# Records of the Life of the Rev. John Murray/Chapter I.

LIFE
OF
REV. JOHN MURRAY.
CHAPTER I.
Containing an Account of the Authors Birth and Parentage, until the Decease of his Father.
How sweetly roll'd over the morning of life,
How free from vexation, from sorrow and strife;
Kind Nature presented rich scenes to my view,
And every scene she presented was new.
But soon was the morning of life clouded o'er,
And its charming serenity lost;
Too soon was I forc'd to abandon the shore.
And on ocean's rude billows be tost.
YOUR earnest solicitations, my inestimable, my best friend, have, with me, the force of commands, and consequently I am irresistibly impelled to retrace for your gratification, as many of the incidents of early life, as live in my memory. Assured of your indulgence, I unhesitatingly commit to your candour, and to your discretion, the following sheets.
I am induced to regret, that my anecdotes of this charming season are not more multiplied. Were my recollection perfect, my enjoyments would be reiterated, but this would not be right, therefore it is not so; every season has its enjoyments, and the God of Nature has thought proper to keep them distinct, and appropriate.
I think, if I mistake not, I was ushered into this state of being on the 10th day of December, in the year of our Lord 1741, four years before the rebellion, in Scotland, of forty-five. I mention this circumstance, as it proved to me, in early life, a source of some vexation. The rebellion terminated in the destruction of many of the Scotch nobility of my name, and this same rebellion was long the subject of political ​controversy, which generally finished in the execration of the Scots, and, on account of my name, I was looked upon as a party concerned.
I drew my first breath in the island of Great Britain, in the town of Alton, in Hampshire. This town boasts a Church, a Presbyterian and a Quaker meeting-house; a celebrated free school, an extensive and very useful manufacture, and it is environed by a plantation of hops. Alton is seated on the River Wey, 18 miles east-north-east of Southampton, and 48 miles west-south-west of London.
Being the first born of my parents, it is not wonderful that my appearance gave much joy, nor that the little complaints, incident to infancy, gave great apprehension. It was in consequence of some little indisposition, that they solicited and obtained for me private baptism. My parents were both sincerely religious, though members of different sects. My father was an Episcopalian, my mother a Presbyterian, yet Religion never disturbed the harmony of the family. My mother believed, as most good women then believed, that husbands ought to have the direction, especially in concerns of such vast importance, as to involve the future well being of their children, and of course it was agreed, that I should receive from the hands of an Episcopalian minister, the rite of private baptism; and as this ordinance, in this private manner, is not administered, except the infant is supposed in danger of going out of the world in an unregenerate state, before it can be brought to the church, I take for granted I was, by my apprehensive parents, believed in imminent danger; yet, through succeeding years, I seemed almost exempt from the casualties of childhood. I am told that my parents, and grand parents, had much joy in me, that I never broke their rest nor disturbed their repose not even in weaning, that I was a healthy, good-humoured child, of a ruddy complexion, and that the equality of my disposition became proverbial. I found the use of my feet before I had completed my first year, but the gift of utterance was still postponed. I was hardly two years old, when I had a sister born; this sister was presented at the baptismal font, and, according to the custom in our Church, I was carried to be received, that is, all who are privately baptized, must, if they live, be publicly received in the congregation. The priest took me in his arms, and having prayed, according to the form made use of on such occasions, I articulated, with an audible voice, Amen. The congregation were astonished, and I have frequently heard my parents say, this was the first word I ever uttered, and that a long time elapsed, before I could distinctly articulate any other. Indulged, ​as I said, by bounteous nature, with much serenity of mind, every one was happy with me. I was fond of being abroad, and a servant was generally employed to gratify me. During these repeated rambles, I experienced some "hair breadth 'scapes," which, while they excited the wonder of my good parents, they failed not to record. From these frequent promenades, I derived that vigorous constitution, or at least its stability, which has prolonged my abode in this vale of tears, through many serious disorders, which have seemed to promise my emancipation. I do not remember the time when I did not behold the works of Nature with delight; such as the drapery of the heavens, and the flowers of the garden, and of the fields; and I perfectly recollect, before I was clothed in masculine habiliments, that I was delightedly occupied in opening the ground, throwing it into some form, and planting in regular order, little sprigs broken from the gooseberry, or currant bushes. My pleasures of this nature were, however, soon interrupted by going to school; this was my first affliction, yet, to imperious necessity, the sweet pliability of human nature soon conformed my mind: Nay, it was more than conformed; I derived even felicity, from the approbation of my school dame, from the pictures in my books, and especially from the acquaintance I formed with my school mates.
It does no appear to me that I was what the world calls naturally vicious. I was neither querulous, nor quarrelsome; I cannot trace in my mind a vestige of envy. I rejoiced in every advantage possessed by my little comrades, and my father was accustomed to exclaim, "Never, I believe, was such a boy; he absolutely delights as much in the new garments worn by the children of our neighbours, as in his own:" and indeed, as far as I can recollect during this sweet morning of life, my most complete satisfaction resulted from the gratification of others. I never enjoyed any thing alone, my earliest pleasures were social, and I was eager to reciprocate every good office. It is true I encountered difficulties, from the various dispositions of those with whom I associated, but, in my infant bosom, rancour or implacability found no place. Being however too fond of play, and ambitious of imitating my seniors, I had little time for reading; yet I learned, and at six years old could read a chapter in the Bible, not indeed very correctly, but I rarely paused at a word; however difficult, still I read on. My father I remember used sometimes to laugh out—a levity which, by the way, he seldom indulged—but he did sometimes laugh out, and say, "This boy sticks at nothing, he has a most astonishing invention; ​how it is he utters such sounds, and passes on with such rapidity, I cannot conceive:" but my blunders were more frequently marked by a staggering box on the ear, which necessitated me to stop, when I was obliged to recommence, and go over the whole again. This conduct originated, even at this early age, more fear than affection for my father. I was studious to avoid his presence, and I richly enjoyed his absence. To my brothers and sisters, who were multiplied with uncommon rapidity, I was warmly attached, and as our mother contributed all in her power to our gratification, our pleasures were not surpassed, by those of any little group, which came under our observation.
My parents were the religious children of religious parents, and grand parents; they were the more religious on that account; and, as the descendants of ancient noble families value themselves on their pedigree, stimulating their children from considerations of ancestry to act up to the illustrious examples which they exhibit and emblazon, uniformly insisting that they shall avoid mixing with the plebeian race; so, as soon as I appeared to pay attention to interesting tales, I was made acquainted with the characters of my grand parents.
My paternal grandfather, however, possessed only negative religion; that is, his affection for my grandmother obliged him to conform to her, in every thing; and he esteemed himself happy, in being blest with a wife, who, from principle and inclination, was both able and willing to take upon herself the care, and culture of her children. How long this grandfather lived, I am unable to say, but my grandmother was, with respect to her religious attachments, more fortunate in a second marriage. She was united to a Mr. Beattie, a man of considerable note, in every point of view. It was by this gentleman's name, I became acquainted with my grandmother; I remember, when very young, to have seen his picture, which gave me a very high idea of his person. It was his son, who was governour of the fortress, in the harbour of Cork. My grandmother soon lost this second husband, and never married again. She was, in the morning and meridian of her life, a celebrated beauty: the remains of a fine face were visible when I knew her, I never beheld a more beautiful old lady. Traces of affluence were conspicuous in her dwelling, her furniture, and apparel; she was an immediate descendant of an ancient and honourable family in France; her father's name was Barroux, one of the Noblesse, and a dweller in the town of Paimboeuf, on the river Loire, between the city of Nantes, and the mouth of said river. Mr. Barroux having ​buried his Lady, who left him two daughters, thought proper, as was then the custom of people of distinction, to educate his eldest daughter in England; this step banished her from her native country, and from her father: she never saw either more. Attaching herself to a family of Episcopalians, she became a zealous Protestant, which, together with her selecting a husband of the same persuasion, confirmed her an Exile for ever. The irritated feelings of her father admitted no appeal, his affections were totally alienated, he was a high spirited, obstinate man, and he swore in his wrath, he would wed the first woman he met, provided he could obtain her consent, and she were not absolutely disgusting. The first who presented happened to be his chambermaid, he made known to her his vow, was accepted with gratitude, and they were speedily married. Not many years after this event, the old gentleman died, leaving no issue by his second marriage, and, as he left no will, his daughter, who continued under the paternal roof, entered into possession of the whole estate; she, however, survived her father only three weeks, when my grandmother became the only legal heir to the property, both of her father, and her sister.
A large share of the personal estate was conveyed to England, by two priests; and the real estate was tendered to my grandmother, on condition that she would read her recantation, renounce the damnable doctrines of the Church of England, and receive the Host, as the real presence. My grandmother, and my father, after a conference, which continued but a few moments, cheerfully concurred in a relinquishment of the estate, and united in declaring, that, on terms so calculated to prostrate their integrity, they would not accept the whole kingdom of France. The clergymen returned to the Gallic shore, and the person left in the house, for the purpose of taking charge of the estate, until the heirs at law should recover their senses, continued in quiet possession of an inheritance, worth five hundred pounds sterling per annum. When the estate was thus, upon religious principles, surrendered, I was about five years of age; but having frequently heard my father circumstantially relate the transaction, as I advanced in life, my bosom often acknowledged a latent wish, that he had accepted an inheritance, to which his natural claim was indubitable, upon the terms offered by the ecclesiastics, which were, that my grandmother, and my father, should, in so many words, qualify themselves for the possession of their right, while, in their hearts, they continued to judge for themselves. But from a conduct so questionable, the guileless heart of my upright parent ​spontaneously revolted; and, for myself, while revolving years gave me to exult in his decision, the detection of so reprehensible a principle, in my own bosom, and at so early a period, originated much contrition. Yet, notwithstanding the very considerable sacrifice made by my father, his uniform efforts commanded all the necessaries, and many of the elegancies of life. His children multiplied; four sons and five daughters augmented his felicities, he received from nature a strong mind, his parents bestowed upon him a good education, and he was universally respected and beloved.
The parents of my mother were well known to me, her father's name was James Rolt, his ancestors were all English; he was in early life a bon-vivant, and even when he became the head of a family, his reprehensible pursuits were nothing diminished; the silent sufferings of his wedded companion were strongly expressed in her wan countenance, and broken health. The circumstances of his conversion from dissipation to a life of severe piety were rather remarkable; and were considered in his day as miraculous.
Of the piety of my paternal grandfather, or my maternal grandmother, I have little to say. I have never heard that they allowed themselves in any improper indigencies, and as they were the admirers of their devout companions, it is a fair conclusion, that they were at least negatively pious, and that if they did not lead, they cheerfully followed, in cultivating a pious disposition in the minds of their children; and, by consequence, Religion became the legitimate inheritance of my immediate parents. The conversion of my paternal grandmother, from the tenets in which she was educated, increased her zeal, while the inheritance, sacrificed from conscientious principles, gave her to consider herself more especially heir of an inheritance incorruptible, undefiled, and that fadeth not away; and conscious that she had fully concurred with my father, in depriving their children of a temporal treasure, they were sedulously anxious to inculcate a persuasion of the necessity of securing another.
It is wonderful, that while it was the great business, both of my father and my mother, to render their children feelingly solicitous to secure an interest in the Redeemer, that they might thus be entitled to a blessed and happy futurity, they were both of them very rigid Calvinists.
The doctrines, taught by that gloomy Reformer, they undeviatingly taught in their family: and hence my soul frequently experienced the extreme of agony. Naturally vivacious, to implant religion among my ​juvenile pleasures required the most vigorous and uniform effort. Religion was not a native of the soil, it was an exotic, which, when planted, could only be kept alive by the most persevering attention. Hence Religion became a subject of terror. I was not ten years old when I began to suffer; the discovery of my sufferings gave my fond father much pleasure, he cherished hope of me when he found me suffering from my fears, and much indeed was I tortured by the severe, unbending discipline of my father, and the terrifying apprehensions of what I had to expect from the God who created me. The second son of my parents was naturally of a pensive, gloomy disposition. He was more piously disposed, and less fond of amusement than myself, and hearing much of Cain as the eldest son of Adam, of Esau as the eldest son of Isaac, and of Abel, and Jacob, as the younger sons, my soul was frequently filled with terror, verily believing my brother was the elected, and myself the rejected of God. This appalling consideration, even at this early period, frequently devoted my days and nights to tears and lamentation. But stability dwelt not with me, and the pleasing expectations of my father were often blasted; my attachment to my playmates, and their childish gambols, revived, and when engaged in appropriate amusements, I often forgot the immediate terror of the rod, and of future misery; both of which, as often as I reflected, I painfully believed I should endure. My father took every method to confine me within his walls; it was with difficulty he prevailed upon himself to permit my attendance at school, yet this was necessary, and to school I must go; while that rigid and extreme vigilance, which was ever upon the alert, produced effects diametrically opposite to the end proposed. My appetite for pleasure increased, and I occasionally preferred the truant frolic, to the stated seasons of study, yea though I was certain severe castigation would be the consequence. Pious supplications were the accompaniments of the chastisements which were inflicted, so that I often passed from the terror of the rod, to the terrifying apprehensions of future and never-ending misery. Upon these terrific occasions, the most solemn resolutions were formed, and my vows were marked by floods of tears. I would no more offend either my father, or his God; I dared not to say my God, for I had heard my father declare, that for any individual, not the elect of God, to say of God, or to God, "Our Father," was nothing better than blasphemy; when most devout, I was prevented from deriving consolation from my pious breathings, by a persuasion that I was a reprobate, predestined to ​eternal perdition. In fact, I believed that I had nothing to hope, but every thing to fear, both from my Creator, and my father: and these soul-appalling considerations, by enforcing a conclusion, that I was but making provision for alternate torture, threw a cloud over every innocent enjoyment.
About the time that I attained my eleventh year, my father removed to Ireland, and though I dreaded going with him any where, I was the only individual of the family whom he compelled to accompany him. Yet I was captivated by the charms of novelty. London filled me with amazement, and my fond, my apprehensive father, was in continual dread of losing me; while the severity he practised to detain me near him, by invigorating my desires to escape from his presence, increased the evil.
We quitted London in the middle of April, and reaching Bristol, tarried but a little while in that city. At Pill, five miles from Bristol, between my father and myself, a final separation was on the point of taking place. In the Bristol river the tide is extremely rapid, I stepped into a boat on the slip, and letting it loose, the force of the current almost instantly carried it off into the channel, and had it been ebb instead of flood tide, I must inevitably have gone out to sea, and most probably should never have been heard of more: but the flood tide carried me with great rapidity up the river, and the only fear I experienced was from the effects of my father's indignation. The poor gentleman, with a number of compassionate individuals, were engaged, until almost twelve o'clock, in searching the town, and the harbour, and had returned home relinquishing every hope of my restoration. In the midst of the stream I found a large flat-bottomed boat at anchor, to which, making fast the boat I was in, I consequently proceeded no farther. At midnight, I heard voices on the side of the river, when earnestly imploring their aid, and offering a liberal reward, they came in their boat, and conveying me on shore, conducted me to my lodgings; but no language can describe my dismay, as I drew near my father, who was immediately preparing to administer the deserved chastisement, when the benevolent hostess interposed, and in pity-moving accents exclaimed: "Oh, for God's sake, let the poor Blood alone; I warrant me has suffered enough already." My father was softened, perhaps he was not displeased to find a pretence for mildness; he gave me no correction for this offence; he even treated me with unusual kindness. We were detained in Pill three weeks, wishing for ​a favourable wind, three weeks more at Minehead, and three weeks at Milford Haven. Thus we were nine weeks in performing a passage, which is commonly made in forty-eight hours, and instead of my father's reaching Cork before the residue of his family, they were there almost at the moment of our arrival. In Cork we were at home; there dwelt the respected mother of my father, and in easy circumstances; many changes, however, had taken place in her family, although the remains of affluence were still visible. My father fixed his residence in the vicinity of this city, and a most pleasing residence it proved.
About this time the Methodists made their appearance, and my father was among the first who espoused their cause. His zeal for vital religion could hardly be surpassed, and it appeared to him that this innate, and holy operation, rejected by every other sect, had found refuge in the bosoms of these exemplary people. But though my father espoused the cause, he did not immediately become a Methodist: the Methodists were not Calvinists. Yet, if possible, he doubled his diligence, he kept his family more strict than ever; he was distinguished by the name of saint, and became the only person in his vicinity, whom the Methodists acknowledged as truly pious. With the religion of the Methodists I was greatly enamoured; they preached often, and in the streets; they had private societies of young people, and sweet singing, and a vast deal of it, and an amazing variety of tunes,—and all this was beyond expression charming. At this period the health of my father began to decline. Physicians concurred in opinion, that his complaints indicated a pulmonary affection. Again his efforts were renewed and invigorated, and, poor gentleman, his labours were abundantly multiplied. The ardent desire of his soul was to render every individual of his family actively religious, and religious in his own way; but as his children necessarily mingled more or less with the children in the neighbourhood, they caught words and habits which he disliked, and application was made to the rod, as a sovereign panacea.
In the course of my twelfth year, my father was overtaken by a very heavy calamity; his house, his houses, and indeed almost every thing he possessed, were laid in ashes. He had only a moment to snatch to his bosom a sleeping infant from its cradle, when a part of the house fell in; an instant longer and they would both have been wrapped in the surrounding flames, and a deep sense of this preserving mercy accompanied him to his grave. Thus every event of his life seemed to combine to render his devotions more and more fervent. It ​was happy for us that my respectable grandmother still lived, whose extricating hand was an ever ready resource.
It was my father's constant practice, so long as his health would permit, to quit his bed, winter as well as summer, at four o'clock in the morning; a large portion of this time, thus redeemed from sleep, was devoted to private prayers, and meditations. At six o'clock the family were summoned, and I, as the eldest son, was ordered into my closet, for the purpose of private devotion. My father, however, did not go with me, and I did not always pray; I was not always in a praying frame; but the deceit, which I was thus reduced to the necessity of practising, was an additional torture to my labouring mind. After the family were collected, it was my part to read a chapter in the bible; then followed a long and fervent prayer by my father; breakfast succeeded, when the children being sent to school, the business of the day commenced. In the course of the day, my father, as I believe, never omitted his private devotions, and, in the evening, the whole family were again collected, the children examined, our faults recorded, and I, as an example to the rest, especially chastised. My father rarely passed by an offence, without marking it by such punishment as his sense of duty awarded; and when my tearful mother interceded for me, he would respond to her entreaties in the language of Solomon, "if thou beat him with a rod, he shall not die;" the bible was again introduced, and the day was closed by prayer. Sunday was a day much to be dreaded in our family; we were all awakened at early dawn, private devotions attended, breakfast hastily dismissed, shutters closed, no light but from the back part of the house, no noise could bring any part of the family to the window, not a syllable was uttered upon secular affairs; every one who could read, children and domestics, had their allotted chapters. Family prayer succeeded, after which, Baxter's Saint's Everlasting Rest was assigned to me, my mother all the time in terror lest the children should be an interruption. At last the bell summoned us to Church, whither in solemn order we proceeded: I close to my father, who admonished me to look strait forward, and not let my eyes wander after vanity. At Church, I was fixed at his elbow, compelled to kneel when he kneeled, stand when he stood, to find the Psalm, Epistle, Gospel, and collects for the day, and any instance of inattention was vigilantly marked, and unrelentingly punished. When I returned from Church, I was ordered to my closet; and when I came forth, the chapter, from which the preacher had taken his text, was ​read, and I was then questioned respecting the sermon, a part of which I could generally repeat. Dinner, as breakfast, was taken in silent haste, after which we were not suffered to walk, even in the garden, but every one must either read, or hear reading, until the bell gave the signal for afternoon service, from which we returned to private devotion, to reading, to catechising, to examination, and long family prayer, which closed the most laborious day of the week. It was the custom for many of our visiting friends to unite with us in these evening exercises, to the no small gratification of my father; it is true, especially after he became an invalid, he was often extremely fatigued, but, upon these occasions, the more he suffered, the more he rejoiced, since his reward would be the greater, and indeed his sufferings, of every description, were to him a never-failing source of consolation. In fact, this devotional life became to him second nature, but it was not so to his family. For myself, I was alternately serious, and wild, but never very moderate in any thing. My father rejoiced in my devotional frames, and was encouraged to proceed, as occasion was given, in the good work of whipping, admonishing, and praying. I continued to repeat my pious resolutions, and, still more to bind my soul, I once vowed a vow unto the Lord,—kissing the book for the purpose of adding to its solemnity,—that I would no more visit the pleasure grounds, nor again associate with those boys, who had been my companions. Almost immediately after this transaction I attended a thundering preacher, who, taking for his text that command of our Saviour, which directs his disciples to "swear not at all," gave me to believe I had committed a most heinous transgression, in the oath that I had taken: nay, he went so far as to assure his hearers, that to say, "upon my word," was an oath, a very horrid oath, since it was tantamount to swearing by Jesus Christ, inasmuch as he was the word, who was made flesh for us, and dwelt among us. This sermon rendered me for a long season truly wretched, while I had no individual to whom I could confide my distresses. To my father I dared not even name my secret afflictions, and my mother, as far as the tenderness of her nature would permit, was in strict unison with her venerated husband. The depression of my spirits upon this occasion was great, and enduring; but for revolving months I continued what they called a good boy, I was attentive to my book, carefully following the directions which were given me, and, on my return from school, instead of squandering the hours of intermission with idle associates, I immediately retired to the ​garden, which constituted one of the first pleasures of my life; in fact, the cultivation of fruits, and flowers, has, in every period of my existence, continued to me a prime source of enjoyment. My paternal grandmother was the Lady Bountiful of the parish; having made it her study, she became an adept in the distillation of simples, she had a very large garden adjoining to my father's, and she cultivated an amazing variety of plants. As I was her favourite assistant, she gradually obtained my father's permission, that I should appropriate to her a large part of my time, and the hours which I consequently devoted to this venerable lady, in her garden, and in her habitation, were to me halcyon hours. It was my study to enrich her grounds with every choice herb, or flower, which met my gaze, and I was ever on the alert to collect plants of the most rare description. This was confessedly an innocent amusement; it would bear reflection, and was therefore delightful. Alas! alas! it was too replete with felicity to be continued. I was soon compelled to relinquish my pleasant occupation. My father found it necessary to remove from the neighbourhood of his mother, and her garden no more bloomed for me.
We were speedily established in the vicinity of a nobleman's seat, in which was instituted an academy of high reputation. It was under the direction of an Episcopalian clergyman, who, being well acquainted with, and much attached to my father, had frequent opportunities of hearing me recite many chapters from the bible, which I had committed to memory, and becoming fond of me, he earnestly importuned my father to surrender me up to his care. "He shall live in my family," said he; "he shall be unto me as a son, I will instruct him, and when opportunity offers, he shall become a member of the University: he has a prodigious memory, his understanding needs only to be opened, when he will make the most rapid progress." But my father, trembling for my spiritual interest, if removed from his guardian care, returned to this liberal proposal the most unqualified negative, and my writing-master immediately sought, and obtained the situation for his son, who was about my age. In this academy many noblemen's sons were qualified for Trinity College, Dublin, and in a few years one of those ennobled students, selected my fortunate schoolmate as a companion; he passed through Trinity College, and received its honours, from which period I never again beheld him, until I saw him in a pulpit in the city of London.
Though my social propensities, at every period of my life greatly predominated, yet the close attention paid me by my father, greatly ​abridged every enjoyment of this description. Yet I did form one dear connexion, with whom I held sweet converse. But of the society of this dear youth I was soon deprived. Recalled by his family, he was to leave town upon a Sunday morning, and instead of going to Church, I took my way to his lodgings, for the purpose of bidding him a last farewell. The ill health of my father prevented him from attending Church on that day, but tidings of my delinquency were conveyed to him by a gentleman of his acquaintance, and my punishment, as I then believed, was more than proportioned to my fault. Still, however, I had sufficient hardihood to run great hazards. A review of several regiments of soldiers was announced; I could not obtain leave to be present, yet, for the purpose of witnessing a sight so novel, I was determined to take the day to myself; I suffered much through the day from hunger, and I anticipated my reception at home. In the evening, I stopped at a little hut, where the homely supper smoked upon the frugal board; the cottagers had the goodness to press me to partake with them; my heart blessed them; I should, like Esau, have given my birthright, had it been mine to bestow, for this entertainment; but, blessings on the hospitable inhabitants of this island, they make no demands either upon friend, or stranger; every individual is welcome to whatever sustenance either their houses, or their huts, afford. I sat down, and I eat the sweetest meal I ever eat in my life, the pleasure of which I have never yet forgotten, although the paternal chastisement, which followed, was uncommonly severe.
The time now approached when it was judged necessary I should engage in some business, by which I might secure the necessaries of life. The conscience of my father had deprived me of an estate, and of a collegiate education, and it was incumbent upon him to make some provision for me. But what was to be done? If he sent me abroad, I should most unquestionably contract bad habits. Well then, he would bring me up himself; but this was very difficult. He had for some time thrown up business, and new expenses must be incurred. Finally, however, I commenced my new career, and under the eye of my pains-taking father. I did not however like it; yet I went on well, and, dividing my attention between my occupation and my garden, I had little leisure. It was at this period I began once more to experience the powerful operation of religion, and secret devotion became my choice. Perhaps no one of my age ever more potently felt the joys, and sorrows of Religion. The Methodists had followed us to our new ​situation, and they made much noise; they courted, and obtained the attention of my father, and he now joined their society. They urged him to become a preacher, but his great humility, and his disbelief of Arminianism were insuperable bars. He was nevertheless a powerful assistant to the Methodists. Mr. John Wesley was a great admirer of my father, and he distinguished him beyond any individual in the society; perseveringly urging him to become the leader of a class, and to meet the society in the absence of their preachers: to all which my father consented. I think I have before observed, that I was devoted to the Methodists, and for the very reason that rendered my father apprehensive of them,—they were very social. The Methodists in this, as in every other place, where they sojourned, by degrees established a permanent residence. They first preached in the streets, practised much self-denial, and mortification, inveighed against the standing religion of the country, as impious and hypocritical, declaring the new birth only to be found among them. To this general rule, they, however, allowed my father to be an exception; and his open espousal of their cause contributed greatly to building them up. They gained many proselytes, it became the fashion for multitudes to become religious; and it is in religion as in every thing else, where once it is followed by a multitude, multitudes will follow. The very children became religious. A meeting-house was speedily obtained, a society was formed, and classes of every description regularly arranged. There was one class of boys; it consisted of forty, and Mr. John Wesley appointed me their leader. Twice in the course of every week this class met in a private apartment. The business of the leader was to see that the members were all present; for this purpose he was furnished with a list of their names, and when they were all assembled, the leader began by singing a hymn. I was once pronounced a good singer, and although I never had patience to learn music by note, I readily caught every tune I heard, and my notes were seldom false. I repeat, that I was delighted with the music introduced by the Methodists. I collected their most enchanting tunes, and singing them frequently in my class, I obtained much applause. Prayer succeeded the hymn; I was accustomed to extemporary prayer, I had usually prayed in sincerity, and my devotion upon these occasions was glowing, and unfeigned. Examination followed the prayer; I examined every individual separately, respecting the work of God upon his heart, and both the questions, and responses, evinced great simplicity, and pious sincerity. A word of ​general advice next ensued, a second hymn was sung, and the whole concluded with prayer. This was a most delightful season, both for my parents, and myself. I became the object of general attention, my society was sought by the grey-headed man, and the child. My experience was various, and great; in fact, I had experienced more of what is denominated the work of God upon the heart, than many, I had almost said than any, of my seniors, my parents excepted. Devout persons pronounced that I was, by divine favour, destined to become a burning, and a shining light; and from these flattering appearances my father drew much consolation. I was frequently addressed, in his presence, as the child of much watching, and earnest prayer; this, to my proudly pious parent was not a little flattering; it was then that I derived incalculable satisfaction, from these very legible marks of election: And though the Methodists insisted, that the doctrine of election, before repentance and faith, was a damnable doctrine; yet they admitted, that, after the manifestation of extraordinary evidences, the individual, so favoured, was unquestionably elected. Thus by the concurrent testimonies of Calvinists, and Arminians, I was taught to consider myself as distinguished, and chosen of God; as certainly born again. Yet, as it was next to impossible to ascertain the moment of my new birth, I became seriously unhappy, but from this unhappiness I was rescued, by reading accounts of holy and good men in similar circumstances; I now therefore lived a heaven upon earth, beloved, caressed, and admired. No longer shut up under my father's watchful care, I was allowed to go out every morning at five o'clock to the house of public worship; there I hymned the praises of my God, and united in fervent prayer with the children of the faithful; meeting several of my young admiring friends, we exchanged experiences, we mingled our joys and our sorrows, and, by this friendly intercourse, the first was increased, and the second diminished. In all our little meetings we were continually complaining to, and soothing each other, and these employments were truly delightful. The mind cannot be intently occupied on contrary matters at the same time, and my mind being filled with devotion, my waking and my sleeping moments were invariably engaged in religious pursuits; it was in truth my meat, and my drink, to do what I believed the will of my heavenly Father. At this period, I should have been wrecked upon the sand-built foundation of self-righteousness, as many of my young friends were, had it not been for the unbroken vigilance of an experienced and tender father. He saw the danger of too great ​elation, and he laboured to keep me humble in my own estimation. "You now, my dear," said he, "think you know every thing; but when you really attain superior information, you will be convinced you know nothing." This assertion appeared to me extremely paradoxical; but I have since learned to appreciate its rationality and its truth. I know not how long I proceeded in this delightful path; nothing from within, or without, interrupted my course, and I well remember, that I fancied myself on the verge of perfection. I saw, or imagined I saw, undeviating rectitude within my grasp. I was conscious of no wishes, but those which I considered the legitimate offspring of the religion I professed. I wondered what had become of my evil propensities; they were however gone, and, I believed, they would no more return: my days, my weeks rolled on, uniformly devoted to pursuits, which created for me unutterable self-complacency. On Sunday morning I arose with the sun, and like our first parent in a state of innocence,
"Straight towards heaven my wondering eyes I turned, And gazed awhile the ample sky."
Thus after a night of charmingly refreshing, and undisturbed repose, with spirits innocently gay, I arose, washed my face, and hands, repeating a short supplication, which my father never, on those occasions, omitted: "O, Almighty God, who hath ordained this watery element for the use, and support of nature, by which I am at this time refreshed, and cleansed, O! purify my soul, by the operation of thy blessed spirit, as a well of water springing up unto everlasting life." I then retired to my closet, offering the orisons of my gladdened heart, and habited for church. I sat down to my book, until my father made his appearance, when the family being summoned, and the morning prayer ended, we breakfasted, but it was a light repast, and soon dispatched. At eight o'clock, I attended the Methodist meeting; at half past nine, I returned home, and devoted the time to reading, until after ten, when the bell summoned me to church, where the Methodists at that time attended; at church I was remarked for my devotion. From the church I returned to my closet, after which I read the Bible, responding to the interrogations of my father, relative to the sermon, by repeating it nearly verbatim. Dinner over, I again retied to my closet; from which, by my father's desire, I made my appearance, to read for him some devotional book, until the bell again commanded my attendance upon public worship; but, to my great consolation, I had not, when I returned home, as on the Sunday sketched in a former page, to spend ​the residue of the day in saddening glooms; at five o'clock, the Methodist meeting again opened, to which the multitude flocked; there I saw, and there, with affectionate admiration, I was seen; there, when the terrors of the law were exhibited, I was delighted by the assurance of eternal security therefrom; and there, when the children of the Redeemer were addressed in the soothing and plausive strains of consolation, my heart throbbed with pleasure, and tears of transport copiously evinced the rapture of my soul. Society meeting succeeded the close of public service; three classes of the people were denominated Methodists: The congregation, who, as outer-court worshippers, were only hearers, and seekers; members of the society, who were classed; and members of the band society, who were genuine believers. The two latter met every Sunday evening after meeting, and no individual, who was not furnished with a ticket, could gain admittance. This ticket was a badge of distinction; it gave the possessor entrance, all others were shut out, and the door was locked. No words can describe my sensations, when I obtained a seat inside the closed door; when I listened, while the preacher in a low voice addressed the children of God. The house was not unfrequently filled with the dissonant sounds of terror, and joy, issuing from the discordant voices of those, who were in the valley, or on the mount. From this society, I returned home, to unite in family devotion, repeat the fundamental points in my religion, retire to my private devotions, and then to bed. Monday morning, I arose at five o'clock, and, after the same preparation as on Sunday, attended meeting, returned to breakfast, occupied myself with the business of the day, until dinner; after dinner, and an interval passed in private devotion, to secular affairs again, until evening; then once more to the Methodist meeting, returned, attended family and private devotions, and to my chamber: often not to rest, but to my book, till midnight. Thus was my time spent, two evenings in the week excepted, which were devoted to my class, and one night in the week, when the society assembled, as on Sunday evening; but, alas! the fervour of spirit, excited on those occasions, cannot, in the nature of things, be very durable. There were individuals in my class who proved untoward, they began to be weary in well-doing; this was a source of sorrow, the first I had experienced for a long time; added to this, repeated complaints reached my ear, and not unfrequently slanderous reports—reports one against another! This tortured me; I consulted the preachers, disputes ran high, the interposition of parents became indispensable, ​and the class was broken!! This was to me a severe trial; I had derived high satisfaction from the connexion, and from the fame, which it had bestowed upon me; I however lost no reputation, it was generally believed I had performed my duty, and that no boy, beside myself, would have kept such a set of beings together, and in such order so long.
This was a season replete with events, which possessed for me no common interest. Constantly in society, I formed many attachments, and I began to fear that the love of social enjoyments would, like Aaron's rod, swallow up my best affections. From conviction of error, I sought retirement; I loved reading more than any thing else, but I sighed for variety, and as the full soul loatheth the honey comb, I began to sicken at the constant repetition of devotional books. My father read history, and some few novels, but he took special care to secure those books from his children. We were allowed to read no books but the bible, and volumes based upon this precious depository of whatsoever things are good, and excellent. I sometimes, however, glanced my eye over my father's shoulder, and finding Tom Jones, or the history of a Foundling, in his hand, the efforts at concealment, which he evidently made, augmented my anxiety to read. I remember once to have found Clarissa Harlowe upon his table. Hervey's Meditations, and Young's Night Thoughts, were not interdicted books, and their plaintive sadness obtained an easy admission into the inmost recesses of my soul. To Milton too I gave some hours, but I could not read blank verse, nor did my father wish to encourage my attempts in this way. He saw I had too strong a passion for novelty, and he deemed it prudent to check me in the commencement of my career.
Although my devotional ecstacies were diminished, yet I was steadily attentive to my religious exercises, and I believed myself daily increasing in goods. It is true my life was as variable as the weather; sometimes on the mount, and sometimes in the valley, sometimes alive to all the fervour of devotion, and sometimes, alas! very lifeless: Now rejoicing in hope, and anon depressed by fear.
The preachers, visiting the adjacent villages, often requested my father to permit my attendance; his consent delighted me; I reaped, from those little excursions, abundant satisfaction, and the preachers being my elders, and much acquainted with the world, I collected from their conversation much to instruct, and amuse. They were, however, young men, they collected young company, and they were excellent ​singers; this was a most pleasing circumstance. My affections naturally glowing, I soon formed strong attachments, and, the craft of Mr. Wesley changing his candidates with every new quarter, the farewell sermons generally dissolved the whole congregation in tears, and my bosom was often lacerated with many, and deep wounds.
An order from the Bishop now arrived, calling upon the people to prepare for confirmation, and young persons were directed to wait upon their parish minister for the requisite instruction. Although the Methodists considered themselves Episcopalians, yet they were detested by the clergy of that Church; their zeal seemed a standing satire upon them; and their indignation was proportioned to the progress made by the new sect. We, however, presented ourselves as candidates for confirmation: though young, I was pretty generally known, and it soon became evident, that I had incurred the displeasure of my minister. No question was proposed to me, but his oblique reflections were abundant; I determined, however, to address him; and one day when he was cautioning those, who were honoured by his attention, against those expectations about which the wild Enthusiasts of the day were fanatically raving, such as the extraordinary operations of the spirit, &c. &c. exhorting them to consider themselves in their baptism made members of Christ, and inheritors of the kingdom of heaven, I ventured to ask: Did I, sir, in my baptism, receive all these advantages? In a most ungracious manner, he replied: "Undoubtedly." Then, sir, allow me to ask, What can I want more? Of what use is confirmation? "What do you mean by asking these impertinent questions?" I ask for information, I came hither to be instructed. "No, you came here to instruct me, you want to see your patron, John Wesley, in the pulpit. You have no business here." I conceive, sir, I have business here; I am one of your parish, I was warned to attend, for the purpose of receiving instruction; and to whom should I apply, but to my minister? He deigned not to answer me, but when we again assembled, I observed: I remember, sir, when we were last here, you told us, there was no such thing as a feeling operation of the spirit of God; I request therefore to know, how we are to understand that article of our Church, which pronounces the doctrine of election full of especial comfort to all godly persons, and such as feel in themselves the workings of the spirit of the Lord? "You have nothing to do with the articles, you do not understand them." I should suppose, sir, that every member of a Church had something to do with the articles ​of his Church; and if I do not understand them, suffer me to come to you for information. "You are an impertinent fellow, and if you thus proceed, I shall order the clerk to put you out of the Church." You may order me out yourself, sir; only tell me to go, and I will instantly depart. Not another syllable was uttered to me, upon this occasion. But upon the following Sunday, when the young people of the congregation were again to be catechised, I appeared with the rest, and our teacher uttering a severe and pointed sarcasm, I was sufficiently abashed to cover my face with my hat—when, in a very angry tone, he commanded me to depart from the Church, he would suffer no laughter there. I assured this Christian preacher, that I did not laugh, that I felt no disposition to laugh; he insisted, that I did, and with great confusion I withdrew from the altar: but waiting for him in the porch of the Church, I humbly implored his pardon, while I informed him, that he had done me much wrong; that I had too sacred a veneration for the place I was in, to deport myself unbecomingly while under its roof; that I had not the smallest inclination to mirth; that the consideration of his denying the operation of the spirit upon the heart had too much disturbed, and grieved me. "Well, I do still say, there is no especial operation of the spirit: I have never experienced any thing of this description." How then, suffer me to ask, could you say, when you were ordained, that you felt yourself moved by the Holy Ghost to take upon you the office of a teacher? "You know nothing of the matter, you are very impertinent." Many were standing by, who seemed pleased with the advantage I had so apparently gained, and, while thus remunerated for the insult I had received, I returned home in triumph.
Some time after, as I was passing the street, one of my acquaintance asked me, if I knew the bishop was at that moment engaged in confirming the young people of our parish? I instantly repaired to the Church, and to my great surprise, found the information correct; my good priest had not intended I should be apprized of the business. I advanced however to the altar, and presented myself to the bishop. My priest appeared exceedingly irritated, and made a communication to the bishop, in a tone too low to be understood by me; but his Lordship replied aloud, "it is of no consequence what they are, provided they understand what they are about." From this reply I concluded the priest had accused me of Methodism. It happened, that I was the first of the circle presented round the altar, and he began as follows:
​Bishop. What is your business here?
Murray. My lord, when I was baptised, my sponsors promised, in my name, to renounce the Devil and all his works, the pomps and vanities of this wicked world, with all the sinful lusts of the flesh. They engaged also, that so soon as I should have learned the creed, the Lord's prayer, and the ten commandments, they would introduce me to this ordinance; as, however, they have neglected so to do, I beg leave to present myself.
Bishop. What idea have you of this ordinance?
Murray. I conceive, my lord, that the engagement entered into at my baptism, cannot be fulfilled without the aid, and operation of the spirit of the Lord; and I am taught to consider this ordinance as a mean of grace, through which I may obtain the aid of the Holy Spirit, so requisite to my well doing.
Bishop. (With a softened voice) Have you ever been at the Communion?
Murray. Yes, my lord, and although I ventured at first with fear, and trembling, yet deriving therefrom real consolation, I have never since absented myself. "You are right," said the Bishop, and immediately laying his hands upon my head, he prayed for me, with the greatest apparent fervour. Turning to a lad, who stood next me, he asked him the same question he had previously addressed to me: he was unprovided with an answer. "This is astonishing," said the bishop; "I should have thought you would at least have learned to answer from the youth who spoke before you;" and he gave my priest a glance, which called the blush of confusion into his face. I was extremely gratified, so were my friends in general, and my pious father in particular. Mr. John Wesley now made us a visit, he paid me the most distinguishing attention, and the regards of such a man were, to a young heart, truly flattering; he cherished the idea, that I should shortly become a useful labourer in the field, which he so sedulously cultivated. One thing, however, gave him anxiety,—the probability that I had imbibed my father's damnable principles, for such he denominated the Calvinistic tenets; yet he hoped better things of me, and things which accompanied salvation. When in my father's house, he manifested toward him the greatest kindness and friendship; but on leaving the country, he charged his followers to keep a strict watch over him, lest, through the influence of his great piety, he should infuse his abominable sentiments into the minds of some of the brethren. Mr. Wesley's ​disciples considered him the Apostle of the age: and I experienced a reverential awe in his presence; yet there were points in his conduct, which excited my wonder, and which, in any other character, I should not have hesitated to pronounce wrong; but I should have believed it criminal even to suspect that he could err. My Religion was becoming more and more formal, it seemed a body without a soul. Sometimes indeed, when listening to a lively, warm-hearted preacher, I was made most keenly to feel the poverty of my condition; that, while I was believed rich, and increasing in goods, having need of nothing, I was in truth miserably poor, blind, and naked. This consideration often rendered me very sad, I suffered much, and, in proportion as I appeared to suffer, I became the object of respectful attention. Glooms, and melancholy, were considered as infallible signs of a gracious disposition, not only by my father, but by all my religious connexions. One of our preachers used to say, he had rather be in the company of a thousand Demons, than ten laughing persons! Unfortunately for the maintenance of my standing in the society, my sadness was not uniform, and, preserving no medium, I always became gay in full proportion to my previous depression: and, in truth, cheerfulness was becoming the prevailing temper of my mind, and I know not how long it might have continued so, if I had not observed, to my great consternation, that I was daily losing ground in the estimation of my associates. This conviction banished my dangerous vivacity, and restored my respectability. I now sedulously avoided society, and frequently envied those who were released from this dangerous world. I have often, after a night of suffering, risen with the dawn, and entering the church-yard, have passed hours there, contemplating the happy state of those who were lodged in their narrow house, and ardently longing to be as they were. Even my father began to fear, that I was rapidly declining, and by his consequent tenderness I was beyond expression touched.
I cannot now determine how long this frame of mind continued, but this I know, that it lasted long enough to gain me more reputation, both at home and abroad, than I had lost; there was such a variety in my feelings, the changes in my spirit from sad to gay, from gay to sad, were so frequent, that I had of course far more experience, than any other person of my age. The young, when under awakenings, always resorted to me for comfort and information, while the old hung with delight on my narrations: the prayers of my father obtained due ​credit; the child of so many prayers could only be as I was. I was at this time about sixteen years of age, but commencing life so early, I felt like twenty, and I anticipated all the enjoyments which awaited me.
About this period, our society were gratified by a most unexpected acquisition. A gentleman of great fortune, who had been a virulent opposer of the Methodists, became a zealous convert to their tenets, and, with his lady, joined our congregation; no event had ever given such exultation, such complete satisfaction. They had belonged to the Presbyterian meeting, and their numerous kindred, worshipping there, continued inveterate adversaries. Between my father and the new convert the warmest friendship took place; and his good lady, who was indeed one of the first of women, became as warmly attached to our family as her husband. They had been converted at the same time; and as new converts are always the most zealous, this good couple, although advanced in years, used to rise at four in the morning, in the depth of winter, and go round among the neighbours, in order to arouse them in time to attend morning service, which was regularly at five o'clock, winter and summer; our house being in the way, they never omitted calling upon us; my father was not always well enough to accompany them, but I never failed, and the delight they took in me was great. Their family consisted of two sons, one older than myself, and one of my own age, and two daughters younger than their brothers: for a long season this family, and ours, spent at least a part of every day together; they met constantly at Church, and had beside many private interviews. Mr. Little, the name of our new friend, belonged to a class of which my father was the leader, and Mrs. Little to my mother's band. The classes generally consisted of twelve, beside the leader. The band was formed from the classes, and consisted of six, beside the leader. These bands were composed of true believers, and of one sex, and condition: The single women, the married women, and the widows, the single men, the married men, and the widowers. My mother was a leader of a band of married women. The youth, I have mentioned, of my own age, sought and obtained my confidence; I conceived for him the warmest affection, and I had every reason to suppose the attachment mutual; we passed many delightful hours together, and the discovery of our friendship gave real satisfaction to our parents. The eldest son adhered to the Church, the family had left; and the only daughter who was of age to decide, embraced the principles of her parents. From our connexion with these worthy ​people, I derived great pleasure; I was much beloved by the principals of the family, and I had great delight in the society of their children. I have frequently retired with my young friend to read, and pray, we had in fact no solitary pleasures. It was in the closet of this friend, that I first became acquainted with Addison, Pope, Parnel, Thomson, and Shakspeare; we read those writings together, never shall I forget the avidity with which I seized, and the delight with which I perused those authors, I was beyond expression fascinated by their numbers; but I thought best carefully to conceal this new source of enjoyment from my father. The library, to which I thus obtained free access, was very extensive: besides the books already named, it contained much to attract a young mind; novels, essays, and histories, by a frequent perusal of which, I was both informed, and improved. Thus, in the full enjoyment of sweet serenity, glided on many happy months; my time was divided between the habitation of my father, and his friends; I enjoyed the warm regards of every individual of this amiable family, the eldest son excepted, nor was he a malignant foe; he contented himself with making a jest of our devotion, which only served to attach us the more closely to each other: but, as the affection of the youngest son grew for me, it appeared to diminish for his brother. This fact rendered his parents unhappy, and I myself was seriously afflicted, lest I should be regarded either directly, or indirectly, as the source of their inquietude. They, however, did not hesitate to impute to their eldest son's aversion from religion every thing unpleasant between their children, and I had credit for my full share of that rectitude, and correct conduct, to which their youngest son was, by nature, so uniformly inclined. It must, however, be confessed, that the first-born was not without causes of irritation; I was evidently the brother of his brother's affection, I was the object of his parents' regard, his eldest sister discovered, on all occasions, a very strong partiality for me, and even the youngest, a child of about six years old, made me the confidant of all her little secrets, often hung about my neck, with infantile fondness, while her sweet endearments were precious to my heart. It was not then, I repeat, very wonderful, if the young gentleman, who felt himself aggrieved, should become very unhappy, and very much my enemy. While I was thus considered as a child of this family, a young lady, a distant relation of Mrs. Little, was introduced as a visitor; she also was a Methodist, and of great piety. My young friend, and myself, were in the parlour when she entered, but soon withdrew, when we ​both agreed, she was the most ordinary young woman we had ever beheld; she was, I presume, more than twenty-five years of age, under the common stature, of a very sallow complexion, large features, and a disagreeable cast in her eye; yet this same young lady had not been more than three weeks under the same roof with us, before we both became violently in love with her. Many days however elapsed, before either became acquainted with the passion of the other; but I could never conceal any thing long, especially from this my second self; and on a summer evening, as we pursued our usual walk through a flowery mead, on the margin of a beautiful river, both sadly pensive and sighing, as if our hearts were breaking, my friend mournfully inquired: "What, my dear Murray, afflicts you? why are you so sad?" I am ashamed of myself, I cannot tell you the cause of my distress. "Not tell me! would you, can you conceal any thing from me?" I felt the full force of a question, asked in a tone of endearing sympathy. No, my friend, you shall be made acquainted with my whole heart, I will have no reserves to you: but you, you also are unhappy, and I am ignorant of the cause! "Depend on it, I shall not hesitate to give you every mark of confidence, when you shall set the example." Well then, my brother, my friend, will you not wonder, (and indeed I am myself astonished) when I assure you, that I have conceived for Miss Dupee the strongest, and most tender passion! He started, appeared confused, and for some moments we both continued silent. At length, taking my hand, he said: "I pity you from my soul, nor do I blame your attachment; for, however unattractive in person, who that hears Miss Dupee converse, who that has any knowledge of her mind, can avoid loving her, even as you love her; and to prove to you how fully I am qualified to sympathise with you, let me frankly own, that I also love this charming woman." This unexpected avowal greatly afflicted me, I trembled lest so strong a passion, for the same object, should eventually prove fatal to our friendship. I expressed to this dear, amiable youth my apprehensions, when he caught my hand, and with glistening eyes, exclaimed: "Never, my brother, no never shall any thing separate between thee and me. By first communicating your sentiments, you have acquired a prior right, which I will not, dare not invade. No one else shall hear of my infant love, I will not allow myself to see her, but when seated by your side; and although I love her more than any body I ever have, or, as I believe, ever shall see, I never will be the cause of your unhappiness." This generosity was ​truly affecting. I caught him to my bosom, I wept, I even sobbed as I held him to my heart, and unable to bear his superiority, I exclaimed: No, my noble-hearted friend, never will I accept such a sacrifice: we are yet to learn for which of us her heavenly Father has designed this treasure. Let us both, as occasion may occur, indulge ourselves in her society, and should the event prove that you are the highly favoured mortal, I hope, and believe, I shall willingly resign her, and content myself with listening to her heavenly accents. And, truth to say, she possessed a most enchanting voice; a most fascinating manner, admirably calculated to gain hearts, especially young hearts, simple, and softened by Religion; and, what was above all bewitching, she sang the most divine of Mr. Wesley's hymns in a most divinely impressive manner. While, however, we were mutually acceding to this wise plan for the disposal of Miss Dupee, it never once entered into our heads, that she very possibly was not designed for either of us. Perhaps few youthful bosoms have ever endured a greater conflict between love, and friendship: We experienced both in no common degree, but friendship in both our hearts became triumphant. This amiable woman continued, for some time, decidedly the object of our deliberate election, but I had, however, reason to believe my attachment the strongest, for it deprived me of both rest, and appetite. For the first time, I began to tag rhymes: I have sat by the hour together upon an eminence, whence I could behold her habitation, poetizing, and sighing, as if my heart would break; I had some reason to believe she had discovered, and was diverted with my passion; indeed she must have laughed at me, if she had not despised me. After a long struggle between my hopes, and my fears, I ventured to address a letter to Miss Dupee, filled with the warmest professions of eternal affection, and conjuring her, at least to grant me leave to hope. I dared not entrust a domestic with this letter, lest it should be discovered by my father, for the dread of meeting a refusal from my mistress was not more terrible to my imagination, than that my father should obtain knowledge of my temerity. One night, therefore, returning from the society, with fear, and trembling, I put my letter into her hand, humbly requesting she would honour it with a secret perusal. She took it, and, gypsey as she was, absolutely pressed my hand, which pressure almost suffocated me with transport; I parted from her at the door, and from that moment neither slept, nor eat, till I was cured, radically cured. It was upon a Wednesday night, I delivered my letter: what did I not suffer from the torture of ​suspense, until Friday evening; nothing could I hear of, or from her, I was afraid to go to Mr. Little's, I feared every thing, but the thing I had most reason to fear—the contempt and indignation of my own father. It never once entered my thoughts, that she would communicate my letter to any one, and least of all, that she would expose me to my father; but instead of writing me an answer, such an answer as my fond, foolish heart, sometimes ventured to expect, she inclosed my very first love-letter to the very last person in the world to whom I should have chosen to confide it! I was at this time debilitated by the want of rest and food, which, for the preceding fortnight, I had rarely taken, and upon this Friday evening, as I entered the presence of my father, an unusual dread pervaded my spirits. It is too true, I never appeared before him, without apprehension; but, upon this occasion, I was unusually agitated: but how were my terrors augmented, when my father, with a countenance of the most solemn indignation, ordered me to approach. The season of castigation had gone by, indeed my father was too feeble to administer corporeal chastisement, but, like the Prince of Denmark, although he did not use daggers, he could speak them—he could look them. I cannot now remember who, or rather how many, were present; my mother, and my brothers and sisters of course. My poor mother, I am confident, felt keenly for me, although she dared not interfere. "Come hither, sir," said my father; "approach, I say." I drew near, with fear, and trembling, but yet I knew not why: When, fixing his piercing, penetrating eyes upon me, with a look of such sovereign contempt, as almost struck me blind, he began very deliberately to search his pockets; after a pause, which seemed interminable, out came a letter. I was instantaneously covered with a most profuse perspiration; I trembled and became so faint, that I was obliged to catch at a chair for support. But my father continued slowly opening the killing letter, and looking alternately at it, and its author, and curling his nose, as if his olfactory nerve had been annoyed by something extremely offensive, he again fixed his eyes upon me, and tauntingly said: "So, you poor, foolish child, you write love-letters, do you! you want a wife, do you?" and, feigning an attempt to read it, but pretending inability, he extended it to me, saying: "Take it, thou love-sick swain, and let us hear how thou addressest thy Dulcinea." I burst into tears, but I confess they were tears of wrathful indignation, and at that moment I detested the lady, my father, and myself. "Go," continued my father, "Go, thou idle boy, depart instantly out of my ​sight:" and out of his sight I accordingly went, almost wishing I might never again appear before him. This night I parted with my passion for Miss Dupee; I sighed for an opportunity of opening my heart to my ever faithful friend, I expected consolation from him, and I was not disappointed. Suspecting the business was the subject of conversation in the house of Mr. Little, I determined to go thither no more: with my friend, however, I took my usual walk; he perceived the sadness of my soul, but it was a consolation to me to learn, that he was ignorant of the cause: I poured my grief into his bosom, and his indignation was unbounded; hatred for Miss Dupee grew in his soul, yet, when I knew she had the goodness never to communicate my folly to any one, but my father, and this in a private letter, I could not but esteem her. So here rested the affair, and I wrote no more love-letters, until I addressed the lady whom I married. Though I was not by this torturing business exempted from la belle passion, yet I was prevented by my fears from its manifestation. In fact it was not until I was in a situation to make an election, as I supposed for life, that I was again condemned to struggle with a sentiment so imposing, as that which had occasioned me so much vexation. Many fair faces attracted, and for a time fixed my attention, and I sometimes looked forward to the brightest, purest scenes of domestic felicity, which were however as visionary, as could have been conceived in the pericranium of the most confirmed lunatic.
The religious melancholy, so pleasing to my father, again took possession of my mind; once more at early dawn I haunted the church-yard, frequently repeating to myself,
"The man how blest, who, sick of gaudy scenes, Is led by choice to take his favourite walk Beneath death's gloomy, silent cypress shades, To read his monuments, to weigh his dust, Visit his vaults, and dwell among the tombs."
The intervening hours of public worship, on Sunday, were passed by me at Church, in appropriate meditation and prayer: the solemn stillness of the place aided my aspirations, and rendered me abundantly more gloomy; but the versatility of my disposition still gave me to emerge, and I was then proportionably vivacious. In this zigzag manner I proceeded, gaining something every day, while I enjoyed a fine state of health, and the happiness of being much beloved by a large circle of respectable connexions. I still continued to cultivate my garden; it was the best in the place, and being seen and admired by many, ​my pious brethren were apprehensive it would become my idol; but we all have our idols. Mr. Wesley was the idol of the many. One evening at a love-feast, when the whole society were assembled, a pious sister, while narrating her experiences, looking earnestly at Mr. Wesley, vehemently exclaimed: "O! sir, I consider myself as much indebted to God for you, as for Jesus Christ!" The whole company were greatly surprised, and, as I believe, expected Mr. Wesley would have reproved her for this speech; but it passed, without any then expressed observation. The ensuing day it became the subject of animadversion, when I undertook to defend her, by remarking, that as she never could have had any advantage from Jesus Christ, if she had never heard of, and believed in him; she certainly was as much indebted to Almighty God for sending Mr. Wesley, through whom she obtained this redeeming knowledge, as for the Saviour, in whom she believed!!
My close connexion with my young friend, although very pleasant to my social propensities, subjected me, nevertheless, to some pain. He was indulged with more pocket money, than I could command; and although he considered his stipend never so well employed, as when it contributed to my convenience, yet, disliking dependence, I had recourse to methods of obtaining money, which did not always please me; I sometimes borrowed, and sometimes solicited gifts from my mother, which I did not find it easy to repay. It would have been well if neither my companion, nor myself, had been in the habit of spending money; we derived therefrom no advantage; it introduced us into company, where we were apt to forget ourselves; it is true we were never inebriated, but we were often gay, and, for religious characters, too much off our guard. This dear youth was not, like me, habituated to religion, he was not early disciplined by its most rigid laws; I could with abundantly more facility turn aside with him, than he could pursue with me the narrow path, in which I had generally walked. We became gradually too fond of pleasures, which would not bear examination; yet they were such as the world denominated innocent, although they strongly impelled us to gratifications disallowed by Religion. We were now fast advancing in life, and, with all the enthusiasm of youth, we were planning schemes for futurity, when lo! my precious, my early friend, was seized by a malignant fever, which soon deprived him of his reason. I was on the verge of distraction, I entreated permission to tarry constantly by his bedside; the progress of the disease was astonishingly rapid, and in a few days this dear, this amiable youth, ​whom I loved as my own soul, expired in a strong delirium! Every one regretted the departure of this young man, every one sympathised with his parents, and many extended pity to me. I was indeed beyond expression wretched; it was the first calamity of the kind, which I had ever been called to suffer, and my agonies were in full proportion to the strong affection, which I had conceived for the deceased. Society no longer possessed a charm for me, and yet the parents of the dear departed never willingly permitted me to quit their presence; indeed, the love, they had borne their son, seemed to be entirely transferred to me; but their sufferings were incalculably augmented, when, in a few succeeding weeks, their eldest, and only surviving son, fell a victim to the same fatal malady, which had deprived them of his brother! Never before did I witness such sad, and heart-affecting sorrow: a gloomy Religion is always increased by scenes of melancholy, hence the horrors of my mind were beyond description. Every thing I had done, every word I had uttered, not strictly conformable to the rule of right, returned upon my mind with redoubled terror, and in the midst of these agonizing fears, I was violently seized by the same fever, which had destroyed my friend. I was, upon the first appearance of this mortal disease, exceedingly alarmed, but in a few hours it prostrated my reason; my mother appeared to me as a stranger, and although I recognised my father, I was not afraid of him. I understood every thing which was said by those about me, and I suffered much in consequence of their expressed apprehensions and predictions: and I have often thought, that attendants in the chamber of sickness do not sufficiently consider the situation of the suffering patient, or the possibility, that the freedom of their remarks may augment his depression. I continued to linger, in the midst of extreme torture, through many weeks; and so high, and unremitted was my delirium, that my parents, from a persuasion that, should I be restored to health, my reason was forever lost, were reconciled to my departure. One particular I consider as astoning; every thing, which passed in my mind through the whole of this protracted delirium, I can, to this day, recollect as well as any event, which has taken place in any part of my life. Contrary to the expectations of surrounding friends, I was gradually restored to perfect health, when I became still more endeared to the parents of my deceased companion; they would have laid me in their bosoms, gladly cherishing me as the son of their affection. The old gentleman visited my father every day, and his lady was equally intimate with my mother. ​I wept with them, I prayed with them, and every day our mutual attachment acquired new energy. They expressed their wishes to my father, that I should become a permanent resident in their family. My father, apparently terrified, was unqualified in his rejection! It would injure me by too high-raised expectations, it would give me indulgences, fatal to my future peace, and happiness. For myself, I had recently entertained an exalted opinion of my father; and for his repeated, and, as I once believed, severe chastisements, gratitude glowed in my bosom; consequently I was not inclined to act contrary to his wishes in any respect, and he had sufficient address to avoid offending his friends. In fact, so exalted was their opinion of his wisdom, and piety, that they would have considered it criminal to censure him.
I was now the very shadow of my father; I visited, it is true; but it was always under his guardian care. He began to derive pleasure from conversing with me, and our satisfaction was mutual: still, however, I experienced, in his presence, more of reverential awe, than filial tenderness; yet I gained more from his society in the last six months of his existence, than I had for many preceding years. His gradual decline, at length, rapidly advanced; suddenly he became too much enfeebled to go abroad; his friends, who were numerous, visited him frequently. Mr. Little, and lady, were almost constantly with him: they congratulated him, that God had heard his prayers, and given him a son to supply his place, when he should be called home; this, indeed, he considered as a great consolation. Often with tears of pleasure has he wept over me, solemnly consecrating me by fervent prayer, and devout supplication. His devotional exercises, in his family, were continued until the last week of his existence; even when his voice was so low, that he could scarce articulate a word, we were drawn around him, when in whispers, as it were, he would, in the most moving manner, address the throne of grace in our behalf; and for me, as his first-born son, his orisons were still more frequently offered up, and always with tears. For many years my father had lost his apprehensions of death; but he always suffered more or less in the dread of dying. The taking down the house of his earthly tabernacle,—the agonies of dissolving nature,—these anticipations frequently appalled his soul. We had got into passion week; my father was taken from his bed every day, until Good Friday, when it was impressed upon his mind, that he should be with his Redeemer upon Easter Sunday. He indirectly communicated this assurance to my mother; commanding me to be immediately ​summoned to his presence, when he thus addressed me: "My son, the object of my soul's affection, for whom, during many years, I have wept and prayed, you see your weeping, praying father, now totally unable to utter a prayer, nor shall I ever pray in this dear family again. Let me, my dear, before I leave you, have the felicity of seeing, and hearing you take upon you the character you will very speedily be called to sustain; let me hear you pray in the family, before I depart. There was something terrible in the thought of his departure, though we had for many years been taught to expect it, not only by his declining health, but by his conversation, which had rendered us familiar with death. I cannot remember a day, on which he did not, on his first appearance in his family of a morning, say, "blessed be God, we are one day nearer our eternal rest:" yet the thought of assuming his place in his family, in his presence; this was more terrible to me, than death itself. I became convulsed, a cold perspiration was diffused over my frame; my father saw my agony, and bidding me sit down, took my hand, and addressing me in the language of sympathy, most affectionately, most tenderly said; "you have, my poor boy, often addressed your heavenly Father, and have not felt abashed: ought you to venerate your feeble, earthly father, more than the God who made you? At the throne of grace I am upon a level with my son, and I need redeeming mercy as much as yourself. Let me, my dear child, be blessed with the privilege of seeing, and hearing you, in your new, and highly responsible character, this night." I was dumb, I could not speak: my mother was requested to summon the family. "Come," said my father, "come near me, my children. God is about to remove from you your father, your supplicating father; but my God, your God, will never leave you, nor forsake you. He will give you, in your brother, a friend, a guide, a father; you must consider him, when I am gone, as in my stead; you will unite with him in prayer, you will follow his direction, and God will abundantly bless you together. My prayers on his behalf are graciously answered; they will, my beloved children, be answered on your behalf also; for He, who hath promised, is faithful, your father hath proved Him faithful. Our God is indeed worthy to be trusted, His service is perfect freedom; serve the Lord, my children, and be happy; obey your dear mother, strengthen the hands of your brother, and felicity will be your portion." He would have proceeded, but weakness prevented; recovering himself, he called upon me to make good his expectations; I kneeled down by his bedside in ​convulsive agony, my mother kneeling upon the opposite side; my brothers and sisters forming a circle which surrounded it, while the domestics kneeled near us. I prayed, I wept, I audibly sobbed: while my, only not divine, father, was in ecstacy. When I had finished, "Now, O Lord," he exclaimed, "let thy servant depart in peace, for mine eyes have seen, for my ears have heard, for my heart has felt, thy salvation. Come near me, my darling boy." Instantly I ran, and again I kneeled by his bedside; he drew my head to his bosom, he wept over me, but his tears were tears of transport, when, laying his dying hand upon my head, he thus fervently supplicated: "O thou, Almighty God, who hath thus blessed, greatly blessed thy poor servant: Thou who hast been my God, and my guide, even unto death, bless, oh! bless this son, with whom thou hast blessed thy feeble supplicant: Give him thy supporting presence through life, direct him in the way he should go, and never leave him, nor forsake him: Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, thou covenant-keeping God, bless, bless, O! bless this lad—" Here his heart swelled too big for utterance; after a few moments, recovering himself a little, he mildly requested me to place him properly in his bed. I was beyond measure shocked to see what a skeleton he had become, his bones in many places through his skin. It was my wish to tarry with him through the night, but I could not obtain permission. "Go, my dear son," said he, "go to rest, and the God of your fathers be ever with you." This was the last time I ever heard his voice; before the morning dawned, I was summoned to attend not a dying, but a deceased parent, whose value, until that agonizing moment, I had never sufficiently appreciated. My mother continued by his bedside, overwhelmed by sorrow; the slumbers of my father were sweet, calm, and unbroken, until near midnight, when she perceived he was awake, and believing him to be speaking, she inclined her ear to his lips, and heard him say, while his heart, his full heart, seemed nearly bursting: "The souls of believers are at their death made perfectly holy, and do immediately pass into glory; but their bodies, being still united to Christ, do rest in their graves till the resurrection." After a pause, he resumed: "At the resurrection, they shall be openly acknowledged, and acquitted in the day of judgment, and made perfectly blessed in the full enjoyment of God through eternity: Blessed, perfectly bless—." Blessed he would have said, but he breathed no more. When I approached the bed of death, I beheld the remains of the departed saint, precisely in the position in which a few hours before I ​had placed him. Not a single struggle had the dear, apprehensive man, during those expiring moments, which, through his whole life, he had expected would be productive of such extreme torture. He slept in Jesus, in full confidence of a glorious Resurrection.
From this hour, until the interment, our house was thronged; but of all our numerous friends, who by their presence expressed their sympathy, no individuals appeared more deeply affected than my future patrons, Mr. and Mrs. Little. My father was very dear to Mr. Little; he mingled his tears with the widow, and her orphans. It was unnecessary to tell me I had sustained an irreparable loss, my heart, my pierced heart, was every moment making the avowal; I could now fully appreciate my father's worth; I felt I was bereaved, miserably bereaved; left to myself, and I knew myself well enough to justify the most spirit-wounding apprehensions. I retired to my chamber, to my closet, secretly indulging my overwhelming sorrow, and if I ever experienced the fervour of devotion, it was then, when, throwing abroad my supplicating hands, I petitioned the God of my father to be my God also, entreating that he would graciously vouchsafe to preserve me from myself, my sinful self: all the hard, undutiful reflections, which I had secretly tolerated against this good, this honoured man, while he was enduring exquisite sufferings for the purpose of preserving me from evil, rushed upon my recollection, and an innate monitor seemed to say: "You may now, ungrateful boy, go where you please; the prying eye of a father will no more inspect your conduct." It was now, in these moments of torture, that my father, as it should seem, first became known to me. It is true, he was severely good, his conscience was indeed sorely tender; but, as far as he knew, he performed the will of God, at least in as great a measure as he was able, and when he believed himself deficient, as he almost always did, it gave him great pain. The uniform sanctity of his life commanded the respect, the esteem, the affection, and even the veneration of all who knew him. He possessed an uncommon share of natural abilities, and his acquirements were very respectable. He had read much; History, Natural Philosophy, Poetry, these were all familiar to him; but the sacred Scriptures, and books of devotion, were his delight. Human productions constituted his amusement, but the word of his God was his food. He was so acute a reasoner, that it was difficult to gain any advantage over him in argument; yet he was easily provoked, but immediately sensible of error; every deviation from propriety was marked by tears. He ​had so much self-command, as never to strike a child in a passion, this he denominated a demoniac sacrifice; he would first correct the angry man: but however painful the act, he never omitted what he conceived it his duty to bestow. He was a very tender-hearted man, and his prayers were rarely unaccompanied by tears. He mourned with the mourner, for he was himself a man of sorrow. Being for the last nineteen years of his life a confirmed invalid, he was constantly, and fervently looking toward his heavenly home—sometimes with impatience, when, correcting himself, he would say, "Well, well, Heaven is worth waiting for: one hour, passed in the courts of my God, will be a rich remuneration for all terrestrial sufferings."
It is the custom in Ireland, when any person of distinction or respectability is called out of time, to watch around their remains, night as well as day, until the body be entombed. The remains of my father were affectionately attended, but they were attended in an uncommon manner; as he differed from others in life, so these last honours differed from those usually bestowed. The morning immediately succeeding his demise, our friends and neighbours assembled in our dwelling, when Mr. Little thus addressed them: "My friends, it hath pleased God to take unto himself the soul of our beloved brother; as he lived, so he died, a pattern of excellence; we know, we feel, that he has not left his equal. We unite with this dear family in sensibly lamenting the departure of our experienced friend, our guide, our comforter." Here he mingled his tears with those of our attendant friends. After a long pause, he proceeded: "Fellow mourners, the greatest respect we can pay to the remains of our inestimable, our heavenly guide, is to pass our time together in this house of mourning, not for him, but for ourselves, in the way which would be most pleasing to him, were he present; we will therefore appropriate our hours to reading, and to prayer. One of our brethren will address the throne of grace, after which I will read a sermon, the production of Mr. Erskine, of whose writings the dear departed was remarkably fond." The prayer, the sermon, the concluding prayer, deeply affected every one; and the evening witnessed a renewal of these pious exercises. Thus were our nights and days devoted, until the interment. On that day the throng was prodigious. The worth, the good actions of my father, were the theme of many a tongue; his praises were echoed, and re-echoed, while tears of sorrow moistened many an eye. Every one bore in his, or her hand, to the grave-yard, a sprig of bays, which, after the body ​was deposited, was thrown over the coffin. But no words can describe my agonizing, my terrific sensations, when I reflected upon the charge which had devolved upon me. I remembered my father's words, on the evening preceding his exit, and I felt myself reduced to the necessity of assuming his place in the family; but how much was I to suffer by comparison with him, whose place I was appointed to fill: yet, had I wished to avoid entering upon my office, my mother, the friends of my father, would have borne testimony against me. They thronged around me, they entreated me immediately to take charge of the family, and to commence my arduous task by devout supplications to Almighty God. I complied with their united wishes; but no tongue can utter, no language can delineate the strong emotions of my soul: again I was convulsed, again I agonized; the whole family were inexpressibly affected. It was the most melancholy evening I had ever experienced; but my benighted spirit was suddenly refreshed, by a ray of consolation, emitted by the cheering hope, that my father's God would be my God, and that the fervent prayers he had offered up, in my behalf, would be answered in my favour. I was encouraged too by my mother, and by the friends of my father, who besought the Lord in my behalf, and who were daily reminding me of the interest, which my deceased parent unquestionably had with the prayer-hearing God.
Yet, although soothed, and greatly stimulated, my new employment continued to distress, and appal my spirit. The conviction of every day assured me, that I was unequal to the arduous task I had undertaken. My mother was my ever-ready aid and counsellor; but my brothers and sisters always remembered, that I was not their father; and they were highly displeased, whenever I presumed to exercise over them paternal authority; yet this I believed to be my duty, and, that I might be in every thing like my father, I took up the rod of correction, seriously chastising my brother, for the purpose of restoring him to the narrow path, from which he had wandered. But, although I had learned of my father to use the rod, I never could make it answer the same purpose; in my hand, it only served to increase the evil, it became the signal of revolt; and, while my brother continued incorrigible, my other brothers, and my sisters, enlisted on his side. My mother, dear honoured sufferer, was exceedingly distressed; she had in fact a difficult part to act; she was fearful, whichever side she might espouse, would, by creating new irritation, make bad, worse, and yet, upon an occasion so interesting, we would not allow her to be silent, she must ​positively attend to our appeals. But however arduous her task, she possessed discretion sufficient to meet it, and to produce an ultimatum completely satisfactory to all parties.
She replied to our remonstrances, by a request to be allowed until the evening, succeeding our complaints, for serious deliberation. The interesting evening came. "Come, my children, all equally dear to my soul: come, the doors are now shut; this is the time of evening service. There is the chair, which your pious, your affectionate father, once filled. Can you not remember the last time he addressed you from that seat. Let me, my dear children, let me repeat, as well as my memory will permit, what he said to us the last time he addressed us from that chair. "Come," said he, "come near me, my children," when, folding his arms around your elder brother, and pressing him to his bosom, while shedding over him abundance of tears, and pouring out his soul in supplication for him, he most affectingly said: "I am, my dear child, hastening to that heaven, for which I have so long waited. For you, ever since you were born, I have wept and prayed; graciously hath my God inclined his ear to the voice of my supplication. He hath blessed me, by giving me to see you, before I die, prepared, by divine favour, to take my place; I leave you my dear son, to act a father's part, when I shall be here no more; let your mother, your brothers, and your sisters, receive from you that attention, and care, they can no more obtain from me; but, although I shall be no more with you, your God, your father's God, will never leave nor forsake you. Nay, my own beatified spirit may obtain increasing felicity, by being sometimes permitted to behold the order, and harmony of my beloved family, while collected before the throne of grace, with the love of God, and love of each other, glowing with divine ecstacy in every bosom." It was then, my precious children, that your devout father clasped you separately to his bosom; you remember how he then spake to you: "I go, my beloved children; you will no more hear my voice from this chair; I shall no more be able to pray with you, to advise, or to direct you. But, my children, I leave with you a brother, who will perform to you the part of a father; I leave him in my place; it is my command, that he tread in my steps, as far as I have proceeded in the path of justice; and, my dear children, I conjure you to attend to his directions. The eldest son was, of old, the priest in the family of his father; and if you love me, if you love your mother, if you would prove your love to God, or even to yourselves, contribute ​all in your power to strengthen the hands of your brother." You remember he then embraced each of you, and wept over you; and I pray you to remember, that you then solemnly promised, to perform all which your dying father directed you to perform. Perhaps the saint may be at this moment beholding us, in this very spot, in which, a few days previous to his departure out of time, he so affectingly, so tenderly admonished us———" My mother paused, as if influenced by sacred awe of the presence she had supposed. We audibly wept; we rushed into each other's arms, we embraced each other, and so long as we continued together, our affection, our piety, and our devotion were uninterrupted.