The Annual Monitor for 1851

We have again to present to our friends the Report of the Annual Mortality in the Society of Friends, in Great Britain and Ireland.  It has frequently been observed, how nearly the number of deaths in each year has approximated, but we have this year to notice a considerable diminution in the annual return.  We are not disposed, however, to attribute the diminished numbers, chiefly to any special cause connected with health, but consider it rather as one of those fluctuations which are ever found to arise in a series of years, in the mortality of a small community.  The number of the dying, however, may be expected to bear, as respects the average, a pretty uniform relation to the number of the living.  And if the fact be, as all our late inquiries lead us to believe it is, that we are, though slowly, a diminishing body, we must expect that our average number of deaths will also be found gradually to diminish.

We have often anxiously pondered over the question,—Why the Society of Friends should be a diminishing body?  And we propose to give in this place a few of the thoughts which have been suggested to us in the course of our consideration.

In the first place, let us notice the natural causes which tend to the decrease of our Society.  We have formerly shown that the mortality among our members is less than in the community at large, which so far as it extends, is of course a reason for the increase rather than the diminution of our numbers.  But then we have, on the other side, the well-ascertained fact, that whilst in the community at large, the registered births exceed the deaths, by 45 per cent; in the Society of Friends, the registered deaths actually exceed the births!  The cause of this fact is to be found, not only in connection with the number who marry out of the Society, but also in the operation of that prudential check on entering into the married state, which will always prevail amongst a moral people, where the means of subsistence cannot easily and with certainty be obtained.  But to whatever we may attribute the cause, the fact itself is a complete answer to the question—Why we are a diminishing rather than an increasing people?

It may be said,—Why are not our religious principles aggressive?—Why, if they be true, do they not find converts among the various Christian communities of our land?—Why, as in the early times of our Society, are there not numerous conversions, and fresh bodies of warm-hearted, and sound-minded believers, added to our numbers?—These are deeply important and very interesting questions, and we are willing to offer a few thoughts upon them, with the seriousness and modesty with which it becomes us to speak on the subject.

We believe, that a mistaken view prevails, in regard to the truest Christian principle being that which will be accepted by the largest number of persons.  The experience of all the past ages of the Church contradicts the assumption, and shows clearly that there is in man a deep-seated opposition to the acceptance of divine truth in its purity and simplicity.  True vital religion has ever called for the service of man’s heart to God, and in every age, this allegiance has been the state of the few, rather than of the many.  The history of the ancient church is full of illustrations of this truth.  Whilst Moses lingered on the Mount, whence the children of Israel knew that the law was to be given, and from whence such evident demonstrations of the divine power had been manifest to the people, they were employed in making the golden calf to go before them, and crying “these are thy Gods, O Israel!”  And when they had received the law, written by the finger of God, and were somewhat humbled under the correction of their sins, how few were there, who carried out its injunctions in their genuine spirit, and how many were there, who from time to time, defiled themselves by the idolatrous service of other gods.  Even when brought by a strong hand, and an outstretched arm, attended by many palpable miracles which were wrought on their behalf, they were seated in the “Land flowing with milk and honey,” which had been promised to their fathers; how prone were they constantly to desert even the profession of their faith, and to serve the gods of the nations which they were sent to destroy; yet in all these times there were a few, and it was probably comparatively but a few, who had not bowed the knee to Baal.

We have evidence of the same fact in the history of Christianity.  The beautiful example of the Saviour, and the wonderful miracles which he performed—all for the good of man—failed to attract the high boasted reason of the Greek, or the Roman, or to soften the obduracy of the blind and hard Pharisaic hearted Jew: it was still the few who had sympathy with the character He exhibited, and the truths which He spoke, and who found Him to be to their souls “the power of God unto salvation.”  And even when these few were gathered together, and under the extraordinary effusion of the Holy Spirit, many were added to them, and “the multitude of them that believed were of one heart and one soul,” they were still comparatively but a few.

The further history of the Christian Church may appear to some to exhibit a different view, but to us it seems not less clearly to illustrate the same melancholy truth.

It is certain, that during the life-time of the Apostles, many by their powerful preaching, under the influence of the Holy Spirit, were brought to repentance and a living faith in Christ, and we know that not a few sealed their testimony with their blood, yet the simplicity and the purity of Christianity were soon more or less spoiled by the still contracted spirit and notions of many of the Jews, or the false philosophy, not entirely abandoned, of the pagan converts.  We doubt not, however, that notwithstanding these deteriorating admixtures, there may be said to have been many—aye, a glorious multitude—who held the truth in its primitive power, and in a large measure of primitive simplicity.  Still, when these are compared with the whole population of the countries where the Truth was preached, the real converts must be spoken of as a few, and thus was it evident that there was still an inherent opposition in man to the restraining and purifying doctrines of the gospel of Christ.

And when in later years, whole nations and peoples were said to become Christians, it may well be doubted whether in such times there had not been as great a reduction of the number of true converts of old standing, as there was addition of this class amongst the new ones.  Christianity as professed in those days, had thrown off her simple garb, and had decorated herself to please the corrupt taste of the people—as the sun and other heavenly bodies were probably the earliest objects of adoration to mankind, and were used in the first instance as striking symbols of the light and power of the one Creator and Father, so did the professors of Christianity, pretty early present to the people, some intermediate objects of reverence and love, by which those who turned from the simple affiance to the one Great Redeemer and High Priest, might find a rest suited to their carnal, or at least imperfectly spiritual conception of Christianity.  And when the temporal church boasted of its universal sway in Europe, and its entire unity, there were probably a smaller number of true Christians within its pale, than existed in the midst of pagan persecutions at the close of the apostolic age.

Let us now look at times nearer to our own, when Huss, and Luther, and Zwingle, by a power not their own, caused many rays of the glorious light of Truth to shine upon benighted nations, and disturbed the slumbers of the corrupted church.  Great were, and still are the blessings derived from the great struggle.  Many of the bonds of Satan were broken, and many a heavy burdened soul found its long desired rest.  Yet how soon was even the brightness of this morning dimmed, and how little progress did the cause of the Reformation make after the departure of the immediate instruments in the great movement.

In Switzerland, not inaptly called the cradle of the English Reformation, the Cantons which, in the first instance received the truth and joined the Protestant cause, continue still to bear the same name, but not one which at that time retained the designation of Catholic, has since become Protestant: and at Geneva, where Calvin taught, and where his doctrines are still professed, opinions which were not less abhorrent to him than the worst of the errors of popery, are openly maintained.  Those who now preach the vital truths of the Reformation, are the few not the many.

In England, the iron rule of Elizabeth in ecclesiastical matters, and in particular her requirement of uniformity with respect to the “rags of Rome,” checked the real progress of the Reformation in the English church, but by a reaction which in the ordering of Divine Wisdom, often makes the wrath of man to praise him, it appears to have been the means of raising up an increased antagonism to error, in the persons of men willing to suffer and to die for the cause of truth.  It will perhaps be admitted that at many periods of the history of what is called the English church, whilst its nominal members numbered a large proportion of the whole population, the actual number of the genuine disciples of Christ within its pale were in small compass.  The revival in some measure, of the spirit of its reformers, even in opposition to the letter of many of its formularies, has, no doubt, in past times, done much to increase its living influence and usefulness, but recent events have shown how large a portion of its clergy instead of going forward in the work of the Reformation, are rather desirous of retrograde movement, and of approximating, if not of entirely returning to the errors of Rome.  Such, we ought ever to bear in mind, is the natural tendency of man, and so prone is he, even when raised by the True Light to a perception of the things which are most excellent, to sink again into the grovelling habits of his own dark nature.

We come now to the threshold of our own religious history, and shall endeavour to answer, in substance at least, the queries with which we commenced the present inquiry.  It was certainly an extraordinary period of our national religious history, in which the Society of Friends arose—a time in which old foundations were shaken, and an earnest inquiry excited in many minds after the way of truth and of real peace to the soul.  We think that it is not assuming, to express our belief, that a remarkable extension of spiritual light and energy was extended to the people of England, in that day, when George Fox, and his early associates, went forth through the length and breadth of the land, and found so extraordinary a preparation for their service in the hearts of their fellow-countrymen.

The first preachers knew a being made Christians themselves, before they went forth to call others to Christ—what a deep sense of sin and of its hatefulness in the sight of God—what earnestness, or rather agonizing in prayer—what joy in the sense of the true knowledge of Christ, and of communion with him in Spirit—what subsequent watchfulness and reliance upon him in every step of their course—what zeal in making known the truth which they had found, and what constancy in suffering for it, yea thinking it all joy that they were counted worthy to suffer for the name of Christ!—Such were the men who were heralds of our religious Society, and by whose instrumentality thousands at least, were convinced of the truth; large numbers of whom gave evidence that they were not only convinced, but converted to God.  Need we then wonder at their success? though still compared with the numbers to which they preached, the converts may be said to have been few.  It was still the many, who if brought to see as it were their face in a glass, went away and straightway forgot what manner of men they were.

We believe that the number of persons who went under the name of Friends, in Great Britain and Ireland, at the close of the 17th century, was at least three times as great as it is at the present time.

It will be in accordance with our object, to endeavour to indicate what may have been the chief causes of the suspension of those active measures which we have called aggressive,—though full of love, and which marked the early periods of our Society.  An historian of the church, who was not insensible of what constitutes true religious energy, has stated, that extraordinary revivals of this kind, have rarely been maintained in their primitive vigour more than about forty years.  Rather more than that time elapsed between the commencement of George Fox’s labours and their close, at the time of his death.  About eight days previous to that event, he attended a meeting of ministers, in London, and one of those who was present says: “I much minded his exhortation to us, encouraging friends that have gifts to make use of them; mentioning many countries beyond the seas that wanted visiting, instancing the labours and hard travels of friends in the beginning of the spreading of truth in our days, in breaking up of countries, and of the rough ploughing they had in steeple houses, &c., but that now it was more easy; and he complained, that there were many Demases and Cains who embraced the present world, and encumbered themselves with their own business, and neglected the Lord’s, and so were good for nothing; and he said, they that had wives, should be as though they had none; and who goeth a warfare should not entangle himself with the things of this world.”

This characteristic extract will suggest, probably, to many readers, our object in quoting it.  If there was cause for the reproof conveyed in it in that day, in which we know the primitive zeal still burned brightly, what must we say of the subsequent, and of the present state of our little church!

Long after the death of George Fox, there continued to be a large increase to the numbers of friends; many who had been wise and great in this world, were made to rejoice in the laying down of their outward wisdom, and in sitting down in deep humility to learn of Jesus, by the teaching of the Holy Spirit in the heart.  These were prepared boldly to declare God’s controversy with sin, and the means by which it might be subdued, not omitting to proclaim the alone ground of a sinner’s pardon through the propitiatory sacrifice of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ.

We believe certainly that it has never been permitted to our Society to be without its faithful labourers in the gospel, or without many sincere confessors of its doctrines, who, by life and conversation, have been true preachers to their brethren, and to the world in general.  Yet we must confess, that whilst as a Society, we continue to profess the same religious views as were held and promulgated by our early Friends, we fear we do not come up in practice to that pure standard to which they attained.  The door is open to all the world, yet we sit at ease in our ceiled houses.  Many around us are hungering and thirsting for the knowledge of God, yet we are occupied with our farms and our merchandise.  Let us not be inquiring, “What shall this man do,” or what should the other have done? but remembering the reproof, “What is that to thee, follow thou Me,” submit ourselves to that humbling, but preparing hand, which was so signally displayed in the cause of those who were engaged in the planting and watering of our religious Society.  Then might we again hope to witness an increase of spiritual life and vigour in the body, and thus become as “a city set upon a hill, that could not be hid.”

Age.  Time of Decease.

Hannah Abbott, Thorley, Essex.  88 11mo. 19 1849

Martha Ady, London.  81 3mo. 23 1850

Elizabeth Airey, Kendal.  Widow.  81 5mo. 6 1850

William Alderson, Winterscale, Garsdale, Yorkshire.  69 5mo. 2 1850

Rebecca Alexander, Goldrood, Ipswich.  Widow of Samuel Alexander.  72 12mo. 13 1849

Edward Alexander, Limerick.  Son of the late Edward Alexander.  20 2mo. 1 1850

Joseph Allen, Dunmow, Essex.  A Minister.  76 9mo. 21 1849

Sarah Allen, Bristol.  A Minister.  77 6mo. 1 1850

Eleanor Allen, Ballitore.  Wife of Henry Allen.  49 3mo. 4 1850

Ann Allis, Bristol.  Wife of Hagger Allis.  65 8mo. 30 1850

John Allison, Durham.  57 6mo. 1 1850

Robert Alsop, Maldon, Essex.  A Minister.  72 7mo. 21 1850

Sophia Appleton, Stoke Newington.  Wife of John Appleton.  49 3mo. 28 1850

William Ashby, Hounslow.  61 1mo. 7 1850

Hannah C. Backhouse, Polam Hill, Darlington.  A Minister.  Widow of Jonathan Backhouse. {2}  63 5mo. 6 1850

George Baker, Askham Field, York.  An Elder.  71 1mo. 26 1850

He was one who remembered his Creator in the days of his youth, and who proved in his own experience, that “the fear of the Lord” is not only “the beginning of wisdom,” but that it is also “a fountain of life preserving from the snares of death.”  His earnest desire was to be found walking acceptably before God; and while a young man, he became greatly distressed at being overcome by drowsiness in meetings for worship.  On one occasion, when this had been the case, he retired to a secluded spot, under a hedge, where, with many tears, he poured forth his prayers for deliverance from this besetment.  Many years afterwards, when accompanying a friend on a religious visit to the families of that meeting, he pointed out the place, and remarked with expressions of gratitude, that from that time, he did not remember having been overcome in the same manner.

He was deeply impressed with the words of his Saviour: “All things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them,” and he so carried this precept out into practice, as to become remarkable for his uprightness of character, and for his consideration for others.

The following circumstances present instructive examples of the kindly sympathy of this “good Samaritan:”

On the occurrence of a malignant fever, in one of the eastern dales of Yorkshire, while he resided in that district, he left his own home for several weeks, to nurse some of his neighbours who had become affected with the disease, devoting his whole time to the sick, while dread of infection rendered it difficult for him to obtain assistance in this office of mercy.

After his removal into the neighbourhood of York, and at a time when many persons were returning past his premises from a contested Election, and some of them so much intoxicated as to be incapable of taking care of themselves; fearing lest any severe accident should befall them while in this condition, he took several of them from the highway, and lodged them in one of his outhouses, dismissing them on the following morning with suitable but kind admonition.  And when numbers of the Irish poor were driven from their own country by famine, and wandered about in this land “for lack of bread,” he sheltered many of them in his out-buildings and ministered to their necessities.

George Baker occupied the station of Elder for many years, exercising a fatherly care in the church, and extending counsel or encouragement, as he saw occasion, with a simplicity and godly sincerity which gave him great place amongst his friends.  He was often applied to by his neighbours for counsel, and as a peace-maker; and in serving them was remarkable for his patience, self-denial, and success.  In his latter years, his powers both of body and mind failed greatly, in consequence of an accident which he met with, while in the pursuit of his occupation as a farmer; but having “worked while it was day,” he was preserved through a period which might be spoken of as “a night, in which no man could work;” so that love, that badge of discipleship with Christ, shone brightly in his last moments, as from under the margin of a dark cloud, and a solemn feeling of peace with God, through Jesus Christ, pervaded his dying hours.

Elizabeth G. Barclay, Walthamstow.  Daughter of Joseph G. Barclay.  2 8mo. 31 1849

Robert Barker, Cheadle, Manchester.  62 9mo. 28 1850

Thomas Baynes, Bainbridge, Yorkshire.  70 5mo. 14 1850

Thomas Beakbane, Liverpool.  50 4mo. 14 1850

Rachel Beeby, Allonby.  65 12mo. 15 1849

Mary Anne Bell, Belfast.  Daughter of Thomas and Sarah Bell.  39 2mo. 23 1850

Mary Benington, Wakefield.  A Minister.  Wife of George Benington.  55 6mo. 8 1850

Elizabeth Bennis, Clonmel.  Daughter of the late William Bennis of Limerick.  16 2mo. 24 1850

Phœbe Bent, Sutton-in-Ashfield, Nottinghamshire.  Widow of Joseph Bent of Stockport.  85 8mo. 15 1850

Elizabeth Bentley, Ipswich.  Daughter of Thomas F. and Maria Bentley.  16 11mo. 28 1849

Mary Benwell, Sidcot.  50 1mo. 13 1850

Elizabeth Bewley, Rockville, Dublin.  Daughter of Thomas and Rebecca Bewley.  3 1mo. 16 1850

William Binns, Poole.  An Elder.  81 4mo. 10 1850

We have often had to observe, that many of our friends, who have lived to a good old age, and who have been loved and honoured in their respective stations, as upright pillars in the church, have left but few written memorials of their course for the instruction of others; whilst encompassed with infirmities, and looking for the help of the Lord’s Spirit to resist their manifold temptations and easily besetting sins, they have been enabled to pursue the even tenor of their way, seeking through divine grace to fulfil the day’s work, in the day time, and hoping to hear at last the call of mercy into one of the many mansions prepared by Him, who has loved them and died for them.  We love to dwell upon this class of our departed friends, and without undervaluing those whose gifts have been more prominent, or whom circumstances have rendered more conspicuous in our pages, we sincerely desire that these more hidden, but not less valuable parts of the spiritual building, may ever be honoured amongst us.  Such an one was our late friend, William Binns.  It was during his apprenticeship that, under the ministry of two women friends, engaged in a family visit, he was powerfully awakened to the eternal interests of his soul, and through divine grace, the impression made, was of so decided a character, that putting his hand to the Christian plough, he looked not back.

He was greatly concerned for the true welfare of our religious Society, and in the district in which he resided was eminently useful; caring for the flock over which the good Shepherd had made him an overseer.

Sterling integrity and uprightness marked his character; his judgment was clear and sound, and was frequently given in comprehensive and pertinent language, free from all superfluous expression.

He took a very low estimate of his own attainments, and was humbled under a sense of his shortcomings; as the shadows of evening were closing around him, he frequently and feelingly intimated, that there was for him, but one ground of faith and hope, the free mercy of God in Jesus Christ his Saviour; such was the subject of his frequent expression to his friends, and they rejoice in the belief that having in his long pilgrimage taken up his cross, and sought above all things to follow Christ, so in the end he was prepared to enter into the eternal joys of his Lord.

George Binns, Bradford.  52 8mo. 26 1850

Emma Binns, Sunderland.  Daughter of Henry Binns.  6 8mo. 22 1850

William Black, Cockermouth.  71 9mo. 20 1849

Joseph Black, Lisburn.  22 5mo. 23 1850

Thomas Bowry, Stepney.  67 4mo. 27 1850

Robert Wm. Brightwen, Newcastle-on-Tyne.  Son of Charles Brightwen.  4 3mo. 6 1850

Thomas Brown, Cirencester.  A Minister.  84 10mo. 13 1849

Amelia Brown, Luton.  A Minister.  Wife of Richard Marks Brown.  62 12mo. 7 1849

This beloved friend was privileged beyond many in the pious care exercised in her religious training.  She became early acquainted with the teachings of divine grace, and from childhood, appears highly to have valued the holy scriptures.  It was frequently her practice to set apart some portion of the day for private retirement and meditation, and in thus seeking to wait upon the Lord for the renewal of her spiritual strength, she was favoured to know “times of refreshing,” and a growth in “pure and undefiled religion.”

She loved the truth in sincerity, and her mind was enriched in the instructive contemplation of its order, excellence and beauty, and the benign and salutary influence it has on those who obey its requisitions: fervently she craved for an increase of faith and strength, that she might be found among the “called, and chosen, and faithful.”  “I felt,” she remarks on one occasion, “as if I could make any sacrifice called for; the language of my mind is almost continually, what shall I render unto the Lord for all his benefits.”

Under the apprehension that it would be required of her publicly to bear testimony to the power and sufficiency of divine grace, her mind was greatly humbled, and under the pressure of religious exercise, she thus records her feelings: “Sweetly tendered in my room, and craved for strength, fully and unreservedly, to yield all to Him, who still in mercy visits me; if consistent with divine goodness, may my mind be more illuminated, that I may more clearly distinguish between my own will and the Lord’s requirings.”  She was recorded a minister in 1823; and on this important event she observes: “Feeling some quietude, humble desires are prevalent that I may indeed be watchful.  Dearest Lord! be pleased to hear my feeble though sincere aspirations after increasing strength and wisdom.  Thou knowest that I feel awfully fearful lest I should bring any shade on thy blessed cause.”

Her connection in married life, introduced her into a large family, the duties of which she cheerfully performed with maternal solicitude, and she became closely united in bonds of affection to the several branches of the domestic circle, anxiously promoting their religious and moral welfare.

In ministry, this dear friend was pertinent and edifying, at times close and searching; in the exercise of her gift, she travelled at different intervals in several of the English counties.  In the summer of 1848 her health began to decline; her demeanour under pain and suffering evinced her humble dependence upon the Lord, and the language of her soul was, “not my will, but thine, oh Father, be done!”  Some alleviation was permitted, and she so far recovered as to be able to assemble with her friends for divine worship; on these occasions, her communications evinced her undiminished interest in the cause of truth and righteousness.  In the last meeting she attended, she bowed the knee in solemn supplication, craving for herself and those present, the attainment of perfect purity and holiness, and that this might be the chief concern of their lives.  A few days after, she was seized with paralysis, and although consciousness was not entirely effaced, she said but little; she retained a grateful sense of her many mercies, and a fervent affection towards her husband and near connections.  Gradually declining, she passed away as falling into a sweet sleep, and we cannot doubt exchanged the tribulations of time, for the blissful joys of eternity.

Joseph Standin Brown, Hitchin.  60 6mo. 27 1850

Sarah Brown, Preston Crowmarsh, Oxon.  Wife of Richard M. Brown, junior.  36 3mo. 31 1850

George Brumell, Scotby.  72 2mo. 23 1850

Ash Budge, Camborne, Redruth.  Wife of John Budge.  53 4mo. 10 1850

In an unexpected hour, and in the enjoyment of usual health, it pleased our heavenly Father to lay his hand of affliction upon this dear friend, and after a severe illness of about four weeks, to gather her, as we reverently believe, into “the rest which remaineth for the people of God.”

It appears, that in early life, “the grace which bringeth salvation,” wrought effectually in her heart, so that her surviving relatives cannot recall the time when the fear of God did not influence her conduct; her pious mother, who for many years filled the station of Elder in our Society; was deeply interested in the religious welfare of her children, and earnestly sought, in the morning of their day, to imbue their minds with the principles and precepts of the gospel of Christ, and her labours of love in reference to this beloved daughter were graciously owned.  From her childhood, she was more than commonly dutiful and affectionate to her parents, rarely giving them any cause for uneasiness; an aged grandmother also, who resided for many years with them, she waited on with such tender care, as to call forth the expression of her belief, that a blessing would rest on her on that account.

Great meekness, tenderness, and humility clothed her mind, not only throughout the season of her affliction, but for a long course of previous years, binding her in very tender bonds to her husband and children, as well as to her other endeared relatives and friends.

It appears, from the first day on which her illness assumed a more serious character, that an impression pervaded her mind, that it would be unto death, and accompanying this impression, a deep and earnest desire for entire resignation to the divine will; and this desire was graciously answered; for during the period of her illness, her resignation, and consequent tranquillity, were indeed remarkable; attended by a precious measure of “the peace of God which passeth all understanding.”  So fully was this the case, and so little of the appearance of death accompanied her illness, that a lively hope of her restoration to health, was, even to the last day of her life, earnestly cherished by those around her, and in addition to this, such was the nature of her disease, that great stillness and uninterrupted rest were considered necessary; thus circumstanced, whilst both her mind, and their minds, were abundantly satisfied with the precious evidence of the love of God in Christ Jesus, shed abroad in her heart, they were not anxious for much expression, or careful to commit to writing what, from season to season, fell from her lips; feeling that her mind “wore thanksgiving to her Maker.”

She evinced, throughout her married life, a deep interest in the well-being of her tenderly beloved children, making it her frequent practice to spend some portion of her time in retirement with them, in reading the holy scriptures and in prayer; and this interest increasingly appeared as she lay on the bed of affliction, having them daily in her chamber, and again and again, in tender affection, impressing on their minds the importance of divine and eternal things, urging them to walk in the way of God’s commandments, and to regard his favour and approbation as the one thing, beyond all other things, necessary both to their present peace and everlasting salvation: similar counsel was also extended to the other members of her household and family, to the friends who kindly visited her, to her medical attendants, and to her neighbours.  More might be said in reference to the Christian graces which marked the character of this beloved friend, but the object is not to magnify the creature, but to set forth the excellency and sufficiency of the “grace which is from God our Father, and the Lord Jesus Christ,” and by the effectual operation of which, she was what she was.  The last words she addressed to her tenderly beloved husband were: “All is well:” and again, shortly before the final close: “My foundation is on the Rock;” that Rock, we undoubtingly believe, which “no tempest overthrows.”

Rebecca Candler, East Hill, Colchester.  55 5mo. 8 1850

Sarah Carson, Liverpool.  Wife of William Carson.  59 2mo. 21 1850

Hannah Carter, Preston.  Daughter of Thomas and Mary Carter.  4 7mo. 12 1850

Hannah Casson, Hull.  Daughter of Benjamin Casson.  14 8mo. 22 1850

Hannah Catlin, London.  Died at York.  62 3mo. 26 1850

William Chantler, Lewes.  78 2mo. 15 1850

Daniel Chapman, Reeth.  24 12mo. 29 1849

William Cheselden, Ipswich.  85 12mo. 17 1849

John Christmas, Colne near Earith.  87 7mo. 7 1850

Mary Christy, Woodbank, Lurgan.  Daughter of the late John Christy, of Stramore.  33 1mo. 23 1850

Thomas Clark, Bridgewater.  A Minister.  91 6mo. 16 1850

Samuel Clark, Lower Grange, Ireland.  68 12mo. 28 1849

Joseph Clark, Southampton.  An Elder.  85 5mo. 25 1850

Susan Clemes, Ackworth.  Daughter of Samuel and Jane Clemes.  1 4mo. 1 1850

John Barclay Clibborn, Duner Mills, Clonmel.  80 3mo. 22 1850

Joshua Coleby, Alton.  An Elder.  73 3mo. 25 1850

Mary Cooke, Liverpool.  Widow of John Cooke.  68 12mo. 9 1849

Mary Cooper, Brighouse.  A Minister.  Widow of Thomas Cooper.  79 4mo. 20 1850

Martha Cooper, Lockwood, Huddersfield.  Widow of John Cooper, of Brighouse.  65 9mo. 14 1849

Joseph Coventry, Stoke Newington.  70 2mo. 17 1850

Elizabeth Crapp, Truro.  64 1mo. 22 1850

Mary Crawe, Norwich.  Widow of Spicer Crawe.  77 3mo. 8 1850

Tabitha Crosland, Bradford.  Wife of Robert Crosland.  45 10mo. 29 1849

Rachel Curchin, Ipswich.  Died at York.  50 1mo. 20 1850

William Curtis, Alton.  79 10mo. 13 1849

Francis Darby, Sunniside, Coalbrookdale.  67 3mo. 20 1850

Samuel Davis, Aldershaw, Garsdale, Yorkshire.  81 5mo. 30 1850

Edwin Dawes, Stoke Newington.  38 10mo. 27 1849

Anna Maria Day, Saffron Walden.  68 11mo. 8 1849

Gulielma Deane, Reigate.  Daughter of James and Sarah Deane.  18 11mo. 4 1849

Sarah (Sally) Deaves, Eglantine, Cork.  Daughter of Reuben and Sarah Deaves.  22 10mo. 3 1849

The sudden death, by Cholera, of this dear young friend, caused at the time a very lively emotion among a wide circle of friends.  She was the only and much beloved child of her bereaved parents;—naturally of a most amiable disposition, and of that lively temperament which gives a peculiar zest to life and all its passing enjoyments, she diffused around her somewhat of the buoyancy and sunshine which seemed ever to attend her own steps.  Thus attractive and admired, and drinking largely of the cup of present pleasures, the thoughts of the future appear to have had but little place in her mind.  In a state of excellent health, she had gone to Mountmelick to pass a few weeks with some near relatives, when she was seized with the disorder which, in a few hours, closed her life.  Those hours were passed in much bodily suffering, but sorer still were the conflicts of her mind.  The scales which had prevented her from seeing the real worth of life and the awful realities of the future, at once fell from her eyes, and she saw or rather felt with indescribable clearness, that the great truths which appertain to the welfare of the soul belong alike to the young and the healthy, to the sick and the dying.  She saw that she had been living to herself and not to God, and this, whatever particulars she might lament, was the heavy burden of her awakened spirit.  In the depths of contrition, and in the earnestness of faith, she was enabled to pray to her heavenly Father, and Saviour, to draw near and to have mercy upon her.

Thus passed some hours never to be forgotten.  The rapid progress of her disease hardly allowed time for much further mental exercise or expression.  She sank into a state of quietude of body and of mind.  And when all was over, the sorrowing parents were condoled in the hope, that the prayers of their beloved child had been heard, through the mercy of Him who never turned away his ear from the truly repentant suppliant.

What lessons does this brief narrative offer to survivors.  Awfully does it speak to the children of pleasure, of the inestimable value of the soul—of the importance of time—of the folly of living in forgetfulness of God, and unmindful of their high destiny as immortal beings.  What a light does it throw on the responsibility of parents; and whilst affording no encouragement to delay in the hope of a death-bed repentance, what a view does it open of the infinite mercy of our heavenly Father in Christ Jesus.

Martha Dell, Birmingham.  Widow of Joseph H. Dell, of Earls Colne.  78 4mo. 30 1850

Samuel Dickinson, Denbydale, Highflatts, Yorkshire.  79 2mo. 19 1850

Edward Doubleday, Harrington Square, Westminster.  38 11mo. 14 1849

Isabella Dowbiggin, Preston.  Widow.  75 7mo. 26 1850

Joseph Doyle, Calledon, Kilconnor.  60 7mo. 6 1850

Thomas Dunbabbin, Chorlton-on-Medlock.  68 3mo. 29 1850

Charlotte Edmundson, Kingstown, Dublin.  Widow of Joshua Edmundson.  76 10mo. 18 1849

Jane Eustace, Hampstead, Dublin.  56 12mo. 10 1849

Robert Farr, Birmingham.  Died at Worcester.  36 3mo. 10 1850

Anne Fayle, Enniscorthy.  Widow of Josiah Fayle.  54 1mo. 18 1850

Eleanor Fell, Uxbridge.  Wife of John Fell.  41 10mo. 15 1849

Susannah Fern, Rochdale.  Widow of Joseph Fern.  76 7mo. 24 1850

Susanna Finch, Reading.  78 12mo. 6 1849

Susannah Fincher, Evesham.  Widow of John Fincher.  78 12mo. 16 1849

Sarah Maria Fisher, Newport, Tipperary.  Daughter of Benjamin C. and Mary Fisher.  18 4mo. 16 1850

Sarah Fowler, Higher Broughton, Manchester.  Widow of William Fowler.  87 6mo. 28 1850

Catherine Fox, Rushmere, Ipswich.  An Elder.  Wife of Thomas Fox.  62 10mo. 6 1849

Elizabeth Freelove, London.  Wife of James Freelove.  40 12mo. 17 1849

Lucy Freeth, Birmingham.  53 1mo. 19 1850

Ann Fuller, Yarmouth.  Widow of John Fuller.  77 5mo. 20 1850

Anne Gale, Racketstown, Ballynakill, Ireland.  Widow.  73 6mo. 10 1850

John Gauntley, Bakewell.  72 7mo. 28 1850

Mary Cooke Geldart, Norwich.  Wife of Joseph Geldart.  55 5mo. 24 1850

Robert Goswell Giles, Oldford, Middlesex.  An Elder.  80 8mo. 23 1849

Joseph Gillett, Banbury.  Son of Joseph A. and Martha Gillett.  21 3mo. 2 1850

Thomas Goodyear, Adderbury.  75 8mo. 14 1850

Benjamin Goouch, Greenville, county Kilkenny.  84 5mo. 2 1850

Isabella Grace, Bristol.  Daughter of Josiah and Mary Grace.  9 9mo. 28 1850

Elizabeth Green, Trummery, Ballinderry.  Widow of Thomas Green.  96 4mo. 8 1850

Ellen Green, Gildersome, Yorkshire.  Widow of David Green.  70 4mo. 25 1850

Mary Greenwood, Stones, Todmorden.  72 11mo. 12 1849

James Greenwood, Plaistow.  79 5mo. 9 1850

Thomas Grimes, Chelsea.  52 5mo. 20 1850

Abraham Grubb, Merlin, Clonmel.  73 11mo. 7 1849

John Gulson, Leicester.  89 5mo. 26 1850

Thomas Hagger, Hoddesdon.  85 7mo. 11 1850

Rachel Hall, Greysouthen, Cumberland.  69 1mo. 30 1850

Mary Harker, Bristol.  Widow of John Harker.  81 11mo. 5 1849

Adam Harker, Darlington.  76 4mo. 3 1850

Margaret Harker, Cowgill, Dent, Yorkshire.  Wife of Thomas Harker.  63 2mo. 23 1850

Mary Harris, Peckham Rye.  Wife of John Harris.  61 10mo. 7 1849

John Harrison, Poole, Dorset.  Son of Samuel and Sarah Harrison.  3 9mo. 29 1849

Elizabeth Harrison, Southgate, Middlesex.  60 3mo. 26 1850

Mary Hartas, Sinnington Grange, near Kirby, Yorkshire.  A Minister.  Widow of Thomas Hartas.  74 3mo. 2 1850

John Hartas, Westerdale, Castleton, Yorkshire.  49 9mo. 26 1850

William Hartley, Dunfermline, near Edinburgh.  43 4mo. 23 1850

John Haslem, Rosenalis, Mountmelick.  81 1mo. 5 1850

Mary Hawksworth, Thorne.  Wife of John Hawksworth.  64 1mo. 5 1850

Ellen Haworth, Todmorden.  Wife of William Haworth.  57 12mo. 10 1849

Benjamin Hayllar, Dorking.  83 10mo. 6 1849

Hannah Hayton, Penrith.  70 3mo. 24 1850

Mary Ann Head, Ipswich.  33 4mo. 18 1850

Ann Herbert, Tottenham.  72 9mo. 24 1849

Isaac Hewitson, Penrith.  82 8mo. 28 1850

Elizabeth Hill, Hillsborough, Ireland.  87 9mo. 18 1849

Richard Ivey Hocking, Truro.  49 10mo. 5 1849

Mary Hodgkin, Shipston-on-Stour.  78 12mo. 8 1849

James Hogg, Portadown Grange, Ireland.  51 1mo. 2 1850

Ann Holmes, Huddersfield.  31 5mo. 21 1850

Sarah Hoowe, Edenderry.  67 8mo. 30 1850

Martha Horne, Tottenham.  An Elder.  85  9mo. 2 1850

Elizabeth Horsfall, Leeds.  50 1mo. 17 1850

Richard Horsnaill, Dover.  48 7mo. 23 1850

In endeavouring to pursue faithfully the path of manifested duty, we believe it was peculiarly the aim of this dear friend, “to do justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with his God.”  He was of a very diffident disposition, and cautious in giving expression to his religious feelings, lest he should thereby make a profession beyond what he thought his attainments warranted.

For many years he laboured under a disease, which was attended with much suffering; but this proved a means of weaning him from the world and its pursuits, and of inducing him more earnestly to “seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness,” with the unshaken belief that all things necessary would be added.

He manifested a deep interest in the prosperity of our religious Society, and according to his measure, especially in the latter part of his life, willingly devoted himself to its service.  He likewise took great delight in promoting the best interests of the juvenile portion of the population in the neighbourhood in which he resided; and the counsel he gave to those of this class, often gained their good will and respectful attention.  He also exhibited a very humane disposition toward the animal creation, and rarely allowed a case of ill-treatment or oppression to pass without attempting to redress the wrongs inflicted.  For some years, he took great interest in supplying the crews of foreign vessels, resorting to the port of Dover, with copies of the holy Scriptures and religious tracts; and from his kind and unassuming manners, his efforts were almost universally well received.

His last illness, of four months’ duration, was attended with extreme bodily suffering; but the nature of his complaint being very obscure, he entertained a hope that he might be restored to his former state of health, and expressed some anxiety for length of days, in order that he might be more useful to his fellow-creatures.  But as his strength declined, this desire gave way to quiet submission to the will of his God; and it was evident, that his soul was anchored upon that Rock, which alone can support in the hour of trial.

Soon after he was taken ill, he remarked in allusion to his business, that he had thought it right in one instance, to decline the execution of an order, where more display of taste was required, than he could feel satisfied with; and this sacrifice, with some others of a similar kind, had afforded him peace: adding, “I do want to come clean out of Babylon.”  He said, the language had been much upon his mind: “Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean; wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow:” and also the words of our Saviour,—“If I wash thee not, thou hast no part with me.”

Being in great pain, he said,—“You must pray for me, that my patience may hold out; I have indeed need of your prayers, for my sufferings are very great; but, bye and bye, perhaps I may be able to say, I have not had one pang too many.”  At another time, he supplicated thus: “Merciful Father, be pleased to grant me a little ease, O! Thou that makest the storm a calm, and sayest to the waves, Peace be still.”  Soon after which he lay quiet; and whilst tears of gratitude flowed down his cheeks, he said, “Do not disturb me; all is stillness,—what a mercy!”

On one occasion, when feeling exceedingly depressed, he remarked, that the vessels he had visited, and the poor sailors were brought mentally to view, one after another, with much sweetness, and whilst he took no merit to himself, he desired to encourage others to do what they could for the good of the poor.  At another time, after giving instructions to one of his sisters, to make some selection of tracts for the sailors on board a German vessel, then lying in the harbour, he observed: “Oh, what a field of labour there is! how I do wish that some one would take this up, for I feel as though I should be able to do very little more in it.”

His mind, during his illness, seemed filled with love and gratitude.  He remarked, “I never felt so much love before, both to my family and friends; I do believe this illness will bind us more closely together than ever.”  And again: “Oh, how kind you are to wait upon me so; the Lord will reward you!”  At another time, he said, “I had not thought to have been taken at this time of my life, but I am in such a critical state, that life hangs on a thread;—the pains of the body are what I seem most to dread.”

On inquiring one day, where that line was to be found, “At ease in his possessions,” he remarked, “I do not think I have been at ease in mine, I have endeavoured to live loose to them.”  A hope being expressed that his illness would be sanctified to him, he quickly replied, “Yes, and not to me only, but to all of you.”  He gave some directions, in the event of his death, with much composure, observing: “It seems an awful thing for me to say thus much, but a great favour to be so free from anxiety.”  In the night he was heard to say: “No merit of mine, it is all of mercy, free unmerited mercy!”  On a young man in his employment coming to assist him, previous to going to his own place of worship, when about to leave the room, he thus addressed him: “Mind and make a good use of the time, and do not be afraid of looking into thy own heart, but suffer the witness to come in and speak, whether it be in the language of encouragement or reproof.  Many persons go to their places of worship, where much of the time is spent in singing and in music, which please the outward ear, but this is not religion!  It is when we are brought to see ourselves as we really are, sinners in the sight of a holy God, that we are led to seek a Saviour, and to cry, in sincerity, ‘A Saviour, or I die!  A Redeemer, or I perish for ever!’”

On its being remarked to him, that it was consolingly believed, he was one of those who had endeavoured to occupy with his talent, which, if only one, it was hoped, had gained an increase, he replied,—“That will only be known at the great day of account, when weighed in the balance.”

On Seventh-day evening preceding his decease, he remarked to a beloved relative, that it seemed the safest for him to say but little in regard to his own attainments, adding,—“My desire is, for a continuance of kind preservation.”  And on the day before his death, he remarked with gratitude, that his intellects had been preserved clear throughout his illness.  During the night, he was much engaged in prayer; his bodily powers were fast sinking, but his mind appeared preserved in peaceful serenity.  In the morning, he expressed a desire that his sister would remain by him, affectionately inquired for his father, and soon after, we reverently believe, exchanged a state of suffering for one of never-ending rest and joy, in the everlasting kingdom of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ.

Albert George Horsnaill, Rochester.  Son of George and Maria Horsnaill.  4 5mo. 22 1850

James Hotham, Leeds.  44 2mo. 7 1850

John Hull, Ramsgate.  Died at Cheltenham.  55 6mo. 3 1850

Mary Hunt, Almondsbury.  A Minister.  Widow of James Hunt.  79 12mo. 7 1849

David Hurst, West Houghton, Lancashire.  35 2mo. 19 1850

Hannah Irwin, Deptford.  Wife of Thomas Irwin.  55 2mo. 9 1850

John Clark Isaac, Studminster, Newton, Marnhull.  67 2mo. 12 1850

Elizabeth Pim Jacob, Newlands, Dublin.  Daughter of the late Joseph Jacob.  17 10mo. 30 1849

Elizabeth Jacobs, Folkstone.  Widow of Jacob Jacobs.  76 6mo. 9 1850

Caroline Jacobs, Maidstone.  Daughter of Jacob and Lydia Jacobs.  6 8mo. 15 1850

Mary Ann Jefferies, Melksham.  Daughter of Thomas and Martha Jefferies.  38 12mo. 14 1849

Emma Jeffrey, Folkstone.  Daughter of the late John and Eliza Jeffrey.  11 10mo. 6 1849

Sarah Jephcott, Coventry.  Wife of Enoch Jephcott.  72 3mo. 26 1850

Samuel Jones, Hoxton.  39 5mo. 10 1850

Sarah Jones, Hereford.  Daughter of Joseph Jones.  22 7mo. 17 1850

Judith King, Castle Donington.  86 8mo. 11 1850

John Leslie, Wells, Norfolk.  66 10mo. 14 1849

Charles Lidbetter, Croydon.  Son of Martin and Elizabeth Lidbetter.  2 2mo. 9 1850

John Little, Alston.  78 3mo. 27 1850

Richard Lynes, Chelsea.  85 1mo. 3 1850

William Lythall, Baddesley, Warwickshire.  68 3mo. 13 1850

Ann Malcomson, Milton, Ireland.  Widow of Thomas Malcomson.  79 7mo. 2 1850

William Mally, Preston.  77 7mo. 23 1850

Joseph Marriage, Chelmsford.  76 12mo. 8 1849

William Marsh, Ashton, Lancashire.  50 10mo. 1 1849

Rebecca Marsh, Dorking.  Wife of William Marsh.  49 10mo. 27 1849

Alfred Marsh, Luton.  Son of Robert and Maria Marsh.  4 8mo. 14 1850

David Marshall, Sheffield.  61 12mo. 9 1849

Jane Mason, Leeds.  Wife of George Mason.  45 10mo. 9 1849

Mary Miles, Peckham.  Wife of Edward Miles.  36 4mo. 1 1850

Susanna Moore, Waterford.  80 8mo. 12 1850

Priscilla Nash, London.  Daughter of William and Rebecca Nash.  17 3mo. 13 1850

Edward Philip Nash, Holt, Norfolk.  Son of Thomas W. and Sarah Nash.  2 4mo. 1 1850

Hannah Neale, Mountmelick.  Daughter of William Neale.  33 3mo. 29 1850

Hannah Neale had an extensive circle of acquaintance, by whom she was much beloved and esteemed, as being one of a very innocent and blameless life.  Some of the circumstances relating to her, are of a very affecting and interesting character, and speak loudly the uncertainty of all earthly prospects.  In the summer of last year, she entered into an engagement of marriage with a friend residing in England.  Having considered the subject with earnest and sincere desires to act in accordance with best wisdom, she looked forward to the completion of the prospect with a pleasing and hopeful confidence, yet even at an early period of the engagement, there was something that seemed to whisper to her, the uncertainty of its completion.

At this time she appeared in her usual health and full of spirits; but whilst on a visit to her aunt, at Kingstown, her health became affected, and from this time, symptoms exhibited themselves, which baffled all medical skill.  She was still, however, hopeful respecting her own recovery, and very often expressed in her correspondence, how much she was pained by the thought of being the cause of so much anxiety to others,—that her own sufferings were trifling, and the comforts surrounding her so numerous, she felt that she had every thing to be thankful for.  It was, however, evident to those around her, that there was little ground for hope, and a dear friend intimated to her, that her medical advisers considered her end might possibly be very near.  This intelligence greatly startled her, but she afterward expressed, how thankful she felt that she had been honestly apprized of her danger.

The solemn impression then made on her mind, never left her, and her constant desire was, that she might, through divine mercy, be made meet for the kingdom of heaven, repeating emphatically, “I have much to do.”

She often expressed her great sorrow, that she had not yielded to the serious impressions with which she had been favoured, saving, “They were soon scattered;” and regretted much that she had not lived a more devoted life.  She felt herself to be a great sinner, needing a Saviour’s gracious pardon; and for a long time feared she never should obtain that forgiveness, she so earnestly longed for.  But though her faith was feeble, she endeavoured to lay hold of encouragement from the mercy extended to the Prodigal Son, and to the Thief upon the cross, hoping that the same mercy might be extended to herself; but for a long time, her poor tossed and tried mind “could find nothing to lean upon.”  She remarked, she could not feel that she had sinned against her fellow-creatures, but that she could adopt the words of the Psalmist: “Against Thee, Thee only, have I sinned,” saying, “I feel that I have nothing to build upon, and that I want every thing; I am not prepared to die, I want all my sins to be forgiven; I hope I shall not be taken till the work be fully accomplished.”  The whole of the 51st Psalm, she said, seemed to suit her case, and with solemnity repeated, “‘Create in me a clean heart, oh God! and renew a right spirit within me.’  If I am saved, it will indeed be at the eleventh hour, I have been such a sinner.”

Thus did the Spirit of Truth search all things, and bring this beloved friend sensibly to feel, as she weightily expressed, “that at such a solemn hour, it will not do to build upon having led a spotless and innocent life, something more is then wanted to lean upon.”  She often observed, how well it was for those who had given up their hearts to serve their Saviour in the time of health,—that had she done so, she should not now, in the hour of trial, have had to feel such deep sorrow of heart,—that she could only hope for mercy and forgiveness, adding, “If I perish, let it be at Thy footstool.”

As her bodily weakness increased, she remarked, “I often feel unable to read, or even to think; but I can cling; this is about as much as I am able to do.”

Though this beloved friend took these low views of her own state, her company was deeply instructive and edifying to those around her, and a heavenly sweetness marked her deportment.  Her heart was often filled with gratitude to her heavenly Father for the extension of his love and mercy, and she remarked many times, “I have indeed been mercifully dealt with.”

The dear sufferer rapidly declined; yet her mind continued bright, and she was preserved in a patient, waiting state, fully conscious of the approach of death, she queried how long it was thought likely she might live? praying,—“Oh! dear Saviour, may it please thee not to take me till the work be fully accomplished.”  She often said, “It is a solemn thing to die;” and the evening preceding her death, when her friends were watching around her, she remarked that, believing her end was near, “It felt very, very solemn to her.”  At this deeply interesting season, He who is indeed Love, condescended in great mercy to draw near, so that she seemed lifted above terrestrial things, and permitted a foretaste of those joys, of which we consolingly believe, she now fully participates.  Under this precious influence, her countenance beamed with sweetness, and she emphatically repeated many times,—“Divine compassion! mighty love!” and raising her hand, exclaimed, “Oh such love!—such love!—and to me such a sinner; is it not marvellous?” adding, “a weary burdened soul, oh Lord, am I, but the blood of Jesus can wash the guilty sinner clean.—Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.—Oh how wonderful! hard things have been made easy, and bitter things sweet.”

She remarked that, at such a solemn hour, the world had no relish, “oh no!” she said, “it is not worth a thought:

‘The world recedes, it disappears,
Heaven opens on my eyes, my ears.’”

To a young friend whom she tenderly loved, she said, “Oh if we should all meet in heaven, will it not be delightful? oh! dear ---, we must all come to this, and nothing will do for any of us but the blood of the Lamb.”

She continued for some time addressing those around her in this strain; and to the question of her brother, whether she was happy? she replied, “Yes, indeed, I am happy.”  Thus her dying lips seemed to testify, that she was mercifully brought to see the salvation of God, and that he is able to save to the uttermost all those who come unto him, through faith in Christ Jesus our Lord.

Henry Neild, Over Whitley, Cheshire.  An Elder.  59 10mo. 4 1849

In the removal of this beloved friend, we have another instance of the uncertainty of time, and another call to prepare for the life to come.  Henry Neild left home on the 12th of 9th month, 1849, for the purpose of attending his Monthly and Quarterly Meetings, at Nantwich; but he was taken ill in the former meeting, and though relieved by medical aid, it failed to remove disease, which continued daily to waste his frame, and in little more than three weeks terminated his earthly pilgrimage; and we thankfully believe, through redeeming mercy, translated the immortal spirit to “an inheritance incorruptible, undefiled, and that fadeth not away.”

He had long been a very useful and willing helper in the small Quarterly Meeting, of which he was a member; and a true sympathizer with the afflicted, taking heed to the apostolic injunction, “Bear ye one anothers burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ.”  Deep and fervent were his desires for the welfare of our Society, for the maintenance of all our religious testimonies, and that its members might be redeemed from the influence and spirit of the world.

In the early part of his illness, he remarked that “it was surprising to himself, how entirely he could leave all earthly things; he had desired to leave all to Him who doeth all things well; and to commit himself into the hands of his dear Saviour.”

At another time, he said, “I am very gently and mercifully dealt with, I feel that I am a poor unfaithful creature, but I consider it a favour to be made sensible of this, for it is only of divine mercy that we can rightly feel our need.”  Thus kept in humble reliance upon the mercy of God, in Christ Jesus his Saviour, he was permitted to repose on that “Anchor to the soul which is sure and steadfast,” and to cast all his care upon our compassionate and ever present Redeemer.

He died at Nantwich, at the house of Croudson Tunstall, whose own death took place little more than a month afterwards.

William Newsom, Limerick.  62 6mo. 18 1850

In affixing a few lines to this name, the desire is simply to arrest the attention of any reader, who may be too closely engaged in temporal things; giving their strength to that which cannot profit, and not sufficiently pondering the passing nature of all terrestrial things.

William Newsom had been extensively engaged in commerce through great part of his life, and there was reason to fear he was unduly absorbed by its cares and allurements: for the last year or more, he appeared to be becoming more sensible that disappointment was stamped upon his pursuits; his bodily health heretofore unbroken, began also to decline, and it was comfortingly believed by his friends, that this and other revolving circumstances, were tending to turn the energies of his mind from perishable, to imperishable objects.  A few months before his decease, it became still more evident, that the hand of his heavenly Father was laid upon him in mercy; and on one occasion, he remarked, “that he saw nothing in the world worth living for, it abounded in trouble and disappointment, all outward things were stained in his eyes, there was nothing but religion that could be of any avail for any of us; and it mattered not when we were taken—young, old, or middle aged—if we were but ready, that was the great point!”  His experience, however, during the last few days of his life shewed, that although the ground might have been prepared, the work was by no means effected; deep and sore conflict was then his portion, and oh! with what fervency did he call upon his Saviour, beseeching him in his mercy to be pleased to look down upon his poor unworthy creature, for he alone could help in that awful hour.  Once he exclaimed, “what could all the world do for me now?”  His wife, under great exercise of spirit, replied, “Nothing! the best, when laid upon such a bed as thou art, have nothing to look to or depend upon, but the mercy of the Saviour;” the poor sufferer earnestly pleaded that that mercy might be extended to him, remarking, “He has all power in heaven and in earth.”  He then fervently prayed that the Lord would save his never dying soul.  It is believed, that whilst his many sins of omission and commission were brought vividly before his view, by the unflattering witness, he was made very fully sensible that the great work of salvation rests between the soul of man and his Creator, and that “no man can redeem his brother, or give to God a ransom for him.”  Through the night, he was mostly engaged in prayer, with uplifted hands invoking for mercy and forgiveness.

Some time before his death, the great conflict of mind he had been under, appeared to subside, and to be succeeded by a sweet calm, and he intimated to his wife, that he felt comfortable and satisfied.  Till within half an hour of the close, prayer continued flowing from his lips, the last audible sounds being an appeal to the Lord; and but a few minutes before he ceased to breathe, a conscious look at his dear wife, seemed to say, “all is peace;” and it was granted to her exercised spirit to believe, that the unshackled soul when released, was received into a mansion of rest, through the mercy and merits of his Lord and Saviour.  In reference to that impressive hour this dear relative writes,—“Oh! how many times that solemn night, did I long that all the world could feel the great necessity, whilst in health and strength, so to live, as to be prepared for that awful hour, which sooner or later must come upon us all; it is a very dangerous thing to put off the work of the soul’s salvation to a deathbed, or to depend upon mercy being extended as at the eleventh hour, for it may not then be found.”  Let us then be concerned to work whilst it is called to-day, and be ready to meet the awful summons,—“Steward give up thy stewardship, for thou mayest be no longer steward.”

Susannah Nickalls, Ashford, Folkstone.  Wife of Thomas Nickalls.  65 6mo. 1 1850

Mary Nicholson, Liverpool.  78 12mo. 14 1849

Mary Ostle, Newtown, Beckfoot, Cumberland.  Widow of Thomas Ostle.  83 12mo. 18 1849

Hannah Palmer, Radway.  Widow of William Palmer.  71 10mo. 17 1849

John Percy, Ballinagore, Ireland.  Son of John and Anna Perry.  3 2mo. 1 1850

Richard Patching, Brighton.  70 2mo. 15 1850

Rachel Pattinson, Felling, near Newcastle-on-Tyne.  Widow of Thomas Pattinson.  59 1mo. 5 1850

Sophia Gulielma Payne, Lambeth Walk, Surrey.  Daughter of James and Ann Payne.  1 6mo. 7 1850

Elizabeth Pearson, Preston.  Daughter of Daniel and Ann Pearson.  1 7mo. 6 1850

John Pegler, Mangersbury, near Stow, Warwickshire.  74 7mo. 6 1850

Isabella Peile, Carlisle.  Wife of Thomas Peile.  45 8mo. 1 1850

Francis Edward Penney, Dorking.  Died at Brighton.  Son of the late Richard Penney.  22 7mo. 27 1850

Elizabeth Hall Pickard, Bushcliffe House, Wakefield.  Wife of David Pickard.  35 10mo. 30 1849

Hartas Pickard, Bushcliffe House, Wakefield.  Son of David and Elizabeth H. Pickard.  1 11mo. 26 1849

Elizabeth Pierson, Dublin.  Daughter of Joseph Pierson.  25 2mo. 3 1850

Sarah Lydia N. Pike, Derryvale.  6 7mo. 27 1850

Hannah Lecky Pike, Derryvale.  Children of the late James Nicholson and Sarah Pike.  3 9mo. 7 1850

Elizabeth Pim, Richmond Hill, Dublin.  An Elder.  Widow of Jonathan Pim.  63 2mo. 22 1850

Emily Pim, Mountmelick.  4 4mo. 5 1850

Frederick Pim, Mountmelick.  Children of Samuel and Susanna Pim.  1 7mo. 31 1850

Elizabeth Plumley, Tottenham.  72 1mo. 10 1850

Sarah Preston, Earith, Hunts.  An Elder.  Widow of Samuel Preston.  79 4mo. 22 1850

John Prichard, Leominster.  86 5mo. 24 1850

Esther Prideaux, Plymouth.  Widow of Philip C. Prideaux.  71 1mo. 8 1850

Jane Prideaux, Kingsbridge.

The decease of this friend is recorded in the Annual Monitor of last year.  We have since been furnished with the following notice of her.

Our beloved friend, Jane Prideaux, died the 26th of the Second month, 1849, aged 87 years: for many years before her decease, she filled very acceptably the station of Elder, and therein approved herself a lowly follower of her Lord and Master.  Very precious to her surviving friends, is the remembrance of her innocent, circumspect walk, holding out as it does in an impressive manner, the invitation, “Follow me as I have followed Christ.”  During the latter years of her lengthened life, the fruits of her faith became increasingly prominent, and she was endeared to her friends and neighbours around her in no common degree.  But it was during the last two months of her life, when under great bodily suffering, that her tongue was more fully set at liberty to declare the lovingkindness of the Lord, who in this season of trial was graciously pleased to lift up the light of his countenance upon her, and to grant a full evidence of acceptance with himself, enabling her to rejoice in the assurance that when her earthly house of this tabernacle should be dissolved, there would be granted to her “a building of God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens.”

Her patient, cheerful endurance of bodily pain was striking and instructive; and in some seasons of closest conflict, her faith was strong, and her acknowledgment of the supporting power of God, full and fervent.  She often said, the Lord was able to save and to deliver to the uttermost, and would deliver her, when patience had had its perfect work.  Very impressive were her short petitions to the Father of mercies, for his support and deliverance, accompanied as they constantly were with the addition, “if consistent with thy will.”  She remarked, “I am in the hands of an unerring Creator, He cannot err.  We must not look to ourselves, but to our Saviour, who loved us and gave himself for us—even for me, the most unworthy of his creatures.  He healeth all my diseases, and I have many, but my mercies outweigh them all.”  Love and interest for her friends seemed often to dwell in her heart beyond the power of expression.  Speaking of those who were members of the meeting to which she belonged, she sent messages to each, and made appropriate remarks respecting them individually, dwelling with especial comfort on the remembrance of those among them who were bearing the burden of the day, and labouring to promote their great Master’s cause.  She afterwards said, whilst tears of tenderness flowed, “Oh! how many comfortable meetings I have had in that little meeting-house, how have I loved to go and sit there!  It was not a little illness that kept me away: and how has it rejoiced my heart to see individuals come in, who have been as the anointed and sent!”  On being told one morning that Friends were going to meeting, she said, “May they know the Sun of righteousness to arise as with healing in his wings;” emphatically adding, “I think they will.”

At another time she sent messages of love to many of the members of her Monthly Meeting, adding with an expression of feeling, to which those around could not be insensible.  “But I cannot name all; my love is universal; God is love.”

One night, when in great pain, she acknowledged in grateful terms, the kindness of her attendants, and her belief that a blessing with a full recompense would be given them; and addressing one of them, she continued, “I love thee tenderly, and feel thee near in the best life—in the truth that is blessed for ever.”  Afterwards, she broke forth with an audible voice thus: “Bless the Lord, oh my soul! and praise him for all his benefits.  What can I do! how shall I praise him enough!”  And then, as with melody of soul, she added,—

“Heavenly blessings without number,
   Gently falling on my head.”

After taking an affectionate farewell of those around her, and addressing them in an instructive and encouraging manner, she added, “I can heartily say, that death is robbed of its sting, and the grave of its victory.  Thanks be unto God who giveth the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.”  And again, “Praise and magnify the Lord!  Oh if I could sing, I would sing his praise!”

To some beloved relatives, from a distance, who came to see her, she testified of her faith, hope, and confidence,—acknowledged, that although frail in body, she was strong in the Lord, and in the power of his might; and expressed her desire, that they might all meet where partings are not known, adding, “goodness and mercy have followed me all the days of my life; and there is a promise for the poor in spirit that will be fulfilled, ‘When the poor and needy seek water and there is none, and their tongue faileth for thirst, I the Lord will hear them, I the God of Israel will not forsake them.’”

She was permitted to pass quietly away without any apparent pain, and is now, we reverently and thankfully believe, an inhabitant of that city “which hath no need of the sun, neither of the moon to shine in it; for the glory of God doth lighten it, and the Lamb is the light thereof.”

David Priestman, Gorton, Manchester.  Son of Henry and Mary Priestman.  3 8mo. 1 1850

Rachel Proud, Scarborough.  A Minister.  77 5mo. 4 1850

William Puckrin, near Whitby.  87 11mo. 27 1849

Ann Pugh, Tyddyn-y-gareg, North Wales.  90 6mo. 24 1850

Ann Pumphrey, Worcester.  84 4mo. 22 1850

Sarah Racey, Norwich.  Widow of Thomas Racey.  72 11mo. 25 1850

James Ransome, Rushmere, Ipswich.  67 11mo. 22 1849

Anne Rawlinson, Newton-in-Cartmel.  45 12mo. 12 1849

Deborah Reynolds, Rochester.  76 5mo. 4 1850

Sarah Reynolds, Liverpool.  68 5mo. 19 1850

Susanna Reynolds, Oldswenford, Stourbridge.  Wife of John Reynolds.  45 12mo. 28 1849

William Richards, Wellington.  73 12mo. 19 1849

Josiah Richardson, Peckham.  84 1mo. 8 1850

Helena Richardson, Belfast.  Wife of John G. Richardson.  30 12mo. 7 1849

Hannah Rickerby, Burgh, near Carlisle.  50 7mo. 13 1850

Joseph Robinson, Stoke Newington Road, London.  72 7mo. 6 1850

William Robinson, Bellevile, near Dublin.  62 10mo. 26 1849

Frederick Robinson, Dublin.  Son of Samuel S. and Charlotte Robinson.  16 12mo. 16 1849

Mary Robinson, Fleetwood.  Widow of Isaac Robinson.  77 2mo. 8 1850

Jane Robinson, Whinfell Hall, Pardshaw.  Wife of Wilson Robinson.  84 7mo. 15 1850

Rebecca Robinson, Tottenham.  Wife of James Robinson.  56 10mo. 11 1849

Anne Robson, Sunderland.  Wife of Thomas Robson.  65 3mo. 20 1850

Henry Robson, Huddersfield.  Son of Thomas Robson.  51 8mo. 12 1850

Joseph Russell, Cork.  61 1mo. 14 1850

James Sansom, Tideford.  An Elder.  73 10mo. 10 1849

Maria Scales, Nottingham.  Daughter of Lydia Scales.  32 4mo. 16 1850

It often pleases our heavenly Father to carry forward the work of divine grace, in the hearts of his children, by means, and through dispensations, altogether unfathomable to the finite comprehension of men; but the humble believer, looking beyond the changing rugged path of this life, with filial love and confidence can repose on the mercy and goodness of the Lord, and believingly apply the language of our Saviour, “What I do thou knowest not now, but thou shalt know hereafter.”

In very early life, the subject of the present brief notice was made sensible of the contriting influence of divine grace on her heart, so that many of her earliest recollections were fraught with love to her Saviour.

For many years, she was subject to attacks of illness of a very trying character, in connection with which, she was brought as into the very furnace of affliction, and earnest were her prayers, that ‘patience might have her perfect work,’ and that through faith in the wisdom of her heavenly Father, she might become fully resigned to his holy will; and a sense of his supporting power and presence, were often mercifully granted to her, in times of severest suffering.

Her last illness was short: two days previous to her decease, she remarked, “I have had an awful night,” but added, “my mind is calm and peaceful, I can now quite say, ‘Thy will be done;’” and to the remark, “His grace is sufficient for thee,” she replied, “Oh yes! and without that, we can do nothing; I cast all upon Him, and can say, I fully trust in His will, and in His power.”

Joseph Sefton, Liverpool.  66 12mo. 15 1849

Sarah Sewell, Wereham, Norfolk.  85 11mo. 4 1849

George Shaw, Clonmel.  68 12mo. 22 1849

Susanna Sheppard, Mile End Road, Middlesex.  97 4mo. 16 1850

Betty Shipley, Derby.  Widow of John Shipley, of Uttoxeter.  86 2mo. 3 1850

Margaret Sikes, Ashburton, Ireland.  Wife of William Sikes.  48 5mo. 4 1850

Alice Sill, Kendal.  82 6mo. 1 1850

George Simpson, Birkenhead.  58 7mo. 5 1850

Susanna Smith, Drynah, Mountmelick.  Widow of Humphry Smith.  80 11mo. 19 1849

Mary Smith, Darlington.  77 3mo. 2 1850

Abigail Smith, Preston.  70 5mo. 12 1850

Hannah Smith, Walton, Liverpool.  Wife of Henry H. Smith.  58 1mo. 23 1850

Cassandra Smith, Birmingham.  Died at Dover.  49 9mo. 27 1849

John Smith, Winchmorehill.  77 7mo. 11 1850

Elizabeth Snowden, Bradford.  Daughter of John and Ann Snowden.  21 7mo. 21 1850

Mary Ann Sparkes, Exeter.  41 2mo. 3 1850

Eliza Cole Sparkes, Exeter.  Daughter of Thomas and Esther Maria Sparkes.  1 4mo. 29 1850

Joseph Spence, York.  An Elder.  75 9mo. 26 1850

Charles Spence, Darlington.  Son of Charles and Hannah Spence.  6 12mo. 8 1849

Mary Spencer, South Lodge, Cockermouth.  69 6mo. 30 1850

William Squire, Stoke Newington.  59 3mo. 24 1850

Dorcas Squire, King’s Langley, Hempstead, Herts.  67 1mo. 9 1850

Catherine Dyke Stade, Aberavon, Glamorgan.  Daughter of J. and R. D. Stade.  6 11mo. 26 1849

Susanna Staniland, Hull.  78 8mo. 26 1850

James Steevens, Basingstoke.  59 2mo. 25 1850

Mary Stretch, Nantwich.  Widow of Richard Stretch.  80 3mo. 25 1850

Elizabeth Stretch, Finedon.  Widow of Samuel Stretch, of Hortherton, Cheshire.  75 2mo. 27 1850

Sarah Tackaberry, Ballygunner, Waterford.  Widow.  88 5mo. 12 1850

George North Tatham, Headingley, Leeds.  78 5mo. 19 1850

James Taylor, Heston, near Brentford.  79 2mo. 7 1850

Benjamin Thompson, Spring Hill, Lurgan.  77 3mo. 19 1850

Thomas Thomson, Dublin.  Son of Benjamin and Sarah Thomson.  23 11mo. 21 1849

Philip H. L. Thornton, Sidcot.  Son of William and Catherine Thornton.  22 6mo. 5 1850

The subject of this memoir was a native of Kingsbridge, Devonshire; and was educated among Friends.  He was not by birth a member of our Society, but was received into membership a short time previous to his death.  Having been adopted by his uncle, he was taken to Ireland, when about fourteen years of age, as an apprentice to one of the Provincial Schools, of which his uncle was the superintendent.

Endowed with natural abilities well adapted for the acquisition of knowledge, and possessing a taste for various branches of literature and science,—gifted, too, with engaging manners and affability of disposition, he became, as he grew up, a general favourite amongst those with whom he associated, and his immediate relatives indulged in fond hopes of his becoming an honourable and useful charter.  His best friends, however, were sometimes anxious on his account, lest the caresses of the world should turn aside his feet from the path of safety, and prevent that entire surrender of heart and life to the requirements of the gospel, which alone consists with true Christian discipleship, and affords a well-grounded expectation of real usefulness and permanent well-being.  But he was open to receive the admonitions of his friends, and there is reason to believe that the voice of Christian counsel was instrumental to his good.

He was never very robust; and his application to study, in addition to his stated duties, was, perhaps, not favourable to bodily vigour.  Before the expiration of his apprenticeship, he became so enfeebled, as to cause his relations much anxiety; and as his uncle and aunt had withdrawn from the Institution, the Committee of the School kindly acceded to their proposal to remove him to their own house.  Here he soon rallied; and in the summer, of 1848, applied for the situation of teacher of Sidcot School.  He entered upon the duties of the station with earnestness and zeal; and the notice and encouragement which he there received, tended both to render his occupation a delight, and to draw forth the more hidden depths of his character.  His heart was in his work, and the field of labour particularly congenial to his taste.

A few months, however, sufficed to bring on a return of delicacy, and rendered it advisable that he should retire for a while from active duty; but the following year, apparently with renovated powers, he again resumed his post.  For a while, he appeared to think that his health was becoming confirmed; but about the commencement of another year, he was rapidly brought low, and nearly disqualified for the performance of his school duties.  He was however retained in his office, with delicate attention to his known wishes, until in the 4th month, 1850, he was obliged to withdraw, and again make his uncle’s house at Mountmelick his home.  The following extracts from letters and memoranda written previous to his leaving Sidcot, show the state of his mind at that period.

2nd mo. 10th.  “I often feel,—oftener than ever, that the thread of life is in me weak,—very weak; and, oh! I am sometimes almost overwhelmed with the retrospects, and prospects, this feeling opens to my view.  I feel that I have been pursuing false jewels, sometimes those which have no appearance even of external brilliance, and the Pearl has escaped my notice.  I have, I believe, earnestly desired that I may be enabled to see the true and real beauty of the Pearl, and its inestimable value, in such a light, that nothing may again warp my attention from it.”

2nd mo. 23rd, 1850.  “My weakness of body, and frequent illnesses, have brought before my mind the great uncertainty of my continuing long in this scene of probation.  I feel that I have lived hitherto ‘without God in the world,’ plunged in sin and darkness; that my sins are a greater burden than I can bear; and unless my all merciful God and Father, through his dear Son, forgive them, and relieve me from them, I fear they will draw me with them to the lowest grave.”

“I believe my heart’s desire is, to walk in the narrow way,—to be the Lord’s on his own terms, and to be humbled even in the dust.  The evil one suggests, that I can never be forgiven, and fills my soul with doubts and fears; but, oh Lord! thou hast said, ‘He that cometh to me, I will in no wise cast out.’”

2nd mo. 24th.  “Strong desires are in my heart, that I may be favoured with an assurance of forgiveness; but, oh! I fear that my repentance is not sincere, that the pride of the world still holds place in my heart.  Oh Lord!  I pray thee that thou wilt use thy sharp threshing instrument, and break in pieces all that is at variance with thy holy will.”

“This is First-day.  Be pleased to keep the door of my lips, Oh Father! and reign absolutely in my thoughts; grant that meeting may be a time of favour and visitation, and that I may be enabled to wait patiently for thee.  Oh! that I could keep the world from pouring on me as a flood, at such times: Thou, gracious Father, canst enable me to do this.”

3rd mo. 1st.  “Struggles seem to be my portion, in which the world, the flesh, and the devil often seem likely to get the victory.  Lord, grant through the blessed Saviour, that if I have found the good part, nothing may be permitted to take it from me.  I greatly desire an increase of faith.  Alas!  I feel the little I have fail sometimes.”

6th.  “Oh! that none of the Lord’s intentions respecting me, may be frustrated by my disobedience and unwatchfulness.  Oh! I feel that I am indolent and very lukewarm, if not cold altogether, in attending to my soul’s salvation, and in doing all for the Lord’s glory.  Thou knowest, oh Lord! that I am very weak in body; but, oh! grant that I may not make that a cover for indolence and lukewarmness.  Thou hast known my peculiar trials, and I thank thee that thou hast, through the dear Lamb, granted me strength to bear them.”

After his return to Mountmelick, this dear youth lived seven weeks, and during this time his company was most sweet and instructive; the tenor of his conduct and conversation being beautifully regulated by the influence of the divine Spirit, bringing, in great measure, as there was reason to believe, every thought into captivity to the obedience of Christ; and the composure and serenity of his countenance, clearly indicated the sweet peace which pervaded his mind.

About the end of Fifth Month, it became evident that the final change was drawing near.  This he was enabled to look to without dismay; saying, when a fear was expressed that he could not continue long: “I cannot say that I have any fear.”

On the night of the 2nd of 6th Month, he said: “I wish I could feel a stronger assurance of acceptance with the Almighty;” and afterwards he requested to have the 23rd Psalm read to him.

The next morning, sitting up in his bed, he remarked: “There remaineth a rest for the people of God;” and, after a pause, “I want more of that faith, of which I fear I possess so little; and yet, when I have asked for what was proper and needful for me, it has not been denied.  I desire to be enabled to pass through the valley of humiliation, without much conflict; and then comes the valley of the shadow of death:—only a shadow! the finger of God will guide safe through, all those who put their trust in him: ‘Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.’  The rod to chasten, the staff to support!  Oh! all that is of the world, and all that is in it, are worthless in my sight.  If the Lord has any work for me to do on earth, I trust I am willing to do it; but if not, I have no wish to stay.”

In the afternoon, the beloved invalid broke forth with the following expressions: “The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want;” emphatically adding, “What a very precious promise!” and, after a short pause,—“Come now, and let us reason together, saith the Lord, though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be white as snow, though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool,” remarking, “and this was under the old dispensation.  Oh!  I hope my sins are gone beforehand to judgment; but there seem to be so many fresh sins, I have so much time that I do not improve as I ought; but the poor weak body and this weak mind too!”  On its being remarked, that we did not serve a hard master, he seemed comforted, and continued, “Oh! that I could see the pearl gates; but I fear I have not faith enough, nor love enough to love Him perfectly who first loved me, and died for me, yes! even for me!  Oh! I desire to throw myself at his feet; how I wish I could love him better, and serve him more.”

The whole of Fourth-day he seemed fast sinking, and calmly spoke of death as very near.  He craved for patience, again and again, making use of many sweet expressions as his end drew near.  “O Jesus! sweet Jesus, come!” and placing his hands together, supplicated thus: “Oh, dear Lord! if it be thy will, be pleased to take me, for the sake of thy dear Son.”  And, again, “Thy will be done.”  He remarked, “I believe I am passing through the dark valley of the shadow of death;” and on the hope being expressed that he would be supported through, he responded, “Through mercy!”  Soon after this, he sank into a quiet sleep, which lasted some hours; and, shortly after waking, the unfettered spirit took its flight so gently, as scarcely to be perceptible to those around.

Frances Henshawe Thorpe, Overbury, Tewkesbury.  Widow of Thomas Thorpe.  65 10mo. 5 1849

William Todhunter, Dublin.  46 1mo. 19 1850

Susanna Todhunter, Dublin.  Widow of John Todhunter.  74 2mo. 2 1850

Susanna Todhunter, Dublin.  Daughter of Thomas H. and Hannah Todhunter.  1 8mo. 30 1850

Catherine Toms, Amersham.  67 1mo. 8 1850

Alexander Townsend, Rathrush, Kilconnor.  70 12mo. 7 1849

Croudson Tunstall, Alvaston Grove, Nantwich.  An Elder.  68 11mo. 17 1849

Dedication to the cause of truth, marked the character of our dear friend; and divine grace wrought effectually in him—breaking the obstructions of the natural mind—smoothing the rugged path of life, and enabling him to rejoice in the mercy which followed him, and which was his support through many tribulations.

It was his earnest desire to know in himself a growth in the truth, and to have his building firm on the Rock of ages.  His diligence in the support of our meetings for worship and discipline, and the reverent frame of his spirit in these meetings, was animating and exemplary to his friends, as was also his daily circumspect walk.  The chastenings of divine love produced profitable experience, and being accepted by him, with humble gratitude and prayerful submission, his heart was enriched by spiritual blessings.  When near the confines of time, and the power of utterance nearly gone, he was reminded by a friend of the faithfulness and tender mercy of our Saviour, when he emphatically replied,—“That is my only comfort.”  Thus under the rapid decay of the outward man, he possessed a peaceful mind, in that blessed hope which had been in his day, as the anchor to his soul—“sure and steadfast.”

Thomas Waddington, Penketh.  49 9mo. 3 1850

John Waithman, Yealand.  49 11mo. 2 1849

Maria Walker, Wooldale, Yorkshire.  Daughter of Samuel Walker.  24 10mo. 18 1849

Hannah Walker, Dirtcar, Wakefield.  Wife of Robert Walker.  68 4mo. 3 1850

Barbara Waller, York.  70 11mo. 13 1849

The quiet acquiescence of this dear friend, in the divine will, under changes of circumstances involving, to her energetic and lively mind, much suffering, appeared to many of her immediate friends, deeply instructive.  In early life, she was, for several years, resident in the family of her brother Stephen Waller, at Clapton; and during the long continued illness of his wife, took charge of the family, including an interesting group of young children, between whom and herself the tenderest affection subsisted.  On the restoration of her sister’s health, she came to reside with her brother Robert Waller, of York.

In the First month, 1829, at the solicitation of the committee, she consented to undertake, for a time, the domestic care of the Boys’ School, then first established by York Quarterly Meeting, in that city.  Though in delicate health, and with a voice which she could rarely raise above a whisper, she soon became so warmly interested in the institution, as to prevent the necessity for further inquiry for a female head.  Her active and executive mind, found here a large field of usefulness, which she well occupied.  Her kind interest in the institution, the scholars and the officers, increased from year to year.  Her ability in providing for and securing the comfort of all around her, always conspicuous, was eminently so in times of sickness, whether of more or less severity.  On these occasions, besides her power of skilfully ministering to physical comforts, her quiet spirit, knowing where she herself had sought and found consolation, could direct others to the same unfailing Source.

At the close of the year 1836, in consequence of the decease of her sister Hannah, the wife of Robert Waller, she was called from the scene of her arduous, yet to her, pleasant labours; the beneficial results of which were, the establishment of orderly arrangement, and plans of domestic comfort, essential to the well-being of a school.  She remained with her brother at Holdgate, till the time of his second marriage, when change was again her allotment.  After a short absence from York she finally settled there.  Her declining health rendered repose needful, although the liveliness of her spirits enabled her greatly to enjoy frequent intercourse with her friends;—and the school, the scene of her former labours, was an object of continued affectionate interest.

In recording these few incidents, which we well know, of themselves, are of little importance, perhaps entirely insignificant to the general reader, we believe, nevertheless, that a useful lesson may be conveyed.  The path of our dear friend was, remarkably, not one of her own choosing; most of the changes of place and circumstance which she experienced, involved much that was painful; yet under all, the quiet, peaceful, thankful resignation which she was enabled to attain, shewed where her hopes were anchored, and proved the power of divine grace to make hard things easy.  For many months previous to her decease, she was confined to her couch, and latterly to her bed.  During this period, she bore with unrepining patience, much bodily suffering; but her cheerful and energetic mind still retained its characteristic vigour.  In this, her last illness, the kind attentions, and tender cares, which she had so often ministered to others, were abundantly repaid to herself.  In addition to the assiduous and faithful services of the family with whom she had taken up her abode, and who became warmly attached to her, she had for many weeks previous to her decease, the tenderest attention of one of her affectionate nieces, of whose infant years she had been the watchful guardian.

A friend who frequently visited her on her bed of suffering, says, “In some of my last visits to her, her expression of firm and loving reliance upon the Lord, whose support she had been wont to seek in the time of health, as well as in that of suffering, was a sweet testimony to the blessedness of having made him her portion.  She told me how comforted she had been under great bodily weakness, when she felt unable definitely to put up her petitions, in the lively remembrance that she had a never-failing Advocate with the Father, touched with a feeling of her infirmities, ever living to make intercession for her.  ‘Oh!’ she remarked, ‘the sense of it has been precious to me.’”  Thus peace and thankfulness were the frequent clothing of her spirit, till her earthly house of this tabernacle was quietly dissolved, and exchanged, we reverently believe, for ‘a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens.’

Alice Waller, The Howe, Halsted.  Widow of Robert Waller, of York.  76 6mo. 25 1850

Of the childhood of our friend we know but little.  Her parents were members of our religious Society, and brought up their children in conformity with its practices.  She was, at rather an early age, placed at the school for girls at York, which had, at that time, some peculiar advantages in regard to the religious and moral care of the pupils.  But from this enclosure she was soon recalled, to be the companion of her invalid mother; and at the early age of sixteen, when her beloved parent was removed by death, she took the charge of her father’s domestic concerns, and resided with him till her marriage with Benjamin Horner of York.

Although the shortness of the period she remained at school, might be disadvantageous to her in several respects, yet it is highly probable that, in her mother’s sick chamber, some impressions were made, and lessons learned, which were as seeds sown to bring forth fruit in a future day.

Her husband’s circle of acquaintance was an extensive, and, in its character, a much varied one; and, for some years, Alice Horner mingled much in gay society, occasionally frequenting with her husband places of amusement, especially those in which music formed the chief attraction.  But during this period, in which she may be said to have lived to herself, she was not without compunctuous visitations; and as the responsibilities of a mother came upon her, she increasingly felt the seriousness of life, and the duty, as well as the privilege, of living to God, and being enabled to look unto Him as a Father and a Friend.

These feelings appear to have gradually gained ascendancy in her mind, and her prevalent desire became, to be a Christian upon Christ’s own terms.  She felt herself as one who had been forgiven much, and therefore loved much,—striving to be no more conformed to this world, but transformed by the renewing of her mind.  Her conscience became not only enlightened, but tender; and yielding to what she believed to be her duty to God, she not only refrained from all the public amusements in which she had formerly taken pleasure, but acted in her associations with others, consistently with her views as a Friend.  If in this strait path; walking much alone and inexperienced in the way: she sometimes erred, we believe it was rather on the side of decision, than on that of undue yielding.  She seemed to live under a sense of that saying of the apostle, “Whatsoever is not of faith is sin.”  And whilst the course which she pursued could not fail to restrict, in some degree, her intercourse with the world, those with whom she still associated, (and her circle continued to be a wide one,) appeared in general to estimate her motives; and many of them entertained an increased love and respect for her character; and He who, above all things, she desired to serve, was pleased abundantly to comfort and strengthen her in all her trials.

The death of her only daughter, at the age of nineteen, as well as that of her husband after a short illness, a few years subsequently, were close trials to her; but she bowed in humble submission to these dispensations, and, under the chastening hand of the Lord, it became increasingly evident, that the “one thing needful” was steadily kept in her view.  She was diligent in her attendance of our religious meetings, and often remarked, that she had been permitted to find in them “a resting place to her soul.”

After her second marriage, with Robert Waller of Holdgate near York, her health, which for a long time had not been strong, began more rapidly to decline, and at the death of her husband, after a long and protracted illness, she was so complete an invalid, as to be chiefly confined to her bed for many months together.  This was a great trial upon her faith and patience; but her hope and trust in her Saviour’s love never forsook her, and often through her long illness, she was enabled to look forward with hope and joy to that time, when “absent from the body,” she should be “present with the Lord.”

Six months after her husband’s death, she was removed, in an invalid carriage, to the residence of her eldest son in Essex, whose house continued to be her home the remainder of her days.  In writing to a much beloved friend, from this quiet retreat soon after her arrival, she remarks,—“Every comfort and every indulgence is allotted to me by my attentive children.  Oh what boundless demands upon my gratitude are thus poured forth.  I would gladly hope not without a heartfelt acknowledgment to that Almighty Giver, who is the author of all our manifold mercies.  For all things I reverently thank my God and Saviour, remembering you my dear friends, whom I have left, with the truest affection.”  To the same friend, who herself was suffering from illness, she again writes, “Oh, dearest ---, how many of His dear children does the Lord keep long in the furnace, yet if he do but grant his presence there, and watch over the refining process he designs to be accomplished, there ought to be no complaining either of the length of time, or the severity of the operation, but through all, the full fruits of resignation should be brought forth in perfection, to his praise, and his glory.  That so it may be, my dear friend, forms a wish on my own account as well as on thine, day by day.  The time has appeared long to me, that I have been required to lay under the rod, but when we measure time as did the Apostle of old, and think of it as a vapour that quickly passeth away, or as a shadow that abideth not, we see that it is but for a little moment that our chastening can endure.  I cannot forbear beholding my day as far spent; but I do rejoice to see heaven as a place of rest for me,—yes, even for me! through the blood shed for my sins on Calvary’s Mount.  This mercy in Christ Jesus, how precious it is to dwell upon.”

Alice Waller loved the company of all those that loved the Lord Jesus, and especially the messengers of the gospel were acceptable to her.  On one occasion when receiving a visit from a friend, whilst laid upon her bed of suffering, she, in great contrition, expressed her sense of her heavenly Father’s love and mercy to her, a poor creature, adding, “I feel bound to tell of His marvellous goodness to me, even to me, by night and by day upon my bed, in seasons of trial I have been comforted by my Saviour’s presence.”

In the beginning of the Sixth Month, 1850, she became more poorly, and both herself and her children were impressed with the belief that her end was drawing near; on the 15th she passed a very trying day, but in the evening revived a little and spoke most sweetly of the fulness and clearness of her hope, and her perfect confidence in the love and mercy of her God, extended to her for the sake of her beloved Saviour; she was full of sweetness and affection to all around her, her heart overflowing with gratitude to God and man.  “Dear Hannah C. Backhouse,” she remarked, “visited me a short time before I came here, and she said, ‘I believe Jesus has thrown his arm of everlasting love around thee, and is drawing thee nearer and nearer to himself, and he will draw thee nearer and nearer, till at last He will press thee into his bosom.’  It was a sweet message; I have often thought upon it since, and I now feel such close union of spirit with God, that I cannot doubt it is even so.”  On the passage of Scripture being repeated, “The angel of the Lord encampeth round about them that fear him,” she added, “yes, and preserveth them.—‘This poor man cried, and the Lord heard him and delivered him from all his troubles.’  The fear of the Lord has been my support for many years past.”  And on being reminded of that verse of Scripture, “Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me,” she said, “He has been my staff and my rod in the dark valley of death, keeping my head above the waters, and he has given me hope full of immortality,—full of immortality! and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord for ever; I humbly trust that such will be my portion.”  She then remarked “It is just a week to-day since I began to be so very ill;—strange conflict of the body, with the mind so perfectly tranquil, in strong confirmation of the blessed promise, ‘Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on thee.’—I have often thought I heard the song of Moses and of the Lamb, as I lay here in deep exhaustion.”  At another time she remarked, “I have often sinned, and erred much, but I have One in heaven that pleadeth for me.”

She hailed with much joy the arrival of a beloved friend, and spoke of the event as filling up the only remaining desire she had on earth; their meeting was a season of mutual love and thanksgiving to the Lord.  On Second day, the 24th, she said, “I am so loosed from every thing below, as I could not have believed;” and in the evening expressed that she was so filled with thankfulness her heart was overflowing!  She intimated her belief, when her room was made ready for the night, that it would be the last she should have to pass, and the next morning it became evident that she was rapidly sinking.  It was said to her that it was a long and trying travel, but she was near to a better land! when she quickly responded, “Yes, Emanuel’s land:” and on its being remarked, “The crown is nearly won;” she emphatically replied, “Oh, I wish it were on!”  A short time after this, her redeemed spirit was gently liberated from the shackles of mortality, to be, we humbly believe, “for ever with the Lord.”

Fanny Martin Waller, Guildford.  Daughter of the late Thomas Waller.  30 12mo. 14 1849

Edward Wallis, Melksham.  Son of Abraham Wallis, of London.  26 3mo. 6 1850

John Walton, Southport.  61 1mo. 7 1850

Alfred Watkins, Eydon, Northamptonshire.  Son of John and Susanna Watkins.  16 4mo. 22 1850

Jane Watson, Allonby, Cumberland.  85 10mo. 20 1849

Fergus Watson, Allonby.  90 1mo. 21 1850

Ann Watson, Heworth, Newcastle-on-Tyne.  Wife of John Watson.  72 12mo. 6 1849

Mary Watson, Cockermouth.  64 10mo 18 1849

Lucy Bell Westwood, Brampton, Hunts.  Daughter of John and Elizabeth Westwood.  17 3mo. 19 1850

Joseph Wheeler, Birmingham.  81 11mo. 21 1849

Thomas White, Ratcliff, London.  80 3mo. 7 1850

Jane White, Chesham, Bucks.  41 1mo. 2 1850

Maria Bella White, Henley-on-Thames.  Widow of Gabriel G. White.  84 8mo. 17 1850

Anne Whitfield, near Coothill, Ireland.  85 3mo. 12 1850

Richard Whiting, Tottenham.  84 7mo. 3 1850

Anne Whitten, Roscrea, Ireland.  Widow.  72 3mo. 24 1850

Maudlin Wickett, Darlington.  Widow of Benjamin Wickett.  94 11mo. 15 1849

William Williams, Denbigh, Cheshire.  70 11mo. 2 1849

William Wilson, Bradford.  82 11mo. 23 1849

The following account has much of it been taken from a brief memoir of William Wilson, which appeared in the “Bradford Observer,” and which has since been published as a tract.

William Wilson might truly be said to be “an Israelite indeed, in whom there was no guile.”  He had his peculiarities of character, but with all, was singularly good, and we cannot doubt that his prayers and his alms, had come up for a memorial before Him, who seeth in secret.

At the age of fifty, with an ample fortune, he relinquished a business, in which he had most diligently laboured, when the full tide of prosperity was flowing in upon him, in order that he might devote his time, and the means placed by Providence at his disposal, to the cause of neglected and suffering humanity.

For more than thirty years it became the essential and exclusive employment of his life, to explore and to relieve cases of poverty and distress, and in the accomplishment of this undertaking, he employed the same assiduity and care, which he had been wont to exercise in the management of his secular calling, distributing many times at the rate of a thousand pounds a year.

As a steward of the gifts of God, he carefully invested his money so as to secure a fair rate of interest, and on no occasion did he relax from the utmost exactness in his monetary dealings; and yet it is believed that his personal and domestic expenditure never reached £150. per annum.

His house, like his person, was a pattern of plainness and simplicity.  His furniture consisted of nothing fashionable or superfluous; and his table was equally marked by comfort and frugality.

He was a warm advocate in the cause of Temperance, and was deeply interested in the subject of “the prevention of Cruelty to Animals.”

Of Tracts, he must have paid for, and circulated gratuitously, some millions!  His whole time and energies were fully employed, and often heavily taxed, in devising and carrying out schemes of mercy and benevolence, and his life presented one uniform tenor of consistent piety.  To strangers he might appear reserved, but his apparent reserve only resulted from his constitutional modesty, and retiring habits, whilst to those who enjoyed his friendship, he was frank, open, and intelligent in no ordinary degree.

William Wilson was never robust, but toward the close of his life, his feebleness became more apparent; for more than a week he was confined to his bed, but without any urgent symptom of disease.  His mind was calm and peaceful,—he knew and loved his Saviour, and through His mediation, we cannot doubt he has inherited the blessing to the pure in heart, leaving behind him, in many respects, an example worthy to be followed, practically bearing a noble testimony to “christian moderation and temperance in all things,” and against that covetousness which is idolatry.  The memory of such a man is blessed.

Elizabeth Wilson, Rawden.  69 4mo. 12 1850

Mary Wilson, Kendal.  Widow.  60 1mo. 31 1850

James Wilson, Elm Farm, Liverpool.  76 10mo. 31 1849

Elizabeth Wood, Chelmsford.  68 1mo. 17 1850

Jane Wood, Highflatts.  Wife of John Wood.  28 4mo. 4 1850

Francis Wright, Kettering.  76 5mo. 13 1850

Thomas Wright, Cork.  61 10mo. 9 1849

Many, both within the limits of our own Society and out of it, can bear testimony to the integrity, benevolence, and Christian deportment of this dear friend.  In his transactions with his fellow-men, he was particularly careful not to over-reach, or to avail himself of advantages subversive to their interests; and in the social circle, as well as among the poor, his kindness of disposition was conspicuous.  During the scarcity of provision in Ireland, his liberality was great, and his exertions on behalf of the destitute almost unremitting.

His illness commenced in the early part of the 9th month, 1849, and on finding that the complaint did not yield to remedies, he expressed his earnest desire for resignation to the divine will, remarking, that whatever might be the termination, he believed “all would be well.”  He intimated, that he had not been one who could give much expression to his religious feelings, but that for many years his mind had been daily exercised before the Lord on his own behalf, as well as on that of his family.  The prosperity of our religious Society lay very near to his heart, and he expressed his earnest desire for its preservation in “humility and simplicity.”

The patience with which he bore the debility attendant upon his complaint was remarkable; His mind expanded in love to his family, his friends, and to all the world, repeating emphatically, “I love them all.”

He frequently spoke of his willingness to depart; and as his illness advanced, there appeared an increasing sweetness and solemnity in his manner, and he mostly addressed those about him in terms of affection, expressing his thankfulness for their attention, and desiring that the Lord would strengthen them.  On a hope being expressed that his mind was peaceful, he replied, “Yes, quite so.”  He took an affectionate leave of his wife and those around him; after which nature rapidly sank, and he quietly, and it is humbly believed, peacefully expired.

Eliza Wright, Sutton, Cambridgeshire.  Daughter of Thomas and Mary Wright.  7 9mo. 8 1850

Thomas Weight, Sutton.  49 9mo. 16 1850

Henry Wright, Middlesboro.  30 9mo. 10 1849

John Fuller Youell, Yarmouth.  28 12mo. 1 1849

Under one month . . . Boys 1 . . . Girls 1

From one to three months . . . do. 2 . . . do. 3

From three to six months . . . do. 1 . . . do. 3

From six to twelve months . . . do. 1 . . . do. 1

Died 6th of 5th month, 1850.

Hannah Chapman Backhouse was the daughter of Joseph and Jane Gurney; she was born at Norwich the 9th of 2nd Month, 1787.  Of her very early life she has left but little record.  She disliked study, and was fond of boyish sports, until about the age of thirteen, when she began to feel enjoyment in reading.

Possessed of a naturally powerful and energetic mind, with talents of a very superior order, she soon began to take great delight in study, and was ambitious to excel in every thing that she undertook.  Drawing she pursued with intense eagerness, and in this and other acquirements, she made great proficiency.  Until about the age of seventeen, her highest enjoyment was derived from the cultivation of the intellectual powers, and in the endeavour to raise these to their highest perfection, she imagined the greatest happiness to consist.  In her journal she writes:—“My thoughts have been this week, one continued castle in the air of being an artist; the only reality they were built on, was my having painted in oils better than I thought I could, and a feeling that I shall in a little time succeed, and an unbounded ambition to do so.  I have had many arguments with myself, to know if it would be right.  I think it would, if I could make good use of it.”

But gradually she found that no object which had this world for its limit, could satisfy the cravings of an immortal soul.  She began to feel that she was formed for higher purposes than the gratification of self in its most refined and plausible form, and in 1806, we note the gradual unfolding of that change of view, which through the operation of the Holy Spirit, led her to the unreserved surrender of her whole being to the service of her Lord;—a surrender that in so remarkable a manner marked her unwavering path through the remaining portion of her dedicated life.  Speaking of this period, after her first attendance of the Yearly Meeting, she says,—

July, 1806.  “This time, for almost the first in my life, I seem come to a stand in the objects of my darling pursuits, which I may say have been almost entirely the pursuit of pleasure, through the medium of the understanding.  This I feel must be a useless search, for the further I go, the more unattainable is the contentment which I hoped a degree of excellence might have produced;—the further I go, the further does my idea of perfection extend; therefore this way of attaining happiness I find is impossible.  Never in my life was I so sensible of the real weakness of man, though to all appearance so strong; for I am persuaded that it is almost impossible to conduct oneself through this world, without being sincerely religious.  The human mind must have an object, and let that object be the attainment of eternal happiness. * * * After such considerations, can I be so weak as not to make religion my only pursuit?  That which will, I believe, bring my mind into beautiful order, and, rendering all worldly objects subservient to its use, harmonize the whole, and fit it to bear fruit to all eternity, and the fruit of righteousness is peace.  I have felt my mind very much softened of late, and more and more see the beauty of holiness, but all the progress I can say that I have made towards it, is in loving it more;—yet I feel I have a great way to go before my heart is entirely given up.”

Feb. 9th, 1807.  “To-day I am twenty; let me endeavour to describe with sincerity what twenty years have effected upon me; how difficult self-love and blindness make answering the questions, What am I?  How far am I advanced in the great end of being, the making such use of my time here, that it may bear fruit when time with me is over?  When I look upon myself with the greatest seriousness, how ill do I think of myself!  I see myself endowed with powers, which I often, (I hope, with a pure and unfeigned heart,) wish may be applied aright.  But in my mind, what strong ‘bulls of Bashan’ compass me about!  What I fear most, and that which sometimes comes upon me most awfully, is, that my will is not properly brought into subjection. * * * Often when clothed with something of heavenly love, do I feel that I had rather be a door-keeper in the house of my God, than dwell in king’s palaces, but I fear the general tendency of my pursuits would make me more fit for the latter than the former.  What I want and do most sincerely wish for, is, that I may be truly humble, and that where pride now reigns, humility may prevail; and where ambition, contentment.”

In 1808, the death of a favourite first cousin appears to have been the means of greatly deepening her serious impressions, and of increasing the desire to “relieve herself,” as she expresses it, “from the miserable state of inconsistency in which a gay Friend is situated.”  A short time subsequent to this period, she writes:—

May, 1808.  “With my father and mother I left the Grove this morning, with a mind much softened, though not afflicted by parting with those I love, earnestly wishing that what I was going to attend,—the Yearly Meeting, might stamp more deeply the impressions I had received.  We reached Epping that night.  I felt very serious; Love seemed to have smitten me, and under that banner, I earnestly hoped that I might be enabled to partake of whatever might be set before me in the banqueting house.  I saw that it would be right for me to say thee, and thou, to everybody, and I begged that I might be so kept in love as to be enabled to do it,—that love might draw me, not fear terrify me.”

“How deeply I felt to enjoy First-day, and was strengthened at meeting.  For the first time, to-day I called the days of the week numerically, on principle, it cost me at first a blush.  This day has afforded me deeper and sweeter feelings than any I have yet passed; surprise and ridicule I have felt to be useful!”

“Left Bury Hill early: I can look back to the time I have spent here as the happiest in my life; and I have earnestly wished that my example and influence in future life, may be useful to those whom, never before my mind was so altered, did I love with so sweet or so great an affection.”

After alluding to some further change, she writes; “I felt increasingly the weight of advocating the cause I have engaged in; oh! may no word or action of mine, stain the character I am assuming, and may no self-exaltation be the consequence: the mind, I feel, must be kept deep indeed, to avoid the rocks that do every where surround.”

6th Month, 1808.  “Went to meeting—thought that by observing the commandment, and confessing Christ before men, we should only be showing the beautiful effect of obedience, in the fruit of the Spirit it produces,—that it does not consist in speech, dress, or behaviour, but that by being obedient in these and all things, to the law written in our hearts; we should be overshadowed by that sweetness and quietness of spirit, the fruits of which would prove whose government we are under.”

7th Month, 1808, Cromer.  “Walked on the shore, the sky was illuminated by the setting sun the scene was of nature’s greatest beauty, I could not speak, but it was not the effect of the scene.  Such scenes in which I used to revel, have lost much of their influence in the inferior peace they bring, to that which a few small sacrifices, the effect of obedience, produce.”

Grove, 11th Month, 1808.  “Patience tried, and censoriousness of mind and some words allowed to have too much dominion.  The higher we rise, the more we feel the foibles of others; and then the more need have we of the spirit of love and charity, to be patient with them; and if we are not, it is not excellence, but only the sight of it we have gained.”

12th Month, 1808.  “I fear I have not sufficiently this week, wrestled for the blessing of peace.  I am sensible of having the power of pleasing, of having stronger natural powers and more acquirements than most women,—I am conscious too, of having with all my might, sought that which is highest, and that my heart has been made willing to sacrifice all for the attainment of it, and wonders have I already known; if I do not now diligently seek that which can make me feelingly ascribe all the glory, where alone it is due, fruitless must all my talents be, and great my fall.”

12th Month, 12th, 1808.  “--- came, the conversation in the evening, softened my heart in the deduction I drew from it, of what a prize was our possession,—how anchorless the world seemed to be,—and I loved dear Friends!”

2nd Month, 9th, 1809.  “Twenty-two years old.  Through the mercy of everlasting kindness, great is the change that this year has wrought in me; the power of Love has enticed me to begin that spiritual journey which leads to the promised land: I have left, by His guidance and strength, the bondage of Egypt, and have seen His wonders in the deep.  May the endeavour of my life be, to keep close to that Angel, who can deliver us through the trials and dangers of the wilderness of this world.

I have not studied much this year, yet I have almost every day read a little, and never was my sight so clear into the intellectual world.  The works of the head may, I believe, usefully occupy such portions of time as are not necessary for discharging our relationship in society. * * * But above all things be humble, which a love of all perfection is, I believe, not only consistent with, but the root of.”

In 1811, Hannah C. Gurney married Jonathan Backhouse, and settled at Darlington.  The early years of her married life appear to have been much devoted to her young family.  For a time, her journal was entirely suspended; but in 1815 she writes: “These last four years, are perhaps best left in that situation, in which spiritual darkness has in a great measure involved them; it may be the sweet and new objects of external love, and necessary attention in which I have been engaged, have too much drawn my mind from internal watchfulness, after the first flow of spiritual joy began to subside; or it has been the will of the Author of all blessing to change the dispensation, and taking from me the light of his love, in which all beauty so easily and naturally exists, to teach me indeed, that the glory of all good belongs to Him alone, and that He is jealous of our decking ourselves with His jewels.”

In 1820, she first spoke as a minister, in reference to which she writes: 3rd Month, 1820, “Had felt for some time, and particularly lately, a warm concern for the interest of our family, which to my humiliation, surprise, and consolation, I was strengthened to express to them in a private opportunity, before I left Sunderland.  On our ride home, I felt the candle of the Lord shine round about me, in a manner I had not done for years, accompanied with much tenderness and some foreboding fears.  I felt I had put my hand to the plough, and I must not turn back, but I remembered the days that were past, and I knew something of the power of Him in whom I had believed; though fear often compassed me about, and too much imagination.”

1820.  “My heart has burned as an oven, internal and external supplication has not been wanting to ease it; may I endure the burnings as I ought.”  Speaking of attending the Yearly Meeting soon after, she says: “I saw many dangerous enemies of my own heart near me, yet was there mercifully preserved a germ of truth, in which met the hearts of the faithful, and which was an encouragement to me; I afterwards spoke twice in the Yearly Meeting, and the composure at the moment, and after a time the peace that ensued, seemed to assure me that I had not run without being sent.  The remembrance of former days came strongly before me, and in thus again publicly manifesting the intent of my heart, I felt the comfort of being no stranger to that Hand, which, as it once fed me with milk, seemed to me now after a long night season, feeding me with meat.”

After her return home, she writes: “Opened my mouth in Darlington meeting, on First-day afternoon.  A mountain in prospect!  The meetings now became very interesting to me, and as the reward of what I was induced to believe was faithfulness, often greatly refreshing.”

In the course of this year, she lost her eldest son, a child of great promise, and the suffering attendant upon this deep sorrow, in addition to close mental baptism, at times greatly prostrated her physical powers.

11th Month 4th, 1820, we find the following-memorandum: “‘Oh how great is Thy goodness which Thou hast laid up for them that fear Thee, which Thou hast wrought for them that trust in Thee before the sons of men.’  In looking back to the last two or three months, I feel I may adopt this language: in them I have known the greatest portion of suffering that it has yet been my lot to taste.”

3rd Month, 1822.  She writes, “In the afternoon meeting, a subject seemed so clear before me, that I ventured to speak; but oh! the evil of my heart, the consciousness of having, or supposing I had, chosen my words well, was like the fly in the ointment of the apothecary, the baneful effects of which, I felt many days after.  The more I see of my own mind, the more may the breathing of my soul be,—‘If Thou wilt, Thou canst make me clean.’  Sometimes to believe that it is His will, is sweet to me, but we must maintain the fight, for though the victory is His, the fall is ours.”

“The constant and deep consideration for others in the most minute actions of life, how I love it, and feel myself ‘as a bullock unaccustomed to the yoke.’”

5th Month, 6th, 1822.  “Days and nights of much spiritual conflict, or rather perhaps the sight that there was much to conflict with; weak in body and weak in mind!  In my ministry more patient and deep deliberation wanting.  Last night, believed I had not kept close enough to my Guide in prayer, with which I felt some distress,—perhaps not altogether wrong,—but had not stopped when I ought, nor waited at every moment for clearness and strength in the exercise; I hope I shall not hurt others.”

6th Month, 1822.  “A month is now passed in which I have been sweetly enabled to enjoy the love of God in my heart.  I trust we shall experience preservation, though we may well fear for ourselves, and be the subject of fear for others.  Oh! that, without affectation, we may live deeply in the root of life!”

4th Month, 1823.  “I have much to bind me to this earth, but perhaps more power of gratefully enjoying its blessings is wanted, and may be in store for me before I leave it; some minds seem deeply anchored in the truth, meekly and patiently bearing the trials of the day, with firmer faith and greater purity, but each heart alone knows its own bitterness, and I believe there is never much attainment without much suffering;—a chastened habit of thought, how desirable to be the habit of early life! riches and indulgences how inimical to it!”

4th Month, 1825.  “My mind enjoyed a liberty, and something of the light of the glorious gospel, a state which I often pant after, and am so generally a stranger to; in each day a religious engagement seemed peculiarly blessed to myself.  A sense of being liked and loved, is gratifying; at the same time I acknowledge, it has its dangers; it is, however, a stimulus to do good and to communicate.”

4th Month, 25th.  “A poor body, and a weak restless mind!  How the sword does wear the scabbard! but this world is not to be our paradise; perhaps I lose some little strength in striving to make it so.  Oh! my God, have pity upon me; thou alone canst know how much I suffer;—if my children ail anything, what it costs me.”

In 1826, she visited the families of Friends in Darlington Monthly Meeting, in company with Isaac Stephenson; and in allusion to this engagement, she writes: “Entered last week on a visit, with I. Stephenson, to the families of this Monthly Meeting.  Ministry is surely a gift! may the vessel be purified by using it in faith.”

3rd Month, 1826.  “After many cogitations and some provings of faith, I went with Isaac Stephenson to Manchester, Lancaster, and Leeds: I felt it like leaving all to follow what I believed to be my divine Guide; it cost me some heart-sinkings and tears, but my mind was sweetly preserved in peace and confidence; and, though I had times of depression and fear to pass through, I have been thankful that I made the sacrifice.  It has endeared me to many individuals; and at times, in the undoubted belief that it was a divine requiring, it has strengthened my faith, and excited some degree of thankfulness for being so employed.”

4th Month, 16th.  “A sweet day of rest and peace, such as I do not remember to have known for years.”

4th Month, 18th.  “Monthly Meeting one of perplexity and fear, Oh! for dwelling deep and lying low! and waiting in quietness for the ‘little cloud!’ but it seems as if my faith were to be tried by things coming unexpectedly upon me, and to be humbled by feeling ill prepared.”

From this time she went on advancing rapidly in the work of the ministry: her truly catholic spirit expanded in love to her fellow-creatures; the inmates of the palace as well as those of the prison, shared alike her Christian zeal and interest.  Her naturally powerful and refined mind, deeply instructed in the things of God, rendered her peculiarly fitted to labour amongst those, who being invested with wealth and influence, she regarded as stewards, deeply responsible for the right occupation of their various gifts: with many of these, in the upper classes of society, she sought and obtained opportunities for conveying religious counsel; and in not a few instances there was a deep response in the hearts of her hearers, to the truths which she had to proclaim.

The public meetings which she held were very numerous,—many of them very remarkable.  Her fervour in seeking to arouse to a sense of their condition, those who were “dead in trespasses and sins,”—her sound and convincing arguments, in controverting the views of the infidel,—her zeal against the lukewarm professor, and her earnest affectionate invitations to the humble believer in Jesus, to “lay aside every weight,” and partake, in all their fulness, of the blessings purchased for them by the dear Son of God; will long be remembered by those who felt the truth and unction of her appeals.  She dwelt upon the glorious scheme of redemption, through the propitiatory sacrifice of Christ Jesus upon the cross, for the sins of the whole world; and of the absolute necessity of sanctification of spirit, through the effectual operation of divine grace on the heart, as one, who had herself largely participated, in the blessings and mercies of her God.  She was, however, no stranger to deep mental conflicts, both in the prosecution of her religious labours, and in the more retired sphere of domestic life, as some of her memoranda show.

In 1827, after visiting with her husband, the counties of Devon and Cornwall, an engagement which occupied them nearly two months, and included a visit to the Scilly Isles, she writes:—

7th Month, 1827.  “I felt it a day of favour when we gave in our account at the Monthly Meeting, the third day after our arrival at home, but in returning from this journey, I have been made remarkably sensible, that the business of religion is the business of the day, and that the exercises and strength of any past day, are but as nothing for the day that is passing over us; and many of these days have been passed in much mental conflict, and much bodily weakness and languor.”

1828.  “Many, and many have been my fears, lest the good things that others may see us surrounded with, should be as a stumbling block leading to covetousness; how hardly shall they that have riches lead the life of a humble follower of the dear Redeemer!  These thoughts often beset me, and sometimes make me fear, if ever I have a right to open my mouth to advocate His cause.”

“I could wish I had a heart, a head, and a mind fit for all I could embrace, but that may never be: however, altogether my mind has been of late, less covered with clouds than it used to be, and my health revives with it.  ‘What shall I render for all thy benefits?’ may well be the language of my soul.”

In 1829 she was again joined by her dear husband in a visit to Ireland; after which she writes:—

10th Month, 1829.  “We passed through many deep baptisms, many sinks both of body and mind, and in the course of three or four months, attended all the particular meetings; I think we did too much in the time to do it as well as we might; there was much exercise of faith, but patience had not its perfect work:—may my daily prayer be for patience, and the daily close exercise of my spirit to obtain it; for want of it, I get into many perplexities, that might be avoided; yet with all the omissions and commissions that I can look back upon with shame, I can number this journey among the many mercies of my life, being at times in it, introduced into a more soul-satisfying state than I had perhaps ever known before, and I was never more fully persuaded that we were commissioned to preach the gospel.  The company of my dear husband was truly a comfort and support, as well as very endearing, and this journey has enlarged my heart in love to hundreds, and has written many epistles there, which I trust may never be blotted out.”

In 1830, she laid before her Monthly Meeting, a prospect of going to America.  This concern was cordially united with, and she and her husband were liberated for the service in that land.  In reference to this very weighty engagement, she thus writes to her dear cousin, Elizabeth Fry:—

Darlington, 2nd Month, 4th, 1830.

“My dearest Betsy,

I believe some of thy tenderest sympathies will be aroused, on hearing of the momentous prospect now before us of visiting North America.  I dare say many, many years ago, thy imagination sent me there,—call it by that name, or the more orthodox one of faith,—so has mine, but I saw it without baptism; now, I pass into it under baptism, which in depth far exceeds any thing I have known before; the severing work it is to the ties of nature, to my dear Father, Mother, and Children, breaks me all to pieces, but I have much, if not entirely, been spared from doubts; all I seem to have had to do was to submit; this is a great comfort, for which I desire to be thankful, and for that peace which in the midst of deep suffering has so far rested upon it.

Thy very affectionate
H. C. Backhouse.”

Her labours in America were very abundant, and there is reason to believe, blessed to very many.  During the five years she spent on that Continent, she visited the greater part of the meetings of Friends, and in doing so, shrank from no hardship or privation consequent upon travelling in districts recently settled.

In 1833, Jonathan Backhouse thus writes of her labours—

“I do think my wife’s labours in these parts, have been of essential service;—helped some sunken ones out of a pit, strengthened some weak hands, and confirmed some wavering ones, as well as comforted the mourners.  She has no cause to be discouraged about her labours, they have been blessed.”

Her husband thinking it desirable to return for a while to England, Hannah C. Backhouse was provided with a most faithful valuable companion in Eliza P. Kirkbride, and for her as well as for many other beloved friends to whom she had become closely united in America, she retained a warm interest and affection to the close of her life.

In 1835, they returned to England, and in the bosom of her beloved family and friends, great was, for a time, her domestic happiness.  But home endearments were not permitted to interfere with her devotion to Him, to do whose will, was not only her highest aim, but her chief delight: and whenever the Lord’s call was heard, she was ready to obey.  Many parts of England, and Scotland were visited between this time and 1845.  During this interval some of her nearest domestic ties were broken; her eldest surviving son, an engaging youth of seventeen, her beloved husband, and a precious daughter, the wife of John Hodgkin, of Tottenham, were all summoned to their eternal home: whilst under the pressure of sorrow occasioned by the removal of Ann Hodgkin, the following letter was penned:—

Tottenham, 12th Month, 9th, 1845.

“My losses have been many and great, but the greatness of this, I am increasingly coming into the apprehension of.  She was lovely in her life, and in death may we not be divided! or by death, but may her sweet spirit be very near in my remembrance, to the end of my days, and then may I join Father and Mother, Brothers and Sisters, Husband and Children,—how many of the nearest ties now, we trust, in heaven, and how few on earth comparatively.  On this subject I cannot now dwell,—when I can view her free from all weakness, corruption, and suffering, in the enjoyment of that rest, she knew so well how to appreciate, I could smile with a joyful sorrow; but few of such moments have been given; in general a patient bearing of the present moment, is the most we have arrived at, under the blessed unmoved confidence that all is well.

Your very affectionate sister,
H. C. Backhouse.”

From this time a cessation from labour was granted, and after having thus devoted the meridian of her life to the service of her Lord, she was permitted for some years previous to her decease, to enjoy a season of almost uninterrupted repose.  Love, meekness, gentleness, and peace were eminently the clothing of her spirit; and like Moses viewing from the Mount the Promised Land, she seemed almost to live above the trials and temptations of time; nothing appeared materially to disturb or ruffle the repose of her soul, deeply centred in God.  Her ministry was often strikingly beautiful and impressive, especially exhorting to unreserved dedication, and dwelling on the glories of the heavenly kingdom.

During the latter part of 1849, her health, which had long been delicate, began increasingly to give way; at the end of the 3rd Month of 1850, she was seized with alarming illness, from which little hope was entertained of her recovery; from this she so far rallied as to leave her bed-room, and go into an adjoining sitting-room, but never was able to go down stairs.  It was evident her strength was very small, but no immediate danger was at this time apprehended.  She was at times, cheerful, always tranquil and full of repose, and able to enjoy the company of those immediately around her; at other times illness oppressed her, and prevented the power for much exertion of mind or communication of thought.  But words were not needed to declare her faith or her love, when through having faithfully occupied with the grace that had been given to her, her whole life might almost be said to have been one act of dedication to God.

On the night of the 5th of Fifth Month, increased illness came on, she continued conscious almost to the last, and alluded with perfect calmness to the fresh symptoms of danger.  On her sister remarking to her, that “though it was a dark valley, it would soon be all joy to her,” she responded by a beautiful smile, but power of articulation soon failed, and on the morning of the 6th of Fifth Month, 1850, she most gently expired.

We cannot close this account more appropriately than in the language of a dear friend who had long known and loved her.

“A character of such rare excellence, such singleness of purpose, such true devotedness, in which the intellectual and the spiritual were so well balanced, and well developed together:—a character in which, with all the occasional undulations and agitations of the surface, there was such a deep, such a clear, such a calm and steady under-current of sterling piety, of unwavering attachment to the cause of our God and of his Christ, of close adherence to the leadings of his Spirit, and strong desire to do his will;—a character in which the woman, the Christian, and the Quaker were so fused into one, did truly adorn the doctrine of God her Saviour.  It was conspicuous that by the grace of God she was what she was; though nature had done much, grace had done much more, and it was evident that she humbly felt that she was not her own, that she was bought with a price; that amidst all that surrounded her of the perishing things of time, she did not live unto herself, but unto Him who died for her and rose again, who was her Alpha and Omega, her all in all.  In our little and afflicted church, the loss is great: she was one of our stakes, and one of our cords!  The stake is removed, the cord is broken, but our God abideth for ever.”

We think it will be agreeable to our readers, that we should occupy a few vacant pages, by the following lively particulars respecting “Patrick, the Apostle of the Irish.”  They are extracted from a work lately published, under the title of, “Light in Dark Places; or Memorials of Christian Life in the Middle Ages,” which is stated, in the preface, to be translated from a German work by the late Augustus Neander.  Patrick flourished in the early part of the fifth century, before the Romish yoke was imposed upon the British churches, but not before much superstition had become mixed with the purity of the Christian faith.

His early circumstances seem, however, to have entirely detached him from dependence upon man, and to have driven him to the One great Source of light and strength.  Romanists have a story of his having gone to Rome, and having received there his authority as the first bishop of Ireland; but it is evident that his call to preach the gospel to the Irish, was not of man, or from man, but immediately from God, who inspired him with holy faith and courage, and in a most remarkable manner prospered his labours.

* * * * *

This remarkable man was prepared, by very peculiar circumstances, for his important work; and in his instance, also, it may be seen, how that infinite wisdom which guides the development of the kingdom of God amongst men, is able to bring great things out of what seems insignificant to the eyes of men.

Patrick, called in his native tongue Succath, was born a.d. 372, between the Scottish towns of Dumbarton and Glasgow, (then appended to England,) in the village of Bonaven, since named in honour of him, Kilpatrick.  He was the son of a poor unlettered deacon of the village church.  No particular care was bestowed on his education, and he lived on light-heartedly, from day to day, without making the religious truths taught him by his parents matters of personal interest, until his seventeenth year.

Then, it happened that he was awakened by a severe chastisement from his Heavenly Father from this sleep of death to a higher life.  Some pirates of the wild tribe of the Scots, who then inhabited Ireland, landed at the dwelling-place of Patrick, and carried him off with other captives.  He was sold into slavery to a Scottish prince, who committed to him the care of his flocks and herds.  Necessity directed his heart to that God of whom, in his days of rest in his father’s house, he had not thought.  Abandoned of men, he found consolation and blessedness in Him, and now first learned to perceive and enjoy the treasures which the Christian has in heaven.  Whilst he roamed about with his flocks, through ice and snow, communion with his God in prayer, and quiet contemplation, were his portion.  Let us hear how he himself, in a confession which he subsequently wrote, describes this change which took place in him.

“I was about sixteen years old, and knew nothing of the true God, when I was led into captivity with many thousands of my countrymen, as we deserved, in that we had departed from God, and had not kept his commandments.  There God opened my unbelieving heart, so that I, although late, remembered my sins, and turned with my whole heart to the Lord my God, to Him who had regarded my loneliness, had had compassion on my youth and my ignorance, and had watched over me before I knew him; who, ere I knew how to choose between good and evil, had guarded and cherished me, as a father doth his son.  This I know assuredly, that before God humbled me, I was like a stone lying sunk in deep mire; but He who is able came, He raised me in his mercy, and set me on a very high place.  Therefore must I loudly bear witness to this, in order, in some measure, to repay the Lord for such great blessings in time and eternity, great beyond the apprehension of human reason.  “When I came to Ireland,” he says, “and used daily to keep the cattle, and often every day to pray, the fear and the love of God were ever more and more enkindled in me, and my faith increased, so that, in one day, I spoke a hundred times in prayer, and in the night almost as often; and even when I passed the night on the mountains, or in the forest, amid snow and ice and rain, I would awake before daybreak to pray.  And I felt no discomfort, there was then no sloth in me, such as I find in my heart now, for then the Spirit glowed within me.”

After he had passed six years in the service of this prince, he thought he heard a voice in his sleep which promised him a speedy return to his native land, and soon afterwards announced to him that a ship was already prepared to take him.  In reliance on this call, he set out, and after a journey of many days, he found a ship about to set sail.  But the captain would not, at first, receive the poor unknown youth.  Patrick fell on his knees and prayed.  He had not finished his prayer before one of the ship’s company called him back, and offered him a passage.  After a wearisome voyage, in which he experienced, from the grace which guided him, many a deliverance from great peril, and many a memorable answer to prayer, he arrived once more amongst his people.

Many years after this, he was again carried off by pirates.  But, in sixteen days, by the special guidance of Providence, he regained his freedom, and again returned, after many fresh perils and fatigues, to his people.  Great was the joy of his parents to see their son again after so many perils, and they entreated him thenceforth to remain with them always.  But Patrick felt an irresistible call to carry to the people amongst whom he had passed the years of his youth, and amongst whom he had been born again to the heavenly life, the tidings of that salvation which had been imparted to him by Divine grace, whilst amongst them.  As the apostle Paul was by the Lord called, in a nocturnal vision, to carry to the people of Macedonia the first tidings of salvation, so there appeared to Patrick one night, in a vision, a man from Ireland with many letters.  He gave him one, and Patrick read the first words, “The words of the Irish.”  And as he read these words, he thought he heard the simultaneous cry of many Irish tribes dwelling by the sea, “We pray thee, child of God, come and dwell once more amongst us.”  He could not read further, from the agitation of his heart, and awoke.

Another night he thought he heard in a dream a heavenly voice, whose last words only were intelligible to him, namely, these words,—“He who gave his life for thee, speaks in thee.”  And he awoke full of joy.  One night it seemed to him as if something that was in him, and yet above him, and was not himself, prayed with deep sighings, and at the end of the prayer it spoke, as if it were the Spirit of God himself.  And he awoke, and remembered the expressive words of the apostle Paul, concerning the inward communion of the children of God with his Spirit, “The Spirit itself helpeth our infirmities.  For we know not what we should pray for as we ought, but the Spirit itself maketh intercession for us with groanings that cannot be uttered.”  And in Romans viii.  24 “Christ which also maketh intercession for us.”

As the Almighty Shepherd of souls does not draw all to himself by the same means, nor guide and nourish them alike; but, on the contrary reveals and communicates himself to them in divers manners, according to his various purposes for them, and their various wants; it pleased Him to grant Patrick, by many manifestations of his grace, the pledge of the certainty of his fellowship with Himself, and of his call to preach the Gospel in Ireland.  His parents and friends sought to hold him back, representing to him that such an undertaking far exceeded his capacity.  He himself informs us of this, when he says: “Many dissuaded me from this journey, and said behind my back, ‘Why does this man throw himself into danger, amongst the heathen who do not know the Lord?’  It was not said maliciously, but they could not comprehend the thing on account of my rustic life and manners.”  But nothing could mislead him, for he trusted in the power of the Lord, who imparted to him the inward confidence that He had called him, and was with him.  He himself says of this: “Whence came to me so great and blessed a gift, that I should know and love God, and be able to forsake my country and my kindred, although large gifts were offered me, with many tears, if I would remain?  And against my will I was compelled to offend many of my kindred and my well-wishers.  But by God’s guidance, I yielded not to them; it was not my own power, it was God who triumphed in me, and resisted them all, so that I went amongst the people of Ireland to preach to them this Gospel, prepared to suffer much contempt from the unbelieving, and many persecutions, even to chains; and, if needful, to sacrifice my freedom for the good of others.  And if I am counted worthy, I am ready also to lay down my life with joy for His name’s sake.”

Patrick, accordingly, went to Ireland, in the year 431.  He could now make use of his early proficiency in the Irish language.  He gathered great multitudes of the people together in the open air, by beat of drum, to tell them of the sufferings of the Saviour for sinful men; and the doctrine of the cross manifested its characteristic power over many hearts.  Patrick met indeed with much opposition.  The priests and national bards, who possessed great influence, excited the people against him, and he had to endure many a hot persecution.  But he overcame by his steadfastness in the faith, by his fervent zeal, and by a love which drew all hearts to itself.  Patrick addressed himself especially to the chiefs and princes of the people.  They could do the most mischief, if they were excited by the Druids against the strange religion; and, on the other hand, if they received the Gospel, they might make their people more accessible, and form a counterbalance to the influence of the Druids.

Patrick took the part of servants who had suffered hard usage from their masters.  When he found youths of the lower ranks, who seemed to him fitted for a higher calling, he provided for their education, and trained them to be teachers of the people.

He had, from his youth, as we have seen, experienced the especial guidance of the Lord, and his heart was penetrated by it.  Now, whilst he laboured in the fervour and power of faith, he was able to produce effects on the rude minds of the Irish, such as never could have been produced by ordinary human power.  He saw himself, moreover, sustained by the peculiar direction of that God whose word he preached.  Patrick speaks of it, not in spiritual pride, but full of the sense of his unworthiness and impotence, as well as of the consciousness of the grace working in and through him.

After speaking, in one of his letters, of such marvels as God granted him to perform amongst the barbarous people, he added: “But I conjure all, let no one, on account of these or the like things, think to place me on an equality with the Apostles and other perfect men; for I am an insignificant, sinful, and despicable man.”  And more marvellous to him than the miracles which were wrought by him, was the simple fact which filled his whole soul, that by him who, until God drew his soul to Himself by severe chastisement, had himself cared so little about his own salvation, many thousands of the people, who had hitherto known nothing of the true God, should be brought to salvation.  “Marvel,” he says, “ye who fear God, small and great, and ye eloquent talkers, who know nothing of the Lord, inquire and acknowledge who it is that has awakened me, a simple man, from the midst of those who are accounted wise, learned, and mighty, in word and in deed.  For I, who was abandoned beyond many others in the world; even I, in spite of all this, have been called by his Spirit, that in fear and trembling, yet faithfully and blamelessly, I should serve the people to whom the love of Christ has led me.  Unweariedly must I thank my God, who has kept me faithful in the day of temptation, so that I can this day trustfully offer my soul as a living sacrifice of thanksgiving to my Lord Christ, who has delivered me out of all my afflictions, so that I must also say, Who am I, Lord? and what is my calling? that thou hast so gloriously revealed to me thy Godhead, that I can now constantly rejoice amongst the heathen, and glorify Thy name wherever I may be, not only in prosperity, but also in adversity; so that whatever may befall me, good or evil, I can calmly receive it, and continually thank that God who has taught me to believe in Him as the only true God.”

Patrick endeavoured to avoid all appearance of seeking his own gain or glory.  A man who, according to the judgment of men, was not fitted to effect such great things, who from obscurity and poverty had been called to so high a place, and in whom therefore, as is frequently the case, those who had formerly known him after the flesh would not recognise what the Spirit had accomplished, such a man was obliged, with all the more circumspection, to avoid giving any occasion to those who were disposed to declare a thing which they could neither measure nor comprehend by the common standard, altogether beyond flesh and blood.  When many, full of love and gratitude to the teacher of salvation, their spiritual father, freely offered him gifts, and pious women offered their ornaments, Patrick, although the donors were at first offended at it, in order to avoid all evil report, declined everything.  He himself gave presents to the heathen chiefs, in order thereby to purchase peace for himself and his churches; he ransomed many Christians from captivity; and was himself prepared, as a good shepherd, to lay down all, even to his life, for his sheep.  In his confession of faith, which, after labouring for thirty years in this calling, he addressed to his converts, he says: “That ye may rejoice in me, and I may ever rejoice in you in the Lord, I repent not what I have done, and even now it is not enough for me, I shall go further and sacrifice much more.  The Lord is mighty to confirm me yet more, that I may yield up my life for your souls.  I call God to witness in my soul, that I have not written this to seek glory from you.  The glory which is not seen, but believed on in the heart is enough for me.  Faithful is that God who hath promised, and he lieth not.  But already in this world I behold myself exalted above measure by the Lord.  I know very well that poverty and hardship suit me better than wealth and ease; yea, even the Lord Christ became poor for our sakes.  Daily have I expected to be seized, carried into captivity, or slain; but I fear none of these things, because of the promises of heaven; for I have cast myself into the arms of the Almighty God, who reigns everywhere, as it is said in the Psalm, ‘Cast thy burden upon the Lord, and he shall sustain thee.’  Now I commend my soul to my faithful God, whom in my insignificance I serve as his messenger.  For since with Him there is no respect of persons, and since He has chosen me for this calling, that I as one of the least of His people, should serve Him, what shall I render unto the Lord for all his benefits?  What shall I say or promise unto my Lord?  For I can do nothing, unless He himself give it me!  But He trieth the hearts and reins, and He knoweth how greatly I long that He may give me to drink of the cup of His sufferings, as He has granted to others who love Him.  I pray God that He may give me perseverance, and enable me to bear a faithful witness until my departure.  And if I have striven after anything good for my God’s sake, whom I love, I beseech Him that I, with those my new converts who have fallen into captivity, may shed my blood for his Name’s sake, even though I should never be buried, even though my body should be torn in pieces by wild beasts.  I believe firmly that if this should befall me, I should gain my body as well as my soul; for undoubtedly, in that day, we shall arise and shine like the sun, that is, in the glory of our Redeemer, Jesus Christ, who is the Son of the living God, as joint heirs with Christ, renewed in His image; for by Him, through Him, and with Him shall we reign.  That sun which we see, rises daily for us by God’s command; but it will never reign, and its brightness will not last for ever.  All those also who worship it will (unhappy ones!) draw down punishment on themselves.  But we pray in faith to Christ, the true Sun, that will never set, and he also who doeth His will shall never set, but shall live for ever, as Christ lives for ever, and reigns with God, the Almighty Father, and the Holy Spirit, from everlasting to everlasting.”

Patrick would gladly, after the absence and labours of many years, have once more visited his relations and his old friends in his native Britain and in Gaul, but he sacrificed his inclination to the higher calling.  “I would gladly,” he says, “have journeyed to my fatherland and my parents, and also once more have visited my brethren in Gaul, that I might have seen again the countenances of the saints of my Lord; God knows I longed for it much, but I am restrained by the Spirit, who witnesseth to me, that if I do this, He will hold me guilty, and I fear lest the work I have commenced should fall to the ground.”

Shewing the Deaths, at different Ages, in the Society of Friends in Great Britain and Ireland, during the years 1847-48, and 1848-49, 1849-50.

age.	Year 1847-48.			Year 1848-49.			Year 1849-50.
	Male.	Female.	Total.	Male.	Female.	Total.	Male.	Female.	Total.
Under 1 year {129}	13	10	23	14	10	24	5	8	13
Under 5 years	22	23	45	20	17	37	8	11	19
From 5 years to 10	7	9	16	4	4	8	2	6	8
From 10 to 15	7	7	14	3	3	6	0	2	2
From 15 to 20	7	13	20	9	10	19	2	7	9
From 20 to 30	13	16	29	13	13	26	9	6	15
From 30 to 40	6	13	19	11	19	30	6	12	18
From 40 to 50	13	15	28	10	24	34	9	14	23
From 50 to 60	14	12	26	9	25	34	12	17	29
From 60 to 70	23	25	48	29	37	66	21	30	51
From 70 to 80	28	58	86	24	44	68	33	40	73
From 80 to 90	21	26	47	16	33	49	22	22	44
From 90 to 100	3	6	9	4	8	12	2	4	6
All ages	164	223	387	152	237	389	131	179	310

{2}  See Memoir at the end of the Obituary.

{129}  The numbers in this series are included in the text, “under 5 years.”

Average age in 1847-48, 48 years, 11 months, and 25 days.

Average age in 1848-49, 51 years, 3 months, and 22 days.

Average age in 1849-50, 54 years, and 9 months.