Selections from the Correspondence of the Rev. William Jay
Mr. Jay to Miss Davies, afterwards Mrs. Jay.
My i?EAiiEST Love, —
I always used to have a disinclination to preach at Bath, but I now think it long to Sunday week. You know the reason. May we have a happy and sanctified interview! I find the longer I stay here the more I like the situation, and the harder it will be to dissolve the connexion. But 1 wish to live having my conversation in heaven, and then every place will be in some measure indifferent. Yes, my love, let us determine to live as strangers and pilgrims here, and plainly declare by our profession and conduct that we seek a better country, that is a heavenly. Not when we shall be incapable of pursuing this world, and when our gust for earthly pleasure shall be abated by old age; but now while our affections are so warm, and when so many are carried away by the vanity of the world and the pride of life, let us unreservedly dedicate ourselves to God, and present ourselves as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is our reasonable service. Nothing but real religion can make us holy and happy in any situation or relation. In proportion as it prevails we shall find heaven begun below. If you could come to Bath, Saturday, should be glad. Let us, if possible, visit Prior one day. Best respects to Mr. and Mrs. D., to Mrs. Hall if yet with you, and Miss Isabella. The Lord bless you and help you, and
Yours most affectionately,
W. Jay.
Clifton, Feb. 2, 1789.
If you write, should be glad to know how dear Mr. Tuppen is, and whether I may apprise Prior of our coming.
Itev. Cornelius Winter to Mr. Jay.
Pans wick, Jan. 22, 1790.
My very dear Billy, — It is enough to have a pretext of necessity to write to you, and my pen moves freely; you have awakened all my tender sensations by your late visit, and given me occasion to prove that I cannot say to you as a great man once said to me at the close of a family connexion, — “I cast you off, now sink or swim.” No, my dear friend, to carry on the idea, I believe if you were to sink, I should attempt to dive for you; but, blessed be God, you swim: may you always keep your head above water, till you set your feet on the shore of that wealthy place where you shall find an everlasting abode. I hope you got safe and comfortable to Hope Chapel on Saturday, and found all well. Take proper care of your health, and employ it for Him who hath loved you and given himself for you.
I have employed some thought about Paul and Saul, and find Beza and Dr. Doddridge very candid. Doddridge adopts Beza’s criticism on Acts xiii. 9. While writing this, your’s came to hand, and is a conviction to me of our attachment being mutual. Friendship well grounded cannot be easily alienated. Through various interruptions I have been prevented from proceeding with my letter from the day I received your’s till now. To be sure the sermon is in the press, and the advertisement which precedes it not to be altered or improved.
I wish it may not appear too consequential, if not trifling. I repent that I have not spoken of you by an epithet expressive of the affection of my heart, for the world should know that you are dear to me. There is a delicacy in the use of terms, and they sometimes excite envy. My desire is that, in us, Cicero’s remark on Friends may be exemplified: “Absentes adsunt, et egentes abundant, et imbecilles valent, et quod difficilius dictu est, mortui vivunt.”
Yesterday se’n night Mr. Surman gave a call and preached a sermon to us. I declare I was surprised to hear him, and wonder not that he was invited to Plymouth. What cannot the Lord do? May He condescend to give me a farther proof of his power in ray present family. They all unite in love to you with myself and Mrs. Winter. Mr. Griffin is under inoculation, and I trust will be brought abroad again. Recollect the hint I gave yo-g about your parents, and when you write to or see them, give my love to them. I have a disposition to fill up the sheet, but I cannot. I therefore only add, come and see as when you can, and thereby add to the pleasure of, my very dear Billy,
Ever yours affectionately in our dear Lord Jesus,
Cornelius Winter. I saw Mr. Ashburn the morning you left me, who dropped a hint expressive of his approbation of what he heard the night before.
Mr. Jay to Mr. Withers.
London, 1793.
My dear Friend, — Having a leisure half -hour, I said to myself, I’ll embrace this opportunity to write to Mr. Withers. No sooner said than done, or at least begun. I thank you for your letter, but not for your apologies, as to your manner of writing, &c., &c. These I put amongst Mrs. Withers’ kind ceremonies and cares when I am at your house. They are all bad things belonging to good persons; otherwise I should be more severe with them. You may depend upon it that I shall be always glad to see you and hear from you, but you must treat me with less compliment. I do not desire it, and I know I do not deserve it. I must be under strange infatuation indeed to think highly of myself. I have much to humble me. I am every thing that ’s bad. “In me dwelleth no good thing.” Whatever distinguishes me from others is the undeserved gift of God; and if, in any degree, I am useful to my fellow creatures, ’tis “not I, but the race of God which is with me.”
What fine weather we have had for the ingathering of the fruits of the earth. How has our blessed God crowned the year with his goodness, and how lamentable is it that our world, so full of his mercy, should be so empty of his praise! Our fears were awakened, but they have been more than disappointed, and may we not hope that the same God will crown plenty with peace. Though the prospect is not favourable, all things are possible to Him. All creatures are under his control. The hearts of kings are in his hands. This is all the comfort I have as to present affairs.
I had a blessed time last Sabbath-day morning in preaching from these words: “Casting all your care upon him; for he careth for you,” 1 Peter V. 7. I could not help wishing that a certain friend of mine who resides under your roof had been with us. Well, if Providence spares us to meet again, she may probably hear it second hand. Mrs. Jay unites with me in kind respects to her; thanking you all for your very great kindness towards our dear boy, to whom, through you, we transmit a few kisses, and a promise not only of a horse but a whip too. We have spent half of our visit here, and shall be glad, after four more Sabbaths, to return home. O why do I not long equally to leave this bustling world, to go to my heavenly and everlasting home? Why do I not long to depart to be with Christ, which is far better? I have sometimes such views of this world and the next, that, if they were realized in experience, 1 think I should be in some measure what I ought to be, but alas, I have much more religion in my head than in my heart: and, with all my fine notions, I feel myself prone to cleave to the dust, and to neglect my Saviour. But my paper reminds me of the propriety of drawing to a close. Has Hymen yoked Mr. James yet? Tell him he must inform me if he expect anything like an Epithalamium. I love both of them, and hope God will bless them. I know he will if my prayers are answered. I have not seen your daughter since I wrote last. Desire her, when you write to her, to call upon us again, and as often as she pleases. We know not where to direct for her. You see I sometimes write to yourself, and sometimes to Mrs. Withers, but I always mean both. You are, I trust, not only one in the common sense of the term, but one in Christ Jesus. May your union, begun upon earth, continue in heaven. — I am, dear Sir, yours, &c.
Mr. Jay to Mrs. Jay.
London. My dearest Love, — Last night I preached for the Sunday-morning Lecture, and in honour of the accession of this family to the throne. Dr. Hunter prayed. The congregation was large; and just as I was concluding the sermon there was a general consternation and outcry. All was confusion, the people treading on one another, &c. It was rather dark, and the pulpit candles only were lighted. I saw something moving up the aisle towards the vestry. It was a bull! we presume driven in by pickpockets, or persons who wished to disturb us. — We were talking on the affairs of the nation, and John Bull very seasonably came in. But imagine what followed: — the bull could not be made to go backwards, nor could he be turned round: five or six persons, therefore, held him by the horns; while the clerk, as if bewitched, gave out, in order to appease the noise, —
“Praise God, from whom all blessings flow.
Praise him all creatures here below,” &c.
O that the bull could but have roared here in compliance with the exhortation! I looked down from the pulpit, and seeing the gentlemen who held him singing with their faces lifted up, as if returning thanks for this unexpected blessing, I was obliged to put my hand before my face while I dismissed the congregation. This I think is enough for once. — I long to receive a line from you to tell me all your plans. Love to the dear children.
Yours, &c.
The same to the same.
My dearest Love, — You may imagine that I am always full of matter, but I assure you I have been sitting a considerable time with my pen in hand not knowing what to say. Love indeed would dictate a thousand fond things, but I am not certain that they would be most acceptable; and I hope they are not necessary. I would love, not in word only. I wish to make my whole conduct a proof of my affection and esteem. Tuesday evening I preached upon family religion, and as an inference from the importance of it, I exhorted young people to beware how they formed connexions: — “How can two walk together except they be agreed?” Here I hope we are agreed, and I trust we shall always “walk together as heirs of the grace of eternal life, that our prayers be not hindered.” But I have been thinking, that, notwithstanding there is no disagreement between us, in our sentiments and dispositions respecting religious exercises in the family, as is the case with many, we may be more useful to each other in our relation than we have been; and watch over, pray for, rebuke, exhort, teach, and comfort each other more than we have done. I know not indeed why I should class you with myself herein. But I am conscious of deficiency. I am to blame; — nor in this instance only. I seem all wrong. I have not half religion enough in my own soul to make me useful to others or happy in myself: I frequently doubt the truths I preach to others. I frequently fear lest, having been useful to save others, I myself should be a castaway: the conviction of my judgment goes far beyond the experience of my heart. You cannot conceive in what an inferior light all sublunary objects frequently appear to me; and still I am looking to and depending upon creatures. I might enlarge. In the midst of all this there is some relief. O ’tis well to have light enough to see our darkness, and softness enough to feel our hardness: ’tis well that Jesus Christ saves sinners; that un worthiness is no bar; and that he provides strong consolation for those who have Jled for refuge. O examine this character of the righteous; when, O my soul, thou canst not derive comfort from any other; “Hast thou not Jled for refuge?”
*****
Yours, &c.
On the Death of two Children.
To Mr. N^wall, who was for uptcards of 50 years a member of Mr. Jay’s Church, and for many years deacon and treasurer.
(Dated about Sept., 1805.) My dear Friend, — By a letter Mrs. Jay has this morning received from Mrs. Lockyer, I am informed of the very severe trial with which the Lord has been exercising you. Had I been at home I would have hastened to comfort you at your dwelling, and have mingled my tears with yours at the mouth of the grave, under the loss of two dear children, — lovely children, removed almost at a stroke! But I hope that though a poor worm has been absent. He has been present, who has promised to be with us in trouble, whose property it is to comfort them that are cast down; and who while he chastens can teach us out of his law. Intervening objects are often removed that He may be seen, and even death commands silence that He may be heard. And the blessed sufferer, the sanctified sufferer, is the humble supplicant, who wipes his eyes and says, — “Speak, Lord, for thy servant heareth.” “Lord, what wilt thou have me to do?” In our judgments we readily acknowledge His right to us and ours; but when he comes to take his own, how hard do we find it to say practically, “The will of the Lord be done.” But I am persuaded this is your disposition — this has been your prayer; this will be your experience. He who knows our frame means us to feel. He who designs our profit by our pain, requires us to feel. But he expects that we should qualify and regulate the feelings of the creature by the grace of the Christian. And why? Because he has provided for all our wants, knows that His grace is sufficient for us, and that if we ask we shall have. My prayers shall attend you through all this gloomy scene, and if they are answered you will never be afraid of trouble again. You will soon perceive reason to say, — “It is good for me that I have been afflicted.” In the multitude of your thoughts within you. His comforts will delight your souls. You will be enabled to say, — “Well, my darling infants are not lost, but provided for. The shepherd has gathered my lambs with his arms, and now carries them in His bosom. I shall find them again in yonder happy world. I shall embrace them all perfect and immortal.”
“Our journey is a thorny maze,
But we march upwards still;
Forget the troubles of the ways.
And reach at Zion’s hill.”
I cannot do justice to your affliction or my own feelings; but I have snatched a few moments from company and engagements, to show you that I sympathize with you, and am, my dear Friend, yours to serve in the Gospel of our dear Lord Jesus, To his daughter Statira when very young, and while he was absent in London.
[We give the following as a beautiful specimen both of his condescension to the capacity of a child, and of the tender and pious affection with which he watched over his children.]
My very dear Statira, — I assure you I intended writing when I left home, and before I knew you had desired your mamma to ask me to do it, but I was much pleased to learn that you wished it. It shows that you value my notice, and proofs of this notice you shall never want while you continue to act as you have done. * * * Oh, if children did but consider the satisfaction they give their parents by being good, they would never be naughty. But their good conduct is not only attended with pleasure to their parents, but with peace and comfort to their own minds. It gains them the approbation of all around them; yea, it pleases God, who gives us all we enjoy, and on whose favour and blessing all our happiness depends. I do not know anything so lovely as a little girl of your size when she is good-natured, and not selfish, fond of reading and improvement, obedient to her mamma, and when she loves the Scriptures, and the Sabbath, and God’s house; and often prays,
Make me to walk in thy commands,
‘Tis a delightful road;
Nor let my head or heart or hands
Offend against my God.”
And such, I have a full persuasion, I shall always find my dear and last-born child. I promise myself much pleasure for years to come, in endeavouring to train you up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord, and in making you an amiable and useful member of society. But you, my dear Statira, may die, or papa may die, or mamma may die, and no more feel the kisses of their darling upon their cheeks morning and evening, but be laid in the cold grave; yea, we must all die, and so part sooner or later; and, therefore, we must so live here as not to be parted hereafter, but indulge the pleasing hope of living together for ever in heaven.
I hope you feel much obliged to Mr. Bolton for his attentions. Tell him I thank him much on your behalf, and shall be glad to repay him in any way ifi my power, in addition to my having given him (1 hope she is) a good wife. * * * * * * ’ *
I long to see Percy Place again, and one of the principal reasons is to see and embrace again my dear Statira, and to prove by more than a hasty and imperfect letter, that
I am, my darling girl, your affectionate and devoted father,
London, Oct. 30, 1812. Wm. Jay.
To the same.
My dear Sweet Pea, — How I long for the time when I shall see thy image and thyself once more in my garden! But “to everything there is a season;” and we must learn to deny ourselves and wait. Neither should I object to view some other flowers in my little Eden, or even one or two birds. O when will that spring or summer arrive? But I must not sin against the rule I have just laid down; and, therefore, instead of giving way to impatience, I will try to write on. I hope you will find this journey useful and improving. It is in your power to render it so by keeping your attention awake, and suffering nothing to pass unobserved. Listen to what is said by persons of any talent in company, especially when they speak upon those subjects with which they are most familiar; and they who have no general information may be well versed in their own line, and commonly talk well concerning it. I some time ago overtook a little sweep. I did not suppose he could criticise Milton, nor Locke, but there was one thing he understood better than I did; and before we separated, I knew how to climb a chimney. Not that I mean to set up in this calling. I am too big, too old, and fully occupied with some other things; but I love to learn, and I meet with few but are able to teach. Search your head all over, and if you find two ears, and only one tongue, be always more ready to hear and slow to speak; and when you speak, speak with diffidence and modesty. A forward, bold, decisive tone is never agreeable in a man; in a youth it is always offensive, but in a girl it is intolerable. You know how-Miss was disliked and neglected after her father’s death, for the freedom with which, in every circle, she delivered her opinion of men and things. Always say little of characters, and let this little as much as possible be in a way of commendation. Be less disposed to remark blemishes than excellencies; and let it appear that you can discern and acknowledge merit of any kind with pleasure. Gain some little addition every day to your mental stores, and remember the axiom, “To him that hath shall be given;” that is, diligence and use increase what is good, both by their natural tendency, and the Divine blessing upon our endeavours. Be fond of composition; accustom yourself to write down, with as much accuracy and clearness as you can, every interesting occurrence, or any train of thought. I wish you to have a resource of pleasure through life, not only in reading, but in writing. I am glad you go on with your French. When you come home you must teach me to pronounce and speak it. I should be glad to receive a letter from you in this language. I am sure you are able to write it, especially under the eye of Mr. Bolton. How would it surprise Bella and mamma and sharpen their curiosity when they opened it, as they always do so greedily every letter from Liverpool. How dependent will they feel, and come and beg of me the contents! I hope you rise early and take proper exercise. I hope also you walk well and sit well; for I know, a few weeks back, some considerable improvement was required in both. Some attention to each of these is the more necessary as you seem determined to be tall; and the want of gracefulness is more observed in a tall figure than in a short. — Mrs. William Evill is rapidly declining, and funeral rites will early follow nuptial solemnities. At present she seems to decline seeing any one; but I hope she is becoming sensible of her condition, though this flattering disorder may well be called “a slow sudden death,” and that by-and-by I shall have some improving intercourse with her. In the space of four days I attended no less than four funerals. I endeavoured to improve them all in a sermon from 2 Corinthians V. 1, — “For we know that if our earthly house of this tabernacle were dissolved,” &c., in which I observed, we have —
1. An object contemplated- — “the earthly house of this tabernacle.”
2. An event supposed — the destruction of it — “if it be dissolved.”
3. A privilege apprehended — “a building of God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens.”
4. A confidence expressed — “we know” that we have this — a confidence of belief — a confidence of hope — a confidence of possession — not we shall have, but we have, &c.
When I mentioned Mr., I said,” He was unknown to many of you;
but he was well known in the world of sport and dissipation. He formerly distinguished himself on the turf, and obtained a subsistence by horse-racing. But this course of life for many years back he had abandoned; and reviewed it with that godly sorrow that worketh repentance unto life, not to be repented of. The revival of early instruction from pious parents, by the death of a beloved and only son, brought him to religious reflection. He was a man of a most warm and generous disposition, and delighted to do good, especially in visiting the fatherless and the widows in their afflictions, and attending the hed of pain and sickness;” and when I added, “in the afternoon he passed my house, — in the evening, ordered his nephew to read the 6th chapter of St. John, — prayed with his family, — retired comfortably to rest, — awoke at eleven, — complained of a pain in his stomach, — said, ‘Come, Lord Jesus,’ — and in the twinkling of an eye expired,” — there was a half-fetched involuntary groan through the audience, that made it very solemn. — What I said of was this, —” She was an interesting infant; a sufferer from the hour of her birth; her early and continued affliction she endured with a patience above her years, and often spoke of God and heaven in language very unusual for one under five years of age. This is an event of congratulation rather than of condolence. At the grave of a child we always feel a peculiar satisfaction, arising from the persuasion that they are disposed of infinitely to their advantage. Under the protracted illness of this little martyr, the Saviour said to the parents — ‘Suffer this little child to come unto me, and forbid her not, for of such is the kingdom of heaven.’ The Shepherd has gathered this lamb with his
arms, and now carries it in his bosom.” — Of Mrs. 1 said,” She was for
many years a member of our Church, and walked consistently with her profession. She was a plain, inoffensive, upright character. There was nothing distinguishing in her life, and her dying experience was the same. Through her lengthened disease, she was patient and submissive, often com-. plained of herself, and felt alternately the prevalence of fear and hope; and I am persuaded, that He who does not ’ break a bruised reed nor quench the smoking flax ’ has received her.”
“Mr. J,” I said,” many of you were acquainted with. I see several
of his companions in iniquity here this evening. O that your former associate could now address you. We have reason to hope and believe that he saw and deplored the errors of his conduct, and has obtained the mercy for which he so earnestly prayed. His language was penitential. His concern to warn and admonish others was striking, and he drew whatever relief he felt from the Friend of sinners. But O, ye bereaved neighbours, friends, and relations, my business lies not with the dead, but the living. They have done with all below. Their state is now fixed, and their happiness or misery cannot be affected by your opinions or my representations, were I disposed to condemn or eulogize. They are beyond the reach of the Gospel, but you are yet in the land of the living, and have another opportunity to hear the merciful admonition — * Seek the Lord while he may be found, call upon him while he is near.’ What is your duty but to retire, and, falling upon your knees, pray with Moses, ‘So teach us to number our days that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom.’ And what is wisdom? What is that wise part creatures circumstanced as you are ought to act? Is it not to prefer your souls to your bodies, and the realities of eternity to the vanities of time? Is it not to seek without delay pardon and renovation? a title to heaven, and a meetness for it? You talk of happiness, uncertain as you are of life. I defy you to be happy without a hope beyond the grave. He — he only is happy who can look forward with humble confidence, and say — * We know that we have a building of God, a house not made with hands, &c.’”
You complain of inability to fill your sheet. Look at the size of my paper, and see my lines, not wide apart like the hedges of a Ijondon-road; nor the whole begun two or three inches down from the top. But how am I to fill up the remainder of this folio? I have no other news to communicate, except, indeed, a subject that is always new, and which I hope you love, the love of Jesus — the love of Him who, though he was rich, for our sakes became poor, and died that we might live. You have often heard me repeat his encouraging assurance, “Him that cometh unto me I will in no wise cast out,” and you know, (O what a privilege!) that to come to him is to believe his word, and call upon his name. But while he rejects none, he peculiarly regards some, “Feed,” says he, “feed my lambs” “I love them that love me, and they that seek me early shall find me;” that is — find him as others never will, never can. And the case speaks for itself; for if religion can preserve us from snares and embarrassments; if it can make us amiable and useful; if it be profitable unto all things; if it yields the truest pleasure, the sooner it is possessed, in the same proportion the more are we privileged: and, next to the reality of their conversion, I am persuaded the people of God daily bless him for the earliness of it, if they have been thus favoured: and the greater part of them are called long before they are advanced in years. O, my dear Statira, what a season is youth: of the day of life it is the morning: of the year it is the spring. And how much depends upon seizing the one, and improving the other. How desirable is it to sanctify the present in every kind of preparation for the future; and before the journey is begun, such a journey as we have before us, to secure a guide, a guard, a friend who will never leave us nor forsake us. I trust, my dear child, that you are placing yourself under his conduct, and saying — “I will go forth in the strength of the Lord.”
My time of going to London is now fixed. My visit commences the last Sabbath in May, and takes in the first three in June. Either in my way thither or back, I am to preach a sermon at Newport Pagnel, in favour of Mr. Bull’s Academy there; and I am also requested at the same time to preach before the Bedfordshire Union, at Bedford, along with Mr. Hall.
Your affectionate and devoted Father, &c.
To the same.
Bath, May 23, 1816. My dear Sweet Pea, — Though the last blown, yet not the least loved of all my flowers. I wish I had more time to write; but my preparation for the approaching journey to London leaves me very little. But the length of my last must atone for the brevity of the present; and remember you have to boast of receiving the longest letter papa ever wrote. I suppose by this time Mr. Spear and his daughters who accompanied him to Bromsgrove are returned, and you are probably thinking of returning to Liverpool. But you must not suffer the little nephew or niece to make you impatient. If you should feel it to be a self-denial to be absent from them, you must exercise it. This virtue is indeed of such constant and universal utility, that we cannot begin to cultivate it too soon. We cannot expect to have everything according to our mind as we pass through a world like this; it is not fit we should, and, therefore, we must learn to bear disappointment, and be able easily and gracefully to accommodate ourselves to every changing scene. Hitherto your way has been smooth, the lines have fallen to you in pleasant places; your wishes have been generally, if not invariably, gratified.
All without thy care and payment,
All thy wants are well supplied.”
But you cannot reckon upon a perpetual exemption from inconvenience and trial. “Truly the light is sweet, and a pleasant thing it is for the eyes to behold the sun: but if a man live many years, and rejoice in them all; yet let him remember the days of darkness; for they shall be many. All that cometh is vanity.” I would not by future forebodings prevent your enjoying the kindnesses which Providence affords you at this pleasing period of life, but I know youth is sanguine, its hopes are too glaring, and require to be sobered by that prudence which results from experience and observation. You ought ever to be thankful for the comforts and indulgences of your condition. But do you not feel your need of something better? Is there not an emptiness in the midst of all? Yes, and the world will never fill it; but He can who mercifully cries — “Seek ye me, and ye shall live.” And those dissatisfactions which attend all creature-good are the inspirations of the Almighty to give us understanding, and to make us wise unto salvation. I hope, my precious girl, that you are listening to his voice, and dedicating yourself to his service, which they who have tried know to be perfect freedom. Having given yourself unto the Lord, I trust I shall have the pleasure, after your return, to witness your “giving yourself also to his Church, by the will of God.” In Dr. Doddridge’s little volume of Sermons to Young People, there is a discourse on the subject of “Early Communion,” which I wish you to read. I daresay Mr. Spear has it. I hope, wherever you are, that you not only devote some time to private devotion and reading the Scripture, but that you look over the books you meet with in the house where you visit, and read as much as possible of those you have not seen before. Of course I do not mean that you should shut yourself up from enjoying the prospects of nature at this season, and the society of your friends; but there are many moments to be seized which carelessness overlooks. It is by making use of these, and by early rising, that I have obtained much of the little I possess. Like the Bee, always be extracting’ materials for honey. — Yesterday-morning, I was invited to breakfast at Mr. Hallet’s, and to give the new-wedded pair my advice and blessing. But how changeable and chequered is every earthly scene. No sooner had the party returned from church, than Mr. Griffith, sen., was called out of the room to be informed that his only brother at Frome was just killed by leaping from a sociable, the horses of which had taken fright. This damped the joy of the season. But he was a very holy man — an occasional preacher in Mr. Wesley’s connexion, and, at the time of the accident — so people call it, I should rather say appointment — he was returning from preaching in a village. He was a widower, and has left no child; but the poor will exceedingly miss him, for he was a father to them, and a fine image of Him who went about doing good.
On Saturday-morning we set off for London. Miss Shepherd goes with us as far as Hammersmith. We are all longing for the time when we hope, under the smiles of a gracious Providence, to “meet and mingle into bliss,” to kiss, and cry tears of joy.
Your affectionate and devoted Father, &c.
To his son Edward, at Wymondly College.
Bath, March 2, 1816.
******
I charge you be sparing in your remarks on character. They who hear them, may report them inaccurately, and with exaggeration; and as the consequence you will, when charged with them, be tempted to deny, or perplexed to explain and qualify. But I wish to deter you by a better principle, the command of Him who has said, “Speak evil of no man.” “Be swift to hear, and slow to speak.” “Love every one and every one will love you.” “Who is he that will harm you if you be a follower of that which is good?” While you talk little (especially concerning persons), observe much. Be continually adding a little to your mental stores. Accustom yourself to composition; put down your thoughts on paper with as much accuracy and clearness and celerity as you can be master of — I long for you to be able to sermonize. Whenever a text strikes you turn it over in your mind, and endeavour to divide it. If you cannot satisfy yourself, the eflPort will do you good — exertion will prepare for exertion; and thought will produce thought. While you attempt much you must not be discouraged, if at first the result be little. The infant-bird practises his wings, as he stands up in the nest; then gets upon the edges of it; then upon the neighbouring boughs; and then takes short excursions, before he flies his more daring lengths; and “to him that hath shall be given,” as the natural consequence of use and improvement, and as also the effect of the Divine blessing. You cannot begin so low as I did; but I felt a love to study bordering on enthusiasm; and despaired of nothing; not from a high opinion of my capacity, but an apprehension that diligence, with the Divine assistance, (which he had graciously disposed my heart to seek,) would do wonders. I was placed indeed in a situation peculiarly suited to the cast of my mind, and never wanted for excitations and encouragements. And you, my dear boy, have great advantages at present, and the prospect of every future help and direction. Trials you would have in any line of life; but in the sacred calling to which you are looking forward, you will be sheltered much from a stormy and wicked world; you will have opportunities for intellectual and pious improvement; you will enjoy the pleasure of being useful, and of doing good; and if you act from principle, when the Chief Shepherd shall appear, you shall receive a crown of glory that fadeth not away? Let me know whether you are able to read my writing. I shall feel a pleasure in corresponding with you. Write when you have an opportunity, and write with freedom. All join in love.
Your very affectionate Father, &c.
To the same.
•’ Bath, March 2, 1818.
I WRITE according to my promise, but I believe I must in future alter my epistolary day, and make it Tuesday instead of Monday; as of late I feel so enervated by the anxieties and labours of the Sabbath, that on the Monday I exist rather than live. I wish also not only to please you by a few lines monthly, but to render my letters instructive and useful; and when I feel as I do to-day I can scarcely command a thought, and every effort fatigues. I believe, should my days be prolonged, that I shall be a very premature old man. I began early, I was emulous to advance. I laboured under a thousand disadvantages from which you are free; and being, from the first, thrown into popular and trying situations which had great claims upon me, I applied myself with more unrelaxing tension of mind than my frame (never remarkably strong) could bear; and I now begin to feel peculiarly the effect of it. This I think I may say without vanity regarding myself, or ill-nature towards others. This is not the common failing of the students and younger ministers of the present day. I wish to perceive in them a habit of greater application and diligence, a greater sense of the value of time, and the importance of their work — as also more of a humble and devotional spirit. I can make allowances for some things in young ministers which I could not tolerate in older: but still, as the apostle says, “A bishop must be grave,” — a general sedateness of speech and behaviour is so becoming in him, that, whatever be his talents, he will never inspire respect without it. It was to young Timothy Paul said, “Let no man despise thy youth;” but for this purpose, “Be thou an example of the believers, in word, in conversation, in charity, in spirit, in faith, in purity. Give attendance to reading, to exhortation, to doctrine. Neglect not the gift that is in thee. Meditate upon these things; give thyself wholly to them, that thy profiting may appear unto all. Take heed unto thyself, and unto thy doctrine, continue in them; for in doing this, thou shalt both save thyself and them that hear thee.” It is a great thing in all our private and social intercourse to be cheerful without being light; and serious without being sad, or appearing sanctimonious. Some few ministers, even in earlier life, have attained this excellency. Let them be your models, rather than pulpit flirts and fiddles, and your story-telUng parsons, whose sole ambition in company seems to be to make mirth; and who generally succeed so well, that they are not only laughed with, but laughed at. Nothing is more lovely in a student and a minister than a freedom from everything dictatorial and dogmatical in his manner of
K K address. It becomes him rather to listen than to speak, — to inquire than to controvert. Not that he is obliged to believe everything that he hears, even from a senior, or to admit without evidence; but he must dissent with seeming reluctance, propose his doubts with modesty, and appear to distrust his own judgment rather than depreciate that of another. Speak with warmth, (and let it come from the heart) as much as you can, in commendation and praise of others; — but — “speak evil of no man; “— “Love all and all will love you.” “Who is he that will harm you if you are a follower of that which is good?” — and though spiritual religion can never be relished by depraved minds, yet “he that in these things serveth Christ is acceptable to God and approved of men.”
I have been a Sabbath to Marlborough, where the prospect is delightful. Mr. Williams of Shrewsbury {now Sir J. B. Williams) is publishing memoirs from the diary of Mrs. Savage, daughter of Philip, and sister of Matthew, Henry, for which I have written a pretty long preface, at his desire, &c.
To the same.
Bath, May 9, 1819. * * * I AM sorry for the interruption your studies will again sustain in your long absence from Wymondley. The plan of attending lectures in London, too, does not strike me as of much importance; as however it is appointed, and seems a privilege shown a few of you for good conduct, you must avail yourself of it; and you may turn it to advantage. It is a great recommendation to be able to read and pronounce well; but then it must appear to be natural; primness and affectation always displeases more than simple and earnest vulgarity. The great thing is to forget one’s-self, and to speak with seriousness and affectionate feeling. Feeling is always eloquent: and if the preacher be obviously affected, and appears concerned to do good, and not to gain applause, he will always be felt, and always approved. Nothing also is more becoming, in a young minister especially, than an apparent consciousness of the importance and diflELculty of his work; an wwforwardness to engage; a diffidence and modesty; in a word, the very reverse of what we see in many of the assuming, pert, bold, fearless, self-sufficient, and self-admiring academics of the day. Keep this to yourself. I take care how I reflect upon the sprigs of divinity before others, as there is too much readiness to censure young ministers among modern hearers already: and I am thankful to see that all are not alike, and I can reprove when I do not wish to condemn. I hope tutors will be increasingly attentive to the spirit and manner of students, both in the pulpit and in the parlour. Let me beseech you, my dear son, to keep your eye upon the best models, and pray for grace to conform to them. “With regard to what is exceptionable in others, keep as far from it as you can, but never talk about it. It can do no good, and maybe easily ascribed (before a man’s character is highly established) to ill-nature or envy; and one of the worst features of many of the students and young preachers of the day, is an unbounded licence in speaking of others, especially their brethren. Speak evil therefore of no one, but let the law of innocence and kindness dwell upon your tongue. But to mark the improprieties of others for your own improvement — that is, in order to avoid them — this is a different thing; and while you keep your mouth shut, you must keep your eyes
and ears open.
♦ ♦♦**♦
Your devoted Father, &c.
To Sir J. B. Williams.
On the very sudden death of John Lee, Esq., the Gentleman to whom several of Mr. Winter’s Letters, introduced into Mr. Jay’s Life of Winter,
were addressed.
Bath, October 9th, 1818. My dear Sir, — You will doubtless wonder that I have not noticed your very affecting letter earlier; but I was from home when it arrived, and I have been again from home on pressing business; and while having more to do than usual, I have been very unwell, first in my head, and then in my bowels, so that I have dragged on heavily and been fit for nothing. But be assured your communication was not received without producing that interest which a sincere and warm friendship requires. I wept with those that weep, and I prayed with those that pray. Tell the bereaved family how much I sympathize with them, and what a persuasion I have that the God of my departed friend will be “the Father of the fatherless, and the husband of the widow in his holy habitation,” and in their own. How surprising was the event! How well he seemed when I shook hands with him, alas! for the last time, at the coach door! I knew the year before he sometimes complained, but was not aware that the least danger of such an issue was attached to the complaint. “Well, nothing has occurred by chance; a sparrow falls not to the ground without our heavenly Father, and the
K K 2 very hairs of our head are all numbered. And be it remembered ever, that while He does all things, he does all things well. His dispensations are not only sovereign, but wise, righteous, and kind — kind even when they. seem to be severe. We may be unable to explain them at present; but “we know that the Messias cometh, which is called Christ, and when he is come he will tell us all things.” Till then, let us walk by faith, and give him fall credit for the goodness of his designs, and the manner in which they are accomplished. This is the way — the only way — to reach rest in a world like this. “Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed upon thee, because he trusteth in thee.” Though we must not dictate, but leave it to God to determine by what death we shall glorify him, such a dismission as our lovely friend was favoured with has always appeared to me very enviable. The partings,
., “The pains, the groans, the dying strife
Fright our approaching souls away,” &c.
Here all this was prevented; and we can say over his grave,
A soul prepared needs no delays,
The summons comes, the saint obeys.
Swift was his flight and short the road,
He closed his eyes, and woke with God.”
I felt, too, for the shock your good wife must have felt in her delicate situation; and hope she is now disburdened, and has forgotten her anguish for joy that a man is born into this world. Remember me to her; and to all the dear afflicted house, where I was so cordially entertained. I do bear, and I will bear them all upon my mind at the throne of grace — that refuge, that resource of benevolence and friendship. I had three funeral services to perform last week only. — What a dying world!
Yours to esteem and serve, &c.
To Miss Harman.
Lynmouth, August 11, 1830. My dear Miss Harman, — Your very acceptable parcel arrived just before we set off from Bath. I am much obliged by both the works, but you should not have had them bound so expensively. Baxter’s “Life” we took with us, with some other mental and spiritual provender; but when we got out of the coach at Bridgewater, we left the parcel in the boot, and as there was no direction upon it, we did not recover it till two days ago.
Though generally acquainted with Baxter and his works, I find much that is new and interesting in the “Life,” for you must know I have nearly devoured it already, and even the charms of this God-made spot could not draw me off from the perusal. Your lamented friend and pastor* has, I think, done much justice to this extraordinary man; to his character, and to his publications — to the excellencies and infirmities of the one, and the orthodoxy and errors of the other; and I hope the book will be largely circulated. Henry says it is impossible to read the book of Psalms and not be inflamed or ashamed by the perusal. I say the same of this work. But I fear I shall be more shamed than fired. What piety! what diligence! what sufferings! what patience and submission! Well, by the grace of God he was what he was; and the God of all grace remains the same, and is within our reach in all that we call upon him for.
Instead of growing tired of this Swiss village, we admire it more than ever. Mr. and Mrs. Kingsbury have been here four days with us; and though’ they have travelled much over our country, they prefer this to everything they have seen. They occupied the room you would have slept in, could I have had power enough to overcome your good father’s objections. Give my kindest love to him notwithstanding, for we are bound to forgive; nor forget your dear mother, who, I believe, pleaded for us. We all lament your absence; and Mrs. Jay and Miss Protheroe send their most lovingest regards. I wish I could give a better account of my most dear wife; but she is very poorly, and can hardly enjoy any of the pleasures of the place. This is a sad deduction. “Full bliss is bliss Divine.” The weather, too, at present is much against her. To supply your place imperfectly, a young pious lady, and an old acquaintance. Miss Browning, from Ilfracombe, has come over to take lodgings near us, and we find others are coming. But I wish not for more. I wish to be entirely disengaged; not, however, to be idle, but to be at liberty to use my pen, — and I do use it daily, as much as comports with the design of the excursion. What a work is this in France! I trust no violence and excess will mar it; yet I could wish that the wretched family of the Bourbons was entirely excluded. I always felt a persuasion that Providence would destroy it. Much yet remains to be done in the Popish countries. Adieu, my dear Miss Harman. The Lord bless thee and keep thee.
Yours, &c.
* Rev. W. Orme, of Camberwell.
To his son Edward.
London, July, 1832. I FULLY intended returning home to-morrow, but circumstances have determined us to go round by Henley, as Mr. Bolton is not very well. I cannot, therefore, be at home before Thursday evening; and, therefore, it will be necessary to engage some one to preach. We shall be taken up at Reading by the new company’s coach. I have secured our places. Anne comes by the same coach to-morrow; let her be looked out for, and see that her parcels be safe. Your precious mother is pretty well upon the whole; but she has been too much excited, and I long to get her home. We have been muoh crowded. Last Friday I dined at the Lord Mayor’s, and met a very agreeable and interesting company, the lion of which was His Highness the Rajah Rammohun Roy. You cannot imagine what a full-minded, and clever, and agreeable man he is; always more than a match for any one who disputed with him, especially the Tories — and we had several of them. As it was known. that he was to hear me at Surrey Chapel last evening, we were not only full, but hundreds went away. He came in his carriage, ten minutes before six, with Dr. Henry and Archdeacon Stockport, and was conducted to a good place for seeing and hearing. His fine figure, and his rich and elegant costume, attracted every eye. He was observed to give great attention, and frequently jogged his companions without taking off his eye from the pulpit. I preached an hour and a quarter, raised above the fear of man by previous retirement. When it was over, he said, loud enough to be heard by many, “I must have this sermon, and publish it” He came into the house, with immense difl&culty pressing through the crowd in the yard, all waiting to see him. The house also, in both rooms, was full. The pleasure he expressed from hearing the sermon, before all the people present, was really affecting. It so completely met with his sentiments, he said, that he hoped I would not deny him the sermon to publish himself, and circulate among his friends. I tried to decline, till delicacy would permit it no longer; and so I have committed myself, and must write it out as soon as I come back, for he is going to the continent in a few weeks. Dr. Henry and the archdeacon were especially delighted; and when I said to the former, “Doctor, I fear you have suffered from the crowd and the heat,” he replied, “Sir, I felt nothing but the sermon.” You see, my dear boy, I keep back nothing from you; but I could not say all this to others. Garfit does not seem amended. I have just walked with him to the Mansion House. The Lord Mayor could not attend yesterday, but the Lady Mayoress was present with a very splendid carriage. Kindest regards to Mts. Burton; and kiss Margaret for me, if you do not object to it.
Your affectionate Father, &c.
To the Rajah Rammohun Roy.
Sir, — I herewith transmit the manuscript of the sermon you so candidly heard, and, so unexpectedly to the preacher, wished to see and to circulate. I could not send it earlier, owing to my travelling, and the numerous engagements and interruptions I met with immediately on my return. Your Highness will observe that I had not written the sermon previously, but delivered it from short notes only; and, therefore, I should have had more difficulty in recalling the language as well as the sentiments, had not a friend furnished me with a short-hand copy. In consequence of this the discourse will be found more than substantially the same with what was spoken from the pulpit. In the very trijling alterations I have made, I did not attempt to reduce the free and popular mode of address I assumed, and which was so requisite in so very large and mixed a multitude of hearers. For want of this many preachers preach inefficiently, or sacrifice impression on the mass to the gratification of the few. The manner of the Great Teacher sent from God may be inferred from the reproach, which was yet an eulogium, — “the common people heard him gladly.”
It is presumed that there may be some few things in the discourse in which your Highness may not entirely coincide; but it afforded me pleasure to conclude from your request that, upon the whole, and as having some useful bearings, it has met your Highness’s approbation. I commend it to the Divine influence; and, imploring the blessing of God upon your Highness, permit me to subscribe myself,
Your Highness’s obliged and humble servant,
Bath, June 29, 1832. William Jay.
To his son Edward.
Weymouth, August 22, 1832. I DROP you a line to say we received the basket of fruit safe and sound. * * * * So your precious mother instantly made up a nice
little present for Lord and Lady W, who were at the Royal Hotel, in
their way back from Guernsey to Sidmouth, and who, hearing of us, called, and said, if I preached on the Sunday they would stay over the day. They did so; and this gave me an opportunity of several interviews. I like them both much, as far as I have conversed with them. Lady W — ‘■ — knows the truth, and I really believe feels the power of it; and is resisting all the fanaticism that rages in the West of England, and all around Sidmouth.
Lord W seems very amiable and promising, and is exceedingly attached
to his wife. He is a thorough Whig; says he was a member for one of his father’s rotten boroughs, but was bound hand and foot, and obliged to vote on the wrong side, and would not endure the farce any longer. He says he reads my “Exercises” every day, and uses my “Prayers.” They much wish to come and live in the near neighbourhood of Bath. Give my best regards to our elders and friends, and let them be immediately informed of my return. They will see that I have not encroached upon their kindness, taking in part but two Sabbaths, for the other pertained to my month of privilege. But where love actuates, we do not need restraints and rules. I love home, and never preach with so much pleasure as in Argyle Chapel, where I have employed for God the flower, yea, the far larger part, of my whole life. And, blessed be His name, he has not withholden tokens of his approbation. I refer not only to my own church, but to strangers also who occasionally attend there. A lady who lives in a neighbouring village called in her carriage the other morning, and said, that eighteen years ago she was at Bath with her gay companions, but felt an inclination one evening to leave them and go to Argyle. I preached, she said, from — “Is not this a brand plucked out of the fire?” From that time she left the world, and has been ever since not only blessed but a blessing. She came to hear me on Sabbath morning, and I have been to her house.
Tell Mrs. Hallet and Mr. and Mrs. Griffiths, with my kindest respects, that Mrs. Chamberlaine is to be married very soon to a -gentleman, a local Wesleyan preacher at Colne. I had this from herself. Mrs. Parsons also is not without hope, though she lost her admirer here some time ago: another is coming forward with only seven children! Well done, little Cupid! All join in dearest love to all, with, &c.
To Miss Harman.
June 29, 1832. My dear Miss Harman, — You know how I admire that precious little text, “By love serve one another.” Could it be brought into general operation it would soon turn our wretched earth in<;o “a gaiden of thp I/>rd.”
I believe — I know you have no objection to it, for we have long put it to the test. But I am never very prolix in my introductions. This, therefore, is to say that, coming to London, and returning from it, we had some coflPee at Thatcham after dinner; we think it the best we ever drank; and Miss Fromont told us she bought it of Mr. North, near the Bridewell Hospital, Blackfriars. Will you, therefore, when you go by, call there, and purchase for us four pounds, and send it by the new company’s coach? I here pledge myself to repay you, — not, however, I suppose, when you come down at the end of the month to go with us to llfracombe. We got home safe and well. My precious invalid was very little tired. She now, in very strange language (for I know her meaning) begs to be remembered to you, and says, it is very hard the woman won’t let him come. Amidst many engagements and interruptions, always multiplied on returning home, I have just finished my transcript for the Rajah, and am now (it is Friday evening) preparing for the Sabbath. Preaching is trying work this weather •; so you say is hearing, unless the pastor makes us lie down in green pastures, and feedeth us beside the still waters. How delightful the Jive points would be now treated in the jargon of the school-theology! O my charming Bible, how I love thy simplicity, and grandeur, and grace Prov. vi. 21, 22.
One of my best members died the day after my return. She was “an old disciple,” whose life was goodness, and whose end was peace. With best respects to your good father and mother, I have but just time to subscribe myself,
Yours, &c.
Lord Barham to Mr. Jay.
London, December 31, 1834.
My dear Mr. Jay, — You will be glad to hear that we arrived safely in town, though the fog was so thick on Saturday evening as we approached London, that we were in some danger of an overturn by driving up a bank. Parliament you see is at last dissolved. Some Tories I have seen think that this is a very unwise measure for their own interests. They have now nothing to fall back upon, which they would have had, if they had first endeavoured to meet the now late Parliament. May the Lord direct the ensuing election as shall best promote the nation’s good!
We were very sorry not to see you the morning we left Bath. We hope dear Mrs. Jay continues pretty well. We beg our most kind regards to her. Will you accept our little offering for the rich gratification and edification we have enjoyed from our late attendance upon your much-valued instruction? And believe me, my dear Mr. Jay,
With much respect and ajffection.
Your obliged friend,
Barham.
Mr. Jay to Lord Barham.
Bath, July 11th, 1835.
My dear Lord Barham, — I was out when your letter arrived, and I have been since engaged, even to engrossment. As your Lordship says nothing of your own or Lady Barham’s health, I hope you are both in the enjoyment of that greatest of all temporal blessings. My dear Mrs. Jay has not been so well for the last month as usual, and seems to grow weaker. Of course my trial is increased, and I live in constant alarm and anxiety. But He, whose we are and whom we serve, knows what we need, and has engaged to make our strength equal to our day.
Did your Lordship see, in the “Christian Observer” about three months ago, an extract from the “Reminiscences of Dr. Valpy” concerning Mrs. More, and the account which he says she gave him of her communing once in Argyle Chapel? Never was there such a tissue of misrepresentation; and, could I believe that Mrs. More had been capable of uttering it, I should never feel respect for her memory, or read her works with pleasure again. But she had a mind too good and honourable to express what, as coming from her, would have been no less than falsehood, to serve the purpose of what she hated, higotry. I was urged to write to the editor, but I declined. All these things will get rectified and known in due time: and then some illiberals may feel a little mortification, though it is almost unreasonable to expect a thorough-paced ecclesiastic to blush.
I hardly know what to say to your Lordship’s question. I have always considered high Churchism and low Popery as nearly the same; or the difference between them as the difference between the tadpole and the toad. None of our passions so readily assumes the mask of rectitude and religion as anger; but “the wrath of man worketh not the righteousness of God.” Many I fear “know not what manner of spirit they are of;” or forget that it is said of our Example as well as Saviour, “He shall not strive nor cry, nor cause his voice to be heard in the streets: a bruised reed shall he not break, and the smoking flax shall he not quench.” If “the servant of the Lord must not strive, but be gentle towards all men,” violence, an4 defiance and scorn, and insult, are not the weapons of our warfare. “He that winneth souls is wise: “— and the best way to convert men, or at least to induce them to attend to what we advocate, is to convince them that we love them, and desire to do them good. Between our - selves, I have also always thought that these Reformation-Meetings would do more hurt than good; and I am persuaded they have already increased Popery, by awakening zeal and courage in its defence; and flattering its adherents, (for they must feel delight in such announcements) as amazingly multiplying, and endangering Protestantism and the church. But if the church be in danger, it is not the Church of Christ; or He was mistaken when he said, “On this rock I will build my church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.” “Secret things belong to the Lord,” but we must act according to his will, and do justly, and do unto others as we would have others to do unto us. I cannot, therefore, but believe we have done what God approves, in “loosening every yoke and letting the oppressed go free.” I was, therefore, a friend, and I am still a friend, to Catholic Emancipation. Everything like persecution is hateful to the meek and lowly religion of the Lamb of God; as we see in his rebuke to James and John, with regard to the Samaritans who had not received him — “The Son of Man is come not to destroy men’s lives, but to save them.” I should be ashamed to take a liberty to think and act for myself in religion, which I was unwilling to grant. Neither am I afraid of Popery — neither. do I believe in its increase, but as papists increase relatively with other parts of our population, or in some few and particular places by occasional influxes of Irish. But why are not some individuals ashamed to let out what they believe to be a fact — “Popery increasing, amazingly increasing,” without the encouragement of the State! without an Establishment! against an Establishment! and a richly endowed church doing nothing! Yea, retrograding and in danger of coming to naught! What! has this pure and Apostolical institution been tried so long in Ireland, and found wanting? And while we abhor Popery, we must be candid enough not to wonder, that upwards of six millions, brought up in the religion of their forefathers, should lee? an Establishment over them, consisting of so small a minority; for how small is it when all the other Protestant parties are deducted? Was there ever such a state of things in any other country under heaven? With regard to some of the wretched and alarming tenets of Popery, (though these are seldom war- whooped by many churchmen, till some movement seems to threaten the loaves and fishes,) we may ask how would some other parties appear, if some of their former and abstracter principles were to be published among them now.^ Take Knox’s pleading for destroying papists as idolaters; and the Church of
Scotland’s confession of the duty of exterminating prelacy; and Dr. Dopping’s Sermon (Bishop of Meath) that no faith should be kept with papists, &c., and trumpet this at Exeter Hall, and run down those who are regarded as brethren!
Besides, if Popery is the same, the times, the state of society, and public opinion are not the same. Papists, however disposed, could not put a heretic to death, or imprison him in any country, even where it prevails. Neither will it be ever able to do it again; — the power is gone for ever. Look at Germany — look at Switzerland, where some cantons are popish and some protestant; and some consisting of both intermingled; and exercising alternately the same places of worship. See America. Is Popery, civilly and politically, more dreaded than any other denomination? The reason is, they are all tolerated, and none exclusively favoured. How true is your Lordship’s remark, that — “political opinion tinges all information.” But let us judge as well as we can for ourselves. Let us be zealous in doing our Lord’s work while it is day; but let us do it in his own spirit. I am no croaker. I am persuaded real religion is advancing; and I know that “the knowledge of the Lord shall cover the earth,” &c., “for the mouth of the Lord hath spoken it.” How glad I should be to talk over many of these things with your Lordship, but I have not time to enlarge this letter.
We all unite in best regards to your much esteemed Lady Barham.
And believe me, &c.
Note by the Editors.’]
The reader of this letter must not fail to observe its date, and to remember that it was written nearly twenty years ago; a circumstance, which, if, in the perusal, he felt any surprise at the tone in which Mr. Jay speaks of Popery, will tend considerably to explain the tone used, and abate the surprise of the reader. The movements on behalf of Protestantism at that day were of a totally different character from those of our own. Had Mr. Jay been alive, and required to express his opinion on the subject of Roman Catholic claims and emancipation now, especially in view of Dr. Wiseman’s elevation to the Cardinalate, and the creation of an ecclesiastical hierarchy, based on, and designed to enforce, the infamous Canon Law of Rome, we believe he would have somewhat modified his language and opinion. He might not, any more than ourselves, have changed his opinion on the expediency of admitting Roman Catholics to equal civil and political privileges; but he would certainly have expressed his indignation, disgust, and alarm at the turbulent, encroaching, and intolerant spirit of the Papacy, and its abettors in Ireland, which, instead of remaining satisfied, as it was understood it would be, with the concessions of the Relief Bill, has used it only as a vantage-ground, from which to urge further demands, till it has become but too apparent, that it aspires at nothing less than a political and ecclesiastical supremacy. Nor would Mr. Jay, had he written upon the subject at the present time, have expressed himself so confidently of the safety of concession, after what has taken place in Tuscany, and even in Ireland. An intolerant religion is always and everywhere an enemy, and even the greatest of enemies, to the well-being of states. Those who execrate liberty of conscience, and would extii’pate heretics by the secular sword, ought to be indulged with only a limited power, but never entrusted with the liberties of England, while they declare that their object is to introduce the Canon Law, which is thoroughly intolerant, and bitterly persecuting against subjects, as well as treasonable against royalty. In contemplation of such facts Mr. Jay could have deemed the whole Roman hierarchy as merely an organized conspiracy against the liberties of the world. Their view of liberty is a freedom granted to ecclesiastics to enslave the laity; while they proclaim themselves persecuted if they are restrained from persecuting others.
We wish also to offer a remark upon Mr. Jay’s views of the Irish Church. As Nonconformists ourselves, we cannot but coincide generally with his remarks on this subject; and yet we are not forgetful that a more devoted and laborious ministry does not exist than may be found in many of the parishes of the Established Church in Ireland. Their successful efforts for the conversion and emancipation of the miserable slaves of Roman Catholic superstition and tyranny, as set forth in the statements of the Society for Irish Church Missions, entitle them to the highest praise; while the pitiless persecution endured by their agents and converts should call forth the sympathy of the Protestant world, and at the same time convince it, that Popery, either at home or abroad, is the inexorable enemy of all liberty, whether civil or religious, though the loudest clamourer for both, when it is deprived of the means of encroaching on the liberty of others.
Lady Barham to Mr. Jay.
1838.
Dear Mr. Jay, — You will have seen by the papers the loss my deai husband has sustained in his father, who died last Wednesday, leaving behind him many pleasing instances of his heart having been renewed; and to us the delightful hope of his having entered into glory — entered upon that endless life of bliss. — I shall indeed be very happy to present your “Morning and Evening Portion” to the Queen. I think it would be well to write a note with them, expressing your humble hope that Her Majesty will condescend to accept of your book, which has already had the honour to have been graciously received at the court of Petersburg, &c.
I have written this to you to give you an idea (as you wished) of the manner in which Her Majesty generally is addressed; and then you will ol course write what you like, only after this fashion. I think it would be better not to write the Queen’s name in the books. Perhaps mentioning where they had been received would be an additional inducement to her to read them.
Will you give my kind and Christian love to dear Mrs. Jay, in which Lord Barham joins, and also in best remembrance to yourself? When I see Mrs. Welman I can deliver your message to her. She is now staying at Eston.
Believe me, dear Mr. Jay,
Yours respectfully and sincerely,
Catmore Lodge, Feb. 26, 1 838. F. Barham.
TO THE QUEEN,
On presenting to Her Majesty a copy of the “Morning and Evening Uxercises.”
Bath, March, 1838.
Madam, — Will your Majesty pardon the freedom of one of your loyal subjects, and graciously condescend to accept this humble offering at his hand?
The Author has long been honoured with the intimacy of Lord Barham, and his excellent lady has kindly and readily offered to present the work to your Majesty.
The publication is designed to furnish the reader with a text of Scripture for every morning and evening in the year, accompanied with very brief reflections; the better suited to those who have multiplied engagements, and yet are concerned to feel their dependence upon God, and not lose his approbation in the discharge of them.
Though the writer is very sensible of the imperfections of his work, yet he is not a little encouraged by hearing of its continued circulation; the reception it has met with in some of the higher walks of life; the approbation of it expressed by Her Majesty the Empress of Russia; the notice it has obtained from several of your Majesty’s illustrious House; and, above all, the blessing of God, which has honoured it with many tokens of usefulness.
Though he will be unknown to your Majesty, there is not one in all your applauding Empire who more sincerely and earnestly prays for your Majesty’s safety and happiness, than,
May it please your Majesty, Your Majesty’s most humble servant and dutiful subject,
The Author.
To Miss Head.
Bath, March 8, 1838. * * * * You see from her information {from America)
and she is not querulous, that religion is not in such a state as we could wish; and that the preaching is defective, because the preachers there (as too often here) wish to appear to be learned and intellectual, and so the common people, who heard our dear Lord gladly, and understood and felt him, “look up and are not fed.” What can the mass of an audience do with nice distinctions, and abstruse reasonings, and long argumentative paragraphs? A preacher may as well take a fiddle into the pulpit, and better too, especially if he could make the people dance; this bodily exercise would profit a little. “The words of the wise are as goads and as nails.” Let ministers read Bunyan, and Leighton, and Henry, and Flavel, and many more, under whose ministry “the poor had the Gospel preached unto them.” However well composed (according to a certain standard) I could not sit patiently under many an American and many an English preacher; though I should not do as I knew a man (for I can vouch, and many more now living, for the truth of the fact) at Avebury some years ago. He, one Sunday afternoon, after listening for some time to a sermon, correct enough, but perfectly dry and uninteresting, rushed up from the aisle, and pulled the man — the Rev. Mr. G. — by the collar out of the pulpit, and then with his iron-tipped shoes kicked the pulpit in pieces, for which he was confined five months in Fisherton gaol, but for which he ought to have had a statue erected to his memory. Poor fellow, I well remember him. The last time I saw him, after mowing all day, he had walked six miles, and had the same distance to return, to get something to affect his poor heart, and which he could think of when whetting his scythe, or eating his crust upon the new-mown swath. Our old divines and the Methodist preachers, when they had just sprung up, had something to rend or melt, to strike and stick — to lead their hearers to think of again and again when alone, and to talk of again and again when in company. But what is the recommendation of many of the moderns? Oh, they glitter — they do — but, as Foster says, with frost. — You know my fondness (amounting almost to idolatry) of dear John. What a pretty sentiment is this which I recently met with from one of his pilgrims! I give it the more readily because I am sure my dear friend can make it her own. “I always loved to hear of my Lord, and wherever I saw the print of his shoe, I wished to put my foot.” There — is not that as good as some sermons? Do you think there was ever such another tinker in all the world? “When I was last week with your friend, the blind clergyman, (his sister-in-law now comes to our Monday-evening meeting,) I was speaking of Bunyan’s” Holy War.” This he had never read. I long to hear how he liked it. I was going foolishly to say, I wish /had never read it, hut had the entire pleasure to come. How I should like to read it through to your uncle and aunt, and weep over parts of it together! Though the image of war is not so agreeable as that of a pilgrimage, and though, as a whole, the ‘* Holy War” is not equal to its predecessor, yet I am surprised that it is not more read, and I cannot but think some parts of it are peculiarly affecting — witness the sending of the letter to Immanuel by Mr. Wet-eyes; the difficulty of destroying the Doubters, &c. I cannot endure transcription, and therefore I send you (preserve it, for I have no copy) a passage which Mr. Bedford had just found in, and translated from, Milton’s Second Defence, in Latin, of the people of England in putting Charles to death. He felt it, dear man; it came home to his own affliction; and I observed he was not a little moved when his daughter read it for him.*
I am, &c.
* Mr. Jay does not transcribe the passage in his letter, though no doubt it was sent in a separate form. We venture to guess it must have been the following, which is to be found in Dr. Symmond’s Edit, of the Prose Works, vol. vi. p. 385. Its exquisite beauty and sublimity entitle it to a place here, since it most probably formed a part of the above letter: —
“There is, as the apostle has remarked, a way to strength through weakness. Let me then be the most feeble creature alive, as long as that feebleness serves to invigorate the energies of my rational and immortal spirit; as long as in that obscurity in which I am enveloped the light of the Divine presence more clearly shines; then, in proportion as I am weak, I shall be invincibly strong; and, in proportion as I am blind, I shall more clearly see. O! that I may thus be perfected by feebleness, and irradiated by obscurity! And, indeed, in my blindness, I enjoy in no inconsiderable degree the favour of the Deity, who regards me with more tenderness and compassion in proportion as I am able to behold nothing but Himself. Alas! for him who insults me, who maligns, and merits public execration! For the Divine law not only shields me from injury, but almost renders me too sacred to attack; not, indeed, so much from the privation of my sight, as from the overshadowing of those heavenly wings, which seem to have occasioned this obscurity; and which, when occasioned, he is wont to illuminate with an interior light, more precious and more pure.”
To Miss Head.
Bath, Nov. 27, 1838.
Now for a little news for maiden ladies — and even good and pious maiden ladies like a bit, let them say what they will; and why, in the name of
wonder, should they not? — To-day we had a letter from Lord,
who is on a visit to the Queen at Windsor. He says,” he thought dear Mrs. Jay would like to have a line from thence, and learn how well our
amiable and excellent Queen is, and also Lady.” He laments the
bigotry of Wilberforce’s life; and says,” I have just seen Miss, who
says, ‘Mr. Wilberforce said to me, a few weeks only before his death,” my sons are sad high churchmen — all trumpery and nonsense.*” — Sunday, I was again in Bristol, and preached at Brunswick Chapel, to immense congregations, for the Sunday-school. I called on the Dean, Dr. Lamb, but he and his wife are now at Cambridge. I dined with Mr. and Mrs. Hare, who will not be satisfied till you and Mrs. Jay have paid them a visit.
I only add that I love a laugh when it leaves no sting in the conscience, or stain upon the mind; and that such a laugh cannot be disagreeable to your uncle in his long solitudes, and (I love to hear him laugh, he does it so heartily) tell him, therefore, I lately heard of an Irishman who was very ill, and who, when the physician told him he must prescribe an emetic for him, answered, “Indeed, doctor, an emetic will never do me no good, for I have taken several, and could never keep one of them upon my stomach.” Walter Scott says, “When in Ireland a poor man did something for me, and having no change, I gave him a shilling instead of a sixpence, saying. Now, Paddy, remember you owe me sixpence.’ * God bless your honour,’ said he, * and may you live till I pay it.’”
“I walked,” says a gentleman, “into one of their fields, and to try him, I said to one of the haymakers, * Well, Pat, if the devil was to come and fetch one of us, which would he take first?’ * O surely,’ said he, * myself.” Why so?” Because he ’s sure enough of your honour at any time.’”
Mrs. Jay joins in all loving-kindness with, &c.
To Miss Harman.
Bath, Jan. Y, ’24.
Upon the reception of your letter with a second sorrowful announcement, I thought I would not write to you again for some days, till you would have gone through a fresh painful service, and be a little more composed, and he able to receive an epistolary visit. But after our long and endeared friendship, I cannot refrain from breaking in upon you immediately, lest you should think we do not sympathize with you, so much as I am sure we really do. I say we, for my precious invalid, to whom your letter was addressed, deeply feels for you, as well as myself, under these sudden and closely successive losses of a father and a mother. May He whose property it is to comfort those who are cast down be a very present help in this time of trouble. I know your judgment will immediately acquiesce in this trying dispensation, because He has done it; and if your feelings are not so easily ruled, and nature now and then seems ready to repine, do not condemn yourself as destitute of submission, while your desire is to the Lord, for He knows your frame, and looks to the heart. You have, too, and these must not be overlooked, many alleviations and comforts to mingle in your affliction, especially that the dear departed are disposed of infinitely to their advantage, and after being continued to you so long, while you have a good hope through grace that, in due time, you will be received by them into everlasting habitations. Were I near how gladly would I call and weep with you; but Mrs. Jay and myself do hope that you will relieve the scene as soon as possible by a change, and let us have the great pleasure of welcoming you under our roof for a season. The travelling is now nothing, and the old — I will not call it an excuse, for I am sure it was not, but prevention, is removed. You shall interpret my dear wife’s language, which you can do better than any other, and ride out with her in the carriage; and I will give you as much of my company as I can afford, and you shall detect me if I preach old sermons, &c. Mrs. Ashton is now with us, as her husband, through business, was obliged to return before her, and will return, I expect, to-morrow week. But should you be able to journey before she goes, we have plenty of accommodation, and she will be delighted to see you here. She joins with her dear mother and myself in every kind and tender regard.
My dear wife says you must come, and you know her husband seldom differs from her. — In haste, &c.
Rev. T. Grinjield to Mr. Jay.
Clifton, Feb. 6, 1841. Dear Sir, — I am sure the well-known kindness of your nature will pardon the freedom I take (as an unknown stranger) in sending a transcript of some lines which appear in the “Bristol Journal” of this morning. They were almost an irrepressible effusion of feeling on the occasion mentioned. And, having just perused the beautiful account, in the same journal, of the Jubilee proceedings of Tuesday last, I cannot refrain from begging your acceptance of my mite among so many worthier offerings. Born at Bath, about two years before the commencement of your ministry, I well remember having often heard a beloved mother speak with pleasure of your early popularity and usefulness. And though I have enjoyed but four or five opportunities (few and far between) of hearing you (once years ago at Bridge Street, for the Moravian Missions, once at Broadmead, on “Grace and Truth” coming by Christ, once at Lady Huntingdon’s, on the fine analogy between the influence of the Rain and Snow and that of God’s Word), I have retained a most pleasing impression of year preaching, and congratulate those who could statedly enjoy it; while I cannot wonder at their zeal in expressing their regard for one who had so well secured it. Excuse this trespass upon your time and attention, and permit me to subscribe myself with every sentiment of respect and esteem,
Yours sincerely,
Thomas Grinfield.
P.S. I rather think you remember my schoolfellow at Mr. Simons’s, of Paul’s Cray, Kent — Cornelius Neale, who used to see you at his father’s, and to speak of you to myself as early as 1804. Your “Christian Contemplated” I read with admiring delight.
Lines occasioned by the perusal of the very interesting Sermon delivered on Sunday, Jan. 31st, 1841, in Argyle Chapel, Bath, by the Rev. William Jay, on the completion of the Fiftieth year of his ministry in that
Chapel.
Dear venerable Pastor! whose career
Of labouring zeal hath closed its fiftieth year
Within those favour’ d walls, where once thy youth,
Where still thine age, hath taught celestial truth;
Well did thy flock, with grateful love, agree
To celebrate thy Pastoral Jubilee;
Honouring their friend, tkeir father, honouring Heaven,
Who such a father, friend, so long had given.
Oh! in this changeful world, how few like thee,
Have train’ d one church through half a century;
With undeclining constancy like thine,
Alone, unaided, — save by strength Divine!
How well in thee was piety combined
With kindly converse, and a master mind;
How well thy natural eloquence impress’ d
Wisdom, devotion, on the listening breast I
A spreading throng caught manna from thy lips,
Thy popularity knew no eclipse; —
The wise, the good, still hail’d thy faithful course,
And with thy foremost friends, the sweet-soul’ d Wilberforce.
Happy like him in enviable age!
With Canaan opening on thy pilgrimage!
Oh! golden sunset of a beauteous day!
Soon in the clime of glory, thou too. Jay,
Midst the bright host shalt shine, a star of loveliest ray 1
Thomas Guinfield.
To Miss Harman.
Bath, Dec, 1841.
What a blunderer am I. I read in your extract “Home” for “Rome.” This puzzled me, and under the perplexity I instantly wrote to prevent hinderance! In future, I will (if anything perplexes me) read a letter a second time before I answer it.
But now, in reply to your proposal. It does strike me that your brother’s offer should be readily accepted. Your motive would not be unjustifiable were it only rational gratification; but it may be useful to your health and spirits. You will also turn many things (with your mind) to moral and pious account, while you will yield satisfaction to a worthyyouth whose relations in America and in Bath will thank God for the providence. As far, therefore, as the decision depends upon me, I say go, and the Lord be with thee. You will not, you cannot suppose that I wish you at a greater distance than London, [that being too far away,) and nothing will be dearer to me than your return. But I see no one objection of weight, especially as you will meet with Mrs. E. Jay, and her brother and sister; and your expenses will be defrayed by one whom I long to thank on your behalf. But O, to think how you will glory over us when you come back, and “once more mingle with us meaner things!” But to prevent your despising us too much, you must remember who maketh you to differ, and that some of us have not had the same opportunity or means. Let this be an answer to Jay’s note. As I presume you cannot set off before the beginning of the week, could you not see Bella, who comes up on Monday? If so, appoint her by a line a place of interview; but if you can set off sooner, do not delay; but let me have a line as soon as you have arranged things, and blow me a salutation in it. Shall the books be still sent? Have you seen the engraving? I heard from Bartlet last evening that Jay dislikes it. How sad should it not answer! You must not forget to correspond with me, and I will do my goodest in return. Regards to Mrs. Dore, &c. My respects to the Pope, but do not kiss his toe. Get Paul’s old lodgings if you can. Acts xxviii. 30. And the “goodwill of Him that dwelt in the bush” be with you in going out and coming in.
Ever yours truly, &c. I think you know Mark Wilks at Paris, otherwise get a line from Mr. Burnet.
To Miss Harman.
Bath, Dec. 21, 1841. I HAVE just received your kind letters to my wife and to her husband. They are like your whole self, or at least, like all you have exhibited towards us, ever since we were indulged with your friendship. I was a little anxious whether you would have made up your mind so easily and so soon, till I heard again from you, notwithstanding your obliging deference to my opinion; as in such cases, after all, we must judge for ourselves. But I cannot conceal my satisfaction at your decision; and not entirely on a kind of selfish account, but hoping that one so dear to us as you are will derive pleasure and profit from so interesting a prospect. O, that I could be your companion and your chaplain; and be able by-and-by to say as you will, — “I have seen Rome.” But the providence which approves of your going requires me to “sit still.” But spirits like bodies are not fettered, and I shall think of you much, and follow you much, and shall expect a visit from you as soon as ever you return, to tell us about it; and to hold up your head above us all while doing it. As you write short-hand, it will be inexcusable not to keep a kind of journal; and if you should wish to publish, who knows but I may write a preface, and so our names be blended together before the world. Be attentive to your health, and brace up your mind by some daily retirement for meditation and prayer. Idle away none of the short time you will be there; and be sure to see and hear what you cannot see after your return. Especially observe whatever is connected with the sacred volume; and neglect not to go “as far as Appii-forum and the Three Taverns;” and for any expense you may incur there /will .be answerable. Whether any one at Rome ever prayed for me before, I know not; but I shall prize your remembrance of me much more than his Holiness’s, — yet if you can get him to frank your letters to a heretic, you will induce him to do one good thing in his Pontificate. To induce him to do this, or to enclose them with any of his missives, please him by telling him how favourably things are going on in the Church of England; and how many are longing to return home from their Reformation wanderings.
Tfat a feeling I have to see you both before your departure; and I assure you I have been trying to arrange things so as to allow of the pleasure; but I find it is not practicable. So I embrace you at a distance, and commend you to the God of our mercy. Read this to-day with my love and concern, — and believe me,
Yours most truly, &c.
To Miss Head.
Worthing, August 21st, 1842.
I AWOKE this morning with the words upon my mind, “I was in the Spirit on the Lord’s day.” “The Lord’s day,” as you well know, means the day of our Saviour’s resurrection; and is so called because it was dedicated and observed to the glory of his name, and the service of his people. John’s being “in the Spirit” on this day, immediately intends a state of inspiration; and this was abundantly exemplified in the visions he received and reported. But we do well to use the phrase (as we do in our prayers) to mean a peculiar frame of mind under the ordinary agency of the Spirit; and what is a Lord’s day without this? Yet it struck me that there are two mistakes to which we are liable concerning it. First — We are not to think we are not in the Spirit because we are not in a liveli, and comfortable frame. Such a frame is not to be undervalued; but it may be overvalued, and it is so when we make it exclusive. For we want many things besides consolation; and we shall be “in the Spirit” if we feel much of His enlightening, or convincing, or humbling influences, and are more empty of self at the end of the Sabbath than at the beginning of it.
And, Secondly — We must not suppose that such a Lord’s day is impossible, unless we are favoured with the usual, and social, and public means of grace. John was away from ail these in the mines of Patmos; yet he never had such a Sabbath before: and the Lord, who always teaches his children to love the temple, will show them that he is not confined to it. Not that we are to expect his presence when we can repair to his sanctuary; but if we are his prisoners, he will not despise or forget us; but will render the house of mourning or the chamber of sickness “none other but the house of God and the gate of heaven.” — I know not whether your present duty deprives you of the whole, or a part only, of your sanctuary-privileges; but in either case, apply to yourself, my beloved friend, the remarks I have made; and be sure to apply them also to your precious sufierer under every secret, silent, sightless Sabbath she may be called to endure. I trust her confidence, and calmness, and comfort continue; and that as her day, so is her strength.
I did not, however, mean to preach, but only to call upon you in a letter for a few moments, and to exchange a few words; though I forget that you always in these written-visits leave all the talk to myself — but is this quite fair? “Bell’s Daily Advertizer” will doubtless inform you of all that may be called news. We all go on much the same; only by the goodness of God I feel much better, and seem to hope that I may become, not a young man again, but what I was before my several late indispositions; and should this be the case, I trust I shall improve the blessing, by doing more than I have done for some time past. O what a privilege is health and strength, when we not only enjoy but employ them!
My reading has been various since I have been here; my present engagement is with the life of “Billy Dawson,” the celebrated “Wesleyan preacher. It is not well written, but it contains interesting and profitable matter. He was truly a great man; not equal to our divine Bunyan, without learning, or at least without academical preparation for the ministry. * * *
I have just received a letter of three sheets from my spiritual daughter. Miss Harris, at Caen in France. Had I a private hand I would send it for your perusal; as it would afford you pleasure to see how much decision and yet gentleness and prudence she displays; and how useful, in a land of barrenness, she is likely to be. I wish you had known her when she was in Bath. Should she come there again, I must bring Aer, or fetch you; and you will soon be like two drops of water on a table when they touch and run into one.
I am, &c.
To Mr. Rice Hopkins.
Bath, Dec. 10, 1849. My dear Sir, — I duly received your kind letter, and also the pamphlet. In addition to all your former kindnesses, I am much obliged by your remembering my wish, and taking pains to gratify it. If the publishers (Jackson and Walford) would have no objection to inform you of the author, I should be glad to be informed. But whoever was the writer, the work is masterly, and cannot be easily answered. It falls in with my views, which have never altered upon that subject.*
I am glad you are in prospect of settlement with a pastor, and pray for a blessing upon the approaching union; but I must dfecline your application, for my attending at the re-opening of your chapel. I do not like to refuse in any thing such peculiarly kind friends as Mr. and Mrs. Hopkins, — but Mr. and Mrs. Ashton will be here at the time, and, &c., &c.
My dear Mrs. Jay is sitting by, and begs to join in every thing that is kind and loving to Mrs. Hopkins and yourself, with.
My dear Sir, yours most truly,
To the same.
Bath, Jan. 7, 1850. My dear Sir, — I believe I thanked you for the discovery and present of the letters I so much wished to see, and I ought to have thanked you last week for tracing out the clever author. The work is well written, and the point well argued. Some things perhaps may be added, and would require to be so, as the subject has excited so much attention since the publication. The works, however, I have not read; but when in Cambridge I met with Professor Lee, who is very strong on Mr. Swaine’s side, and has lately published a work on prophecy, in which there is much which I should like
* The work here honoured by the notice and commendation of Mr. Jay, is entitled, ‘* Objections to the Doctrine of Israel’s Future Restoration to Palestine, National Pre-eminence, &c. In Twelve Letters to a Friend, with an Appendix. 1828.” Mr. Jay’s strong language, used so late as the year 1849, informs us of his matured opinion upon a subject which has long divided the judgment of the Christian Church, and upon which it will probably remain divided so long as the two opposite modes of interpreting prophecy are followed — the figurative and the literal; or till the decisions of history shall supersede the comments of opinion. Mr. Swaine’s Work has received the commendation of many other eminent divines besides Mr. Jay.
him to see. So also is there, I am told, in Professor Stuart’s work on the Revelation. I should he glad to see a new edition of the Letters, and would do what I could orally to notice and recommend them in private and public: but some rules which I have laid down, and some fears of being at my time of life drawn into controversial publicity, forbid my writing a Preface. Give my best respects to Mr. Swaine though personally unknown, and hope he will accept not my excuse but reason.
The Ashtons are now with us, and with Mrs. Jay join in best regards to Mrs. Hopkins and her husband, with, my dear Sir,
Yours truly, &c.
To Lady Dude.
Bath, Dec. 29th, 1846.
My dear Lady Ducie, — I thought I heard a jingle, and examined the floor, but, finding nothing, I concluded it was a lapsus auris. But does such honesty grow everywhere? Certainly wherever it is found it ought to be rewarded. But to whom- am I indebted? As Lady Mary Wortley Montague says — “In all my travels I never met with but two kinds of people — men and women,” so the finder must be, I presume, male or female; and as your ladyship can decide this, will you present to him or her the little publication I have enclosed — “Clarke’s Memoirs.” I would have inscribed it, but, again, I know not the name. Should I have the pleasure of a future visit to Tortworth, and the servant be still with you, I will then do it.
Along with the “Short Discourses for the Use of Families,” which I begged your ladyship to accept, I have put into the parcel the “Charge to a Minister’s Wife,” and the sermon to a bad husband, not for you to keep, but just if you like to throw your eye over them, and then dispose of them where you think they are most called for.
By the way, when I spoke to your ladyship of my having delivered and written out a course of lectures on Scripture Female Biography, and that my plan would be completed by four lectures more — two on Hannah, and two on the Mother of our Lord — I intended to ask whether (if I should have health and leisure to finish the series) your ladyship would allow me the honour and favour of dedicating them to yourself? Should you be disposed to yield this request, your ladyship may be assured I would not ofiend by dedicatory fulsomeness. “I know not (with Elihu) to give flattering titles to any; for in so doing my Maker would take me away:” yet
I wish to bear my witness to goodness and excellence, and to remember the words of Solomon — “a gracious woman retaineth honour.”
I was sorry I was too tired to give you words of exposition, and to leave your kind roof without a devotional and social benediction; but I did not forget the family in my chamber; and if my prayer be heard. Lord Ducie’s health will be restored and established and perpetuated; and he will be a growing and public blessing in his day and generation; and will much and long walk together with his estimable companion, both “as heirs of the grace of life;” and see their fine and lovely children “as plants growing up in their youth, and as corner stones polished after the similitude of a palace.” Amen and amen.
My best respects await Lord Ducie (not forgetting Mr. Watts, if yet with you).
I am, my dear Lady Ducie,
Yours to esteem and serve, &c.
I got “home safe a quarter after 10. My wife (one of the best women God ever made) begs her most esteemful regards.
To Lady Ducie.
Bath, Feb. 3rd, 1847.
My dear Lady Ducie, — I ought to have written earlier to thank you for your very kind present, every article of which proved very good j and as, being a teetotaller, I could not drink your ladyship’s health (unless in an element which all do not value as I do, and as Samson did) I ate it, heartily wishing your ladyship much of that blessing (and the Earl too) which is the salt that seasons, and the honey that sweetens every temporal comfort; praying also in a better exercise, that bodily health may be accompanied with every kind of spiritual welfare. This sentence would be almost long enough for Dr. Chalmers.
“By love serve one another.” What a beautiful little text is this! the practice of which would turn this vale of tears into a paradise j and as your ladyship, I know, does not consider it an interpolation or wrongly translated, I venture to give you a little trouble. The Dean and Mrs. Lamb would be much obliged, if your ladyship could say” whether you could recommend a governess who once lived with you of the name of
: as to her character, accomplishments, piety, and good temper.”
The wish has been transmitted through my daughter, Mrs. Ashton, from Cambridge, where the Dean now is. A line to her, or him, or myself will suffice.
Is the Mr. Wyat, near Stroud, mentioned in the papers as dead, the verypleasant and amiable gentleman I met at your house so recently? I presume it is; and, if so, the circumstance is affecting. Ah! if we had all foreknown it then, would not our intercourse and conversation (I am blaming nothing) have been more specifically religious, and bearing upon his (and indeed our own) spiritual welfare? Should we not meet and part moretis mortals and immortals; and would this injure the allowed sociabilities of life?
What awful accounts still from Ireland and Scotland! I pleaded for them successfully on Sunday. My text was, “A cloak of covetousness:” and I, First, described the evil — covetousness. Secondly, proved that its folly, baseness, and sin, by common feeling, needed a covering. Thirdly, I showed some of the cloaks it was accustomed to wear. Here I led them into the devil’s wardrobe, where they would see a fine assortment of articles to suit any purchaser — cloaks of every colour and shape, and size and price. Here a scarlet one, fringed with fur; there a velvet one, lined with silk; here a shorter, and there one reaching quite to the ground; there new ones, and here some only a little injured by wear; some a little soiled and mended, but then cheaper. That was introduced by Lady — — ; and this is now
much admired by, &c. I then passed from irony (justified by the
sacred writers) to seriousness, and from figure to fact, and exposed four of these excuses and disguises, which I have not time on paper to do justice to. Fourthly, I inquired how far these cloaks would conceal the things? and answered, 1st. They cannot always conceal it from the wearer himself. 2ndly. They cannot commonly conceal it from others. 3rdly. They can never conceal it from God. I then concluded — 1st. By calling upon them to take heed and beware of covetousness. 2ndly. Admonishing them to seek the true riches, in which there could be no excess in their desires, or failure in their hopes, &c.
As I am not sure whether you are in the country or town, I direct this to Tortworth House, supposing, if I am mistaken, it will be immediately forwarded on. I trust Lord Ducie is quite convalescent. Please to present to him my best regards. Earl Gainsborough and the Countess are here. He has had a severe attack since they came. God bless you, my dear lady.
And believe me, &c.
The Jay’s love
To the Dove.
To Lady Ducie.
Bath, Jan. 8, 1848.
My dear Lady Ducie, — We duly received your very kind present of game, and return many and very sincere thanks. They would have been transmitted earlier, hut I only returned this evening after a week’s ahsence from home, and during which I have had an attack of the very common complaint. It has riot indeed been severe, but sufficient to lay me by for some days, and to qualify me to sympathize with much greater sufferers. As ministers we frequently escape what others endure, not because we do not deserve or need personally the same trials with others, but because of the duties we owe to others; for if physicians were to experience all the ailments of their patients, they could have neither time nor strength to practise; and, as our exemptions are often relative to others, so also are our inflictions. Ezekiel heard the knell — “Son of man, behold, I take away the desire of thine eyes with a stroke;” not because of any offence of his, for which God would chastise him, but that he might be “a sign unto the people.” It is the doctrine of Paul, 2 Cor. i. 6. Indeed this will, in some measure, apply to Christians as well as ministers: we are all parts of some little whole, more or less affected and influenced by us. “None of us liveth to himself, and no man dieth to himself.”
For some good while back I could not make out where your ladyship and the Earl were. Some said you were at home — some at Malta — some in Syria. But, though I knew not how to follow you locally in my prayers, I could address One who saw where you were, and could afford you whatever blessing you needed from Him as the God of providence and of grace. If the excursion has been in search of health, (the salt that seasons and the honey that sweetens every temporal blessing,) I trust it has not been sought in vain, and that the Earl has returned with renewed strength, and growing disposition to walk before the Lord in the land of the living.”
Neither do I now know whether the family is in the country or in town; but I venture the present direction, knowing this thanksgiving will surely reach persons so well known, wherever they are.
It is rather late to send the congratulations of the season. But another year is gone, and by far the most important we ever passed through, because it is the nearest to our “long home,” and the bar of God; and we have entered on a new period of our time, not knowing what a day may bring forth; but, as Cowper sings, if we give up ourselves to him,
It can bring nothing with it,
But he will bear us through.”
My text last Sunday morning, in reference to the season, was, “These days should be remembered.” What days? Days of unregeneracy — days of conversion — days of persecutions — days of bereavement — days of providential interposition- — days of particular speciality, viz., birth-days — nuptial days — new-years’ days.
I beg my best regards to Earl Ducie with my prayers for his entire welfare. I presume he approves of the Bill for the Removal of the Jewish Civil Disabilities; and condemns the conduct of those who have opposed Lord John in one of his noblest actions. Many are not aware as yet how much the spirit of popery has prevailed of late years in the Church of England, (for we have nothing of it among all other parties). May it be detected and thoroughly encountered before it be too late.
Mrs. Jay begs to join in best thanks and regards with.
My dear Lady Ducie, yours, &c.
To Lord Ducie.
My dear Lord Ducie, — Yesterday Mr. Bidwell called upon me. The interview was very agreeable in itself, but particularly so as I learned from it that Lady Ducie was well, and your lordship so much improved in health, and, as usual, active in doing good. And how much obliged am I to your lordship for the beautiful present, and for such a kind proof of remembrance, and that out of sight is not always out of mind! I hope I can also say that I sometimes thought of your lordship in your absence and distance, and — where I think your lordship would most value my remembrance — at the throne of grace. I had but just begun this letter before the hare and the birds came, requiring another qualified acknowledgment.
Another year is rapidly closing; and what an eventful year has it been! Among its most remarkable (and I am persuaded influential,) events in our own country, has been Mr. Noel’s secession and his Essay on the Union of Church and State. The book, in many respects, is one of the most extraordinary I ever read. It is written with great ability, and with much Christian spirit. It must make a great impression in favour of our free churches. Will it lead to any improvements in the Establishment? yet, if something be not done there, I think that church is in danger.
I am sorry that, by several little indispositions, and also by engagements and interruptions, my visit into Gloucestershire has been prevented; and for some time longer now it must be postponed, as my daughter and her husband from Cambridge are soon coming to see us.
Soon after this reaches Tortworth we shall enter on a new period of time, not knowing what a day may bring forth; but under the care of Him who sees the end from the beginning, and has said, “I will never leave thee nor forsake thee.” Allow me to send (in which Mrs. Jay joins me) the congratulations of the season to Lady Ducie and your lordship, with our prayers that all grace may abound towards the whole family.
I am, &c.
To Lady Ducie.
Bath, October 23, 1849. My dear Lady Ducie, — You will think it strange and probably blame-worthy that I have not answered your letter earlier; but I was from home when it arrived, and I have been variously absent nearly ever since, — not for my pleasure, but on my great and good Master’s business, doing a little, and wishing to do more; but I find the old man rapidly coming on, and the infirmities of eighty keeping me from doing the things that I would. One of my excursions was to Kingswood, occasioned by the death of my old friend Mrs. Long. I much wished to have gone over to Tortworth; but I was hurried for time, and the weather was wet, and I heard that the Earl was suffering confinement. I long to hear that his lordship is released, and able as he is willing to be well-doing. I was thankful to be informed of your ladyship’s fresh deliverance; and pray that the life spared and the life given may be precious in the Lord’s sight, and sacred to his service and praise. “Lo, children,” says David, “are an heritage of the Lord;” and some have a much larger portion than others. But, says Henry, “Children are certain cares, and uncertain comforts, and possible crosses.” In these matters, however, we are not left to our own choice; but are under the management of Him “who performeth all things for us,” and “doeth all things well.” But there is a part belonging to us, and if we discharge it in dependence upon Him, we are entitled to expect the exemplification of the proverb, if not the promise, — “Train up a child in the way that he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it.”
At Budleigh Salterton, where I spent a month, I met with good Dr.
, of America, who spoke with pleasure of his visits to Tortworth. I
heard him preach [i. e. read) several times, and was pleased; but when I hear I love to be retit or melted. I do not like for a preacher’s mouth to be lined with velvet. When will ministers remember what the mass of every congregation consists of, and learn to preach ad populum f By whom was He heard “gladly” who spake as never man spake? The words of the wise are as goads and as nails, they pierce and remain. What are fine smooth periods that slip off from the conscience like water from a duck’s back? What evaporates in the mere article of hearing can do little good; but that which is carried away to be again and again thought of alone, and talked of in company. “Let the word of Christ dwell in you.”
Mrs. Jay and myself are tolerably well. I wish we could see you in Bath. With best regards to Earl Ducie. Believe me, &c.
To Lady Ducie.
Bath, December, 1851.
Dear Lady Ducie, — How kind and good you were to think of us, and furnish our table with such fine game; the last of which we have only recently dispatched, and during our partaking of which I mor» than once drank your ladyship’s health in a bumper of the purest water the neighbourhood affords. By the way, the American ambassador (Mr. Stephenson) told me that when he dined with the Queen, he made her smile by drinking her Majesty’s health, as a Teetotaller, in the same beverage.
I ought to have written earlier, — but this morning, I said, with a blush, “I will write to Tortworth.” No sooner said than done, or at least begun. But now, whether I shall finish as I wish, depends much upon “Satan,” who often interrupts and hinders, by favouring me with calls of indefinite length from persons senseless of the value of time, and who, having nothing to do, discharge some of their idleness and curiosity under a cover of business.
But now, after our acknowledgment and thanksgiving, what can I write about? There is, indeed, one subject of supreme importance which is always at hand, and on which we should be always ready in our thoughts and communications. It is the Name above every Name. But with this your ladyship is graciously acquainted, though in a rank of life in which He is so little known and honoured; — otherwise how could I speak of Him both from office and experience as “fairer than the children of m.en;” — as “altogether lovely;” as having “given himself for us an offering and a sacrifice to God for a sweet smelling savour;” — as remembering us now he is come into his kingdom; — as “ever living to make intercession for us;” — as “the Lord our righteousness and strength; all our salvation and all our desire, our glory and our joy.”
Such Jesus is, and such his grace;
0 may He shine on you;
And tell Him when you see his face
1 long to see him too.”
I was delighted to see Lord Ducie’s letter to the chairman of the Protestant Alliance. It did him much honour, both as showing his aversion to the “mother of harlots and abomination of the earth;” and also nobleness of mind in being willing publicly to retract an opinion. A very learned man has said, — “The three hardest words to pronounce in the English language are, * I was mistaken;’” and when Frederick the Great wrote his letter to the Senate, — “I have just lost a great battle, and it was entirely my own fault,” — Goldsmith says, — “This confession displayed more greatness than all his victories.”
I should much like to hear his lordship’s opinipn with regard to the New Revolution in France. He must, I think, dislike the character of the usurper; though, perhaps, one tyrant is better than twenty agreed in nothing but mutual opposition for selfish ends. If he succeeds, as is most probable, the eflfect I fear will be favourable to Popery: yet, if he allies himself to a cause doomed to perish, he will place himself in the way of God’s judgments, and be easily brought down. Our comfort is, that “the Lord God omnipotent reigneth;” — and that “he will overturn, overturn, overturn, until he comes whose right it is, and it shall be given him.”
You were, my dear lady, misinformed as to my objection to the Liturgy. I even like much to hear it occasionally, though I certainly should like it better were it curtailed, and stripped of its repetitions. That I am not an enemy to all forms of devotion is obvious from my volume of Prayers for the Use of Families; and for the publication of which I have great reason to bless God. Nor, though a firm Dissenter, am I unfriendly to the Established Church. My connexions have been very much among its members and ministers, as you will see from my Reminiscences which will be published at my death. But I do hate all exclusiveness; and I lament that a church should be less tolerant and liberal now than when it first left Rome, and could be excused some mother-marks upon it. But then it did not unchurch other churches, nor invalidate other ordinations, but even allowed preferments to some who only had had on their heads, “the hands of the presbytery” But see the mess the good Archbishop of C gets himself
into I O that he had avowed and gloried in what he conceded to his deceiver! But instead of this candour, he applies what he said only to
M M these Foreigners; and not to any here, though standing on the very same terms. The fact is, the wretched notion of Apostolical Succession so far unites the Church of England to the Church of Rome, and dissociates it from all other churches, however orthodox or useful. Some must break through, and lead in a better way. I, therefore, rejoice, and thousands beside, that Lord Ducie and a few more are serving the Lord Christ in a mode which will please God, and draw down his blessing, whoever may censure or condemn. Bolton speaks of your visiting Bath. Is it so? I wish it may be — and that we may be favoured with a little of your company. Mrs. Jay unites in kind regards to yourself and Lord Ducie. — I am, &c.
To the same.
0 Lady Ducie, — You have made me break through a rule I have never violated yet, in communicating my text beforehand. From one of these five (D.V.) I hope to preach to-morrow morning: — “Take it by the tail.” — “It was always so,” — “Amen, the Lord God say so too.” — “In that day a man shall nourish a young cow and two sheep.” — “The people that know their God shall be strong and do exploits.” — I do not mention the chapters and verses, as this may employ Lady Alice to find out. I forgot to ask her to tell me at what time Joseph dined? [Genesis -slm. 16.) And why a covetous man was like a medlar?
1 feel very weak and poorly, and expect to feel difficulty to-morrow morning. I wonder which of the texts you will be led to wish for and choose. Well, all will be known in due time. I hope his lordship is still mending. We never forget him in our prayers. — What a scrawl to a lady of quality! Pray forgive, and believe me, &c.
To the same.
Bradford, June 10, 1853.
Dear Lady Ducie, —
‘* If thou shouldst stay e’en as thou art,
All cold and all serene,
I still might press thy silent heart,
And where thy smiles have been:
While e’en thy chill-loved corpse I have
Thou seemest still mine own; But there, — I lay thee in the grave — And now / am alone.’* Such was the language of Wolfe, who wrote the fine monody on the death of Sir John Moore. In more instances than one I have felt the truth and force of the tender and touching sentiment. While the remains of the dear departed are only in the coffin, and not in the grave — and we can yet go and look, and gaze, and weep, we seem to possess him still; but when we have laid him in the tomb, and return to the lonely house in which we have taken sweet counsel together, and walked to the house of God in company; ah, then we feel its emptiness, and know what real solitude is. I, therefore, would not write during the engagements and distraction of funeral preparations, but resolved to wait upon you with a few lines when you would be saying — “And now I am alone.”
And yet in another, and more important sense, your ladyship will not be alone, because the Father will be with you; for He has said, and the Scripture cannot be broken, “I will be with thee in trouble.” And surely you are now entitled to claim and plead that promise. But you must not expect it to be miraculously fulfilled, or in a way that will raise you above the sense of the greatness of your loss. There is no patience in bearing what we do net feel, or resignation in giving up what we do not value. But you may expect from it support under the affliction, however great; and that you shall be able to say, (or endeavour to say, — and the Lord looketh to the heart,) “It is the Lord, let him do what seemeth him good.” “The Lord gave and the Lord hath taken away, and blessed be the name of the Lord.” What a state was David in when he came to Ziklag! All was gone! and, hero as he was, he lifted up his voice and wept. “But David encouraged himself in the Lord his God.” He was left — and never left him; and after every distress enabled him to say, “Come unto me, all ye that fear God, and I will declare what he hath done for my soul.”
You also will prove a witness for God, and be able to acknowledge that it is good for you that you have been afflicted. Great as your trial is, remember, my dear Madam, how much greater it might have been. Only consider what the God of all grace has done for the deceased, whom we all loved, and all will miss. I confess the late development of experience did not surprise me. I entertained from the time I knew him a good hope through grace; and latterly I felt a deep and constant impression which ever excited my prayer on his behalf. — Well, his pains are now over; and the days of his mourning are ended: and though he was not permitted to enter his exquisite earthly mansion, he is now in “a house not made with hands,” but “eternal in the heavens.” Your loss, therefore, is his infinite gain; and under this loss may you know that God is the husband of the widow in his holy habitation and in her own, and also the Father of the fatherless! May the affliction be sanctified to them! and may they prove, that “it is good for a man to bear the yoke in his youth;” and from this time cry unto Him, “My Father, thou art the guide of my youth!”
M M 2
I hope that none of the religious resources of such a family will be dried up; or any of its useful institutions, and exertions, and influences cease, or be impaired.
Thus, while you have attended the entombment of the dear Earl, I have communed with you in spirit, in writing these few lines. Believe me, my dear Lady Ducie, &c.
Mrs. Jay joins in all this. I long to know Lord and Lady Moreton; and will not cease to pray for them.
My state is much the same as to health and strength as when I was at Stone. I am able to do but little; but the spirit is willing though the flesh is weak. “Let her alone, she hath done what she could.”
To Dr. Bowie.
Percy Place, January 24, 1853.
My dear Doctor, — Uncertain whether I should see you this afternoon, I write a few lines, and they must be few, as I find writing, like every other exertion, a trying task. You know not only my sense of obligation for all your kindness, but the confidence I have in your judgment, and what a submissive patient I have been. But I am now venturing a step of my own accord, and hope if you reprove you will strike gently. I have felt the last few days worse, i. e. lower in my strength, and more painful in my complaint. I am, therefore, going, if possible, to Bradford to-morrow morning, thinking whether the change may not probably affect me. My stay, I presume, will not be long; and if anything peculiar arise, I or Mrs. Jay can inform you.
But I forget not the nature and character of the ensuing Sabbath, when sixty4hree years ago I was ordained over the people of Argyle Chapel, after occasionally labouring among them full twelve months before. On the next Sabbath, this long, happy, and endeared connexion terminates; and pastor and people have to look backward and forward under awful responsibilities.
Should Mr. Dyer see fit to have any reference to the event, I wish him to inform the Church and Congregation how much I have all along hoped to have been able to address them on the occasion; but the Lord has prevented it, as I could not undertake any public service, much more a service which would rend me to pieces!
He may also assure them, that, though my pastoral relation ,has ceased, I shall be delighted if a degree of ability should enable me occasionally to address them again from my old chair and pulpit.
I am much concerned for their proper settlement, and pray that the Lord may direct them to the choice of a pastor after his own heart; and that peace and prosperity may ever be within their lovely borders. They may be assured that, in proportion as the people of his late and long charge are satisfied and edified, he will approve and rejoice, who, in finishing his ministry, can say —
“Ere srn.ce by faith I saw the stream
Thy dying wounds supply,
Redeeming love has been my theme,
And shall be till I die.”
I wish I could write more and better, but I am as weak as I am willing. Believe me, my dear and beloved physician.
Yours, &c.
ANECDOTE.
Conversion and subsequent History of Mrs. TJlph.
When I knew the subject of this brief notice first, she was bar-maid at the “White Hart Inn, Bath, then kept by Mr. and Mrs. Pickwick. My acquaintance with her commenced very incidentally. I was going to Chippenham. The London coach from Bath took me up at my own door. I found in it only one passenger. This was a young female, in whose countenance and manner of speech there was something very pleasing and interesting. I felt a wish to say something during our journey that might be useful, though she was an entire stranger; remembering the assertion and admonition of Solomon — “A word fitly spoken, how good is it! In the morning sow thy seed, and in the evening withhold not thy hand: for thou knowest not whether shall prosper, either this or that, or whether they both shall be alike good.” I had an opening for this without the impropriety of forcing religious reflection upon my fellow-traveller, as is often done, abruptly and ofiensively.
This arose from my mentioning the design of my journey, which was to preach a funeral sermon for a very good man, who had died in such a blessed manner as to exemplify the words of David — “Mark the perfect man, and behold the upright, for the end of that man is peace;” and which must have induced all who witnessed it, or heard of it, to exclaim — “Let me die the death of the righteous, and let my last end be like his.”
I noticed also something of the excellency of character with which such a decease well harmonized. I soon perceived that, instead of wishing this kind of discourse broken off, she encouraged its continuance. I therefore spoke on till I left the coach. I was glad to see she was going on alone, hoping solitariness would help impression, and that what had been spoken might be useful in days to come.
I was happy enough to learn afterwards that this was the case. In consequence of what she had heard, she was favourably disposed towards me; and finding that I was a minister, and preached in Bath, she resolved upon her return to go and hear me. She did so, and it was not in vain in the Lord. For one day, some months after, I received a note from Mrs. Pickwick, saying, that a young person whom she much valued was very ill, and was anxious to see me, and begging that I would visit her. I immediately went. As I approached what was supposed to be a dying bed, she wept much. When she had recovered herself, and I saw her face, “Why, surely,” said I, “I have seen you before.” “Sir,” said she, “blessed be God, you have;” and then called to my remembrance our transient intercourse when we travelled together to Chippenham at such a time, and the benefit, (she hoped she was not deceiving herself,) she had derived from it.
The difficulties and hinderances we meet with in the things of God arise not so much from the subject as from ourselves; and when the heart is once opened and humbled, and we are brought to the foot of the cross, and to the foot of the throne, we are soon led forward in the right road. I found, therefore, the mind of the sufierer much advanced for the time in spiritual knowledge and experience: and knowing what I now learnt, had she then died, I should have had the fullest satisfaction concerning her eternal state; but she soon surprisingly recovered, was finally restored, and continued attending at Argyle Chapel.
Her opportunities of attendance were soon enlarged, in consequence of her having made it a condition of her remaining in her place, and which was readily conceded from a regard to the value of her services, rather than from any wish to favour the object of her desires. O how much may those who are in official situations accomplish, by walking in wisdom towards those that are without! They may put to silence the ignorance of those who are ready to accuse them, remove their prejudices, and win them without the word. And who ever walked uprightly without walking surely? and when did God ever falsify his own word: “Them that honour me I will honour?”
Not long after these occurrences, a passenger through Bath stayed a few days at the White Hart Inn. He was a truly good man, possessed of landed property, and also carrying on a large business at St. Ives, near Cambridge. Being a Dissenter, and having heard of my name, he inquired of the bar-maid, on the Sunday morning, where Mr. Jay preached. She answered, — “I am just going to his chapel; and, if agreeable, I will show you the way.” He accepted the offer. After the service, meeting her in the house, he thanked her for directing him, and spoke concerning the sermon; and again and again he noticed her.
And now another leaf in her book of providence was to be turned over without any thought of hers. Though she was very modest and retiring, (and indeed very much because she was so,) she much impressed him. Owing to this impression, he prolonged his stay; and the impression continually increasing, he offered her his hand, and she, after reflection and proper inquiry, saw no reason to refuse it.
She now, of course, removed to his residence at St. Ives, where, for many years, she exemplified the excellencies of the wife, the mother, the mistress, the friend, and the neighbour — in the Christian. Her conversation was such as became the Gospel. She bore richly of the fruits of the Spirit, and adorned the doctrine of God her Saviour in all things. Having now the command of property, she added beneficence to benevolence; and, instead of only saying with many, “Depart in peace; be ye warmed and filled!” she gave them liberally such things as were needful; and, while not forgetful of the body, she showed herself still more concerned for the soul; and by her prayers, and influence, and example, the diligence and gentleness of her instructions and invitations, and the uniformity and loveliness of her character and conduct, she was always endeavouring to bring souls to the Saviour, and in some way or other to promote his cause.
Some years after her marriage, and at her earnest and repeated request, (her husband cordially joining in it,) I visited St. Ives. She was a good trumpeter, and had prepared the way for my coming. My preaching proved peculiarly acceptable, and I hope and believe good was done in various instances. To add to the effect of my public addresses, she pressed persons to come to her house to attend the domestic worship. But, as the number increased to the inconvenience and disordering of the family, and as the meeting-house was near, I proposed that, daring the rest of my visit, I should perform the service there every morning. This I did, beginning at seven, and continuing then, and in all my after visits, a little more than half-an-hour, adding to the psalm and prayer a short exposition of Scripture. Though the exercise was early, the attendance commonly filled the place; and surely God was in the midst of us of a truth. The services were informal and simple, and the spirit of devotion was certainly felt. With what pleasure does the writer call back those delightful engagements, in which many joined in saying, “Lord, it is good for us to be here.”
The pastor of the church at this time, instead of feeling jealousy or indifference, was himself most pleasingly excited, and did everything in his power to increase a brother’s acceptance and success. He was the excellent Mr. Crisp, who is now, and has been for many years, the president of the
Baptist College in Bristol; and his removal to that important station was one of the results of the writer’s intercourse with St. Ives. Nor can he forbear mentioning another event originating from it, viz., the marriage of his second daughter to W. Garfit Ashton, Esq., an event very interesting to his feelings, and which has furnished one of the greatest satisfactions of his life. — After a life, blameless, exemplary, and useful, in no common degree, this follower of the Lamb finished her course in peace, and fell asleep in Jesus; and is had in applauding remembrance of all that were about her.
A minister should feel peculiarly honoured and grateful when God gives him a convert that not only obtains good, but also perpetuates, multiplies, and diffuses it. “We believe that none of the subjects of divine grace are entirely barren and unfruitful in the knowledge of our Lord and Saviour: but some of the good ground brings forth, not only thirty but sixty, and even a hundredfold.
N.B. — I shall here mention a little incident which I met with before I left St. Ives. One day I saw on a small under-shelf in the pulpit a volume of hymns and spiritual songs; it consisted of three books: — 1st. On various subjects. 2ndly. Adapted to the Lord’s Supper. 3rdly. In peculiar measures. It was designed as a Supplement to Dr. Watts. I had never seen it nor heard of it before. I took it to the house of my friend; and after examining it, I borrowed it; and finding it was not used in the worship, nor found in the congregation, I begged it. The compositions themselves betrayed much spirituality and evangelism, and no little degree of poetical excellence. A few of them I have inserted in my own appendix to “Watts. As the book seems to be now unknown, and the author, one of the most extraordinary individuals that ever lived in our world, it may be interesting to mention a few facts concerning him. His name was Simon Brown, and he lies buried at Bridgewater. He first laboured in Portsmouth, and afterwards preached somewhere in London. For many years before his death he fell into the strange notion, that God had for his sins annihilated his rational soul, and had left him. only the soul of a brute. He never after this felt the least doubt to shake this conviction. Yet he wrote several works; one was a Defence of Christianity against the Deists; the dedication of which, as a most singular curiosity, is to be found, under his name, in the “Encyclopaedia Britannica.”
In some respects his case surpassed Cowper’s; yet, under all his delusion, there was nothing exceptionable in any of his productions; so that Mr. Toplady said of him, — instead of having no soul, he wrote, and reasoned, and prayed as if he had two.
REV. WILLIAM JAY,