you have been taught to believe, he will shortly relinquish me, and thus have I, most opportunely, obtained a criterion.' Never did I receive a piece of intelligence productive of so much heart-felt pleasure as the certainty of that potent prepossession which could thus enable her, whom I esteemed the most perfect of human beings, to surrender up, without a sigh, the gifts of fortune. Words cannot delineate how greatly I conceived myself enriched by this blissful assurance. Still I met the brother of Eliza at the tabernacle, and occasionally at private societies, and still he wore the semblance of amity. Previous to this event, the elder Mr. Neale, who was always my friend, had become the head of a family: during a few weeks, we continued in that condition when my invidious calumniator requested me, by a written message, to give him a meeting at the house of his aunt, a lady who resided next door to his grandfather. I obeyed the summons, when, to my great astonishment, he informed me it was his sister's wish I would think of her no more: that there were many young ladies with whom I might form a connexion abundantly more advantageous; and that for herself she was weary of contending with her grandfather. During the whole of this studied barangue, the torture of my soul was scarcely to be endured. After a most 'distressing pause, I tremblingly interrogated: Tell me, sir, has Miss Neale really empowered you to act in her behalf? If you doubt it, here is a letter, written with her own hand, furnished me upon a presumption that I might not obtain a speedy opportunity of seeing you; and he put the letter into my hand. Mr. Neale knew not that I was in possession of many of his sister's letters; he knew not that she had ever written to me; if he had he would hardly have exhibited_this scrawl as hers. The anguish of my soul was no more; yet I essayed to conceal my emotions, and contented myself with solemnly declaring that it was only from the lips of Miss Neale I would accept my dismission. You may,' said he, 'rest assured will you never, with her own consent, again see that young lady. Thus spake, thus acted the man, whom, the very next morning I met at Mr. Whitefield's communion. Leaving Mr. Neale, I returned to my lodgings, sat down and related to Eliza the whole business, enclosing the letter I had received as hers. The ensuing day gave me an assurance under her own hand, that the whole procedure was unknown to her; requesting that I would remain perfectly easy; that I would keep my mind entirely to myself, making application only to the wonderful Counsellor, and resting in full assurance of her fidelity. This was enough, and my fuil soul rejoiced in the consolation thus seasonably afforded me. Mr. Neale, supposing his arts had succeeded, brought forward proposals in favor of a gentleman educated by his grandfather, who had long loved my Eliza; but who, fearful of a rejection, had not disclosed his passion. Common fame soon wafted to my ear the report of these new pretensions; the gentleman was, in every respect, my superior, and he was declared a successful rival. I met the object of my soul's affection at Mrs. Allen's; I communicated the lacerating intelligence I had received; she smiled, tacitly assured me I had not much to apprehend, and according to custom, added, Let us improve our opportunity in the best possible manner, let us devote it to prayer and to praise. Thus revolved days, weeks, and months; hoping, and fearing, joying, and sorrowing, while iny gentle, my amiable friend, painfully reciprocated every anxiety. It was supposed, by her connexions, that she had relinquished her purpose in my favor, and a succession of advantageous proposals were brought forward, all of which she decisively rejected. Once a week, she was permitted to visit, when she never forgot to call upon Mrs. Allen. She also allowed me to attend her every Sunday morning before day during the winter; and I considered myself supremely happy, in the privilege of presenting myself at her dwelling, on those holy days, by four o'clock, waiting her appearance; and often have I been eyed with suspicion by the watch, and, in fact, I was once taken up. Neither storms nor tempests arrested my steps; and sometimes I have tarried, until the dawning day compelled me to retire, when I was obliged to pass on, in melancholy solitude, to the tabernacle. Yet, between love and devotion, I was a very happy, very disconsolate being. I richly enjoyed the pleasures of anticipation, which are generally believed to exceed possession; yet my own experience is very far from acknowledging the justice of this hypothesis. 1 continued in this state more than a year, snatching enjoyments when I could, and placing confidence in futurity. In the course of this year, my insidious, although still professing friend, married a lady of some property-two thousand pounds sterling; his grandfather adding two thousand more, one of which he had designed as provision for his grand-daughter; and strange as it may appear, this angel girl uttered not, upon this occasion, a single reproach! The new alliance strengthened the family interest against me; the lady, without knowing me, was my inveterate foe. It was about this time discovered, that the attachment of Eliza remained in full force. Her grandfather imagined, that we cherished hope of a change in his sentiments, or that we should ultimately, at least in the event of his death, come into possession of some part of his property; and, that he might effectually crush every expectation, he so managed, as to put his most valuable possessions out of his own power. The period at length arrived, which completed the minority of my tender friend; it was upon the eighteenth day of May, and this day, the elder Mr. Neale, who, as has been observed, had still continued my fast friend, determined to render a gala, by passing it with me in the country. With the early dawn we commenced our little excursion, when we beheld, at a distance, a young lady with a small parcel in her hand; we approached her, and, to our great astonishment, recognized in this young lady, the sister of my friend, the precious of object my most ardent love. Upon that memorable morning she had quitted the house of her grand father, and all she possessed, that had been his, leaving upon her writing-desk a letter, which lay there, until the family, alarmed at her not making her appearance at the breakfast table, entered her apartment, whence the lovely sufferer had so recently flown. The letter furnished an explanation; it was addressed to her grandfather, and it informed him, that the writer would ever acknowledge unreturnable obligations, for the many favors he had conferred upon her; that, if she could have been indulged with her wish of living with him, she should have been content; but, as the solicitations to enter into matrimonial engagements, by which she was persecuted, were unceasing, she was convinced she should not be allowed to give this testimony of her filial attachment; and being now of age, she begged leave to deliver up the keys, the sums of money, with which she had been entrusted, and whatever else had pertained to her grandfather; adding an assurance, that she should no more return. Her brother William immediately conducted her to his house, whither I attended them, and where, by her positive orders, we were obliged to leave her. Agreeably to her request, we proceeded on our proposed walk, and we learned on our return that repeated messengers had been dispatched by her grandfather, soliciting her again to become an inmate in his house, and that the lady of her youngest brother had been commissioned for this purpose; but that every entreaty had proved ineffectual. For me, fondly flattering myself, that I should immediately exchange my vows with my amiable, my affianced friend, at the altar of our God, I was superlatively happy; but again my high-wrought expectations proved fallacious. This strong-minded woman was a votary of propriety, and she was determined it should not appear, that she had quitted a parent, for the purpose of throwing herself into the arms of a husband. She had bid adieu to the paternal roof, because she could not, while there, be allowed the exercise of her own judgment; because measures were taking to compel her to marry a man, she could never approve. Her eldest brother, her beloved William, she was confident would patronize, and protect her; and her needle was a resource, from which she could always derive a competency. 8 CHAPTER IV. The Author becomes a happy husband, a happy father. He embraces 'the truth as it is in Jesus;' and from this, and other combining causes, he is involved in great difficulties. Death deprives him of his wedded friend, and of his infant son, and he is overtaken by a series of calamities. Hail! wedded love! connubial friendship hail! After six tedious months, from the morning of my Eliza's departure from the mansion of her grandfather, had completed their tardy round, yielding to my unremitted importunities, she consented to accompany me to the altar. We were attended by William and his lady, with our dear Mrs. Allen; and I received, from the hands of our very dear brother, an inestimable treasure, which constituted me, in my own estimation, the happiest of human beings. As I had no house prepared, I gratefully accepted the kindness of this beloved brother, who invited us to tarry with him, until we could accommodate ourselves; and, if 1 except one unhappy misun derstanding, which took place soon after our marriage, no wedded pair were ever blessed with more unbroken felicity. The disagreement, to which I advert, would not have continued so long, but for the instigations of our brother Willian, who insisted upon my supporting what he called my dignity, which, as he said, could only be maintained by the submission of my wife. The quarrel, like the quarrels of most married people, originated in a mere trifle; but the question was, who should make the first conciliatory advances. For two days we did not exchange a single word!! William still imposingly urging me, never to surrender my prerogative! At length, unable to endure such a state of wretchedness, I told William, I would not live another hour in such a situation; he only ridiculed me for my folly, and bid me take the consequence. 1, however, entered the chamber of my wife, and, extending my hand, most affectionately said: My soul's best treasure, let us no longer continue this state of mournful estrangement! for the world I would not thus live another day. Why, my love, our sorrows will arise, from a thousand sources; let us not render each other miserable. The dear girl burst into tears, and throwing her faithful arms around me, sobbed upon my bosom, with difficulty articulating, 'O! my precious friend, you have, as you always will have, the superiority. God for ever bless my faithful, my condescending husband.' From this moment we bade adieu to dissension of every description, successfully cultivating that harmony of disposition and augmenting confidence, which cannot fail of insuring domestic felicity. We soon removed to a house of our own, and there, as I believe, enjoyed as much of happiness, as ever fell to the lot of humanity. Yet, although thus satisfied with each other, there were sources of inquietude, which created us some distress. I had heard much of Mr. Relly; he was a conscientious and zealous preacher, in the city of London. He had, through many revolving years, continued fathful to the ministry committed to him, and he was the theme of every religious sect. He appeared, as he was represented to me, highly erroneous; and my indignation against him, as has already been seen, was very strong. I had frequently been solicited to hear him, merely that I might be an ear witness of what was termed his blasphemies; but, I arrogantly said, I would not be a murderer of time. Thus I passed on for a number of years, hearing all manner of evil said of Mr. Relly, and believing all I heard, while every day augmented the inveterate hatred, which I bore the man, and his adherents.* When a worshipping brother, or sister, belonging to the communion, which I considered as honored by the approbation of Deity, was, by this deceiver, drawn from the paths of rectitude, the anguish of my spirit was indescribable; and I was ready to say, the secular arm ought to interpose to prevent the perdition of souls. I recollect one instance in particular which pierced me to the soul. A young lady, of irreproachable life, remarkable for piety, and highly respected by the tabernacle congregation and church, of which I was a devout member, had beeu ensnared; to my great astonishment, she had been induced to hear, and having heard, she had embraced the pernicious errors of this detestable babbler; she was become a believer, a firm, and unwavering believer of universal redemption! Horrible! most horrible! So high an opinion was entertained of my talents, having myself been a teacher among the Methodists, and such was my standing in Mr. Whitefield's church, that I was deemed adequate to reclaiming this wanderer, and I was strongly urged to the pursuit. The poor, deluded young woman was abundantly worthy our most arduous efforts. He, that converteth the sinner from the error of his * In a letter addressed to Mr. Relly by Mr. Murray, long after he had removed to this country, he says: Often do I retrace, and with great astonishment, the time when I was filled with pious wrath against you, when I was immeasurably delighted to learn that my friend Mason had written in opposition to you. True, I had never seen your publications, but you had written them, and that was sufficient: nay, I was persuaded it would have been doing both God and man service to have killed you, and joyfully should I have held the clothes of any who had stoned you to death. How truly wonderful is the power and goodness of that God, who has made choice of such a person to spread that very testimony contained in the volumes you have written, contained in the volume of the Bible, through so many towns, cities and provinces; and with fervency of spirit and great devotion, to advocate that very gospel which before he persecuted. Truly it is the Lord's doings, and it is marvellous in my eyes.'-Letters and Sketches, ii. 212. T. W. |