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dangerous rocks to avoid, and some needful plans to propose. Therefore before another week passed, I saw I must act among them, and meet the people the same as before ;—and though very ill and filled with sorrow, the Lord enabled me to do so,—showing me the only way to bear the cross profitably, was so to carry it as if I carried it not. About a fortnight before my dear hus* band's last sickness, he was one night at the Wednesday meeting, when being greatly affected about me, as I was ill at that time, he could hardly get through it. He said to me afterward, "My dear, I could scarcely speak to the people. I felt I knew not how, as if thy empty chair stood by me! Something seemed to say, we should soon be parted; and I thought, Must I meet these people, and see my Polly's empty chair always by me?" But now the cup was mine. Yea, and I have drunk it to the very dregs!
September 21, 1785. Ah! Lord, my soul is exceeding sorrowful! How lonely doth my situation appear! Torn from my dear companion, and made to walk in this dreary path! But this is my greatest weight, I do not feel that union with Thee, that would make up all. There are indeed moments in which a glimpse of thy love seems to unite me to all good, and wipes away every tear. But these are transient touches, and I am deeply oppressed with that fear that 1 am not approved in thy sight, because 1 do not Rejoice evermore! I well know I want a farther plunge into thy sacred will. I am not yet The temple of the Holy Ghost." For some time back those words have been much on my mind, " Put on the whole armour of God, that ye may stand in the evil day, and having done all, may stand." I have sometimes said, Lord, have I passed that evil day, or is it still to come? And I always felt with submission a desire it might not be in deatfe, O Lord! do all thy will upon me, but make me wholly conformable to thy divine nature ] Glorify thyself in thy poor creature! I feel as if soul and body would be divided,by this terrible wrench! Yet I acquiesce, fully acquiesce in thy divine disposal. Yes, I see and admire thy wisdom! I bow down to a dispensation I do not clearly understand 1 The Lord hath done it I and that shall be enough to satisfy me. I remember one of my dear husband's dying sayings was,—Polly, let us not fear, God is love! What canst thou fear, my dearest, when God is love ?—I feel it is the truth; nevertheless, I do not feel perfect rest in that truth, for want of that perfect love which casteth out all fear. Nothing will do for me but the indwelling Deity! "He that dwelleth in love, dwelleth in God, and God in him."
October 3, 1785. My sorrowful soulwaiteth on thee, O Lord! Oh! what a cloud there is on my whole situation I Three months ago I was raised to the highest pitch of human consolation. I often thought all that God could give of temporal comforts was poured upon me. Whenever I was hearing any one speak of the afflictions they were under, I used to be humbled to the very dust. Something would suggest,—Ah! you may well bear your crosses, and rejoice that ye have such a treasure continually augmenting in }'our bosom; but kit God only lay his hand on your husband, and see then whether you will bless him? It seemed to me, that I so honoured any of my fellow-creatures who were in trouble, that I could kiss the very dust from their feet, and was often filled with astonishment, why such a wretch as me was spared their bitter cup! But now I drink it indeed: yet at the same time I can say, I see it my privilege to "follow the Lamb whithersoever he goeth," without asking where, or to what new cross he will lead me. O what should I do were it not for the privilege of pouring out my soul in prayer! Lord, come and make thine abode in me!
One day when I had some reason to think this house would be wanted, and that I must quit it, I began to co*h^ sider where I had best remove to. I reflected on my dear husband's words, when he said a little before he lost his speech, " Stay here, my dear ;—I do not speak for the people only, but for thy sake. Thou wilt never be so well settled again. Here thou wilt be most out of th$ way from many things which would be a cross andja hinderance to thee." It was therefore very painful for me to think of taking one single step, in any thing contrary to his advice. And yet I must own, had he not all along said I must stay here, I believe I could not have resolved so to do, for every day brought me some cutting trial.—A new ministry, a new plan for the work, and various causes of anxiety and trouble.
But now it appeared I must remove. I began to think ©f one place and another, but every one seemed to bear the gloom of night. I could see no spot in the creation for me to rest in. A peculiar inward feeling also, seemed to turn from every place I could think of, as if the smile of God was not on my going there. I said, Lord, show me what I shall do! Only show me what is Thy will I I thought on two places the most likely; and had some desire to draw a lot concerning them. I had the paper in my hand in order so to do, when the remembrance of my dearest love was presented strongly to my mind, as speaking again those words, "Polly, do not let us look for signs; let us leave ourselves in the hand of God.'5 I felt an immediate light of faith, and throwing the paper out of my hand, I took up the Bible, intending to read, and for the present to drop every other thought. It ojpened on those words—:" God shall choose our inheritance for us." All my spirit acquiesced, and I answered, "Yea, Lord! Thou hast chosen for my dear the bright mansions above; and thou wilt choose for me all my wanderings below." There seemed for a moment such a communion opened between the family below and that above, as I cannot express.
Soon after this, I received a message from Mr. Kinerson, letting me know that I should never be turned out of the house, but might rent it; which I received as an answer from the Lord directing my way. It also brought to my mind a dream I had some years before I married* —I dreamed a man came to me to offer me some tithes. I replied, "Friend, I have nothing to do with tithes,— I have no concern in any living. But soon after, I said to one of my family, Hannah, I am going away, I have a call from the Lord,—I must go." But again I thought I know not where, not even into what country. However, the way of duty is the way of safety. I will set out, and God will lead me. Immediately I left Cross-hall, and after walking a few paces, I thought I was carried in a moment, I knew not how, and set down in a churchyard—and some one said to me, You are to enter into "this church. I went in, and walking up the aisle, I heard a kind of groan, and said, That is the sound of« death. When I came out of the church, I entered into a house which was just by it. As I was on the steps, it was said inwardly to me,—This is the habitation which God hath chosen for you. I answered, O no; I cannot live here. It is the order of God for me to live in Yorkshire. I went into some of the rooms, and found in one I passed through a man and woman. In the next was a young woman with a child on her lap. She appeared dying of a consumption, and in great conflicts. We soon entered into conversation, and she seemed very spiritual. After a time she told me, I must come and live here, and here abide. I replied, "O no, I live at Cross-hall in Yorkshire; and have a great family, and many calls there." But, said she, it is the will of God to bring you here.-^-There is work for you to do. She added, do not be frightened; God will make you a comfortable habitation.—I said, Have you the Gospel here? She replied, Yes.—And who, said I, is the minister that brought it among you? She replied, He is not here now. Then who, said I, is your present minister? She showed me a name of three syllables ;—but though I read it over and over—I could only remember the two last,—" nerson."—I felt myself in great anguish and sorrow of mind, (though I could not assign any cause,) and said, I must go away, I cannot stay here. I do not know that man and woman.—I cannot live with them. She replied, "That man and woman will go away when you come. But here is a work for you to do, and you must abide here. Do not be frightened; God will make you a comfortable habitation." Being determined however to return Some, I went down stairs, and seeing a coach ready to be hired, I beckoned to it; the man opened the door, and as I was stepping in, he said, Where will you be carried to? I strove to say, Cross-hall in Yorkshire, but could not. Then I strove to name various habitations I had formerly lived in, but could remember the name of none-—As he still persevered in his questions, I at last stepped back, and pointing to the house I came out of, I said, " That is my home, and God hath taken the remembrance of every other out of my heart."
I knew nothing of the situation of any thing in Madely when I had this dream—but when, some years after, I told it to my dear Mr. Fletcher, he said, "There was a man and woman who lived with me at that time,—and a young woman, A. C. who was very useful in the work, to which she proved a nursing mother.—She died of a consumption, in which she had many conflicts." I said, Was there a minister here whose name ended with— ncrson? He replied, " No." But now I understand it all. —Had 1 before remembered the whole name, I should at once have known this dream would be fulfilled at my dear husband's death, as Mr. Kenerson was the patron, and his son now became our Vicar.—My dear Mr. Fletcher always said, If he died he believed I was to stay here;—And there are some circumstances which reconciled me so to do. f'