do, for that man is as much called to preach the gospel as ever you were." This kept him from an hasty execution of his purpose; and it being found upon enquiry that good was done to the people, the practice was suffered to continue.

Mr. Wesley gives the following account of his mother's death:* I left Bristol in the evening of Sunday the 18th, (July 1742) and on Tuesday came to London. I found my mother on the borders of eterhity. But she had no doubt or fear; nor any desire but as soon as God should call, to depart and be with Christ

«Friday the 23d, about three in the afternoon, İ went to my mother, and found her change was near. She was in her last conflict unable to speak, but I believe quite sensible. Her look was calm and screne, and her eyes fixt upward, while we commended her soul to God. From three to four the silver cord was loosing, and the wheel breaking at the cistern and then, without any struggle or sigh or groan, the soul was set at liberty! We stood round the bed, and fulfilled her last request, uttered a little before she lost her speech; "Children, as soon as I am released, sing a psalm of praise to God."

of

"Sunday, August 1st. Almost an innumerable company of people being gathered together, about five in the afternoon, I committed to the earth the body my mother to sleep with her fathers. The portion of scripture from which I afterwards spoke, was, I saw a great white throne and him that sat on it; from whose face the earth and the heaven fled away, and there was found no place for them. And I saw the dead small and great, standing before God, and the books were opened-

*Wesley's Works, voÌ. xxviíi. p. 83. N. B. The date in the printed Journal is erroneous.

opened And the dead were judged out of those things which were written in the books, according to their works. It was one of the most solemn assemblies I ever saw, or expect to see, on this side eternity.

"We set up a plain stone at the head of her grave, inscribed with the following words:

"Here lies the body of Mrs. Susannah Wesley, the youngest and last surviving daughter of Dr. Samuel Annesley.

"In sure and stedfast hope to rise,
And claim her mansion in the skies,
A Christian here her flesh laid down,
The cross exchanging for a crown" &c.

Mrs. Wesley had taken great pains with all her children, to furnish their minds with useful knowledge, and to instil into them the principles of religion and virtue. The daughters were by no means neglected, they shared their mother's care with the sons. Most of them had a fine genuis for poetry; but, Mrs. Wright shone the brightest in this walk of elegant amusement, and to her we shall chiefly confine our observations in speaking of the daughters of these venerable parents,

Mrs. Wright was her mother's tenth or eleventh child; and it has been said, that when she was eight years old she could read the Greek Testament. From her infancy she was gay and sprightly, and extremely addicted to wit and humour. As she grew up, she indulged herself in these dispositions so far as to give great uneasiness to her parents, and was often betrayed into little inadvertencies, which contributed, at least, to her future unhappiness in life. About the year 1724, or the beginning of 1725, a gentleman, respectable

respectable so far as we can find, both for his abilities

addresses to her, and she But from some circum

and situation in life, paid his had a sincere regard for him. stance or other, he and her father disagreed, and the affair was broken off. From a concurrence of circumstances in the end of the year 1725, she was induced to marry a person no way adapted to make her happy; being low and rude in address, and much inferior to her in understanding; and he proved unkind . to her. Her situation preyed upon her mind, her health and strength gradually wasted away, and at length she sunk into a degree of melancholy that made her truly wretched. Most of her verses which have been preserved, though beautiful, and written in the true spirit of poetry, are saddened with an air of deep distress, which strongly marks this state of body and mind. The following address to her husband will give us some notion of his character, and shew us the true cause of her wretchedness.

Mrs. MEHETABLE WRIGHT to her Husband.

"THE ardent lover cannot find

A coldness in his fair unkind,
But blaming what he cannot hate
He mildly chides the dear ingrate;
And though despairing of relief,
In soft complaining vents his grief.

"Then what should hinder but that I,
Impatient of my wrongs, may try,
By saddest, softest strains, to move
My wedded latest dearest love?
To throw his cold neglect aside,

And cheer once more his injured bride.

"O!

O! thou, who sacred rites design'd, My guide and husband ever kind; My sov'reign master, best of friends, On whom my earthly bliss depends; If e'er thou didst in Hetty see Ought fair, or good, or dear to thee; If gentle speech can ever move The cold remains of former love, Turn thee at last-my bosom case, Or tell me why I cease to please.

"Is it because revolving years, Heart-breaking sighs, and fruitless tears, Have quite depriv'd this form of mine Of all that once thou fanci'dst fine? Ah no! what once allur'd thy sight, Is still in its meridian height : These eyes their usual lustre show, When un-eclips'd by flowing woe. Old age and wrinkles in this face As yet could never find a place; A youthful grace adorns the lines, Where still the purple current shines; Unless by thy ungentle art, It flies to aid my wretched heart: Nor does this slighted bosom shew The thousand hours it spends in woe.

"Or is it that oppressed with care
I stun with loud complaints thine ear,
And make thy home, for quiet meant,
The seat of noise and discontent?
Oh no! those ears were ever free
From matrimonial melody.
For though thine absence I lament,
When half the lonely night is spent ;
Yet when the watch or early morn,
Has brought me hopes of thy return,

I oft, have wip'd these watchful eyes,
Conceal'd my cares, and curb'd my sighs,
In spite of grief, to let thee see
I wore an endless smile for thee.

"Had I not practised every art
T'oblige, divert, and cheer thy heart,
To make me pleasing in thine eyes,
And turn thy home to paradise,
I had not ask'd, why dost thou shun
These faithful arms, and eager run
To some obscure unclean retreat,
With fiends incarnate glad to meet,
The vile companions of thy mirth,
The scum and refuse of the earth?
Who when inspir'd with beer can grin
At witless oaths, and jests obscene ;
Till the most learned of the throng
Begin a tale of ten hours long,

Whilst thou in raptures, with stretched jaws,
Crownest each joke with loud applause.

"

Deprived of freedom, health, and ease, And rival'd by such things as these,

This latest effort will I try,

Or to regain thine heart, or die:
Soft as I am, I'll make thee see
I will not brook contempt from thee.
Then quit the shuffling doubtful sense,
Nor hold me longer in suspense.
Unkind, ungrateful as thou art,
Say must I ne'er regain thy heart?
Must all attempts to please thee prove
Unable to regain thy love?
If so by truth itself I swear,
The sad reverse I cannot bear
No rest, no pleasure will I see,
My whole of bliss is lost with thee.

TH