Continuation of the Memoir, by Richard Cecil

Employnent at Liverpool. — Ministerial Labors at Olney sizteen years. — Acquaintance with J. Thornton, Esq. the poet Cowper and Dr. Scott. — Publications at Olney. — Removal to St. Mary Woolnoth, London, 1779. — Acquaintance with Dr. Buchanan. — Death of Mrs. Newton. — Fruitfulness in old age. — Death.

Mr. Manesty, who had long been a faithful and generous friend of Mr. Newton, procured him the place of tide-surveyor in the port of Liverpool. Mr. Néwton gives the following account of it: — “I entered upon business yesterday. I find my duty is to attend the tides one week, and visit the ships that arrive, and such as are in the river; and the other week to inspect the vessels in the docks; and thus alternately the year round. The latter is little more than a sinecure, but the former requires pretty constant attendance, both by day and night. I have a good office, with fire and candle, and fifty or sixty people under my direction; with a handsome six-oared boat and a cockswain to row me about in form.” Letters to a Wife, vol. 2. p. 7.

We cannot wonder that Mr. Newton latterly retained a strong impression of a particular providence superintending and conducting the steps of man, since he was so often reminded of it in his own history. The following occurrence is one of many instances: Mr. Newton, after his reformation, was remarkable for his punctuality; [ remember his often sitting with his watch in his hand, lest he should fail in keeping his next engagement. This exactness with respect to time, it seems, was his habit while occupying his post at Liverpool. One day, however, some business had so detained him that he came to his boat much later than usual, to the surprise of those who had observed his former punctuality. He went out in the boat as heretofore to inspect a ship, but the ship blew up just before he reached her; it appears, that if he had left the shore a few minutes sooner, he must have perished with the rest on board.

This anecdote I had from a clergyman, upon whose word I can depend, who had been long on intimate terms with Mr. Newton, and who had it from Mr. Newton himself; the reason of its not appearing in his letters from Liverpool to Mrs. Newton, I can only suppose to be, his fearing to alarm her with respect to the dangers of his station. But another providential occurrence, which he mentions in those letters, I shall transcribe.

“When I think of my settlement here, and the manner of it, I see the appointment of Providence so good and gracious, and such a plain answer to my poor prayers, that 1 cannot but wonder and adore. I think I have not yet told you, that my immediate predecessor in office, Mr. C — —, had not the least intention of resigning his place on the occasion of his father’s death; though such a report was spread about the town without his knowledge, or rather in defiance of all he could say to contradict it. Yet to this false report I owe my situation. For it put Mr. M upon an application to Mr. S — —, the member for the town; and the very day he received the promise in my favor, Mr. C was found dead in his bed, though he had been in company, and in perfect health the night before. If I mistake not, the same messenger who brought the promise carried back the news of the vacancy to Mr. S, at Chester. About an hour after, the mayor applied for a nephew of his; but, though it was only an hour or two, he was too late. Mr. S had already written, and sent off the letter, and I was appointed accordingly. These circumstances appear to me extraordinary, though of a piece with many other parts of my singular history. And the more so, as by another mistake I missed the land-waiter’s place, which was my

first object, and which I now see would not have *

suited us nearly so well. I thank God I can now look through instruments and second causes, and

2xntiuets a see his wisdom and goodness immediately concerned in fixing my lot.”

Mr. Newton having expressed, near the end of his narrative, the motives which induced him to aim at a regular appointment to the ministry in the Church of England, and the refusal he met with in his first making the attempt, the reader is farther informed that, on Dec. 16, 1758, Mr. Newton received a title to a curacy from the Rev. Mr. C, and applied to the Archbishop of York, Dr. Gilbert, for ordination. The Bishop of Chester having countersigned his testimonials, directed him to Dr. Newton, the archbishop’s chaplain. He was referred to the secretary, and received the softest refusal imaginable. The secretary informed him that he had ‘‘ represented the matter to the archbishop, but his Grace was inflexible in supporting the rules and canons of the Church,” &¢

Travelling to Loughborough, Mr. Newton stopped at Welwyn, and sending a note to the celebrated Dr. Young, he received for answer, that the doctor would be glad to see him. He found the doctor’s conversation agreeable, and to answer his expectation respecting the author of the Night Thoughts. The doctor likewise seemed pleased with Mr. Newton. He approved Mr. Newton’s design of entering the ministry, and said many encouraging things upon the subject; and when he dismissed Mr. Newton, desired him never to pass near Welwyn without calling upon him. Mr. Newton, it seems, had made some small attempts at Liverpool, in a way of preaching or expounding. Many wished him to engage more at large in those ministerial employments, to which his own mind was inclined; and he thus expresses his motives in a letter to Mrs. Newton, in answer to the objections she had formed. “The death of the late Rev. Mr. Jones, of St. Savior’s, has pressed this concern more closely upon my mind. I fear it must be wrong, after having so solemnly devoted myself to the Lord for his service, to wear away my time, and bury my talents in silence, (because I have been refused orders in the Established Church,) after all the great things he has done for me.” * In a note annexed, he observes, that “the influence of his jodictias and affectionate counsellor moderated the zeal which dictated this letter, written in the year 1762; that had it not been for her, he should probably have been precluded from those important scenes of service to which he was afterward appointed:” but, he adds, ‘’The exercises of my mind upon this point, I believe, have not been peculiar to myself. I have known several persons, sensible, pious, of competent abi-ities, and cordially attached to the established church; who, being wearied out with repeated refusals of ordination, and, perhaps, not

having the advantage of such an adviser as I had, have at length struck into the itinerant path, or settled among the dissenters. Some of these, yet living, are men of respectable characters, and useful in their ministry.”

In the year 1764 Mr. Newton had the curacy of Olney proposed to him, and was recommended by Lord Dartmouth to Dr. Green, bishop of Lincoln; of whose candor and tenderness he speaks with much respect. The bishop admitted him as a candidate for orders. ‘‘ The examination,” says he, “lasted about an hour, chiefly upon the principal heads of divinity. As I resolved not to be charged hereafter with dissimulation, I was constrained to differ from his lordship in some points; but he was not offended: he declared himself satisfied, and has promised to ordain me either next Sunday, in town, or-the Sunday following, at Buckden. Let us praise the Lord.”

Mr. Newton was ordained deacon at Buckden, April 29, 1764, and priest in June, the following year. In the parish of Olney he found many who not only had evangelical views of the truth, but had long walked in the light and experience of it. The vicarage was in the gift of the Earl of Dartmouth, the nobleman to whom Mr. Newton addressed the first twenty-six letters in his Car diphonia, The earl was a man of real piety and most amiable disposition; he had formerly apee en hee

—>. a pointed the Rev. Moses Brown, vicar of Olney. Mr. Brown was an evangelical minister, and a good man; he had afforded wholesome instruction to the parishioners of Olney, and had been the instrument of a sound conversion in many of them. He was the author of a poem, entitled Sunday Thoughts; a translation of Professor Zimmermann’s Excellency of the Knowledge of Jesus Christ, &c.

But Mr. Brown had a numerous family, and met with considerable trials in it; he too much resembled Eli in his indulgence of his children. He was also under the pressure of pecuniary difficulties, and had therefore accepted the chaplaincy of Morden College, Blackheath, while vicar of Olney. Mr. Newton, in these circumstances, undertook the curacy of Olney, in which he continued nearly sixteen years, previous to his removal to St. Mary Woolnoth, to which he was afterward presented by the late John Thornton, Esq.

Mr. Newton was under the greatest obligations to Mr. Thornton’s friendship while at Olney, and was enabled to extend his own usefulness by the bounty of that extraordinary man.

It is said of Solomon, that the Lord gave him largeness of heart, even as the sand on the sea shore: such a peculiar disposition for whatever was good or benevolent was also bestowed on

Mr. Thornton. He differed as much from rich men of ordinary bounty, as they do from others who are parsimonious. Nor was this bounty the result of occasional impulse, like a summer shower, violent and short: on the contrary, it proceeded like a river, pouring its waters through various countries, copious and inexhaustible. Nor could those obstructions of imposture and ingratitude, which have often been advanced as the cause of damming up other streams, prevent or retard the course of this. The generosity of Mr. Thornton, indeed, frequently met with such hinderances, and led him to increasing discrimination; but the stream of his bounty never ceased to hold its course. Deep, silent and overwhelming, it still rolled on, nor ended even with his life. But the fountain from whence this beneficence flowed, and by which its permanency and direction were maintained, must not be concealed. Mr. Thornton was a christian. Let no one, however, so mistake me here, as to suppose that I mean nothing more by the term Cnristran, than the state of one, who convinced of the truth of Revelation, gives assent to its doctrines — regularly attends its ordinances — and maintains, externally, a moral and religious deportment. Such a one may have a name to live while he is dead: he may have a-form of godliness without the power of it — he may even be found denying and ridi-Newton. 10 a — ee culing that power — till, at length, he ean only be convinced of. his error at an infallible tribunal; where a widow, who gives but a mite, or a publican, who smites on his breast, shall be preferred before him.

Mr. Thornton was a christian indeed; that is, he was alive to God by a spiritual regeneration. With this God he was daily and earnestly transacting that infinitely momentous affair, the salvation of his own soul; and, next to that, the salvation of the souls of others. Temperate in all things, though mean in nothing, he made provision for doing good with his opulence: and seemed to be most in his element when appropriating a considerable part of his large income to the necessities of others. Z

But Mr. Thornton possessed that discrimination in his attempts to serve his fellow-creatures, which distinguishes an enlightened mind. He habitually contemplated man, as one who has not only a body, subject to want, affliction and death; but a spirit also, which is immortal, and must be happy or miserable for ever. He felt, therefore, that the noblest exertions of charity are those which are directed to the relief of the noblest part of our frame. Accordingly he left no mode of exertion untried to relieve man under his natural ignorance and depravity. To this end, he purchased advowsons and presentations, with a view to place in parishes the most enlightened, active and useful ministers. He employed the extensive commerce in which he was engaged, as a powerful imstrument for conveying immense quantities of Bibles, prayer-books, and other most useful publications, to every place visited by our trade. He printed at his own sole expense, large editions of the latter for that purpose; and it may safely be affirmed, that there is scarcely a part of the known world, where such books could be introduced, which did not feel the salutary influence of this smgle individual. Nor was Mr. Thornton limited in his views of promoting the interests of real religion, with what sect soever it was connected. He stood ready to assist a beneficial design in every party, but would be the creature of none. General good was his object: and, wherever or however it made its way, his maxim seemed constantly to be, Valeat quantum valere potest.*

But the nature and extent of his liberality will be greatly misconceived, if any one should suppose it confined to moral and religious objects, though here were the grandest and most comprehensive exertions of it. Mr. Thornton was a philanthropist on the largest scale — the friend of man, under all his wants. His manner of relieving his fellow-men was princely. Instances might

* Be it as useful as possible.

be mentioned of it, were it proper to particularize, which would surprise those who did not know Mr. Thornton. They were so much out of ordinary course and expectation, that I know some, who felt it their duty to inquire of him, whether the sum they had received was sent by his intention or by mistake. To this may be added, that the manner of presenting his gifts was as delicate and concealed as the measure was large.

Besides this constant course of private donations, there was scarcely a public charity, or occasion of relief to the ignorant or necessitous,

which did not meet with his distinguished sup-

port. His only question was, ‘‘ May the miseries of man in any measure be removed or alleviated 2” Nor was he merely distinguished by stretching out a liberal hand: his benevolent heart was so intent on doing good, that he was ever inventing and promoting plans for its diffusion at home or abroad.,

He who wisely desires any end, will as wisely regard the means. In this, Mr. Thornton was perfectly consistent. In order to execute his beneficent designs, he observed frugality and exactness in his personal expenses. By such prospective methods he was able to extend the influence of his fortune far beyond those who, in still more elevated stations, are slaves to expensive habits. Such men meanly pace in the trammels

Ne AN UN Se roof the tyrant custom, till it leaves them scarcely enough to preserve their conscience, or even their credit; much less to employ their talents in Mr. Thornton’s nobler pursuits. He, however, could afford to be generous, and while he was generous, did not forget his duty in being just. He made ample provision for his children: and though, while they are living, it would be indelicate to say more, I am sure of speaking truth, when I say they are so far from thinking themselves impoverished by the bounty of their father, that they contemplate with the highest satisfaction the fruit of those benefits to society which he planted — which it may be trusted will extend with time itself — and which, after his example, they still labor to extend.

But, with all the piety and liberality of this honored character, no man had deeper views of his own unworthiness before his God. To the Redeemer’s work alone he looked for acceptance of his person and services: he felt that all he did, or could do, was infinitely short of that which had been done for him, and of the obligations that were thereby laid upon him. It was this abasedness of heart toward God, combined with the most singular largeness of heart toward his fellow-creatures, which distinguished Jon THorn-TON among men.

To this common patron of every useful and pious endeavor, Mr. Newton sent the ‘ Narrative”

inserted in the former part of these memoirs. Mr. Thornton replied in his usual manner, that is, by accompanying his letter with a valuable bank note; and, some months after he paid Mr. Newton a visit at Olney. A closer connection being now formed between friends who employed their distinct talents in promoting the same benevolent cause, Mr. Thornton left a sum of money with Mr. Newton to be appropriated to the defraying of his necessary expenses, and the relief of the poor. ‘‘ Be hospitable,” said Mr. Thornton, “and keep an open house for such as are worthy of entertainment. Help the poor and needy. I will statedly allow you 200J. a year, and readily send whatever you have occasion to draw for more.” Mr. Newton told me, that he thought he had received of Mr. Thornton upward of 30001. in this way during the time he resided at Olney.

The case of most ministers is peculiar, in this respect. Some among them may be looked up to, on account of their publicity and talents: they may have made great sacrifices of their personal interest, in order to enter on their ministry, and may be possessed of the warmest benevolence; but, from the narrowness of their pecuniary circumstances, and from the largeness of their families, they often perceive that an ordinary tradesman in their parishes can subscribe to a charitable or popular institution much more

& liberally than themselves. This would have been Mr. Newton’s case, but for the above-mentioned singular patronage. ~-

A minister, however, should not be so forgetful of his dispensation as to repine at his want of power in this respect. He might as justly estimate his deficiency by the strength of the lion, or the flight.of the eagle. The power communicated to him is of another kind: and power of every kind belongs to God, who gives gifts to every man severally as he will. The two mites of the widow were all the power of that kind which was communicated to her; and her bestowment of her two mites was better accepted than the large offerings of the rich man. The powers, therefore, of Mr. Thornton and of Mr. Newton, though of a different. order, were both consecrated to God: and each might have said, Of thine own have we given thee.

- Providence seems to have appointed Mr. Newton’s residence at Olney, among other reasons, for the relief of the depressed mind of the poet (Cower. There has gone forth an unfounded report, that the deplorable melancholy of Cowper was, in part, derived from his residence and connections in that place. The fact, however, is the reverse of this: and, as it may be of importance to the interests of true religion to prevent such a misrepresentation from taking root, I will present the real state of the case, as I have found it attested by the most respectable living witnesses; and, more especially, as confirmed by a MS. written by the poet himself, at the calmest period of his life, with the perusal of which I was favored by Mr. Newton.

It most evidently appears that symptoms of Mr. Cowper’s morbid state began to discover themselves in his earliest youth. He seems to have been at all times disordered, in a greater or less degree. He was sent to Westminster school at the age of nine years, and long endured the tyranny of an elder boy, of which he gives an affecting account in the paper above-mentioned; and which “prodused,” as one of his pecgeepacre observes, who ng intimacy with him, “an indelible effect upon his mind through life.” A person so naturally bashful and depressed as Cowper, must needs find the profession of a barrister a further occasion of anxiety. The post obtained for him by his friends in the house of lords overwhelmed him: and the remonstrances which those friends made against his relinquishing so honorable and lucrative an appointment, (but which soon after actually took place,) greatly mereased the anguish of a man already inca

d for business. To all this were addeé events, which, of themselves, have been found sufficient to overset the strongest minds: namely, the decease of his particular friend and intimate, Sir William Russel; and his meeting with a disappointment in obtaining a lady upon whom his affections were placed.

But the state of a person, torn and depressed (not by his religious connections, but) by adverse circumstances, and these meeting a naturally morbid sensibility, long before he knew Olney, or had formed any connection with its inhabitants, will best appear from some verses which he sent at this time to one of his female relations, and for the communication of which we are indebted to Mr. Hayley.

“Doom’d as I am, in solitude to waste

The present moments, and regret the past; Depriv’d of every joy I value t,

My friend torn from me, and my mistress lost: Call not this gloom I wear, this anxious mien, The dull effect of humor or of spleen!

Still, still I mourn with each returning day, Him — snatch’d by fate, in early youth, away; And her, through tedious years of doubt and pain Fix’d in her choice, and faithful — but in vain. See me — ere yet my destin’d course half done, Cast forth a wand’rer on a wild unknown!

See me, neglected on the world’s rude coast,

Each dear companion of my voyage lost!; Nor ask why clouds of sorrow shade my brow, — And ready tears wait only leave to flow; a, Why all that soothes a heart, from anguish free, All that delights the happy — palls with me”

’

Under such pressures, the melancholy and susceptible mind of Cowper received, from evangelical truth, the first consolation which it ever tasted. It was under the care of Dr. Cotton, of St. Albans, (a physician as capable of administering to the spiritual as to the natural maladies of his patients,) that Mr. Cowper first obtained a clear view of those sublime and animating doctrines which so distinguished and exalted his future strains as a poet. Here, also, he received that settled tranquillity and peace which he enjoyed for sath “TE afterwards. So far, therefore, was his constitutional malady from being produced or increased by his evangelical connections, either at St. Albans or at Olney, that he seems never to have had any settled peace but from the truths lie learned in these societies. It appears, that among them alone he found the only sunshine he ever enjoyed through the cloudy day of his afflicted life.

It appears, also, that, while at Dr. Cotton’s, Mr. Cowper’s distress was for a long time entirely removed, by marking that passage in Rom. 3, 25: Him hath God set forth to be a propitiation, through faith in his blood, to declare his righteousness for the remission of sins that are past. In this scripture he saw the remedy which God provides for the relief of a guilty conscience, with such clearness, that for several years after his heart was filled with love, and his life occupied with prayer, praise, and doing good to his needy fellow-creatures.

Mr. Newton told me, that, from Mr. Cowper’s first coming to Olney, it was observed he had studied his Bible with such advantage, and was so well acquainted with its design, that not only his troubles were removed, but that, to the end of his life, he never had clearer views of the peculiar doctrines of the Gospel, than when he first became an attendant upon them — that (short intervals excepted) Mr. Cowper enjoyed course of peace for several successive years — that, during this period, the inseparable attendants of a lively faith appeared, by Mr. Cowper’s exerting himself to the utmost of his power in every benevolent service he could render to his poor neighbors — and that Mr. Newton used to consider him as a sort of curate, from his constant attendance upon the sick and afflicted in that large and necessitous parish.

But the malady, which seemed to be subdued by the strong consolations of the Gospel, was still latent; and only required some occasion of irritation, to break out again, and overwhelm the patient. Any object of constant attention that shall occupy a mind previously disordered, whether fear, or love, or science, or religion, will not be so much the cause of the disease, as the accidental occasion of exciting it. Cowper’s letters will show us how much his mind was occupied at one time by the truths of the Bible, and at another time by the fictions of Homer: but his melancholy was originally a constitutional disease — a physical disorder, which, indeed, could be affected either by the Bible or by Homer, but was utterly distinct in its nature from the mere matter of either.

And, here, I cannot but mark this necessary dime having often been witness to cases where iets WE been assigned as the proper cause of insanity, when it has been only an accidental occasion, in the case of one already affected. Thus Cowrsr’s malady, like a strong current breaking down the banks which had hitherto sustained the pressure and obliquity of its course, prevailed against the supports he had pa and precipitated him again into his former di s.

I inquired of Mr. Newton as to the manner in which Mr. Cowper’s disorder returned, after an apparent recovery of nearly nine years’ continuance; and was informed that the first symptoms were discovered one morning in his conversation, soon after he had undertaken a new engagement in composition.

As a general and full account of this extraordinary genius is already before the public, such particulars would not have occupied so much room in these memoirs, but with a view of removing the false statements that have been made.

Of great importance also was the vicinity of Mr. Newton’s residence to that of the Rev. Tuomas Scort, then Curate of Ravenstone and Weston Underwood, and afterwards Rector of Aston Sandford; a man whose ministry and writings have since been so useful to mankind. This clergyman was nearly a Socinian: he was in the habit of ridiculing evangelical religion, and labored to bring over Mr. Newton to his own sentiments. Mr. Scott had married a lady from the family of a Mr. Wright, a gentleman in his parish, who had promised to provide for him. But Mr. Scott’s objections to subscription arose so high, that he informed his patron it would be in vain providing for him in the Church of nd; as he could not conscientiously accept a living on the condition of subscribing its Liturgy and Articles. “This,” said Mr. Newton, “‘ gave me hopes of Mr. Scott’s being sincere, however wrong in his principles.”

But the benefit which Mr. Scott derived from his neighbor will best appear in his own words

“IT was,” says he, “full of proud self-sufficiency, very positive, and very obstinate: and, being situated in the neighborhood of some of those whom the world calls Methodists, I joined in the prevailing sentiment; held them in sovereign contempt; spoke of them with derision; declaimed against them from the pulpit, as persons full of bigotry, enthusiasm and spiritual pride; laid heavy things to their charge; and endeavored to prove the doctrines which I supposed them to hold (for I had never read their books) to be dishonorable to God, and destruetive of morality. And though, in some companies, I chose to conceal part of my sentiments; and, in all, affected to speak as a friend to universal toleration; yet scarcely any person could be more proudly and violently prejudiced against both their persons and principles than I then was.

“In January, 1774, two of my parishioners, a man and his wife, lay at the point of death. I had heard of the circumstance; but, according to my general custom, not being sent for, I took no notice of it: till, one evening, the woman being now dead, and the man dying, I heard that my neighbor, Mr. Newton, had been several times to visit them. Immediately my conscience reproached me with being shamefully negligent, in sitting at home, within a few doors of dying persons, my general hearers, and never going to visit them. Directly it oceurred to me, that, whatever contempt I might have for Mr. Newton’s doctrines, I must acknowledge his practice to be more consistent with the ministerial character than my own. He must have more zeal and love for souls than I had, or he would not have walked so far to visit, and supply my lack of care to those who, as far as I was concerned, might have been left to perish in their sins. —

“This reflection affected me so much, that, without delay, and very earnestly, yea with tears, I besought the Lord to forgive my past neglect; and I resolved thenceforth to be more attentive to this duty: which resolution, though at first formed in ignorant dependance on my own strength, I have by divine grace been enabled hitherto to keep. I went immediately to visit the survivor; and the affecting sight of one person already dead, and another expiring in the same chamber, served more deeply to impress my serious convictions.

‘It was at this time that my correspondence with Mr. Newton commenced. At a visitation, May, 1775, we exchanged a few words on a controverted subject, in the room among the clergy, which I believe drew many eyes upon us. At that time he prudently declined the discourse; but, a day or two after, he sent me a short note, with a little book for my perusal. This was the very thing I wanted: and I gladly embraced the opportunity which, according to my wishes, seemed now to offer; God knoweth, with no in considerable expectations that my arguments would prove irresistibly convincing, and that I should have the honor of rescuing a well-meaning person from his enthusiastical delusions.

“I had, indeed, by this time conceived a very favorable opinion of him, and a sort of respect for him; being acquainted with the character he sustained even among some persons who expressed a disapprobation of his doctrines. They were forward to commend him as a benevolent, disinterested, inoffensive person, and a laborious minister. But, on the other hand, I looked upon his religious sentiments as rank fanaticism; and entertained a very contemptuous opinion of his abilities, natural and acquired. Once I had had the curiosity to hear him preach; and, not understanding his sermon, I made a very great jest of it, where I could do it without giving offence. I had also read one of his publications; but, for the same reason, I thought the greater part of it whimsical, paradoxical and unintelligible.

““Concealing, therefore, the true motives of my conduct under the offer of friendship and a professed desire to know the truth, (which, amidst all my self-sufficiency and prejudice, I trust the Lord had even then given me,) with the greatest affectation of candor, and of a mind open to conviction, wrote him a long letter; purposing to draw from him such an avowal and explanation of his sentiments as might introduce a controversial discussion of our religious differences.

“The event by no means answered my expectation. He returned a very friendly and Jong an-< swer to my letter; in which he carefully avoided the mention of those doctrines which he knew would offend me. He declared that he believed me to be one who feared God, and was under the teaching of his Holy Spirit; that he gladly accepted my offer of friendship, and was nowise inclined to dictate to me: but that, leaving me to the guidance of the Lord, he would be glad, as occasion served, from time to time, to bear testimony to the truths of the Gospel; and to communicate his sentiments to me on any subject, with all the confidence of friendship.

“In this manner our correspondence began: and it was continued, in the interchange of nine or ten letters, till December in the same year. Throughout I held my purpose, and he his. I made use of every endeavor to draw him into controversy, and filled my letters with definitions, inquiries, arguments, objections and consequences, requiring explicit answers. He, on the other hand, shunned every thing controversial as much as possible, and filled his letters with the most useful and least offensive instructions: except that, now and then, he dropped his hints concerning the necessity, the true nature, and

Newton. 11

4 the efficacy of faith, and the manner in which it was to be sought and obtamed; and concerning some other matters, suited, as he judged, to help me forward in my inquiry after truth. But they much offended my prejudices, afforded me matter of disputation, and at that time were of little use to me.

“When I had made this little progress in seeking the truth, my acquaintance with Mr. Newton was resumed. From the conclusion of our correspondence, in December, 1775, till April, 1777, it had been almost wholly dropped. To speak plainly, I did not care for his company: I did not mean to make any use of him as an instructor; and I was unwilling the world should think us in any way connected. But, under discouraging circumstances, I had occasion to call upon him; and his discourse so comforted and edified me, that my heart, being by his means relieved from its burden, became susceptible of affection for him. From that time I was inwardly pleased to have him for my friend; though not, as now, rejoiced to call him so. I had, however, even at that time, no thoughts of learning doctrinal truth from him, and was ashamed to be detected in his company, but 1 sometimes stole away to spend an hour with him. About the same period I once heard him preach, but still it was foolishness to me; his sermon being principally upon the believer’s expe.

ACQUAINTANCE WITH DR. scort. 163

rience, in some particulars, with which I was unacquainted. So that, though I loved and valued him, I considered him as a person misled by enthusiastical notions; and strenuously insisted that we should never think alike till we met in heaven.”’*:

Mr. Scott, after going on to particularize his progress in the discovery of truth, and the character of Mr. Newton, as its minister, afterward adds:

‘The pride of reasoning, and the conceit of superior discernment, had all along accompanied me: and, though somewhat broken, had yet considerable influence. Hitherto, therefore, I had not thought of hearing any person preach; because I did not think any one in the circle of my acquaintance capable of giving me such information as I wanted. But, being at length convinced that Mr. Newton had been right, and that I had been mistaken, in the several particulars in which we had differed, it occurred to me, that, having preached these doctrines so long, he must understand many things concerning them to which I was a stranger. Now, therefore, though not without much remaining prejudice, and not less in the character of a judge than of a scholar, I

* Scott’s Force of Truth.

condescended to be his hearer, and occasionally to attend his preaching, and that of some other ministers. I soon perceived the benefit; for, from time to time the secrets of my heart were discovered to me, far beyond what IJ had hitherto noticed; and I seldom returned from hearing a sermon, without having conceived a meaner opinion of myself — without having attained to a further acquaintance with my deficiencies, weakhesses, corruptions and wants — or without being supplied with fresh matter for prayer, and directed to greater watchfulness. I likewise learned the use of experience in preaching; and was convinced, that the readiest way to reach the hearts and consciences of others, was to speak from my own. In short, I gradually saw more and more my need of instruction, and was at length brought to consider myself as a very novice in religious matters. Thus I began experimentally to perceive our Lord’s meaning, when he says, Except ye receive the kingdom of heaven as a a child, ye shall in no wise enter therein.”

In the year 1776 Mr. Newton was afflicted with a tumor or wen, which had formed on his thigh; and, on account of its growing more large and troublesome, he resolved to undergo the experiment of extirpation. This obliged him to go to London for the operation, which was success-~

nian fully perfotmed, October 10, by the late Mr. Warner, of Guy’s hospital. I remember hearing him speak several years afterward of this trying occasion; but the trial did not seem to have affected him as a painful operation, so much as a critical’opportunity in which he might fail in demonstrating the patience of a christian under pain. “I felt,” said he, “that being enabled to bear a very sharp operation with tolerable calmness and confidence, was a greater favor granted to me than the deliverance from my malady.”*

While Mr. Newton thus continued faithfully discharging the duties of his station, and watching for the temporal and eternal welfare of his

* His reflections upon the occasion, in his diary, are as follow : — ‘ Thou didst support me, and make this operation very tolerable. The cure, by thy blessing, was happily expedited; so that on Sunday, the 27th, I was enabled to go to church and hear Mr. F — — , and the following Sunday to preach for him. The tenderness and attention of Dr. and Mrs. F — — , with whom we were, I cannot sufficiently describe: nor, indeed, the kindness of many other friends. To them I would be thankful, my Lord, but especially to thee; for what are creatures but instruments in thy hand, fulfilling thy pleasure? At home all was preserved quiet, and I met with no incident to distress or disturb me while absent. The last fortnight I preached often, and was hurried about in seeing my friends. But though I had little leisure or opportunity for retirement, and my heart, alas! as usual was sadly reluctant and dull in secret, yet, in pul lic thou wert pleased to favor me with liberty.”

flock, a dreadful fire broke out at Olnéy, October, 1777. Mr. Newton took an active part in comforting and relieving the sufferers; he collected upward of £200 for them; a considerable sum of money, when the poverty and late calamity of the place are considered. Such instances of benevolence toward the people, with the constant assistance he afforded the poor, by the help of Mr. Thornton, naturally led him to expect that he should have so much influence as to restrain gross licentiousness on particular occasions. But to use his own expression, he had “lived to bury the old crop, on which any dependance could be placed.” He preached a weekly lecture, which occurred that year on the 5th of November; and, as he feared that the usual way of celebrating it at Olney might endanger his hearers in their attendance at the church, he exerted himself to preserve some degree of quiet on that evening. Instead, however, of hearkening to his entreaties, the looser sort exceeded their former extravagance, drunkenness and rioting, and even obliged him to send out money, to preserve his house from violence. This happened but a year” before he finally left Olney. When he ‘elated this occurrence to me, he added that he believed he should never have left the place while he lived, had not so incorrigible a spirit prevailed in a parish he had long labored to reform.

‘i
l

ee

But I must remark here, that this is no solitary fact, nor at all unaccountable. The Gospel, we are informed, is not merely “a savor of life unto. life,” but also “of death unto death.” Those whom it does not soften it is often found to harden. Thus we find St. Paul “went into the synagogue and spake boldly for the space of three months, disputing and persuading the things concerning the kingdom of God. But when divers were hardened, and believed not, but spake evil of that way before the multitude, he departed from them.”

‘The strong man armed” seeks to keep his *“house and goods in peace,” and if a minister is disposed to let this sleep of death remain, that minister’s own house and goods may be permitted to remain in peace also. Such a minister may be esteemed by his parish asa good kind of man — quiet, inoffensive, candid, &c.; and if he discovers any zeal, it is directed to keep the parish in the state he found it; that is, in ignorance and unbelief, worldly-minded, and hard-hearted; the very state of peace in which the strong man

armed seeks to keep his palace or citadel, the

human’ heart. *

But if a minister, like the subject of these Memoirs, enters into the design of his commission — if he be alive to the interest of his own soul, and that of the souls committed to his charge; or, as the apostle-expresses it, ‘to save himself and those that hear him,” he may depend upon meeting, in his own experience, the truths of that declaration, ‘Yea, all that will live godly in Christ Jesus shall suffer persecution,” in one form of it or another. One of the most ‘melancholy sights we behold is when professed christians, through prejudice, join the world in throwing the stone. There is, however, such a determined enmity to godliness itself in the breast of a certain class of men existing in most parishes, that, whatever learning and good sense is found in their teacher — whatever consistency of character, or blameless deportment he exhibits; whatever benevolence or bounty (like that which Mr Newton exercised at Olney) may constantly appear in his character; such men remain irreconcilable. They will resist every attempt made to appease their enmity. God alone, who changed the hearts of Paul and Newton, can heal these bitter waters.

I recollect to have heard Mr. Newton say on such an occasion, “When God is about to perform any reat Mi fue generally permits some great opposition to it. Suppose Pharaoh had acquiesced in the departure of the children of Israel, or that they had met with no difficulties in the way, they would, indeed, have passed from

Egypt to Canaan with ease; but they, as well as the church in all future ages, would have been great losers. The wonder-working God would not have been seen in those extremities which - make his arm so visible. A smooth passage here would have made but a poor story.”

But under such disorders, Mr. Newton, in no one instance that I ever heard of, was tempted to depart from the line marked out by the precept

e@and example of his Master. He continued to “bless them that persecuted him,” knowing that “the servant of the Lord must not strive, but be gentle unto all men, apt to teach, patient.” To the last day he spent among them he went straight forward, ‘‘ in meekness instructing those that opposed, if God peradventure might give them repentance to the acknowledging the truth.”

But, before we take a final leave of Olney, the reader must be informed of another part of Mr. Newton’s labors. He had published a volume of sermons before he took orders, dated Liverpool, January 1, 1760. In 1762 he published his Omicron, to which his letters, signed Vigil, were afterward annexed. In 1764 appeared his narrative. In 1767 a volume of Sermons, preached at Olney. In 1769 his Review of Ecclesiastical History, and, in 1779, a volume of Hymns, of which some were composed by Mr. Cowper, and distinguished by the letter C prefixed to them. To these succeeded, in 1781, his valuable work, Cardiphonia

From Olney Mr. Newton was removed to the rectory of the united parishes of St. Mary Woolnoth and St. Mary Woolchurch Haw, Lombard-street, on the presentation of his friend, Mr. Thornton. i

Some difficulty arose on Mr. Newton’s being” presented, from Mr. Thornton’s right of presentation being claimed by a nobleman; the question was, therefore, at length brought before the,

house of lords, and determined in favor of Mr. Thornton. Mr. Newton preached his first sermon in these parishes, December 19, 1779, from Eph. 4: 15, ‘ Speaking the truth in love.” It contained an affectionate address to his parishioners, and was directly published for their use.

Here a new and very distinct scene of action and usefulness was set before him. Placed in the centre of London, in an opulent neighborhood, with connections daily increasing, he had now a course of service to pursue, in several respects different from his former at Olney. Being, however, well acquainted with the word of God and the heart of man, he proposed to himself no new weapons of warfare for pulling down the strongholds of sin and Satan around him. He perceived, indeed, most of his parishioners too intent upon their wealth and merchandise to pay much regard to their new minister; but, since they would not come to him, he was determined to go, as far as he could, to them; and, therefore, soon after his institution he sent a printed address to his parishioners: he afterward sent them another address, on the usual prejudices that are taken up against the Gospel. What effects these attempts had then upon them does not appear; certain it is, that these and other acts of his ministry will be recollected by them - when the objects of their present pursuits are forgotten or lamented.

I have heard Mr. Newton speak with great feeling on the circumstances of his last important station. ‘‘ That one,” said he, ‘of the most ignorant, the most miserable, and the most abandoned of slaves, should be plucked from his forlorn state of exile on the coast of Africa, and at length be appointed minister of the parish of the first magistrate of the first city in the world;

that he should there not only testify of such grace, but stand up as‘a singular instance and monument of it; that he should be enabled to record it in his history, preaching and writings, to the world at large — is a fact I can contemplate with admiration, but never sufficiently estimate.” This reflection, indeed, was so present to his mind on all occasions and in all places, that he seldom passed a single day any where but he was found referring to the strange event, in one way or other.

ae
a

When Mr. Newton came to London he resided for some time in Charles’ Square, Hoxton; afterward he removed to Coleman-street Buildings, where he continued till his death. Being of the most friendly and communicative disposition, his house was open to christians of all ranks and denominations. Here, like a father among his children, he used to entertain, encourage and instruct his friends, especially younger ministers, or candidates for the ministry. Here also the poor, the afflicted and the tempted, found an asylum and a sympathy which they could scarce. ly find, in an equal degree, any where besides.

His timely hints were often given with much point and profitable address to the numerous acquaintance who surrounded him in his public station. Some time after Mr. Newton had published his Omicron, and described the three stages of growth in religion, from the blade, the ear, and the full corn in the ear, distinguishing them by the letters A, B, and C, a conceited young minister wrote to Mr. Newton, telling him that he read his own character accurately drawn in that of C. Mr. Newton wrote in reply, that “in drawing the character of C, or full maturity, he had forgotten to add, till now, one prominent feature of C’s character, namely, that C never knew his own face.”

“It grieves me,” said Mr. Newton, “to see so

w, few of my wealthy parishioners come to church. I always consider the rich as under greater obligations to the preaching of the Gospel than the poor. For at church the rich must hear the whole truth as well as others. There they have no mode of escape. But let them once get home, you will be troubled to get at them; and, when you are admitted, you are so fettered with punctilio, so interrupted and damped with the frivolous conversation of their friends, that, as Archbishop Leighton says, ‘it is well if your visit does not prove a blank or a blot.’”

Mr. Newton used to improve every occurrence which he could with propriety bring into the pulpit. One night he found a bill put up at St. Mary Woolnoth’s, upon which he largely commented when he came to preach. The bill was to this effect: ‘A young man having come to the possession of a very considerable fortune, desires the prayers of the congregation that he may be preserved from the snares to which it exposes him.” ‘ Now, if the man,” said Mr. Newton, “had lost a fortune, the world would not have wondered to have seen him put up a bill, but this man has been better taught.”

Coming out of his church on a Wednesday, a lady stopped him on the steps, and said, ‘‘ The ticket, of which I held a quarter, is drawn a prize of ten thousand pounds. I know you will confe gratulate me upon the occasion.” ‘‘ Madam,” said he, ‘tas for a friend under temptation, I will endeavor to pray for you.”

Soon after he came to St. Mary’s,] remember to have heard him say, in a certain company, ‘Some have observed that I preach shorter sermons on a Sunday morning, and with more caution; but this 1 do upon principle. I suppose I may have two or three of my bankers present, and some others of my parish, who have hitherto been strangers to my views of truth. I endeavor to imitate the apostle. ‘I became,’ says he, ‘all things to all men;’ but observe the end, it was in order to ‘gain some.’ The fowler must go cautiously to meet shy birds, but he will not leave his powder and shot behind him. ‘I have fed you with milk,’ says the apostle; but there ‘are some that are not only for forcing strong meat, but bones too, down the throat of the child. We must have patience with a single step in the case of an infant; and there are one-step books and sermons, which are good in their place. Christ taught his disciples as they were able to bear; and it was upon the same principle that the apostle accommodated himself to prejudice. Now,” continued he, “what I wish to re mark on these considerations is, that this apostolical principle, steadily pursued, will render a minister apparently inconsistent; superficial hearers will think him a trimmer. On the other hand, a minister, destitute of the apostolical principle and intention, and directing his whole force to preserve the appearance of consistency, may thus seem to preserve it; but, let me tell you, here is only the form of faithfulness without the spirit.”

I could not help observing, one day, how much Mr. Newton was grieved with the mistake of a minister who appeared to pay too much attention to politics. ‘For my part,” said he, “I have no temptation to turn politician, and much less to inflame a party in these times. When a ship is leaky, and a mutinous spirit divides the company on board, a wise man would say, ‘My good friends, ea we are debating the water is gaining on us — we mags better leave the debate and go to the pumps.’ I endeavor,” continued he, ‘to turn my people’s eyes from instruments to God. I am continually attempting to show them how far they are from knowing either the matter of fact or the matter of right. I inculcate our great privileges in this country, and advise a discontented» man to take a lodging for a little while in Russia or Prussia.”

Though no great variety of anecdote is to be expected in a course so stationary as this part of Mr. Newton’s life and ministry — for sometimes the course of a single day might give the account of a whole year — yet that day was so benevolently spent, that he was found in it ‘not only rejoicing with those that rejoiced,” but literally ‘‘ weeping with those that wept.” The por- —

trait which Goldsmith drew from imagination Mr. Newton realized in fact, insomuch that had Mr. Newton sat for his picture to the poet, it could not have been more accurately delineated than by the following lines in his Deserted Village:

“Unskilful he to fawn, or seek for power, “By doctrines fashion’d to the varying hour; “Far other aims his heart had learn’d to prize, ‘* More bent to raise the wretched than to rise. “Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride,

And e’en his failings lean’d to virtue’s side;

But in his duty prompt at every call,

He watch’d and wept, he pray’d and felt, for all: “And asa bird each fond endearment tries “To tempt his new-fledged offspring to the skies ‘“He tried each art, reprov’d each dull delay, “Allur’d to brighter worlds, and led the way.”

[ remember to have heard him say, when speaking of his continual interruptions, “I see in this world two heaps of human happiness and misery; now if I can take but the smallest bit from one heap and add to the other, I carry a point. If, as I go home, a child has dropped a half-penny, and if, by giving it another, I can wipe away its tears, I feel I have done something. I should be glad

— — — — — — — o

indeed to do greater things, but I will not neglect this. When I hear a knock at my study door, I hear a message from God; it may be a lesson of instruction, perhaps a lesson of. patience; but since it is his message, it must be interesting.”

But it was not merely under his own roof that his benevolent aims were thus exerted; he was found ready to take an active part in relieving the miserable, directing the anxious, or recovering the wanderer, in whatever state or place he discovered such: of which take the following instance:

The late Dr. Buchanan was a youth of considerable talents, and had received a respectable education. I am not informed of his original destination in point of profession; but certain it is, that he left his parents in Scotland, with a design of viewing the world at large; and that, without those pecuniary resources which could render such an undertaking convenient, or even practicable. Yet, having the sanguine expectations of youth, together with its inexperience, he determinately pursued his plan. I have seen an account from his own hand, of the strange, but by no means dishonorable resources to which he was reduced in the pursuit of this scheme; nor can romance exceed the detail. To London, however, he came; and then he seemed to come

to himself. He had heard Mr. Newton’s character, Newton. I2 and ona Sunday evening he came to St. Mary Woolnoth, and stood in one of the aisles while Mr. Newton preached. In the course of that week he wrote to Mr. Newton some account of his adventures and state of mind. Such circumstances could be addressed to no man more properly. Mr. Newton’s favorite maxim was often in his mouth, more often in his actions, and always in his heart; a

Haud ignara mali, missris succurrere disco, “Not ignorant of suffering, I hasten to succor the wretched.”

Mr. Newton therefore gave notice from the pulpit on the following Sunday evening, that if the person was present who had sent him such a letter, he should be glad to speak with him.

r. Buehanan gladly accepted the invitation, and came to Mr. Newton’s house, where a friendship began which continued till Mr. Newton’s death. Mr. Newton not only afforded this youth the instruction which he at this period so deeply needed, but marking his fine abilities and correct inclination, he introduced him to Henry Thornton, Esq. who, inheriting his father’s unbounded liberality and determined adherence to the cause of real religion, readily patronized the stranger. Mr. Buchanan was, by the munificence of this gentleman, supported through a university education, and was afterward ordained to a curacy. It was,

—however, thought expedient that his talents should be employed in an important station abroad, which he readily undertook, and in which he maintained a very distinguished character.

It ought not to be concealed that Mr. Buchanan, after his advancement, not only returned his patron the whole expense of his university education, but also placed in his hands an equal sum for the education of some pious youth who might be deemed worthy of the same assistance as was once afforded to himself.

Mr. Newton used to spend a month or two, annually, at the house of some friend in the country; he always took an affectionate leave of his congregation before he departed, and spoke of his leaving town as quite uncertain of returning to it, considering the variety of incidents which might prevent that return. Nothing was more remarkable than his constant habit of regarding the hand of God in every event, however trivial it might appear to others. On every occasion — in the concerns of every hour — in matters public or private, like Enoch, he ‘t walked with God.” Take a single instance of his state of mind in this respect. In walking to his church he would say. ‘’’ The way of man is not in himself,’ nor can he conceive what belongs to a single step — when I go to St. Mary Woolnoth it seems the same whether I turn down Lothbury or go through the Old Jewry; but the going through one street and not another, may produce an effect of lasting consequences. A man cut ’ down my hammock in sport, but had he cut it down half an hour later, I had not been here, as the exchange of crew was then making. A man made a smoke on the sea-shore at the time a ship passed, which was thereby brought to, and afterward brought me to England.”

Mr. Newton experienced a severe stroke soon after he came to St. Mary’s, and while he resided in Charles Square, in the death of his niece, Miss Eliza Cunningham. He loved I er with the affection of a parent, and she was, i truly lovely. 4 He had brought her up, and had observed that, with the most amiable natural qualities, she possessed real piety. With every possible attention from Mr. and Mrs. Newton and their friends, they — yet saw her gradually sink into the arms of death; but she was, through grace, prepared to meet him as a messenger sent from her heavenly Father, to whom she departed, October 6th, 1785, aged fourteen years and eight months. On this occasion — Mr. Newton published a brief memoir of her character and death.*

* This Memoir is Tract No. 83, published by the American Tract Society.

In the years 1784 and 1785 Mr. Newton preached a course of sermons on an occasion of which he gives the following account in his first dis:. course: “Conversation in almost every company, for some time past, has much turned upon the commemoration of Handel, and particularly on his oratorio of the Messiah. I mean to lead your meditations to the language of the oratorio, and to consider, in their order, (if the Lord, on whom our breath depends, shall be pleased to afford life, ability and opportunity,) the several sublime and interesting passages of Scripture which are the basis of that admired composition.” In the year 1786 he published these discourses in two volumes, octavo. There is a passage so original at the beginning of his fourth sermon, from Mal. 3: 1-3, ‘ The Lord, whom ye seek, shall suddenly come to his temple,” &c. that I shall transcribe it for the use of such as have not seen these discourses; at the same time it will, in a few words, convey Mr. Newton’s idea of the usual performance of this oratorio, or attending its performance in present circumstances.

‘** Whereunto shall we liken the people of this generation, and to what are they like?” I represent to myself a number of persons, of various characters, involved in one common charge of high treason.. They are already in a state of eonfinement, but not yet brought to their trial

The facts, however, are so plain, and the evidence against them so strong and pointed, that there is not the least doubt of their guilt being fully proved, and that nothing but a pardon can pre- serve them from punishment. In this situation it should seem their wisdom to avail themselves of every expedient in their power for obtaining mercy: but they are entirely regardless of their danger, and wholly taken up with contriving methods of amusing themselves, that they may pass away the term of their imprisonment with as much cheerfulness as possible. Among other resources, they call in the assistance of music: and amidst a great variety of subjects in this way, they are particularly pleased with one. They choose to make the solemnities of their impending trial, the character of their Judge, the methods of his procedure, and the awful sentence to which they are exposed, the groundwork of a musical entertainment: and, as if they were quite unconcerned in the event, their atten- tion is chiefly fixed upon the skill of the composer, in adapting the style of his music to the very solemn language and subject with which they are trifling. The king, however, out of his great clemency and compassion toward those who have no pity for themselves, prevents them with his goodness. Undesired by them, he sends them a gracious message: he asstres them that he is unwilling they should suffer: he requires, yea, he entreats them to submit. He points out a way in which their confession and submission shall be certainly accepted; and in this way, which he condescends to prescribe, he offers them a free and a full pardon. But instead of taking a single step toward a compliance with his goodness, they set his message likewise to music; and this, together with a description of their previous state, and of the fearful doom awaiting them if they continue obstinate, is sung for sdeeix diversion, accompanied with the sound

of the cornet, flute, harp, sackbut, psaltery, dul-

amer, and all kinds of instruments. Surely, if such a case as I have supposed could be found in real life, though I might admire the musical taste of these people, I should commiserate their insensibility.”

But “clouds return after the rain:” a greater loss than that of Miss Cunningham was to follow. Enough has been said in these memoirs already to show the more than ordinary affection Mr. Newton felt for her who had been so long his idol, as he used to call her; of which I shall add but one more instance out of many that might easily be collected.

Being with him at the ‘house of a lady at Blackheath, we stood at a window which had a

prospect of Shooter’s Hill. ‘’ Ah,” said Mr. Newton, ‘I remember the many journeys! took from London to stand at the top of that hill in order to look toward the part in which Mrs. Newton then lived: not that I could see the spot itself, after travelling several miles, for she lived far beyond what I could see when on the hill; but it gratified me even to look toward the spot: and this ] did always once, and sometimes twice a week.’ “Why,” said I, “‘ this is more like one of the vagaries of romance than of real life.” ‘ True,” replied he, “but real life has extravagances that would not be admitted to appear in a well-written romance — they would be said to be out of - Rtate? .., .~ 4

In such a continued habit of excessive attachment, it is evident how keenly Mr. Newton must f have felt, while he observed the progress of a threatening disorder. This will be manifest from the following account which he published. It was added to his publication, Letters to a Wife, and he entitles it

A Relation of some Particulars respecting the Cause, Progress, and Close of the last Iliness of my late dear 2

readers there will doubtless be
, Sympathizing spirit, with whom
I am not personally’ acquainted; and perhaps — a eS *

their feelings may so far interest them in my concerns as to make them not unwilling to read a brief account of my late great trial.

‘‘ My dear wife had naturally a good constitution, and was favored with good spirits to the last: but the violent shock she sustained in the year 1754, when I was suddenly attacked by a fit, (I know not of what kind,) which left me no sign of life for about an hour but breathing, made as sudden a change in her habit, and subjected her, from that time, to a variety of chronic com plaints. She was several times confined, for five or six months, to her chamber, and often brought so low that her recovery seemed hopeless. I believe she spent ten years, out of the forty that she was spared to me, (if all the days of her sufferings were added together,) in illness and pain. But she had likewise long intervals of health. The fit I have mentioned (the only one I ever had) was the means the Lord was pleased to appoint, in answer to my prayers, to free me from the irksome seafaring life in which I was till then engaged, and to appoint me a settlement on shore..

‘‘ Before our removal from Liverpool she reecived a blow upon her left breast which occasioned her some pain and anxiety for a little ‘time, but which soon wore off. A small lump remained in the part affected, but I heard no more of it for many years. I believe that, latterly, she felt more than I was aware of; but her tenderness for me made her conceal it as long as possible. I have often since wondered at her success, and how I could be kept so long ignorant of it.

‘In the month of October, 1788, she applied, unknown to me, to a friend of mine, an eminent surgeon: her design was, if he approved it, to submit to an operation, and so to adjust time and circumstances with him, that it might be performed in my absence, and before I could know it: but the surgeon told her that the malady was too far advanced, and the tumor (the size of which he compared to the half of a melon) was too large to warrant the hope of being extracted without the most imminent danger of her life, and that he durst not attempt it. He could give her but little advice, more than to keep herself as quiet, and her mind as easy as possible; and little more encouragement, than by saying that the pains to which she was exposed were generally rendered tolerable by the use of laudanum; to which, however, she had a dislike little short of an antipathy.

“I cannot easily describe the composure and resignation with which she gave me this recital the next day after her interview with the surgeon;

nor of the sensations of my mind while I heard. it My conscience told me that I had well deserved to be wounded where I was most sensible; and that it was my duty to submit with silence to the will of the Lord. But I strongly felt that, unless he was pleased to give me this submission, I was more likely to toss like a wild bull in a net, in defiance of my better judgment.

**Soon after, the Lord was pleased to visit our dear adopted daughter with a dreadful fever, which at first greatly affected her nerves, and afterward became putrid. She (Miss Catlett) was brought very near to the grave indeed; for we once or twice thought her actually dead. But He, who in the midst of judgment remembers mercy, restored her, and still preserves her, to be the chief temporal comfort of my old age, and to afford me the greatest alleviation of the loss I was soon to experience, that the case could admit.

“The attention and anxiety occasioned by this neavy dispensation, which lasted during the whole of a very severe winter; were by no means suited to promote that tranquillity of mind which my good friend wished my dear wife would endeavor to preserve. She was often much fatigued, and often much alarmed. Next to each other, this dear child had the nearest place, both in her heart and mine. The effect was soon apparent: as the spring of 1789 advanced, her malady rapidly increased; her pains were almost incessant,

gas and often intense, and she could seldom lie one hour in her bed in the same position. Oh! my heart, what didst thou then suffer!

“But in April, the God who heareth prayer mercifully afforded relief, and gave such a blessing to the means employed, that her pains ceased. And though I believe she never had an hour of perfect ease, she felt little of the distressing pains incident to her malady, from that time to the end of her life, (which was about twenty months,) excepting at three or four short intervals, which, taken together, hardly amounted to two hours: and these returns of anguish, I thought, were permitted to show me how much I was indebted to the goodness of God for exempting her feelings and my sympathy from what would have been terrible indeed!

“In the close of the summer she was able to go to Southampton, and returned tolerably well. She was twice at church in the first week after she came home. She then went no more abroad, except in a coach, for a little air and exercise: but she was cheerful, tolerably easy, slept as well as most people who are in perfect health, and could receive and converse with her kind friends who visited her.

“It was not long after, that she began to have a distaste for food, which continued and increased; so that perhaps her death was at last rather owing to weakness, from want of nourishment, than to her primary disorder. Her dislike was, first, to butcher’s meat, of which she could bear neither the sight nor the smell. Poultry and fish in their turns became equally distasteful. She retained some relish for small birds awhile after she had given up the rest; but it was at a season when they were difficult to be obtained. 1 hope I shall always feel my obligations to the kind friends who spared no pains to procure some for her when they were not to be had in the markets. At that time I set more value upon a dozen of larks than upon the finest ox in Smithfield. But her appetite failed to these also, when they became more plentiful.

‘Under this trying discipline I learnt, more sensibly than ever, to pity those whose sufferings, of a similar kind, are aggravated by poverty. Our distress was not small, yet we had every thing within reach that could, in any degree, conduce to her refreshment or relief; and we had faithful and affectionate servants, who were always willingly engaged to their power, yea, as the apostle speaks, beyond their power, in attending and assisting her, by night and by day. What must be the feelings of those who, when afflicted with grievous diseases, pine away, unpitied, unnoticed, without help, and, in a great measure destitute of common necessaries? This reflection, among others, contributed to quiet my mind, and to convince me that I had still much more cause for thankfulness than for complaint.

“For about a twelvemonth of her confinement her spirits were good, her patience was exemplary, and there was a cheerfulness in her looks and her language that was wonderful. Often the liveliness of her remarks has forced a smile from us when the tears were in our eyes. Whatever little contrivances she formed for her amusement, in the course of the day, she would attend to nothing till she had finished her stated reading of the Scripture, in which she employed much time and great attention. I have her Bible by me, (which I would not part with for half the manuscripts in the Vatican,) in which almost every principal text, from the beginning to the end of the book, is marked in the margin with a pencil. by her own dear hand. The good word of God was her medicine and her food, while she was able to read it. She read Dr. Watts’ Psalms and Hymns, and the Olney Hymns, in the same manner. There are few of them in which one, two, or more verses, are not thus marked; and in many, which I suppose she read more frequently, every verse is marked. vs

‘But in October the enemy was permitted, for a while, to take advantage of her bodily weakness, to disturb the peace and serenity of her

ae

apenas iy ge, lit

SRE ane TO mind. Her thoughts became clouded and confus« ed; and she gradually lost, not only the comfortable evidence of her own interest in the precious truths of the Bible, but she lost all hold of the truth itself. She doubted the truth of the Bible, or whether truth existed; and, together with this, she expressed an extreme reluctance to death, and could not easily bear the most dis-’ tant hint of her approaching end, though we were expecting it daily and hourly. This was the acme, the highwater-mark of my trial: this was hard to bear indeed.

“My readers, perhaps, will scarcely believe that I derived some consolation, during this period, from perceiving that her attachment to me was very sensibly abated. She spoke to me with an indifference, of which, a little before, she was incapable. If, when the Lord’s presence was withdrawn, and she could derive no comfort from his word, she had found some relief from my being with her, or from hearing me speak, I should have been more grieved.’ Her affection to me, confirmed by so many proofs, in the course of forty years, was not to be impeached by this temporary suspension of its exercise. I judged the same of the frame of*her mind, as to her spiritual concerns: I ascribed them both to the same cause — her bodily weakness, and the power of tempta-

‘tion. She was relieved, in both respects, after about a fortnight spent in conflict and dismay The Lord restored peace to her soul, and then her former tenderness to me immediately revived. Then, likewise, she could calmly speak of her approaching dissolution. She mentioned some particulars concerning her funeral, and our domestic concerns, with great composure. But her mind was not so fully restored to its former tone as to give her freedom to enlarge upon her hopes and views, as I had wished, till near her dissolution; and then she was too low to speak at all. **One addition to our trial yet remained. It had been her custom, when she went from her sofa to her bed, to exert herself for my encouragement, to show me how well she could walk. But it pleased the Lord that, by some alteration, which affected her spine, she was disabled from moving herself; and other circumstances rendered it extremely difficult to move her. It has taken five of us nearly two hours to remove her from one side of the bed to the other, and, at times, even this was impracticable: so that she has lain more than a week exactly in the same spot, without the possibility of changing her position. All this was necessary on my account. The rod had a voice, and it was the voice of the Lord. I un- derstood the meaning no less plainly than if he had spoken audibly from heaven, and said, “Now contemplate your idol. Now see what she is whom you once presumed to prefer to Me!” Even this bitter cup was sweetened by the patience and resignation which he gave her. When I have said, ‘You suffer greatly,” her answer usually was, “I suffer, indeed, but not greatly.” And she often expressed her thankfulness that, though her body was immoveable, she was still permitted the use of her hands.

“One of the last sensible concerns she felt, respecting ¢his world, was when my honored friend, patron and benefactor, the late John Thornton, Esq. of Clapham, was removed to a better. She revered and regarded him, I believe, more than she did any person upon earth: and she had reason. Few had nearer access to know and admire his character; and perhaps none were under greater, if equal, obligations to him than we. She knew of his illness, but was always afraid to inquire after the event; nor should I have ventured to inform her, but that the occasion requiring me to. leave her for four or five hours, when I hardly expected to find her alive at my return, Iwas constrained to give her the reason of my absence. She eagerly replied, ‘Go by ail means; I would not have you stay with me upon any consideration.” I put the funeral ring I was favored with into her hands; she put it first to her lips, and then to her eyes, bedewing it with her tears. I trust they soon met Newton. 13. again. But she survived him more than a month.

‘** Her head became so affected that I could do little more than sit and Jook at her. Our intercourse by words was nearly broken off. She could not easily bear the sound of the gentlest foot upon the carpet, nor of the softest voice On Sunday, the 12th of December, when I was preparing for church in the morning, she sent for me, and we took a final farewell, as to this world. She faintly uttered an endearing appellation, which was familiar to her, and gave me her hand, which I held, while I prayed by her bedside. We exchanged a few tears; but I was almost as unable to’ speak as she was. But I returned soon after, and said, ‘If your mind, as I trust, is ina state of peace, it will be a comfort to me if you can signify it by holding up your hand.’ She held it up, and waved it to and fro several times.

* That evening her speech, her sight, and I believe, her hearing, wholly failed. She continued perfectly composed, without taking notice of any thing, or discovering any sign of pain or

uneasiness, till Wednesday evening toward seven o’clock. She then began to breathe very hard; — her breathing might be called groaning, for it —

was heard in every part of the house; but I believe it was entirely owing to the difficulty of respiration, for she lay quite still, with a placid countenance, as if in a gentle slumber. There

be ices sD iil was no start or struggle, nor a feature ruffled. [ took my post by her bed-side, and watched her nearly three hours, with a candle in my hand, till I saw her breathe her last, on the 15th of December, 1790, a little before ten in the evening

“When I was sure she was gone I took off her ring, according to her repeated injunction, and put it upon my own finger. I then kneeled down

with the servants who were in the room, and returned the Lord my unfeigned thanks for her deliverance, and her peaceful dismission.

‘How wonderful must be the moment after death! What .a transition did she then experience! She was instantly freed from sin, and all its attendant sorrows, and, I trust, instantly admitted to join the heavenly choir. That moment was remarkable to me likewise. It removed from me the chief object which made another day or hour of life, as to my own personal concern, desirable. At the same time it set me free from a weight of painful feelings and anxieties, under which nothing short of a divine power could have so long supported me.

“I believe it was about two or three months before her death, when I was walking up and down the room, offering disjointed prayers from a heart torn with distress, that a thought sudden-

|. ly struck me with unusual force, to this effect:

The promises of God must be true; surely the Lord will help me, if I am willing to be helped! It occurred to me that we are often led, from a vain complacence in what we call our sensibility, to indulge that unprofitable grief which both our duty and our peace require us to resist to the utmost of our power. instantly said aloud, ‘ Lord, I am helpless indeed in myself, but I hope I am willing without reserve, that thou shouldst help me.’

‘It had been much upon my mind, from the beginning of this trial, that I was a minister, and

that the eyes of many were upon me; that my

turn of preaching had very much led me to endeavor to comfort the afflicted, by representing the Gospel as a catholicon, affording an effectual remedy for every evil, a full compensation for every want or loss to those who truly receive it; Fi so that though a believer may be afflicted, he ot be properly unhappy, unless he gives way he o self-will and unbelief. I had often told my hearers that a state of trial, if rightly improved, was, to the christian, a post of honor, affording the fairest opportunity of exemplifying the power of divine grace, to the praise and glory of the Giver. It had been, therefore, my frequent daily prayer that I might not, by impatience or despondency, be deprived of the advantage my situation afforded me, of confirming by my own practice the doctrine which 1 had preached to others; and that I might not give them occasion to apply to me the words of Eliphaz to Job, chap. 4:4, 5, ‘’ Thy words have upholden him that was felling, and thou hast strengthened the feeble knees; but now it is come upon thee, and thou faintest; it toucheth thee, and thou art troubled!” And I had not prayed in vain. But from the time that I so remarkably felt myself willing to be helped, I might truly say, to the praise of the Lord my heart trusted in him, and I was helped indeed. Through the whole of my painful trial I attended all my stated and occasional services as usual; and a stranger would scarcely have

discovered either by my words or looks, that I

was in trouble. Many of our intimate friends were apprehensive that this long affliction, and especially the closing event, would have overwhelmed me; but it was far otherwise. It did — not prevent me from preaching a single sermo

and I preached on the day of her death.

“After she was gone, my willingness to * helped, and my desire that the Lord’s goodness to me might be observed by others, for their encouragement, made me indifferent to some laws of established custom, the breach of which is often more noticed than the violation of God’s commands. I was afraid of sitting at home, and indulging myself, by poring over my loss; and therefore I was seen in the street, and visited

em some of my serious friends the very next day I likewise preached three times while she lay dead in the house. Some of my brethren kindly offered their assistance; but as the Lord was pleased to give me strength, both of body and mind, I thought it my duty to stand up in my place as formerly. And after she was deposited in the vault I preached her funeral sermon,* with little more sensible emotion than if it had been for another person. I have reason to hope that many of my hearers were comforted and animated under their afflictions, by what they saw of the Lord’s goodness to me in my time of need. And I acknowledge that it was well worth standing a while in the fire, for such an opportunity of experiencing and exhibiting the power and faithfulness of his promises.

‘I was not supported by lively sensible consola- ’ tions, but by being enabled to realize to my mind some great and leading truths of the word of God. I saw, what indeed I knew before, but never till then so strongly and clearly perceived, that, as a sinner, I had no rigé, and as a believer, I could have no reason to complain. I considered her as a loan, which He who lent her to me had a right

* From a text which I had reserved from my first entrance on the ministry, for this particular service, if I should survive her, and be able to speak.

ee ee to resume whenever he pleased; and that as I had deserved to forfeit her every day, from the first, it became me rather to be thankful that she was spared so long to me, than to resign her with reluctance when called for. Farther, that his sovereignty was connected with infinite wisdom and goodness, and that, consequently, if it were possible for me to alter any part of his plan, I could only spoil it; that such a short-sighted creature as I, so blind to the possible consequences of my own wishes, was not only unworthy, but unable to choose well for himself; and that it was therefore my great mercy and privilege that the Lord condescended to choose for me. May such considerations powerfully affect the hearts of my readers under their troubles, and then I shall not regret having submitted to the view of the public a detail which may seem more proper for the subject of a private letter to a friend. They who can feel, will, 1 hope, excuse me: and it is chiefly for their — that I have written it.

When my wife died the world scale to die with her, (I hope, to revive no more.) I see little now but my ministry and my christian profession t¢ make a continuance in life for a single day desirable; though I am willing to wait my appointed time. If the world cannot restore Aer to me (not that I have the remotest wish that her return was possible) it can do n g for me. The Bank of England is too poor to compensate for such a loss as mine. But the Lord, the all-sufficient God, speaks, and it is done. Let those who know him, and trust him, be of good courage. 1 give them strength according to their

can increase their strength as their - increased, to any assignable degree. And what he can do, he has promised he wiil do. The power and faithfulness on which the successive changes of day and night, and of seasons of the year depend, and which up stars in their orbits, are equally engaged to

pport his people, and to lead them safe unhurt (if their path be so appointed) through floods and flames. Though I believe she has never yet been (and probably never will be) out of my waking thoughts for five minutes at a time, though I sleep in the bed in which she suffered and languished so long, I have not had one uncomfortable day, nor one restless night since she left me. I have lost a right hand, which I cannot but miss continually, but the Lord enables me to go on cheerfully without it.

“May his blessing rest upon the reader! May glory, honor and praise be ascribed to his great and holy name, now and for ever: Amen.”

and

Lines composed by
se

ton, and sung after the funeral
of Mrs. Newton.

Hapaxxur, 3: 17, 18.

“The earth, with rich abundance stor’d, To answer all our wants,

Invites our hearts to praise the Lord
For what his bounty grants.

“Flocks, herds and corn, and gratefu
j His gracious hand supplies;
i: And while our various tastes they suit,”
es - Their prospect cheers our eyes.

“To these he adds each tender tie
Of sweet domestic life; ‘2
- Endearing joys, the names imply, i:
‘ parent, husband, wife.

“But sin has poisoned all below;
Our blessings burdens prove; 4%,
On ey’ry hand we suffer wo,
But most where most we love.

“Nor vintage, harvest, flocks nor herds, Can fill the heart’s desire;

And oft a worm destroys our gourds,
And all our hopes expire.

“Domestic joys, alas! how rare!
Possessed and known by few!

And they who know them, find they are
As frail and transient too.

* But you who love the Savior’s voice,
And rest upon his name,

Amidst these changes may rejoice,
For he is still the same.

202 yy OF REV. JOHN NEWTON.

“The Lord himself will soon appear
Whom you, unseen, adore;
Then he will wipe offevéry tear,
And you shall weep no more.”

Ms. Newton made this remark on Piet death, ia “before Mrs. Newton’s disease became so formidable, I was preaching on the waters of Egypt being turned into blood. The Egyptians had idolized their river, and God made them loath it. I was apprehensive it would soon be a similar case with me.” During the very affecting season of Mrs. Newton’s dissolution, Mr.

Newton, like David, wept and prayed; but the desire of his eyes being taken away by the stroke, he too, like David, “arose from the earth, and came into the temple of the Lord, and worshipped,” and that in a manner which surprised some of his frie:

Besides which, Mr. Newton had a favorite sentiment which I esas heard him express in different ways,-long before he had so special an occasion for illustrating it in practice. “God, in his providence,” he used to say, “is continually bringing about occasions to demonstrate characters.” He used to instance the case of Achan and Judas among bad men; and that of St. Paul,

ae

pl ee

Dpcihndiy
il i

mH ED

ie

+

Acts, 27, among good ones “If any one,” said he, ‘had asked the centurion who Paul the prisoner was that sailed with them on board the ship? it is probable he would have thus replied, ‘He is a troublesome enthusiast, who has lately joined himself to a certain sect. These people affirm that a Jewish malefactor, who was crucified some years ago at Jerusalem, rose the third day from the dead; and this Paul is mad enough to assert that Jesus, the leader of their sect, is not only now alive, but that he himself has seen him, and is resolved to live and die with him — Poor crazy creature!!’ But God made use of this uccasion to discover the real character of Paul, and taught the centurion, from the circumstances which followed, to whom it was he owed his direction in the storm, and for whose sake he received his preservation through it.”

In all trying occasions, therefore, Mr. Newton was particularly impressed with the idea of a christian, and especially of a christian minister, being called to stand forward as an example to his flock — to feel himself placed in a post of honor — a post in which he may not only glorify God, but also forcibly demonstrate the peculiar - supports of the Gospel. More especially when this could be done (as in his own case) from no doubtful motive; then it may be expedient to

leave the path of ordinary custom, for the greater vai 1

my” -
a
204 LIFE 0 JOHN NEWTON.

reason of exhibiting both the Joctiaahe of truth, I “and the experience of their power, Though I professedly publish none of Mr Newton’s letters, yet I shall take the liberty to insert part of one, with which I am favored by J. Forbes, Esq. of Stanmore Hill, written to him while at Rome, and dated December 5th, 1796. It shows the interest which the Mater took in the safety of his friend, and his address in attempting to break the enchantm ith which men of taste are surrounded, when standing in

the centre of the fine arts. 4 aos

“The true christian, in striet propriety of speech, has no home here; he is, and must be, a stranger and a pilgrim upon earth: his citizenship, treasure and real home, are in a better world; and every step he takes, whether to the east or to the west, is a step nearer to his Father’s house. On the other hand, when in the path of duty, he is always at home; for the whole earth is the Lord’s: and as we see the same sun in England or Italy, in Europe or Asia, so wherever he is, he equally sets the Lord always before him, and finds himself equally near the throne of grace at all times and in all places. God is every where, and, by faith in the great Mediator, he dwells in God, and God in him.” To him that line of Horace may be applied in the best sense, a é: Ree

um, non animum mutant, qui trans mare currunt.*

,. *- “7 trast, my dear sir, that you will carry out

and bring home with you, a determination similar to that of the patriarch Jacob, who vowed a vow, saying, ‘If God will be with me, and will keep me in the way that I go, and will give me bread to eat, and raiment to put on, so that I come again to my father’s house in peace, then shall the Lord be my God!’ May the Lord himself write it on your heart!

“You are now at Rome, the centre of the fine arts; a place abounding with every thing to gratify a person of your taste. Athens had the pre-eminence in the apostle Paul’s time; and I think it highly probable, from many passages in his writings, that he likewise had a taste capable of admiring and relishing the beauties of painting, sculpture and architecture, which he could not but observe during his abode in that city: but then he had a higher, a spiritual, a divine taste, which was greatly shocked and grieved by the ignorance, idolatry and wickedness, which surrounded him, insomuch that he could attend to nothing else. This taste, which cannot be acquired by any effort or study of ours, but is freely bestowed on all who sincerely ask it of

* They who cross the ocean change their sky but not the emotions of the soul. “

—lt P

the Lord, divests the vanities, which the world admire, of their glare; and enables us to judge of the most splendid and specious works of men, who know not God, according to the declaration of the prophet, ‘They hatch cockatrice eggs, and weave the spider’s web.’ Much ingenuity is displayed in the weaving of a cobweb, but when finished, it is worthless and useless: incubation requires close diligence and attention; if the hen is too long from her nest, the egg is spoiled; but why should she sit at all upon the egg, and watch it, and warm it night and day, if it only produces a cockatrice at last? Thus vanity and mischief are the chief rulers of unsanctified genius; the artists spin webs, and the philosophers, by their learned speculations, hatch cockatrices, to poison themselves and their fellow-creatures: few of either sort have one serious thought of that awful eternity upon the brink of which they stand for a while, and into the depth of which they successively fall.

“A part of the sentence denounced against the city, which once stood upon seven hills, is so pointed and graphical that I must transcribe it: ‘And the voice of harpers, and musicians, and pipers, and trumpeters, shall be heard no more at all in thee; and no craftsman, of whatsoever craft he be, shall be found any more in thee, and the light of a candle shall no more be seen spkintian

epepens

in thee.’ Now, I am informed, that upon certain

occasions the whole cupola of St. Peter’s is covered with lamps, and affords a very magnificent spectacle: if I saw it, it would remind me

of that time when there i not be the shining of a single candle in the city; for the sentence must be executed, and the hour may be approaching.

“You kindly inquire after my health: myself and family are, through the Divine favor, perfectly well; yet, healthy as I am,I labor under a growing disorder, for which there is no cure; I mean old age. Iam not sorry it is a mortal disease, from which no one recovers; for who would live always in such a world as this, who has a Scriptural hope of an inheritance in the world of light t I am now in my seventy-second year, and seem to have lived long enough for myself; I have known something of the evil of life, and have had a large share of the good. I know what the world can do, and what it cannot do; it can neither give nor take away that peace of God which passeth all understanding; it cannot sooth a wounded conscience, nor enable us to meet death with comfort. That you, my dear sir, may have an abiding and abounding experience that the Gospel is a catholicon, adapted to all our wants and all our feelings, and a suitable help when every other help fails, is the sincere and ardent prayer of your affectionate friend,” &c.

But in proportion as Mr. Newton felt the vanity of earthly pursuits, he was as feelingly alive te whatever regarded eternal concerns. ‘Take an instance of this in a visit which he paid another friend. This friend was a minister who affected great accuracy in his discourses, and who, on that Sunday, had nearly occupied an hour in insisting on several labored and nice distinctions made in his subject. As he had a high estimation of Mr. Newton’s judgment, he inquired of him, as they walked home, whether he thought the distinctions just now insisted on were full and judicious? Mr. Newton said he thought them not full, as a very important one had been omitted. “What can that be?” said the minister, “for I had taken more than ordinary care to enumerate them fully.” ‘I think not,” replied Mr. Newton, “for when many of your congregation had travelled several miles for a meal, I think you should not have forgotten the important distinction which must ever exist between meat and bones.”

In the year 1799 Mr. Newton had the honorary degree of D. D. conferred upon him by the university of New Jersey, in America, and the diploma sent him. He also received a work in two volumes, dedicated to him, with the above title annexed to his name. Mr. Newton wrote the author a grateful acknowledgment for the work, but begged to decline an honor which he never intended to accept. “I am,” said he, ‘tas one born out of due time.* I have neither the pretension nor wish to honors of this kind. However, therefore, the university may over-rate my attainments, and thus show their respect, I must not forget myself; it would be both vain and improper were I| to concur in it.”

But Mr. Newton had yet another storm to weather. While we were contemplating the long and rough voyage he had passed, and thought he

*In a MS. note on a letter dated 15th Dec. 1797, he writes, “Though I am not so sensibly affected as I could wish, I hope Iamtruly affected by the frequent reviews I make of my past life. Perhaps the annals of Thy church scarcely afford an instance in all respects so singular. Perhaps Thy grace may have recovered some from an equal degree of apostacy, infidelity and profligacy: but few of them have been redeemed from such a state of misery and depression as 1 was in, upon the coast of Africa, when thy unsought mercy wrought for my deliverance: but that such a wretch should not only be spared, and pardoned, but reserved to the honor of preaching Thy Gospel, which he had blasphemed and renounced, and at length be placed in a very public situation, and favored with acceptance and usefulness, both from the pulpit and the press, so that my poor name is known in most parts of the world where there are any who know Thee — this is wonderful indeed! The more Thou hast exalted me, the more I ought to abase myself.”

Newton. 14 had only now to rest in a quiet haven, and with a fine sunsetting at the close of the evening of his life; clouds began to gather again, and seemed to threaten a wreck at the very entry of the port.

He used to — excursions in the summer to different friends im the country, endeavoring to make these visits profitable to them and their neighbors, by his continual prayers, and the expositions he gave of the Scriptures read at their morning and evening worship. I have heard of some who were first brought to the knowledge of themselves and of God by attending his exhortations on these occasions; for, indeed, besides what he undertook in a more stated way at the church, he seldom entered a room but something both profitable and entertaining fell from his lips. After the death of Miss Cunningham and Mrs. Newton, his companion in these summer excursions was his other niece, Miss Elizabeth Catlett. This young lady had also been brought up by Mr. and Mrs. Newton with Miss Cunningham, and on the death of the two latter, she became the object of Mr. Newton’s naturally affectionate disposition. She also became quite necessary to him by her administrations in his latter years; she watched him, walked with him, visited whereever he went; when his sight failed she read to him, divided his food, and was unto him ail that a dutiful daughter could be.

em

MINISTRY IN LONDON. Qi

But in the year 1801 a nervous disorder seized her, by which Mr. Newton was obliged to submit to her being separated from him. During the twelvemonth it lasted, the weight of the affliction, added to his weight of years, seemed to overwhelm him. I extracted a few of his reflections on the occasion, written on some blank leaves in an edition of his Letters to a Wife, which he lent me on my undertaking these Memoirs, and subjoin them in a note.* It may give the reader

*“August Ist, 1801. Inow enter my 77th year. I have been exercised this year with a trying and unexpected change; but it is by thy appointment, my gracious Lord; and thou art unchangeably wise, good and merciful. Thou gavest me my dear adopted child. Thou didst own my endeavors to bring her up for thee. I have no doubt that thou hast called her by thy grace. I thank thee for the many years’ comfort (ten) I have had in her, and for the attention and affection she has always shown me, exceeding that of most daughters to their own parents. Thou hast now tried me, as thou didst Abraham, in my old age; when my eyes are failing, and my strength declines. Thou hast called for my Isaac, who had so long been my chief stay and staff, but it was thy chief blessing that made her so. A nervous disorder has seized her, and I desire to leave her uncer thy care; and chiefly pray for myself, that I may be enabled to wait thy time and will, without betraying any signs of impatience or despondency unbecoming my profession and character. Hitherto thou hast helped me; and to thee I look for help in future. Let all issue in thy glory, that-my friends and hearers may be encouraged by seeing how I am supported; let thy strength be manifest in my weakness, and thy grace rat? LIFE OF REV. JOHN NEWTON.

pleasure to be informed that Miss Catlett returned home and gradually recovered.*

It was with a mixture of delight and surprise that the friends and hearers of this eminent servant of God beheld him bringing forth such a measure of fruit in extreme age. Though then almost eighty years old, his sight nearly gone, and incapable, through eeicce of joining in conversation, his public ministry was regularly continued, and maintained with a considerable degree of his former animation. His memory, indeed, was observed to fail, but his judgment in divine things still remained; and though some depression of spirits was observed, which he used to account for from his advanced age, his perception, taste and zeal for the truths he had long received and taught, were evident. Like Simeon, having seen the salvation of the Lord, he now only waited and prayed to depart in peace.

be sufficient for me, and let all finally work together for our good. Amen. I aim to say from my heart, Not my will, but thine, be done. But though thou hast in a measure made my spirit willing, thou knowest, and I feel, that the flesh is weak. Lord, I believe, help thou my unbelief. Lord, I submit, subdue every rebellious thought that dares arise against thy will. Spare my eyes, if it please thee: but, above all, s.rengthen my faith and love.”

* Mr. Newton’s Letters to an Adopted Daughter were

written to her: they are published by the American Tract Society.

After Mr. Newton was turned of eighty some of his friends feared he might continue his public ministrations too long; they marked not only his infirmities in the pulpit, but felt much on account of the decrease of his strength and of his occasional depressions. Conversing with him in January, 1806, on the latter, he observed that he had experienced nothing which -in the least affected the principles he had felt and taught; that his depressions were the natural result of four score years, and that, at any age, we can only enjoy that comfort from our principles which God is pleased to send. ‘ But,” replied I, “in the article of public preaching, might it not be best to consider your work as done, and stop before you evidently discover you can speak no longer?” “I cannot stop,” said he, raising his voice; “What! shall the old African blasphemer pee while he can speak?”

In every future visit I perceived old age ue ing rapid strides. At length his friends found some difficulty in making themselves known to him: his sight, his hearing and his recollection exceedingly failed; but, being mercifully kept from pain, he generally appeared easy and cheerful. Whatever he uttered was perfectly consistent with the principles he had so long and so honorably maintained. Calling to see him a few days before he died, with one of his most intimate friends, we could not make him recollect either of us; but seeing him afterward, when sitting up in his chair, 1 found as much intellect remaining as produced a short and affectionate reply, though he was utterly incapable of conversation.

Mr. Newton declined in this very gradual way, till at length it was painful to ask him a question, or attempt to rouse faculties almost gone; still his friends were anxious to get a word from him, and those friends who survive him will be as anxious to learn the state of his mind in his latest hours. It is quite natural thus to inquire, though it is not important how such a decided character left this world. I have heard Mr. Newton say, when he has heard particular inquiry made about the last expressions of an eminent believer, “Tell me not how the man died, but how he lived.”

Still I say it is natural to inquire, and [| will meet the desire (not by trying to expand uninteresting particulars, but) as far as I can collect encouraging facts; and I learn, from a paper kindly sent me by his family, all that is interesting and authentic.

About a month before Mr. Newton’s death, Mr.

Smith’s niece was sitting by him, to whom he said, “It is a great thing to die; and when flesh

and heart fail, to have God for the strength of i y HIS DEATH. 215

our heart, and our portion for ever: I know whom I have believed, and he is able to keep that which I have committed unto him against that day. Henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, shall give me at that day.”

When Mrs. Smith (his niece, formerly Miss Catlett) came into the room, he said, “I have been meditating on a subject, ‘Come and hear, all ye that fear God, and I will declare what he hath done for my soul.’”

At another time he said, ‘‘ More light, more love, more liberty — Hereafter I hope, when I shut my eyes on the things of time, I shall open them in a better world. What a thing it is to live under the shadow of the wings of the Almighty! Iam going the way of all flesh.” And when one replied, ‘The Lord is gracious,” he answered, “If it were not so, how could I dare to stand before him?”

The Wednesday before he died Mrs. G asked him if his mind was comfortable; he replied, “‘I am satisfied with the Lord’s will.”

Mr. Newton seemed sensible to his last hour, but expressed nothing remarkable after these words. He departed on the 21st, and was buried in the vault of his church, the 31st of December, 1807, having left the following injunction, in a letter, for the direction of his executors:

“I propose writing an epitaph for myself, if it may be put up, on a plain marble tablet, near the vestry-door, to the following purport:

JOHN NEWTON, CLERK,
Once an Infidel and Libertine,
A servant of slaves in Africa,
Was, by the rich mercy of our Lord and Savior
JESUS CHRIST,
Preserved, restored, pardoned,

And appointed to preach the Faith,
(He had long labored to destroy,)
Near sixteen years at Olney, in Bucks,
And.. years in this church.

On Feb. 1, 1750, he married *
MARY,
Daughter of the late George Catlett,
Of Chatham, Kent. ’
He resigned her to the Lord who gave her,
On the 15th of December, 1790.

“And I earnestly desire that no other monument, and no inscription but to this purport, may be attempted for me.”

The following is a copy of the beginning of Mr. Newton’s will, dated June 13, 1803:

‘In the name of God, Amen. I, Jonn Newron, of Coleman-street Buildings, in the parish of St. Stephen, Coleman-street, in the city of London, Clerk, being, through mercy, in good health and of sound and disposing mind, memory and understanding, although in the seventy-eighth year

ae

. a
. ae
=

HIS DEATH. 217
.

of my age, do, for the settling of my temporal concerns, and for the disposal of all the worldly estate which it hath pleased the Lord in his good providence to give me, make this my last Will and Testament as follows. I commit my sou to my gracious God and Savior, who mercifully spared and preserved me when I| was an apostate a blasphemer and an infidel; and delivered me from that state of misery on the coast of Africa into which my obstinate wickedness had plunged me; and who has been pleased to admit me (though most unworthy) to preach his glorious Gospel. I rely with humble confidence upon the atonement and mediation of the Lord Jesus Christ, God and man, which I have often proposed to others as the only foundation where on a sinner can build his hope; trusting that he will guard and guide me through the uncertain remainder of my life, and that he will then admit me into his presence in his heavenly kingdom I would have my body deposited in the vault un. der the parish church of Saint Mary Woolnoth. close to the coffins of my late dear wife and my dear niece, Elizabeth Cunningham; and it is my desire that my funeral may be performed with

as little expense as possible, consistent with decency.”