William Carvosso - A Memoir - Chapter 1

When I have lately reflected on the forbearance of God, in sparing me while I lived without Him, amidst innumerable sins and provocations, more than twenty years; and have also considered the amazing displays of His mercy and love, during nearly half a century, since I fled as a poor penitent sinner to Jesus Christ for pardon and salvation; I have felt an ardent desire to write down something of His kind dealings toward me; and more especially so since my dear son requested me to do it. Convinced in my own mind it is a duty so to do, I now sit down to make the attempt. I can appeal to THEE, Oh Thou Searcher of hearts, that in this matter I aim at nothing but Thy glory; and my earnest prayer is, that to what I write Thou wouldst give Thy blessing for Thy own Name’s sake. Amen.

I was born March 11, 1750, near Mousehole, in the parish of Paul, county of Cornwall. Of my father I knew but little. When I was very young, he went to sea in a trading vessel, and was afterward taken by a press-gang and put on board a man-of-war. He continued in the king’s service many years, and died in Greenwich Hospital.

My mother was a churchwoman, and one I trust who feared God and found her way to Heaven. We were four brothers and one sister. I was the youngest of the family. Till I was ten years of age I lived with my mother, who, during this time, carefully taught me to read.

A respectable farmer of the same parish now requested me to come and live with him, and to this I cheerfully consented. After a while my master became very earnest about having an indenture for me. My father happening to come into Plymouth just at this time, he went up to him and got me bound till I was eighteen years of age. Three years after this my master died; but, as I was treated with great kindness, I remained in the family eleven years. During this time I was borne down by the prevailing sins of the age: cock-fighting, wrestling, card-playing, and Sabbath-breaking. Though I cannot recollect that during this period I heard a sermon by a Methodist preacher, yet I was a regular attendant at my parish church.

When I reflect on those years of my life, I cannot but praise God for His kind providence over me while I knew Him not. How often am I constrained to say,

“Through hidden dangers, toils, and death,
Thou, Lord, hast gently clear’d my way!”

Twice I was near being drowned: once when a child, by falling into a river, and once by attempting to cross over Hayle on horseback, when the tide was too high—this was a very narrow escape. On another occasion I was thrown from a horse and taken up for dead.

In the year 1771 the Lord was pleased, in His mercy, to convert my sister; and, having tasted that the Lord was gracious, she came from Gwinear, a distance of twelve miles, to tell us of the happy news and to warn us to flee from the wrath to come. On entering my mother’s house on the Sabbath morning, I was not a little surprised to find my sister on her knees praying with my mother and brothers. After she had concluded, she soon began to inquire what preparation I was making for eternity. I was quite at a loss for an answer. She then asked me if I attended the preaching of the Methodists. I told her I did not. Upon this, she particularly requested me to go that night. “And be sure,” said she, “you hear for yourself.”

As the evening drew on, I felt a very strong desire to go to the preaching. It was at Newlyn, in a room on the Maddern side of the river. As soon as I entered the place, I steadfastly fixed my eyes on the preacher, Mr. Thomas Hanson. His text was, “We are ambassadors for Christ, as though God did beseech you by us: we pray you in Christ’s stead, be ye reconciled to God.” The Word quickly reached my heart. The scales fell off from my eyes. I saw and felt I was in “the gall of bitterness, and in the bond of iniquity.” I had such a sight of the damning nature of sin and what I had done against God that I was afraid the earth would have opened and swallowed me up. I then made a solemn promise to the Lord that if He would spare me I would serve Him all my days.

I now gave up my sins and all my old companions at a stroke, and at once determined that if I could see any one going to Heaven I would join him. For myself I was determined to go to Heaven, cost what it would.

That night I had a hard struggle with Satan about praying before I went to bed. He appeared as if he was by me, and labored to terrify me with his presence and the cross of the duty. But the Lord helped me against the temptation by applying that portion of Scripture, “Let your light so shine before men that they may see your good works. . . .” Satan instantly fled, and I fell on my knees.

It would be too tedious to mention everything that passed, and all my inward struggles, before I found the Lord. I suffered much for many days; but about the space of eight hours before I received the pardon of sin I might have said with David, “The pains of hell gat hold upon me.” The adversary of my soul harassed me with this temptation, “The day of grace is passed; it is now too late.”

I had no one to instruct or encourage me—no one to point me to Christ. I knew nothing of the way of faith, nor had I been at a class meeting. I remember, however, that in the midst of the conflict, I said, in answer to the powerful suggestions of the devil, “I am determined, whether I am saved or lost, that, while I have breath, I will never cease crying for mercy.” The very moment I formed this resolution in my heart, Christ appeared within, and God pardoned all my sins and set my soul at liberty. The Spirit itself now bore witness with my spirit that I was a child of God. This was about nine o’clock at night, May 6, 1771. Never shall I forget that happy hour.

From experience I now well knew that Satan was a “roaring lion,” but I was not yet aware of his being able to transform himself into “an angel of light.” He now told me that I must not declare what I had experienced; and that if I did, I should at once fall into condemnation. I was caught in a snare; and without the least hesitation I said, “Then I will take care not to mention it.” For two days I kept it from my brother, who lived in the same family, and was laboring under the same distress of mind as that from which I had been delivered. But overhearing some friends at Mousehole, after they came out of a meeting, talk on the subject of their knowing their sins forgiven, I was drawn to join in the conversation and told them of what I had felt. The delusion under which I labored now vanished, and I at once saw the matter in a Scriptural light. “No man lighteth a candle and putteth it under a bushel;” but, that as “with the heart man believeth unto righteousness,” so “with the mouth confession is made unto salvation.”

Here I would remark, how wonderful is God’s method of saving sinners and spreading the knowledge of His grace! My sister was converted at a distance of many miles from us; but, in the fullness of her heart, she came that distance to tell us what great things the Lord had done for her, and to invite us to partake of the same salvation. The Lord was pleased to bless her visit, and make it instrumental in bringing my brother, Benedict, and myself to the knowledge of the truth.

My brother and I both joined the society at Mousehole at the same time. At this period the society there was very small, consisting of one class only.

In this class the principal persons whose names I can recollect were John Harvey and his wife (in whose house both the class meeting and preaching were held), Jacob George and his wife, Joseph Beaden and his wife, John Yeoman and his two daughters, and Richard Wright, who afterwards became a traveling preacher, and was one of the first who went to America.

I went on for the space of three months in the same happy frame of mind which God brought me into at my conversion, not expecting any more conflicts. But Oh, how greatly was I mistaken! I was a young recruit, and knew not of the warfare I had to engage in. But I was soon taught that I had only enlisted as a soldier to fight for King Jesus—that I had not only to contend with Satan and the world from without, but with inward enemies also, which now began to make no small stir.

Having never conversed with any one who enjoyed purity of heart nor read any of Mr. Wesley’s works, I was at a loss both with respect to the nature and the way to obtain the blessing of full salvation. From my first setting out in the way to Heaven, I determined to be a Bible Christian. Though I had not much time for reading many books, yet I blessed God that I had His own Word, the Bible, and could look into it. This gave me a very clear map of the way to Heaven and told me that “without holiness no man could see the Lord.”

It is impossible for me to describe what I suffered from “an evil heart of unbelief.” My heart appeared to me as a small garden with a large stump of a tree in it, which had been recently cut down level with the ground and a little loose earth strewed over it. I saw something shooting up I did not like; and, on attempting to pluck it up, I discovered the deadly remains of the carnal mind, and what a work must be done before I could be “meet for the inheritance of the saints in light.”

My inward nature appeared so black and sinful that I felt it impossible to rest in that state. Perhaps some will imagine that this may have arisen from the want of the knowledge of forgiveness. That could not have been the case, for I never had one doubt of my acceptance. The witness was so clear that Satan himself knew it was in vain to attack me from that quarter. I have ever kept in remembrance

“The blessed hour, when from above
I first received the pledge of love.”

What I now wanted was “inward holiness,” and for this I prayed and searched the Scriptures. Among the number of promises which I found in the Bible that gave me to see it was my privilege to be saved from all sin, my mind was particularly directed to Ezek. 36:25-27. “Then will I sprinkle clean water upon you, and ye shall be clean: from all your filthiness, and from all your idols, will I cleanse you. A new heart also will I give you, and a new spirit will I put within you: and I will take away the stony heart out of your flesh, and I will give you an heart of flesh. And I will put my Spirit within you, and cause you to walk in my statutes, and ye shall keep my judgments, and do them.” This is the great and precious promise of the eternal Jehovah. I laid hold of it, determined not to stop short of my privilege; for I saw clearly that the will of God was my sanctification. The more I examined the Scriptures, the more I was convinced that without holiness there could be no Heaven.

Many were the hard struggles which I had with unbelief. Satan told me that if I ever should get it, I should never be able to retain it. But, keeping close to the Word of God, with earnest prayer and supplication, the Lord gave me to see that nothing short of it would do in a dying hour and the judgment day. Seeing this, it was my constant cry to God that He would cleanse my heart from all sin and make me holy for the sake of Jesus Christ.

I well remember returning one night from a meeting with my mind greatly distressed from a want of the blessing. I turned into a lonely barn to wrestle with God in secret prayer. While kneeling on the threshing floor, agonizing for the great salvation, this promise was applied to my mind, “Thou art all fair, my love; there is no spot in thee.” But, like poor Thomas, I was afraid to believe, lest I should deceive myself. Oh what a dreadful enemy is unbelief! Thomas was under its wretched influence only eight days before Jesus appeared to him; but a fortnight after this I was groaning for deliverance, saying, “Oh wretched man that I am! who shall deliver me from the body of this death?” I yielded to unbelief instead of looking to Jesus and believing on Him for the blessing, not having then clearly discovered that the witness of the Spirit is God’s gift, not my act, but given to all who exercise faith in Jesus and the promise made through Him.

At length, one evening, while engaged in a prayer meeting, the great deliverance came. I began to exercise faith by believing “I shall have the blessing now.” Just at that moment a heavenly influence filled the room. No sooner had I uttered or spoken the words from my heart, “I shall have the blessing now,” than refining fire went “through my heart, illuminated my soul, scattered its life through every part, and sanctifed the whole.”

I then received the full witness of the Spirit that the blood of Jesus had cleansed me from all sin. I cried out, “This is what I wanted! I have now got a new heart.” I was emptied of self and sin, and filled with God. I felt I was nothing, and Christ was all in all. Him I now cheerfully received in all His offices: my Prophet to teach me, my Priest to atone for me, my King to reign over me.

“Amazing love! How can it be
That Thou, my Lord, should’st die for me!”

Oh what boundless, boundless happiness there is in Christ, and all for such a poor sinner as I am! This happy change took place in my soul March 13, 1772.

Soon after this, Mr. Wesley’s pamphlet on Christian Perfection was put into my hand. I do not know that I had ever seen any of his works before. On reading this little work, I was filled with amazement to think that a man I had never seen could read my heart in such a manner. This tended greatly to establish me in the truth of the Gospel.

About three years after I became a member of the society, I was requested to take the charge of a little class, to which I submitted in the fear of God. I had been a leader about four or five years when I was convinced it was my duty to alter my condition in life by exchanging the state of a single for that of a married man. In this matter I ever believed I was divinely directed, for God gave me a wife who proved a helpmeet for me all the days of her life. In matters temporal and spiritual, I always found her a lasting blessing to me.

On entering the marriage state, I took a small farm near Mousehole and engaged myself on the Seine in the summer during the pilchard season. Though our accomodations were humble, for some years the preachers lodged with us. But I never found the sea to agree with me. At length I earnestly prayed that God would direct my steps and fix me in some place where I might support myself and family wholly on the land. Soon He condescended to grant me the desire of my heart. For this I hope I shall praise Him in time and to all eternity.

Unsolicited, and in a manner which I did not expect, my way was opened to take a farm in the parish of Gluvias, near Ponsanooth. And here, at Christmas, 1788, I brought a beloved wife and two children; and before the end of a year came round we had another son. In entering on our new sphere of life with little capital, we had many unpleasant things to encounter; but the Lord was with us and brought us through all.

Here I found my outward religious privileges were widely different from what they were at Mousehole. It was like being brought from the land of Goshen into a dry and barren wilderness. There was no chapel in the neighborhood; but at a farmhouse, about three quarters of a mile distant, we had preaching once a fortnight. Here was a little class, feeble and destitute enough. It had no leader (he having been removed some time before), and not one of the members could even assist in holding a prayer meeting. When I beheld these few poor sheep in the wilderness without a shepherd, I began to discover the reason why God had brought me from the distance of twenty-six miles and fixed me in this place.

I took the charge of the little class and went on for some years without seeing much good done. At length, two pious men came into the neighborhood for a short time to work. I was led, in rather a singular manner, and without knowing their characters, to give them lodging at my house. With their help, a prayer meeting was now commenced.

About this time I saw it my duty, though the Lord has given me but one talent, to attempt in the prayer meetings to give a word of exhortation. I saw sinners perishing without repentance; and the Lord seemed to say to me, “Their blood will I require at thy hands.” With fear and trembling I opened my mouth to beseech them to flee from the wrath to come. And soon after, to our great joy, it pleased the Lord to convince and convert a few souls and add them to our little number.

It was about this time that the Lord condescended to hear prayer and convert my two elder children. Returning one night from the quarterly meeting love-feast at Redruth in company with a pious friend, he told me he had the unspeakable happiness the night before to witness the conversion of his young daughter while he held her in his arms. I informed him I had two children who were getting up to mature age, but I was grieved to say I had not yet seen any marks of a work of God upon their minds. His reply I shall never forget: “Brother,” said he, “has not God promised to pour His Spirit upon thy seed, and His blessing upon thy offspring?”

The words went through me in an unaccountable manner. They seemed to take hold of my heart. I felt as if I had not done my duty, and resolved to make a new effort in prayer. I had always prayed for my children, but now I grasped the promise with the hand of faith and retired daily at special seasons to put the Lord to His word. I said nothing of what I felt or did to any one but the Searcher of hearts, with Whom I wrestled in an agony of prayer.

About a fortnight after I had been thus engaged with God, being at work in the field, I received a message from my wife, informing me that I was wanted within. When I entered the house, my wife told me, “Grace is above stairs. She is apparently distressed for something, but nothing can be got from her but that she must see father.” Judge of my feelings when I found my daughter a weeping penitent at the feet of Jesus. On seeing me she exclaimed, “Oh father, I am afraid I shall go to hell!” The answer of my full heart was, “No, glory be to God, I am not afraid of that now.” She said she had felt the load of sin about a fortnight, and that now she longed to find Christ. I pointed her to the true Physician, and she soon found rest through faith in the atoning blood.

My eldest son had hitherto been utterly careless about the things of God and associated with youths of a similar disposition of mind, but now he became the subject of a manifest change. He cast off his old companions; and one Sunday afternoon, just before I was going to meet my class, he came to me with a sorrowful mind and expressed his desire to go with me to the class meeting. He did go, and that day he cast in his lot with the people of God. And, blessed be His holy Name, they both continue to this day.

The society had now considerably increased, and the barren wilderness began to rejoice. We had two large classes, but no one had yet arisen to assist me as a leader. We now had preaching twice a week, and the place where we assembled became too small for the congregation. There was also much uncertainty about our being able to occupy it much longer. I therefore saw it my duty to do my utmost to get a little chapel erected before the Lord should remove me from them. After much labor and anxiety, a suitable spot was procured for the purpose. To build the chapel was a great work for us; but by labor, giving what we could, and begging of those whom the Lord inclined to help us, we at length saw the blessed work accomplished. And now that I beheld the desire of my heart given me, Oh how did I rejoice and exult in the God of my salvation!

The work of the Lord prospered more and more in the society, and I now began to feel a particular concern for the salvation of my younger son. I laid hold by faith on the same promise which I had before urged when pleading for my other children, and went to the same place to call upon my God in his behalf.

One day, while I was wrestling with God in mighty prayer for him, these words were applied with power to my mind: “There shall not a hoof be left behind.” I could pray no more. My prayer was lost in praises, in shouts of joy, and “Glory, glory, glory! the Lord will save all my family!”

While I am writing this, the silent tears flow down from my eyes. His life was quite moral; I could not reprove him for any outward sin. In his leisure hours his delight was in studying different branches of useful knowledge; but this, though good in its place, was not religion. I knew his heart was yet estranged from God.

After the answer I had in prayer, I waited some time, hoping to see the change effected in him as it was in his sister and brother. But this not taking place according to my expectations, I felt my mind deeply impressed with the duty of embracing the first opportunity of opening my mind to him and talking closely to him about eternal things. I accordingly came to him on one occasion when he was, as usual, engaged with his books. With my heart deeply affected, I asked him if it was not time for him to enter upon a life of religion. I told him “with tears” that I then felt my body was failing, and that if anything would distress my mind in a dying hour, it would be the thought of closing my eyes in death before I saw him converted to God.

This effort the Lord was pleased to bless. The truth took hold of his heart. He went with me to the class meeting, and soon obtained the knowledge of salvation by the remission of his sins. This was a matter of great joy and rejoicing to me and my dear wife. We had now the unspeakable happiness of seeing all our dear children converted to God and traveling in the way to Heaven with us.

Our place of worship now again became too strait for us. The society and friends of God’s cause had so increased that after much deliberation it was resolved to pull down the chapel that had been erected a few years before, build a much larger one on the same site, and attach a burying ground to it. This was done accordingly. I did not, however, take so prominent a part in it as on the former occasion. God had now raised up others to take this burden from me.

In the month of June, 1813, it pleased the Lord to visit me with a severe and heavy trial by bereaving me of my dearly beloved wife. She died of that painful disease, a cancer in the breast. In the beginning of her complaint, two physicians were consulted; but, by reason of a difference of opinion between them, it was never cut out. For eighteen months she suffered at times indescribably, but the Lord wonderfully supported her. She bore up under her affliction in a most astonishing manner. Such were the manifestations of the divine presence to her soul that in the midst of her severest sufferings she would often sweetly sing her favorite hymns so loud as to be heard over all the house. “The God of Abraham praise” was the hymn she much delighted in singing, especially these two verses:

“The God of Abraham praise,
Whose all-sufficient grace
Shall guide me all my happy days
In all His ways.
He calls a worm His friend,
He calls Himself my God;
And he shall save me to the end,
Through Jesus’ blood.
“He by Himself hath sworn,
I on His oath depend;
I shall, on eagles’ wings upborne,
To Heaven ascend:
I shall behold His face,
I shall His power adore,
And sing the wonders of His grace
For evermore.”

One morning, when distracted by pain, she said, “Do not trouble yourself about my everlasting state, for the Lord has given me such an assurance of hope that, should pain be permitted utterly to deprive me of my reason, I know I should go to Heaven.” A short time before she expired, she called me and my son Benjamin to her bedside and requested us to sing that beautiful hymn,

“Let earth and Heaven agree.”

She sweetly joined with us as far as her strength would admit, and the triumph of faith and love contained in the hymn appeared the language of her heart.

Just before she fell asleep in Jesus, she said, “The rest shall be glorious.” I was enabled, without a murmuring thought, to offer her up unto the Lord as His own gift, in the full assurance of faith that we should soon meet in Heaven to part no more for ever. She was the first person interred in the Ponsanooth burying ground. I intend that my body shall be put in the same grave when I die, that we may sleep together till the great day when the “trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall be raised incorruptible;” and we, and I trust all our dear children with us, shall fly up and be for ever with the Lord.

Soon after this, in the beginning of the year 1814, a great and glorious revival broke out at Redruth and spread to various parts of Cornwall. It was such a revival as my eyes never saw before. I call it “a glorious revival,” for such it proved to my own soul. My faith was so increased to see the mighty power of God displayed in convincing and converting such vast multitudes. For this great and merciful visitation numbers will praise God to all eternity. It has been my privilege to witness the happy deaths of many who were brought to the knowledge of the truth at that time.

At Ponsanooth we partook largely of the general good. The society which, twenty-five years before, consisted of one small and feeble class, now became a society of near two hundred members, divided into eleven classes. Three of these came under my care; and one of them was committed to my younger son, who had for some time before acted as a local preacher.

My daughter and elder son being married, I had now none of my family with me but my son Benjamin, to whom I was united in love and affection more than I can express. But, lo and behold! the time was now come when I must give up my Benjamin to the Lord.

I was present at the quarterly meeting, held at Redruth, March, 1814, when Mr. Truscott, then superintendent of the circuit, proposed to the meeting that he should be recommended to the ensuing conference to be employed as a traveling preacher. This was passed unanimously. I did not dare to oppose it, being quite convinced it was of the Lord; for I had reason to think, even from circumstances connected with his childhood, that God had destined him for the ministry.

He passed the district meeting; and, being accepted by the conference, he was appointed the first year to Plymouth Dock (now Devonport) circuit. When the time came for parting, we mingled our tears together, but resigned ourselves to the will of the Lord.

For many months after my son left me to enter upon his great and important work, I being quite alone on my farm, and the prices of all articles of produce being in a very fluctuating state, I was at times much perplexed as to the course I ought to take for the future. At seasons I was much weighed down, and could only find comfort in looking from my outward circumstances. At times the Lord greatly comforted me by His precious promises, and I was much blessed in laboring to make myself useful to souls. I had no desire to seek riches; yet if I were assured it was the path of duty to continue a little longer in business, I was willing to submit, though I scarcely knew how I should get through. In this state of things, I spread my case before the Lord and earnestly sought direction from above. He saw my motive was to please Him, and He condescended to direct me.

One evening, while sitting alone and considering whether I ought to give up my farm and free myself from the cares of the world, these words came with power to my mind: “Behold, I have set before thee an open door.” I immediately considered it the voice of the Lord, and my heart replied, “Then I will at once go out of the world and retire from all its cares.”

From that moment I saw my way clear. I was entirely freed from the world, and resolved to give up my few remaining days wholly to the service and glory of God. When my friends belonging to the society at Ponsanooth heard of my determination, sorrow filled their hearts; and it was with the greatest difficulty they could bring their minds at all to submit to it. On laying the matter before the preachers and the leaders’ meeting, it was thought best for me to continue as the nominal leader of my three classes and to visit them as often as I could. Three other leaders, or assistant leaders, were appointed to take charge of them in my absence. Thus it has continued to the present time.

[Editor’s Note: We have now seen the subject of these Memoirs close his worldly affairs and retire from the bustle and anxieties of business. Before we follow him in the important movements of his new career, in the leisure of life, we may profitably spend a few remarks on such traits of his business character as are most worthy of notice and imitation. Here he operated within a narrow sphere, for which reason his example is better calculated to teach; as the world’s happiness depends on managing well a little, rather than much.

He was an example of industry, both as a servant and as a man pursuing his own business. While he acted under an employer, his diligence and trustiness in every department of his duty commended him from his early youth to his master’s special esteem and confidence. Whatever was committed to his care, so far as the diligence of his hand or the fidelity of his heart was concerned, was in good keeping—often, indeed, far better than in the owner’s own hands. As a religious servant, or a servant professing godliness, he “adorned the doctrine of God his Savior in all things.”

In his own affairs, after he settled on a farm, his industry was proverbial. He began with little and got on “by the sweat of his brow.” To him, however, this was no slavery. He went forth with cheerful feet and grateful delight to “labor truly to get his own living and to do his duty in that state of life unto which it had pleased God to call him.” His industrious hands soon produced a striking change on his farm. When he entered on it, it was a mere desert, on which his neighbors prophesied he would soon starve. But within a few years it became a favorite spot, exhibiting the happy effects of good management and diligent culture. As he could not bear sloth in himself, neither would he bear it in others. Hence, as a master, when occasion required, he would, with stinging, stirring words, move on those about him.

His punctuality also deserves imitation. Whether he was to make a payment or perform any other duty, the thing must not only be done, but it must be done, if possible, in the earliest part of the time allotted. Never, perhaps, did a man more practically adhere to the ancient maxim of “taking time by the forelock.” From what he had to do, no business which belonged to other men could detain him a moment. No one waited for him, for he could no more rob men of their time than of their money.

In their dealings with him, disappointment was an evil over which none had to mourn. The work which should be done today was never put off till tomorrow, nor what should be attended to in the morning left undone till evening. He seemed always to feel the force of these words: “Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might.” And as far as his influence could extend, he endeavored to make others as prompt as himself. One of his oft-repeated and well remembered aphorisms was, “Make haste, for you will find the time all busy.” How well had it been for the honor and interest of religion if this practical regard to punctuality had been more observed, both by servants and by men of business.

In his views and habits he was unambitious and anti-speculative. “Mind not high things” was a precept to which he strictly adhered, and hence no one could ever draw him aside to embark either in vain politics or in airy schemes to advance his worldly interests.

With great simplicity he aimed at duty and Heaven. He sought nothing more than a moderate competency of this world’s good. For this he quietly, honestly, and manfully struggled; with this God blessed him; and, in the possession of it, he had the wisdom to live as contentedly and happily as most men. After the Lord had prospered the labor of his hands, he was not wanting in opportunity to enlarge his borders; but all his needs were supplied, and he had little inclination to burden himself with the unnecessary cares of the world.

He neither desired the benefits, nor would he partake in the miseries of speculation. No one could ever induce him to take a share in a mine. Some of his friends pressed him vehemently, but he felt that such undertakings were not to him the path of duty. His uniform answer to them was, “I am not called to engage in such matters.” For his faithful adherence to this principle, he felt himself amply rewarded at last. Not long before he quitted his farm, one of his most intimate friends came to see him, bringing with him a mining agent. They used every argument in their power to induce him to venture, but he declined having anything to do with their flattering schemes, “because it was not his business to venture beyond ‘a plough deep.’”

Like many other affairs of the kind, the mine in question soon turned out badly. In his last sickness, while gratefully enumerating the mercies of Him Who had watched over him all his life long to do him good, my father observed to me with some emotion that had he suffered himself to be prevailed on in that instance, he should have been stripped of all the little fruits of his industry at a stroke, and reduced to indigence all the remainder of his days. What a number of Christian families would have been saved from the ruinous snares of riches, and how many more from the overwhelming trials of disappointments and failures, had there been the same stern adherence to the path of duty as that which is here exemplified in the subject of these Memoirs!

Another commendable trait in this branch of my father’s character was his carrying religion into the world, and at the same time keeping the world out of religion. “Not slothful in business; fervent in spirit; serving the Lord.” On this text his life has supplied me with a better comment than any other I have yet seen, and as such I have frequently quoted it. He certainly was not one of those who called upon God for help without “setting their shoulder to the wheel;” for some who have seen him so earnest at the wheel have, I apprehend, been under a degree of temptation to question whether he had not forgotten the other part of his duty, or at least whether he had a proper confidence in it.

But assuredly, while he attended to the one, he did not leave the other undone. Like the people under the direction of Nehemiah, he had “a mind to work;” and at the same time he adopted their practice and “made his prayer to his God.” As he would sometimes pounce on the slothful and make them spring, so would he with much earnestness admonish professors of religion on the importance of their engaging “in everything with prayer and supplication,” asking of God “those things which are requisite and necessary, as well for the body as the soul.”

When he entered on his farm, he could not stock it without going into debt. This was a burden and a grief unto his soul. And so, while he rose early, wrought late, and ate the bread of carefulness, I have heard him say how fervently he pleaded with God to bring him into those happy circumstances in which he should “owe no man anything.” “While,” says he, “I have followed my cattle to the watering, my heart has been earnestly engaged with God, praying for His blessing on my temporal affairs and telling Him how happy and how grateful I should be if He would condescend to give me my little stock free from debt.”

Upon fit opportunities he would endeavor to bring religion before worldly men. Hence, in buying and selling, there was often something put in of the merchandise of a higher order. I have often admired how naturally and readily he would slip from the world into religion, at the same time keeping both in their place. But while he sought thus carefully to bring religion into the world, he took equal care to prevent the world from treading on the boundaries of religion. In his attention to the means of grace, he moved with the regularity of clockwork. Seldom could either company, or fatigue, or employment keep him from visiting the place of public worship from five to seven times a week, though the distance was about a mile from his residence to the chapel. By pushing on the work a little in the former part of the day, he would find time even in the bustle of harvest to break off from labor so that all hands, if they were inclined, might attend preaching or meeting at night. Often, when urging on others who profess religion and are pretty much occupied with the world, the importance and practicability of their regular attention to weeknight services, I have been led to mention his example as a happy illustration of the thing I wished to recommend.]