The Annual Monitor for 1851 Part 4

On one occasion, when feeling exceedingly depressed, he remarked, that the vessels he had visited, and the poor sailors were brought mentally to view, one after another, with much sweetness, and whilst he took no merit to himself, he desired to encourage others to do what they could for the good of the poor. At another time, after giving instructions to one of his sisters, to make some selection of tracts for the sailors on board a German vessel, then lying in the harbour, he observed: "Oh, what a field of labour there is! how I do wish that some one would take this up, for I feel as though I should be able to do very little more in it."

His mind, during his illness, seemed filled with love and grat.i.tude. He remarked, "I never felt so much love before, both to my family and friends; I do believe this illness will bind us more closely together than ever." And again: "Oh, how kind you are to wait upon me so; the Lord will reward you!" At another time, he said, "I had not thought to have been taken at this time of my life, but I am in such a critical state, that life hangs on a thread;--the pains of the body are what I seem most to dread."

On inquiring one day, where that line was to be found, "At ease in his possessions," he remarked, "I do not think I have been at ease in mine, I have endeavoured to live loose to them." A hope being expressed that his illness would be sanctified to him, he quickly replied, "Yes, and not to me only, but to all of you." He gave some directions, in the event of his death, with much composure, observing: "It seems an awful thing for me to say thus much, but a great favour to be so free from anxiety." In the night he was heard to say: "No merit of mine, it is all of mercy, free unmerited mercy!" On a young man in his employment coming to a.s.sist him, previous to going to his own place of wors.h.i.+p, when about to leave the room, he thus addressed him: "Mind and make a good use of the time, and do not be afraid of looking into thy own heart, but suffer the witness to come in and speak, whether it be in the language of encouragement or reproof. Many persons go to their places of wors.h.i.+p, where much of the time is spent in singing and in music, which please the outward ear, but this is not religion! It is when we are brought to see ourselves as we really are, sinners in the sight of a holy G.o.d, that we are led to seek a Saviour, and to cry, in sincerity, 'A Saviour, or I die! A Redeemer, or I perish for ever!'"

On its being remarked to him, that it was consolingly believed, he was one of those who had endeavoured to occupy with his talent, which, if only one, it was hoped, had gained an increase, he replied,--"That will only be known at the great day of account, when weighed in the balance."

On Seventh-day evening preceding his decease, he remarked to a beloved relative, that it seemed the safest for him to say but little in regard to his own attainments, adding,--"My desire is, for a continuance of kind preservation." And on the day before his death, he remarked with grat.i.tude, that his intellects had been preserved clear throughout his illness. During the night, he was much engaged in prayer; his bodily powers were fast sinking, but his mind appeared preserved in peaceful serenity. In the morning, he expressed a desire that his sister would remain by him, affectionately inquired for his father, and soon after, we reverently believe, exchanged a state of suffering for one of never-ending rest and joy, in the everlasting kingdom of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ.

ALBERT GEORGE HORSNAILL, _Rochester_. Son of George and Maria Horsnaill.

4 5mo. 22 1850

JAMES HOTHAM, _Leeds_. 44 2mo. 7 1850

JOHN HULL, _Ramsgate_. Died at Cheltenham. 55 6mo. 3 1850

MARY HUNT, _Almondsbury_. A Minister. Widow of James Hunt. 79 12mo. 7 1849

DAVID HURST, _West Houghton_, _Lancas.h.i.+re_. 35 2mo. 19 1850

HANNAH IRWIN, _Deptford_. Wife of Thomas Irwin. 55 2mo. 9 1850

JOHN CLARK ISAAC, _Studminster_, _Newton_, _Marnhull_. 67 2mo. 12 1850

ELIZABETH PIM JACOB, _Newlands_, _Dublin_. Daughter of the late Joseph Jacob. 17 10mo. 30 1849

ELIZABETH JACOBS, _Folkstone_. Widow of Jacob Jacobs. 76 6mo. 9 1850

CAROLINE JACOBS, _Maidstone_. Daughter of Jacob and Lydia Jacobs. 6 8mo. 15 1850

MARY ANN JEFFERIES, _Melksham_. Daughter of Thomas and Martha Jefferies.

38 12mo. 14 1849

EMMA JEFFREY, _Folkstone_. Daughter of the late John and Eliza Jeffrey.

11 10mo. 6 1849

SARAH JEPHCOTT, _Coventry_. Wife of Enoch Jephcott. 72 3mo. 26 1850

SAMUEL JONES, _Hoxton_. 39 5mo. 10 1850

SARAH JONES, _Hereford_. Daughter of Joseph Jones. 22 7mo. 17 1850

JUDITH KING, _Castle Donington_. 86 8mo. 11 1850

JOHN LESLIE, _Wells_, _Norfolk_. 66 10mo. 14 1849

CHARLES LIDBETTER, _Croydon_. Son of Martin and Elizabeth Lidbetter. 2 2mo. 9 1850

JOHN LITTLE, _Alston_. 78 3mo. 27 1850

RICHARD LYNES, _Chelsea_. 85 1mo. 3 1850

WILLIAM LYTHALL, _Baddesley_, _Warwicks.h.i.+re_. 68 3mo. 13 1850

ANN MALCOMSON, _Milton_, _Ireland_. Widow of Thomas Malcomson. 79 7mo.

2 1850

WILLIAM MALLY, _Preston_. 77 7mo. 23 1850

JOSEPH MARRIAGE, _Chelmsford_. 76 12mo. 8 1849

WILLIAM MARSH, _Ashton_, _Lancas.h.i.+re_. 50 10mo. 1 1849

REBECCA MARSH, _Dorking_. Wife of William Marsh. 49 10mo. 27 1849

ALFRED MARSH, _Luton_. Son of Robert and Maria Marsh. 4 8mo. 14 1850

DAVID MARSHALL, _Sheffield_. 61 12mo. 9 1849

JANE MASON, _Leeds_. Wife of George Mason. 45 10mo. 9 1849

MARY MILES, _Peckham_. Wife of Edward Miles. 36 4mo. 1 1850

SUSANNA MOORE, _Waterford_. 80 8mo. 12 1850

PRISCILLA NASH, _London_. Daughter of William and Rebecca Nash. 17 3mo.

13 1850

EDWARD PHILIP NASH, _Holt_, _Norfolk_. Son of Thomas W. and Sarah Nash.

2 4mo. 1 1850

HANNAH NEALE, _Mountmelick_. Daughter of William Neale. 33 3mo. 29 1850

Hannah Neale had an extensive circle of acquaintance, by whom she was much beloved and esteemed, as being one of a very innocent and blameless life. Some of the circ.u.mstances relating to her, are of a very affecting and interesting character, and speak loudly the uncertainty of all earthly prospects. In the summer of last year, she entered into an engagement of marriage with a friend residing in England. Having considered the subject with earnest and sincere desires to act in accordance with best wisdom, she looked forward to the completion of the prospect with a pleasing and hopeful confidence, yet even at an early period of the engagement, there was something that seemed to whisper to her, the uncertainty of its completion.

At this time she appeared in her usual health and full of spirits; but whilst on a visit to her aunt, at Kingstown, her health became affected, and from this time, symptoms exhibited themselves, which baffled all medical skill. She was still, however, hopeful respecting her own recovery, and very often expressed in her correspondence, how much she was pained by the thought of being the cause of so much anxiety to others,--that her own sufferings were trifling, and the comforts surrounding her so numerous, she felt that she had every thing to be thankful for. It was, however, evident to those around her, that there was little ground for hope, and a dear friend intimated to her, that her medical advisers considered her end might possibly be very near. This intelligence greatly startled her, but she afterward expressed, how thankful she felt that she had been honestly apprized of her danger.

The solemn impression then made on her mind, never left her, and her constant desire was, that she might, through divine mercy, be made meet for the kingdom of heaven, repeating emphatically, "I have much to do."

She often expressed her great sorrow, that she had not yielded to the serious impressions with which she had been favoured, saving, "They were soon scattered;" and regretted much that she had not lived a more devoted life. She felt herself to be a great sinner, needing a Saviour's gracious pardon; and for a long time feared she never should obtain that forgiveness, she so earnestly longed for. But though her faith was feeble, she endeavoured to lay hold of encouragement from the mercy extended to the Prodigal Son, and to the Thief upon the cross, hoping that the same mercy might be extended to herself; but for a long time, her poor tossed and tried mind "could find nothing to lean upon." She remarked, she could not feel that she had sinned against her fellow-creatures, but that she could adopt the words of the Psalmist: "Against Thee, Thee only, have I sinned," saying, "I feel that I have nothing to build upon, and that I want every thing; I am not prepared to die, I want all my sins to be forgiven; I hope I shall not be taken till the work be fully accomplished." The whole of the 51st Psalm, she said, seemed to suit her case, and with solemnity repeated, "'Create in me a clean heart, oh G.o.d! and renew a right spirit within me.' If I am saved, it will indeed be at the eleventh hour, I have been such a sinner."

Thus did the Spirit of Truth search all things, and bring this beloved friend sensibly to feel, as she weightily expressed, "that at such a solemn hour, it will not do to build upon having led a spotless and innocent life, something more is then wanted to lean upon." She often observed, how well it was for those who had given up their hearts to serve their Saviour in the time of health,--that had she done so, she should not now, in the hour of trial, have had to feel such deep sorrow of heart,--that she could only hope for mercy and forgiveness, adding, "If I perish, let it be at Thy footstool."

As her bodily weakness increased, she remarked, "I often feel unable to read, or even to think; but I can _cling_; this is about as much as I am able to do."

Though this beloved friend took these low views of her own state, her company was deeply instructive and edifying to those around her, and a heavenly sweetness marked her deportment. Her heart was often filled with grat.i.tude to her heavenly Father for the extension of his love and mercy, and she remarked many times, "I have indeed been mercifully dealt with."

The dear sufferer rapidly declined; yet her mind continued bright, and she was preserved in a patient, waiting state, fully conscious of the approach of death, she queried how long it was thought likely she might live? praying,--"Oh! dear Saviour, may it please thee not to take me till the work be fully accomplished." She often said, "It is a solemn thing to die;" and the evening preceding her death, when her friends were watching around her, she remarked that, believing her end was near, "It felt very, very solemn to her." At this deeply interesting season, He who is indeed Love, condescended in great mercy to draw near, so that she seemed lifted above terrestrial things, and permitted a foretaste of those joys, of which we consolingly believe, she now fully partic.i.p.ates.