The following extracts from a letter to a Christian friend, dated Oct. 3rd, 1799, will give a further insight into the state of her mind. DEAR FRIEND, I received your letter with pleasure; but am sorry you should have requested an answer, as I feel myself very incapable of writing in a profitable way; but I hope, as a sister in the gospel, you will cover the mantle of love over the defects you will see in the letter of one of the unworthiest of the followers of the Lamb. I am happy to hear you have spent your time so agreeably with your friends; you have been highly favoured with the means of grace. Ah! my friend, when I consider the goodness of the Lord in bringing me to see the emptiness of earthly things, I am astonished that I no more prize the means he has appointed to draw the soul nearer to himself. You ask me how I go on in the divine life. By what I have already said you find that I make but slow progress therein; but it is a mercy I am kept in the way; and, blessed be God, those who are righteous by imputation shall hold on their way, and wax stronger and stronger: whatever their fears may be to the contrary, God is true; and not one of his promises shall fail. O what a God is the Christian's! may it be my earnest desire to glorify him more than ever. My dear Miss Snelling, pray for your unworthy friend, that, as she trusts grace has been given to her, it may always be in lively exercise. If it were more so how could I tread the trifles of time beneath my feet, and rise superior to all its vexations. But it is proper that we should pass through much tribulation to the kingdom; for had we everything here to render us comfortable, we should forget that we are strangers and sojourners. Well, it is happy for us, that, as we trust we are interested in the blood of Jesus, 'a few more rolling suns' shall land us safely in heaven, and then we shall more fully see the wisdom of God in appointing thorns and briars in the wilderness. Could I see death disarmed of his sting, I should long for the period when my body shall return to the dust and my spirit to the God that gave it. You may, perhaps, ask why my thoughts turn so on death; I have lately been unwell, and this has made me feel how imperfect are all earthly enjoyments, and desire to depart and be with Christ. But these thoughts are too momentary; for I have many things to tie me to earth: but my prayer is that whenever it shall please God to call me hence, I may cheerfully bid adieu to friends and relatives, knowing it will be so much to my advantage to depart. * * I conclude by subscribing myself, Your sincere friend, S. CUBITT. The year 1800 was an eventful year in the family. On June 10th her sister Charlotte was married to Mr. Hastings; and on Thursday, October 9th, Maria, her "favourite sister," was married to Mr. S. Cooke, miller, of Stalham. Anticipating this event, she writes, on the first day of the month : "I am now tried with the prospect of losing my dear Maria's company. O how it pains my heart to think that the time is so near at hand when I must part with my chief solace. But it is the will of God, and it is mine to submit: O for grace so to do." On the 9th she writes:- "The day of trial to me has at length arrived. Maria, my favourite sister, is this day torn from me, to be the wife of Mr. Cooke. O, my heart, be still! What I have experienced this week is best known to myself. Others may think me foolish and dishonouring to God: but he knows my heart. I wish to weep submissively : He gives; and, blessed be his name, He takes but what he gave :' but oh, the thought that I have lost her, in some measure, for ever, cuts my heart, and tears will gush afresh. On Wednesday, Mr. Cooke told me, jokingly, he had quite done with the parlour:' this set me off weeping heartily, which continued some time after I was in bed." On October 3rd of the next year, a few days after her confinement, this beloved sister died; and she was buried on the first anniversary of her wedding day! The following observations were made in her sister Sophia's pocket-book, on this affecting occasion: "When I last wrote I had no idea but of going on as usual. But the ways of God are unseen, and too much unthought of by the children of men. May the sharp school of afflictive providence to which he has seen fit to put me, be made the most useful, as it is one of the most trying. My soul desires yet to say 'Father, not my will, but thine, be done:' but my nature swerves too often. O Lord, forgive thy frail creature! "I think it was on the Wednesday of the following week" (probably the week following her sister's confine ment,) "Mr. Cooke sent a note to inform my mother that our dear Maria wished her to go, as she was sadly with a cold. I could not help shedding very many tears at the news. I thought of poor Henry Culley's letter to mother when dear sister Mary was taken with her dying illness. Indeed, I have often wept, fearing my Maria would not live over the trying time she had to pass through; and the fear of her taking cold especially hung on my mind. James went on the Thursday morning, and found my dear sister better; and the doctor seemed to have no fear of her recovery; (I think I had placed my expectation too much on man here;) I was glad, and when he told me she expected me on the morrow, I, being busy, thought it almost needless to go. But I went; and glad enough I am that I did; though it was painful to find my bosom friend and dearest sister exceedingly ill, so much so that we quite despaired of her life. I could not leave her that night, but sat up with her. Next day, through the goodness of God, she was much better. When I left her at night, I was a great deal happier in my mind, thinking she was likely soon to be well again. But the Lord, whose ways are in the dark, thought fit to blast my hopes. Next day James drove me to Stalham: I found my beloved sister much worse, so that mother could not leave her. Next morning mother went home and I stopped. Mr. Beard called in the morning and went to prayer. I was almost overwhelmed with distress; and to describe the agonies of my mind for more than a fortnight afterwards, is impossible. My dearest Maria lost her senses, and I was as a guard to her. O my distress! I thought I could not live under it. But God was faithful to his word; he never left me as my day, so was my strength. Very little only had I of my Maria's conversation, as she was generally insensible; so that I have reason to bless God for his wisdom and goodness in weaning me little by little; if my dear sister had been taken from me that Friday when I first saw her ill, I know not what I should have done. Indeed I am too much cast down at times now. On Wednesday she was more composed, though not sensible. On Thursday she was very much convulsed; but as she had often been worse, I was with her alone; because she always liked that I should be with her rather than the nurse. I think it was about two o'clock at noon that I had Mr. Cooke called; and he thought her going from earth to heaven. But she revived again, and the doctor was sent for; though he was prevented from coming till night. Mother had arranged to come that afternoon; and glad was I that she did come and stop all night, wishing to see the last of our loved one, for we believed that death had struck her at the time. Mr. Cooke and we sat with her all night she continued very ill and much convulsed; and called continually for her 'dear Sophia.' About ten o'clock on Friday night I saw my dearest earthly friend depart from time to eternity. Adieu, then, my Maria; adieu, till Jesus our Lord shall bid me ascend where he in infinite mercy has taken you! But my fond heart, my selfish nature, would yet hug thee to my breast— would entreat a thing impossible, a return, not for thy sake, but for mine. Yet I hope I would not wish contrary to the will of God. To his glory I would say it, I found unexpected support. I stood and viewed with composure my darling sister breathing out her last : |