And though they are saddened by many a regret for neglects and omissions and commissions toward you all, and that old petrifying selfishness which only grace can cure, I would not be without such days, and almost thank "each wrench which has detected how thoroughly and deeply dear you are." I can hardly tell you what the thought of leaving N. and F. is to me, but this dark day begins to shadow itself.
* * * Poor dear old A.G.! What a change from her dark corner to everlasting day!—but not less from a kingly palace, if we knew the truth; and her shadowy abode had more light than many a palace, if we knew the truth of that too.
She remarks in her Journal, after her return home:—
I stayed at Ipswich three weeks after the birth of my precious little niece, Frances Elizabeth; rejoicing in her daily growth, and calm trustful fearlessness—a lesson which nothing ever preached to me so loudly before. Respecting my spiritual state at Ipswich, I would say that great blessings, and I would fear great ingratitude, must be acknowledged. Some evening hours in my chamber were exceeding sweet, and some meetings solemn indeed. * * * I returned in rich and flowing peace. Many a lesson I had through my four months' absence, but none like that which awaited my return. My father met me at Plymouth; we reached home about eleven o'clock at night, and went at once to the chamber, where four months previously I last heard the voice of my uncle, and, though he still breathed, I was not to hear it again. He had sunk gradually for weeks, and now, though his lips moved a little, a word could not be heard. His face was sunk and pallid, his breathing uneasy, and his eyes were closed. After a short time we left, and at four o'clock in the morning, without a struggle, his spirit passed quietly away to his "eternal inheritance." "They that turn many to righteousness shall shine as the stars for ever and ever." I never, I believe, shall forget how forcibly came to my mind, as I sat beside his lifeless form, the words, "To this end Christ both died, and rose, and revived, that He might be Lord both of the dead and the living," and my thoughts turned on many a solemn and blessed trust implied in them.
Her uncle, Samuel Rundell, died on the 4th of 5th Month, 1848, at the age of eighty-five. In the Annual Monitor for the following year is a short Memoir of his life.
It had been for some years a frequent occupation with Eliza, together with her sisters and cousins, to spend the long winter evenings with her aged uncle and aunt, and after the decease of the former these attentions were more constantly needed by the survivor. It was striking to notice Eliza's cheerful alacrity to relinquish, when her turn came round, her favorite pursuits, often for some weeks together, in order to comfort and enliven the declining days of this aged relative.
7th Mo. —th. My mental condition a quiet but not painless one. I had been much favored, though in pain and trouble, amidst which I had a kind note from J.T., who says, "When at Liskeard, and since, I have believed that it might be said unto thee, 'The Master is come, and calleth for thee;' and I wish, if thou hast been made sensible of this, it may be thy very earnest concern to sit at His feet in great humility of mind, that thou mayst hear from season to season the gracious words that may proceed as out of His mouth. It may be that in the ordering of His gracious designs, He may see fit, as He has done with many others, to allure thee and bring thee into the wilderness; but I have no doubt that He will also give thee vineyards from thence, and thou wilt be made sensible that indeed it is His own right arm that has and will bring salvation unto thee" Though at present incapable of feeling as I have done, yet, being desirous of finishing up my Journal, I must acknowledge that great and gracious have been the dealings of my heavenly Father with me, causing me to rejoice in Him who has done for me "exceeding abundantly above all that I could ask or think," chiefly in the way, which I have found a very blessed way, of enabling me to give up my own will to His, and to be subject in things little and great to Himself. As far as I have known the yoke of Christ, it is indeed a sweet and easy yoke; and the chiefest sorrow which I have found during my endeavor to bear it has been from my aptness to throw it off. The worst of snares are the most secret.
We are now quietly and unexcitedly at home; and I wish industriously to do my little duties, and follow my little callings: of these the Workhouse women supply one of the most satisfactory to myself. They are a sad sight; but I feel that my small labors with them are not rejected, but desired, and I hope to a few at least they may be of some use. On First-days I now first read a short tract, then read in the Testament two or three chapters, verse by verse, with the women, then hear them say hymns,—which three or four learn gladly: this fills the hour. And once in a week I like to go in and try to teach those who cannot read. I have much felt, lately, that it is vain to try as a mere satisfaction to conscience to do these things, because we ought: it must be from a better motive—true keeping of the "first and great commandment," and the second, which "is like unto it." No busy doings at home or abroad will ever do instead.
8th Mo. 5th. 7th-Day. I must in thankfulness record free and great mercies this week. First-day was a happy one. In the morning rain and a cough kept me at home. I read the crucifixion and resurrection in different Evangelists, and cannot tell how meltingly sweet it was. Surely I did love Jesus then because He had first loved me. Sundry sweet refreshing brooks have flowed by my wayside, and some dry lonely paths I have trodden, (since,) but think He who is alone the foundation and corner-stone, immovable and undeceiving, has become more precious. Oh, how shall I be enough careful to trust him alone? I have got on a little with Gibbon's Rise and Fall, and have begun Neander on the Emperors, finished one volume of Goethe with L., and begun Milton with M., and English history with R.
9th Mo. 2d. The week tolerably satisfactory; but how truly may we say, "A day in thy courts is better than a thousand"! This evening's unexpected, unsought, unasked, free, gratuitous mercy has made the last two hours worth more than some whole days of this week. Oh, how kind is He who knows how to win back and attract to Himself by imparting ineffable desires after what is good, even to a heart that has grown dry and dead and worldly! I have thought that some measure of our growth in grace may be found in the degree in which our carnal natural reluctance to receive Christ back into our vessel, come how He may, is diminished. How full of significance is the inquiry, "To whom is the arm of the Lord revealed?" Blessed revelation; and well is it for those who feel ready to adopt the prayer, "Awake, awake, O arm of the Lord," if they know the way of its coming. Oh, how does its acceptance presuppose an experience of something of the kind, so awfully set forth as from Omnipotence Himself!—"I looked, and there was no man, therefore mine own arm brought salvation unto me." Yes, it is when He sees that we have no human expectance or confidence left, and are, as it were, at our wits' end; it is then that His own arm brings salvation, that He says, "Stand still, and see the salvation of God; for the Lord shall fight for you, and ye shall hold your peace." Oh, how great the condescension which has given me a glimpse of "so great salvation"! But I have remarked that it never has been in answer to any questionings or searchings of my own. Some great perplexities I have had lately, being so unable to satisfy myself how far religion or its duties should be the act of ourselves—so confused about prayer, etc. Difficulties, hardly capable to be put into words, put me in real distress; but the good seems to be revealed, if I may use such a word, to another part of me; or, as I. Pennington would say, "to another eye and ear than those which are so curious to learn." The Lord grant that I may at last become an obedient and truly teachable child; for that faculty, whatsoever it be, that asks vociferously, seems not to be the one which, as I.P. says, "graspingly receives," but is rather a hinderance to its reception.