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

CHAPTER IV.
Hail! wedded love! Connubial friendship, hail! Bas'd on esteem, . . . . if love supplies the gale, Borne on life's stream, we cut our beamy way, On smooth seas wafted to the realms of day.
AFTER six tedious months, from the morning of my Eliza's departure from the mansion of her grandfather, had completed their tardy round, yielding to my unremitted importunities, she consented to accompany me to the altar. We were attended by William, and his lady, with our dear Mrs. Allen; and I received, from the hands of our very dear brother, an inestimable treasure, which constituted me, in my own estimation, the happiest of human beings. As I had no house prepared, I gratefully accepted the kindness of this beloved brother, who invited us to tarry with him, until we could accommodate ourselves; and, if I except one unhappy misunderstanding, which took place soon after our marriage, no wedded pair were ever blessed with more unbroken felicity. The disagreement, to which I advert, would not have continued so long, but for the instigations of our brother William, who insisted upon my supporting what he called my dignity, which, as he said, could only be maintained by the submission of my wife. The quarrel, like the quarrels of most married people, originated in a mere trifle; but the question was, who should make the first conciliatory advances. For two whole days we did not exchange a single word!! William still imposingly urging me, never to surrender my prerogative! At length, unable to endure such a state of wretchedness, I told William, I would not live another hour in such a situation; he only ridiculed me for my folly, and bid me take the consequence. I, however, entered the chamber of my wife, and, extending my hand, most affectionately said: My soul's best treasure, let us no longer continue this state of mournful estrangement! for the world I would not thus live another day. Why, my love, our sorrows will arise, from a thousand sources; let us not render each other miserable. The dear girl burst into tears, and throwing her faithful arms around me, sobbed upon my bosom; with difficulty articulating, "O! my precious friend, you have, as you always will have, the superiority. God for ever bless my faithful, my ​condescending husband." From this moment we bade adieu to dissension of every description, successfully cultivating that harmony of disposition, and augmenting confidence, which cannot fail of insuring domestic felicity. We soon removed to a house of our own, and there, as I believe, enjoyed as much of happiness, as ever fell to the lot of humanity. Yet, although thus satisfied with each other, there were sources of inquietude, which created us some distress. I had heard much of Mr. Relly; he was a conscientious, and zealous preacher, in the city of London. He had, through many revolving years, continued faithful to the ministry committed to him, and he was the theme of every religious sect. He appeared, as he was represented to me, highly erroneous; and my indignation against him, as has already been seen, was very strong. I had frequently been solicited to hear him, merely that I might be an ear witness of what was termed his blasphemies; but, I arrogantly said, I would not be a murderer of time. Thus I passed on for a number of years, hearing all manner of evil said of Mr. Relly, and believing all I heard, while every day augmented the inveterate hatred, which I bore the man, and his adherents. When a worshipping brother, or sister, belonging to the communion, which I considered as honoured by the approbation of Deity, was, by this deceiver, drawn from the paths of rectitude, the anguish of my spirit was indescribable; and I was ready to say, the secular arm ought to interpose to prevent the perdition of souls. I recollect one instance in particular, which pierced me to the soul. A young lady, of irreproachable life, remarkable for piety, and highly respected by the Tabernacle congregation and church, of which I was a devout member, had been ensnared; to my great astonishment, she had been induced to hear, and having heard, she had embraced the pernicious errors of this detestable babbler; she was become a believer, a firm, and unwavering believer of universal redemption! Horrible! most horrible! So high an opinion was entertained of my talents, having myself been a teacher among the Methodists, and such was my standing in Mr. Whitefield's church, that I was deemed adequate to reclaiming this wanderer, and I was strongly urged to the pursuit. The poor, deluded young woman was abundantly worthy our most arduous efforts. He, that converteth the sinner from the error of his way, shall save a soul from death, and shall hide a multitude of sins. Thus I thought, thus I said, and, swelled with a high idea of my own importance, I went, accompanied by two or three of my Christian brethren, to see, to converse with, and, if need were, to admonish this simple, weak, but, as we heretofore believed, ​meritorious female. Fully persuaded, that I could easily convince her of her errors, I entertained no doubt respecting the result of my undertaking. The young lady received us with much kindness and condescension, while, as I glanced my eye upon her fine countenance, beaming with intelligence, mingling pity and contempt grew in my bosom. After the first ceremonies, we sat for some time silent; at length I drew up a heavy sigh, and uttered a pathetic sentiment, relative to the deplorable condition of those, who live, and die in unbelief; and I concluded a violent declamation, by pronouncing, with great earnestness, He, that believeth not, shall be damned.
"And pray, sir," said the young lady, with great sweetness, "Pray, sir, what is the unbeliever damned for not believing?"
What is he damned for not believing? Why, he is damned for not believing.
"But, my dear sir, I asked what was that, which he did not believe, for which he was damned?"
Why, for not believing in Jesus Christ, to be sure.
"Do you mean to say, that unbelievers are damned, for not believing there was such a person as Jesus Christ?"
No, I do not; a man may believe there was such a person, and yet be damned.
"What then, sir, must he believe, in order to avoid damnation?"
Why he must believe, that Jesus Christ is a complete Saviour.
"Well, suppose he were to believe, that Jesus Christ was the complete Saviour of others, would this belief save him?"
No, he must believe, that Christ Jesus is his complete Saviour; every individual must believe for himself, that Jesus Christ is his complete Saviour.
"Why, sir, is Jesus Christ the Saviour of any unbelievers?"
No, madam.
"Why, then, should any unbeliever believe, that Jesus Christ is his Saviour, if he be not his Saviour?"
I say, he is not the Saviour of any one, until he believes.
"Then, if Jesus be not the Saviour of the unbeliever, until he believes, the unbeliever is called upon to believe a lie. It appears to me, sir, that Jesus is the complete Saviour of unbelievers; and that unbelievers are called upon to believe the truth; and that, by believing, they are saved, in their own apprehension, saved from all those dreadful fears, which are consequent upon a state of conscious condemnation."
No, madam; you are dreadfully, I trust not fatally, misled. Jesus never was, nor never will be, the Saviour of any unbeliever.
​"Do you think Jesus is your Saviour, sir?"
I hope he is.
"Were you always a believer, sir?"
No, madam.
"Then you were once an unbeliever; that is, you once believed, that Jesus Christ was not your Saviour. Now, as you say, he never was, nor never will be, the Saviour of any unbeliever; as you were once an unbeliever, he never can be your Saviour."
He never was my Saviour, till I believed.
"Did he never die for you, till you believed, sir?"
Here I was extremely embarrassed, and most devoutly wished myself out of her habitation; I sighed bitterly, expressed deep commiseration for those deluded souls, who had nothing but head-knowledge; drew out my watch, discovered it was late; and, recollecting an engagement, observed it was time to take leave.
I was extremely mortified; the young lady observed my confusion, but was too generous to pursue her triumph. I arose to depart; the company arose; she urged us to tarry; addressed each of us in the language of kindness. Her countenance seemed to wear a resemblance of the heaven, which she contemplated; it was stamped by benignity, and when we bade her adieu, she enriched us by her good wishes.
I suspected, that my religious brethren saw she had the advantage of me; and I felt, that her remarks were indeed unanswerable. My pride was hurt, and I determined to ascertain the exact sentiments of my associates, respecting this interview. Poor soul, said I, she is far gone in error. True, said they; but she is, notwithstanding, a very sensible woman. Ay, ay, thought I, they have assuredly discovered, that she has proved too mighty for me. Yes, said I, she has a great deal of head knowledge; but yet she may be a lost, damned soul. I hope not, returned one of my friends; she is a very good young woman. I saw, and it was with extreme chagrin, that the result of this visit had depreciated me in the opinion of my companions. But I could only censure and condemn, solemnly observing: It was better not to converse with any of those apostates, and it would be judicious never to associate with them upon any occasion. From this period, I myself carefully avoided every Universalist, and most cordially did I hate them. My ear was open to the public calumniator, to the secret whisperer, and I yielded credence to every scandalous report, however improbable. My informers were good people; I had no doubt of their veracity; and I believed it would be difficult to paint Relly, and his connexions, in ​colours too black. How severely has the law of retaliation been since exercised in the stabs, which have been aimed at my own reputation! Relly was described, as a man black with crimes; an atrocious offender, both in principle, and practice. He had, it was said, abused and deserted an amiable wife; and, it was added, that he retained in his house an abandoned woman; and that he not only thus conducted himself, but, publicly, and most nefariously, taught his hearers to dare the laws of their country, and their God. Hence, said my informers, the dissipated and unprincipled, of every class, flock to his church; his congregation is astonishingly large, the carriages of the great block up the street, in which his meeting-house stands, and he is the idol of the voluptuous of every description. All this, and much more was said, industriously propagated, and credited in every religious circle. Denominations, at variance with each other, most cordially agreed in thus thinking, and thus speaking of Relly, of his principles, of his preaching, and of his practice. I confess I felt a strong inclination to see, and hear this monster, once at least; but the risk was dreadful! I could not gather courage to hazard the steadfastness of my faith; and for many years I persevered in my resolution, on no consideration to contaminate my ear by the sound of his voice. At length, however, I was prevailed upon to enter his church; but I detested the sight of him; and my mind, prejudiced by the reports, to which I had listened respecting him, was too completely filled with a recollection of his fancied atrocities, to permit a candid attention to his subject, or his mode of investigation. I wondered much at his impudence, in daring to speak in the name of God; and I felt assured, that he was treasuring up unto himself wrath against the day of wrath. I looked upon his deluded audience with alternate pity and contempt, and I thanked God, that I was not one of them. I rejoiced, when I escaped from the house, and, as I passed home, I exclaimed, almost audibly: Why, O my God, was I not left in this deplorable, damnable state? given up, like this poor, unfortunate people, to believe a lie, to the utter perversion of my soul? But I was thus furnished with another proof of my Election, in consequence of my not being deceived by this detestable deceiver; and, of course, my consolation was great.
About this time, there was a religious society established in Cannon-street, in an independent meeting-house, for the purpose of elucidating difficult passages of scripture. This society chose for their president a Mr. Mason, who, although not a clerical gentleman, was, nevertheless, of high standing in the religious world: frequent applications were ​made to him, in the character of a physician to the sinking, sorrowing, sin-sick soul. His figure was commanding, and well calculated to fill the minds of young converts with religious awe. When this company of serious inquirers were assembled, the president addressed the throne of grace, in a solemn, and appropriate prayer, and the subject for the evening was next proposed. Every member of the society was indulged with the privilege of expressing his sentiments, for the space of five minutes; a glass was upon the table, which ran accurately the given term. The president held in his hand a small ivory hammer: when the speaker's time had expired, he had a right to give him notice by a stroke on the table, round which the assembled members were seated. But, if he approved of what was delivered, it was optional with him to extend the limits of his term. When the question had gone round the table, the president summed up the evidences, gave his own judgment, and, having proposed the question for the next evening, concluded with prayer.
Upon this society I was a constant attendant, and I was frequently gratified by the indulgence of the president and the implied approbation of the society. It was on the close of one of those evenings, which were to me very precious opportunities, that the president took me by the hand, and requested me to accompany him into the vestry. "Sit down, my good sir: you cannot but have seen, that I have long distinguished you in this society; that I have been pleased with your observations; and I have given indisputable evidence, that both my reason, and my judgment, approved your remarks." I bowed respectfully, and endeavoured to express my gratitude, in a manner becoming an occasion so truly flattering.
"My object," said he, "in seeking to engage you in private, is to request you would take home with you a pamphlet I have written against Relly's Union. I have long wondered, that some able servant of our Master has not taken up this subject. But, as my superiors are silent, I have been urged by a sense of duty to make a stand, and I have done all in my power to prevent the pernicious tendency of this soul-destroying book."
Although, at this period, I had never seen Relly's Union, yet my heart rejoiced, that Mason, this great and good man, had undertaken to write against it, and, from the abundance of my heart, my mouth overflowed with thankfulness.
"All that I request of you," said Mr. Mason, "is to take this manuscript home with you, and keep it till our next meeting. Meet me in this vestry, a little before the usual time. Read it, I entreat you, ​carefully, and favour me with your unbiassed sentiments." I was elated by the honour done me, and I evinced much astonishment at the confidence reposed in me. But he was pleased to express a high opinion of my judgment, abilities, and goodness of heart, and he begged leave to avail himself of those qualities, with which his fancy had invested me.
I took the manuscript home, perused it carefully, and with much pleasure, until I came to a passage at which I was constrained to pause, painfully to pause. Mr. Relly had said, speaking of the record, which God gave of his Son: This life is in his Son, and he, that believeth not this record, maketh God a liar; from whence, inferred Mr. Relly, it is plain, that God hath given this eternal life in the Son to unbelievers, as fully as to believers, else the unbeliever could not, by his unbelief, make God a liar. This, said Mr. Mason, punning upon the author's name, is just as clear, as that this writer is an Irish Bishop. I was grieved to observe, that Mr. Mason could say no more upon a subject so momentous; nor could I forbear allowing more, than I wished to allow, to the reasoning of Mr. Relly. Most devoutly did I lament, that the advantage in argument did not rest with my admired friend, Mason; and I was especially desirous, that this last argument should have been completely confuted. I was positive, that God never gave eternal life to any unbeliever; and yet I was perplexed to decide how, if God had not given life to unbelievers, they could possibly make God a liar, by believing that he had not. My mind was incessantly exercised, and greatly embarrassed upon this question. What is it to make any one a liar, but to deny the truth of what he has said? But, if God had no where said, he had given life to unbelievers, how could the unbeliever make God a liar? The stronger this argument seemed in favour of the grace and love of God, the more distressed and unhappy I became; and most earnestly did I wish, that Mr. Mason's pamphlet might contain something, that was more rational, more scriptural, than a mere pun; that he might be able to adduce proof positive, that the gift of God, which is everlasting life, was never given to any, but believers. I was indisputably assured, that I myself was a believer; and right precious did I hold my exclusive property in the Son of God.
At the appointed time, I met Mr. Mason in the vestry. "Well, sir, I presume you have read my manuscript?" I have, sir, and I have read it repeatedly. "Well, sir, speak freely, is there any thing in the manuscript which you dislike?" Why, sir, as you are so good as to indulge me with the liberty of speaking, I will venture to point out one passage, which appears to me not sufficiently clear. Pardon ​me, sir, but surely argument, especially upon religious subjects, is preferable to ridicule, to punning upon the name of an author. "And where, pray, is the objectionable paragraph, to which you advert?" I pointed it out; but, on looking in his face, I observed his countenance fallen, it was no longer toward me. Mr. Mason questioned my judgment, and never afterward honoured me by his attention. However, I still believed Mason right, and Relly wrong; for if Relly were right, the conclusion was unavoidable, all men must finally be saved. But this was out of the question, utterly impossible; all religious denominations agreed to condemn this heresy, to consider it as a damnable doctrine, and what every religious denomination united to condemn, must be false.
Thus, although I lost the favour of Mr. Mason, and he published his pamphlet precisely as it stood, when submitted to my perusal, yet my reverential regard for him was not diminished. I wished, most cordially wished success to his book, and destruction to the author, against whom it was written.
In this manner, some months rolled over my head, when, accompanying my wife on a visit to her aunt, after the usual ceremonies, I repaired, according to custom, to the book-case, and turning over many books and pamphlets, I at length opened one, that had been robbed of its title-page; but in running it over, I came to the very argument, which had excited so much anxiety in my bosom. It was the first moment I had ever seen a line of Mr. Relly's writing, except in Mr. Mason's pamphlet. I was much astonished, and turning to Mrs. Murray, I informed her, I held Mr. Relly's Union in my hand. I asked our uncle, if I might put it in my pocket? "Surely," said he, "and keep it there, if you please, I never read books of divinity; I know not what the pamphlet is, nor do I wish to know." As I put it into my pocket, my mind became alarmed, and perturbed. It was dangerous, it was tampering with poison, it was like taking fire into my bosom; I had better throw it into the flames, or restore it to the book-case; such was the conflict in my bosom. However, in the full assurance, that the Elect were safe; and that, although they took up any deadly thing, it should not hurt them, I decided to read the Union; and having thus made up my mind, I experienced a degree of impatience, until I reached home, when addressing the dear companion of my youth, I said: I have, my dear, judged, and condemned, before I have heard; but I have now an opportunity given me for deliberate investigation. "But," returned Mrs. Murray, "are we sufficient of ourselves?" No, my ​love, certainly we are not; but God, all gracious, hath said, If any lack wisdom, let them ask of God, who giveth liberally, and upbraideth not. My heart is exercised by fearful apprehensions; this moment I dread to read, the next I am anxious to hear what the author can say. We will, therefore, lay this book before our God. There is, my love, a God, who is not far from every one of us; we are directed to make our requests known unto Him for all things, by supplication and prayer. God hath never yet said to any, Seek ye my face, in vain; we will then pray for his direction and counsel; and we may rest in the assurance of obtaining both. Accordingly, we entered our closet, and both of us, for we were both equally interested, prostrated ourselves before God, with prayers and tears, beseeching Him, the God of mercy, to look with pity on us; we were on the point of attending to doctrines of which we were not, we could not be judges, and we earnestly supplicated Him to lead us into all truth. If the volume before us contained truth, we entreated him to show it to us, and to increase our faith; if, on the other hand, it contained falsehood, we beseeched God to make it manifest, that we might not be deceived. No poor criminal ever prayed for life, when under sentence of death, with greater fervour of devotion, than did my labouring soul upon this occasion supplicate for the light of life to direct my erring steps. After thus weeping, and thus supplicating, we opened the bible, and began to read this book, looking into the bible for the passages, to which the writer referred. We were astonished and delighted at the beauty of the scriptures, thus exhibited; it seemed, as if every sentence was an apple of gold in a picture of silver; and still, as we proceeded, the wonder was, that so much divine truth should be spoken by so heinous a transgressor: and this consideration seemed suggested, as a reason why I should not continue reading. Can any thing good proceed from such a character? Would not truth have been revealed to men, eminent for virtue? How is it possible, discoveries, so important, should never, until now, have been made, and now only by this man? Yet, I considered, God's ways were in the great deep; he would send, by whom he would send; choosing the weak and base things to confound the mighty and the strong, that no flesh should glory in his presence. And, as my lovely wife justly observed, I was not sure, all, I heard of Mr. Relly, was true; that our Saviour had said to his disciples, They shall say all manner of evil of you falsely; and the present instance may be a case in point. "You have no personal acquaintance with Mr. Relly," said she; "nor do you know, that any of those, from whom you have received his character, are better ​informed than yourself. I think it doth not become us to speak or believe evil of any man, without the strongest possible proof." All this was rational, I felt its full force, and blushed for my own credulity. I proceeded to read. The Union introduced me to many passages of scripture, which had before escaped my observation. A student, as I had been of the scriptures, from the first dawn of my reason, I could not but wonder at myself; I turned to Mr. Mason's book, and I discovered a want of candour, and a kind of duplicity, which had not before met my view, and which perhaps would never have caught my attention, had I not read the Union. I saw the grand object untouched, while Relly had clearly pointed out the doctrines of the gospel. Yet there were many passages, that I could not understand, and I felt myself distressingly embarrassed. One moment I wished from my soul, I had never seen the Union; and the next my heart was enlarged, and lifted up by considerations, which swelled my bosom to ecstacy. This was the situation of my mind, during many succeeding months, and a large proportion of my time was passed in reading, and studying the scriptures, and in prayer: My understanding was pressing on to new attainments, and the prospect brightened before me. I was greatly attached to my minister, Mr. Hitchins; he was eminent in his line, and a most pleasing preacher. Mrs. Murray was in the habit of taking down his sermons in short hand. We were delighted with the man, and accustomed to consider him a genuine gospel preacher. It happened, that Mr. Hitchins took a journey into the country, and was absent on the sabbath day. Come, my dear, said I, our minister is out of town, let us avail ourselves of the opportunity, and hear the writer of the Union; this is a privilege, which few, who read books, can have; as authors are generally numbered with the dead, before their labours are submitted to the public eye." Her consent was always yielded to my solicitations; but we were terrified, as we passed along, in the fear of meeting some of our religious brethren; happily, however, we reached the meeting-house, without encountering any one, to whom we were known.
Mr. Relly had changed his place of worship, and we were astonished to observe a striking proof of the falsehood of those reports, which had reached us; no coaches thronged the street, nor surrounded the door of this meeting-house; there was no vestige of grandeur, either within or without. The house had formerly been occupied by Quakers; there were no seats, save a few benches; and the pulpit was framed of a few rough boards, over which no plane had ever passed. The audience corresponded with the house, they did not appear very religious; ​that is, they were not melancholy; and I therefore suspected they had not much piety. I attended to every thing; the hymn was good, the prayer excellent, and I was astonished to witness, in so bad a man, so much apparent devotion; for still, I must confess, the prejudices, I had received from my religious friends, were prevalent in my mind. Mr. Relly gave out his text. "Either make the tree good, and its fruit good, or the tree corrupt, and its fruit corrupt; for every tree is known by its fruit; a good tree cannot bring forth corrupt fruit, neither can a corrupt tree bring forth good fruit." I was immeasurably surprised. What, thought I, has this man to do with a passage, so calculated to condemn himself? But, as he proceeded, every faculty of my soul was powerfully seized and captivated, and I was perfectly amazed, while he explained who we were to understand by the good, and who by the bad trees. He proved, beyond contradiction, that a good tree could not bring forth any corrupt fruit, but there was no man, who lived and sinned not; all mankind had corrupted themselves, there were none therefore good; no, not one.
No mere man, since the fall, has been able to keep the commandments of God; but daily doth break them, in thought, in word, and in deed. There was, however, one good tree, JESUS; He indeed stands, as the apple-tree, among the trees of the wood; He is that good tree, which cannot bring forth corrupt fruit; under His shadow the believer reposeth; the fruit of this tree is sweet to his taste; and the matter of his theme constantly is, "Whom have I in heaven, but thee, and there is none upon earth, that I desire, beside thee." I was constrained to believe, that I had never, until this moment, heard the Redeemer preached; and, as I said, I attended with my whole soul. I was humbled, I was confounded; I saw clearly, that I had been all my life expecting good fruit from corrupt trees, grapes on thorns, and figs on thistles. I suspected myself; I had lost my standing; I was unsettled, perturbed, and wretched. A few individuals, whom I had known at Mr. Whitefield's tabernacle, were among Mr. Relly's audience, and I heard them say, as they passed out of the aisle of the church, I wonder how the Pharisees would like our preacher? I wished to hear Mrs. Murray speak upon the subject; but we passed on, wrapped in contemplation. At length I broke silence: Well, my dear, what are your sentiments? "Nay, my dear, what is your opinion?" I never heard truth, unadulterated truth, before; so sure as there is a God in heaven, if the scriptures be the word of God, the testimony, this day delivered, is the truth of God. It is the first consistent sermon I have ever heard. I ​reached home full of this sermon; took up the Union, read it with new pleasure; attended again and again, upon Mr. Relly, and was more and more astonished. Mr. Hitchins returned home, but, as I conceived, very much changed, more inconsistent than ever. "No, my dear," said my wife, "it is you, who are changed; he preaches, as I can prove by my notes, precisely the same, yet it is truly surprising, that his multiplied contradictions have, until now, passed without our observation." Well, said I, what are we to do? Can we, in future, bear such inconsistencies, now that we are better informed? Suppose we keep our seats as usual; attending, however, one half of every Sabbath, to the preacher of Christ Jusus? On this we immediately determined, and, by this expedient, we imagined we might be gratified by hearing the truth, without running the risk of losing our reputation; for we well knew, that, as professed adherents of Mr. Relly, we could no longer preserve that spotless fame we delighted to cherish.
I now commenced the reading of the Scriptures, with augmented diligence. The Bible was indeed a new book to me; the veil was taken from my heart, and the word of my God became right precious to my soul. Many scriptures, that I had not before known, forcibly pressed upon my observation; and many, that, until now, I had not suffered myself to believe. Still the doctrine of election distressed me; unfortunately, I had connected this doctrine of election with the doctrine of final reprobation; not considering, that, although the first was indubitably a scripture doctrine, the last was not to be found in, nor could be supported by revelation. I determined to call upon, and converse with Mr. Hitchins, on this important subject. I found him in his study, encompassed about with the writings of great men. I wait upon you, sir, for the purpose of obtaining help. The Arminians show me many scriptures, which proclaim the universality of the Atonement. I cannot answer them. What, my dear sir, shall I do? "Why, sir, the doctrines of election, and reprobation, are doctrines we are bound to believe, as articles of our faith; but I can say, with the Rev. Mr. Hervey, I never wish to think of them, except upon my knees. I never heard any one undertake to explain them, who did not still further embarrass the subject. One observation is, however, conclusive, and it never fails effectually to silence the Arminian: That if, as they affirm, Christ Jesus died for all men, then assuredly all men must be saved; for no one can be eternally lost, for whom the Redeemer shed his precious blood; such an event is impossible. Now, as the Arminians will not admit a possibility, that all will finally be saved, they are thus ​easily confounded." This, I thought, was very good; it was clear, as any testimony in divine revelation, that Christ Jesus died for all, for the sins of the whole world, for every man, &c. &c.; and even Mr. Hitchins had declared, that every one, for whom Christ died, must finally be saved. This I took home with me to my wife: she saw the truth, that we were so well prepared to embrace, manifested even by the testimony of its enemies, and we were inexpressibly anxious to hear, and to understand. We now attended public worship, not only as a duty, conceiving that we thus increased a fund of righteousness, upon which we were to draw in every exigence, but it became our pleasure, our consolation, and our highest enjoyment. We began to feed upon the truth as it is in Jesus, and every discovery we made filled us with unutterable transport. I regarded my friends with increasing affection, and I conceived, if I had an opportunity of conversing with the whole world, the whole world would be convinced. It might truly have been said, that we had a taste of heaven below.
It was soon whispered in the Tabernacle, that I had frequently been seen going to, and coming from Relly's meeting! This alarmed many, and one very dear friend conversed with me in private upon the subject, heard what, from the abundance of my heart, my mouth was constrained to utter, smiled, pitied me, and begged I would not be too communicative, lest the business should be brought before the society, and excommunication might follow. I thanked him for his caution; but, as I had conversed only with him, I had hazarded nothing. In a short time I was cited to appear before the society, worshipping in Mr. Whitefield's tabernacle; I obeyed the summons, and found myself in the midst of a very gloomy company, all seemingly in great distress; they sighed very bitterly, and at last gave me to understand, that they had heard, I had become an attendant upon that monster, Relly, and they wished to know if their information was correct. I requested I might be told, from whom they had their intelligence? and they were evidently embarrassed by my question. Still, however, I insisted upon being confronted with my accuser, and they at length consented to summon him; but I was nearly petrified, when I learned it was the identical friend, who had privately conversed with me, and who had privately cautioned me, that had lodged the information against me! Upon this friend I had called, in my way to the tabernacle, confiding to him my situation; he said, he had feared the event; he pitied me, and prayed with me. But he did not calculate upon being confronted with me, and his confusion was too great to suffer his attendance. It was ​then referred to me: "Was it a fact, had I attended upon Relly?" I had. "Did I believe what I heard?" I answered, that I did—and my trial commenced. They could not prove, I had violated those articles, to which I had subscribed. I had, in no point of view, infringed the contract, by which I was bound. But they apprehended, if I continued to approbate Relly, by my occasional attendance on his ministry, my example would become contagious; except, therefore, I would give them my word, that I would wholly abandon this pernicious practice, they must, however unwillingly, pronounce upon me the sentence of excommunication. I refused to bind myself by any promise; I assured them, I would continue to hear, and to judge for myself; and that I held it my duty, to receive the truth of God wherever it might be manifested. "But Relly holds the truth in unrighteousness." I have nothing to do with his unrighteousness; my own conduct is not more reprehensible, than heretofore. They granted this; but the force of example was frequently irresistible, and, if I were permitted to follow, uncensured, my own inclination, others might claim the same indulgence, to the utter perversion of their souls. It was then conceded in my favour, that, if I would confine my sentiments to my own bosom, they would continue me a member of their communion. I refused to accede to this proposal. I would not be under an obligation to remain silent. I must, so often as opportunity might present, consider myself as called upon to advocate truth. The question was then put—Should I be considered a member of the society upon my own terms? And it was lost by only three voices.
It was past one in the morning, when I returned home to my poor, disconsolate wife, who was waiting for me; and when I entered her apartment, my spirits were so sunk, that, throwing myself into a chair, I burst into tears. But the sweet soother of my every woe, hastened to communicate that consolation, she was so eminently qualified to bestow. "Now," said she, "for the first time, you know what it is to suffer for Christ's sake; and you must arm yourself with fortitude to bear, what the adherents of Mr. Relly must always bear. Let us offer up praise and thanksgiving, that it is no worse. Fear not those, who can only kill the body; these, however, have not power to kill the body; it is true, they can do more; they can murder our good name, which is rather to be chosen than life itself. But let us not fear; our God will be with us, He will preserve, and protect us." Our hearts, however, were very full, and with great devotion we wept and prayed together.
About this time, the grandfather of my Eliza sent for her to visit him, at his country seat, ten miles from London; this was highly ​gratifying, and abundantly more so, as I also was included in the invitation. After seeing, and conversing with me, he sincerely lamented, that he had been so far duped by the artful, and designing, as to put the disposition of the greater part of his property at his decease entirely out of his own power; but what he could do, he most cheerfully did. Yet even here we were pursued by disappointment. He requested me to procure him a capable, sober domestic; and I engaged a woman, who, as I believed, answered his description; but, proving an artful hussey, she gradually obtained, over the mind of the old gentleman, an astonishing influence, that resulted in a marriage, which effectually prevented his family connexions from ever again visiting him! Thus were our new-born expectations, from a reconciled parent, levelled with the dust. A series of calamities succeeded; those, whom I had esteemed my best, and dearest friends, proved my most inveterate foes, and, finding it impossible to reclaim us, from what they conceived paths of error, persecuted us with unceasing virulence. Presents, bestowed in the days of confidence, as tokens of affection, were claimed as legal debts; and as the law does not allow presents, I was arrested for the amount, betrayed, by my religious friends, into the hands of bailiffs, at a time when, had the promised lenity been exercised, I could have paid to the utmost farthing. Thus heaven thought proper to keep us low; but our faith increased, and we cherished that hope, which maketh not ashamed; and, even while struggling with difficulties, we enjoyed a heaven upon earth. Gradually I surmounted the greater part of my difficulties. At the house of our brother William, I had an interview with our once obdurate younger brother; he seemed penetrated with sorrow for our long-continued estrangement; he hung upon my neck, wept bitterly, and expressed a fear, that I could never forgive him. I also shed many tears, and extending to him the hand of amity, clasped him to my bosom, with a most cordial embrace. This was a most pleasant circumstance to my beloved Eliza; all now seemed delightful. We had a sweet little retirement in a rural part of the city; we wanted but little, and our wants were all supplied; and perhaps we enjoyed as much, as human nature can enjoy. One dear pledge of love, a son, whom my wife regarded as the image of his father, completed our felicity. But, alas! this boy was lent us no more than one short year! He expired in the arms of his agonized mother, whose health, from that fatal moment, began rapidly to decline. I was beyond expression terrified. Physicians recommended the country; but my business confined me in London, and my circumstances would not admit of my ​renting two houses. I took lodgings at a small distance from town, returning myself every day to London. The disorder advanced with terrific strides; my soul was tortured; every time I approached her chamber, even the sigh, which proclaimed she still lived, administered a melancholy relief. This was indeed a time of sorrow and distress, beyond what I had ever before known; I have been astonished how I existed through such scenes. Surely, in every time of trouble, God is a very present help. I was obliged to remove the dear creature, during her reduced situation, the house in which I had taken lodgings being sold; but I obtained for her a situation about four miles from town. The scenes around her new lodgings were charming; she seemed pleased, and I was delighted. For a few days we believed her better, and again I experienced all the rapture of hope. My difficulties, however, were many; I was necessitated to pass my days in London; could I have continued with her, it would have been some relief. But as my physician gave me no hope, when I parted from her in the morning, I was frequently terrified in the dread of meeting death on my return. Often, for my sake, did the sweet angel struggle to appear relieved, but, alas! I could discern it was a struggle, and my anguish became still more poignant. To add to my distresses, poverty came in like a flood. I had my house in town, a servant there; the doctor, the apothecary, the nurse, the lodgings in the country; every thing to provide; daily passing, and repassing. Truly my heart was very sore. I was friendless. My religious friends had, on my hearing and advocating the doctrines, preached by all God's holy prophets ever since the world began, become my most inveterate foes. Our grandfather was under the dominion of the woman I had introduced to him, who had barred his doors against us; the heart of our younger brother was again closed, and, as if angry with himself for the concessions he had made, was more than ever estranged; and even our elder brother, who in every situation had for a long season evinced himself my faithful friend, had forsaken us! I had, most indiscreetly, ventured to point out some errors in the domestic arrangements of his wife, which I believed would eventuate in his ruin, and he so far resented this freedom, as to abandon all intercourse with me. Among Mr. Relly's acquaintance I had no intimates, indeed hardly an acquaintance; I had suffered so much from religious connexions, that I had determined, as much as possible, to stand aloof, during the residue of my journey through life. Thus was I circumstanced, when the fell destroyer of my peace aimed his most deadly shafts at the bosom of a being, far dearer to me than my existence. ​My credit failing, my wants multiplying, blessed be God, my Eliza was ignorant of the extent of my sufferings; she would have surrendered up her life, even if she had feared death, rather than have permitted an application to either of her brothers; yet was I, by the extremity of my distress, precipitated upon a step so humiliating. Stopping at a coffee-house near our brother William's, I penned a hurried line, requesting he would give me an immediate meeting; and sending it by a porter, I waited, in agony indescribable, its effect. Almost instantaneously he entered the coffee-house, and, without uttering a word, took a seat; nor was I for some moments able to articulate. My soul was tortured; he saw it, and could not avoid feeling. At length he questioned, "Pray what is the matter?" Your sister is very near her end, and, were we both so, it would be to me cause of exultation, and you would have been spared this trouble. My application to you will be a sufficient explanation of my circumstances; and should you think proper to call upon a once dear, now dying sister, I have to request, you would not notice my having sought this interview, it would embitter the last moments of her life. He was amazingly shocked, yet, as this was the first syllable he had heard of her indisposition, he flattered himself my fears had magnified the danger; but he assured me, he would see her without delay. I however desired he would grant me time to prepare her for his visit; it must, said I, appear entirely accidental, and I hastened to our lodgings. I met your brother William, my love, who, having heard you are indisposed, kindly inquired after you; I think he means to visit you. "If, my precious friend, you have not descended so low, as to ask any favour of him, I shall be glad to see him." I will not, my love, do any thing, which I ought not to do. I sat down by her bedside. That face, upon which strangers had gazed enraptured, was now the seat of death's wan harbinger, and her struggles to conceal her sufferings were but too visible. Quitting the room, I inquired of the nurse, how she had been during my absence? She told me, she had endured much pain, was very anxious for my return, and expressed a fear, that she should never again behold me. I was summoned by the mistress of the house, who was so charmed by the deportment of my Eliza, and had conceived so great an affection for her, as to find it difficult to quit her apartment. But my suffering friend, taking my hand, and drawing me near her, whispered a wish, that we might be alone; I gave the good lady a hint, who instantly withdrew. I kneeled by her bedside: she drew me closer to her, and throwing her feeble, her emaciated arms around ​my neck, she gave me an ardent embrace; I was unutterably affected. "Be composed, my dear," said she, "and let these precious moments be as calm as possible; we may not be allowed another opportunity. Dear faithful friend, in life,—in death, dearer to me than my own soul,—God reward you for all the kind care you have taken of me. O! may my heavenly Father provide some one to supply my place, who may reciprocate the kindness you have shown me. Pray be composed; remember we are not at home; that we shall shortly meet in our Father's house"—here she paused—and again resuming—"Our parting, when compared with eternity, will be but for a moment. What though we have not continued together so long as we fondly expected, yet, my love, we have had an age of happiness. It is you, my precious husband, who are the object of pity. God all gracious console, and support you. Be of good cheer, my love, we shall meet in the kingdom of the Redeemer—indeed, indeed we shall." Again she threw her dying arms around me; her soul seemed struggling with the magnitude of her emotions. For me, I could not have articulated a syllable for the world. It is astonishing I did not expire; but there is a time to die. Again, like the wasting taper, she seemed to revive. Again, with uncommon energy, she pronounced, upon her almost frenzied husband, the most solemn benediction; this brought on a cough, she pointed to a phial upon her dressing table. I gave her a few drops. "There, my best friend, I am better—Be composed my faithful, my suffering guide, protector, husband. Oh! trust in the Lord: let us, my love, stay upon the God of our salvation; He will never leave us; He will never forsake us"—Then, grasping my hand, she continued: "These moments, my dear, are very precious; we have had many precious moments; you will not go out again, I shall not again lose sight of you. You will abide with me, so long as I shall continue"—I could contain no longer: My suppressed agony became audible; she drew me to her: "Do not distress me, my love"—She was deeply affected; her cough came on with additional violence. The sound of my voice brought in the kind lady of the house; she believed the angel had escaped. I requested her, to reach the phial. The expiring saint motioned it away; "It is too late, my love," she would have added; but utterance instantly failed her, and, without a single struggle, she breathed her last, still holding my hand fast in hers. I was on my knees by her bedside; I saw she was breathless, but she still held my hand. Ten thousand worlds, had I possessed them, I would have given for permission to have accompanied her beatified spirit. I am astonished that I retained my reason. ​Only a few weeks, a few tremendous weeks, since the commencement of her illness, had rolled on, when, kneeling in speechless agony by her bedside, I saw her breathe her last; she expired without a sigh, without a pang, and I was left to the extreme of wretchedness. A few moments gave me to reflection—I contemplated her form, beautiful even in death; she was now no more a sufferer either in body or mind, and, for a little while, I derived malignant satisfaction, from the consideration of what her brothers would endure, when they found, that, in this world, they should no more behold her. I was shocked at myself; it seemed as if the sainted spirit mildly reproved me; I clasped my hands in agony; I supplicated pardon of the deceased, and of her God. It appeared to me, I had been deficient in affection, and the idea spoke daggers to my soul. Memory cruelly summoned before me many instances, in which she might have been obliged, but distraction was in this thought. I sat in speechless agony by her bedside; having locked the door, no one could obtain entrance. Almighty God, how unutterable were the sorrows of my soul!!!
I was aroused from this state, by the arrival of our brother William. He obtained entrance; he glanced upon the bed—gazed for a moment—averted his eyes—trembled, and became pale as the face of my lamented saint—and at length, in silent agony, quitted the apartment. The good lady of the house now made her appearance, and in a tone of sympathy supplicated me to retire. The necessary offices were performed, and all that remained of my wedded friend was prepared for the undertaker, who came by the order of her opulent brother: that brother, who had nefariously robbed her of her right of inheritance, who contributed so largely, while she lived, to her sufferings, and who now endured anguish more than equivalent, for all the riches of the world. A hearse and mourning coaches attended, and the dear remains, followed by her brothers and their families, were entombed in the family vault. The coachman was directed to convey me, after the interment, to the house of our younger brother. He was again a prey to contrition and to sorrow, and he urged me to cherish hope. I assured him, I had nothing to do with hope, at least in this world. He made great professions of affection, and liberal promises of future kindness; but it was too late; and though I believe he was at the time sincere, yet, when his strong feelings subsided, he was himself again.
Here I close another period of my eventful life! What a sad reverse! A few short weeks since, I was in the mose enviable circumstances; my situation was charming, my dwelling neat and commodious, my wife, ​the object of my soul's devout and sincere affection, her lovely offspring swelling the rapture of the scene, a male and female domestic attached to our persons, and faithful to our interest; and the pleasing hope, that I should enjoy a long succession of these delights. Now I was alone in the world; no wife, no child, no domestics, no home; nothing but the ghosts of my departed joys. In religion, and religion only, the last resort of the wretched, I found the semblance of repose; religion taught me to contemplate the state, to which I was hastening; my dreams presented my departed Eliza; I saw her in a variety of views, but in every view celestial: sometimes she was still living, but in haste to be gone; sometimes she descended upon my imagination, an heavenly visitant, commissioned to conduct me home; and so much of felicity did I derive from those dreams, that I longed for the hour of repose, that I might reiterate the visionary bliss.
But new embarrassments awaited me; doctors, apothecaries, grocers, &c. &c. advanced with their bills; yet I was not much affected, I was overwhelmed by far greater afflictions. My health had greatly suffered. My sight, by excess of sorrow,—so said my physician,—was almost gone. Often have I traversed George's-Fields, where many have met death on the point of the foot-pad's dagger, in the mournful hope of meeting a similar fate; forgetting, in the state to which I was reduced, that, in thus devoting myself to destruction, I indubitably ranked with the self-murderer. The eldest brother of my departed friend continued, from the period of his sister's demise, uniformly kind; through his instrumentality, many of my most pressing debts were discharged. My mind seemed subdued; it became a fit residence for sorrow, when I received a letter from Ireland, written by my brother James. Many of our family were numbered with the dead; of all her children, my mother had now only three surviving sons, and two daughters. My eldest sister was married; and my mother, leaving our common property in her care, was about to repair with her youngest daughter, and two sons, to England. She was not apprized of the death of my Eliza. I had written her, that I was blest with a most lovely, and exemplary companion; but from the death of my son, and the farther, and entire prostration of my terrestrial happiness, I had suspended my communications. I was now again necessitated to take a house; my mother and my brothers resided with me; and my sister with a lady, to whom she had been introduced in Ireland. She soon after married, and, as I believed imprudently, and I saw her no more. I now lived a mournful life; the world appeared to me in a very different ​point of view, from what it had formerly done; yet I derived ecstatic pleasure from my views of revelation. William Neale became convinced of the truth, as it is in Jesus; and, of course, an adherent of Mr. Relly. This soothed me, and the word of God was an abiding consolation. To a few individuals I was made a messenger of peace; but my mother, and my brother James, remained inveterate opposers of the doctrines I had embraced. I sometimes visited the tabernacle, and, conceiving an affection for all men, I had a kind of satisfaction in standing in the midst of my brethren. It was at the tabernacle I was informed, that a poor, unhappy, widowed woman, sister to a man whom I had loved, was in most deplorable circumstances; she had been deceived by a villain; her kindred had been made acquainted with her situation, but their indignation was kindled against her; they would not see her; and her religious connexions abandoned her, while she was suffering all the miseries of want, accompanied by her own agonizing reflections. I discovered her in a miserable room; no glass in the windows, no fire in the chimney; she was laying on something which had been a bed; a child, of a few days old, in her bosom, but no nourishment for it; another child dead by her side, and a third apparently dying. Upon my entrance she covered her face with her hands. "I know you, sir; you are come to upbraid me; yes, I deserve it all; but by and by my measure will be full." I burst into tears. I come to upbraid you? God forbid. No, poor sufferer, I am come a messenger from that God, who giveth liberally, and upbraideth not. Be of good cheer, you have still a Father, who loves you with an everlasting love, and he has sent me to comfort you; he has seen your affliction, and he has bid me relieve you.
This seemed too much for the poor, forlorn creature; she appeared in the moment of expiring. I ran out of the house, into a shop at the corner of the alley, the mistress of which was, to my knowledge, perfectly acquainted with the situation of the sufferer. I demanded, why she thus neglected a human being? "Ah, the wretched creature, she deserves this and more," was this good woman's reply. But although neither the love of God, nor of human nature, could move this hard-hearted woman, I had that in my pocket, which possessed, for her, an irresistible charm; and, at the hazard of my reputation, I bade her procure coal, a restorative cordial, and a blanket to cover the sufferer. I then proceeded to the dwelling of a lady, one of Mr. Relly's congregation, to whom I had recently been introduced; I represented the situation, in which, in the midst of an opulent city, I had discovered ​a fellow creature. The lady was extremely affected, and her aid was instantaneous. The next day, Sunday, I again visited the poor penitent, whom I found relieved and comforted. She requested me, with many tears, to put up a note for her in the tabernacle. There happened, on that day, to preach in the tabernacle, a Mr. Edwards, whom I had formerly known, in connexion with Mr. Wesley. I presented a note in the following words: The prayers of this congregation are requested in behalf of a widow indeed, confined to a bed of sickness, without property, and encompassed by the dying and the dead. I attended again in the tabernacle in the evening, and when the sermon closed, Mr. Edwards said: "If the person be here, who put up the note this morning, in behalf of a widow indeed, I should be glad to speak with him in the vestry." Accordingly presenting myself, I was very cordially received by Mr. Edwards, who observed, he was happy I was the person; that his feelings had been greatly affected by the note; that he had read it to a lady, at whose house he had dined, who, putting two guineas into his hand, requested him, if possible, to find out the widow indeed, and bestow them upon her. I conveyed this little sum to the sorrowing woman, with feelings, which those who know how to sympathize with the unfortunate will easily understand; and I assured the poor mourner, that the God, who gives and forgives, had sent her another proof of his favour. Arise, said I, forlorn sufferer, and sin no more. I had the charge of the child's funeral; the other recovered. The mother was soon abroad, and continued, ever after, to conduct with exemplary propriety. This instance, among a thousand others, proves, that faith in the promises is the best stimulus to that pure, and undefiled religion, which consists in relieving the oppressed of every description: and with gratitude I confess, that this pure and undefiled religion was, to me, a never-failing source of consolation. I was full of the gospel; gladly would I have sacrificed my life, if I might thus have brought all men acquainted with the riches of the grace of the gospel of God our Saviour; and my soul was often wrought up to a degree of ecstacy, by the views, exhibited to my understanding, in the pages of divine revelation. Yes, I have experienced, that a belief of the truth disposes the mind to love God, and to do good to man; and so greatly was my heart affected by the plan of redemption, that I have, in the midst of the streets of London, been so entranced in contemplating its glories, that I have only been awakened to recollection, by the jostling crowd, who wondered as they passed; yet, while in the fulness of my heart, I embraced every opportunity of expatiating upon the great salvation; every thing beside had lost the ​power to charm, or even tranquillize, and the torturing sensations I experienced, from reflecting upon past times, were not to be expressed: Death had for me an angel's face, and I viewed this sometimes king of terrors, as my emancipating friend.
The forbearance of my creditors was at length exhausted. Debts crowded upon me. Demands, which I was utterly unable to answer, were continually made. Had the health of my lovely wife been continued, I was in a very fine way. Her sickness, her death, by dashing from me the cup of felicity, while expenses accumulated, debilitated my mind, and rendered me unequal to those efforts, which my exigencies required. In the midst of my supineness, I was taken by a writ, and borne to a spunging-house. My sensations were, on this occasion, very different from those, which I had formerly experienced, in a similar situation; and I derived, from the expected seclusion, a kind of melancholy pleasure. The officer was astonished at my apathy; I refused sustenance, I had no inclination for food. I would swallow nothing, but water. I would have no bed: a bed must be paid for, and I was penniless. I slept on the floor of a room, hung with cobwebs, the windows of which were secured by iron bars. I prayed most fervently to Him, with whom are the issues of life and death, that, as He had not allowed his creatures the privilege of departing out of time, when, and how they pleased, He would graciously vouchsafe to grant me my deliverance from a world, where I could serve neither my God, my neighbour, nor myself. But, alas! as I have often found, death comes not at call. The barred windows admitted just light enough to announce the return of day; soon after which, the keeper unlocked the door, and in a surly manner, asked me how I did? Indifferent, sir, I replied. "By G—, I think so! but, sir, give me leave to tell you, I am not indifferent, and if you do not very soon settle with your creditors, I shall take the liberty to lodge you in Newgate. I keep nobody in my house that does not spend any thing, damn-me. I cannot keep house, and pay rent, and taxes for nothing. When a gentleman behaves civil, I behave civil; but, damn-me, if they are sulky, why then, do ye see, I can be sulky too; so, sir, you had better tell me what you intend to do?" Nothing. "Nothing? damn-me, that's a good one; then, by G—, you shall soon see I will do something, that you will not very well like." He then turned upon his heel, drew the door with a vengeance, and double-locked it. Soon after this, his helpmate presented herself, and began to apologize for her husband; said he was very quick; hoped I would not be offended, for he was a very good man in the main; that she believed ​there never was a gentleman in that house, (and she would be bold to say, there had been as good gentlemen there, as in any house in London) who had ever any reason to complain of his conduct. He would wait upon any of my friends, to whom I should think fit to send him, and do all in his power to make matters easy; "and if you please, sir, you are welcome to come down into the parlour, and breakfast with me." And pray, my good lady, where are you to get your pay? "O, I will trust to that, sir; I am sure you are a gentleman; do, sir, come down and breakfast; you will be better after breakfast. Bless your soul, sir, why there have been hundreds, who settled their affairs, and did very well afterwards." I was prevailed upon to go down to breakfast. There was, in the centre of the entry, a door half way up, with long spikes; every window was barred with iron; escape was impossible; and indeed I had no wish to escape: a kind of mournful insensibility pervaded my soul, for which I was not then disposed to account, but which I have since regarded as an instance of divine goodness, calculated to preserve my little remains of health, as well as that reason, which had frequently tottered in its seat. To the impertinent prattle of the female turnkey I paid no attention, but, hastily swallowing a cup of tea, I retired to my prison. This irritated her; she expected I would have tarried below, and, as is the custom, summoned my friends, who, whether they did any thing for my advantage or not, would, by calling for punch, wine, &c. &c. unquestionably contribute to the advantage of the house. But as I made no proposal of this kind, nor indeed ever intended so to do, they saw it was improbable they should reap any benefit by or from me; and having given me a plentiful share of abuse, and appearing much provoked, that they could not move me to anger, they were preparing to carry me to Newgate, there to leave me among other poor, desperate debtors; and their determination being thus fixed, I was at liberty to continue in my gloomy apartment, and, what I esteemed an especial favour, to remain there uninterrupted. I received no invitation either to dinner, tea, or supper; they just condescended to inform me, when they came to lock me in, that I should have another lodging the ensuing night: to which I made no reply. My spirits, however, sunk in the prospect of Newgate. There, I was well informed, I could not be alone; there, I knew, my associates would many of them be atrocious offenders, and I was in truth immeasurably distressed. It was now, that every argument, which I had ever read in favour of suicide, was most officiously obtruded upon my mind, and warmly impressed upon my imagination. It was stated, that my Almighty Father could ​not be angry with me for leaving such a world, in such circumstances; the opposition of reason seemed to result from the prejudices of education; "and," said illusive fancy, "as it is appointed for all men once to die, to do that to-day, which I may do to-morrow, and what I must shortly do, cannot be very wrong." It is true, my monitor assured me, that the God, who had created me, was the only proper judge of the exact moment, when I ought to be removed out of time; that He best knew what benefit might accrue to myself, or the community, by my longer continuance in this vale of tears; yet these remarks, with many more of the same description, were not sufficiently imposing to endow me with resolution still to "abide the pelting of the pitiless storm;" and I determined to finish my wretched existence, before the dawning of another morning. This was indeed a night of horror; but, in the moment of executing my fatal, my God-dishonouring purpose, the image of my Eliza, irradiating the prison walls, seemed to stand before me. She appeared as if commissioned by Heaven to soothe my tortured spirit. I prostrated myself before the perhaps imaginary vision, and, for the first moment since I had occupied this dreary abode, my heart softened, and a shower of tears came to my relief; yea, and I was relieved. My soul became calm, and, although every hope from this world was extinct in my bosom, yet I believed I should be better able to accommodate myself, to whatever sufferings the Almighty might think proper to inflict. I passed the remainder of the night in endeavouring to fortify my mind; a pleasing melancholy took possession of my spirit. I drew consolation from remembering, the time of suffering was not long; that there was a rest, a life of uninterrupted felicity, beyond the grave; that of this rest, this life, no power on earth could deprive me; and that I ought therefore quietly to wait, and patiently to hope, for the salvation of my God. Thus, although my night had been sleepless, my mind became so calm, and my spirit so greatly refreshed, that when the keeper opened the door in the morning, to inform me, that in three hours he should lodge me in Newgate, I answered with unaffected composure: I am ready, sir.
In less than an hour, however, I had a new source of inquietude. My brother, William Neale, having received a hint of the arrest, had searched from place to place, until at length finding me, with tears of sympathy he reproached me, even in the presence of the woman, for not immediately summoning him to my relief. This female turnkey, observing the appearance of my brother, and the feeling manner, in which he addressed me, began to hope, notwithstanding what she had termed my ​obstinacy, that they should reap some benefit from me after all. "Why," said William, "did you not send for me immediately upon your entering this house?" "Ay, dear sir, so I said: why, dear sir, said I, cannot you send for some of your friends? for I know'd as how, the gentleman had many friends, and my husband would have gone himself to any part of the town, with all his soul. No one can ever say, that we were backward, in doing every thing in our power to serve and oblige every gentleman, that ever came into our house: and, though I say it, that should not say it, I believe there is not a house, in our way, in London, that has ever had more good people in it, as a body may say, than ours; and, says I, Lord, sir, says I, you need not for to make yourself uneasy; it is no crime, says I, to be in difficulty, or the like of that; the best people in the world, says I, are in the greatest difficulties, says I; I am sure, I have had my share of troubles and difficulties in this world, says I; but I had better, says I, have them here, than in a worse place: I hope, I shall atone for all my sins here." Thus did this creature's tongue run, and would have continued so to do, had not my brother asked, if I had breakfasted? "Ay, sir, I am glad to hear you say something of that. The poor gentleman has not seemed to care any thing about eating, or drinking: for my part, I was frightened, in the dread of the poor gentleman's dying in the house; I would have urged him over and over again; but said I, may be he will think as how, that I mean my own interest, and so I did not care to say much about it; but, sir, the poor gentleman can't think you have any interest." "Get breakfast, ma'am." "Tea or coffee, gentlemen?" "Both, ma'am, and, do you hear, let us have a private room." "Yes, sir." When left alone, my friend, and brother, again reproached me for delaying my communications to him. I frankly told him, that I was so far from being disposed to solicit his aid, that I seriously regretted he had discovered me; that I had no wish to involve my friends in my difficulties; that I would much rather continue a prisoner, for the remainder of my life, than incur obligations, which I had no prospect of discharging. "Pho, pho," said he, "this is idle talk. You cannot believe, you would be the only sufferer from your continuing in durance." But I should not suffer long. "You know not how long, however; drop the subject, here is breakfast; sit you down, and let us breakfast together; we will resume our subject by and by." Yes, William, we will resume our subject, by and by; but suffer me to observe, you shall not come under bonds on my account, neither shall you discharge my debts; consent to this stipulation, or I touch no ​breakfast. "Pshaw, pshaw, how whimsical; but eat your breakfast, man: I promise, I will do neither." We then breakfasted in peace, and I derived a mournful kind of pleasure, from the assurance, that I should not involve the brother of my Eliza in my ruin. But, how great was my astonishment, when he ordered in the officer, who was also master of the house, when, after demanding and discharging his bill, he produced a receipt in full from my creditor, and a complete discharge for me. Thus was I liberated from the fangs of these harpies, and I accompanied this commiserating brother to his hospitable mansion, where he related to me the means, by which he had discovered me.
Quitting this noble-minded friend, I hastened home to my suffering mother, who was in agonies on my account; ignorant where I was, or what was my situation, her apprehensions were of the most fearful kind. We mingled our tears, while she most affectionately endeavoured to soothe me, and to bind up my broken heart; but my only remaining hope was, that, in this distempered state, I had not long to suffer. But, alas! here also I was deceived; long, very long have I continued, and with heart-felt sorrow, to tread this thorny maze. The brothers of my departed angel combined to help me forward; many plans were proposed for me; a sum of money was hired to place me, as a partner, in a mercantile house, and my brothers were my bondsmen! I detested the thought of new prospects from such a world as this, but, to my beloved William, I was largely in debt; he had a growing family, and both gratitude, as well as justice, demanded I should make every effort for his remuneration. Thus I again became a melancholy man of business. It was supposed the road, not only to competency, but to affluence, was open before me, and I was pronounced in flourishing circumstances. It was, for those who loved me, a pleasing dream; but soon the golden vision vanished, and I awoke to the certainty of its being no more than a dream.
Again I returned to my lonely dwelling; pleased with the thought, that my solitude would no more be interrupted; again I detested the world, and all which it could bestow. Thus a few more melancholy months rolled mournfully away, and I expected to finish my days in the retirement, to which I was devoted. One consideration, however, still pressed heavily upon my mind. The very considerable sums, for which I was indebted to my generous brother, was, to me, a mighty burden; and this beloved brother, availing himself of my anxiety on this account, once more set me afloat. Many were the efforts, to which I consented; great were my mental sacrifices. But one expedient ​remained; it was a mournful expedient. I will not delineate. I pause; I throw a veil over many revolving months; let it suffice to say, my purpose was gained, my debts were paid, my pecuniary circumstances easy; but this was all. How mysterious are the ways of heaven! how many torturing scenes I have passed through! But, blessed be God, I have passed through them. Thanks be to the Father of mercies, they can no more be reiterated: My newly acquired competency possessed no charms for me; I derived no satisfaction from any thing around me. In fact, I had nothing in prospect, and hope seemed to have expired in my bosom.