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mouth in dreadful manner, yelling, and sending forth hideous outcries, beyond their common strength, to the terror of beasts which heard noise. The very same was among the quakers, whence they got the name; and it often seized even little children among them, so that it could be no counterfeit. And the like has been observable at the beginning of most of our sects.

When the Jews were cut to the heart, and repented, upon the preaching of the apostles, it is said, they smote their breasts and returned; but they did not fall into fits, roar and bellow like madmen: no such ecstatic conversions are to be found in holy scripture; all was grave, serious, and lovely. The spirit that descends from above, is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, and easy to be entreated. The reverse of which is the spirit that ascends from beneath; its birth is in monstrous forms, its gravity sour and sullen, the most difficult to be entreated, and the most impossible to be convinced; for, having aban. doned reason, what can convince? What can a man answer to what you say you feel within you, for which you give no reason nor hear any against it.

All this may seem a digression from the relation I promised concerning the death of the person, which is the subject of this, but it is necessary to make clear some passages in it. I remember some few days before she died, she told me, that in a dream, au old woman came to her, and told her, she should be damned for want of assurance. She said the dream made no impression

upon her, that she knew not what some people meant by assurance; that she firmly believed Christ had made full satisfaction for her sins, as well as for the sins of all others; that he would accept her sincere though unworthy repentance, and help the weakness of her faith; for that she trusted not either to the strength of her faith, or repentance, (which of themselves had need to be repented of) but as they gave her ground to lay hold upon the complete and all-suffi. cient satisfaction made for her by Christ; and this, said she, is my assurance. this, that she used to make the objection of the way being too easy, which I mentioned before, and upon which we have discoursed many days: she used to add, "Well, I cannot resist your reasoning; do believe; but the hour of death is the time of trial; if it should fail me then, I should think you had deceived me, and I am sure should be uneasy to see you." This she often re peated, but would confess,

It was before

that this was much more rational, and infinitely more ad. vancing the glory of God in all his attributes, than that wretched way of the quakers, to bid a mau trust his salvation to something within himself, where he can find nothing but what is mixed with our infirmities and our sins, and utterly unworthy to appear in the presence of God on its own account, but greatly abhorrent to think it should be worthy to make atonement and satisfaction for other sins, which whatever does, must surely be without sin itself: and if God sees folly in his angels, and the heavens are not clean in his

sight, what creature can then pretend to answer for the sins of others? None but Christ, who is God, could do it; and to mistrust the sufficiency of his satisfaction would be infidelity: and why should I fear for my sins? For he came to take away my sins." Then she would often repeat, "Lord I believe, help thou mine unbelief ;" and sometimes that saying in the Psalms, "Though I am sometimes afraid, yet I put my trust in thee."

I am now come to that which has occasioned all that I have said before, the last scene of her life she was worn to skin and bone by a long and lingering consumption, and all hope of recovery was for a good while taken away; but on Tuesday, the 4th of March, 1700, the more immediate signs of death appeared, her speech faltered, and she grew so weak that she could not move one hand from under the clothes, nor put it in again, but as they did it for her. The next day (which was Ash. Wednesday) I told her in the morning that the service of the day was long, and asked her, if she could bear it all. "Yes, said she, I will have it all, for it will be the last time." But be fore we got through the psalms (which are the seven penitential for that day) she changed, and we were forced to break off, she took leave of her husband, and I went down with him to a parlor below stairs, for I had persuaded him not to be present to see her expire: such sights often make too great impressions, especially on those so nearly related, and he was a very kind husband and extremely tender of her, and she was now past all

knowledge of what was said, and not capable of any answer. I bid her maid call me, when she came to the point of expiring, that I might give her the recommendatory prayer, which was all then remaining to be done. About seven or eight o'clock at night her speech quite failed her, her flesh grew cold and stiff, but she appeared to be in great agony, and the rattle in her throat was so loud as might be heard in the next room. Thus she continued till four o'clock in the morning, when her maid came down and told her husband and me (who sat up all this while in the parlor) that the rattle in her throat was quite gone, and all her agonies ceased, that she lay perfectly still, but yet was not asleep; for they could perceive her sometimes to open her eyes a little, but presently shut them again; and several times they held something to her mouth to try if she had breath, for she lay as still as if she had been dead. At five I went up to see how she was, and some noise being made in opening of the door, she started, and with struggling got out the word, " What!" meaning what noise that was. They told her it was I, who came to see how she did, and to pray by her; she frowned and put on a very angry look, and said, "Out, out," and at last, "Put him out," but speaking the words very imperfectly. The woman made signs to me to withdraw, for they had kept the room very still and quiet since she had fallen into that still fit. I went down again into the parlour to her husband, but then came into mind what she used to

say so often, of making the way too easy, that the hour of death was the time of trial and if it failed her then, she would not endure the sight of one that had deceived her fatally. This wrought strongly in my mind, and it appeared to me as if this had been the case: her speech restored to her, though but to strain out three words to shew her displeasure, when she had been quite speechless so many hours before; and I never ex-. pected to hear another word from her. She used to be desirous of prayers, and now to forbid me with so great anger, when she could not explain herself-I thought if I had made the way too easy, and so de. ceived her, I had deceived myself too, for I knew no other way to heaven for myself than I had told her, and that I should deceive all others. I could not find in myself more signs of sin. cere repentance, and a well grounded faith than she had expressed; and all appearing to me to have failed her at the last, brought terrible apprehensions upon me: then the Popish austerities came into my mind, and I thought though our doctrine be right, perhaps we make the way too easy in our practice, and think to go to heaven in down beds, without giving ourselves any trouble about it; and that to avoid the doctrine of merit, we ought not to lay aside all mortification. Then I bemoaned the too general neglect among us of those fasts appointed in our own church. All my own sins looked me full in the face, and I thought they are now required of me. I reflected, whether my notion of schism

might not be too severe, and whether I had not gone too far in bringing her entirely to our communion in her sickness (though she went sometimes to church) which I did, and could not otherwise have assisted her with the last offices of the church. I was sensible at that time that these were only the impressions of the imagination, yet they were too strong for me, and in all my life I never endured so great an agony. If none of these were the cause, then I concluded my unworthiness was the cause, and that God would not accept my minis. trations, and therefore had not blessed them. The last thing to which she appealed so often, the dying hour, having in all ap. pearance failed her, and I never having had the opportunity of so long acquaintance with any other person upon the subject of religion, and conducting her through all the steps both of public and private devotion, and cases of conscience; this looked to me like the breaking of a vessel, on which one had bestowed great pains, or a ship, after a long voyage sinking in the har. bor.

This trouble was upon me for an hour, when just about six o'clock her maid came running down, and opening the par. lor-door in haste, I concluded it was to tell me (as I had desired) that her mistress was just expiring, upon which I said to her husband, "Do not you go up, I'll go up" but the maid (with great surprise in her face) said, No, no, you must both come up; for my mistress hath sent for you both, and she is well and strong, and more cheerful than I ever saw her in

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my life."

We run up, and found her sitting up in her bed, with both her arms out of the clothes expanded, and using them with full freedom. There was a fresh and lively color in her face, and her eyes sparkling with such a transport of joy as I never saw in any face before or since her voice was strong and loud, and her words very distinct and articulate. She said, as soon as we came into the room, "I have sent for you to let you know, how gracious God has been to me; he has given me a foretaste of heaven; he has shewed it to me. Oh! the glorious sight that I have seen of angels and blessed spirits; and oh! the ravishing music! it is impossible to express it. My soul is exalted and enlarged! Oh! I could dance, I could sing, I could fly!" that was her very expression "Come, said she, weep no more, but praise God with me, laugh, rejoice, and sing!" In that rapture she continued about half an hour, before we gave her any interruption. The first thing that came into my mind was, that this might be a delirium, and that she was lightheaded, as an effect of her distemper; but as she had not the least of that during her whole sickness, for which I have often heard her bless God, that amidst all her pains he had kept her head and reason undisturbed; so it seemed strange to me, that such fumes (if that were the cause) should restore her strength, speech, sight, in so wonderful a manner, after she had lain now fifteen hours in the very jaws of death, for she was every thing but dead.

In fevers, and other violent attacks upon nature, when it is strong, there will be sometimes a sudden and vigorous revulse of the spirits, which will struggle when expiring; but it is not commonly so, when long and slow sicknesses have by degrees quite exhausted the strength of the body, which drops down for want of spirits to support it. But in all she said, bating the strangeness of what she related, there was not one disordered word, or that savored of lightness; and for nine hours after that she lived (for she died not till three in the afternoon) she spoke to her husband, to her child who was with her, to her sister, to her servants, and concerning her temporal affairs, with as much consistency and strength of reason, as in all her life; nor did one word, that looked in the least giddy or light-headed, drop from her; though that transport and joy in her face, and cheerfulness in her voice, and all her actions continued with her all along, and in every thing she said and did. The impression that transport of pleasure had printed in her countenance, was not quite worn off when she expired, and seemed to remain even after her death, an air of satisfaction appeared in her corpse. without a sigh or groan, or the least struggle, or any thing more terrible than seeing one fall into a sweet sleep, just at the close of the recommendatory prayer. A little before she died, when she could no longer discourse, but speak single words, I saw her put her finger to her breast when death was making its last effort, and say, "hard, hard ;"

She died

but then immediately, as if correcting herself, she lift up both her hands, and looking up, with great cheerfulness in her eyes, she cried, "This pain is nothing, joy, heaven!" which were the last words I heard her speak. The first sight we had of that strange transport in her, which was about six o'clock that morning, had an effect upon me more than upon herself. It lit. erally turned our mourning into joy; for she expressed herself with that liveliness and assurance, as forced her husband and other relations to express their joy likewise; and what tears there were, were of joy and astonishment. I remember, while she was describing to us the blessedness she had seen, she took notice of her sister weep ing by her, and turning to her, took her kindly by the hand, and said, "What do you do? Don't you believe me?" "Yes," said her sister, "I do." "No," said she, "you don't; for if you did, you would not cry. Indeed, indeed, I tell you nothing but what I have seen, and what is true."

The first impression I had of this strange sight was, that it was a delirium or lightness in the head: I had a mind to try the sincerity of it all the ways I could. She had all along, dur. ing her sickness, expressed an uneasiness at dying, and was very desirous to live, with due submission to the will of God. After the first expression of her transport, I said, "God has been very gracious to you, and he may do more still." "More," said she, "what can be more?"

"He

may restore you again to your perfect health, though, in

human appearance, there is no prospect of it.” “I know that," said she and stretching out her arm, which was skin and bone, "He that made these boues may put flesh upon them again, if he pleases." "But

do

you desire it," said I; "shall we pray for it with submission to his will ?” “ Hold,” said she; then musing a while, said, "let me see; I am now in the flower of my age, going in my thirtieth year; I have a kind husband, good children, and loving friends, and plenty enough in the world, I want nothing: are not these all the reasons any one can have to wish to live? And I was very desir. ous to live, if it were God's will; but now I would not live for all the world; nothing in the world could relish with me now. After what I have seen, all would be dead and insipid to me: no; I would not live for ten thousand pounds a year. I was loath to leave you (said she to her husband) and my children being young; and was very uneasy to think of their coming under a mother-in-law; but they are in God's hands, and I lay no desire upon you, said she to her husband, not to marry again. No; these desires, which some. dying people have, savor too much of the world: marry in God's name, when you find it convenient for you, but don't forget my two girls. true, I leave you no son; but two good girls are better than one naughty boy, said she, with a pleasant air, and you know not what a boy might have proved. I was indeed loath to leave you, but now I would not stay with you (speaking to her husband)

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