of kindling! A little spark may be the beginning of a flame powerful enough to destroy a whole city; and one wrong word may draw on another, until the tongue, 'which is a world of iniquity, may set on fire all the members, being itself set on fire of hell.' On the other hand, in a large family, how useful may that member be! While it possesses the honour of being God's advocate, and watches every moment for an opportunity to call in the minds of those around you to a closer attention to God. The right use of the tongue is of the utmost consequence, (especially in a religious community,) and worthy our strictest and most earnest endeavours; since the apostle says, 'He that offendeth not in word, the same is a perfect man, and able also to bridle the whole body.'

The next Friday, after this family meeting, I proposed as a fast-at twelve we were to meet for one hour, chiefly for earnest prayer. At these seasons I frequently found much of the presence and approval of God, and I believe they were blessed to many of the family.

To return to my outward situation. When I had been a few years in Cross Hall, I had many trials of faith and patience. Sometimes I was all fears; and at others, I had a lively confidence in that word, Stand to my will, and thou shalt suffer no detriment, which was applied to me just before the period of sister Ryan's death.

Various circumstances now agitated my mind; and frequently with groans and tears have I said before the Lord, "O that I could meet with a friend as divinely enlightened, and as faithful as the one I have lost! It would be worth going over red hot bars of iron to procure." But though I knew some of the excellent of the earth, yea, and had some of them under my own roof, yet friendship is so immediately the gift of God, we cannot form it when we will. There must be a similitude of mind, a something which God alone can give, and which he at this time was pleased to withhold from me, perhaps that I might learn to depend on himself alone. The point in which I was peculiarly sensible of the loss of my friend, was in the cha. racter of a counsellor. I wanted to know and do the will of God. I feared I was wrong in my present situation, because things did not answer; and yet I did not know which way to mend them. But I have always found the

best way is to stand still; for I have learned by experience, that when we have no light how to get out of our troubles, and no way seems to open, the present duty is resignation. We have only to follow Providence from day to day, making it our one business to persevere in a constant sense of the presence of God, and to lie before his feet as poor beggars, waiting for his direction.

Some time before this a circumstance happened, which though to appearance trifling, proved in the end very material. A gentleman, who about two years before lost a wife he tenderly loved, on hearing of me, and the close union which had subsisted between me and Mrs. Ryan, permitted a thought to dwell on his mind-that perhaps I was brought to Yorkshire by the providence of God to re pair his loss.

One day, as I was returning from a little journey where I had been to meet some people, we called at an inn to bait the horse. Mr. ** was standing at a window of that inn. I came out, and stood some time at the block waiting for my horse. A thought struck his mind, “I should like that woman for a wife; but instantly he corrected it with that reflection, I know not whether she be a converted or an unconverted person; a married or a single woman. Just then Mr. Taylor came up with the horse. The gentleman knew him, and coming out to speak to him, was much struck to find it was I. But as there was not any thing striking to me in the occurrence, I had quite forgotten it, till he recalled it to my remembrance some years after.

As I was very free in making known my fears, lest my new undertaking should not answer, some friends have often said to me, "Why do not you consult Mr. ***? He is the only man for business in the country; and hav. ing heard of your situation, he wishes to give Mr. Taylor some advice." Not long after a friend brought him to our house. I did not know at that time whether he were married or single. We soon fell into conversation about the farm. He gave me some directions, and interested himself much in my affairs. I frequently applied to him. in difficult occurrences, and he became, in the common acceptation of the word, a familiar friend.

My perplexities now increased. The farm had sunk a

:

very large sum to bring it into order, and the kilns took much money to work them, a great deal of which lay scattered up and down in debts owing to me from lesser maltsters. I applied not only to Mr. ***, but to some other sensible men. They looked over all, and said I was too much afraid in a year or two things would turn round. That I had a farm to make; but it was now in such order, it would soon pay all again. This gave me some satisfaction, but did not on the whole remove my fears. I also saw Mr. Taylor went too far; that he was inclined to venture much; that he kept too many men ; and gave a great deal too much credit.

This answered Mr. ***'s design. By these things he was inclined to think God was constraining me to accept the offer, which by this time he had made me, of his hand, his heart, and his purse. His affections were strong, sincere, and constant; his offers generous, and his sentiments tender. He loved my family; and whoever was kind to me, found favour in his eyes. This could not but operate on my gratitude. I was deeply pained. But I could not see him the man my highest reason chose to obey. First, I did not so honour the light he had in religion, as to believe it my privilege to be led thereby. Secondly, Though he was a good man, and helpful to people in every respect, yet he did not see the narrow path of walking close with God, as I could wish the man I took for a husband to do. Thirdly, Though I had a grateful love toward him, I could not find that satisfying affection which flows from perfect confidence; and which is the very spirit and soul of marriage.

I felt, however, in the keenest manner the need I had of his assistance in my affairs; but I thought it ungenerous to the last degree to accept of help and counsel from one whose growing affection I was too sensible of, but to which, however, I could make no return. I used the plainest terms in assuring him of the impossibility of our affection ever becoming reciprocal; and proposed the breaking off all acquaintance. He alleged in answer, "You cannot do without me. You will be ruined ;-God hath made me your helper; and if you cannot see and feel as I do, we will be only common friends. I will say no more on a subject so disagreeable to you."

I lessened my family all I could, by putting out some of the bigger children to trades, or servants' places; but much expense attended it. Mr. Taylor also had several children while with me, so that the family still consisted of twenty-five persons. The majority, however, were grown persons. But losses still continually came on; and my first seven years in Yorkshire being nearly expired, I found an absolute need of some change, since in all this time things grew not better, but worse.

me.

I consulted Mr. *** and other friends about my situa tion, but most were for some farther exertion in trade. That I knew would not do. Others said, "Turn off all those members of your family, and you have enough to live on alone, with a servant or two." No way, however, opened for them, and several were old, sickly, or helpless. I could not therefore see how that could be done; and if ever I thought on it, mountains of difficulty arose before Something seemed to whisper, a way shall be made quite plain; yet I saw it my duty to do every thing in my power. I therefore consulted Mr. ***, who knew my whole affairs as no other person did. He said, "There is but one way for you; put the farm into Mr. Taylor's hand, entirely separate from yourself. Let him have the stock just as it is, and work the kilns as he can raise money. Let him pay you sixty pounds per year, and take his family to the end of the house. I verily believe he will live well, and lay up money; and I will overlook all, and appraise every thing once a year." I did so. Mr. *** took great pains, and Richard Taylor paid regularly. But as he was to have it free of debt, I found a good deal to pay which he had not brought to account; so that before all was settled, I had money again to take up on interest, which was no small affliction to me; and could I have sold the place, I would have chosen it rather.

We went on tolerably for three years. Mr. *** thought the farm increased in heart. The stock also improved, and all was cheerful, except in my mind, which foreboded deeper waters. This was soon realized. In the beginning of the fourth year Taylor was in debt to the amount of six hundred pounds. This was what I all along feared; but I thought, I am not obliged to pay his debt; let him break, and bear his own burden. Mr. *** at first thought

the same; but soon we saw, either I must give up the stock, (which would be sold for half its value,) or pay the money. Besides, I was now informed that when he ceased to act as my agent, I ought to have advertised it, that no one might trust him through confidence in me. But this (being unused to business) I did not know.

I deeply felt for the appearance it would have to my relations. I had before, with their knowledge, taken up money on the Laytonstone estate, and my brothers were very kind, and ordered all my affairs in the south to the best advantage. I did not therefore see it just or prudent to hide any thing from them. I wrote to my eldest brother a full account of the whole; but could not see, at that time, how I could pay; nor was I quite clear it was required of me. Taylor's wife, now big with child, wringing her hands, entreated me, in mercy to her, not to let her husband go to prison; and indeed she was clear of blame, for all along she had been afflicted with the fear of what was now come upon them. I knew not what to do: above all, the honour of religion was dear to me; and it was too evident, without an appearance of dishonesty, I could not take back the stock, though really my own, and leave the debts unpaid. Besides, many of the persons were poor, and would be greatly hurt by the loss. We had also at this time a lively work; for whatsoever else did not prosper by going into Yorkshire, the work of God did. Being at length determined on the payment, the next difficulty was, where to raise the money. I had now taken back all my affairs out of Taylor's hands, but was incapable of managing the business myself, nor could I get the place disposed of. Mr. *** then offered to lend me the six hundred pounds on interest, and to become a partner with me in the farm and kilns, so as to take the management of all. Here I was quite at a loss. I was almost ready to say, "Darkness hath covered my path." Prudence, delicacy, every lively sentiment, started back at the thought. What! come under such an obligation to the man I am constantly refusing! Besides, such a fresh connection will open the door to many trials. But there was no alternative; I must accept his help or be ruined. I therefore followed what appeared to be the leadings of Providence. A little before this, I had a draw.