power to my soul? and some encouraging promises sprang up in my mind, and made me persevere in prayer. I told my serious friends, (who were not joined to the Methodists,) if they could procure me an hour's conversation with one of those pious women, I should esteem it a great favour; for I longed to see any one who would tell me of a deeper religion than I had known. I saw myself surrounded with snares, and often thought with tears on those words,―

to me.

"See where o'er desert wastes I err,

And neither food nor feeder have,
Nor fold, nor place of refuge near,

While no man cares my soul to save."

At this time I became acquainted with a gentleman in some sense religious, though I fear not deeply so. He professed much affection for me, and my religious friends advised me to think of him, as it was likely to be very acceptable to my parents, and would open a door to more religious liberty. But I cannot say he was agreeable Neither my understanding nor affection could approve the proposal; yet I was hurt by unprofitable reasonings. Sometimes I thought it might be of the Lord; at others, I could not see into it at all. While thus perplexed, I received a message from Miss Furley, (now Mrs. Downes,) that on such a day Mrs. Crosby would be at her house. I went to meet her in the spirit of prayer and expectation. She simply related what God had done for her soul. The words she spoke were clothed with power, and my convictions of the necessity of holiness were much increased. The affair of the gentleman was obliterated from my mind; and the prospect of a life wholly devoted to God drank up every other consideration. In a few hours I returned home to our country house on Epping Forest; but such a sweet sense of God, the greatness of his love, and willingness to save to the uttermost, remained on my mind, that if I but thought on the word holiness, or of the adorable name of Jesus, my heart seemed to take fire in an instant; and my desires were more intensely fixed on God than ever I had found them before.

A few days after I wrote to Mrs. Crosby. The fol lowing is an extract :—

"Forest House, May 17, 1757.

"The Lord hath indeed been merciful above all I can ask or think. I am more drawn to prayer. I find a more earnest pursuit of holiness than ever; but what most stirs me up is, I seem to hear the Lord calling to me in these words, Depart ye, depart ye, go ye out hence, touch not the unclean thing; be clean, ye that bear the vessels of the Lord.'"

I now saw the path in which I ought to walk. I determined not to think about a married life, for my present light was to abide single. But the Lord seemed to call me to more activity, insomuch that I cried out, "Lord, what wilt thou have me to do?" I would be given up, both soul and body, to serve the members of Christ. My firm resolution was to be wholly given up to the Church in any way that he pleased. I desired not to be idle, but employed as those described by St. Paul to Timothy, "If she have brought up children, if she have lodged strangers, if she have washed the saints' feet, and diligently followed after every good work." I can hardly express with what power these words would come to my mind. It seemed to me the Lord had planned out all my way; and I only wished so to walk.

The end of this summer brought me a great trial. My parents were going to Scarborough. My mother offered to take me with them, if I would do as they did, and not bring a reproach on them in a strange place. This seemed a reasonable request; but I could not comply, for the spirit of the world was as contrary to that of Christ in Scarborough as in London. I requested to be left with my sister; but it was appointed for me to spend most of my time at an uncle's in London. They were exceedingly kind, and let me have much liberty. I had never before had the opportunity of a constant attendance on the means of grace; and I greatly feared abusing this talent. One of my acquaintance, being imprudent, pressed me never to be absent from any meeting, or preaching. By this means I am sensible I went too far. I walked about more than my strength could bear, having been scarce ever permitted to go out of our own grounds but in a carriage. But above all, I am pained when I think how little of Christian prudence

appeared in my conduct. The kind family in which I was received could not but blame and condemn a conduct which, though the motive was upright, was in itself sometimes wrong.

During this season I cultivated an acquaintance for which I trust I shall for ever praise the Lord. It was with Mrs. Sarah Ryan, who (with a pious woman named Mary Clark) lived in a little house in Christopher-alley, Moorfields. They both possessed the spirit of the primitive Church in an eminent degree. A few of the most lively souls in the London society were frequently gathered there. The more I saw of that family, the more I was convinced Christ had yet a pure Church below; and often, while in their company, I thought myself with the hundred and twenty that waited to be baptized by the Holy Spirit. It was at Mrs. Ryan's house that Mrs. Crosby boarded; and whenever I was from home, this was the place of my residence, and truly I found it to be a little Bethel.

The more I conversed with Mrs. Ryan, the more I discovered of the glory of God breaking forth from within, and felt a strong attraction to consider her as the friend of my soul. I told her the past sins, follies, and mercies of my life, and received a similar account from her.

The time now drew nigh for my parents' return, and I went home to receive them. While in London, I had used more exercise than my constitution could bear. My mother was much surprised when she saw me appear so ill, and laid it all to my religion. A fever came on

rapidly, and I was ordered to go to bed; but I could scarcely keep on my feet while I ascended the stairs. When I was laid in bed, how shall I describe the posture of my mind? Distracted by the fever; torn by fears and temptations; and deprived of those friends who at this time could have understood and comforted me! The loss of Mrs. Lefevre now also returned on my mind with great pain. My dear parents were not aware of the nature of my illness, which was, as the apothecary after. ward told them, a strong nervous fever. They thought it all arose from some trouble of mind I would not own, and told me one day, if I did not rouse myself out of

that low state, my head should be blistered, and I should be shut up in a dark room. My father being present, I said, "Will you put me in a mad house, papa?" he said, "No; but you must be shut up at home, if you do not strive against this lowness. The doctor says you have no pulse at all; he never saw a patient so low." My mind became greatly depressed; I could find no comfort of any kind, either from God or outward things.

But the Lord graciously helped me in an extraordinary way. As I lay reflecting on my situation, and weeping before him on account of the darkness of my mind, I discerned an unusual brightness, (yet not dazzling,) and a voice came so powerfully, that I can only say, I heard and felt it with every faculty of soul and body, Thou shalt walk with me in white! An answer seemed to come from my heart, independent of myself,* "Lord, how can that be, seeing I am not worthy?" It was spoken to me again, Thou shalt walk with me in white; I will make thee worthy. This was followed by those words, I will thoroughly purge away thy dross, and take away all thy tin! and

"Glory is on earth begun,
Everlasting life is won."

To this day I have the most lively remembrance of that manifestation; and in the darkest moments I have since passed through, I could never doubt its being the voice of the Lord. My illness was long, and attended with many trials. Before my recovery, Mrs. Ryan was removed from London to Bristol, to be housekeeper at the room there; and much did I pray the Lord that we should be brought together again.

I was now about nineteen years of age, and soon after, my parents having an intention to go to Bath for a season, proposed that I should spend that time at Bristol, as I was now thought to be consumptive. I gladly embraced the offer, as a merciful providence. I accordingly went to Bristol, where I remained seven weeks. Mrs. Downes (late Miss Furley) showed me much kind

* Who can account for this whole manifestation on common principles? Yet what pious mind will not conclude it was help from the Lord in the time of need?-ED.

ness. Indeed, I was in some sense committed to her care by my parents, who had for years been acquainted with her family. I spent much of my time with Mrs. Ryan and Mrs. Clark, and I trust in some degree partook of their spirit. After my return home, I clearly discovered that I still conformed too much in my appearance to the spirit and fashions of the world; but I plainly saw a renunciation of that conformity would give my relations great offence. I loved my parents, and feared to disoblige them. I sought for arguments to quench that little spark of light which was kindling in my soul, conscious they could not see in my light, and knowing that obedience to parents was one of the first duties. I did so far quench it, that I put on again many of the things I had thrown off. My acquaintance took much notice of me, and I was so afraid of losing their good opinion, that I had no power to reprove sin, or even to refrain from joining in light or trifling conversation when in company. But I soon discerned the danger consequent on their approval, and therefore determined to weigh well what was most likely to please God, and by that to abide.

I prayed for direction, and saw clearly that plainness of dress and behaviour best became a Christian, and that for the following reasons:

First. The apostle expressly forbids women professing godliness to let their adorning be in apparel; allowing them no other ornament than that of a meek and quiet spirit.

Secondly. I saw the reasonableness of the command, and proved it good for a proud heart to wear the plain and modest livery of God's children.

Thirdly. It tended to open my mouth; for when I appeared like the world, in Babylonish garments, I had its esteem, and knew not how to part with it. But when

I showed, by my appearance, that I considered myself as a stranger and foreigner, none can know (but by trying) what an influence it has on our whole conduct, and what a fence it is to keep us from sinking into the spirit of the world. For there is no medium: they who are conformed to the fashions, customs, and maxims of the world, must embrace the spirit also, and they shall find the esteem they seek: for the world will love its own. But