REFLECTIONS AT THE SEVENTY-EIGHTH SACRAMENT. DEAR BETSEY DEAD.

I HAD preached in the bitterness of my heart from these words: "Is it well with thy husband and the child? and she said, It is well." I endeavoured to show the reason there was to say this; but surely there was never any dispensation of Providence in which I found it so hard, for my very soul had been overwhelmed within me. Indeed some hard thoughts of God were ready to arise; and the apprehension of his heavy displeasure, and the fear of my child's future state, added fuel to the fire. Upon the whole, my mind was in the most painful situation; but it pleased God that, in composing the sermon, my mind became quieted, and I was brought into a more silent, and cordial submission to the divine will.

At the table I discoursed on these words: "Although my house be not so with God," &c. I observed domestic calamities may befall good men in their journey through life, and particularly in relation to their children; but that they have a refuge in God's covenant; it is everlasting, it is sure, it is well ordered; every provision is made according to our necessities, and it shall be all our salvation, as it is the object of our most affectionate regard.

One further circumstance I must record; and that is, that I here solemnly recollected that I had, in a former sacrament, taken the cup with these words: "Lord, I take this cup as a public and solemn token that I will refuse no other cup which thou shalt put into my hand." I mentioned this recollection, and charged it publicly on myself and my Christian friends. God has taken me at my word, but I do not retract it; I repeat it again with regard to every future cup.

I am just come from the coffin of my dear child, who seems to be sweetly asleep there, with a serene, composed,

delightful countenance, once how animated with double life. There, lo! oh my soul! lo! there is thine idol laid still in death; the creature which stood next to God in thine heart, to whom it was opened with a fond and flattering delight. Methinks I would learn to be dead with her— dead to the world. Oh that I could be dead with her! not any farther than that her dear memory may promote my living to God.*

I had a great deal of very edifying conversation last night and this morning with my wife, whose wisdom does indeed make her face to shine under this affliction. She is supported and animated with a courage which seems not at all natural to her; talks with the utmost freedom, and has really said many of the most useful things that ever were said to me by any person upon the earth, both as to consolation and admonition. Had the best things I have read on the subject been collected together, they could hardly have been better conceived or better expressed. This is to me very surprising, when I consider her usual reserve. I have all imaginable reason to believe that God will make this affliction a great blessing to her, and I hope it may prove so to me. There was a fond delight and complacence which I took in Betsey beyond any thing living. Although she had not a tenth part of that rational, manly love, which I pay to her mamma and many surviving friends; yet it leaves a peculiar pain upon my heart, and it is almost as if my very gall were poured out upon the earth! Yet much sweetness mingles itself with this bitter potion, chiefly in the views and hope of my speedy removal to the eternal world. May not this be the beauty of this providence-instead of her living many years upon the earth, may not God have taken away my child that I might

* "I think I have heard that the doctor wrote his funeral sermon for his daughter, or a part of it, upon her coffin.”—The above note is written the margin by the Reverend Thomas Stedman.

be fitted for and reconciled to my own dissolution, perhaps nearly approaching? I verily believe I shall meet her there, and enjoy much more of her in heaven than I should have done had she survived me on earth. Lord, thy will be done! may my life be used for thy service while continued, and then put thou a period to it whenever thou pleasest.

October 3, 1736.

FURTHER REFLECTIONS AFTER THE FUNERAL OF MY

DEAR BETSEY.

I HAVE now been laying the delight of my eyes in the dust, and it is for ever hidden from them. My heart was too full to weep much. We had a suitable sermon from these words: "Doest thou well to be angry because of the gourd?" I hope God knows that I am not angry, but sorrowful he surely allows me to be. I could have wished that more had been said concerning the hope we may have of our child; and it was a great disappointment to me that nothing of that kind should be said by one that loved her so well as my brother Hunt did. Yet I bless God I have my hopes that she is lodged in the arms of Christ. And there was an occurrence that I took much notice of: I was most earnestly praying that God would be pleased to give me some further encouragement on this head, by letting in some new light, or by directing me to some further thoughts upon the subject. Soon after, as I came into my wife's chamber, she told me that our maid Betty, who had indeed the affection of a parent for my dear girl, had just before assured her that on the sabbath day evening Betsy would be repeating to herself some things of what she had heard in my prayers and in my preaching, but did not care to talk of it to others; and my wife assured me that she solemnly recommended herself to God in the words that I had taught her a little before she died. Blessed God, hast

thou not received her? I trust that thou hast, and pardoned the infirmities of her poor, short, childish, afflicted life. I hope, in some measure out of love to me, as thy servant, thou hast done it for Christ's sake; and I would consider the very hope as an engagement to thy future service. Lord, I love those who were kind to my child, and those that wept with me for her; shall I not much more love thee, who I hope art at this moment taking care of her, and opening her infant faculties for the duties and blessedness of heaven.

Lord, I would consider myself as a dying creature. My firstborn is gone;—my beloved child is laid in bed before. me. I have often followed her to her bed in a literal sense, and shortly shall follow her to that, where we shall lie down together; and our rest shall be together in the dust. In a literal sense, the grave is ready for me. My grave is made-I have looked into it-a dear part of myself is already there; and when I stood at the Lord's table I stood directly over it. It is some pleasure to me to think that my dust will be lodged near that of my dear lamb, how much more to hope that my soul will rest with hers, and rejoice in her for ever. But, oh, let me not centre my thoughts even here; it is a rest with and in God that is my ultimate hope. Lord, may thy grace secure it to me! and in the meantime give me some holy acquiescence of soul in thee; and though my gourd be withered, yet shelter me under the shadow of thy wings!

October 4, 1736.

A FURTHER ACCOUNT OF SOME THINGS REMARKABLE IN THE CONVERSATION OF MARY WILLS.

I OUGHT long ago to have made these memorandums, though one thing and another prevented me. She made me a visit the first sabbath day in August, which I think was also the first day of the month, in which she appeared

under some extraordinary impressions of a tender and serious spirit; and she then gave me an account of a very odd scene which had passed, as I suppose, in her imagination.

One morning, when engaged in her secret devotions, she thought a person came to her in the common dress of a plain countryman, but of a grave and sweet aspect, and seemingly advanced in years. He gave her great comfort in his discourses as to the state of her own soul, and dropped hints which have ever since been exceedingly useful and delightful to her. He talked of something concerning some very eminent professors; and particularly told her that a person who now lives at Pisford, and whose name is Matthews, though an eminent professor then, should prove an apostate, which accordingly he has done; and added, that he should come to miserable poverty and die in great distress; but hitherto he has continued in flourishing circumstances, which have grown better rather than worse since he has thrown off prayer and every thing else but going to the parish church, which yet he seldom does. He also warned her not to set her affections too much on Mr. Tingey, then her minister, for that he would leave them, and die quickly after, which accordingly he did. But she assured me, that he added, I will send one among you, who is yet a young man, and not fully entered upon the ministry; but he shall come when you are vacant, and this shall be a sign to you that he shall preach upon those words, By whom shall Jacob arise, for he is small?" By him will I revive my work among you! I could not but take particular notice of this circumstance, not only as it relates so particularly to myself, but as I recollected two other circumstances to lead me to believe it as extraordinary as it seems. The one is, that just about the time when the affair of my removal hither was thought of by some persons, though indeed not at all by myself, when I came to preach occasionally among them, and had brought other