that word, "He is my only portion." Then throwing herself back, she lifted up her eyes, and spreading her hands with great delight, made many signs upward. 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 pos ture she in one moment breathed her last.

Such a sense of God and glory rested on us, as I can. not 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 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?*

Some time after this one of our young women had a desire to take a journey, which we thought would be dan. gerous 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

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 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 halfhearted," and that to Mrs Ryan would be chiefly imputed the rigidity which had forced her from this retreat. This was proba

and in particular to She said, "My light

crown. We told her all our fears; watch against the love of money. 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 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. The Lord stepped in, laid her on the bed of death, and 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 declared, "The Lord hath forgiven me. I shall be saved, but I shall suffer loss." Repeating the name of

bly 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 October, at my return to London, I found it needful to hasten to Laytonstone. 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. vi.) 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 me. I cannot think of you without thinking of God. Others often lead me to him, but it is, as it were, going around about. You bring me straight into his presence."-Ep.

Jesus, her spirit returned to God, just four weeks from that day on which she left our house.*

"O! 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 a hundred miles off, told me some 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.

A little time before this the Lord was pleased to remove my dear parents. My father had a long and painful ill. ness 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, and 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 will now. 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

*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 form and govern such a house, should beware of any approach to the confinement of the cloister. There was nothing of that kind here.-ED.

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 toward me during her illness, and showed her tender care, by augmenting the sum my father had left me.

During the illness of my dear parents, I suffered much, not only for them, but for my weak friend at home, and the weight of so great a family. Her increasing illness was an unspeakable exercise to me. She had some time before been brought near to death, but many promises of recovery were then brought to her mind with power; and after being so reduced as to be given over, she recovered as it were suddenly, and beyond all expectation, and remained in pretty good health for a year. But now she grew daily worse; and for three years her sufferings were great and frequent. I plainly saw she decayed fast, and all my nature shrunk at the thought of being left alone at the head of such an undertaking; and what added to my trial, we had increased our family with some whose spirit did not suit our house, so that jars and a divided interest sometimes arose, which till very lately we had not known. But the heaviest of all my yokes, was the galling yoke of unbelief. I remembered the time when I could say, "Unbelief has not a place in my soul to set its foot upon." But now I had slipped back from that constant act of faith. I had admitted cares and fears, and by insensible degrees I was sunk again into

Was this painful state heaviness through manifold temptations, (1 Peter i, 6,) or a real departure from the Lord? I believe some

my own will, and the strivings of evil tempers. Indeed, there was a confidence, a degree of union with God, which I never totally lost, neither did his fear depart out of my heart; yet I had inwardly departed from that pure love which I possessed. I had left off to delight myself in God, as heretofore, and accepted of many other things in his place; so that my trials were greater than I can well describe.

One day, as I was attending my sick friend, almost inconsolable, she said, " My dear, I hardly know how to rejoice in the prospect of death, because I see no way for you. I shall leave you in the hands of enemies, but God will stand by you. I said, "My dear love, can you think of any way for me ? It is sometimes presented to

my mind, that I should be called to marry Mr. Fletcher."* She replied, "I like him the best of any man, if ever you do take that step. But unless he should be of a very tender disposition toward you, you would not be happy : but God will direct you." It pleased God, however, in a measure to remove her disorder again; so that for some months she was enabled to act as a leader and a helper among us.

We are now pretty well settled; our meetings were quiet and comfortable; the number of hearers increased, and some of our little flock were gone triumphantly to

things that follow will incline the serious reader to conclude it was the former.-ED.

* The pious reader will not be displeased to see that such an impression was made on such a mind, preceding the union of that admirable couple. The impression was mutual. In a letter from Mr. Fletcher to Mr. Charles Wesley, (see Mr. Fletcher's Works, vol. iv,) we find the following sentiments: "You ask me a very singular question,-I shall answer it with a smile, as I supposed you asked it. You might have remarked that for some days before I set off for Madeley, I considered matrimony with a different eye to what I had done; and the person who then presented herself to my imagination was Miss Bosanquet. Her image pursued me for some hours the last day, and that so warmly, that I should, perhaps, have lost my peace, if a suspicion of the truth of Juvenal's proverb, Veniunt a dote sagittæ, (The arrows come from the portion, rather than from the lady,) had not made me blush, fight, and flee to Jesus, who delivered me at the same moment from her image and the idea of marriage." There will be some regret, perhaps, felt, that a long and suffering time should intervene before that union. But it was all ordered for the good of both,-for an eternaunion, for the marriage of the Lamb!-ED.