not to wish to give a hasty
or painful alrm. He came forward to the little wicket.
gate, then looked back at the house-door, as if conscious
there was sorrow within. It was as if he wanted to say,
"Tread softly over the threshold, as you enter the house
of mourning; for my master's heart is full of grief."
A solemn serenity appeared to surround the whole
place. It was only interrupted by the breeze passing






DAIRYMAN'S DAUGHTER


48


through the large elm-trees which stood near the house,
which my imagination indulged itself in thinking were
plaintive sighs of sorrow. I gently opened the door; no
one appeared, and all was still silent. The soldier fol-
lowed; we came to the foot of the stairs.
"They are come," said a voice, which I knew to be the
father's; they are come."
He appeared at the top; I gave him my hand and said
nothing. On entering the room above, I saw the aged
mother and her son supporting the much-loved daughter
and sister; the son's wife sat weeping in a window-seat
with a child on her lap; two or three persons attended in
the room to discharge any office which friendship or ne-
cessity might require.
I sat down by the bedside. The mother could not
weep, but now and then sighed deeply, as she alternately
looked at Elizabeth and at me. The big tear rolled down
the brother's cheek, and testified an affectionate regard.
The good old man stood at the foot of the bed, leading
upon the post, and unable to take his eyes off the child
from whom he was soon to part.
Elizabeth's eyes were closed, and as yet she perceived
me not. But over- her face, though pale, sunk, and hol.
low, the peace of God, which passeth all understanding,
had cast a triumphant calm.
The soldier, after a short pause, silently'reached out
his Bible toward me, pointing with his finger at 1 Cor.
xv. 55, 56, 68. I then broke silence by reading the pas-
sage, O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is
thy victory ? The sting of death is sin, and the strength
of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, who giveth us
the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ."
At the sound of these words her eyes opened, and
something like a ray of divine light beamed on her coun-
tenance, as she said," Victory I victory I through our Lord
Jesus Christ."
She relapsed again, taking no further notice of any one
present.
"God be praised for the triumph of faith," I aid





ANIAL8 OP THE POORa


"Amen, replied the soldier.
The Dairyman's uplifted eye showed that the Amen
was in his heart, though his tongue failed to utter it
A short struggling for breath took place in the dying
young woman, which was soon over, and then 1 said to
her,
My dear friend, do you not feel that you are sup.
ported T'
"The Lord deals very gently with me," she replied.
"Are not his promises now very precious to you 1"
They are all yea and amen in Christ Jesus."
SAre you in much bodily pain 1"
SSo little that I almost forget it I"
"How good the Lord is!"
"And how unworthy am I!"
"You are going to see him as he is."
"I think-I hope-I believe that I am."
She again fell into a short slumber.
Looking at her mother, I said, What a mercy to have
a child so near heaven as yours is I"
"And what a mercy," she replied in broken accents,
"if her poor old mother might but follow her there! But,
Sir, it is so hard to part--
"I hope, through grace, by faith, you will soon meet,
to part no more; it will be but a little while."
Sir" said the Dairyman, that thought supports me,
and the Lord's goodness makes me feel more reconciled
than I was.'
"Father....mother...." said the reviving daughter, "he
is good to me.....trust him, praise him evermore."
Sir," added she in a faint voice, "I want to thank you
for your kindness to me.... want to ask a favor....you
buried my sister....will you do the same for me "
"All shall be a you wish, if God permit," I replied.
Thank you, Sir, thank you....I have another favor to
ask....When I am gone, remember my father and mother.
They are old, but I hope the good work is begun in their
aoula...My prayers are heard....Pray come and see them






DAIRYMAN'S DAUGHTERS


45


....I cannot speak much, but I want to speak for their
sakes....Sir, remember them."
The aged parents now sighed and sobbed aloud, utter.
ing broken sentences, and gained some relief by such an
expression of their feelings.
At length I said to Elizabeth, Do you experience any
doubts or temptations on the subject of your eternal
safety r"
"No, Sir; the Lord deals very gently with me, and
gives me peace."
What are your views of the dark valley of death, 'now
that you are passing through it 1"
t is not dark."
"Why so?"
"My Lord is there, and he is my light and my salva
tion."
Have you any fears of more bodily suffering T'
The Lord deals so gently with me, I can trust him."
Something of a convulsion came on. When it was
past, she said again and again,
"The Lord deals very gently with me. Lord, I am
thine, save me.....Blessed Jesus.....Precious Saviour.....Hia
blood cleanseth from all sin....Who shall separate ...His
name is Wonderful....Thanks be to God....He giveth us
the victory....I, even I, am saved....O grace, mercy, and
wonder-Lord, receive my spirit!
Dear Sir....Dear father, mother, friends, I am going....
but all is well, well, well--- ."
She relapsed again.--VFe knelt down to prayer. The
Lord was in the midst of us and blessed us.
She did not again revive while I remained, nor ever
speak any more words which could be understood. She
slumbered for about ten hours, and at last sweetly fell
asleep in the arms of the Lord, who had dealt so gently
with her.
I left the house an hour after she had ceased to speak.
I pressed her hand as I was taking leave, and said,
"Christ is the resurrection and the life."
She gently returned the pressure, but could neither





ANNALS OF TH POOR.


open her eyes nor utter a reply. I never had witnessed
a scene so impressive as this before. It completely filled
my imagination as I returned home.
"Farewell," thought I, "dear friend, till the morning
of an eternal day shall renew our personal intercourse..
Thou wast a brand plucked from the burning, that thou
mightest become a star shining in the firmament of glory.
I have seen thy light, and thy good works, and I will
therefore glorify our Father which is in heaven. I have
seen in thy example what it is to be a sinner freely saved
by grace. I have learned from thee, as in a living mirror,
who it is that begins, continues, and ends the work of
faith and love. Jesus is all in all; he will and shall be
glorified. He won the crown, and alone deserves to wear
it. May no one attempt to rob him of his glory; he
saves, and saves to the uttermost Farewell, dear sister
in the Lord. Thy flesh and thy heart may fail, but God
is the strength of thy heart, and shall be thy portion
forever."

I was soon called to attend the funeral of my friend, who
breathed her last shortly after my visit. Many pleasing
yet melancholy thoughts were connected with the fulfil-
ment of this task. I retraced the numerous and important
conversations which I had held with her. But these could
now no longer be held on earth. I reflected on the inter-
esting and improving nature of Christian friendships,
whether formed in palaces or in cottages; and felt thanks
ful that I had so long enjoyed that privilege with the
subject of this memorial. I indulged a sigh for a moment,
on thinking that I could no longer hear the great truths
of Christianity uttered by one who had drunk so deep of
the waters of life. But the rising murmur was checked
by the animating thought, She is gone to eternal rest-
could I wish to bring her back to this vale of tears ?"
As I travelled onward to the house where lay her re-
mains in solemn preparation for the grave, the first sound
of a tolling bell struck my ear. It proceeded from a
village church in the valley directly beneath the ridge of






DAIRYMAN'S DAUGHTER& 47

a high hill, over which I had taken my way-it was Eliz-
abeth's funeral knell. It was a solemn sound, but it
seeped to proclaim at once the blessedness of the dead
who d4e in the Lord, and the necessity of the living pon-
dering these things, and laying them to heart.
The scenery was in unison with that tranquil frame of
mind which is most suitable for holy meditation. A rich
and fruitful valley lay immediately beneath; it Was
adorned with corn-fields and pastures, through which a
small river winded in a variety of directions, and many
herds grazed upon its banks. A fine range of opposite
hills, covered with grazing flocks, terminated with a bold
sweep into the ocean, whose blue waves appeared at a
distance beyond. Several villages, hamlets, and churches
were scattered in the valley. The noble mansions of the
rich, and the lowly cottages of the poor, added their re-
spective features to the landscape. The air was mild, and
the declining sun occasioned a beautiful interchange of
light and shade upon the sides of the hills. In the midst
of this scene the chief sound that arrested attention was
the bell tolling for the funeral of the Dairyman's daugh-
ter.
Do any of my readers inquire why I describe so mi-
nutely the circumstances of prospect scenery which may
be connected with the incidents I relate My reply is,
that the God of redemption is the God of creation like-
wise; and that we are taught in every part of the Word
of God to unite the admiration of the beauties and won-
ders of nature to every other motive for devotion. When
David considered the heavens, the work of God's fingers,
the moon and the stars, which he has adorned, he was
thereby led to the deepest humiliation of heart before his
Maker. And when he. viewed the sheep, and the oxen,
and the beasts of the field, the fowl of the air, and the
fish of the sea, he was constrained to cry out, "O Lord,
our Lord; how excellent is thy name in all the earth!"
I am the poor man's friend, and wish more especially
that every poor laboring man should know how to con-
nect the goodness of God in creation and providence





48


ANNALS OF THE POOR.


with the unsearchable riches of his grace in the salvation
of a sinner. And where can he learn this lesson more
instructively than in looking around the fields where his
labor is appointed, and there tracing the handy-work of
God in all that he behold ? Such meditations have often
afforded me both profit and pleasure, and I wish my
readers to share them with me.
The Dairyman's cottage was rather more than a mile
distant from the church. A lane, quite overshaded with
trees and high hedges, led from the foot of the hill to his
dwelling. It was impossible at that time to overlook the
suitable gloom of such an approach to the house of
mourning.
I found, on my entrance, that several Christian friends
from different parts of the neighborhood had assembled
together to pay their last tribute of esteem and regard to
the memory of the Dairyman's daughter. Several of
them had first become acquainted with her during the
latter stage of her illness; some few had maintained an
affectionate intercourse with her for.a longer period. But
all seemed anxious to manifest their respect for one who
was endeared to them by such striking testimonials of
true Christianity.
It is not easy to describe the sensation which the mind
experiences on the first sight of a dead countenance,
which, when living, was loved and esteemed for the sake
of that soul which used to give it animation. A deep
and awful view of the separation that has taken place
between the soul and body of the deceased since we last
beheld them, occupies the feelings; our friend seems to
be both near, and etr off. The most interesting and
valuable part is fled away; what remains is but the
earthly perishing habitation no longer occupied by its
tenant Yet the features present the accustomed associa-
tion of friendly intercourse. For one moment we could i
think them asleep; the next reminds us that the blood
circulates no more-the eye has lost its power of seeing,
the ear of hearing, the heart of throbbing, and the limbs
of moving. Quickly a thought of glory breaks in upon
ib






DAIRYMAN'S DAUGHTER


49


the mind, and we imagine the dear departed soul to be
arrived at its long-wished-for rest. It is surrounded by
cherubim and seraphim, and sings the song of Moses and
the Lamb on Mount Zion. Amid the solemn stillness of
the chamber of death, imagination hears heavenly hymns
chanted by the spirits of just men made perfect. In
another moment the livid lips and sunken eye of the
clay-cold corpse recall our thoughts to earth and to our-
selves again. And while we think of mortality, sin,
death, and the grave, we feel the prayer rise in our bosom,
"O let me die the death of the righteous, and let my last
end be like his!"
If there be a moment when Christ and salvation, death,
judgment, heaven, and hell, appear more than ever to be
momentous subjects of meditation, it is that which
brings us to the side of a coffin containing. the body of a
departed believer,
Elizabeth's features were altered, but much of her like-
ness remained. Her father and mother sat at the head,
her brother at the foot of the coffin, manifesting their
deep and unfeigned sorrow. The weakness and infirmity
of old age added a character to the parents' grief, which
called for much tenderness and compassion.
A remarkably decent-looking woman, who had the
management of the few simple though solemn ceremonies
which the case required, advanced towards me, saying,
Sir, this is rather a sight of joy than of sorrow. Our
dear friend Elizabeth finds it to be so, I have no doubt.
She is beyond alfsorrow. Do you not think she is, Sir?"
After what I have known, and seen, and heard," I
replied, I feel the fullest assurance, that while her body
remains here, her soul is with her Saviour in Paradise.
She loved him here, and there she enjoys the pleasures
which are at his right hand for evermore."
"Mercy, mercy upon a poor old creature almost broken
down with age and grief, what shall I do ? Betsy's gone
-my daughter's dead. Oh! my child, I shall never see
thee more! God be merciful to me a sinner!" sobbed
out the poor mother.
5





50


ANNALS OF THB POOR.


That last prayer, my dear good woman," said I, "will
bring you together again. It is a cry that has brought
thousands to glory. It brought your daughter thither,
and I hope it will bring you there likewise. He will in
no wise cast out any that come to him."
My dear," said the Dairyman, breaking the long S.i
lence he had maintained, "let us trust God with our
child, and let us trust him with our own selves. The Lord
gave, and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name
of the Lord We are old, and can have but a little far-
ther to travel in our journey, and then"-he could say no
more.
The soldier before mentioned reached a Bible into my
hand, and. said, Perhaps, Sir, you would not object to
reading a chapter before we go to the church."
I did so; it was the fourteenth of the book of Job. A
sweet tranquillity prevailed while I read it. Each minute
that was spent in this funeral-chamber seemed to be val-
uable. I made a few observations on the chapter, and
connected them with the case of our departed sister.
SI am but a poor soldier," said our military friend,
"and have nothing of this world's goods beyond my daily
subsistence; but I would not exchange my hope of sal-
vation in the next world for all that this world could
bestow without it. What is wealth without grace?
Blessed be God, as I march about from one quarter to
another, I still find the Lord wherever I go; and thanks
be to his holy name, he is here to-day in the midst of this
company of the living and the dead. Ifeel that it is good
to be here."
Some other persons present began to take a part in
the conversation, in the course of which the life and ex-
perience of the Dairyman's Daughter were brought for-
ward in a very interesting manner; each friend had
something to relate in testimony of her gracious disposi-
tion. One distant relative, a young woman under twenty,
who had hitherto been a very light and trifling character,
appeared to be remarkably impressed by the conversation
of that day; and I have since had ground to believe that






DAIRYMAN'S DAUGHTER. 61

divine grace then began to influence her in the choice of
that better part, which shall not be taken from her.
What a contrast does such a scene as this exhibit, when
compared with the dull, formal, unedifying, and often
indecent manner in which funeral parties assemble in the
house of death!
But the time for departure to the church was now at
hand. I went to take my last look at the deceased.
There was much written on her countenance: she had
evidently departed with a smile. It still remained, and
spoke the tranquillity of her departing soul. According
to the custom of the place, she was decorated with leaves
and flowers in the coffin: these indeed were fading flow
era, but they reminded me of that Paradise whose flowers
are immortal, and where her never-dying soul is st rest.
I remembered the last words which I had heard her
speak, and was instantly struck with the happy thought
that "death was indeed swallowed up in victory."
As I slowly retired, I said inwardly, "Peace, my hon-
ored sister, to thy memory, and to my soul, till we meet
in a better world."
In a little time the procession formed: it was rendered
the more interesting by the consideration of so many that
followed the coffin being persons of truly serious and
spiritual character.
After we had advanced about a hundred yards my
meditation was unexpectedly and most agreeably inter-
rupted by the friends who followed the family beginning
to sing a funeral Psalm. Nothing could be more sweet
or solemn. The well-known effect of the open air in
softening and blending the sounds of music was here po.
culiarly felt. The road through which we passed was
beautiful and romantic: it lay at the foot of a hill, which
occasionally re-echoed the voices of the singers, and
seemed to give faint replies to the notes of the mourners.
The funeral knell was distinctly heard from the church
tower, and greatly increased the effect which this simple
and becoming service produced.
I cannot describe the state of my own mind as pecu.






52 ANNALS OF THE POOR.

liarly connected with the solemn singing. I never wit-
nessed a similar instance before or since. I was reminded
of elder times and ancient piety, I wished the practice
more frequent. It seems well calculated to excite and
cherish devotion and religious affections.
We at length arrived at the church. The service was
heard with deep and affectionate attention. When we
came to the grave, the hymn which Elizabeth had select-
ed was sung. All was devout, simple, decent, animating.
We committed our dear friend's body to the grave, in full
hope of a joyful resurrection from the dead.
Thus was the veil of separation drawn for a season.
She is departed and no more seen. But she will be seen
at the right hand of her Redeemer at the last day; and
will again appear to his glory, a miracle of grace and a
monument of mercy.
My reader, rich or poor, shall you and I appear there
likewise ? Are we "clothed with humility," and arrayed
in the wedding-garment of a Redeemer's righteousness i
Are we turned from idols to serve the living God? Are
we sensible of our own emptiness, flying to a Saviour's
fulness to obtain grace and strength ? Do we live in him,
and on him, and by him, and with him 2 Is he our all in
all Are we lost and found " dead and alive again ?"
My poor reader, the Dairyman's daughter was a poor
girl, and the child of a poor man. Herein thou resembles
her: but dost thou resemble her as she resembled Christ
Art thou made rich by faith I Hast thou a crown laid
up for thee ? Is thine heart set upon heavenly riches?
If not, read this story once more, and then pray earnestly
for like precious faith. If, through grace, thou dost love
and serve the Redeemer that saved the Dairyman's
daughter, grace, peace, and mercy be with thee. The
lines are fallen unto thee in pleasant places: thou hast a
goodly heritage. Press forward in duty, and wait upon
the Lord, possessing thy soul in holy patience. Thou
hast just been with me to the grave of a departed believer.
Now "go thy way till the end be; for thou shalt rest,
and stand in thy lot at the end of the days." Dan. xii. 13.






DAIRYMAN'S DAUGHTER.


53


NOTE. The mother died about six months after her
daughter, and I have good reason to believe that God was
merciful to her, and took her to himself. May every
converted child thus labor and pray for the salvation of
their unconverted parents. The father continued for
some time after her, and adorned his old age with a walk
and conversation becoming the Gospel. I cannot doubt
that the daughter and both her parents are now met to.
gether in the land of pure delight, where saints immor.
tal reign."








































0 4l













THE


AFRICAN


SERVANT:


AN AUTHENTIC NARRATIVE.




BY REV. LEGH RICHMOND.


a




















ii























r9












THB


AFRICAN SERVANT.





DURIrN a residence of some years' continuance in the
neighborhood of the sea, an officer in the navy called
upon me and stated that he had just taken a lodging in
the parish for his wife and children, and that he had an
African whom he had kept three years in his service.
" The lad is a deserving fellow," said the officer, and
he has a great desire to be baptized; I have promised
him to ask you to do it for him, if you have no objec-
tions."
"Does he know anything," I replied, of the principles
of the Christian religion ?"
"0 yes, I am sure he does," answered the captain;
"for he talks a great deal about it in the kitchen, and
often gets laughed at for his pains; but he takes it all
very patiently."
"Does he behave well as your servant "9
Yes, that he does: he is as honest and civil a fellow
as ever came aboard a ship, or lived in a house."
"Was he always so well behaved r?
"No," said the officer; when I first had him he was
often very unruly and deceitful; but for the last two
years he has been quite like another creature."
Well, Sir, I shall be very glad to see him, and think
it probable I shall wish to go through a course of in-






60


ANNALS OF THE POOR.


struction and examination; during which I shall be able
to form a judgment how far it will be right to admit him
to the ordinance of baptism. Can he read ?"
"Yes," replied his master; he has been taking great
pains to learn to read for some time past, and can make
out a chapter in the Bible pretty well, as my maid-servant
informs me. He speaks English better than many of his
countrymen, but you will find it a little broken. When
will it be convenient that I should send him over to
you?"
"To-morrow afternoon, Sir, if you please."
"He shall come to you about four o'clock, and you
shall see what you can make of him."
With this promise he took his leave. I felt glad of an
opportunity of instructing a native of that land whose
wrongs and injuries had often caused me to sigh and
mourn.
-At the appointed hour my African disciple arrived. He
was a very young-looking man, with a sensible, lively, and
pleasing turn of countenance.
I desired him to sit down, and said, Your master in-
forms me that you wish to have some conversation with
me respecting Christian baptism 7"
Yes, Sir, me very much wish to be a Christian."
Why do you wish so 1"
Because me know that Christian go to heaven when
he die."
"How long have you had that wish?" I said.
"Ever since me hear one good minister preach in
America two years ago."
"Where were you born ?"
"In Africa. Me was a very little boy when me was
made slave by the white men.
How was that I"
"Me left father and mother one day at home to go to
get shells by the sea-shore; 'and, as I was stooping down
to gather them up, some white sailors came out of a boat
and took me away. Me never see father nor mother
again.






r1


AFRICAN BERVANT.


And what became of you then 1"
"Me was put into a ship and brought to Jamaica, and
sold to a mass, who kept me in his house to serve
him some years; when, about three years ago, Captain
W--, my massa that spoke to you, bought me to be
his servant on board his ship. And he be good massa;
and me live with him ever since."
"And what thoughts had you about your soul all that
time before you went to America?" I asked him.
Me no care for my soul at all before then. No man
teach me a word about my soul."
Well, now tell me farther about what happened to
you in America. How came you there "
"My massa take me there in a ship, and he stop there
one month; and then me hear the good minister."
And what did that minister say 1"
He said me was a great sinner."
"What, did he speak to you in particular?"
"Yes, me think so; for there were a great many to
hear him, but he tell them all about me."
"What did he say!"
"He say all about the things that were in my heart."
"What things ?"
My sin, my ignorance, my know nothing, my believe
nothing. The good minister made me see that me think
nothing good, nor do nothing good."
And what else did he tell you r
He sometime look me in the face, and say, that Jesus
Christ came to die for sinners, poor black sinners as well
as white sinners. Me thought this was very good, very
good indeed, to do so for wicked sinner."
"And what made you think this was all spoken to you
in particular T"
"Because me sure no wicked sinner as me in all the
place. The good minister must know me was there."
And what did you think about yourself while he
preached about Jesus Christ?")
"Sir, me was very much afraid when he said the wick-
ed must be turned into hell fire. For me felt that me
S6





62


ANNALS OF THE POOL*


was very wicked sinner, and that make me ry. And he
talk much about the love of Christ to sinners, and that
make me cry more. And me thought that me must love
Jeas Christ; but me not know how, and that make me
cry again."
"Did you hear more sermons than one during that
month ?"
"Yes, Sir; massa give me leave to go three times, and
all the times me wanted to love Jesus more, and do
what Jesus said; but my heart seem sometime hard like
a stone."
"Have you ever heard any preaching since that time 1"
"Never, till me hear sermon at this church last Sunday,
and then me long to be baptized in Jesus' name."
And what have been your thoughts all the time since
you first heard those sermons in America; did you tell
anybody then what you felt '
"No; me speak to nobody but to God. The good
minister say that God hear the cry of the poor; so me
cry to God, and he hear me. And me often think about
Jesus Christ, and wish to be like him."
"Can you read?"
"A little."
"Who taught you to read "
God teach me to read,"
What do you mean by saying so"r
God give me desire to read, and that make reading
easy. Massa give me Bible, and one sailor allow me the
letters; and so me learn to read by myself with God's
good help."
"And what do you read in the Bible "
0 me read all about Jesus Christ, and how he loved
sinners; and wicked men killed him, and he died and
came again from the grave, and all this for poor negro.
And it sometimes make me cry, to think that Christ love
so poor negro."
"And what do the people say about your reading and
praying, and attention to the things of God ?
Some wicked people, that do not love Jesus Christ,






AFRICAN HERrVANT.


68


call me great fool, and negro dog, and black hypocrite.
And that make me sometime feel angry; but then me
remember Christian must not be angry. Jesus Christ
was called ugly black names, and he was quiet as a lamb;
and so then me remember Jesus Christ, and me say
nothing again to them."
I was much delighted with the simplicity and apparent
sincerity of this poor African; and wished to ascertain
what measure of light and feeling he possessed on a few
leading points. St Paul's summary of religion* occur-
ring to me, I said, Tell me what is faith 1 What is your
own faith What do you believe about Jesus Christ and
your own soul?"
"Me believe," said he, "that Jesus Christ came into
the world to save sinners; and though me be chief of
sinners, Jesus will save me, though me be only poor black
negro."
What is your hope 7 What do you hope for, both as
to this life and that which is to come ."
Me hope Christ Jesus will take good care of me, and
keep me from sin and harm, while me live here: and me
hope, when me come to die, to go and live with him
always, and never die again."
"What are your thoughts about Christian love or
charity ? I mean, whom and what do you most love 1"
Me love God the Father, because he was so good to
send his Son. Me love Jesus Christ, because he die for
poor sinner. Me love all men, black mn and white
men too; for God made them all. Me love good Chris.
tian people, because Jesus love them, and they love
Jesus."
Such was my first conversation with this young disci-
ple; I rejoiced in the prospect of receiving him into the
church, agreeably to his desire. I wished, however, to
converse somewhat further, and inquire more minutely
into his conduct; and promised to ride over and see him
in a few days, at his master's lodgings.
Now abideth faith, hope, charity; these three : but the greater of
these is charity. 1 Cor. xi. 13





04 ANNALS OF THE POOR.

When he was gone, I thought within myself, God hath
indeed redeemed souls, by the blood of his Son, out of
eery kindred, and tongue, and people, and nation." It
is a happy thought, that "Ethiopia shall soon stretch
forth her hands unto God. Sing unto God, ye kingdoms
of the earth, 0 sing praises unto the Lord!"

Not many days after the first interview with my Afri-
can disciple, I went from home on horseback with the
design of visiting and conversing with him again at his
master's house, which was situated in a part of the parish
near four miles distant from my own. The road which
I took lay over a lofty down or hill, which commands a
prospect of scenery seldom equalled for beauty and mag-
nificence. It gave birth to silent, but instructive contem-
plation.
The down itself was covered with sheep, grazing on
its wholesome and plentiful pasture. Here and there a
shepherd's boy kept his appointed station, and watched
over the flock committed to his care. I viewed it as an
emblem of my own situation and employment. Adjoin.
ing the hill lay an extensive parish, wherein many souls
were given me to watch over, and render an account of,
at the day of the great Shepherd's appearing. The pas.
toral scene before me seemed to be a living parable, il-
lustrative of my own spiritual charge. I felt a prayerful
wish that the good Shepherd, who gave his life for the
sheep, might enable me to be faithful to my trust
It occurred to me about the same time, that my young
African friend was a sheep of another more distant fold,
which Christ will yet bring to hear his voice. For there
shall be one fold and one Shepherd, and all nations shall
be brought to acknowledge that he alone restoreth our
souls, and leadeth us into the paths of righteousness for
his name's sake." On the left hand of the hill, as I ad-
vanced eastward, and immediately under its declivity,
extended a beautiful tract of land intersected by a large
arm of the sea, which (as the tide was fast flowing in)
formed a broad lake or haven of three miles in length.






AFRICAN SERVANT.


65


Woods, villages, cottages, and churches, surrounded it in
most pleasing variety of prospect. Beyond this lay a
large fleet of ships of war, and not far from it another of
merchantmen, both safe at anchor, and covering a tract
of the sea of several miles in extent. Beyond this again,
I saw the fortifications, dock-yards, and extensive public
edifices of a large seaport town. The sun shone upor
the windows of the buildings and the flags of the ships,
with great brightness, and added much to the splendor
of the view.
I thought of the concerns of empires, the plans of
statesmen, the fate of nations, and the horrors of war.
Happy will be that day, when He shall make wars to
cease unto the end of the earth, and peace to be estab.
lished on its borders I
On my right hand, to the south and south-east, the
unbounded ocean displayed its mighty waves. It was
covered with vessels of every size, sailing in all directions;
some outward-bound to the most distant parts of the
world; others, after a long voyage, returning home laden
with the produce of remote climes.
At the south-west of the spot on which I was riding,
extended a beautiful semi-circular bay of about nine or
ten miles in circumference, bounded by high eliffs of
white, red, and brown.colored earths. Beyond this lay
a range of hills, whose tops are often buried, in cloudy
mists, but which then appeared clear and distinct This
chain of hills, meeting with another from the north,
bounds a large fruitfulvale, whose fields, now ripe for
harvest, proclaimed the goodness of God in the rich pro-
vision which he makes for the sons of men. It is he who
"prepares the corn: he crowns the year with his goods
ness, and his paths drop fatness. They drop upon the
pastures of the wilderness, and the little hills rejoice on
every side. The pastures are clothed with flocks; the
valleys are also covered over with corn: they shout for
joy, they also sing."
As I pursued the meditations which this magnificent
and varied senery excited in my mind, I approached the
6*






66


ANNALS OF THE POOR.


edge of a tremendous perpendicular cliff with which the
down terminates; I dismounted from my horse and tied
it to a bush. The breaking of the waves against the foot
of the cliff, at so great a distance beneath me, produced
an incessant and pleasing murmur. The sea-gulls were
flying between the top of the cliff where I stood and the
rocks below, attending upon their nests built in the holes
of the cliff. The whole scene, in every direction, was
grand and impressive; it was suitable to devotion. The
Creator appeared in the works of his creation, and called
upon the creature to honor and adore. To the believer
this exercise is doubly delightful. He possesses a right
to the enjoyments of nature and providence, as well as to
the privileges of grace. His title-deed runs thus: "All
things are yours, whether Paul, or Apollos, or Cephas,
or the world, or things present or things to come; all
are yours, and ye are Christ's, and Christ is God's."
I cast my eye downwards a little to the left, towards a
small cove, the shore of which consists of fine hard sand.
It is surrounded by fragments of rock, chalk cliffs, and
steep banks of broken earth. Shut out from human in.
tercourse and dwellings, it seems formed for retirement
and contemplation. On one of these rocks I unexpect-
edly observed a man sitting with a book which he was
reading. The place was near two hundred yards perpen-
dicularly below me; but I soon discovered by his dress,
and by the black color of his features, contrasted with
the white rocks beside him, that it was no other than my
African disciple, with, as I doubted not, a Bible in his
hand. I rejoiced at this unlooked-for opportunity of
meeting him in so solitary and interesting a situation. I
descended a steep bank, winding by a kind of rude stair-
case, formed by fishermen and shepherd's boys, in the
side of the cliff down to the shore.
He was intent on his book, and did not perceive me
till I approached very near to him.
SWilliam, is that you
SAhI mmasa, me very glad to see you. How came






AFRICAN SERVANT. f

mass into this place ? Me thought nobody here but
only God and me."
SI was coming to your master's house to see and you
rode round by this way for the sake of the prospect.
often come here in fine weather to look at the sea and
the shipping. Is that your Bible ?"
"Yes, Sir, this is my dear good Bible."
"I am glad," said I, "to see you so well employed; it
is a good sign, William."
Yes, mass, a sip that God is good to me; but me
never good to God.
"How so?"
Me never thank him enough, me never pray to him
enough; me never remember enough who give me all
these things. Massa, me afraid my heart very bad. Me
wish me was like you."
"Like me, William? Why, you are like me, a poor
helpless sinner, that must, like yourself, perish in his
sins, unless God of his infinite mercy and grace pluck
him as a brand from the burning, and make him an in-
stance of distinguishing love and favor. There is no
difference; we have both come short of the glory of God:
all have sinned."
"No, me no like you, massa; me think nobody like
me, nobody feel such a heart as me."
Yes, William, your feelings, I am persuaded, are like
those of every truly convinced soul who sees the exceed-
ing sinfulness of sin, and the greatness of the price which
Christ Jesus paid for the sinner's ransom. You can lay
in the words of the hymn,
SI the chief of sinner am,
But Jesua died for me."
0 yes, Sir, me believe that Jesus died for poor negro.
What would become of poor wicked negro, if Christ no
die for him I But he die for the chief of sinners, and
that make my heart sometime quite glad"
"What part of the Bible were you reading, William "
u Me read how the man on the ross spoke to Christ,






ANNALS OF THE POOR.


and Christ spoke to him. Now that man's prayer just
do for me. Lord, remember me;' Lord, remember poor
negro sinner: this is my prayer every morning, and some-
time at night too: when me cannot think of many words
then me say the same again, Lord, remember poor negro
sinner."
And be assured, William, the Lord hears that prayer.
He pardoned and accepted the thief upon the cross, and
he will not reject you; he will in no wise cast out any
that come to him."
No, Sir, I believe it; but there is so much sin in my
heart, it make me afraid, and sorry. Massa, do you see
these limpets,* how fast they stick to the rocks here ?
Just so sin stick fast to my heart."
"It may be so, William; but take another comparison:
do you cleave to Jesus Christ by faith in his death and
righteousness, as those limpets cleave to the rock, and
neither seas nor storms shall separate you from his
love."
P That is just what me want."
"Tell me, William, is not that very sin, which you
speak of, a burden to you You do not love it: you
would be glad to obtain strength against it, anid to be
freed from it, would you not?"
yes; me give all the world, if me had it, to be
without sin.,"
"Come, thenrand welcome, to Jesus Christ, my broth.
er; his blood cleanseth from all sin. He gave himself
as a ransom for sinners. He hath borne our griefs and
carried our sorrows. He was wounded for our trans-
gressions; he was bruised for our iniquities; the chas-
tisement of our peace was upon him, and with his stripes
we are healed. The Lord hath laid on him the iniquity
of us all. Come, freely come to Jesus, the Saviour of
sinners,"
Yes, massa," said the poor fellow weeping, me will
come, but me come very slow; very slow, massa; me
SA kind of het-flah which abounds in the place where we were" and
whkh sUiks to the rocks with great fore.


68






AFRICAN SERVANT.


69


want to run, me want to fly. Jesus is very good to poor
negro, to send you to tell him all this."
But this is not the first time you have heard these
truths."
No, Sir, they have been comfort to my soul many
times since me hear good minister preach in America, as
me tell you last week at your house."
Well, now I hope, William, that since God has been
so graciously pleased to open your eyes, and affect your
mind with such a great sense of his goodness, in giving
his Son to die for your sake; I hope that you do your
endeavor to keep his commandments; I hope you strive
to behave well to your master and mistress, and fellow-
servants. He that is a Christian inwardly, will be a
Christian outwardly; he that truly and savingly believes
in Christ, will show his faith by his works, as the Apos-
tie says. Is it not so, William ?"
Yes, Sir, me want to do so. Me want to be faithful.
Me sorry to think how bad servant me was before the
good things of Jesus Christ come to my heart Me wish
to do well to my mass, when he see me, and when he
not see me, for me know God always see me. Me know
that if me sin against my own massa, me sin against God,
and God be very angry with me. Besides, how can me
love Christ, if me do not do what Christ tell me? Me
love my fellow-servants, though as me tell you before,
they do not much love me, and I pray God to bless them.
And when they say bad things, and try to make me
angry, then me think, if Jesus Christ were in poor negro's
place, he would not revile and answer again with bad
words and temper, but' he say little, and pray much.
And so then me say nothing at all, but pray God to for-
give them."
The more I conversed with this African convert, the
more satisfactory were the evidences of his mind being
spiritually enlightened, and his heart effectually wrought
upon by the grace of God.
The circumstances of the place in which we met to-
gether, contributed much to the interesting effect which






70 ANNALS OF THI POOR.

the conversation produced on my mind. The little cove
or bay was beautiful in the extreme. The air was calm
and serene. The sun shone, but we were sheltered from
its rays by the cliffs. One of these was stupendously
lofty and large. It was white as snow: its summit hung
directly over our heads. The sea-fowl were flying around
it. Its whiteness was occasionally chequered with dark
green masses of samphire, which grew there. On the
other side, and behind us, was a more gradual declivity
of many-colored earths, interspersed with green patches
of grass and bushes, and little streams of water trickling
down the bank, and mingling with the sea at the bottom.
At our feet the waves were advancing over shelves of
rocks covered with great variety of sea-weeds, which
swam in little fragments, and displayed much beauty and
elegance of form, as they were successively thrown upon
the sand.
Ships of war and commerce were seen at different dis-
tances. Fishermen were plying their trade in boats
nearer to the shore. The noise of the flowing tide, com-
bined with the voices of the sea-gulls over our heads,
and now and then a distant gun fired from the ships as
they passed along, added much to the peculiar sensations
to which the scene gave birth. Occasionally the striking
of oars upon the waves, accompanied by the boatmen's
song, met the ear. The sheep aloft upon the down
sometimes mingled their bleatings with the other sounds.
Thus all nature seemed to unite in impressing an atten-
tive observer's heart with affecting thoughts.
I continued for a considerable time in conversation
with the African, finding that his master was gone from
home for the day, and had given him liberty for some
hours. I spoke to him on the nature, duty, and privilege
of Christian baptism; pointed out to him the principles
of the Scriptures upon that head, and found that he
was very desirous of conforming to them. He appear-
ed to me to be well qualified for receiving that pledge
of his Redeemer's love; and I rejoiced in the prospect
of beholding him no longer a "stranger and foreign-






AFRICAN SERVANT. 71

er, but a fellow-citizen with the saints and household of
God."
I was much pleased with the affectionate manner in
which he spoke of his parents, from whom he had been
stolen in his childhood; and his wishes that God might
direct them by some means to the knowledge of the
Saviour.
"Who knows," I said, "but some of these ships may
be carrying a missionary to the country where they live,
to declare the good news of salvation to your country-
men, and to your own dear parents in particular, if they
are yet alive."
"O! my dear father and mother: my dear, gracious
Saviour," exclaimed he, leaping from the ground as he
spake, "if thou wilt but save their souls, and tell them
what thou hast done for sinners-but-"
He stopped, and seemed much affected.
SMy friend," said I, "I will now pray with you for
your own soul, and those of your parents also."
"Do, massa, that is very good and kind; do pray for
poor negro souls here and everywhere."
This was a new and solemn "house of prayer. The
sea-sand was our floor, the heavens were our roof, the
cliffs, the rocks, the hills, and the waves, formed the walls
of our chamber. It was not indeed a place where
prayer was wont to be made," but for this once it became
a hallowed spot: it will by me ever be remembered as
such. The presence of God was there.-I prayed-The
African wept. His heart was full. I felt with him, and
could not but weep likewise.
The last day will show whether our tears were not the
tears of sincerity and Christian love.
It was time for my return; I leaned upon his arm, as
we ascended the steep cliff in my way back to my horse,
which I had left at te top of the hill. Humility and
thankfulness were marked in his countenance. I leaned
upon his arm with the feelings of a brother. It was a re.
lationship I was happy to own. I took him by the hand
at parting, appointed one more interview previous to the





72 ANNALS OF THE POOR.

day of baptizing him, and bade him farewell for the
present.
God bless you, my dear massa."
"And you, my fellow-Christian, forever and ever."

The interesting and affecting conversation which I had
with the African servant, produced a sensation not easy
to be expressed. As I returned home I was led into
meditation on the singular clearness and beauty of those
evidences of faith and conversion of heart to God which
I had just seen and heard. How plainly, I thought, it
appears, that salvation is freely by grace, through faith;
and that not of ourselves; it is the gift of God; not of
works, lest any man should boast. What but the Holy
Spirit, who is the Author and Giver of the life of grace,
could have wrought such a change from the once dark,
perverse, and ignorant heathen, to this now convinced,
enlightened, humble, and believing Christian? How
manifestly is the uncontrolled sovereignty of the divine
will exercised in the calling and translating of sinners
from darkness to light! What a lesson may the nomi-
nal Christian of a civilized country sometimes learn from
the simple, sincere religion of a converted heathen!
I afterwards made particular inquiry into this young
man's domestic and general deportment. Everything I
heard was satisfactory; nor could I entertain a doubt
respecting the consistency of his conduct and character.
I had some further conversations with him, in the course
of which I pursued such a plan of scriptural instruction
and examination as I conceived to be the most suitable
to his progressive state of mind. He improved much in
reading, carried his Bible constantly in his pocket, and
took every opportunity which his duty to his master's
service would allow, for perusing it. I have frequently
had occasion to observe, that among the truly religious
poor, who have not had the advantage of learning to read
in early youth, a concern about the soul, and desire to
know the Word of God, have proved effectual motives
for their learning to read with great ease and advantage





AFRICAN SERVANT. 37

to themselves and others. It was strikingly so in the
present case
I had, for a considerable time, been accustomed to meet
some serious persons once a week, in a cottage at no
great distance from the house where he lived, for the
purpose of religious conversation, instruction, and prayer.
Having found these occasions remarkably useful and in-
teresting to myself and others, I thought it would be very
desirable to take the African there, in order that there
might be many witnesses to the simplicity and sincerity
of real Christianity, as exhibited in the character of this
promising young convert. I hoped it might prove an
eminent means of grace to excite and quicken the spirit
of prayer and praise among some over whose spiritual
progress I was anxiously watching.
I accordingly obtained his master's leave that he should
attend me to one of my cottage assemblies. His master,
although he did not himself appear to live under the in-
fluence of real religion, or to manifest any serious con-
cern respecting his own state, yet was pleased with my
attention to his servant, and always spoke well of his
behavior.
I set out on the day appointed for the interview. The
cottage at which we usually assembled was near four
miles distant from my own residence, and was situated
at the corner of an oak wood which screened it both from
the burning heat of summer suns, and the heavy blasts
of winter south-west storms. As I approached it I saw
my friend, the African, sitting under a tree waiting my
arrival. He held in his hand a little Tract which I had
given him; his Bible lay on the ground. He rose with
much cheerfulness, saying,
Ah massa, me very glad to see you; me think you
long time coming."
"William, I hope you are well. I am going to take
you with me to a few of my friends, who, I hope, are
also the friends of the Lord. We meet every Wednes-
day evening for conversation about the things that belong
7






74 ANNALS OF THE POOR.

to our everlasting peace, and I am sure you will be a
welcome visitor."
"Massa, me not good enough to be with such good
people. Me great sinner. They be good Christians."
"If you were to ask them, William, they would each
tell you they were worse than anybody. Many of them
were once, and that not very long ago, living in an open-
ly sinful manner, ignorant of God, and the enemies of
esus Christ by thought and deed. But divine grace
stopped them in their wicked course, and subdued their
hearts to the love and obedience of him and his Gospel.
You will only meet a company of poor fellow-sinners,
who love to speak and sing the praises of redeeming
love; and I am sure that is a song in which you will be
willing to join them."
O yes, Sir, that song just do for poor William."
By this time we had arrived at the cottage garden-
gate. Several well-known faces appeared in and near
the house, and the smile of affection welcomed us as we
entered. It was known that the African was to visit the
little society this' evening, and satisfaction beamed in
every countenance, as I took him by the hand and intro-
duced him among them, saying, I have brought a broth-
er from Africa to see you, my friends. Bid him welcome
in the name of the Lord."
Sir," said a humble and pious laborer, whose heart
and tongue always overflowed with Christian kindness,
" we are at all times glad to see our dear minister, but
especially so to-day, in such company as you have brought
with you. We have heard how gracious the Lord has
been to him. Give me your hand, good friend, (turning
to the African,) God be with you here and everywhere;
and blessed be his holy name for calling wicked sinners,
as I hope he has done you and me, to love and serve him
for his mercy's sake."
Each one greeted him as he came into the house, and
some addressed him in very kind and impressive lan-
guaid he,me not ow what to all
"Masa," said he," me not know what to *aj to all






AFRICAN SERVANT. 75

these good friends; me think this look like little heaven
upon earth."
Ho then with tears in his eyes, which, almost before
he spoke, brought responsive drops into those of all pres-
ent, said,
"Good friends and brethren in Christ Jesus, God bless
you all, and bring you to heaven at last"
It was my stated custom when I met to converse with
those friends, to begin with prayer and reading a portion
of the Scriptures.
When this was ended, I told the people present that
the providence of God had brought this young man for
a time under my ministry; and that finding him very se-
riously disposed, and believing him to be sincere in his
religious profession, I had resolved on baptizing him
agreeably to his own wishes. I added that I had now
brought him with me to join in Christian conversation
with us; for, as in old times they that feared the Lord
spake often one to another," as a testimony that they
thought upon his name, so I hoped we were fulfilling a
Christian and brotherly duty in thus assembling for mu-
tual edification.
Addressing myself to the African, I said, "William,
tell me who made you?"
God, the good Father."
"Who redeemed you ?"
Jesus, his dear Son, &ho died for me."
Who sanctified you ?'
"The Holy Ghost, who teach me to know the good
Father, and his dear Son, Jesus."
"What was your state by nature ?"
"Me wicked sinner, me know nothing but sin, me do
nothing but sin; my soul more black than my body."
"Has any change taken place in you since then?'
"Me hope so, mass, but me sometime afraid no."
"If you are changed, who changed you '
"God, the good Father; Jesus, his dear Son; and God
the Holy Spirit."
"How was any change brought about in you "
If

S






76 ANNALS OF THE POOR.

"God make me slave when me was young little boy."
"How, William would you say God made you aslavet"
No, massa, no; me mean God let meebe made slave
by white men to do me good."
How to do you good?"
"He take me from the land of darkness and bring me
to the land of light." -
Which do you call the.land of light; the West India
Islands?"
No, massa, they be the land of Providence, but Amer-
ica be the land of light to me; for there me first hear
good minister preach. And now this place where I am
now, is the land of more light; for here you teach me
more and more how good Jesus is to sinners"
What does the blood of Christ do ?"
It cleanse from all sin. And as me hope, from my

Are then all men cleansed from sin by his blood T'
S0 no, massa."
"Who are cleansed and saved ?"
"Those that have faith in him."
Can you prove that out of the Bible ?"
"Yes, Sir; 'He that believeth on the Son hath ever-
lasting life; and he that believeth not the Son shall not
see life, but the wrath of God abideth on him.' John iii.
36."
"What is it to have faith ?"
"Me suppose that it is to think much about Jesus
Christ; to love him much, to believe all he says to be
true, to pray to him very much; and when me feel very
weak and very sinful, to think that he is very strong, and
very good, and all that for my sake."
"And have you such faith as you describe?"
"O! mass, me think sometimes me have no faith at
all."
"Why so, William '
"When me want to think about Jesus Christ, my mind
run about after other things; when me want to love him
my heart seem quite cold; when me want to believe all






AFRICAN SERVANT. 77

to be true what he says to sinners, me then think it is
not true for me; when me want to pray, the devil put
bad, very bad thoughts into me, and me never thank
Christ enough. Now all this make me sometimes afraid
I have no faith."
I observed a very earnest glow of attention and fellow-
feeling in some countenances present, as he spoke these
words. I then said,
"I think, William, I can prove that you have faith,
notwithstanding your fears to the contrary. Answer me
a few more questions.
"Did you begin to think yourself a great sinner, and
to feel the want of a Saviourof your own self, and by
your own thoughts and doings "'
O no, it came to me when me know nothing about
it, and seek nothing about it."
Who sent the good minister in America to awaken
your soul by his preaching "
"God, very certainly."
"Who then began the work of serious thought and
feeling in your mind?"
"The good God; me could not do it of myself, me
sure of that."
Do you not think that Jesus Christ and his salvation
is the one thing most needful and most desirable T"
0! yes, me quite sure of that."
Do you not believe that he is able to save you1"
"Yes, he is able to save to the uttermost"
"Do you think he is unwilling to save you?"
"Me dare not say that. He so good, so merciful, so
kind, to say he will in no wise cast out any that come to
him."
"Do you wish, and desire, and strive to keep his com-
mandments r'
"Yes, massa, because me love him, and that make me
want to do as he say."
Are you willing to suffer for his sake, if God should
call you to do so ?'
e do think me could die for the love of him; ho
7*






ANNALS OF THE POOR.


not think it too much to die for wicked sinner; why
should wicked sinner think it much to die for so good
and righteous a Saviour?"
"I think and hope I may say to you, William, Thy
faith hath made thee whole."
Thus ended my examination for the present. The
other friends who were in the house listened with the
most affectionate anxiety to all that passed. One of
them observed, not without evident emotion,
I see, Sir, that though some men are white, and some
are black, true Christianity is all. of one color. My own
heart has gone with this good man every word he has
spoken."
And so has mine," gently re-echoed from every part
of the room.
After some time passed in more general conversation
on the subject of the African's history, I said, "Let us
now praise God for the rich and unspeakable gift of his
grace, and sing the hymn of redeeming love"-
"Now begin the heavenly theme,
Sing aloud in Jesus' name," c.

which was accordingly done. Whatever might be the
merit of the natural voices, it was plain there was melody
in all their hearts.
The African was not much used to our way of singing,
yet joined with great earnestness and affection, which
showed how truly he felt what was uttered. When the
fifth verse was ended,
"Notbing brought him from above,
Nothog but redeeming love,"
he repeated the words almost unconscious where he
was
"No, nothing, nothing but redeeming love bring him
down to poor William; nothing but redeeming love."
The following verses were added, and sung by way of
conclusion


78






AFRICAN SERVANT. 79
See,a stranger comes to view
Though he's black,* be's comeIy too
Come to Join the choirs above,
Singing of redeeming love.
Welcome, Negro, welcome here,
Banish doubt, and banish fear;
You, who Christ's salvation prove,
Pratee and blew redeeming love.

I concluded with some remarks on the nature of sal-
vation by grace, exhorting all present to press forward
in the heavenly race. It was an evening, the circumstan-
ces of which, had they never been recorded on earth,
were yet doubtless registered in the book of remembrance
above.
I then fixed the day for the baptism of the African,
and so took leave of my little affectionate circle.
The moon shone bright as I returned home, and was
beautifully reflected from the waters of the lake: harmo-
ny and repose characterized the scene. I had just been
uniting in the praises of the God of grace and providence;
and now the God of nature demanded a fresh tribute of
thanksgiving for the beauties and comforts of creation, as
David sang, "When I consider thy heavens the work of
thy fingers, the moon and the stars which thou hast or-
dained: what is man that thou art mindful of him, or the
son of man, that thou visitest him 1"
In a few days the African was baptized; and not long
after he went a voyage with his' master.
Since that time I have not been able to hear any
tidings of him: whether he yet wanders as a pilgrim in
this lower world, or whether he has joined the heavenly
choir in the song of redeeming love in glory, I know not.
Of this I am persuaded, he was a monument to the Lord's
praise. He bore the impression of the Saviour's image
on his heart, and exhibited thenmarks of converting grace
in his life and conversation, with singular simplicity and
unfeigned sincerity. 01 give to Godthe glory,
Song of Solomon, 1 5.

















rA














THE VILLAGE CHURCH YARD.












THE


YOUNG


COTTAGER:


AN AUTHENTIC NARRATIVE



BY REV. LEGH RICHMOND.
























































































































































r
















5













I












THE


YOUNG COTTAGER.




I SHALL plead no apology for introducing to the notice
of my readers a few particulars relative to a young fe-
male Cottager, whose memory is particularly endeared to
me from the circumstance of her being, so far as I can
discover, my first-born spiritual child in the ministry of
the Gospel. She was" certainly the first of whose con-
version to God, under my own pastoral instruction, I can
speak with any degree of precision and assurance.
Every parent of a family knows that there is a ver in-
teresting emotion of heart connected with the birth of
his first-born child. But may not the spiritual parent be
allowed the indulgence of a similar sensation in his con-
nection with the children whom the Lord gives him? If
the first-born child in nature be received as a new and
acceptable blessing, how much more so the first-born
child in grace I claim thh privilege; and crave permis-
sion, in writing what follows, to erect a monumental
record sacred to the memory of a dear little child, who,
I trust, will at the last day prove my crown of rejoicing.
Jane S- was the daughter of poor parents in the
village where it pleased God first to east my lot in the
ministry. My acquaintance with her commenced when
she was twelve years of a by her weekly attendance
8





ANNALS OF THE POOR,


at my house among a number of children whom I regu-
larly instructed every Saturday afternoon.
They used to read, repeat catechisms, psalms, hymns,
and portions of Scripture. I accustomed them also to
pass a kind of free examination, according to their age
and ability, in those subjects by which I hoped to see
them made wise unto salvation.
In the summer I frequently used to assemble this.little
group out of doors in my garden, sitting under the shade
of some trees which protected us from the heat of the
sun. From hence a scene appeared which rendered my
occupation the more interesting; for adjoining the spot
where we sat, and only separated from us by a fence,
was the church-yard, surrounded with beautiful prospects
in every direction.
I had not far to look for subjects of warning and ex-
hortation suitable to my little flock. I could point to
the graves and tell my pupils that, young as they were,
none of them were too young to die; and that probably
more than half of the bodies which were buried there
were those of little children.
I told them who was "the resurrection and the life,"
and who alone could take away the sting of death. I
used to remind them that the hour was coming in the
which all that are in the grave shall hear his voice, and
shall come forth; they that have done good unto the res-
urrection of life, and they that have done evil unto the
resurrection of damnation. I often availed myself of
these opportunities to call to their recollection the more
recent deaths of their own relatives.
Sometimes I sent the children to the various stones
wlioh stood at the head of the graves, and bade them
learn the epitaphs inscribed upon them. I took pleasure
in seeing the little ones thus dispersed in the church-
yard, each committing to memory a few verses written
in commemoration of the departed. They would soon
accomplish the desired object, and eagerly return to me
to repeat their task.
Thus my church-yard became a book of instruction


86






THE YOUNG COTTAGER.


87


and every grave-stone a leaf of edification for my young
disciples.
Thechurch itself stood in the midst of the ground. It
was a spacious antique structure. Within those very
walls I first proclaimed the message of God to sinners.
As these children surrounded me, I sometimes pointed to
the church, spoke to them of the nature of public wor-
ship, the value of the Sabbath, the duty of regular attend-
ance on its services, and urged their serious attention to
the means of grace. I showed them the sad state of
many countries where neither churches nor Bibles were
known; and the no less melancholy condition of multi-
tudes at home, who sinfully neglect worship and slight
the Word of God. I thus tried to make them sensible
of their own favors and privileges. Neither was I at a
loss for another class of objects around me from which I
could draw useful instructions, for many of the beauties
of nature appeared in view.
Eastward of us extended a large river or lake of sea-
water, chiefly formed by the tide, and nearly enclosed
by land. Beyond this was a fine bay and road for ships,
filled with vessels of every size,, from the small sloop or
cutter to the first-rate man-of-war. On the right hand
of the haven rose a hill of peculiarly beautiful form and
considerable height Its verdure was very rich, and many
hundred sheep grazed upon its sides and summit From
the opposite shore of the same water, a large sloping ex-
tent of bank was diversified with fields, woods, hedges,
and cottages. At its extremity stand, close to the edge
of the sea itself, the remains of the tower of an ancient
church, still preserved as a sea-mark. Far beyond the
bay a very distant shore was observable, and land beyond
it; trees, towns, and other buildings appeared, more es-
pecially when gilded by the reflected rays of the sun.
To the south-westward of the garden was another
down, covered also with flocks of sheep, and a portion of
it fringed with trees. At the foot of this hill lay the
village, a part of which gradually ascended to the rising
ground on which the church stood.





88


ANNALS OF THE POOR.


From the intermixtures of houses with gardens, or-
chards, and trees, it presented a very pleasing aspect.
Several fields adjoined the garden on the east and north,
where a number of cattle were pasturing. My own little
shrubberies and flower-beds variegated the view, and
recompensed my toil in .rearing them, as well by their
beauty as their fragrance.
Had the sweet Psalmist of Israel sat in this spot he
would have glorified God the Creator by descanting on
these his handy-works. I cannot write Psalms like Da-
vid, but I wish in my own poor way to praise the Lord
for his goodness, and to show forth his wonderful works
to the children of men. But had David been also sur-
rounded with a troop of young scholars in such a situa-
tion, he would once more have said, "Out of the mouths
of babes and sucklings hast thou ordained strength."
I love to retrace these scenes-they are past, but the
recollection is sweet.
I love to retrace them-for they bring to my mind
many former mercies which ought not, for the Lord's
sake, to be forgotten.
I love to retrace them-for they re-assure me that, in
the course of that' private ministerial occupation, God was
pleased to give me a valuable fruit of my labors.
Little Jane usnd constantly to appear on these weekly
seasons of instruction. I made no very particular obser-
vations concerning her during the first twelve months.
She was not then remarkable for any peculiar attainment.
Her countenance was not engaging-her eye discovered
no remarkable liveliness. She read tolerably well, took
pains, and improved.
Mildness and quietness marked her general demeanor.
She was very constant in her attendance on public wor-
ship, as well as on my Saturday instructions. But, gen-
erally speaking, she was little noticed except for her reg-
ular conduct. Had I then been asked of which of my
young scholars I had formed the most favorable opinion,
poor Jane might probably have been omitted.
How little do we oftentimes know what God is doing





THE YOUNG COTTAGE.


89


in other people's hearts! What poor judges we fre-
quently prove till he opens our eyes His thoughts are
not our thoughts, neither are our ways his ways.
Once, indeed, during the latter part of that year, I was
struck with her ready attention to my wishes. I had,
agreeably to the plan above mentioned, sent her into the
church-yard to commit to memory an epitaph which I
admired. On her return she told me that in addition to
what I had desired, she had also learned another which
was inscribed on an adjoining stone; adding that she
thought it a very pretty one.
I thought so too, and perhaps my reader will be of the
same opinion. Little Jane, though dead, yet shall speak.
While I transcribe the lines, I can powerfully imagine
that I hear her voice repeating them.

EPITAPH ON MRS. A. B.
Forgive, blest abade, the tributary tear,
That mourn thy exit from a world like 1s;
Forgive the wiah that would have kept thee bre,
And stayed thy progress to te mats of blis.
No more confln'd to grovlling sene of night,
No more a tenant pent in mortal day,
Now should we rather bail thy glorious flight,
And trace thy journey to the realms of day.
The above was her appointed taste; and the other,
which she voluntarily learned and spoke of with pleasure,
is this:
EPITAPH ON THE STONE ADJOINING.
It mustt be so-our father Adam's all
And disobedience brought this lot on alL
All die In him-but hopeless should we be,
Bleat Revelation, were It not for thee.
Hal, glorious Gospel I heavenly light, whereby
We live with comfort, and with comfort die;
And view beyond this gloomy COene, the tomb
A life of endie happiness to come.

I afterwards discovered that the sentiment expressed
in the latter epitaph had much affected her. But at the
8*





90 ANNALS OF tHE POOR.

period of this little incident. knew nothing of her mind.
I had comparatively oveiloqked her. I have often been
sorry for it since.,: Conscience seemed to rebuke me,
when I afterwards discovered what the Lord had been
doing for her soul. I seemed to have neglected her; yet
it was not done designedly. She was unknoWn to us
all; except that, as I since found out, her regularity and
abstinence from the sins and follies of her young equals
in age, brought upon her many taunts and jeers from oth-
ers, which she bore very meekly. But at that time I
knew it not. I was young myself in the ministry, and
younger in Christian experience. My parochial plans
had not as yet assumed such a principle of practical order
and inquiry, as to make me acquainted with the character
and conduct of each family and individual in my flock.
My young scholar soon became my teacher! I first
saw what true religion could accomplish, in witnessing
her experience of it. The Lord once "called a child
unto him, and set him in the midst of his disciples," as an
emblem and an illustration of his doctrine. But the
Lord did more in the case of little Jane. He not only
called her, as a child, to show by a similitude what con-
version means; but he also called her by his grace to be
a vessel of mercy and a living witness of that almighty
power and love by which her own heart was turned to
God.
It was about fifteen months from the first period of
her attendance on my Saturday school, when I missed
her from her customary place. Two or three weeks had
gone by without my making' any particular inquiry re-
specting her. I was at length informed that she was not
well. But apprehending no peculiar cause for alarm,
nearly two months passed away without any further men-
tion of her name being made.
At length a poor old woman in the village, of whose
religious disposition I had formed a good opinion, came
and said to me, Sir, have you not missed Jane 8- at
your house on Saturday afternoons ?"





THE YOtNeG COTTAQZER 91

SYes," I replied, "I believe s h. not wellN "
"Nor ever will be, I fear," mad the woman.
What, do you apprehend any danger in the case?"
Sir, she is very poorly indeed, arid I think is in a de-
cline. She wants to see you, Sir; but is afraid you
would not come to see'such a poor young child a ashe
is,'
"Not go where poverty and sickness may call me
How can she imagine so At whose house does she
live r'
"Sir, it is a poor place, and she is ashamed to ask you
to come there. Her neighbors are noisy, wicked people,
and her own father and mother 'are strange folks. They
all make game at poor Jane, because she reads her Bible
so much."
Do not tell me about poor places and wicked people,
that is the very situation where a minister of the Gospel
is called to do the most good. I shall go to see her; you
may let her know my intention."
4"I will, Sir; I go in most days to speak to her, and it
does one's heart good to hear her talk."
"Indeed!" said I; what does she talk about "
"Talk about, poor child! why, nothing but good
things, such as the Bible, and Jesus Christ, and life and
death, and her soul, and heaven, and 1ell, and.your dis-
courses, and the books you used to teach her, Sir. Many
scoff at her, and say they suppose Jane counts herself
better than other folks. But she does not mind all that.
She will read her books, and then talk so pretty to her
mother, and beg that she would think about her soul."
"The Lord forgive me," thought I, for not being
more attentive to this poor child a case." I seemed to
feel the importance of early instruction more than ever
I had done before, and felt a rising hope that this girl
might prove a kind of first fruits of my labors.
Inow fecollected her quiet, orderly, diligent attendance
on our little weekly meetings; and her marked appo-
bation of the epitaph, as related above, rushed into my
thoughts. "I really hope," said I, "this dear child will





92


ANNAL8 OF THE POOR.


prove a true child of God. And if so, what a mercy to
her, and what a mercy for me."
The next morning I went to see the child. Her dwell-
ing was of the humblest kind. It stood against a high
bank of earth, which formed a sort of garden behind it.
It was so steep that but little would grow in it; yet that
little served to show not only, on the one hand, the pov-
erty of its owners, but also to illustrate the happy truth,
that even in the worst of circumstances the Lord does
make a kind provision for the support of his creatures.
The front aspect of the cottage was chiefly rendered
pleasing by a honeysuckle, which luxuriantly climbed up
the wall, enclosing the doors, windows, and even the
chimney, with its twining branches. As I entered the
house-door, its flowers put forth a very sweet and re-
freshing smell. Intent on the object of my visit, I at the
same moment offered up silent prayer to God, and enter-
tained a hope that the welcome fragrance of the shrub
might be illustrative of that all-prevailing intercession of
a Redeemer, which I trusted was, in the case of this little
child, as a sweet-smelling savor" to her heavenly Father.
The very flowers and leaves of the garden and field are
emblematical of higher things, when grace teaches us to
make them so.
Jane was in bed up stairs. I found no one in the
house with her, except the woman who had brought me
the message on the evening before. The instant I looked
on the girl I perceived a very marked change in her coun-
tenance; it had acquired the consumptive hue, both white
and red. A delicacy unknown to it before, quite sur-
prised me, owing to the alteration it produced in her
look. She received me first with a very sweet smile,
and then instantly burst into a flood of tears, just sob-
bing out,
SI am so glad to see you, Sir."
"I am very much concerned at your being so ill, my
child, and grieved that I was not sooner aware of your
state. But I hope the Lord designs it for your good."






THE YOUNG COTTAGE.


93


Her eye, not her tongue, powerfully expressed, "I hope
and think he does."
"Well, my poor child, since you can no longer come
to see me, I will come and see you, and we will talk over
the subjects which I have been used to explain to you."
Indeed, Sir, I shall be so glad."
"That I believe she will," said the woman; "for she
loves to talk of nothing so much as what she has heard
you say in your sermons, and in the books you have
given her."
"Are you really desirous, my dear child, to be a true
Christian?"
"O! yes, yes, Sir, I am sure I desire that above all
things.'
I was astonished and delighted at the earnestness and
simplicity with which she spoke these words.
"Sir," added she, "I have been thinking, as I lay on
my bed for many weeks past, how good you are to in-
struct us poor children: what must become of us with-
out it ?"
I am truly glad to perceive that my instructions have
not been lost upon you, and pray God that this your pres-
ent sickness may be an instrument of blessing, in his
hands, to prove, humble, and sanctify you, My dear
child, you have a soul, an immortal soul, to think of;
you remember what I have often said to you about the
value of a soul: 'What would it profit a man to gain the
whole world and lose his own soul 1 "
Yes, Sir, I remember well you told us that when our
bodies are put into the grave, our souls will then go
either to the good or the bad place."
And to which of these places do you think that, as a
sinner in the sight of God, you -deserve to go!"
"To the bad one, Sir."
What, to everlasting destruction !"
"Yes, Sir."
"Why so?"
"Because I am a great sinner."
"And must all great sinners go to hell 4t





94


ANNALS OF THR POOR.


SThey all deserve it; and I am sure I do."
But is there no way of escape ? Is there no way for
a great sinner to be saved "
"Yes, Sir; Christ is the Saviour."
"And whom does he save?"
"All believers."
"And do you believe in Christ yourself?"
"I do not know, Sir; I wish I did; but I feel that I
love him."
What do you love- him for ?"
"Because he is good to poor children's souls like
mine.
"What has he done for you ?"
"He died for me, Sir, and what could he do more "
And what do you hope to gain by his death "
SA good place when I die, if I believe in him, and love
him."
"Have you felt any uneasiness on account of your
soul "
0! yes, Sir, a great deal. When you used to talk to
us children on Saturdays, I often felt as if I could hardly
bear it, and wondered that others could seem sO careless.
I thought I was not fit to die. I thought of all the bad
things I had ever done and said, and believed God must
be very angry with me; for you often told us that God
would not be mocked; and that Christ said, if we were
not converted we could not go to heaven. Sometimes I
thought I was so young it did not signify: and then
again it seemed to me a great sin to think so; for I knew
I was old enough to see what was right and what was
wrong; and so God had a just right to be angry when I
did wrong. Besides, I could see that my heart was not
right; and how could such a heart be fit for heaven ?
Indeed, Sir, I used to feel very uneasy."
"My dear Jane, I wish I had known all this before.
Why did you never tell me about it ?"
Sir, I durst not. Indeed I could not well say what
was the matter with me; and I thought you would look
upon me as very bold, if I had spoken about myself to






THE YOUNG COTTAGER. 95

such a gentleman as you: yet I often wished that you
knew what I felt and feared. Sometimes, as we went
away from your house, I could not help crying; and
then the other children laughed and jeered at me, and
said I was going to be very good they supposed, or at
least to make people think so. Sometimes, Sir, I fancied
you did not think so well of me as of the rest, and that
hurt me; yet I knew I deserved no particular favor, be-
cause I was the chief of sinners."
My dear, what made St. Paul say he was the chief of
sinners ? In what verse of the Bible do you find this ex-
pression, the chief of sinners Can you repeat it ?"
L"'This is a faithful saying, and worthy of all accepts
tion, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sin-
ners :' is not that right, Sir T'
Yes, my child, it is right; and I hope that the same
conviction which St. Paul had at that moment, has made
you sensible of the same truth. Christ caine into the
world to save sinners; my dear child, remember, now
and for evermore, that Christ came into the world to save
the chief of sinners."
"Sir, I am so glad he did. It makes me hope that he
will save me, though I am a poor sinful girl. Sir, I am
very ill, and I do not think I shall ever get well again. I
want to go to Christ, if I die."
Go to Christ while you live, my dear child, and he
will not cast you out when you die. He that said, Suf-
fer little children to come unto me,' waits to be gracious
to them, and forbids them not.
What made you first think so seriously about the state
of your soul ?"
Your talking about the graves in the churchyard, and
telling us how many young children were buried there.
I remember you said one day, near twelve months ago,
SChildren where will you be a hundred years hence?
Children! where do you think you shall go when you
die ? Children if you were to die to night, are you sure
you should go to Christ and be happy Sir, I shall





96


ANNALS OF THE POOR,


never forget your saying childrena' three times together
in that solemn way.
"Did you never before that day feel any desire about
your soul "
Yes, Sir, I think I first had that desire almost as soon
as you began to teach us on Saturday afternoons; but on
that day I felt as I never did before. I shall never forget
it. All the way as I went home, and all that night, those
words were in my thoughts, Children I where do you
think you shall go when you die ?'I thought I must leave
off all my bad ways or where should I go when I died ?"
And what effect did these thoughts produce in your
mind ?"
Sir, I tried to live better, and I did leave off many
bad ways; but the more I strove, the more difficult I
found it, my heart seemed so hard; and then I could not
tell any one my case."
"Could you not tell it to the Lord, who hears and
answers prayer "
"My prayers (here she blushed and sighed) are very
poor at the best, and at that time I scarcely knew how
to pray atll as I ought. But I did sometimes ask the
Lord for a better heart"
There was a character in all this conversation which
marked a truly sincere and enlightened state of mind.
She spoke with all the simplicity of a child, and yet the
seriousness of a Christian. I could scarcely persuade
myself that she was the same girl I had been accustomed
to see in past time. Her countenance was filled with in-
teresting affections, and almost spoke much more than
her tongue could utter. At the. same time, she now pos-
sessed an ease and liberty in speaking, to which she had
formerly been a stranger; nevertheless she was modest,
humble, and unassuming. Her readiness to converse was
the result of spiritual anxiety, not childish forwardness.
The marks of a divine change were too prominent to be
easily mistaken; and in this very child I, for the first time,
witnessed the evident testimonies of each a change.
How encouraging, how profitable to my own sWil






THE YOUNG COTTA&GER 97

Sir," continued little Jane, "I had one day been think-
ing that I was neither fit to live or die; for I could find
no comfort in this world, and I was sure I deserved none
in the other. On that day you sent me to learn the verse
on Mrs. B--'s headstone, and then I reid that on the
one next to it"
"I very well remember it, Jane; you came back and
repeated them both to me."
There were two lines in it which made me think and
meditate a great deal."
"Which are they "
t' Hall, glorou Goipel I heavenly light, whereby
We live with comfort, and with comfort die.
"I wished that glorious Gospel was mine, that I might
live and die with comfort; and it seemed as if I thought
it would be so. I never felt so happy about my soul be-
fore. The words were often in my thoughts,
Live with comfort, and with comfort die.'"
Glorious Gospel, indeed I" I thought.
"My dear child, what is the meaning of the word Gos-
pel ?"
"Good news."
"Good news for whom ?"
For wicked sinners, Sir."
"Who sends this good news for wicked sinners t"
"The Lord Almighty."
And who brings this good news "
"Sir, you brought it to me."
Here my soul melted in an instant, and I could not re-
press the tears which the emotion excited. The last an-
swer was equally unexpected and affecting. I felt a
father's tenderness and gratitude for a first born child.
Jane wept likewise.' After a little pause she said,
S0 Sir! I wish you would speak to my father, and
mother, and little brother; for I am afraid they are going
on very badly."
"H4w so





ANNALS OF THE POOR.


"Sir, they drink, avd swear, and quarrel, and do not
like what is good; snd it does grieve me so, I cannot
bear it. If I speak-a word to them about it, they are
very angry, and laugh and bid me be quiet, and not set
up for their teacher. Sir, I am ashamed to tell you this
of them, but I hope it is not wrong; I mean it for their
good."
"I wish your prayers and endeavors for their sake may
be blessed; I will do also what I can."
I then prayed with the child, and promised to visit her
constantly.
As I returned home, my heart was filled with thank-
fulness for what I had seen and heard.

Divine grace educates the reasoning faculties of the
soul, as well as the best affections of the heart; and
happily consecrates them both to the glory of the Re-
deemer. Neither the disadvantages of poverty, nor the
inexperience of childhood, are barriers able to resist the
mighty influences of the Spirit of God, when he goeth
forth "where he listeth." "God hath chosen the foolish
things of this world to confound the wise; and God hath
chosen the weak things of the world to confound the
things which are mighty."
Little Jane's illness was of a lingering nature. I often
visited her. The soul of this young Christian was grad-
ually, but effectually, preparing for heaven. I have sel-
dom witnessed in any older person, under similar circum-
stances, stronger marks of earnest inquiry, continual se-
rioumness and holy affections. One morning as I was
walking through the churchyard, in my way to visit her,
I stopped to look at the epitaph which had made such a
deep impression on her mind. I was struck with the
reflection of the important consequences which might
result from a more frequent and judicious attention to
the inscriptions placed in our burying-grounds, as memo-
rials of the departed. I wish that every grave-stone
might not only record the names of our deceased friends,
but also proclaim the name of Jesus, as the only name


98






THE YOUNG COTTAGELR


99


gen under heaven whereby men can be saved. Perhaps,
if the ministers of religion were to interest themselves
in this matter, and accustom their people to consult
them as to the nature of the monumental inscriptions
which they wish to introduce into churches and church-
yards, a gradual improvement would take place in this
respect What is offensive, useless, or erroneous, would
no longer find admittance; and a succession of valuable
warning and consolation to the living would perpetuate
the memory of the dead.
When I arrived at Jane's cottage, I found her in bed,
reading Dr. Watts' Hymns for Children, in which she
took great pleasure.
What are you reading this morning, Jane!"
"Sir, I have been thinking very much about some
verses in my little book. Here they are:
$ There Is an hour when I must die,
Nor do I know how soon 'twill come;
A thousand children, young u I
Are called by death to hear their doom.
Let me improve the hours I have,
Before the day of grace ia fed;
There's no repentance in the grave,
Nor pardon offered to the dead.'
"Sir, I feel all that to be very true, and I am afraid
I do not improve the hours I have, as I ought to do., I
think I shall not live very long; and when I remember
my sins, Isay,
Lord, at thy foot, ahatmed IIle
Upward I dare not look;
Pardon my ein before I die,
Aud blot them from thy book.'
"Do you think he will pardon me, Sir ?"
"My dear child, I have great hopes that he has par-
doned you; that he has heard your prayers, and put you
into the number of his true children already, You have
had strong proofs of his mercy to your soul."
SYes, ir, I have; and I wish to love and bless him
for it. He is good, very good."





ANNALS OF THE POOR.


It had for some time past occurred to my mind, that a
coarse of regulated conversations on the first principles
of religion would be very desirable from time to time, for
this. interesting child's sake; and I thought the Church
Catechism would be a proper ground-work for that pur-
pose.
"Jane," said I, "you can repeat the Catechism ?
"" Yes, Sir, but I think that has been one of my sins in
the eight of God."
What, repeating your Catechism f'
Yes, Sir, in such a way as I used to do it."
"How was that I"
"Very carelessly indeed. I never thought about the
meaning of the words, and that must be very wrong.
Sir, the Catechism is full of good things; I wish I un-
derstood them better."
Well then, my child, we will talk a little about those
good things which, as you truly say, are contained in the
Catechism. Did you ever consider what it is to be a
member of Christ, a child of God, and an inheritor of the
kingdom of heaven r"
"I think, Sir, I have lately considered it a good deal,
and I want to be such, not only in name, but in deed and
in truth. You once told me, Sir, that 'as the branch is
to the vine, and the stone to the building, and the limb
to the body and the head, so is a true believer to the Lord
Jesus Chnst.1 But how am I to know that I belong to
Christ as a true' member, which you said one day in the
church, means the same as a limb of the body T'
"Do you love Christ now in a way you never used to
do before "
Yes, I think so, indeed."
SWhy do you love him ?
"Because he first loved me-he died for sinners."
"How do you know that he first loved you ?"
"Because he sent me instruction, and made me feel
the sin of my heart, and taught me to pray for pardon,
and love his ways: he sent you to teach me, Sir, and to
show me the way to be saved, and now I want to be


1100






THE YOUNG COTTAGE&.


101


saved in that way that he pleases. Sometimes I feel as
if I loved all that he has said and done, so much, that I
wish never to think about anything else. I know I did
not use to feel so; and I think if he had not loved me
first, my wicked heart would never have cared about him.
I once loved anything better than religion, but now it is
everything to Mte."
Do you believe, in your heart, that Christ is able and
willing to save the chief of sinners I"
"I do."
"And what are you ?"
"A young but a great sinner."
"Is it not of his mercy that you know and feel your-
self to be a sinner ?"
"Certainly; yes, it must be so."
Do you earnestly desire to forsake all sin T"
"If I know myself, I do."
"Do you feel a spirit within you resisting sin, and
making you hate it "
SYea, I hope so."
"Who gave you that spirit? Were you always so ?"
"It must be Christ who loved me and gave himself for
me. I was quite different once."
Now then, my dear Jane, does not all this show a
connection between the Lord Jesus Christ and your soul?
Does it not seem as if you lived, and moved, and had a
spiritual being from him? Just as the limb is connected
with your body, and so with your head, and thereby gets
power to live and move through the flowing of the blood
from one to the other, so are you spiritually a limb or
member of Christ, if you believe in him. Do you under-
stand me ?"
"Yes, Sir, 1 believe I do; and it is very comfortable
to my thoughts to look up to Christ as a living head,
and to consider myself as the least and lowest of all his
members."
Now tell me what your thoughts are as to being a
child of God ?"
I am sure, Sir, I do not deserve to be called his child."





ANNALS Or THE POOL


Cm you tell me who does deserve it t?
"No one, Sir."
How then comes any one to be a child of God, when
by nature we all are children of wrath ?"
By God's grace, Sir."
What does grace mean 7"
"Favor; free favor to sinners."
Right; and what does God bestow upon the children
of wrath, when he makes them children of grace ?"
"A death unto sin, and a new birth unto righteous-
ness; is it not, Sir?"
"Yes, this is the fruit of Christ's redeeming love; and
I hope ypu are a partaker of the blessing. The family of
God is named after him, and he is the first-born of many
brethren. What a -mercy that Christ calls himself 'a
brother.' My little girl, he is your brother, and will not
be ashamed to own you and present you to his Father at
the last day, as one that he has purchased with his
blood."
"I wish I could love my Father and my Brother which
are in heaven, better than I do. Lord, be merciful to me,
a sinner. I think, Sir; if I am a child of God, I am often
a rebellious one. He shows kindness to me beyond oth-
era, and yet I make a very poor return.
Are these thy fvors da by day,
To m se aboe he rest
Then let me love thee more than they,
AMd atrive to werve the bet.'"

"That will be the best way to approve yourself a real
child of God. Show your love and thankfulness to such
a Father who hath prepared for you an inheritance among
the saints in light, and made you an inheritor of the king-
dom of heaven, as well as a member of Christ and a
child of God. Do you know what the kingdom of heaven
means-?"
Just at that instant her mother entered the house be-
low, and began to speak to a younger child in a passion-
ate, scolding tone of voice, accompanied by some very


1b02






THE YOUNG COTTAGELR


103


offensive language; but quickly stopped on hearing us
in conversation up stairs.
"Ah, my poor mother said the girl, you would not
have stopped so short if Myr. -- had not been here.
Sir, you hear how my mother goes on; pray say some.
thing to her, she will not hear me."
I went toward the stairnhead and called to the woman;
but she suddenly left the house, and for that time escaped
reproof.
Sir," said little Jane, I am so afraid if I go to heaven
I shall never see my poor mother there. As I lie here
a-bed, Sir, for hours together, there' is often so much
wickedness, and noise, and quarrelling down below, that
I do not know how to bear it. It comes very near, Sir,
when one's father and mother go on so. I want them all
to turn to the Lord, and go to heaven. Tell me now,
Sir, something about being an inheritor of the kingdom
of heaven."
You may remember, my'child, what I have told you
when explaining the Catechism in the church, that the
kingdom of heaven' in the Scriptures means the church
of Christ upon earth as well as the state of glory in heav-
en. The one is a preparation for the other. All true
Christians are heirs of God and joint heirs with Christ,'
and shall inherit the glory and happiness of his kingdom,
and live with Christ, and be with him forever. This is
the free gift of God to his adopted children; and all that
believe aright in Christ shall experience the truth of that
promise, It is your Father's good pleasure to give you
the kingdom.' You are a poor girl now, but I tr st'an
entrance shall be ministered unto you abundantly into
the everlasting kingdom of our Lord and Saviour Jesus
Christ' You suffer now, but are you not willing to suf.
fer for his sake, and to bear patiently those things to
which he calls you 1"
yes, very willing; I would not complain. It is all
right"
SThen, my dear, you shall reign with him. Through
much tribulation you may perhaps enter the kingdom of




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