objects, which she had laid it out upon. She lamented much she had not altered her will, saying, "I wish you had ten or twelve thousand pounds. I know it would glorify God, and if I were able, I would do it now. But God will take care of you." We left her a few hours in the night, when she said to the sisters who sat up with her, "Give me pen and paper, I cannot die easy, unless I write something of my mind concerning sister Bosanquet having the two thousand pounds. She did so, which was a striking instance of her love. This paper I saw it right 1 not to destroy, and informed her relations of it; but it was not regarded, and we were well contented. About twelve the next day she seemed to change for death, and appeared just gone. I said, "Is Jesus precious?" She One present observed, "Perhaps she

did not answer. is not sensible."

After a few minutes she came to herself, and smiling said, "Yes, I was sensible; but just as you spoke, I had a great struggle with Satan,—at last these words were spoke as if through my heart,

"Nature's last agony is o'er,

And cruel sin subsists no more."

But yet I do not know that the work is done. But I know it will be done. I am sure God will finish his work.-Yes-I think I can believe.-Yes, I will hold the Lord to his promise. She continued much the same for six hours, now and then saying, I know he will finish his work. But I do not know it is done. Yet is there any sin? I do not know there is. Sometimes I feel, said she, with a smile, as if I did not like to leave you all; is that sin? I do not know that it is. She added, when I am dying, if I cannot speak, ask me any question, and if I mean yes, I will hold up my hand, for I would wish to praise God to the last. In the evening she seemed just departing. One present said, "Is your soul in peace ?" She did not make the sign. I said, “Are you sensible, love?" She held up her hand. Sometime

after, we said, “Is all clear now?" She lifted up both her hands above her head. Sister Crosby said, “The blood of Jesus hath cleansed you from all sin." She lifted them up again, and smiled with such an expression of joy as I cannot describe. She appeared as in a rapture, and strove much to speak, but we could only understand that word, "He is my only portion." Then throwing herself back, she lifted up he eyes, and spreading her hands with great delight, made many signs upwards. I said, "Is glory open before you ?" She lifted up her hands pointing with one finger, and strove to speak, but we could only make out the word, "Glory ;" but the joy of her countenance was beyond all words, and in this posture she in one moment breathed her last.

Such a sense of God and glory rested on us, as I cannot describe. For several days it seemed to me, as if I was continually sensible of the presence of the heavenly spirits; and so slender did the veil appear which divides the church militant from that which is triumphant, that I saw myself as surrounded with the innumerable company, and as if I heard them hail the happy saint on her arrival, in these words, which followed me continually

Ah! what were all thy sufferings here,
Since Jesus counts thee meet

With that enraptured host t' appear,
And worship at his feet.*

*This glorious scene will be accompanied with some pain to pious readers, and in some it will excite much curiosity. It will be asked, what were those "snares" that induced so strong a temptation, in such a devoted mind, thus to deviate from truth and love, according to the above agonizing confession? I cannot gratify such inquirers. Mrs. Fletcher thought it her duty to record the fact, and I have thought it my duty to let it appear: but I know no more. One thing is plain; Miss Lewen did not fall into the temptation; but it is also plain, she did not resist it, steadfast in the faith. Hence her deep sense of her evil nature, in having listened to it for a moment. When heavenly purity shone upon her soul, and that she found that purity was just about to be bestowed upon her for ever, how dreadful appeared the mental deviation! If we may hazard a conjecture; was it not some attachment of a worldly nature, on account of which she was

Some time after this, one of our young women had a desire to take a journey, which we thought would be dangerous to her, and warned her much to beware of the love of the world. Several nights she had had remarkable dreams, warning her to beware that no man took her Brown. We told her all our fears; and in particular to watch against the love of money. She said, "My light is so clear, that if I now do any thing unbecoming my profession, I shall be guilty, and doubly guilty." Sister Ryan said, I feel I cannot give you up, but I am led to entreat the Lord, if you should be about to depart from him, that he would cut short the thread of your life, and take you to himself, and I believe he has heard me."

She had

tempted, and felt an answerable inclination, to depart from a community so strictly evangelical? That thought was, perhaps, presented to her, viz. That that very strictness would excuse her to "the half-hearted ;" and that to Mrs. Ryan would be chiefly imputed the rigidity which had forced her from this retreat. This was probably the root of that agonizing conviction; especially when she saw, that the person whom she had thought of, as thus to have borne her sin, was ready to risk her own tender life to help her through her last conflict! Miss Lewen, however, overcame at last; and verified Mr. Wesley's account of her.-See his Journal, (Works, vol. iv.) "Friday, the 31st of October, at my return to London, I found it needful to hasten to Layton-stone. But I came too late. Miss Lewen died the day before, after an illness of five days. Some hours before, she witnessed that good confession

"Nature's last agony is o'er,

And cruel sin subsists no more.”

So died Margaret Lewen, a pattern to all young women of fortune in England; a real Bible Christian. So she rested from her labours, and her works do follow her."

Mrs. Ryan was, as Mrs. Fletcher has said, "a sickly, persecuted saint." She was poor, (though not destitute, and hence was more liable to be the butt of the half-hearted. Miss Bosanquet, her twin soul, was a lady of birth and fortune, and on that account, rather too large for their grasp. Mrs. Ryan proved the whole of the eight beatitudes, as appears from Mr. Wesley's account of her, in the Arminian Magazine, and from his admirable Letters to her, (see his works, vol. xvi.) In one of them he says, "It is expedient for you to go through both evil and good report. The conversing with you either by speaking or writing, is an unspeakable blessing to I cannot think of you without thinking of God. Others often lead me to Him, but it is, as it were, going round about. You bring me straight into His presence." Ed.

me.

not been from us many days, before the golden baits of pleasure and profit began to gain lustre in her eyes, and the little spark of light and life to decline out of her soul. and The Lord stept in, laid her on the bed of death, gave her to acknowledge, she had left the fountain head of bliss, and stooped to creature happiness. She was very desirous to see us, if it could have been; but a dear child of God attended her constantly, and wrestled much with God in her behalf. A little before her death she I shall be declared, “The Lord hath forgiven me. saved, but I shall suffer loss." Repeating the name of Jesus, her spirit returned to God, just four weeks from that day on which she left our house.*

"Oh! what is death? 'tis life's last shore,

Where vanities are vain no more."

In the beginning of the year 1767, the Lord was pleased to exercise us with some little trials of another kind.

Various reproaches were cast upon us. It was confidently affirmed, I had forced the before-mentioned young lady (Miss Lewen) to make a will when she was dying, and leave me all her estate, and that I had thus wronged her relations. Some religious professors said that I had wronged the poor and that I had killed my friend by rigorous mortification.-That I had driven her into despair, and caused her to die in darkness :—with a variety of stories as ridiculous as false. The truth is, I had not gained one penny by her, but was many pounds out of pocket. However, these accounts were so industriously spread, and even to distant parts, that a gentleman. from a place about an hundred miles off, told me some

* Was not this extraordinary dispensation an instance of what St. John calls, a sin unto death-a sin which God punishes by the death of the body? It was not a little thing in His sight to leave such a house, without a special call of His providence. Those however who forın, and govern, such a house, should beware of any approach to the confinement of the Cloister. There was nothing of that kind here. Ed.

years after, he verily believed, had I walked through that town at one time, the mob would have stoned me! But the Lord is a God of judgment, and by him actions are weighed.

will now.

A little time before this, the Lord was pleased to remove my dear parents. My father had a long and painful illness of three years; and my mother lived but nine months after. I was now permitted to be a good deal with them. One day my dear honoured father spoke to me with great tenderness concerning some of my former trials, áud expressed much sorrow that my fortune was not left as much in my power, as that of the other children ;-saying, 'If you desire it, I will alter my But your uncle knows my mind; and if you marry a man to make you happy, it is all I wish. I do not care whether he has money or not.-But whether you marry or not, you ought to have your fortune as well as the rest. If you desire it, I will have it so altered:" with many more expressions of paternal affection, which, though I do not think it proper to insert them here, will ever have a place in my heart. I begged him to make himself quite easy, and not to attempt the alteration of any thing; as I saw it must greatly disturb his peace, for several reasons. I assured him I saw myself safe in the hands of my heavenly Father, and knew I should never want any thing that was for my good; and that if I was favoured with seeing the salvation of his soul, I had no more to ask: God would take care of me. I was led thus to speak. From what he had said to me, however, I expected to have found in his will far less than he had really given me.

Immediately after the death of my father, my dear mother entered into her last illness. I found much love to her, and of consequence much pain. She expressed a tender kindness towards me during her illness, and showed her tender care, by augmenting the sum my father had left me.