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CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY 
 
 3 1924 084 588 247 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tiiis bool< is in 
 tile Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924084588247 
 
A BRIEF SKETCH 
 
 LIFE OF ANNA BACKHOUSE, 
 
 WHO KNEW HER WELL, LOVED HER MUCH, AND WAS 
 OFTEN INSTRUCTED BY HER. 
 
 " For honourable age is not that which staadeth in length of 
 time, nor that which is measured by nuniber of years. 
 
 "But wisdom is the gray hair unto men, and an unspotted life is 
 old age." 
 
 JOHN nOnRERS, 
 
 BURLINGTON, NEW JERSEY. 
 
NOTE. 
 
 This little volume is only printed for A. B.'s fanuly 
 and particular friends, and it is requested that it may not 
 be published without the consent of the Editor. 
 
 West HiU, 1852. 
 
BEIEF SKETCH 
 
 LIFE OF ANNA BACKHOUSE. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 We so rarely meet with instances of youthful 
 piety, so often may it be sorrowfully said of those 
 in early hfe, " all seek their own, not the things 
 which are Jesus Christ's;" that when eminent 
 young Christians are taken from us, and no record 
 is made of their instructive histories, we feel that 
 the Church is robbed of her due, and an opportu- 
 nity is lost of magnifying " the exceeding riches of 
 the grace of God," which made them what they 
 were. 
 
 Such are the convictions Which hate induced the 
 writer, to attempt a little sketch of the life and cha- 
 racter of Ansa Backhouse, chiefly compiled from 
 her letters, journals, etc. She Was the daughter of 
 Joseph John and Jane Gurney, and was born at 
 Earlham, near Norwich, the 21st of 12th month, 
 1820. Endowed by nature with more than ordinary 
 talent, she had also the great advantage of the 
 most minute care and refined culture ; and ample 
 was the compensation she made for all the pains 
 
2 BRIEF SKETCH OV 
 
 # 
 
 that were bestowed upon her. Her beloved mother 
 died while she was quite in tier infancy ; but she had 
 the high privilege of being, first, the pupil, and 
 afterward, the intimate companion of her gifted 
 father and aunts ; from whose rich stores of varied 
 information, and still richer treasuries of heavenly 
 lore, her vigorous and thirsting spirit did not fail to 
 draw abundant and continuous supplies. To all 
 these beloved relatives, she was closely attached. 
 Their will was her law in early childhood, and, in 
 after life, her unremitting attention to their wishes, 
 and earnest solicitude to promote their welfare in 
 every way, were strikingly beautiful. Her love for 
 her only brother was also exceedingly strong ; and, 
 though fifteen months his junior, her watchful care 
 over him, and constant anxiety on his account, when 
 he was about to enter on the busy stage of life, were 
 truly maternal. Indeed, in the rigid fulfilment of 
 her relative duties she seemed to forget herself; and 
 being of a slight and delicate frame, there is little 
 doubt that her health was affected, and her consti- 
 tution impaired by the too frequent demands that 
 were made upon her sympathy ; the mind and body 
 acting and reacting on each other, before her powers 
 were sufficiently matured to bear the stress so early 
 laid upon them. This greatly added to the natural 
 refinement and delicacy of her whole appearance; 
 and one's first thought on seeing her, was, that she 
 was not long to be a dweller in this vale of tears, 
 but was " heir to a holier inheritance." On con- 
 
ANNA BAOELHOTTSE. S 
 
 versing with her, the impression was confirmed. In. 
 the soft and subdued tones of her -voice, the sweet- 
 ness and gentleness of her manner, the unnatural 
 brightness of her hazel eye, and the amiability and 
 loveliness of her disposition, this youthful Christian 
 confessed herself " a stranger and a pilgrim on the 
 earth, seeking a better country." The compiler of 
 this little sketch, who knew her intimately fisr seve- 
 ral years, never saw a shade of anger or discontent 
 pass over her lovely, intellectual countenance. How- 
 ever clouds might gather on the brows around her, 
 her beaming face maintained its undisturbed seren- 
 ity ; and she was truly an unfailing cheerer, com- 
 forting, all who were in any sorrow — may we not 
 reverently say — with the rich consolation wherewith 
 she herself was comforted of God. Some extracts 
 from her later journal, which it is designed to insert 
 in this little memoir will evince that this is not the 
 language of partial affection ; but that this dear 
 child was indeed remarkably disciplined in the 
 school of Christ, /aM^Aif of her gracious Lord ! 
 
 In her father's second marriage, her loss of ma- 
 ternal care and tenderness, was, for a time, most 
 happily supplied ; but, in her fifteenth year, she was 
 deprived by death of a mother, around whom her 
 ardent affections were closely entwined. This might 
 be said to be her first acquaintance with sorrow, as 
 she was not old enough to realize her loss, when her 
 own beloved mother died ; and very bitter was the 
 unlocked for trial to her bving young heart : but. 
 
* BRIEF SKETCH OF 
 
 with characteristic disinterestedness, she soon lost 
 sight of her own share in the bereavement, in the 
 fulness of her sympathy for the honoured parent who 
 had to drink the cup of bitterness to the very dregs. 
 From this time, she became his confidential compa- 
 nion and bosom friend. A stronger tie has, 
 perhaps, not often subsisted between father and 
 daughter, than the one which bound them together. 
 So close, indeed, was their union, that it is believed 
 she never recovered from the shock of hearing of 
 his sudden removal from this changing scene. May 
 it not be said, in the beautiful words of the inspir-ed 
 writer ? — 
 
 " They were lovely and pleasant in their lives, 
 And in death they were not divided." 
 
 In her simple and touching reminiscences of this 
 beloved parent, she says : 
 
 " We were exceedingly fond of our father. At the same 
 time, his word was law. It never entered our minds, I 
 believe, openly to disobey him ; and I am reported to have 
 been in the habit of informing visitors, that papa required 
 ' implicit obedience.' 
 
 " We were very little children, when he began occasionally 
 to take us into his study, for times of religious retirement 
 ftnd prayer. After sitting a short time in silence, he would 
 often kneel down, and pour forth his prayers in the most 
 simple words he could use. I think I shall never forget 
 the very great solemnity, the holy, and, to me, as a little 
 child, the almost awful feeling of some of these occasions ! 
 We continued this practice, at times, till he went to America; 
 
ANNA BACKHOUSE. 5 
 
 and I well remember, that, yrheu lie gave us some parting 
 religious advice, he spoke vrith comfort of these seasons of 
 retirement J and said, that he hoped he had, in some mea^ 
 sure, fulfilled his paternal duty, in endeavouring to train 
 us in the habit of prayer. It was a subject he constantly 
 pressed on our attention ; begging us, also, to be most re- 
 gular in reading the Scriptures to ourselves, morning and 
 evening, and in endeavoring to wait upon the Lord. Having 
 mentioned this, I think I must not omit another subject, 
 which he also very frequently pressed upon our minds, so 
 that they are connected in mine, as those on which he spoke 
 to us the most often, and the most earnestly : this was, the 
 immediate and perceptible guidance of the Holy Spirit — a 
 doctrine which he endeavoured to explain to us, and the 
 practical application of which he tried to make us feel, 
 even at a very early age — ' the golden clue,' as he called 
 it ; a clue by which he was himself led, both in small 
 things and great, more than any other person I ever knew." 
 
 Can we for a moment doubt, that the watchful 
 care and religious training, to which allusion is thus 
 incidentally made, were remarkably and perma- 
 nently blessed to the spiritual benefit of this dear 
 child? and that, under the cherishing influence of 
 the dews of Heaven, they produced those lovely 
 Christian fruits, for which she was so conspicuous ? 
 And may it not act as a stimulus to those who are 
 entrusted with the education of the young, to en-, 
 deavour, both by precept and example, to " bring 
 them up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord "? 
 In the same little sketch of her father, she says : 
 
 " Often,, while we were taking a ramble in the park, 
 a2 
 
(j BRIEF SKETCH OP 
 
 lie would endeavour to impress upon us the great doctrines 
 of Christianity, and especially the peculiar views and prin- 
 ciples of Friends. He was quite strict with us about using 
 the plain language ; and before we could fully understand 
 the reason for it, the habit was completely established; so 
 that, though we were continually with people not Friends, 
 we never had the least difficulty in using it. I believe 
 he never passed it over, without reproving us, if he thought 
 we transgressed his rules in this respect. But, while he 
 ' thus endeavoured to cultivate a taste for our own peculiar 
 path, he was always ready to acknowledge the good in those 
 who did not in every thing agree with him; and freely 
 allowed us to associate with the great variety of guests, 
 who at this time frequeuted Earlham." 
 
 Alluding to his " paternal care and anxiety " for 
 his children, she relates a little circumstance, which 
 is too closely connected with her early history, and 
 too illustrative of her youthful training, to be omit- 
 ted here. She says : 
 
 " Most bitterly did he suffer, if he saw us, even as chil- 
 dren, doing any thing really wrong. I painfully remember 
 the sorrow of seeing him weep, when I was very young, 
 because he thought I had been persevering in a falsehood. 
 It was a punishment far greater than any other he could 
 inflict, and I entreated him to let me go away from him. 
 
 " In connexion with the same occurrence, he had a family 
 sitting, in which he prayed, that ' my heart of stone might 
 be taken away, and a heart of flesh given me.' Soon after- 
 ward I was in a sad state of mind, and could not bear myself 
 without speaking to papa. Though he was engaged with 
 company, he came most kindly to my bedside, and soothed 
 
ANNA BACKHOTTSE. < 
 
 and comforted me, begging me to look to the Saviour : 
 ' Dost thou believe he died for thee ?' I remember his ask- 
 ing me. 
 
 "This circumstance was the means of increasing my 
 extreme reverence for my father : all my feelings became 
 more tender towards him, after having caused him so much 
 pain ; and I felt the value of such a friend, when my young 
 mind was oppressed with the sense of sin." 
 
 A letter to the dear child on this occasion, written 
 in a large hand, that it might be easily read (for 
 she was only eight years old), evinces how ear- 
 nestly he endeavoured to make her feel the extent 
 of her transgression, and the magnitude of the 
 offence of the slightest want of integrity, even in 
 little things : 
 
 " Earlham, 1st month, 10th, 1829. 
 
 " My dearest little Anna : 
 
 " Now that we are coming to the end 
 of this painful week, I feel very serious, and 
 very thoughtful about my darling child. 
 
 " She well knows what a deep wound she 
 inflicted on her dear papa, and how many 
 bitter tears she made him shed. For what 
 can grieve a parent like the sin of a child ? 
 
 " May he now believe that she will never 
 grieve him so again? 
 
 "Is she resolved to be a truly honest girl 
 for the future? 
 
o BRIEr SKETCH OF 
 
 " Does she now feel what a dreadful sin,, 
 a lie is ? and will she humbly endeavour for 
 ever to avoid it ? 
 
 " I wish thee to answer this letter while I 
 am at Norwich ; but be sure not to say one 
 word more than thou realii/ feels; for this 
 would only make bad, worse. 
 
 " Ah ! my dear child, be assured, that there 
 is no happiness to he found in anything, but 
 in true virtue and in the FEAR of GOD. 
 
 " I am thy tenderly loving father, 
 
 "Jos. Jno. Gurney." 
 
 The following letter, dated a year or two later, 
 will tend to shew, that her beloved father made use 
 of suitable opportunities for commending, as well 
 as reproving her : 
 
 "MANCHESTEa, 4th month, 10th, 1832. 
 
 " My dearest Anna : 
 
 " Although my engagements are most pressing, it 
 would be a shame, if I did not tell thee how delighted 1 
 have been by the good tidings I haw received, after some 
 anxiety, which the first account of thy measles occasioned 
 me. 
 
 " I do consider it cause for humble gratitude to the Au- 
 thor of all good ; and I have also been much gratified by 
 the account of thy conduct under it, my darling chUd. I 
 feel very much indebted to thy cousins, F. and K. Cress- 
 well, for their great kindness. I am. sure R. C. would be 
 
ANNA BACKHOUSE. 9 
 
 lite a mother to thee. I am well and happy, though very 
 busy J and with dearest love to you all, 
 
 " I am thy attached father, 
 
 J. J. GrUKNEY. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 When quite young, A. B. commenced a journal, 
 noting the occurences of every day, and not unfre- 
 quently entering into close and serious self-examin- 
 ation, as in the presence of that Holy and All-seeing 
 One, who looketh at the heart. This practice was 
 continued till the close of her brief career ; but it is 
 to be regretted that her earlier memoranda (which 
 would have given some insight into the gradual 
 developement of her youthful Christian character) 
 appear to have been destroyed. Those which the 
 editor has in possession, commence in 1837, when 
 she was just sixteen. 
 
 JOURNAL. 
 
 "1837. Christmas Day. — I have long wished to 
 resume my Journal, which I left off, at the end of 1835. 
 In 1886, I travelled with Papa, Aunt E. F., and John 
 Henry, to the north of England, Scotland, &c. ; and Papa was 
 my chief object through that year. The same, till the middle 
 of this, when he left us, and is now in America — ^thus, once 
 
10 BRIEF SKETCH OF 
 
 more, seeming to alter everything. I am deeply, and 
 almost awfully, responsible for the many privileges I had, 
 in being so constantly, and so intimately, with him. John 
 Henry is, or ought to be, now my chief object; though, 
 since Papa went, I have been much taken from that, and 
 everything, by Aunt R. F.'s serious and dangerous iUness. 
 She is recovered, however, and, once morp, all is smooth. 
 I hope to go on constantly with this Journal now. As to 
 my religious condition, I have often very much desired 
 to be wholly given up to G-od. 
 
 " 12 mo., 2Qih. — I do desire it, but my heart is very 
 wicked ; and I am not half sensible enough of it. My 
 sins are very numerous ; and it is only in Jesus, that I 
 can have hope. I Jiave a little hope in -Him; and I believe 
 I do now bring all my sins before Him, and, for His sake, 
 ask forgiveness. Oh ! that I may have grace given me, 
 to overcome the wickedness of my heart, and now, io 
 devote myself to the service of my Heavenly Father. My 
 meetings are so bad. They are my great difficulties; 
 and the wandering thoughts in them, I might almost call 
 one of my besetting sins. Castles in the air — ^follies in 
 thought beyond telling — ^have I, when I am professing to 
 worship Grod ! I have great need, truly, to be humble ; 
 but I am very proud. I am enjoying a quiet morning 
 reading, and writing out some prophecies, read over old 
 Journals, &c. 
 
 "27th. — ^Uncle Grurney, Aunt Fry, and Priscilla arrived. 
 Most pleasant io see them. 
 
 ^'29th. — ^After breakfast, nice walk with the three girls 
 
ANNA BACKHOUSE, 11 
 
 and Uncle Gr. Some way alone with Uncle, talking about 
 plans, our going to London, &c. I was provoked at myself, 
 for being quite low ; he was so like Papa; but it was most 
 delightful being with him. After we came in, a nice read- 
 ing with Aunt Fry; another walk, -poetry, then dined at 
 Uncle Biirkbeck's; met Jane Barclay and Ann Backhouse ; 
 nice little talk with A. B. ; slept with Aunt Fry ; talked 
 about oiir plans, very satisfactory. 
 
 "1838. 1st mcK, 1th. — Had. to change tickets at the 
 school, so that I had no Bible-reading with the children. 
 How I do wish I was more inclined to serious thought. 
 How much depends on these thoughts; in words and actions 
 one may escape much apparent sin, for a little time, but 
 in thoughts never ! at least, so I find it. 
 
 "Ist day, 29ih. — ^After meeting, two delightful letters 
 from Papa, bringing aecounjis for which we ought to be 
 —I hope are-rtruly thankful. What a mercy to be per- 
 mitted to receive such 1 This, ajid dearest J. H.'s sweet- 
 ness this evening, make me feel thankful to a good. Grod, 
 who is merciful to such an unworthy creature as I am. 
 May I feel His goodness, and my wickedness, more and 
 more. I wish I had more time for Bible-reading- in the 
 morning. I will try, and make an effort to get it before 
 breakfast this next week; but I am so lazy. Especial 
 mercies of this week — accounts of Papa's prospering, J. H. 
 going on satisfactorily. Aunt C. comfortable, Aunt K. F. 
 continuing well. The greatest I oaa have in our circum- 
 stances ; I can wish for no greater. 
 
12 brief sketch op 
 
 " My Ketdrn to the Giver : 
 " Neglect entire, often. 
 
 " Gold, whai habit recalls me to some thought. 
 '■' Not serving Him with my whole heart. 
 " Constant disobeying of His commands. 
 ^' Not one thing done this week, with my sole end ill 
 it— His glory-. 
 
 " This is how I stand with Regard to my Creator, though 
 I have not mentioned one millionth part of his mercies. 
 The greatest is not mentioned, nor nearly all my faults^ 
 Do I deserve these mercies then ? Oh, no i All I can do 
 is to pray for forgiveness, for the sake of Jesus Christ. 
 
 "2(? mo., 14<i^, 1838. ^-Letters from America most in- 
 teresting and delightful; wanderings in Carolina, and 
 Virginia; many things I wrote about, l>e has taken no 
 notice of, when I expected he would. The fact is, sepa- 
 ration u separation ; and it is, after all, but a poor notion 
 of one's real state, that letters sent across the Atlantic, 
 convey. I must, in future, set my account more for it. 
 We have the greatest cause to be thankful for such letters." 
 
 On returning from London, she writes: 
 
 " hth mo., \Zth. — We are all comfortable ; Aunt Bachel 
 nicely. I am trying to think seriously this evening, what 
 are my duties in coming home ? 
 
 " I — My Highest Duties ; 
 " 1st. A constant watchfulness. 
 " 2d. A constant prayerfulness. 
 
ANNA BACKHOUSE. 13 
 
 "3d. Regular reading and prayer, twice a day at least.: 
 
 "4th. Keeping his glory, not my own vain ambition 
 in view, in anything I do, in societies, &c. 
 
 " 5th. Worship at meeting. I might mention many, 
 
 many more ; indeed everything I do is, I know, a duty to 
 
 Grod; and here, though all are included in this, I wish just 
 
 to mention my especial duties to each of our little circle, 
 
 " II — To John Henry : 
 
 " 1st. Never to be out of temper with him. 
 
 " 2d. Thoughtfulness to please in little things. 
 
 " 3d. Never to offend, if I can help it. 
 
 " 4th. To use a right influence in a right way. 
 
 " 5th. To lose no good opportunity of intimacy — on 
 religious subjects especially. 
 
 " III — To Aunt Catherine : 
 
 " 1st. Patience with everything. 
 
 " 2d. Thoughtfulness to please in little things., 
 
 " 8d. To attend to her, at the sacrifice of my own little 
 pleasures, or even employments. 
 
 "IV— To Aunt R P.: 
 
 "lat. To subdue the least feeling in myself of jealousy 
 or pride, in little matters especially. 
 
 " 2d. To watch to please her. 
 
 " 8d. To aim at 'comforting and helping her, and not 
 to oppose her, for the sake, of having my own way. 
 " V — To Visitors. 
 
 " 1st. A general kindness. 
 
 "2d. No selfishness. 
 
 " 8d. To do my best to use a right influence. 
 
 " 4th. To get all the good I can from their example. 
 
 "hih mo., nth. — Strange to say, I feel that duties to 
 
 B 
 
14 BRIEF SKETCH OF 
 
 my God are harder to be performed than duties to my 
 fellow creatures. And yet, how far more do I owe to 
 God than to my dearest connections ! May I have grace 
 this week to serve Him, and do my duty to tTiem also. 
 Suppose it all done, I am but an unprofitable servant. I 
 know it will not be, for I am very wicked. Where can I 
 go for help, but to Jesus Christ ? Yet there, my want of 
 love staggers me. Oh, Lord ! cleanse me by thy spirit 
 from the guilt and power of sin ; make me ver^ humble. 
 I trust I have written this not without some solemnity. 
 
 "20th, first day. — I have failed in aU, under the first 
 head; but, perhaps, the third duty; the fourth, I have 
 not had much opportunity of keeping, or the contrary ; 
 the fifth duty, every day at reading I have sadly neglected. 
 My second head. — J. H. has been a good deal out, and I 
 do not remember any conspicuous instance of failure. 
 Third head. — To Aunt Catherine, I am always rather 
 deficient — have been several times out of temper ; but she 
 has been' out the end of this week. Fourth head. — Have 
 had many feelings of pride and jealousy, but endeavour to 
 subdue them, and have sometimes been very happy with 
 Aunt R. ; my own fault when the contrary, which has 
 scarcely been at all. Fifth head. — E. G. left us on 5th 
 day. She is so unselfish herself, that it has tempted me 
 to be idle about it. On the whole, I have had a happy 
 week. My greatest fault, a constant forgetfalness of my 
 God, and a coldness in devotional duties, which cannot 
 imply that love which I ought to have. I am, indeed, very 
 bad. I think I do feel some comfort in the remembrance, 
 that there is a "sacrifice for sin." 
 
 "1839. llmo., 10«A, \st <i!ay.— Phil'., H, 3, 4.— 
 
ANNA BACKHOUSE. 15 
 
 " Let nothing be done through strife, or vain glory ; but 
 in lowliness of mind, let each esteem other better than 
 themselves. Look not every man on his own things, but 
 every man also on the things of others." In these texts, 
 three things shewn to be avoided — Vanity, Pride, Selfish- 
 ness. That I may come to a clear sense of my own 
 deficiency, let me note down, for this week, my failure in 
 each, beginning with to-day. 
 
 " Li the morning meeting, was more full of nonsensical 
 fancies of greatness for myself, than of worship. This is 
 the worst sort of vain glory. At the school did not do my 
 lesson clearly with the children ; but was more vexed that 
 I failed, than that they would not understand. After- 
 noon meeting, a repetition of the morning ; spoke highly 
 to Susan Gapp, because I did not want the trouble of 
 noticing her. I did not esteem her better than myself, 
 then. Have had vain thoughts while writing this. 
 
 "2d day.—Ysh.Vi of having done well at the Babur 
 school; never answered aunt when she said the tea was 
 weak. Cross at German. Been thinking follies about 
 myself, instead of Bible-reading, this evening. 
 
 " But Pride destroys all, even affection. Oh ! that this 
 awful sin may be subdued, that humility may reign in my 
 soul — ^that the lofty things may indeed be brought low. 
 Oh ! that I may watch and pray against it." 
 
 A letter, written to her beloved father, when just 
 on the point of completing his mission to America, 
 . is so characteristic of the writer, and does so much 
 credit to her head and heart, that the editor is 
 unwilling to withhold it. It should be remembered 
 she had not yet attained her twentieth yean 
 
16 BEIEP SKETCH OF 
 
 "Bablham, 5th mo., 28th, 1840. 
 
 " My dearest Papa : — 
 
 "The steamer that goes on the 4th of next month, 
 tempts me to send thee a few lines, beside onr usual jour- 
 nal; and for that purpose I take a sheet all to myself; 
 for I want to write to thee quite freely. We have received 
 thy two most interesting letters ; the first, giving an account 
 of thy stay at Cuba, &c., and the second, of Savannah, and 
 thy arrival at Charleston. In reference to the first, I will 
 now simply say, that I trust we are most thankful for the 
 mercy of thy deliverance in that fearful storm, which is 
 quite terrible only to read of. In the second, thou draws 
 a picture of what thou expects us to be. The standard 
 thou sets before us is indeed a high one j and I feel, as 
 concerns myself, it is one that it would be a great thing 
 even to approach. That letter, however, confirms me in 
 the desire I have had for some time, to give thee a 
 detailed account of our state and condition, as far as I 
 know it, that thou may have some idea what thou wilt 
 find on thy return home. As that much longed for time 
 approaches, I feel that it would be good that thou should 
 have a clear understanding of what we are now; for it is 
 not likely that in three years there is no change; parti- 
 cularly with regard- to dearest J. H., I feel that this is 
 desirable, and as I have avoided giving thee details in my 
 late letters about him, I am now going to do it as truly as 
 I can in every particular. In looking back at the last 
 three years, I feel that we have much cause for thank-- 
 fulness, as regards him, believing, as I do fully, that his 
 state is decidedly improved. Since thou left England, 
 our circumstances have been peculiar, J. H. has been, 
 
ANNA BACKHOUSE. IT 
 
 in all minor points, bo entirely his own master, and the 
 strong tide of religious influence, which we had over us 
 before thou left, has been succeeded by very little (or, at 
 least, very little to what we, from our babyhood, have been 
 accustomed to,) of anything of that sort. Perhaps I use 
 a wrong word, when I say influence; we have had the 
 influence of our dearest aunts, and of the whole family ; 
 but no teachings and talkings, &c., such as we used to. 
 have so constantly with thee. By our sorrows before thou 
 left, our minds were so drawn out into unity (shall I call 
 it ?) with thee, that we had a sort of reflected light from 
 thee in those matters, that did not belong to us ; and a 
 very short time after thou left, I felt, in myself, and I 
 saw in John Henry, a certain degree of relapse, or rather 
 reaction. People might not have observed it in me, for I 
 keep things closer much to myself than J. H. does ; and 
 aunt's illness, &c., forced me back to the only comfort; 
 but there was a certain iwing in dearest J. H. in expres- 
 sion, and in thought, I believe, (though it was far more 
 talk than anything else,) a certain distaste to anything^ 
 religious, or, at least, to any talk about it, which, though 
 the extent it went to, was really very small, made me 
 uncomfortable. In connection with this, came rather an 
 increase of the small faults, that Miou remembers — 
 sleeping in the evening, late ia the morning, little 
 inattentions to older persons, a state which I cannot quite 
 describe — a sort of "/ don't care for nobody" state, and 
 yet it was never to an extent that made any of the 
 gentlemen of the family uncomfortable, or anything of 
 that sort. J. H. was never anything but perfectly steady,, 
 in banking, &c., and, iadeed, the dread of his acquiring a 
 love of money-making, was one of my troubles. I cait 
 b2 
 
18 BRIEF SKETCH OF 
 
 scarcely tell thee how he emerged from this; it was 
 gradually ; but I do know that this is not his condition 
 now. This sort of thing is still his temptation, and, at 
 times, a temptation that gets the better of him ; but it is 
 balanced by a strong and, I do believe, a deepening 
 religious principle — shown by his no longer avoiding the 
 subject of religion in common conversation with us — ^by 
 more private reading of the Bible — shown in many ways 
 distinctly, and observed by us all. We have lately had 
 many interesting conversations on Quakerism. He truly 
 delighted in Benjamin Seebohm's ministry; and his atten- 
 tion to the Bible society, and his strong approval of other 
 religious societies, are very pleasant to see. Still thou 
 knows, my dearest father, that he does disKke " talk,'' 
 and every now and then brings forward a proposition, 
 quite startling if he thought what he said. I can explain 
 what I mean. He much approves the dissemination of 
 tracts and the Tract Society ; but he would not go to a 
 Tract meeting, partly because he does not like the singing 
 and prayer at the beginning, and partly because he dislikes 
 the degree of talk at such times. He will attend any out- 
 of-the-way Bible meeting, and speak there strongly for it ; 
 but he had rather not go to Bible meetings where he cap 
 be of no use, at least such as the Norwich ones. I mention 
 this, that thou may not be surprised at any of his odd 
 speeches, which are, however, much less frequent than 
 they used to be. I feel, dearest papa, that, on this most 
 important point, there is very great satisfaction, both as to 
 his general religious feeling and as to his friendliness ; but 
 he is in that state, as to both, and so out of the habit of 
 intimate communication on these points, that thou wilt 
 find that there is a little care wanted, to let thy full tide of 
 
ANNA BACKHOUSE. 19 
 
 feeling on these subjects, come in rather gentle waves at 
 first. I know thou will excuse my saying this to thee. In 
 connection with his better, state on these points, there is, 
 in a great degree, a corresponding improvement in minor 
 ones ; he reads much more than he did, sleeps much less 
 in an evening, though he still occasionally takes a great 
 nap, and is improved in coming down to reading. In both 
 these last, however, we could wish for stiU more improve- 
 ment, and I think we are getting it. I now call him every 
 morning, and he certainly does come down much more 
 regularly than he did. I think thou wilt find him still 
 less lazy than he is now ; but I do believe that, if he 
 misses reading with us sometimes, he does not on these 
 mornings miss a Bible-reading. On first and fifth day 
 mornings, we read earlier than others, a plan he peculiarly 
 dislikes, and when he is late, on these days, as he often is, 
 he says it is to " bear a testimony'' against the plan. He 
 is so droll and amiable about everything; and here I come 
 to a bright point — his much increased affection for us all, 
 and his increased kindness to others in little things. 
 Nothing can be kinder than he is to Aunt C, about the 
 carriage and everything ; and his attention to me is most 
 delightful to me. Though I have often told him of things 
 I thought wrong, and constantly teased him about gettinf 
 up and so on, I can truly say that his affection for me 
 has been continually on the increase. I delight in him 
 more and more, and nothing can be more pleasant than 
 our intercourse. His kindness to all that come to the 
 house every one acknowledges. He is not fond of com- 
 pany, but, as he says himself, he " is more civilized than 
 he used to be." There is one more thing I want to say 
 about him, and that is, thou must not expect to find the 
 
20 BRIEJP SKETCH OF 
 
 hoy thou left behind thee. John Henry is just twenty-one 
 thou knows, and he is more than that in character and 
 mind. His judgment is remarkably mature for his age ; 
 his appearance and his formed opinions all indicate the 
 same. I think, dearest papa, that this is a very important 
 point for thee to remember. If I may venture to' say so, 
 thou must be careful to consider how little he has had of 
 being managed, indeed nothing lately; and I hope thou 
 wilt find it right, more to consult than to command — to 
 use thy paternal power more in influence than in authority. 
 I have thought a good deal about what I am saying, -and, 
 therefore, thou wilt excuse my writing freely, because I 
 have the most earnest desire that no rub, not even the 
 smallest, may interrupt thy and his happiness in your 
 meeting. Thou hast often said, since thou went away, 
 that thou hast been mercifully preserved from anxiety 
 respecting us ; and I cannot help hoping that this will be 
 the case after thy return; that seeing, as I trust thou wilt, 
 our intention to do right, thou wilt be able in little daily 
 matters, to let that intention work itself out, and not be 
 too anxious as to every particular little act; that is to 
 say, as far as reg&rds J. H., to speak more respecting 
 principles than details, more as to masses than to each 
 incident. If I may speak so plainly, to be as little on the 
 system of "fidget!' as possible. 
 
 " Having read this long rigmarole to my aunt, and it 
 having met her approval, I will just add, that I think we 
 owe a great debt of gratitude to her, for that delightful 
 influence and example, which, I beUeve, have greatly 
 contributed to our preservation from harm and improve- 
 ment in good ; knowing, however, as I do, that thanks are 
 owing, in a far higher degree, to that merciful Heavenly 
 
ANNA BACKHOUSE. 21 
 
 Father, who has been near us to help and protect, and who 
 has guided ihee and us on our way. I trust I have given 
 thee no pain in an account, which I feel to be one of an 
 encouraging nature. I have written it because I felt it 
 right to do so, and I shall feel more comfortable for having 
 done it. Farewell my own dearest papa. I remain thy 
 most loving and (notwithstanding this free letter), I hope, 
 dutiful daughter, Anna Gurney." 
 
 " 1840. %mo., Vlih — -first day evening. — All the party 
 gone to meeting but me. I am not strong enough for two 
 meetings, singe my attack of illness, for the recovery from 
 which, so easily, I desire to be thankful. I wish I could 
 mark more improvement in myself since I last wrote. I 
 have a hope that God has been pleased to draw me nearer 
 to Himself, and He has allowed me to feel His graeiousness 
 to my soul. I would also desire, thankfully, to acknow- 
 ledge that my prayers have not been disregarded, especially 
 that I think I see a marked improvement in religious 
 feeling in J. H. We are also looking with great happiness 
 towards my dearest father's return. How (with this list 
 of mercies before me) shall I acknowledge, that the pride 
 of my heart continues very great, and that it has corrupted 
 my thoughts, words and actions. Self is an idol, which I 
 fear I worship more than I do my God ! Oh ! I would I 
 were deeply humbled on this account; and as a very great 
 sinner, I do now entreat to be forgiven for the sake of 
 Jesus Christ; and I do earnestly desire that I may know 
 Him as my Saviour and Sanctifier through the Holy 
 Spirit. That I may have pardon and grace. Be pleased, 
 Lordj to pardon and to cleanse me. 
 
22 
 
 BRIEF SKETCH OF 
 
 CHAPTER ni. 
 
 Soon after making the foregoing entry, her heart 
 was gladdened by the return of her beloved parent 
 to his native land. The joyful event was announced 
 to her, in the following letters, from her Aunt Bux- 
 ton and her Cousin C. B : 
 
 " Upton, August 18, 1840. 
 " My dearest Anna : 
 
 "One line I must send, to say we have seen thy 
 beloved father ! He is just the same in all respects. It 
 would be impossible to be less changed, or more delightful, 
 may I not say ? He says he has much enjoyed a beautiful 
 voyage home, and comes back without a feather's weight 
 upon him — ^rested and relieved. So thee may be thankful, 
 and enjoy, and only enjoy, his return. We had a large 
 assembly to reading this morning — a. beautiful prayer for 
 our little T. B., and a lively song of praise and thanks- 
 giving. It was peculiarly precious you may suppose. He 
 had a good night, and was, long before breakfast, walking 
 in the garden. 
 
 "Most affectionately, H. B." 
 
 " My dearest Anna : 
 
 "I must share the pleasure of telling thee, what an 
 uncommonly delightful meeting we have had. It has been 
 so easy and natural, and he so exactly like himself, that I 
 
ANNA BACKHOUSE.^ 23 
 
 cannot tell thee what a rare occasion of pleasure it has 
 been. I was poorly, and could only sit and look at him|; 
 but it was enough — the sight was so full of interest, so 
 quiet and delightful. We had been in instant expectation 
 for more than an hour, so we were of course all ready 
 for the arrival, which was too deeply interesting to be 
 noisy. Dearest Uncle seems in true enjoyment. He 
 observed, when he sat down to supper, " I must say what 
 I have sometimes almost feared to say. — This is a little 
 Heaven below." 
 
 " I regretted not being able to be at the reading, which 
 turned out so peculiarly interesting. I made a mistake in 
 not attending to papa's request, and sending the boys to 
 breakfast. There was such a party,- and I feared their 
 behaviour ; but the great interest dearest Uncle manifested 
 on seeing- them afterward, quite touched me ; it was such 
 a proof of his love. 
 
 "Affectionately, C. Buxton." 
 
 The above letters were inserted in her journal, 
 and she proceeds to describe this period of deep 
 and heartfelt interest to her, in her own sweet, 
 simple way : 
 
 "The letters, from which the two last extracts were 
 made, we received on 4th day morning, the 20th of 8mo., 
 1840 ; and learned from them that he would be with us in 
 the evening. A long, long waiting-day we had ! We had, 
 most of us, woke early, and a strong sense of excitement 
 prevented any rest during the course of it. Our party 
 were the two aunts and myself, Bessie and John. It was 
 a great help to be together. Fletcher was busy about the 
 
24 
 
 BRIEF SKETCH OF 
 
 books. Everything being put in order, and the whole 
 house rather in a bustle. Aunt Catherine's prayer at 
 reading, in the morning, beautiful, calming, and helping. 
 We dined early, and were dressed and ready, by a little 
 after 6 in the evening, expecting them about 7. John 
 stationed himself at the hall-door ; I at the window ; there 
 we sat till too dark to see. The Birkbecks came and we 
 all waited, in a most stupified state of exhaustion, till near 
 9 ; then we heard a carriage, and rushed to the door. It 
 was quite dusk; Join Henry's voice was the first I heard; 
 "We're all right; he's on the box with me." Papa said, 
 " Gently, gently;" I said, "Don't Awrry," manfully. He 
 clambered down into my arms, and our first long kiss was 
 much too overpowering, for me to be able to describe the 
 sensation ! While he greeted all the others, I had time a 
 little to get my breath, and we adjourned into the dining- 
 room to tea. Aunt Fry, Uncle and Aunt Buxton, and 
 John Henry, came with him. He was perfectly calm, 
 easy, and natural; enjoying his meal; talking little, 
 but completely happy and peaceful. The Buxtons soon 
 went oif to the Porsters, Aunt Pry up stairs, John read 
 a psalm, and we all went quietly to bed. The peace felt 
 then, and all the next day, was, to me, like that which 
 was given us when he went away at Liverpool — then, in 
 the midst of great sorrow — now in the midst of great joy, 
 but the same peace ! It was most delightful to see him 
 and John Henry together ! Everything to me. We were 
 to read at 8, and so were all up in good time. I went to 
 him before reading ; read to him for a few minutes, just 
 as we used to do, but could not talk to him as I intended. 
 We mustered, at reading, with John and Bessie, and all 
 the servants of course, about thirty. Papa shook hands 
 
ANNA BACKHOUSE. 25 
 
 wHh those he had liot seen, and then, sitting down, read 
 the 14th of John. I cannot the least describe the feeling 
 of hearing his voice again in reading and in his lovely 
 little comment afterwards, on, " Because I live, ye shall 
 live also." The preservation of himself and those nearest 
 to him. Their life given them temporally and spiritually, 
 a proof of a living Saviour. I can remember very little 
 of the words^-" I am permitted to retuni home,'' he said, 
 ■"'with unalloyed peaee, but without excitement- After a 
 journey of more than twenty thousand miles — after a variety 
 of perils by land and sea — after many difficulties, in which 
 my temporal life has been given me fer a (prey, and I hope 
 I may say deepened in my spiritual life, I am permitted 
 to find those nearest and dearest to me alive naturally, 
 and also alive spiritually. What a proof it is of a living 
 Saviour." He then expressed how often he had expe- 
 rienced this truth in his long and varied pilgrimage ; its 
 power to help and to sustain and to comfort^ and finished, 
 by repeating -widi the strongest emphasis, the words of 
 Job, " Oh, that my words were writteit^— that they were 
 graven with an iron pen and lead in the rock forever, ' I 
 know that my Redeemer liveth.' " Aunt Fry returned 
 thanks and offered prayer in her own beautiful "way, making 
 especial mention of the two aunts. John Henry and I 
 had then a charming walk round the garden, with himj 
 and for the first time, I began to feel easy and natural^ 
 and able, thoroughly, to enjoy it. He admired every- 
 thing. After breakfast. Papa and John Henry hurried 
 off to the Grove, and met us and the Buxtons and the 
 Forsters at the meeting-house. This was most pleasant. 
 We watohed him greet all the friends, who looked so pleased 
 to see him; Aunt Catherine and Aunt Buxton busy, talking 
 
 
26 BRIEF SKETCH OF 
 
 to every body ; people smiling -with deligit, and I, for oae, 
 deceiving a whole host of bongratulations. It was deeply 
 interesting to see him walk up the meeting and take 
 hia own seat; truly, thankfulness and solemnity were 
 given in no common degree, as we settled in silence. It 
 was first broken by dear old Prances Page kneeling down, 
 and giving thanks for his return most sweetly, and made 
 more interesting by our never having expected to see her 
 at meeting again, six months ago. Soon after, Papa rose. 
 He thought he might employ the words of the Psalmist, 
 "Thou hast put gladness into our hearts," &c.; that it was 
 given him to feel unsullied peace, and what might be 
 compared to the cloudless sky. He went on to the founda- 
 tion of true quiet of mind; the principal ingredient of 
 happiness; what happiness was lasting; his experience of 
 the faithfulness of his Great Master during his long 
 journey ; of the efficacy of the Scriptures; of the Holy 
 Spirit as tlie applyer; of the foundation of a Christian's 
 hope ; ending with a strong appeal to attend to the gui- 
 dance of the Spirit. I can only give this slight sketch ; 
 but his standing in his old place proclaiming his views of 
 religion, with his testimony to them from fresh experience, 
 was more Striking to me than I can express. After meeting, 
 en masse the family walked ofF. A fine party assembled at 
 dinner — Aunt Fry, Uncle and Aunt Buxton, the Forsters, 
 John and Bessie, and our home-party, not forgetting Papa's 
 attendant, Alexander Taylor, who seemed - greatly enter- 
 tained with the family proceedings. There was no great 
 talking, but all happiness. The interest of looking at 
 everybody was enough. As soon as the cloth was removed, 
 Papa knelt down and returned thanks beautifully, for his 
 tetum to his dear peaceful home, adorned in such beauty ; 
 
ANNA BACKHOUSE. 27 
 
 and prayed earnestly that self might be held in no reputa- 
 tion, but that all praise and honour might be given where 
 alone they were due. Aunt Fry added a few sweet words; 
 a hope that increased dedication might shew forth 
 thankfulness. 
 
 " Earlham, 2^ih. — On the 25th we drove over to Nor- 
 threpp's ; had a delightful visit ; dear Aunt Cunningham 
 with us. 
 
 "bih day. — The C's went away, and the B's in the 
 afternoon ; and, for the first time since his return, we were 
 alone — Papa, Aunt E. F., John Henry and I. We had a 
 sweet, peaceful evening, and I think our happiness was 
 hallowed to a certain extent. 
 
 " Qth and 7th. — Both quiet days ; Papa much alone with 
 me ; and I am delighted to find him able to be thoroughly 
 intimate with me, and throwing a great deal into my hands. 
 We were quiet and alone till fourth day evening, when 
 William and Priscilla Lea,tham arrived, and very pleasant 
 was our meeting. P. charmed to see Papa. Hannah Lean* 
 came to see 'her poor mother, on the 17th, whose grievous 
 accident has been a trial to us all. It is very plea- 
 sant to have the Lodge filled with the Leathams, and 
 dear Uncle and Aunt Grurney, who came on 5th day, in 
 time for the Monthly Meeting. In returning, his certificate, 
 Papa gave a slight sketch of his journey, and he had his 
 American certificates read — -from Ohio, Indiana, Carolina, 
 Baltimore, New York and New England; giving a good 
 account of his "circumspect, consistent behaviour," and 
 
 * H. L. had beea Anna Gnrney's governess, and her mother was 
 a worthy Friend, who resided for some yeajs in the Gurney famUy,. 
 
28 BRIEF SKETCH OB 
 
 "sound and edifying ministry." Most satisfactory they 
 ■were, and inexpressible was the contrast between giving up 
 and asking for his certificate. We all dined together hercv 
 * * sleeps with me, and I enjoy her company, but 
 she praises me rather more than would be good for me, if 
 my mind did not contradict it. I believe I am vert/ fond 
 of being praised, though I don't think anything does me 
 more harnai 
 
 " 1840. QfJiddi/. — ^I had'a nice ride with William Henry 
 Leatham. He is so truly agreeable. Evening here. Papa 
 is most generous to me. My situationat home is delightful, 
 and its importance suits my natural disposition. Both the 
 dear gentlemen depend much upon^ me, and I am' to take 
 the mistress-ship in' a- few weeks^ 
 
 " Tth day. — ^Dined pleasantly at John's ; Aunt Gurney 
 obliged to go off in the morning, soon after breakfast, 
 because of a worse account of dear Sarah Sheppard, who 
 seems sinking. It is very affecting, and we all feel it so. 
 
 "9iA month, 21s<. — ^Yesterday a sweet day: I not very 
 well, which prevented my enjoying meeting in the 
 morning. Nice school, and comfortable afternoon meeting; 
 * * * Fine party at reading in the evening. 
 
 Papa lets me have his private American journal to read; 
 most interesting it is. I have had a nice little walk with 
 my father, this mornings talking about America. 
 
 " V)ik month, 1st. — On third day week, we received the 
 affecting account of Sarah Sheppard's death. She died on 
 second day, about eleven.. Never was a.death more touching. 
 
ANNA BAOKHOUSE. 29 
 
 — SO young, so lovely, so useful. Received in jnercy, we 
 doubt not : I much feel the trial of it for myself; and Bessie 
 and Prissy do extremely. The account of her death most 
 interesting from dear Bessie. We spent the evening together 
 here. Fourth day was the Bible meeting ; the Bishop in. 
 the chair j Papa close to him : it was all one could wish, in 
 that way, to see Papa again there. I was much struck 
 with his perfect ease and gentlemanliness. , A good deal 
 said about his return, in the report, and by the Bishop. 
 He made a nice speech, and stayed in Norwich between 
 that and the evening meeting. We came home and dined 
 at John's. After dinner Kate and I walked forward with 
 William Henry. Well the meeting in the evening was 
 charming : Papa in the chair ; and his speech certainly 
 most interesting. The connection between the reli^oB of 
 the Bible, and the just liberties of mankind. The story of 
 the West Indies beautifully given, and familiarly. The; 
 attention of the large meeting chained He no where ap- 
 pears more in his element than at Bible meetings, and no 
 where revives more one's, baby recollections of him. 
 
 " %ih day. — ^Papa rather poorly, and lyorried wit^i consid- 
 erations as' to the African Civilization Society, called, by 
 the fear of its being unfriendly as to the war part; some 
 strongly disapproving. 
 
 " lib, day. — He has now come to a clear decision, after 
 the most thorough consideration, and the clearness of his 
 putting the question to himself is worth observing. He can 
 understand distinctions, and makes them ; but how provok- 
 ing it is, when people wiU not : and some seem as if they 
 co^ld not. 
 c2 
 
*V BRIEF SKETCH OF 
 
 "3d day. — Sarah with me most of the morning ; delightful- 
 to Bee her.. She very agreeable, and as sensible aa usual. 
 
 " 4<A. dayi — Swayfieid meeting with Papa and Aunt : very 
 interesting : Papa's sermon beautiful. A fine family party 
 of Birkbecks and Barclays. Catherine Hoare, and her two 
 girls, and her father, Kobert Hankinson, came to dinner ;. 
 delightful to have them„ 
 
 "6iA day. — Luncheon at John's. Some useful talk with 
 Catherine Hoare, with whose jsoioer I am. extremely, struck, 
 as also with her principle and sense.. Her cheerfulness is 
 delightful : her father all mn : the children charming ; 
 nonaged to perfection. Evening — Knibb, John Alexander, 
 ty^m. Brpok — interesting : ■ Papa bright and powerful with 
 them^all. This morning Catherine and her ohjldren left 
 us, after an- early dinner. I will try to put down the hints 
 she gave me, on acquiring power, — in a household, for ex- 
 ample, which I want in the prospect before me : 
 
 " 1. Never do any thing for power's sake. 
 
 "2. Let the rule of right be made the real goremor : 
 check whatever is contrary to it. For instance, bad temper 
 shewn by one.'s self :. ehecked, heoavae contrary tD the rule 
 of right; . 
 
 " 3. Friendship with servants, if possible.. 
 
 " 4. When we have anything to speak about, to do it 
 before going to bed : never to leave it over to the morning, 
 if once decided that it was a duty to take it up. 
 
 " She writes !ua.j complaint she has to make : advises me 
 not to be in a hurry : always would get the best article in 
 the way of a new servant : never hesitate about wages when 
 worth it.. 
 
ANNA BACKHOTJSE. 31 
 
 "It strikes me that the following applies to R.. C. and 
 P. J., but most strongly to Catherine Hoare : 
 
 " ' Those who have the most power over themselves, have 
 most power over other people.' 
 
 " Still more is to be added : how evidently she leans on 
 help from above, in every thing. 
 
 " What superior people C. Hoare, R. Cresswell and P. 
 Johnstone are ! And yet, how different ! Each acquires 
 such strong influence ; but by different ways. We younger 
 ones are highly privileged to have three such women in our 
 circle ; so communicative : none, I should think, would be 
 more helpful than C. H. to one's self, in any position ; she 
 does so understand what you mean. 
 
 "1840'. lOiA, mo,, 24. 7th day. It seems a very little 
 while, since I sat with Aunt Catherine to write my last 
 week's journal,. and here I am again, but I have no time 
 to moralize. Uncle Fowler came on first day morning ; 
 very pleasant, indeed, his visit was, and we had a nice 
 day upoii the whole ; though, as regards myself, my account 
 can be but' jpoor; my meetings being sadly disturbed by 
 my thbughis wandering. 
 
 " Id day. — Long ride with Papa and Uncle P. to Cossey 
 first. Call on Lord and Lady Stafford ; found Lady Bed- 
 iagfield there : I had a good deal of talk with her : certainly 
 a superior person : she asked me to go to see her in her 
 convent at Hammersmith. Then we rode to the Forsters, 
 where we met the Buxtons : very pleasant. I cantered by 
 their carriage, to shew Uncle my mare, which he liked 
 much. Uncle P.. went away in the evening. Edward, 
 
32 BRIEF SKETCH OF 
 
 Edwards and his daughter Catherine came. They were 
 most agreeable ; he particularly : she a most easy person, 
 and I thoroughly liked her. She was very kind to me ; 
 and people connected with my own mamma are always 
 interesting. 
 
 bih day. — The Edwards's went away, and we to meeting. 
 Talk with them and Papa after breakfast about my own 
 mother. E. E. said I was very like her. He was a good 
 deal affected when he took leave of me, and said how much 
 I put him in mind of her. I like to be thought like her, 
 and I think I must be, rather, in mind; she was 
 so fond of teaching, &o. My character must be a thorough 
 medley ; Grurney, Birkbeck, brought up under the influence 
 of dearest Mamma ; so that I have a touch of the Fowler, 
 too, I have no doubt ; and these family characters are so 
 different. It is the worst part of me, that I admire myself, 
 though I know too, more and more I think, what the ' desr 
 perately wicked ' means. 
 
 '' Qth day. — Long ride with Papa to Ketteringham ; a 
 great deal of conversation with him : most easy and open. 
 American letters, his book, &o. I hope I am thankful for 
 such a privilege, and for being made at all able to meet his 
 mind; which I am, to a certain extent. 
 
 " lih day. — This morning settling accounts with Aunt 
 R. E., and taking them with a most earnest wish that I 
 may keep them as well as she has done, and all sorts of 
 wishes about my mistresship. I can't put them down; but 
 I do so hope to do right in it, and not wrong, and to please 
 the dear people, and to take the proper line with the maids^ 
 
ANNA BACKHOUSE. 33 
 
 &!. I have no doubt, that I feel the weight much more 
 in prospect, than I shall when it comes to reality ; and I 
 shall be glad now to be fairly embarked in it. 
 
 "10th mo., Slst, 7th day. — The H's came this day 
 week, and very pleasant it was to see them. A nice even- 
 ing altogether : Elizabeth and Kate are remarkably agree- 
 able. Aunt R. Fowler leaves us, on fifth day next. It 
 is quite against my principle to make it a trial, but I 
 do feel it very much, more than I ought, perhaps, because 
 she will soon, I hope, be back again ; but the prospect of 
 the mistresship is weighty to me.. 
 
 " llfA month, t4:th. — ^About one. Papa, Aunt B. F.,- 
 and I, started for Ipswich, and arrived about seven at 
 R. Alexander's, after a pleasant journey. I was much 
 struck both with R. and A. Alexander; the former, 
 a sound, sensible Friend, intelligent, devoted to philanthropy 
 — ^teetotalism, especially; she, a lively, bright-minded 
 person, deepened by religion, and long illness. Ann Ste- 
 venson lives with them ; quite a charming person ; forming 
 an uncommon trio, altogether. 
 
 " 1st day. — ^I was surprized to see such a large meeting ; it 
 proved an interesting one. Papa very excellent on Baptism, 
 &c. Public meeting in the evening, large and inter- 
 esting. I was very low all day, about Aunt R. F; chiefly. 
 
 " 2cZ day,. — Better every way : breakfasted at Thomas 
 Foxes ; pleasant : then on to Playford Hall, and this was 
 delightful. Thomas Clarkson came to the door to meet us : a 
 very fine old man, indeed, full of life and energy. He has had 
 
8* BRIEF SKETCH OP 
 
 a dream that lie must *rite to the American Churches, which 
 he is doing ; and read us a great deal of his paper : extremely 
 forcible, a clear and strong line of argument running through 
 it. His wife read it well, he repeating and emphasizing a word, 
 now and then. After that was done, Papa read to T. C, Sir 
 T. F. B's letter about the two Societies. He is most warm 
 about their unity, and intends to take it up, when he has 
 finished his present work. " Ah ! my dear sir, I must do 
 this; I will do it. I'll do it with aU my heart. With so 
 much pleasure. But I write very slowly ; I am 'almost 
 blind." Then T; C. alluded to. his tract on Baptism, 
 explaining all about it, with the greatest energy; running 
 out again to the carriage, to finish with Papa about it. I 
 am very glad I have seen such a man. To dinner at R. 
 A's; afterwards, a nice evening at Goldrood. Talk over 
 the fire with Aunt R.j in the evening. 
 
 " On third day morning, I walked forward with Aunt, and 
 we parted peacefully and quietly. Rem'arkably pleasant 
 visit at Needham, and a nice journey home with Papa. I 
 had not a very good night, for I was rather full of thought. 
 I earnestly desired help in a situation which forcibly brought 
 back to me past feelings, and which is one of more respon- 
 sibility than I have been before accustomed to. 
 
 "bth day. — ^Nioe meeting. But poor, as regarded 
 myself." 
 
ANNA BMiKHOUSE. 35 
 
 CHAPTEE IV. 
 
 " 1840. 12th mo., 17th, Ath day. — ^We post-chaised it 
 most of the way to Darlington. A warm reception at 
 Polam. We staid there till the 25th, fifth day, ani very 
 interesting was our visit. J. B's state, the dear girls, H. 
 C B. so sweet and affectionate, and, still more, being with 
 E. P. K., were all things which I can't write about, but 
 which made my stay there not a common one. * * * is 
 delightful, and so open with me ; I truly love her. I never 
 more liked being with Ann and Jane ; they feel their 
 Father's state ; but it induces a sort of quietness in that housQ, 
 which is particularly agreeable. I liked, too, being with 
 Cousin E. Pease : indeed, they were aU most kind. Well, 
 as I said, we left on fifth day, and went to York, to the 
 Tukes. The following day there, very pleasant ; the girls 
 so kind, and agreeable, and intelligent. S. Tuke a fine 
 intellectual countenance, and conversation excellent; 
 Catholics, spread of truth, &c., the subjects. Back here 
 (Upton) by railroad on second day. Aunt Gurney came 
 J^ome last night. 
 
 "3(^ day. — ^Interesting quarterly meeting: Papa very 
 instructive in the morning. His intimate mind, on this 
 journey, has been pleasant, indeed, to me, and the year 
 closes with mercy aU around. 
 
 " 1st mo., l^th, 1841. — This day has been maskei to 
 
36 BRIEF SKETCH OF 
 
 me by a very interesting conversation with Papa, alluding 
 to possible ties, of the greatest interest to us, and in the 
 thought of which, after some little tossing, I feel very 
 peaceful. 
 
 " 2d mo., 6th day. — Waylands and A. Opie to dine and 
 lodge. Vennings and Grallibrandts to dinner. A sweet person 
 is M. G-. ; a touch like Aunt Harriet, but only a touch'; 
 a pretty sister, too, only very delicate. We had quite a 
 pleasant evening; talked abo«t St. Petersburgh, looked 
 over Audubon, Papa shewing Aunt Cunningham's sketches': 
 he read, at the end; interesting and sweet. The Waylands 
 and A. Opie went next morning. To dinner came Edward 
 and Catherine, Joseph and Anna, and E's darling chicks-; 
 and thoroughly we enjoyed their being with us. I had a 
 long gossip with Catherine and Edward at night. 
 
 " \st day — Was interesting, especially the evening read- 
 ing, and our sweet little meeting with Aunt Forster and 
 Papa after it. 
 
 "Id day mommg^^Thej all went off early. After 
 breakfast Papa came up to me for our usual G-erman lesson; 
 but, before he began, he gave me a letter which he had 
 ■written to me, containing some sweet advice, and, in conse- 
 quence of his intentions as to the future, a present of £ — . 
 I extremely felt his generosity, and appreciated it most 
 fully: nothing can be more handsome than the way in 
 which he has acted towards mCy and very earnestly I desire 
 to return all I can, in affection and help to him, through 
 this and all other interests. Thus I am rich for a girl at 
 home, and much wish to dispose of it entirely well. It will 
 
ANNA BACKHOUSE. ■37 
 
 enable me to give freely, and so prone is my wise heart to 
 vanity, that if I do not take care, I shall prove self-com- 
 placent in that same giving. May I be directed aright, and 
 enabled to keep very closely in view, the glory of the Giver, 
 •the only ofeal giver of every thing. In the evening of 
 second day, we went to A. Qpie's to meet the Vennings 
 and G's again : an agreeable evening. 
 
 "2d mo., 13, 1st day evening. — I am longing to go to 
 bed, but must just record a ^day which has been interesting 
 %o me, though I have been sadly guilty at meeting. I had 
 a nice school ; after afternoon meeting, Papa walked with 
 W. E. and I with Uncle F. to their house : then on 
 alone with Papa, and enjoyed it : interesting conversation 
 on the ministry,' — the true source thereof,&c. It is strange 
 with all one's naughtiness, how one is able to see what is 
 •meant by the differences in it. How that which does not 
 seem the real thing, as friends view it, is not so easy to 
 take to, as that which is livelier. But truly, I feel I have 
 no right so to say, considering how little I profit by all, or 
 any. He, as usual, strong about getting the good from 
 every one, and I felt that, as far as I dared have an opinion, 
 it was quite in unison with his. I enjoyed his freedom and 
 •openness. I have been \i\k\,flat to-day, and lately. Oh ! that 
 I may not go backward, instead of forward, in the course 
 which I sometimes hope is begun. I need convincing 
 (what I know, too) again and again, that in me, that is, 
 in my flesh, dwelleth no good thing. Papa's remarks on 
 jHstification very sweet (Romans v, 1, 2). Oh ! to know 
 the thing itself J 
 
 ■*' 3<f wio.-^Dr. Wayland from Providence, America, came 
 
 D 
 
88 BRIEF SKETCH OF 
 
 in the evening : a very interesting person ; a Moral Philo- 
 sopher, by his talk, and his books, too, I believe. 
 
 " 21th, 7th day. — Marked by the death of dear Aunt 
 Gurney, of the Grove. The Backhouses came in the 
 morning. I was there with Papa, and truly valued the 
 privilege. 
 
 " 3c? mo., 13th, 7th day. — ^I wrote last, a fortnight ago. 
 That week (beginning on the 29th) was much engaged by 
 the Grove : I was there every day, I think, tiU the funeral 
 on sixth day : much in it of melancholy, and much of 
 peace and comfort. 
 
 " hth day. — Dr. Wayland departed : Papa and I saw 
 him off: he was able to give him some good hints about 
 slavery; and certainly Papa's mild conciliatory way of 
 going on with people, seems to me not only more Christian, 
 but far more politic,, than these hot anti-slaveryites, who 
 have treated the Dr. so badly, because he differs from them 
 about the District of Columbia. 
 
 " ^th day — ^Was the funeral. We were all at the Grove 
 before meeting, and went with them : it was a nice, quiet 
 time, peaceful, not overwhelming in any way. We dined 
 at home, with the Chapmans. To the Grove in the evening j 
 a little religious opportunity. 
 
 " ls< day — I was not well, and just as H. C. Backhouse 
 was beginning a sweet sermon, friend Hitchen seeing I 
 looked faint, came and told me I had better go out of 
 meeting, and I dare say it was well I came away when I 
 
ANNA BACKHOUSE. 39 
 
 did. Papa so loving afterwards. Afternoon in bed almost 
 
 entirely. to dinner and lodge ; pleasant discourse on 
 
 friendliness : her mind is an enlarged one, and she does 
 not easily perceiye, I think, nice distinctions. One beau- 
 tiful characteristic of Papa's is, that, taking the broadest 
 and most comprehensive views, he yet does see those 
 minute distinctions which it is well should be observed. 
 Is it, I wonder, common for big minds to see little things ? 
 Yesterday Papa fixed to go to Bristol : busy evening pre- 
 paring. Stopped this morning because of ear-ache in the 
 night ; his quiet trustfulness that it is right, sweet to see. 
 , It is a great pleasure to me that he is not going j we are so 
 much together, that separation is very difficult. 
 
 "Upton, bih mo., 18, 1841. — The day before yearly 
 meeting, one which, apparently, I shall have much cause 
 to remember, and, I trust, to be thankful for. The time 
 at home, since I last wrote, was passed very pleasantly. 
 Aunt Catherine- and Aunt Rachel Fowler there, and but 
 little company ; I much enjoyed it, and we had a charming 
 little visit from Cousin Anna. I was a great deal with 
 Papa, and deep in his interests, to my own comfort, and 
 with wonderfully little dread of what is now beginning (in 
 fact, if not in form). Proportionably have I felt the pain 
 now, which must attend such a change, as his intentions, 
 if carried out, will produce. Yet, truly, the balance in 
 the happiness-scale is great. We came here from Totten- 
 ham on first day morning, after a pleasant visit at Runcton. 
 E. P. K. and H. C. B. were at meeting. * * * Oh ! how 
 earnestly do I desire that I may £?e«p?y learn the lesson, which, 
 with all its happy parts, this change in our circumstances 
 does, and ought to teach me, of my being so nothing ; that, 
 though still I may have the closest tie with dearest Papa, 
 
40 BRCEI' SKETCH Ol" 
 
 and with Tier, too, in addition, yet, as I can no longer be 
 the one, as I have had the privilege to be to him, that it 
 may increase my dependence on that Father, with whom 
 communion is only interrupted by our own sinfulness. I 
 know that the gain of such a friend, alid the taking off by 
 her of burden, will be a wonderful advantage to me, and 
 doubt not I shall' estimate them more and more. But there 
 are pains, though always decreasing, which it is right and 
 natural to feel : and may it all prove, as it ought to do, a 
 teaching lesson. Oh ! may I so love, that it may work for 
 good ; and may the spirit of thankfulness be given me for 
 the mercies bestowed, for the happiness gi-anted to dearest 
 Papa. How interesting is the thought of his losses, his 
 services, his recompenses ! He is so sweet and trustful. 
 ****** 
 
 " Upton, bth mo.j 22,d, 1841. — On fourth day our meeting 
 began : it was interesting and solemn. Papa and I dined 
 at Devonshire Square : most sweet it was. I highly prized 
 being with H. 0. B., and sharing in her interests ; and, as 
 to my communication with dear E. P. K., nothing could 
 have been more satisfactory of comforting to me. Papa, too, 
 as happy as possible, and, much more than all, peace ia 
 stamped on this most interesting occurrence, in a way not 
 to be mistaken. Oh ! how earnestly I desire to be enabled 
 to fill my relationship to her as I ought. * * 
 
 I thoroughly enjoyed the meetings, morning and after- 
 noon : went home with Bessy. It is odd, to be so altered 
 since we girls were at yearly meeting before : so much 
 graver. 
 
 "bth mo.,2Gth,bih day. — Afternoon meeting, summary, 
 &c, quite interesting and, I thought, solemn : a good deal 
 of remark about dress and plain language; more, I thinli, 
 
ANNA BACKHOTJSK. 41 
 
 than on any other point. I am not very fond of being 
 made, for simplicity's sake, to think so much about sim- 
 plicity. I don't like to be disturbed about it, and am 
 always glad when there is not much said or thought on the 
 subject; as I think when there is, plainness may almost be 
 said to defeat its own end, which I take to be the showing 
 of that moderation which is recommended in the Bible, and 
 the advantage of which is, that it takes so little thought 
 from better things. On the whole, however, I am abun- 
 dantly satisfied with the yearly meeting. The general tone 
 seems to me to be so richly evangelical, so fine, setting up 
 so high a standard ; and often the meetings have been so 
 solemn, as to confirm Friendliness to my mind very com- 
 fortably. It is a great satisfaction to me to find the cogi- 
 tations I have had over it, by myself, and with the Bible, 
 during the last three years, so clench in with the reality of 
 the thing now, as exemplified in these meetings. What 
 an amazing privilege to be satisfied with the religious 
 society you belong to : to feel that the causes of dissatis- 
 faction were in yourself alone, or in those cases where the 
 true principle is not legitimately carried out. I write this, 
 that I may iave my own record for myself, should I again 
 be troubled with the doubts and difficulties that I sometimes 
 have had. After meeting, to Devonshire Square : some 
 very interesting conversation ; and, when tea was over, a 
 deeply touching prayer from H. C. B;, in which she alluded 
 to ' the reward of their faithfulness being given them in 
 each other.' I felt it almost too great a privilege, for such 
 a bad one as I, to be a sharer in such solemnities. Wo 
 came away, truly feeling that peace, even that peace whicli 
 marks right, is stamped on the whole afiair. A charming 
 drive home with Papa : free talk, and very valuable. How 
 
 d2 
 
42 BRIEF SKETCH 6t 
 
 I do hope, that such intimate communication with such 
 good people, will not make me a hypocrite ! 
 
 "7th day, Qihmo., 5th. — I have but a few minutes in 
 which to say a great deal. The conclusion of the yearly 
 meeting was interesting and satisfactory, and my many 
 visits to Devonshire Square all I could wish. On sepond 
 day, Papa and I, with Josiah Forster and Aunt E. F., 
 propose setting off for Paris. Speilt first day at Plaistow. 
 Jews' meeting in the evening, at the Devonshire House. 
 Third day, with H. C. B; and E. P. K. to Tottenham : 
 Leyton to dinner : much to be thankful for : no time for 
 detail. 
 
 "EarlhAM, 6th mo., 27th, 1-841. — It is a long time 
 since I wrote last ; but I must make some record of our 
 visit to Paris, which was most interesting. . Papa, J. F., 
 and Uncle Gurney, got on Well with their anti-slavery 
 objects ; but I shall attempt no detail of their proceedings, 
 as they will be given elsewhere. On seventh day, Aunt 
 R. F. and I attended the funeraCl of ihe Comte de Perizord* 
 Interesting and curious : about three hundred candles and 
 oriflames : the gesticulations at the altar, &c., to me the 
 absurdest part of the ceremony. The music was fine, and 
 plenty of ,it, and some solemnity, I thought, in the whole 
 thing. We afterward walked in the entertaining Palais 
 Royal : had some callers, dined at the table d'hote, and 
 went up the Barriere de 1' Etoile in the evening, from 
 whence we had a magnificent view of the city and environs. 
 
 " 1st day. — After our little meeting, took a long drive 
 to visit a 8abbath School of Pressences ; a beautiful sight, 
 and truly refreshing, after the unsabbatical appearance of 
 
^mna BAcfKHousir. 43 
 
 the streets. In the afternoon, we went oiF to Pere la 
 Chaise : an interesting spectacle ; especially where the foor 
 people are buried, and the ditch for sixch is always open. 
 A party we met at the gate excited my sympathy very 
 .strongly ; evidently a father, daughter, and two little boys, 
 going to visit a mother's grave. They bought garlands 
 as they entered. How I did pity that girl, and longed to 
 go and talk to her : she looked Very sorrowful, but had a 
 a fine countenance, and I have no doubt was a very supe- 
 rior person. Why I knew all that, from a moment's glance', 
 I cannot tell ; but I think I was not mistaken. 
 
 " Second day evening was, perhaps, the most entertaining 
 of all, a? we had the real interest of dining with G-uizot, at 
 the close of an afternoon in the Chamber of Peers. I had 
 read so many of his books, and with such delight, that I 
 heartily enjoyed it; though I was far -too frightened at him 
 (I believe, merely at his intellectual greatness), to talk to 
 him; but the others did, and he was very agreeable. His 
 old mother delighted me ; we had a sweet conversation with 
 her, before dinner, on Aunt Fry, &c. The evening passed 
 ofi' very pleasantly. 
 
 "On fourth day evening, we gave our Anti-Slavery 
 soiree, and we are thankful to have it so well over. One 
 hundred and twenty came, who were well seated in three 
 of our rooms thrown into one. Josiah Porster spoke nicely, 
 and introduced Papa, who made a capital speech in French, 
 to his own, and, I am sure, to «iy admiration -also. He 
 was almost eloquent. A few most impressive seiftences, 
 from Uncle Grurney, in English, and then one of the 
 Beless3r3s returned thanks on behalf of the company, very 
 handsomely. The attention Was extreme, and' there was 
 evidently a strong impression made. We left Paris on 
 fifth day. 
 
44 BRIEP SKETCH OP 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 "Uh mo., 23cZ, 1842. — ^It certainly is not because I 
 have had nothing to say, that I have so long delayed con- 
 tinuing my journal. The three months following the last 
 entry, were as full of interest as possible ; the two first 
 occupied by our foreign journey, and the last by our return, 
 ending with my father's Biarriage, on the 21st of tenth 
 month. Of our journey on the Continent, to Prussia, Den- 
 mark, &c., there is an account in my letters to Aunt R. 
 Fowler. Of the rest of the time, hitherto I have had little 
 inclination to make a record, having been afraid, during 
 part of it, of being intimate even with myself. But it is 
 now quite different ; we are perfectly settled, each in our 
 own nook, and have every reason to be thankful and happy. 
 My mother is, of course, quite established, and, I think, 
 increasingly happy in her position. She has done every 
 thing with great tact and judgment. All our relations are 
 extremely fond of her. John Henry is thoroughly com- 
 fortable with her; the pleasure of his home is very decidedly 
 increased by her presence. Papa is supplied to his utmost 
 wishes, and I need not, therefore, add that I am most com- 
 fortable. I very highly prize her love and friendship, and 
 am more light-hearted, in its true sense, than I have been 
 able to be, since I was fourteen. Of course I have had to 
 feel a reaction ; after such a life of weight and excitement 
 as mine has been the last year or two, the contrary has 
 sometimes had rather a flattening effect upon the spirits 
 and it has been difficult to supply the vacuum. However 
 
ANNA BACKHOUSE. 45 
 
 this has very much subsided, and the craving for excite- 
 ment, which is' never a healthy feeling, has, I think, quite 
 left me. It is dif&cult to fill up the history of external 
 events. We had many callers after my mother came, 
 which we quite liked, and then my parents and I had a 
 pleasant little excursion to Fakenham, Holkham, Runcton) 
 Lynn, &c. 
 
 " Eaulham, 6mo., 10th, 1842. — The beginning of this 
 month, the five youngest children from Euncton came, and 
 spent a week with us. Their governess was left behind, 
 and my time was very much devoted to them. They were 
 particularly bright and lovely. I think their sort of 
 education gives great charm, (tempered, as their's is, with 
 sobriety and discipline) — much more cliarm than a more 
 solid one, thoughj I suppose, it is not so good for the hard 
 work of life. Are both combined impossible ? On second 
 day, leaving the children here, John Henry and I started, 
 in a carriage, for Halesworth. We had a. delightful drive. 
 I had earnestly desired that this opportunity of being 
 together might not be wasted, and I don't think it was. 
 We began about horses and banks, but we got deeper, and 
 had a very interesting conversation on religious matters, 
 Friends, &c. I think we agreed very well — his mind is 
 delightfully dairvoyant ; and yet, I think, we shall very 
 Kkely, if we live, take a more decided view of many points 
 than we now do ; and I believe we both warmly desire to 
 be led in the right way. Oh ! how I have felt the wish 
 for us to be guided aright, and to do things from a right 
 motive. I have, indeed, much reason to be thankful for 
 the religious frame in which his mind is. There is no one 
 thing in the world, I believe, I care about so much.. 
 
46 BRIEF SKETCH OP 
 
 Sometimes, and perhaps wrongly, much more than about 
 my own. All our talks were most interesting to me. 
 
 " 6mo., 27<A.. — ^In the evening, a carriage drove up, and 
 Anna Jenkins and Susanna Oorder emerged from it, with 
 William Porster. Soon after another, with the Balls and 
 Wilson Crewdsons : so we had quite a gathering. 
 
 " 4<A day. — Barclay Fox arrived by mail. I rode with 
 him to the Grove, then home, and attended to the friends, 
 who were all sweet and agreeable. Bessy at John's. J. 
 H. and I a quiet evening to ourselves. The Balls and 
 Crewdsons gone to Buxton. A parcel, arrived for the C.'s 
 in the evening, giving a poor account of their child. 
 
 " ^tli day. — They left us on the way to meeting, to go 
 to it. I drove with B. P. in the new pony-chair. The 
 meeting was solemn. A sweet prayer from A. Jenkins, 
 whose lively spirit was very striking. In the second 
 meeting, Lucy Aggs asked me to assist in reading, as 
 Maria Blake was out. I could not make a speech to the 
 contrary, and, therefore, set to work. I did not mind it 
 much, but it was not very easy, as I was hungry and 
 exhausted. A nice afternoon, however, and divers friends 
 here in the evening. 
 
 " bth day. — I drove Susanna Corder in the pony-chair 
 to the Grove. I am very much pleased with the fine, 
 powerful mind, and sweet-loving spirit of this dear woman. 
 She was most kind and affectionate to me, and I really 
 prize the privilege of her friendship. We talked about 
 Quakerieties, &c. I asked, were not different religious 
 dispensations fitted to different minds, and would not it 
 suit some, much more than others, to be Friends ? Yes, 
 
ANNA BACKHOUSE. 47 
 
 she said,; but she thought no one who had really appre- 
 ciated Quakerism would leave it. I don't think she agreed 
 with me, that some minds are not fitted for it; cannot 
 appreciate it ; though she said some could less than others. 
 She was very sensible about the motives of young people, 
 &c. The Backhouses came to tea. We had a sitting in 
 the evening, and A. J. spoke to J. H. and me, and said we 
 were designed for extensive usefulness, she believed, and 
 we must bow the neck to the yoke, which had been already 
 found easy, &c. It was quite instructive, and I believe I 
 wished to be as good as she said I ought, though I don't 
 think I have a very definite idea of what sort of thing 
 they mean is required. But I iSay know in time. Only 
 to be willing ! Well, may it be so. 
 
 " 1st day, the 3c?.— ^I was stupid at meeting, and at the 
 school. Papa, who is better, had a large public meeting 
 in the evening, at the Grildencroft. I have seldom heard 
 him more excellent. His text was, ' When He, the spirit 
 of truth, is come, he will guide you into all truth." He 
 first beautifully unfolded, the work of the spirit in the 
 Church of Ghrist, and then its operation on the heart of 
 individuals in convincing, converting, cleansing. His 
 description of its effect in bringing to the cross was very 
 striking. 
 
 " 2d day. — Jane B. and I examined the Melton school 
 in the morning. They did nicely. Aunt Ery, with Uncle 
 and Katharine, came in the evening. 
 
 In consequence of J. J. Gurney's increased indis- 
 position, the Earlham family removed, for a short 
 
48 BRIEF SKETCH OP 
 
 time, to the sea-side, in the early part of 7th, mo.^ 
 1842, where the following memoranda was made: 
 
 " Cromer, 1st day afternoon, 1th mo., lOiA, 1842. — I 
 do not like tkis day to pass "witliotit making a little record 
 of my Own state, and of the family interests that surround 
 us just now, even if I cannot tell the history of the past 
 week. We have had a precious, hut touching, little 
 meeting, this morning, in the dining-room here, (Lord 
 Hasting' s lodgings.) The party consisted of Uncle and 
 Aunt Fry and Katharine, Uncle Buxton, Papa, my Mother 
 and me. It was touching to look on some of them. Aunt 
 Fry, Uncle Buxton, Papa, all three in so frail a state, 
 and though we must not do anything but hope, (and I 
 think we shall see them much better,) yet we cannot deny 
 to ourselves that their present infirm condition does make 
 us anxious. The silence of our little gathering was very 
 sweet, and I felt really quiet, which I think is a true 
 favour. Aunt Fry spoke in her own lovely way, alluding 
 ■to the infirmities of mind and body, with which they were 
 surrounded, and of the strong consolation derived from 
 knowing their dependence to be placed on the Physician of 
 value — on the unfailing refuge in their reconciled Grod. 
 Then my Mother expressed hM sense of the solemnity 
 over us, and of the prayer that had been breathed silently 
 among us. ' Search me, Lord, and know my heart — try 
 me and know my thoughts, and see if there be any wicked 
 way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting — if we did 
 breathe this prayer in sincerity, we should, and did know, 
 not only our wicked way pointed out, but a sense of the 
 sanctifying influence of the Holy Spirit would be given, 
 and we be permitted to feel that we were indeed reconciled 
 
, A-NNA BACKHOUSE. 49 
 
 to God through the dear Eedeemer.' I thought I scarcely 
 ought to feel all this belonging to me, but I did hope too, 
 that I was included, in a measure, even of such mercy. 
 Papa added a few words in the same Strain, finishing with 
 a most touching expression of his belief, that to some of 
 them death had indeed been robbed of its terrors, and that 
 they could look/with calmness to th.6 entrance through the 
 pearl gates into everlasting life ! 
 
 "Aunt Fry soon knelt down, and besought that in all 
 things, whether they were raised up or cast down, whether 
 the desires of their, eyes for themselves, or others, were 
 given them, or not, yet, that in all things, the name of 
 the Lord might be magnified and exalted. It certainly 
 was very sweet ; and I believe even the naughtiest of the 
 party — ^which, I suppose, was I — did, and do most earn- 
 estly, desire to leave all things in his hands, who knows 
 ^hat is right, and even to try, and wish for nothing but 
 -that devotion to Hifli, which He, in his mercy, will give, 
 even to the weakest and naturally most sinful. 
 
 "Evening. — ^Afterthis, I took a nice little walk on the 
 shore with K. Fry. We compared, notes about the dear 
 invalids, and we could not feel much encouraged about 
 them. Then I read and rested; and when my Parents 
 went out, wrote the beginning of this. I joined them, 
 oh the shore, directly afterwards, and seldom enjoy eel 
 ='a ,walk more — the sun fras shining brightly, atid the sea 
 looked lovSy; aid though I did hot feel in high spirits, 
 either abbut Papa, or m'y own private interests, yet I was 
 ■ Comforted by a touch of that peace of which the remem- 
 brance alone is always so precious. Papa has been rather 
 better this afternoon, and we had quite a large meeting in 
 ohr dinihg-roonl, in which both he and Auht Fry spoke 
 
50 BRIEI' SKETCH OP 
 
 in an interesting way, on Love, Charity, and Unity— on 
 the doctrine of redemption, and on the fruits of the Spirit. 
 Thus the day has been one of rather peculiar refreshment, 
 and I shall not soon forget, I think, the quietness and rest 
 of it. I desire, very much, that in the coming week, and 
 in future, I may be enabled more to restrain all wandering 
 imaginations, than I have done, and to be much more 
 truly and constantly set on the one thing needful. Yet, 
 even in my best moments, all sorts of tiresome fancies 
 and thoughts come in, and I am often ready to give it up 
 altogether, so hard seems the fight with self, an idol, from 
 which, I think, I wish to be delivered, and which, I am 
 yet afraid I hug almost tighter than ever. May He who 
 does mercifully help; whose help I have known; Oh! may 
 it please Him, to carry forward His own work ; may I not 
 be suffered to oppose Him in the slightest manner, but 
 may His power prevail over all — ^bring every thought into 
 captivity, though it be even at the expense of any 
 suffering and sorrow. This, I believe, is my real wish, but 
 the "heart is deceitful above all things." 
 
 " Cromee, 1st day evening, 7, 17, 1842. — In the 
 evening. Papa and my Mother returned from Norwich — he 
 very poorly — and altogether his poor state has been a true 
 trial. I have been excessively anxious about himj and 
 on fifth day, at meeting, I could only ask and beg for 
 submission whatever came. He is better now, however; 
 an^tf oh ! if the favour of his real restoration is given us, 
 we shall, have new cause to be thankful, very thankful 
 indeed. Chenda B. is here, most pleasantly, and we have 
 had an agreeable and substantial day, though our long 
 North Walsham expedition rather cut it up. 
 
ANNA BACKHOUSE. 51 
 
 " Poor Tot is deadi, (her pet dog.) I shall sadly misa 
 her, I quite dread flndiag the loss when I get hoine. 
 
 "Cromee, Ist day, 1th mo., 24:tli. — I seem obliged to 
 write on & first daly, which I don't think is a very good 
 plan ; but I was very poorly yesterday, and unable to do 
 anything. I am now spending a quiet evening alone, 
 while the rest of the party are gone to a great public 
 meeting, appointed by Papa. I have been exceedingly 
 oppressed by stupidity and selfishness to-day, owing to the 
 exhaustion of yesterday's attack. I have not been so 
 poorly for long, and feel it a cause for thaiukfulness to be 
 so much restored. I think that when one is very busy, 
 and very well, as t have been here^ and delighting in 
 rather an unusual state of ener^ and industry, it may be 
 a good lesson to be stopped, and shown how perfectly 
 weak we are, and how soon knocked down by apparently 
 the slightest causes.^ We have had a pleasant week of 
 occupation. Jane Backhouse, Chenda, and I, read Cl-reek 
 with Cousin Anna ; ride, bathe, and companionize, which, 
 added to a good deal of sketching with K. Fry, have kept 
 me thoroughly employed. Papa has been much the same 
 — a little better we hope to-day. I have often felt most 
 tryingly discouraged about him. He has had one or two 
 meetings with the sailors here, and one with those at 
 Sherringham. 
 
 " lik day night, 7, 30, 1842. 
 
 "ToB. B. 
 " As We watched the ocean's tremendous play, 
 And listened the war of the storm, 
 We saw mid the dark water's snowy spray, . 
 A-Sfiacbicd'^ tiny form. 
 
5^ 
 
 BRIEF SKETCH OF 
 
 " She mounted the wave — she played with the foam ; 
 Each billow but carried her higher ; 
 And she looked like one at ease, and at home, 
 A-s .the wild wind blustered by .her. . 
 
 •^In a moment we lost her and feared she was gone,^. 
 But again on the topmost wave, 
 "V^fe saw her careering joyously on — 
 Grood speed, little mariner brave. 
 
 " We left her there, in her fearless ease, 
 Pursuing her track sublime — 
 May we, dearest Chenda, while feeling the breeze 
 That roughens the eddies of time, 
 
 "-May we, in^/each stormy and billowy hour,. 
 Which tosses our heavenward way. 
 Be. still upheld by sustaining power, 
 Like that bird on the ocean's spray, 
 
 "Till borne along by each, flowing tide, 
 And wafted by favouring gales. 
 We may reach that haven for ay^ to abide,. 
 Where eternal calm prevails. 
 
 " I write in rather a rhapsodical mind, having composed 
 the aforesaid, to-day, during a walk on the shore, with 
 Katharine Fry and Addison Cresswell. That beautiful 
 bird charmed me all the morning, and I thought it a 
 shame not to try and make it a definite remembrance. I 
 am now sitting by Chenda. We are both journalizing, 
 and she has been reading me some of hers. It shows her 
 own clear and beautifully regulated mind, of whieh I have 
 
ANNA BACKHOtrsE. 53' 
 
 a; higher opinion than evei*, from OTir late close intercourse ; 
 its depth of seriousness, and its power of intellect, and its 
 richness of sentiment, are quite uncommon, and most 
 feeding to me. We two and Jane have read Greek at the 
 Cottage, almost every day, and have, I hope, gained more 
 than a mere brushing up of our Greek from -these delight- 
 ful occasions. We have been reading the Hebrews, and I 
 do think it has helped to open my views of the "Mediator;" 
 no one could hear Cousin Anna's comments, and mark 
 her high reverence for the subject, without7some edifica- 
 tion. Oh, to have feeling brought, up 'to' the right 
 standard ! Chenda was three nights with Jane^ .Ijnissed 
 her exceedingly. John Henry came on fifth day morning, 
 and went away early this morning. He brought sunshine 
 with him, as usual, and I am afraid took it away too ;. for 
 we have been all rather dull since he left us. 
 
 "3c? day afternoon, — We spent sketching on the 
 Eunton hills. I did not perform very trell, but think I 
 am improving. 
 
 " ^ih day. — A nice little morning meetjng at Cromer 
 Grove. I have not felt altogether strong thisi week, and not 
 quite, therefore, entering into the spirit of our various- 
 occupations. 
 
 " hih day. — ^I rode in the heat' by myself, to see the 
 poor soldier at Aldly, and gave him a recommendation to 
 the hospital, having written to E. M. to meet him. I 
 had a nice visit to the poor man, ending by reading him a 
 little in the Bible — ^rather an effort. Chenda and I have 
 had some capital discourses. Papa has been varying alL 
 fcough this week, but, on- the whole, rather, better, 
 e2- 
 
54 BRIEF' SKETCH 01' 
 
 "Ckomer, ls« day, Smo., 1th, 1842. — This is the last 
 time that I shall write here, I suppose, as we intend 
 leaving Cromer to-morrow. I am sorrow not to have 
 written during last week, which has been as pleasant as 
 any we have spent, excepting that the--Baokhou«es going 
 has left quite a blank, and that visions of- our breaking 
 up have been rather too prevalent. This day week we 
 had an interesting' meeting, in a bam at Runton. 
 
 "Id day. — A pleasant evening at Sherringham with 
 their school children. 
 
 " dd day. — Jane's laat reading at the Cottage — quite 
 melancholy. 
 
 " 4<7i day. — Quite a gathering of our friends to the 
 week-day meeting ; the- departure of the Backhouses ; and 
 Cousin L. Aggs' arrival. 
 
 "bth day. — ^Uncje Fry, K. K; Eichenda, and I, a 
 
 capital expedition to Beeson, &c. 
 
 " &th day. — Hebrews with Cousin Anna, and the whole 
 afternoon sketching.and calling at Sherringham.- 
 
 " 1th day. — We finished Hebrews with Cousin Annay 
 and certainly this reading of it has been peculiarly pleasant 
 and interesting, as well as (I would' hope) edifying. I do 
 think it has tended to enlarge my views of the Great Highr 
 Priest, and I do very earnestly desire that they may be 
 deepened, and strengthened, that through faith in Him, I 
 may, know more than I now do, what it is to realize the 
 meaning of the verse, I have been reading this morning 
 in Peter.. " Whom, not having seen, we love, in whom,- 
 
ANNA. BACKHOUSE. 55 
 
 tbougK now ye see him' not, yet believing, ye rejoice with 
 joy unspeakable and full of glory.' 
 
 " Oh ! what do I know of this ? This view has also 
 been brought before me by Taylor's Spiritual Christianity 
 — a capital book, which I have much enjoyed, and have 
 just finished. Yesterday, Aunt R. Fowler came by mail. 
 I expect much to enjoy, being with her ; and I think her 
 visit to us, when we get back to Earlham, will answer 
 well. We have had a sweet little take-leave sort of 
 meeting, this morning, at the Cliff Housej in which Papa 
 beautifully returned thanks for the mercies received here, 
 and supplicated for help, protection, and guidance. My 
 Mother and Aunt Fry, also, sweetly expressed their sense 
 of the favours received, especially during our little 
 meetings,, and Aunt Fry hoped we should all be encouraged 
 and stimulated in our religious course. 
 
 " Hunstanton, %th mo., 10th, 1842. 4<A day night. — 
 Lam, seated in my little bed room, in B. Edward's house, 
 and while I am writing this, the blue flashes of lightning 
 are streaming into my windows, and the crashes of thunder 
 are beginning to follow them very closely. It has been 
 most interesting to me to arrive here to-day ; but before I 
 enter upon it, I will go bacjs to where I left off. 
 
 " On first day we had a fine large meeting in a barn at 
 Trimmingham, which was filled with a multitudis of poor 
 people, and a few farmers ; they were eager for tracts after- 
 wards. The effect that Aunt Fry's address to children had 
 OU' a little girl opposite me, was very remarkable. 
 
 "Second day morning, there was the usual bustle of 
 departure, and we could not but quite dislike leaving Cromer, 
 aad ending the happy time we have spent there. Cousin 
 
56 BRIEi' SKETCH OP 
 
 Anna came down to take leave of us : we had a delightful 
 bathe, and set off, after an early dinner. We arrived at 
 Holt, in good time; I enjoyed being thus again with my 
 father and mother, and the improvement we have seen in 
 him during the last two days, has been most cheering to us 
 all. The meeting in the evening, at Holt, was particularly 
 satisfactory, though small, and our sitting with the Muskett 
 &mily next morning, exceedingly sweet ; after which we 
 drove to Melton Constable, a rather unininteresting house 
 and park, but found Lord Hastings out ; took a hasty sketch 
 as we came home, which I had time to copy and colour, 
 before our early dinner ; after which we came to Wells,, 
 via Baysfield, whose inhabitants came out to shew us the- 
 gardens. The grounds here are very pretty. We reachedi 
 ■TOells (passing the beautiful ruin, Beeson Priory, in oun 
 way,) in good time for the meeting there in the evening.- 
 Papa's sermon was particularly striking — his experience of 
 the effect and necessity of religion in all countries, &c., 
 ending by a close practical application — ' Have we re- 
 nounced the idolatry of sel/P' 
 
 Ath day. — ^We attended the nice little meeting of Friends 
 there, this morning, and had sweet sittings with the Les- 
 lies and G-ales. I cannot describe the feelings with which 
 I approached this place (Hunstan), or those with which I 
 stood looking out of my window up stairs, upon the village 
 and sea. The place is so intimately connected with my owns 
 mother ; and here it is I see, and can trace, the places where: 
 she used to go ; but I cannot form even a definable con- 
 ception of that one, who yet fills every thing here in my 
 mind, and for whom I feel such true affection and reverence. 
 We have been taking a charming walk among the beautiful. 
 
ANNA BACKHOUSE. 57 
 
 rocks on tfie, beach, this evening, with our kind friends, 
 the Edwards's, who have received us most hospitably. It 
 was lovely and strange ; and often, during the few hours 
 Ijhave yet spent here, I have found my eyes filled with- 
 tears, from emotions which I cannot describe the least, now 
 that I have pen in hand to do it. It is such- a mixture of 
 the real and ideal, — -of the world of present maiter, and of 
 spirit, giving life to every thing. I wished; however, to 
 make a distinct record of a sweet evening ; and I ought, I, 
 am sure, to lie down to night, deeply impressed with 
 thankfulness for the present improvement in Papa, and for 
 the multitude of blessings which a quick glance backwards to 
 the time I was at Hunstan, when two years old, brings to> 
 my view ; or, would bring, if I dared to wander back so far 
 in my recollections. 
 
 " Hunstanton, 5th day morning.-^ 
 
 "Thoughts while I was Drawing on the Shore., 
 
 "I tread the shores, my mother. 
 
 Where thou hast often been, 
 Kere see the dashing of the wave, . 
 
 As thou hast often seen : 
 They shew me rocks and rugged cliffs . 
 
 Where thou hast loved to roam, 
 They shew the village school, and e'en,. 
 
 Thy own dear happy home. 
 All objects tell one touching tale — ■- 
 
 They tell thy child of thee ; 
 But thou art silent, mother ! 
 
 Thou speakest not to me : . 
 
58 BRIEF SKETCH OF 
 
 Nor, seareliing in her farthest depths, 
 
 Can Memory recall 
 One picture of thy own dear ^elf. 
 
 Who givest life to all ! — 
 While here I cannot know thee. 
 
 May but the grace be given, 
 To follow in thy earthly track, 
 
 And see thee fir^t in Heaven ! 
 
ANNA BAGKHOUSE. 59 
 
 CHAPTEK VI. 
 
 "EaSLHAM, 1st day evening, 8th mo., \4tih. — ^I am at 
 home alone, this evening, while the rest of the family are 
 gone to meeting, partly because I was not well yesterday, 
 and am afraid of being overdone, and partly because I am 
 rather expecting Aunt Eachel Fowler from Northrepp's, oij 
 account of the death of her sister-in-law, Rebecca Fowler, 
 the intelligence of which we have had to-day. I have been 
 sitting under one Qf the trees by the lawn, reading part of 
 David's history, and musing; desiring good things for 
 myself and John Henry. Oh ! how I wish we may be 
 right, not only in the general, but that we may not be 
 permitted to take a path ever so little wrong. May we be 
 granted very perceptible guidance, grace to obey it when 
 it is given, and patience to wait for it till it, is. I have 
 been wishing for, or, at least, feeling the necessity, of more 
 complete devotion to my heavenly Father, and of that deep- 
 seated love and gratitude to my Saviour, which springs, 
 from real appropriating faith in Him, and forms the right 
 motive of action and feeling. The idea of 'abiding in 
 Him,' has often been much with me, the last few days. I 
 |iad a poor meeting this morning, and sadly find coldness 
 and distraction, when I ought to find love and fervor in my 
 mind at these times. Oh ! that I may not prove at last 
 a ' whited sepulchre' ! I had a warm greeting- from Har- 
 riet Long and the school children, and rather a nice reading 
 with them on the last first day. The place looks delicious, 
 and we have every reason to be very thankful for returning- 
 
60 BRIEF SKETCH OF 
 
 to it, in such peace and comfort, and with Papa so much 
 better, as he is. 
 
 "Earlham, 8th mo., 21st, 1842, 1st day evening. — It is 
 a week since I last wrote, and I am now again at home 
 from meeting, from being rather unwell all this morning. 
 The past week has brought so much -interest with it, that 
 it has rather overpowered me, and my body is^discomposed 
 in sympathy with my mind. 
 
 " I have just been reading over last first day's record, 
 and I am ashamed to think how little I have acted up, or 
 thought up, to my desires then. I am afraid the weei 
 has passed without any more, and, I fear, with less fervour 
 of spirit. Oh ! Lord, forgive my coldness, and quicken me ! 
 I trust I write it reverentially. The principal interests of 
 the week have been dear Hannah ScarneU's dealh, and some 
 interesting and very intimate conversations with * * 
 
 * * Thus the peace of Heaven, and the conflicts of 
 earth have both been brought under my view ; and, strange 
 to say, my inclination is, I think, to dwell on the ' turmoil,' 
 to forget the ' rest!' Dear Hannah Scarnell died on third 
 day afternoon. I was with her, to my comfort, both then 
 and the day previous. The last thing, I think, which she 
 heard, was the hymn, ' To Jesus, the crown of my hope,' 
 which I read to her, and in about twenty minutes after she 
 peacefully esjpireH. I felt it very sublime to be with her 
 alone, as I was, until Within about a quarter of an hour of 
 her death. It was an elevating sight ; but I am almost 
 afraid of losing my sense of the awfulness of death, in 
 watching it repeatedly, and, in each case, seeing something 
 so perfectly peaceful. I shall most truly miss her, and I 
 felt her funeral this morning almost like that of a near 
 xelation, I was quite overcome at the grave. We had a 
 
ANNA BACKHOUSE. 61 
 
 solemn time ; I was very low, and have been rather so all 
 day. I have had some strange, flitting ideas befwe me, 
 often ; es,pecially when going up the drive to the grave- 
 yard. If I die soon, am I prepared ? is a question which 
 I do not ask myself, perhaps, so seripusly as I ought ; but 
 the. idea is not unfrequently before me. Happily, ' the one 
 thing ' is what we want for death or life, and that I do 
 earnestly desire. I have enjoyed some settlement — treading 
 and drawing. A little success in the latter, has made me 
 really vain. I am ashamed to write it, but so it is ! While 
 such like foolish sins continue to exist, perhaps flourish, in 
 me, how can I have a true part in Him, who is made unto 
 us 'wisdom, righteousness and sanctification, as Well as 
 redemption ' ? May it be granted in abundant mergy. 
 
 Baelham, ^ih mo., 27th, 1842. — I came from North- 
 repp's on seventh day, after a most interesting week : was 
 much with Aunt Buxton, and truly liked it : they are all 
 most kind, as usual-^liking to have me. There are one or 
 two points to be remembered, for my own benefit. First, 
 we went seriously into the difference between Churdiand 
 Friends. It rather frightened me to talk of such things, 
 ■lest I should get the least unsettled ; but I was thankful 
 to feel confirmed in the belief, that to me, at least, the 
 profession of -Friends is 'a more excellent -way ' than any 
 other. Yet Chenda and -I -never felt more united, I think, 
 in the depths; and the working out of our principle of -divine 
 guidance, was, even in her o-wn experience, rather remark- 
 ■ably exemplified. 
 
 Surrounded, as she was, by loving and beloved 
 ■relatives, who, whilst under a different religious 
 
62i Srief sketch oi' 
 
 administration, were themselves shining as " Hghts 
 in the world," it was no easy thing, for this dear 
 young creature to persevere in the narrow and 
 restricted path of self-denial and the daily cross, 
 marked out for her, by her affectionate and watchful 
 parent ; but, finding that his wishes were confirmed 
 by the witness for God in her own heart, she was 
 enabled, by the aid of Divine Grace, to "hold fast 
 the profession of her faith without wavering," 
 " firm unto the end." 
 
 "Earlham, 1st day evening, ^th mo.,\lth, 1842. — ■ 
 Drawing room, just after tte family reading. While J. H, 
 is napping, I feel inclined to go on with, my journaL I 
 have been spending a pleasant day alone with him ; my 
 father and mother at Yarmouth, and Harry Birkbeek, who 
 has been staying with us, at Cromer. I can give but a poor 
 account of my meetings to-day. I was sadly unsteady in 
 thoughtj and, though tried by it, and often endeavouring 
 to turn to true worship, I was again and again tempted 
 away, and rose, both times, with an unsatisfied mind. Ob ! 
 when shall- 1 learn this most difficult part of my whole 
 . course of duties. When will my heart be prepared for the 
 exercise of worship! I am sometimes a good deal dis^ 
 couraged about it, though I have at others a fleeting taste 
 of the right thing ; more fervour, more devotion of spirit, 
 moi-e realizing of the object of Christian faith, and more 
 close communion with the great Teacher, are, iiideed, parts 
 of Christian experience, in which I am greatly wanting, 
 and which I do much desire to enjoy, though not enough. 
 I have had some mice conversation with dearest J. H. • 
 
ANNA BACKHOUSE. 63 
 
 though I was afi-aid, part of the time, too much of mere 
 gossip for the day. Yet it is not often that we have an 
 opportunity of talking over even family matters, and I do 
 not like, therefore, to avoid it, whenever he wishes it. I 
 told him a little about Edward Hoare, and his remarks, and 
 mine in answer to them, on Uncle Buxton's saying, ' He 
 did not think it mattered, if people got to Heaven, which 
 way they went there.' J. H. said he thought we were all 
 wrong, for there was only one way, and the difference of 
 sects of which we had been speaking, was not a difference of 
 way to Heaven. A little talk about the inspiration .of 
 Scripture, and then I read him two chapters in Genesis, 
 after he had lighted the fire, and made us comfortable. 
 Since, I have been reading to myself, in the Memoirs of 
 Friends, and the Bible, and enjoyed it, but somehow my 
 mind seems cloudy, and I long, perhaps not patiently 
 enough, for a clearer sense of my own position in religious 
 matters, and for a certainty in answering Pilate's question, 
 ' What is truth ?' But I know, I ought not to be restless, 
 and I wish to depend more implicitly, and in more stillness, 
 on Him who is sent to teach, as well as to comfort. 
 
 " To go back to the past week. On fifth day afternoon, 
 my father and mother, and J. H., went to Yarmouth, leaving 
 Harry and me to receive Edward and Maria Hoare. They 
 came to dinner, and I enjoyed their company. Edward is 
 very full of his work and his calling, and I could not but 
 be struck with his warmth and glow, and the way in which 
 his mind seems wholly bent on the diffusion of religion. 
 We talked of little else, for every thing seemed to turn to 
 . it. They went away, about two, on sixth day, and I was 
 glad of the afternoon to myself, to draw and read, &c. 
 John Henry came back in the evening, and home with -me 
 
64 BKIEF SKETCH OF 
 
 in the carriage from Norwich. I have begun Bridges on 
 cxix Psalm, in my morning reading, whioh I think I shaU 
 like. I very much desire to turn to good account the time 
 I have before breakfast, for my Bible reading, &c. I have 
 generally nearly an hour, but am often sadly indolent during 
 it. May I this week be quickened to a diligent use of it, 
 and to a steady getting up of a morning, so as to allow 
 myself proper time.. 
 
 " EXRLHAM, 7ih day evening, 9th fno., 17th, 1842. — My 
 room.— ^My parents are departed, this afternoon, for Attle- 
 boro', &c., and John Henry is not yet home from the bank. 
 The drawing-room is so dull, and so utterly lonely, that I 
 have taken refuge in my own room, where I can hear the 
 people down stairs, to write till J. H. comes. Papa went 
 off poorly, and he is so sadly weak, and has lately had such 
 return of perspirations, &c., that, in spite of all effort to 
 the contrary, it is impossible not to be a little heavy hearted 
 about him, and I have felt so during my solitary wander 
 in the park this evening. 
 
 " 3d day. — The dear parents came home, and we truly 
 enjoyed being together again. Papa not at his strongest, 
 however. 
 
 " ^ih day. — Bible Committee. Both my mothier and I 
 poorly. I was lying down most of the morning. 
 
 " 5<A day. — Meeting, and calls with my mother on the 
 Glovers; and J. Priest: a walk to Cftlney school; quiet eve- 
 ning, with Maria Blake as our guest. 
 
 " 6«A day. — ^Uncle Daui, and Harriet, and Willie dined 
 
ANNA BACKHOUSE. 65 
 
 Here. I enjoyed seeing darling Harry ; she looked so sweet, 
 and was most loving and agreeable. I have read a little 
 G-erman, have had some poor people's business to attend to, 
 and visited Babur and Melton ; so that I have accomplished 
 something at my old objects, which I, have neglected, so 
 much lately. I have been reading Coleridge's ' Confessions 
 of an Inquiring Spirit ' ; a very curious book, but written 
 in (to me) so obscure a style, that I have not a very clear 
 idea of its contents. It is on the inspiration of Scripture, 
 and takes a different view from that in Ganssin's ' The- 
 opneustic' Granssin argues most strongly for the inspiration 
 of every part, of every word, of the Bible ; allows of no 
 discrepancies, and says there are no mistakes. Colerid'gfe 
 appears to believe no such thing; or, at least, doea n6t 
 consider such a belief as a necessary article of faith. He 
 thinks that it is safer only to say, that as the Christian 
 comes more and more under the influence of the Spirit, the 
 vn-dwelling light, he will discover more and more in the 
 Bible that 'finds' him, and which he will recognize as 
 produced by that spirit which is working in liimself. He 
 freely allows that there are small difficulties, mistakes, 
 which he attributes to human frailty, which has its place, 
 therefore, according to him, in the composition of the book. 
 One of his principal arguments is, how should we have so 
 much individuality of character displayed in the writing ? 
 how should we feel the experience of the holy men who 
 wrote it, to ba an- encouragement and lesson- to us, in their 
 conflicts, temptations, deliverances, and so on, if each word 
 were dictated b-y the Holy Spirit to the several writers ? 
 who, however, h-e acknowledges were moved by the Spirit 
 in the general composition of the sacred volume. Tha 
 argument seems to be curiously without force, because 
 f2 
 
6*6 BRIEF SKETCH 01" 
 
 surely, as we see the Almighty work by means in all cases, 
 so he might in this. Ought not David, for instance, to 
 h'ave been prepared, by his various experiences, to give 
 forth his Psalms, so that each word of them, though truly 
 and really written under the superintending influence of 
 the Holy Spirit, might be, also, as it were, (and, very pro- 
 bably, as it appeared to him) the natural result of the train 
 of thought jffoduced in Ms devotional mind by circum- 
 stances which then acted upon it ? Besides, and more, — 
 Has the Almighty but one style ? ' His thoughts are not as 
 our thoughts." I cannot go into a further dissertation on 
 the subject, nor am I able tOi enter into a critical examination 
 of such discrepancies as, in a few points, are considered to 
 esist. On the whole, though, I think that I more rest in 
 Granssin's view of the subject; and the argument which 
 appeared to me the strongest on that side of the question, 
 had reference to the manner in which our Saviour and his 
 Apostles always quoted the Scriptures; always with the 
 greatest deference, and often arguing on separate words. 
 On the other hand, there are some good points in Coleridge's 
 book, and it is well not to be superstitious, even on this 
 subject. 
 
 "Earlham, 1th day morning, 9th month, 24<A, 1842. — 
 I wrote last, this day week, while waiting for John Henry. 
 
 " 1st day. — J. II. and I were alone. I had not comfortable 
 meetings, and was altogether in a poor mind, yet I enjoyed 
 being alone with him. 
 
 '^1d day. — Called for Bessie Foster on horseback, took 
 her a ride, and then brought her home with me. She and 
 we three spent a pleasant evening together. 
 
ANNA BACKHOtrsE. 67 
 
 " 3d day. — Bible Committee in the morning. Trudged 
 about in the rain and sun, till half past three, when J. H. 
 started with me in the pony-chair for Horstead. We had 
 a very leisure drive; but a pleasant one, and had a most 
 kind reception from the Brightwens. We enjoyed our 
 evening alone with them, I was up early the next morning, 
 drawing the house — an attempt which rather failed — and 
 then we travelled back to Norwich. I much liked my 
 journey and my company. A nice, long, quiet afternoon ; 
 and my father and mother returned in the evening ; he 
 looking very nicely. 
 
 " hih day. — We received the sad news of poor Prisoilla 
 Leatham's baby's death. The dear little girl was about 
 nine months old. I have exceedingly felt the trial for her, 
 poor dear, and have had rather a concern that we all may 
 learn something from this teaching lesson. I have been 
 drawing a good deal lately, writing a good many letters, as 
 usual, and this morning have had the pleasure of more 
 than an hour's Grerman. I wish to make a point of this, 
 whenever I can ; and altogether feel as if I wanted quick- 
 ening in my industry'.- '-;■" - 
 
 "Earlham, 3d day-tiibrning, IQih mo., 3d, 1842. — 
 Last week was a full and- interesting one. I will try and 
 give a little account of it.. My father had a great deal of 
 exertion, but bore it well, and did not appear the worse for 
 it, which was quite a comfort. 
 
 " On third day, the 29th, Eliz. Wayland came. Aunt 
 Fry, Lady Jane, &c., to dinner. E. W. had my room, 
 and I was with the girls up-stairs in the Ked-room. It 
 was really strange to pass these nights there; and it 
 
t5S BRIEF SKETCH OP 
 
 reminded me, very strongly, of those I spent with Sarah 
 and Catherine, just seven years before ! At times, 1 felt 
 the anniversary of that sorrow very much, and it gave a 
 deep under current to ,the thoughts of the week. 
 
 " Third day evening, was very pleasant. 
 
 "Fourth day. AVe had a large party to breakfast — 
 the Grentlemen's Bible Committee. An interesting reading 
 in the morning from Papa, and I truly enjoyed to 
 see him again in his element, which such occasions as 
 these certainly are. Eiohard Kidd, Samuel "Wiseman, and 
 J. Massingham, sat by me, at breakfast, and we had some 
 pleasant talk. August Mundenk had appeared the day 
 before, and made an agreeable addition to the party. The 
 Bible meeting itself was very interesting. A fine Chris- 
 tian spirit pervaded it. Edwaird Hoare, amongst others, 
 spoke well, and my father delightfully. It was more of 
 a resuscitation of old times than I have known before, and 
 very pleasant. 
 
 " On the sixth day, our company dispersed ; and, 
 
 " On seventh day, papa and my mother went to Pake- 
 field. 
 
 " The following fifth day, I went to Cromer with Caro- 
 line Hoare and Juliana Barclay, who, with Grurney, lodged 
 here the night before. Cliff house was too full to receive 
 us, so I lodged with E. Wilkinson, the other rooms 
 being occupied by Eiohard, and Gurney and Caroline. 
 This gave rise to my production for the Essay meeting, 
 viz. : " Settling at Chadwick's." I wrote it very much to 
 take off the idea of my being the author of another, far 
 too grave to make it agreeable to own it. It was one, 
 " On Clumsy Workmen of their Tools," which had been 
 good practice for me, and rather an useful, subject for 
 
ANNA BAOKHOITSE. 69 
 
 thought. The great Essay meeting was on sixth day 
 eveaing. We mustered, at Northrepp's, a very strong 
 party — Buxtons, Hoares, and Frys, with H. Johnson and 
 sisters — about forty. We had a most amusing evening, 
 and I thought that the collection showed really some talent 
 in the family, taken as a whole. The conclusion was at 
 the Hoares' the nest evening, for which I stayed, which 
 was more than' I intended to have done. However, I was 
 very glad of such an opportunity of. being with the 
 Hs'., whom I so seldom see. It answered well to me, 
 and I greatly feel the importance of keeping up family 
 connections while we can. 
 
 " Second day morning, I spent at Northrepp's hall and 
 cottage, and went off by the mail. Just as we were 
 startii^, I was shocked at a note, put into my hand by 
 some one, from Aunt Birkbeck, telling me of the death of 
 Jonathan Backhouse ! This sudden intelligence was quite 
 stunning, and I could only ponder over it, in a sort of 
 maze, as I travelled home. 
 
 "3d day. Wrote, of course, to the poor B.'s, and 
 to my Father and Mother. The rest of this week was 
 Spent - in sundry excursions on horseback, and in the 
 carriage with Laura. Aunt C. went back to Cromer. 
 Edward and Maria lodged here, on their way home. I 
 could not bi;it think the former really helped, by his 
 Norfolk visit; and was delighted to hear him speak as he 
 did about his Bible meeting visit here. 
 
 "\it day. A most pleasant, quiet day with John 
 Henry. A good deal of reading and discourse in the 
 evening. 
 
70 BRIEF SKETCH OP 
 
 "ith day. Received my Father artd Mother to 
 dinner.. Our meeting has been delightful, only clouded 
 by Prout's letter to my Father. But I am not very 
 anxious through everything. 
 
 "ItTi day night, Wmo., 19, 1842. — Mary Ann has 
 given me my book, that I may not let another week slip 
 throiigh, without a word here. We have had a most 
 pleasant re-settlement at home. I never more luxuriated 
 in my nest — my rooms, and horse, and leisure, so delight- 
 ful. I never more enjoyed my Father and Mother and J. 
 H. We have had but one cloud, and that the anxiety 
 about Papa, who has been, at times, very poorly, especially 
 the beginning of this week. Now we are much encouraged 
 again. Prout speaks favourably; and, I trust, we may 
 once more have to rejoice and be thankful. Prout says 
 he has been on the edge of a precipice, and has put him 
 on the strictest regimen. It is beautiful to see how my 
 father takes this little cross, and how quiet and peaceful 
 he is. He looks very lovely, and heavenly almost, in his 
 expression. I dare not think of anything but his perfect 
 restoration to health. May we all have patience to wait 
 the right time for this blessing; and may we have also 
 submission, while it is withheld ! I was busy, as usual, 
 settling, after I first came home ; but in looking back over 
 the fortnight, I don't think I have effected much. I have 
 been reading Chalmers on the Romans, (most interesting 
 and instructive); Smith's Lectures on Modern History, 
 a capital but very tantalizing book ; finished Waverly at 
 last. I hope the long delay in reading this charming book 
 shows that I am not quite so much interested in stories as 
 I used to be. Maria Parker comes over once a week to 
 
ANNA BACKHOUSE. 71 
 
 read to me, while I draw, so that I have done a little 
 drawing and more work, quite a wonder for me ; but I am 
 trying to like it." 
 
 Whatever might have been her natural taste for 
 " stories," as she terms them, certain it is, that the 
 solid education she received, and the strong and 
 fervent love of Truth, which had been instilled 
 into her mind in early life, had the effect to weaken, 
 if not annihilate, her interest in these works of 
 fiction, and give her a just estimate of more sub- 
 stantial and instructive reading, such as is worthy 
 to absorb the time and feed the intellect of those 
 who feel that they are formed for immortality. 
 
 " The dear Backhouses came to the Grove yesterday 
 week, sixth day. We were there to meet them, and 
 enjoyed together the comfort and quiet of their safe 
 arrival. The poor girls were very low. H. C. B. 
 charming ! dignified, calm, and yet a real mourner ! Last 
 first day, the 13th, Papa preached a remarkably interesting 
 sermon, on the text, "All things are yours," &o. ; first 
 explaining the union of the Father and the Son, then 
 unfolding, beautifully, the privilege of the Christian, as 
 shewn in each word of the text, stopping at death, to 
 allude to those that were gone. It was one of the most 
 striking sermons I ever heard, Edward and CatheHne, 
 and their sweet children, came to us on seventh day, (this 
 day week), and stayed till third day morning, 
 
 " 3c? day. — Aunt C. and J. H, went to Kuncton, leaving 
 
72 BRIEF SKETCH OF 
 
 me alone with my Father and Mother. Very pleasant; 
 though we were anxious about Papa, who was poorly, we 
 now think from having taken leaded water. '. 
 
 " 4«A day.—Th.Q Backhouses pleasantly in the evening. 
 
 " bth day. — ^Uncle and Aunt Buxton came, and have 
 been paying us a delightful visit. 
 
 "6<A daxj. — ^Ecclestone's lepture on Africa, good and 
 satisfactpry. To-day I have been a great deal with Aunt 
 Buxton; H. C. B. and Jane in the evening; and now I 
 must stop. May I but know the great blessing of a little 
 oif the right thing to-morrow. 
 
 " \it day night, llmo., 20th. — And I trust I may say, I 
 Jtave known a little of the " right thing," which I feel to 
 be a great blessing. . The morning meeting was a serious 
 one to me, and I had the comfort of feeling some sense of 
 solemnity in it. A few verses in Peter about the living 
 stone, and the " Spiritual Sacrifices," were very interesting 
 to me, before I went; and John Hodgkin's sermon on 
 Abraham's sacrifice of his son, was in accordance with the 
 train of my though'ts. He spoke of worship, of the 
 offerings each ought to T)ring, and my iMotlier continued 
 the suTjject.' The school pleasant, though I had not looked 
 over the lesson" before, which was a mistake. I stayed at 
 home in the afternoon, with Uncle and Aunt Buxton. 
 We read the I. Thessalonians and Chalmers on the Bomans. 
 I had an interesting little talk with Aunt on my own 
 position. She was very encouraging, as she always is to 
 me. Perhaps too much so ; tliough it was a comfort to 
 
ANNA BACKHOUSE. 73 
 
 me to-day. I could not but tell her, in answer to what 
 she said, that there was nothing very difficult to me in the 
 external part of my profession, biit how greatly I felt the 
 coldness of my heart and the poverty of my motives. 
 She sympathized, and said how much she knew of it too. 
 Must one expect, as one grows in Christian experience, to 
 know more and more of ~ these sad, humbling truths ? 
 Uncle read, this evening, and prayed for Papa, for his 
 restoration, &e. 
 
 " 2d day, Wmo., 2Qth. — ^Uncle B. departed for Hales- 
 worth, leaving Aunt Buxton here, who was poorly with 
 her eyes. I rode to the Grove, and then with Jane G. B. 
 to Keswick and back. Dined at 5, to be ready for a visit 
 from John Hodgkin, who had a concern to see us. He 
 and Ann -came together. He spoke to John Henry and 
 me, reminding us of our life being a pilgrimage, and earn- 
 estly exhorting us to walk as pilgrims, referring a good 
 deal, I thought, to the externals of 'Friendliness.'. I 
 particularly liked one part, when he pressed upon us 
 all the necessity of keeping our eye steadily fixed on the 
 mansions prepared in Heaven for the Lord's children. I 
 think such a sermon ought. to profit us; but it was made 
 too affecting, by his repeated allusions po some one being 
 soon to be taken from us. 
 
 "3d day morning. — Uncle Foister to breakfast. He 
 «pent most of the morning with me, talking. Fourth 
 day, to Norwich, with my Father and Mother, The soup 
 ■distribution, the Horticultural show> Bank, &c. A. Opie, 
 Uncle Buxton, and the Forsters, to dinner. Papa had a 
 poor night, and was very poorly on fifth day, which was a 
 low day with us all. The Buxtons went, and the perfect 
 quiet was very acceptable to us. , 
 
 O 
 
ii BRIEF SKETCH OF 
 
 CHAPTER Vn. 
 
 " 7th day, Vlth, 12mo., 1842. — ^What a time it is since 
 I -ffrote ; but I feel much relieved, in being able to give a 
 better account of Papa. He has certainly improved much^ 
 especially the last week. He was a good deal troubled in 
 mind, about making arrangements for the servants having 
 no beer, a plan which was difficult and disagreeable to 
 execute. I can't say how I disliked it; though I have 
 been obliged' to confess that I did not disapprove it. But 
 it has been truly humllinff, and given trouble enough. 
 
 " On fourth day, the 30th, we had them all up in . the 
 drawing-room, in the evening. John Henry was away at 
 Brooke, and I hid my face behind a screen, while he told 
 them his intentions. He had a very interesting meeting 
 with them, ending in solemn prayer. 
 
 " 1st day night, 12mo., 1842. — We have had rather a 
 nice day; though I have not been stayed enough in mind at 
 meeting, stiU I have felt that both the meetings have been 
 solemn and interesting. The first three-quarters of an hour, 
 this morning, were wasted, perhaps more than wasted to 
 me, till Papa knelt down, earnestly praying that we might 
 all be strengthened to abide in the truth. L. Aggs after- 
 wards spoke on, 'What hast thou, that thou hast not 
 received.' H. 0. B- on, 'Consider the lilies of the field.' 
 In the afternoon, my parents pursued the subject of 
 truth and dependence on the Lord, very sweetly. Oh, 
 how precious to know anything of trust in Him, and 
 
ANNA BACKHOUSE. 73 
 
 How he condescends even to those who can only say, 
 'Help my unbelief.' This evening, H. C. B. came to our 
 family reading, and very beautifully prayed for us all; 
 for renewed strength for my father j for deliverance from 
 anxious care, for my mother ; for preservation and help to 
 ponfess Christ, wherever we may go for J. H. and me ; 
 fpr spiritual mindedness for all present, servants and 
 dependents, &o. It was sweet; oh, may it but be granted! 
 Papa has been very interesting in his sermons lately. One, 
 last fifth day, on the influence of true religion on the 
 mind, was very striking. He mentioned the Scriptures, 
 and advised the constant reading of them in private. I 
 liked it much. 
 
 " Halesworth, Ith day evening, llmo., 24, 1842. — 
 Before my evening reading, and stepping into bed, where 
 .little Effie is already snoring in peace, I will attempt my 
 journal of the week. 
 
 " %d day. — A settled industrious morning with Chenda 
 (3^urney, she reading Chalmers, German, Smythe, whil« I 
 drew. A ride with her and papa to order some turkeys, 
 (for New- Year's presents.) Then in with Chenda, to the 
 Babur school ; examined the children on the miracles of 
 our Saviour, a subject which they had all prepared, and on 
 which they answered truly well, to my great satisfaction. 
 I set them to worlron the Parables for their next subject, 
 and scampered home. Some rather nice talk with Chenda 
 on the road ; but now that I am away from that dear girl, 
 I feel sorry I did not venture more boldly on intimacy 
 with her. Papa very nicely — quiet evening. 
 
 " id day. — To l^Torwich with my father and rnother, in 
 the morning. - Attended the Branch Bible Committee,. 
 
76 BRIEF SKETCH OF 
 
 after which, went, by Mary Stanley's request, with her, to 
 the National School Examination ; found there, the Bishop 
 and his lady, and many others. Enjoyed it — only was a 
 little frightened. Back tO the Bank for Chenda, and to 
 see the Forsters. Walked to. Surrey Street School; bright 
 ten minutes there ; then on to the Grove. A little walk 
 with Ann, and home in the pony-chair — ^with my mother, 
 before dinnerj and a little visit from Laura. 
 
 " Haieswoeth, bth day. — Breakfast with Cousin 
 Andrew and his sister Catherine. She is a very amiable 
 person, and though retiring, really sensible, and worth 
 talking to. I long to be kind to her. Morning, up in 
 this room with PrisclllB, after a nice quiet time by myself. 
 Begun reading the Parables. P., C. J. and I, meet here 
 about 11 ; then read Isaiah, and write and read letters till 
 luncheon. I like this quiet life much, aiid value being 
 with them all, in their different ways. I know scarcely 
 any one with whom I can so freely speak on all subjects 
 as P. J., or whom I feel a more yaluable helper and friend. 
 She understands Friends ; and though quite enjoying the 
 forms of the Church, (the prayer-book especially,) yet she 
 enjoys them in such a way, that one can understand and 
 unite without any difficulty. To-night, I sat in my own 
 room, finishing an interesting book, " Charlotte Elizabeth's 
 Personal Recollections." Some parts of it are beautifully 
 written, and there are some good hints in it, as to reading 
 the Bible as a whole, especially. 
 
 "EaelhAM, 1th day evening, 12tno., Blst, 1842. — My 
 room — a good fire blazing at my back, and I writing at 
 the table. My history of the week must be brief,, , 
 
ANNA BACKHOUSE, 7T 
 
 Ist day. — ^With P. J. alone ; it was Christmas day, and 
 I enjoyed a quiet morning and afternoon with her, while 
 the others were gone to church. I had a sweet little mite 
 of a meeting too, before she came in, in the morning. 
 We read in the Bible, and talked with comfort. 
 
 " 2d doy. — A noisy drive with the children. Priscjlla 
 down stairs. 
 
 "Zd day morning — ^As usual. Have become very free 
 and easy with C, J., who interests me from her circum- 
 stances; yet she is happy and cheerful. Some of Aunt 
 C.'s journal and P.'s papers about the children. Heartily 
 Borry to come to an end of my visit, which has been 
 particularly pleasant, and I look back upon it aa truly 
 glowing. I hope, too, I have gained something from P.'s- 
 large mindedness and liberality, and I certainly think heg: 
 most uncommon in intellectual and religious power, if that 
 expression is suitable.. 
 
 "AtK d<M/. — Rested myself, and went off to dine at the 
 Grove.. I spent a very pleasant evening there. Talked" 
 to John Hodgkin, and have liked the opportunity of 
 getting acquainted with him. He is very sensible, and 
 more sparkling than I thought.. 
 
 "bth.day. — Meetir^ sot particularly interesting; and 
 I was most exceedingly wanting in that which would 
 have made it profitable, partly because so bodily tired. 
 Afternoon, at the Grove, Doyles, A. Opie, Louise Seehohm. 
 
 " &th day. — ^Busy morning. Buxton and littie Chenda 
 7a 
 
78 BEIEP SKETCH OP 
 
 with me at iDreakfast. Ride to Keswick. Grove in the 
 evening. Bead Comus to Jane. 
 
 "Ith day. — This morning, children; Bible, CXIX. 
 P.'sj Chalmer's; letters,' letters, letters! disappointed, 
 indeed, to find my father and mother not coming home 
 till third day. I am tired of my soKtary life; and 
 was rather alarmed at receiving the new butler this 
 morning. Papa gives a ^tisfactory account of his visit 
 to Prout, and Prout''s opinion of him, that I felt I must 
 not be cross at his detention,- and could not, also, but think 
 that (raised up, as I believe he is, and will be by Him, 
 who appears to grant our fervent desires and petitions on 
 his behalf), we dare not grudge him for the services of his 
 Lord and Master; I have had one long letter from J. H. 
 — a very great treat, especially as shewing his thought 
 and kindness to me. To 'Keswick, this evening. All very 
 kind. Talk with Aunt about wedding dresses, &c. ; and 
 now I feel it strange to be writing this last evening of the 
 year, and rather strange to end the year here, all alone, as 
 I am now ! What can I say of the past year? Its out- 
 ward circumstances have been, in some respects, very 
 weighty from my father's state; but I greatly feel the 
 •blessing of that care being now lightened. It is a thorough 
 relief, and I do trust may be continued to us. Altogether, 
 looking at our present condition, I feel how happy a one 
 it is most entirely. John Henry so truly affectionate to 
 me, and satisfactory in other matters. My father and 
 mother in better health, blessing others, and being blessed 
 themselves. My home abounding in luxuries and privileges. 
 I cannot but wish, as I write, that nothing may arise to 
 disturb me from it, before the end of '48, should I live to 
 
ANNA BACKHOUSE. 7d 
 
 see it. As to the internals of the past year, I much felt, 
 this morning, my deficiencies; the want of devotion, the 
 depth of pride, which had been exhibited in it; but I 
 have, also, in a little measure, felt th« rdlling off of that 
 burden on Him, who has set me free from the conse- 
 quences of sin^ who, I do desire, will set me free from the 
 power of it. May I hope, that my faith in Him has 
 been somewhat strengthened and enlarged.' May I begin, 
 to-morrow, more fervently to serve Him. In nothing do 
 I more desire improvement than in my Sabbaths ! 0, for 
 the spirit of worship t I am too sleepy to write more, or 
 to go into the intellectual history of the year. I don't 
 think I have done much, but I hope I have not lost much 
 time for study, that I could have; and have gained, I 
 hope, some little increase of thought from my reading. 
 
 " 1843. \st mo., IZth, 6th day afternoon. — ^What a 
 time it is since I wrote. My parents came home on third 
 day week, bringing with them DfllwyU and Anna, Sims, 
 who stayed all the week. My father's improved looks, no 
 small comfort. 
 
 " 2c? day — Busy preparing for prizes. 
 
 " Zd c?ay-T-Giving them away — quite a prosperous occa- 
 sion. Yesterdaj', Ann Backhouse passed the meeting; 
 and we had a family re-union at the 6rrove, which was 
 made more than a little touching by her mother's being 
 away — poor dear .! She and Jane bore it well ; but it is a 
 great trial of faith, and all other graces, to have their 
 mother absent at such a time. I could but think of the 
 blessings of her useful life, becoming evident, when she 
 
80 BRIEF SKETCH OF 
 
 takes up her many jewelled crown in another world ; for 
 could it be borne, if that was not to be looked forward to ? 
 
 " And when the shore is won at last, 
 Ob, who will count the billows past I" 
 
 " Barlham, lA day evening, 2mo., UtJi, 1843. — My 
 room. I cannot write a long account of the past fortnight, 
 but it has been an interesting one. I soon found that 
 my parents' minds were drawn towards Manchester, and 
 towards helping H. C. B. there. I had nothing to object, 
 80 after a few very quiet and pleasant days together, in 
 which I luxuriated in them, and my home comforts and 
 occupations, they went away on fifth day last, and are only 
 returned this evening, after a prosperous and satisfactory^ 
 though tiring, journey. It is not the least agreeable to me 
 to miss them so much as I have done lately; but it is 
 particularly pleasant to me to believe, that our sweet unity 
 and naturalness, one with another, is not broken by it. 
 Intimate daily dependence, such as papa used to have on 
 me, is not now the thing to be expected ; but the comfort is 
 great, of finding all the material part of it, always there. 
 Uncle Dan, Hay, and Charles, paid us a very pleasant 
 visit of two days, during that week ; and Edmund Gurney, 
 Rachael and, Lucy Sheppard, were our guests, when the 
 dear parents left, besides H. Birkbeck. 
 
 " 7th day. — L. Sheppard and I were left alone, and we 
 enjoyed two days of each other's company, and poor 
 Louise, who joined us on first day evening. 
 
 " 2d day. — John Henry came home to my very gjeat 
 pleasure. He was, and is, so sunny — ^so affectionate, bo 
 
ANNA BACKHOUSE. 81 
 
 great in mind, that I coul(t not but delight in him, and 
 give myself up to enjoying him — dear fellow. He was 
 charmed too to get home. 
 
 " Zd day. — We were at the Guildhall for several hours, 
 Laura and Lucy giving their depositions about the bur- 
 glary at John's house. E. and Eachel joined us there 
 from Runcton. It was a sad sight. The prisoners (a 
 young man and two had girls), looking perfectly hardened. 
 When I thought of our own party joining in prosecuting 
 them — placed in such different circumstances — ^the query, 
 'Who maketh thee to differ from another," was most 
 strongly in my remembrance. We might have been they, 
 and how easily ! A nice dinner-company that evening — 
 John Henry reading to us. 
 
 "iih day. — They all went off; I to the Grove, and 
 then rode with J. H. to call on H. Martin. Dined at the 
 Birkbeck's. 
 
 " 5th day. — C. Salter's funeral. Very striking sermon 
 from * * *, though not one we could quite unite in, yet I 
 think it did me good, and brushed me up. 
 
 " Qih day. — ^Rode to the Grove ; looked over plans for 
 wedding ; rode with Jane ; dined with Laura. A remark- 
 able sweet talk with L. — dear creature ! I do desire not 
 to do her harm. She makes me talk on serious matters. 
 May I not be the least bit of a hypocrite. To-day call 
 with her on L. Scott. German master for the second 
 time. Beading evening, by myself, till they came home. 
 
82 BRIEF SKETCH Of 
 
 " 1843. lih day evening, Aih mo., 2Qih.—l must put 
 down a few words before I go to bed. The week has been 
 an interesting one, and, in some ways, delightful, especially 
 my intercourse with dearest John Henry. 
 
 " On second day evening, he and I were alone, and 
 we discoursed from seven till half-past ten, on himself 
 ehiefly, dear fellow. It afresh excited the warmest 
 desires of my heajt, for his help and guidance, and 
 that he may be satisfied with .finding his right path vq. 
 every way, especially, of course, that in religious matters 
 he may take exactly the position designed for him.. His 
 affection and generosity, this week, when I have been 
 particularly thrown upon him, have been very delightful 
 to me. His openness of mind and heart has been ajl I 
 eould wish or ask, and brings back, many an anxious hour 
 to my remembrance, when he seemed so locked up to me. 
 How earnestly I have desired this breaking down of 
 barriers between us-^how heartfelt should my thankful- 
 ness be to Him, who has so fully granted this request. 
 Surely I may take it as an encouragement to believe, that 
 }3X aU things He wUl be pleased to make this darling 
 brother what I so truly desire he may be. It has often 
 puzzled me, why I mind more about his being good than 
 about my own self being so. I cannot say how much I 
 feel the prospect of giving up the daily intercourse by 
 which our close tie has been made, yet I also fgel the great 
 comfort of perceiving it to be so strong, that such daily 
 intercourse is no longer necessary, and much of intimate 
 eommunio,ation will, I tfust, be very possible to up, even 
 yihen separated- 
 
 " 6th day. — ^Lady Parry, with Louisa and Priscilla, came 
 
ANNA BACKHOUSE. 8S 
 
 in the erenrng. Most interesting and delightful to meet 
 her. I slept with her, and we had a sweet time before 
 we went to bed. We read, and then she asked me if I 
 objected to our uniting in prayer. Of course, I did not, 
 and truly felt the preciousness and the privilege of itj 
 while she asked, so very sweetly, for as much of the 
 richness of temporal blessings as the love of our Heavenly 
 Father would permit us to have, and for spiritual" blessings 
 in their fullness. I forget the words, but it was qliite a 
 comfort, and so was her conversation; so truly encou- 
 raging. She left us this morning. 
 
 About this time, her parents and her Aunt 
 Fry set out on a religious visit to the Continent. 
 They had very much wished to take this dear girl 
 with them, but had yielded to some discourage- 
 ments which were placed in the way. On a little 
 reflection, however, it was concluded there could 
 be no valid objection to their being indulged with 
 companionship, which they so highly prized, and 
 ■accordingly she was requested to join them in Paris 
 without delay. This note will serve as a key to 
 the succeeding memoranda. Truly she was, as shie 
 desired to be, a "a real help, and not a hindrance," 
 to her parents in this arduous journey. 
 
 " bth mo., 7th, 1st day evming.-^Aad a strange day it 
 has been. I was in a queer, confused state in the morning. 
 Meeting, not quiet or comfortable. Plenty of letters when 
 I got into the carriage, and I found they wished me to. go 
 to Paris at once. It was almost overcoming. Drove" to 
 
84 BEIEF SKETCH OF 
 
 the bank, and got John Henry and Uncle Bjrkbeck to fix 
 that J. H. should take me to Paris, and we are to start on 
 third day. Drove home, and really felt overwhelmed; 
 such a hustle, and I had not expected it, after our disap- 
 pointment. Read the letters to Bessy, who is, as usual, 
 most kind and helpful. She broke the matter to Aunt C, 
 who felt it exceedingly. Then wrote the necessary letters, 
 and had a sort of little leave-taking at the school. Their 
 verses were the Living Water, John iv. I told them how 
 sincerely I wished that for them, and for me. We all felt 
 it much, /did most truly. Afternoon meeting was not so , 
 quieting as I hoped it would be. To-morrow's bustle and 
 business would come through my brain. But it has been 
 a disturbed day, and when I dare look at it, how heartily 
 I feel this departure. The prelude to another and greater, 
 and the end of quiet settlement at this darling home. I 
 lelieve I am right in going, and am rather glad I have not 
 more time to think of it. This year must be one of efforts. 
 Oh ! that they may not be performed wholly in my own 
 strength; but I have sadly failed in the quiet trusting- 
 Bpirit to-day, and the worldly thoughts have been wholly 
 un-Sabbatical ! One of the advantages of this journey 
 will be, that I shall have more quiet time for Bible-reading 
 and thought. May each of its privileges be made use of; 
 and may I prove a real helpj and not at all a hindrance, to 
 my father and mother. 
 
 "Paris, bih mo., 14<A, 1843, Ist day night. — ^And 
 here I really am with my dearest parents ! I cannot keep 
 much record in this way, and attempt no real journal but 
 what I write home, yet a little may be acqomplished. The 
 bustle of leaving was great, and stupifying to feding, of 
 
ANNA BACKHOtrSB. 85 
 
 ■which I was glad. It was happily, comfortably accom- 
 plished, and all necessary things done. 
 
 " Sd day — To Upton. Nothing could be kinder than 
 Aunt Gurney and Sarah, and aU were. 
 
 "4<A day. — To Dover with John Henry, who most 
 kindly has brought me hither. 
 
 " %ih day — Crossing to- Calais, and on to Boulogne. 
 
 "^th day.-^Jovtxnej by Diligence gave me many plea- 
 sant hours for thought. Partly, I hope, I was rather 
 earnestly engaged in desiring for us more rich spiritual 
 blessings, and for the other deaxs of our set, whom I have 
 been so intimately thrown with lately. I am afrai-d I do 
 not desire for ourselves quite from the right motive. , I 
 have so strong a feeling of there being no earthly happi- 
 ness without the sense of Divine favour, that I desire too 
 much on that ground alone. I had some nice talk with 
 dearest J. H. How very kind he has been to me; his 
 tenderness is more than I oould have expected. We 
 arrived on seventh day morning, and had a sweet reception. 
 How heartily I do wish that my joining my dearest 
 parents may indeed be a help to them. To be ever so 
 little with them, is a great privilege, and to be anything 
 like a help in such an engagement as this, a still greater. 
 I much feel the weight of our journey, and think Papa but 
 poorly. We had a large philanthropic party here on seventh 
 day evening, and three very interesting religious occa- 
 sions to-day^ Aunt Fry is most delightful as usual, and 
 I have enjoyed meeting tie Countess Pelet,and some other 
 of my Parisian friends again^ I do hope I shall be able 
 
 H 
 
86 BRIEF SKETCH OP 
 
 to be a very cheerful companion to my parents, who want 
 it. I know how constantly one has to feel that for every 
 circumstance of life, a qualification beyond one's own 
 natural sense, and even natural affection, is wanted, to 
 enable one really to fill one's place, however small that 
 place may be. I feel it very much about this journey, 
 and also hope that it may be a time of teaching to myself, 
 and of quickening, if so it might bej for I have been 
 sadly inclined, even to-day, to be absorbed in matters 
 infinitely trifling in comparison with those which ought 
 to occupy so far more of my thoughts and heart than they 
 do. I write my serious mind here; but if the whole of 
 my thoughts, for a weekj could be put down, how small a 
 proportion would they bear to others— ^the trifling, useless, 
 worse than' <Aai, which "So often occupy me. But this 
 journal would not give to any one, but myself, a true idea 
 of me. 
 
 "Lyons, 1st' day afternoony hih mo., 2ith, 1843. — ^I 
 have been reading over what I wrote this day fort- 
 night, at Paris, and I think our journey since that, has 
 really prospered. We left Paris on fourth day, after the 
 dear parents had had a capital interview with the Koyal 
 family, and were quite relieved. We have had some 
 pleasant days' travelling, and many interesting meetings 
 and engagements of that nature. It has been our business 
 to find out the little body of Protestants in each town, and 
 a sweet set they are, so simple, so warm-hearted. Here 
 the way has opened remarkably for meetings with the 
 people, and though we entered the place as strangers, we 
 are now surrounded with kind friends. I never felt any- 
 thing more "weighty" than some of these meetings, and 
 never saw Papa more oppressed and burdened before-hand ; 
 
ANNA BACKHOUSE. 87 
 
 but one after another has been wonderfully got through. 
 To-night, we are to have a gathering at this hotel, chiefly 
 composed of that part of the Protestants who are not 
 orthodox. It is a great relief to have Papa really better- 
 he was so poorly at first. My mother has been anxious 
 about him, and low herself, being oppressed by the numbers 
 of people who interrupt us at all hours, and all places. 
 
 "I have enjoyed very much being with them, and am 
 truly glad I came. We have sometimes had a particularly 
 quiet, peaceful feeling, and after the bustle of home too, 
 the quiet hours in the carriage have been most refreshing 
 to me. I like to meditate on the past, present and future, 
 as relates to myself. There, being full of occupation of 
 late, I have been too much taken up for my good or com- 
 fort, and have especially been too much curtailed in my 
 own Bible-reading, which never answers. To-day has been 
 a very sweet one. " Our own quiet, little meeting, this 
 morning, was delightful, and the time for thought and 
 reading since really valuable. I was so tired with a long 
 day of standing about in the prisons yesterday, that I do 
 not go out to-day at all scarcely ; and I hope there haa 
 been some little coming back to those precious comforts, 
 which I miss so far more than I need, by neglecting to 
 seek them. The foegiving love! how constantly one 
 has to come back to thai. I think I have felt it a little 
 to-day, and surely I need it. 
 
 " CoNGENiES, 1st day, ^th mo., lith, 1843. — ^I am too 
 tired, after a very full day, to write much, but I must just 
 say that our journey has been very interesting since I wrote 
 last. I shall not soon forget the relief of quitting Lyons, 
 with the sense of the work .being so satisfactorily ac- 
 
88 BRIEF SKETCH OF 
 
 complished, and with Papa so easy and happy in mind. 
 The last meeting was exceedingly solemn, and all our dear 
 friends showed us the greatest warmth and kindness. I 
 cannot doubt that an impression was made there. It has 
 been so beautiful to me to see both sides of the picture, to 
 watch one scene of labor presented after another. At first 
 it all looks shaded, but by degrees the light breaks in, and 
 the way opens for eaeh concern as it comes, in a manner 
 most interesting to watch, and curiously confirming of our 
 Quaker way of going to work. The effect of my mother's 
 ministry, has been most striking: 
 
 "Avignon was deeply touching to me. I really could not 
 there describe as I wished to do, the effect on my own 
 mind, of visiting the quiet grave of my Uncle Eobert Fowler. 
 The text that was with me at the time was : ' One genera- 
 tion passeth away, and another generation cometh." I 
 woke up to the sense of what sorrow was,, when I heard of 
 his death, and well remember the feeling of intense sym- 
 pathy for Mamma, and the first attempts at shewing it which 
 I made, and which have been renewed so very, very often 
 since, towards different persons. And now, that she, too, 
 was gone, and the Fowler dispensation, as it were, passed 
 away, and I going to be married, I can't describe the sense 
 of change it gave me ! The Pope's palace was also a curious 
 illustration of the changing nature of things, only on a 
 larger scale. 
 
 " We have all enjoyed getting among the Friejids at 
 Nismes and Congenies. I have been especially interested 
 in the flourishing girls' school at N., and longed to be able 
 to help them a little. We have a loving friendship with 
 the giris. I formed sundi-y acquaintances with some young 
 Ifidies of Njsmes, not Friends — ^nice, open-hearted girls, and 
 
ANNA BACKHOUSE. 89 
 
 more given to talk good, than the French generally are. I 
 think it is the absence of pecnliarity of expression, — 
 of what is sometimes familiarly called cant, — that makes 
 the French good society, in general, much more tempting 
 than the English. But this is not quite the case among 
 the numerous Protestants of the South. My father and 
 mother have had very good meetings at Nismes. We have 
 a kind, dear friend, Christine Majolier, who is always vrith 
 us. She is a person of much information, and strong good 
 sense ; _very kind withal. The old .buildings (splendid, 
 indeed, they are) at Nismes, were a great treat to see and 
 explore. 
 
 "Here, I am really enjoying myself. My parents are 
 in such good spirits, and less oppressed, than sometimes, 
 with their work ; the country is so delightful^' and the 
 Friends such a really interesting group, that "our 'stay here 
 is iqinte a refreshment I have begun to visiPth&'^'&milies 
 with my father' and mother, which! really like, and fincl 
 very interesting to watch; sometimes I have tjiought thfe 
 occaSons exceedingly solemn. We have had three meetings 
 to-day — nice ones, on the whole ; though, as usual, at the 
 end of meeting, I find I have goo'd reason to be ashamed of 
 myself. I truly value the opportunity of watching Papa 
 in his work of this sort, and was never so much struck 
 before with his beautiful, heavenly spirit. He does seem 
 so full of grace ; how I do desire that abundance of a gift 
 so precious may be given to us all. To those of whom I 
 think so often, and about whom I care so much in these 
 matters, as well as to myself; I write that I desire it, so I 
 do ; but I am afraid I sometimes rest satisfied with a vague 
 desire ; and to the mere wisher, no promise of supply is 
 given. 
 
 8h 
 
90* SrIEF SItETOH OF 
 
 " CoNGENiES, Qth mo., 24:th, 7th day afternoon. — Ano- 
 ther remarkable fortnight has passed away, and the last 
 week I had rather give an account of here, than in my 
 journal letters. We have had truly a time of deep anxiety, 
 but now are relieved and happy to a delightful degree. 
 The beginning of last week was spent in finishing the 
 family visits, some of which were really remarkable. 
 
 " On fifth day we were to go to St. Hypolite. Papa came 
 down, looking very tired, and said he had had a very bad 
 night. We did not think much of it, however, and pro- 
 ceeded on our journey. At Fontaness we met a few Friends, 
 and had an interesting little meeting with the Brun family, 
 and others. We wer« glad to reach St. Hypolite, after a 
 tedious, tiring drive. Papa had another poor night, and 
 seemed very much fatigued the next morning, when we 
 had a little meeting with Friends. Seeing him exhausted, 
 I begged him and my mother not to accompany Christine 
 and .me on a visit to. John Paradon's ; but they seemed 
 inclined to try, and the lovely valley we got into, was 
 charming for a little "way ; but he became perfectly exhausted, 
 and looked as if he were just fainting, when we at last 
 toiled up to the friend's house. Here, we rested, and had 
 some coflfee. He persuaded the friends to send their daughter 
 to the school, which they agreed to, after some hesitation, 
 and he returned pretty easily on a mule lent him by the 
 Paradons. - But it was painful to see him in the public 
 meeting in the evening. He could scarcely stand, and 
 looked sadly poorly. Another feverish night, and we 
 started for Congenies in the morning. A meeting was 
 appointed in the little village of Crespian ; and when we 
 arrived at the Friend's house, where we expected to be 
 comfortably entertained, we found a poor dirty little kitchen, 
 
ANNA BACKHOTJSt:. 91 
 
 with a roasting fire, the weather being then so hot that we 
 scarcely knew how to bear being exposed to the sun, even 
 for a minute. Poor Papa was taken with a violent shivering 
 fit, and we clambered up some narrow stairs to the family 
 bed-room, for him to rest. Our hostess snatched up a dirty 
 child from a dirty bed, and, apologizing for her husband 
 having been using it to rest after his work, she left us, and 
 we put Papa there ! He was so ill, that, had the place 
 been decent, we dare not have moved again; but this was 
 the woman's bed, and, after an hour's rest. Papa was won- 
 derfully enabled to speak at a little meeting, in a very 
 striking manner The earnestness with which he delivered 
 his message, almost frightened me. There was something 
 truly awful about it, which suited too well with our growing 
 anxiety about him. A strong young man helped him by 
 the little stony pathway, about two hundred yards,- to the 
 carriage. We were glad enough to have him there : but I 
 shall not soon forget the drive that followed. He kept 
 saying, ' I can't describe the sense of fatigue I have ; it is 
 inexpressible.' And the journey seemed as if it never would 
 come to an end. Most welcome was our little home here, 
 which looked indeed luxurious, after what we had left. 
 G-eorge Majolier supported him from the carriage ■ to his 
 own room, and there he was soon in bed, with a high, 
 burning fever upon him, an oppressed chest, and every 
 appearance of great illness. The Majoliers wanted me to 
 send off for the Nismes doctor, without asking my parents ; 
 ^but this I did not feel easy to do, and, though I thought 
 him very ill, I had no fear of inflamination, or present 
 danger, which they thought apparent.. My parents passed 
 a sad night, and the Sabbath rose upon us in a low condi- 
 tion truly. I spent the morning with Papa, while my 
 
wa BEIEP SKETCH OF 
 
 mother was al meeting. He was very feverish and very 
 much dejected about himself. I soon feared it might turn 
 to bilious fever, and shrunk at the thought of a long ill- 
 ness here, away from every one, and, as it appeared at first, 
 unprovided with all the comforts of a sick room. That day 
 and the next, and the next, were most trying. I could 
 scarcely speak to my mother, as we did not leave the room 
 together. But she was beautifully enabled to do every 
 thing for him. I never saw more perfect management of 
 mind and body than she exercised over him. They were 
 neither of them inclined for a doctor; and, though the fever 
 was running on, yet there appeared no alarming symptom. 
 We kept our anxieties to ourselves, and many a sad remem- 
 brance came back to me, as I tried to recollect all the 
 symptoms of mamma's case, which was so similar, though 
 more violent. If this run on as her's did, I thought 
 his strength was little prepared to meet it, and the result 
 was what I dared not glance at. Yet it was most sweet to 
 know in whose -hands we were, and there was a feeling of 
 His mercy over us, which was a support, indeed. I desired 
 much to be made perfectly submissive, but it was a harder 
 thing than I should have thought, to come to, and Papa's 
 very suffering state was truly affecting to witness. At last 
 I ventured to name the doctor to my father ; it made him 
 nervous, and he could not bear my saying it ; but, seve- 
 ral hours after, he said he thought it would be better to 
 see him, and my mother and I begged Gr. M. to start very 
 early the next morning for him. That night, however, 
 relieved our dear patient by a violent perspiration suddenly 
 coming on, in consequence of some medicine my mother 
 gave him ; and, though often very suffering, he has never 
 had much fever since. When I went to him in the morning 
 (while my mother left him to dress), he told me he felt 
 
ANNA BACKHOtfSi!. 93 
 
 excessively ill, and did not tMnk he should recover ; giving 
 me directions about her, &c. I did not really think it wag 
 go, and was angry with myself for giving way to any thing 
 of the sort ; yet I could not quite restrain my tears as he 
 spoke to me in this way, in a very weak voice, with per- 
 fect composure, indeed, but with much feeling. It put me 
 in mind of that strange morning when Aunt R. F. did just 
 the same thing; but she was in still greater depths of 
 illness. The day brightened, however, as it went on, and 
 he was really better before the doctor came, who confirmed 
 us in our belief of its being bilious fever, but said he thought 
 it subsiding. That night we persuaded my mother to leave 
 him, and I really enjoyed my post by his side. It was the 
 first good night he had had, and it was perfectly delightful 
 to hear him sleeping soundly, and made me very thankful 
 and happy. Since that time he has been steadily mending, 
 and is now regaining his strength, so that we hope to go 
 away on second day. It is, indeed, a relief beyond what I 
 can say, to have him thus, and raises a feeling of thankful- 
 ness, such as I have not often had before, to Him who has 
 preserved him from going farther into the depths of illness, 
 from which in his weak state of health we could hardly 
 have hoped he would rise. Had this fever gone on, as they 
 generally do, I can scarcely think his strength could have 
 stood it, seeing how very much he had been reduced by five 
 daiys of it. He could not stand or walk alone, before to-day. 
 Most sweetly, at reading, this morning, he expressed his 
 sense of the mercy we had experienced. 
 
 " The nightingale's notes, last evening, reminded me of 
 all his beautiful songs to us during this anxious week, and 
 now were so delightful that I could not help rhyming my 
 thoughts to the little creature, and put them down as i 
 memorandum of this anxious time.. 
 
94 BEIEP SKETCH OF 
 
 "Pour forth for me a song of praise, 
 Carol thy richest, sweetest lays. 
 The strains that swell thy warbling throat, 
 Suit well my joyous heart : that .note, 
 Which charms us now, we scarce could bear, 
 Its brightness seemed, to mock our care. 
 When three days since we tried, the pain 
 Our loved one felt, to assuage in vain. 
 
 r A thunder-cloud seemed rolling on ; 
 
 -? Darkness, we dared not look upon, 
 
 (Drew near — and then the storm was gone. 
 It vanished at His word of might, 
 
 : Who still /Commands — ' Let there be light.' 
 Methinks, to Him, thy warbling tells 
 The gratitude my heart that swells ; 
 Oh ! may He give my soul to raise 
 ■ The daily tribute here of praise. 
 Until those heavenly songs be mine, 
 Strains lovelier far, sweet bird, than thine. 
 
 " I never shall forget, I think, the charming songs of 
 this little bird, as he sat perched, day and night, on an 
 almond tree close to the house. 
 
 "Berne, 1th mo., ZOih, 1843. First day. — ^Just five 
 weeks since I last wrote. Truly the first word here should 
 be one of hearty thankfulness ; and as I have been reading 
 over the last page or two, it makes me ashamed of the flat 
 state I am in to-day. My father is very nicely again, 
 after much anxiety about him, during his slow restoration, 
 which was made slower by the difficulty of diet and the 
 othej; irregularities of travelling. We think him now very 
 nearly as well as before his illness. Our journey has been 
 
ANNA BACKHOXJSE. 95 
 
 truly interesting ; and it is a great comfort to have arrived 
 in safety, and with the dear parents' minds thoroughly 
 relieved. Then, we have had a delightful visit from J. C» 
 B. He spent a month with us. I was so astonished to 
 find, by a note at Congenies, that he was at Nismes, the 
 second day after I wrote last; since that time till last fifth 
 day, we have been constantly together. We have also 
 had the treat of charming scenery at Grrenoble, on the 
 lake of Geneva, and at Chamouni. Finally, we have 
 enjoyed a great deal of pleasant intercourse with many 
 kind friends at Geneva, and seen one or two ' Lions,' as 
 D'Aubigne, GauSsin, Viiifet, &c. My father's objects at 
 Geneva have been well accomplished, and I think it has 
 been remarkably given them to soften prejudice, and to 
 promote Christian unity. I shall not soon forget my 
 young lady-friends, Caroline Gaussin, the Perots, &c. 
 
 "Zurich, ith mo., Qth, 1843. First day evening. — 
 How strange that I should have omitted, in last week's 
 journal, any mention of dear Anna Hoare's death, an 
 event so truly to be felt, ' One never does realize quite in 
 the same way, as when near the spot, any event, yet I 
 have thought much of all the dear family party, especially 
 poor Joseph, whose situation is desolate indeed. I do not 
 think in our circle there is'a pair, happier than they were 
 in each other. Few so happy. He has been a devoted 
 husband to her, and they have shared much of sufiering 
 and sorrow together. For her, dear creature, one pecu- 
 liarly feels the glory of the exchange of earth for Heaven ! 
 The relief of being free and painless, is the part of the 
 ehange we can the most appreciate perhaps, though the 
 
»b BRIEF SKETCH OF 
 
 hast part of all the glory that has burst upon her, we 
 cannot doubt. 
 
 " We have had the treat of some delicious scenery, since 
 I wrote last, and highly enjoyed it. Altogether we have 
 had a very pleasant week, I shall not soon forget the 
 beauties of the G-rindenwald, the meeting at Interlachen, 
 and our little visit to the dear Countess Pelet, this 
 morning, at Baden. I have had such a loss — ^my dear old 
 Bible — if it is finally lost, but it may appear again. 
 
 " Basle, 8th mo., 13ih, 1843. 1st day. — I have been 
 reading an account of the Crucifixion, this' morning, and, 
 also, that splendid Epistle to the Hebrews. So wonderful 
 and so grand as it is ! Oh ! to drink more deeply of that 
 boundless love, and to know something of the "joy 
 unspeakable," and that we may not be in the least 
 deceived, or in any way taking up a false rest. I do not 
 like to go to bed without mentioning the very interesting 
 evening which we have paased.^^ A solemn meeting first, 
 then supper, and a memorable, time with thirty-seven of the 
 students in the same room. A fine set of young men they 
 are, and animated apparently by a fine spirit. It was 
 impossible not to look at them with great interest, many 
 of them soon to leave, and all, before five years are over, 
 to be scattered through the world. What a focus of light 
 may that company be ! And how much, poor things, they 
 may have to suffer ! Papa addressed them in a striking 
 way, and the whole thing has been a delightful conclusiwi 
 to our Swiss journey; " an evening," as Dr. Pinkerton said, 
 " to be remembered by us all." Parting with Switzerland 
 is like parting with an . old friend. What a delightful 
 time, on the whole, we have had here, and what a very 
 
ANNA BACKHOtJSE. 97 
 
 remarkable opening has been made in one place after 
 another for the work. 
 
 "Brussels, %th mo., 27th, 1843. 1st dai/.— This is 
 the best date of -all. So near home, as it looks. We are 
 all much pleased to be so near the end of our expedition, 
 most interesting as it ha,s been. This day week, we were 
 at Stuttgar(^. I .think our stay there was as interesting as 
 any part of our journey.- We were completely bird limed^ 
 till the King came home to be visited, and then our striking, 
 solemn time with him, and the Queen, and their children, 
 was one long to be rfemembered! not only for its own 
 interest, but as a ptoof, that true, real concerns are always 
 brought about in some way. We have had a rapid journey 
 from Stuttgard, by the Rhine and railroads, and now hope 
 to be off for England to-morrow. Papa returned thanks 
 in our little meeting, this morning, for all the mercies we 
 had experienced. Truly they have been many. How 
 1vell I remember the end of our last journey, in 1841, 
 and _ how I used to ponder on our return — on Papa's 
 marriage, as I do now on my own. I always thought I 
 should not mind my own sd much, and I do not in some 
 ways, though at times, I hardly know how to think of it, 
 or realize to myself the idea of leaving home! I have 
 thought much and deeply of it the last few days ; and, oh ! 
 that He who appointeth all for me, may himself conde- 
 scend to bless every step every day. I long, as it were, to 
 creep under Ms shelter in thinking of the effort, and the 
 excitement of the next two or three months; and ha,jre 
 had some real comfort in reflecting on the mercies of a 
 Heavenly 'Father.' 'He that dwelleth in the secret 
 place of the Most High, shall aMde under the shadow of 
 
 K 
 
98 BRIEF SKETCH OF 
 
 tte Almiglity.' However far I may be from anythmg so 
 blessed, yet that is what I long for, and what perhaps I 
 may one day have a taste of! But I am afraid that if 
 any body had seen me sometimes the last few days, most 
 inconveniently tearful eyes would have told a tale of a 
 heart too trustless, and tqo ungrateful. But it is impos- 
 sible not -to feel tMs return home exceedingly; though 
 considering what it is, I am little troubled with fear or 
 anxiety, touching, as it is, to think of quitting my own 
 dear ones, and weighty to think of a new series, of duties, 
 and a new sphere altogether, 
 
 " I had a very interesting visit to the grave at Man- 
 heim. I could not help wondering if, she* saw me, and if 
 she knew what I was, and was to he. It was very touching 
 to see that lonely grave ! 
 
 "Eablham, Qih mo., 6th, 1843. ith day. — Oh ! how 
 shall I touch the mournful tale which I have to record, of 
 Harriet Cooper's illness and death ! I cannot even now 
 tealize that that lovely, laughing, happy creature is gone, 
 and that that glowing form is already in its grave. But I 
 will go back to our owii history. 
 
 "We left Brussels on second day nioming, and had a 
 long day's journey to Dunkirk — to Calais on third. There, 
 Josiah Forster left us ; but the weather not being tempting, 
 we concluded to remain till the next morning. We had a 
 jprofoundly quiet day. I felt it was such a day of repose, 
 as T had not had for long, and should not have soon again. 
 But I greatly felt coming to the end of the journey, and 
 tte end of this time with my parents. Home looked 
 .rather formidable. We crossed on "fourth day. Were met 
 
 • J. C B.'s sister who died 6n the Continent, 
 
ANNA BACKHOUSE. 99 
 
 verj kjndlj by the William Fry's, and drove on to Sand- 
 gate. There we found Aunt Fry and H. Streatfield. 
 Aunt but v£p:y poorly. H, §. very sweet and kind. We 
 lodged at the inn, and in tbe morning she came to us, 
 during reading. When it was over she told us, that she 
 had sad news from Runcton; that Harriet was ill, very ill 
 -^then that she was no more ! I guessed her tale fpom 
 her pale face, as soon as I heard of "accounts from 
 Runcton." I cannot say what the consternation of the 
 moment was, or the melancholy of our journey to Upton. 
 I could only think over and over again, ' Can it be true V 
 I had so often compared my prospects with herSj and 
 thought of our married life beginning about the same 
 time, and now Tiers was over — that lovely, sweet creature 
 gone ! The meeting, at Upton, to which, we had looked 
 forward for so long, was very sad; instead of the usual 
 exclamations of joy, it was in silence and tears. I knew 
 Bessie would be much upset, and ran off to her in the 
 Green-house parlour.. We were both very much overcome, 
 and I do not remember many more touching moments in 
 my life than that. Bessie has been her most intimate 
 friend, lately especially, and deeply feels her loss. We 
 did not hear any particulars ' of the event, till Uncle and 
 Aunt Gurney came home. the next day from Kuncton, and 
 then they told us what, they could. She had been at home 
 just a week, returned in, a very serious state, and became 
 rapidly worse. Most of the last day, she was insensible, 
 and before that, not aware, they think, of her state; 
 neither, indeed, were those around her. They read texts 
 and hymns to her, to which she seemed to respond; and an 
 hour or so before her death, her consciousness returned 
 enough to smile upon them all. Cousin R. E. CressweU 
 and her husband nursed her most tenderly. Both are now 
 
100 BEIEP SKETCH OF 
 
 deeply afflicted, as is her, poor dear father also. AU the 
 children and servants feel it wry much. I never knew a 
 family event that made the same impression on every body. 
 All the young people — the young men as well as the girls 
 — feel it exceedingly. Upton was silent and quiet, so as 
 I never saw it before. 
 
 " We were very quiet aU sixth day, scarcely able to talk 
 about our journey, or anything. My parents went to 
 Croydon on first day. I was sorry not to go with them, 
 but did not feel inclined to stir, or to leave the party. 
 
 " %d day. — "We came down here, arriving quite late. 
 It was delightful to meet J. H. A long discourse with 
 him, in his room at night; then with Howson, who was 
 full of her tales about all the people's kindness, and zeal 
 in doing my work, &e. Very pleasant tp hear. 
 
 " 3(i day. — We did greatly enjoy this dear place, which 
 looked more lovely^ than ever, and, I hope, felt truly thank- 
 ful to be again here, and Papa so nicely. Yet, oh ! it was 
 so sad to fancy the scene at Runcton, when the funeral 
 was going on. I cannot describe how affecting it was, and 
 how stupifying to all other feeling. Aunt Catherine came 
 back to dinner. She is pale ^nd low, but quite as well as 
 I expected. Aunt Cunningham came with her — as usual, 
 it is most pleasant to have her, but she too is low. To-day, 
 I have finished putting books, and so forth, in order — took 
 a sweet little ride by myself. I enjoyed the distant view 
 of Earlham ; and was very glad to be again on horseback. 
 I think it cleared my brains a little, for I have felt really 
 qppressecZ ever since my return. A. Opie, to-night. We 
 have spoken much of dear Harriet; but I shrink from 
 talking about it, it is m touching^ Yet I do feel quite 
 
ANNA BACKHOtrSB. lOl 
 
 happy about her, dear creature^. Surely ske Las been 
 preserved safe by that Heavenly Father (whom she did 
 love) for this very end,; and: through the mercy of her 
 Saviotir, we may believe she is rejoicing in glory with her 
 dear mother., I remember quite well, that the thing I 
 was struck with in her religious mind, was her simple 
 dependence on, and her love for the Saviour — ^I thought, 
 to an uncommon degree; and I remember thinking how 
 few, even of persons of more religious experience than 
 herself, had the same happy child-like faith ! We hnow 
 in whom she has ' believed.' I cannot now attempt to put 
 down the vivid impression of the uncertainty of all things 
 temporal, that this event made upon me at first. May the 
 impression not fade away too quickly ! Surely if any one 
 is taught by it, I ought to be, linked as I have been with 
 her. 
 
 "7th day night. — ^I must Confess that I am glad, to; 
 come to the end of this week, which has been one of those^ 
 in which the "chariot-wheels of life"^ have moved mor^s. 
 heayily than common. The sort of oppressio^i and stupor 
 that I have felt, has been really painful, produced partly 
 by rather a run of company on an under current of such 
 strong feeling, and with the image of that dear creature 
 almost constantly before me. We have had some inte- 
 resting letters about her, and such striking testimonies^ 
 from B. Lowry, (her governess), and Gordon-, (the house- 
 keeper,) to her huniUity- and constant affection. 
 
 " My parents have been busy with Father Matthew, to' 
 
 whom we were introduced in the cloisters on fifth day. 
 
 He is perfectly simple and unpretending, and, T think, 
 
 eharming — not talented,- 1 should say, but winning .from 
 
 k9 
 
102 BRIEF SKETCH 01* 
 
 his affectionate way. It was curious to see him give the 
 pledge, and very pleasant to think of the good he is doing. 
 " The last two or three days, we have had Gumey and 
 Mary Barclay, Jane M. B., tJnele and Aunt Birkbeck, 
 and Priscilla Johnstone. I enjoyed being with Jane. She 
 was so kind and understanding. PrisoiUa most interesting^ 
 as usual. Aunt C. has been low j and I never was more 
 at a loss for the ' wherewith' to comfort any body, being 
 so very flat myself. 
 
 " bth day night, 9tK mo., 27th, 1843. — I write to-night 
 chiefly to record the capital Bible meeting yesterday. We 
 had the usual large party to breakfast. The meeting 
 looked thin, when we entered, but I never heard a better 
 set of speeches. 5ie Biishop, Uncle Cunningham, Pryor, 
 Alexander, and then Papa. It was quite a treat to hear 
 him, in his best manner, describe the need, and the effect 
 of the distribution of the Scriptures on the Continent ; its 
 effect in opposing infidelity on one hand, superstition on 
 the other, and leading them to the religion of the New 
 Testament, "without diminutipn, without addition, and 
 without compromise." It was listened to with great 
 attention, and had its impression on many who were there. 
 Bather an unusual set — twenty-six clergymen. I love to 
 see Papa in such a place, so completely in his atmosphere 
 as he is, and the whole feeling was glowing towards the 
 cause -itself. To-day, we have had the quarterly meeting — 
 a solemn, quiet one. Eobert Alsop, who is here, surprised 
 me, by his beautiful sermon on dedication of heart. and 
 life, and on confidence in God. Accounts of Aunt Fry, 
 very trying. Oh ! that the sorrow of her further illness 
 
ANNA BACKHOUSE. 108 
 
 may be averted t To-morrow, we go to Euneton. Ah ! 
 how sad it will be ; I shrink from it. 
 
 "Earlham, lOiA mo:, 1th. 7th day evening. — I am 
 sorry I have not been able to write before, for I should 
 have liked to have given a detailed account of my inte- 
 resting visit to Runcton. The drive was very sad, and 
 my mind was crowded with remenibrances of that day 
 eight years, and of all that had passed since. Willy met 
 us at the door, and tobk us into the drawing-room, when 
 the darling girls glided in, one after another, silently, and 
 in a manner wholly unlike their usual greeting. Dear 
 Uncle greeted us most warmly, but he truly felt our 
 coming. It was very sad, and the thing I longed for, was 
 some one out of the family, who felt it so much that I 
 might have relieved myself in sympathy for them. The 
 children were truly sweet ; but even in the mourning for 
 herself, how did I miss dear H. Willy and I had a nice 
 conversation in the course of the evening. I was much 
 interested in his mind, and his greatest delight appears to 
 be to talk about her.- After I went up for the night, E. 
 Lowry came and told me the sad tale. I hardly liked to 
 be left, after hearing such an affecting story ; but I scarcely 
 ever remember such a sense of the reality of Heaven, as 
 I had- that evening, when I was quite alone ! Inexpres- 
 sible was the consolation of turning from the earthly 
 sorrow and conflict to the heavenly joy and peace. The 
 next morning we spent at Lynn. K. E. C. proposed my 
 staying after my parents, and I was very glad I did, 
 though I ffelt sad enough when I was left without them. 
 The evenings were always industrious and quiet, and I 
 Lad a long reading with Willie, on coming up stairs. One 
 
104 BEIEF SKETCH OS 
 
 or two very nice, intimate talks wiih my XJacle,, more oa 
 the present than the past. I was a great deal, and very 
 pleasantly, with the girls. Dear Eachel is most sweet and 
 interesting,;, and I did know how to synnpathize with her, 
 dear child. Hay was very agreeable and feeUng. 
 
 " 3d dai/ niovning. — I came home; spent all the after- 
 noon with Sarah, in Norwich; ^and had a sitting from B. 
 and P. Alsop in the evening. This was really a comfort 
 to me, for I was low before. After speaking to my parents, 
 P. A. addressed herself to me, expressing mneh sympathy, 
 and then very sweetly encouraged me to place all my 
 dependence on the Almighty, saying, ' That I should be 
 enabled thus to fulfil all my duties with holy propriety," 
 exhorting me not to cast away my confi.denee, but to be in 
 all things watchful and faithful. My heart went with 
 every word, with thp desire that it might be fulfilled. R.. 
 A. prayed beautifully afterwards; altogether the oppor- 
 tunity was one of those for which we ought to be 
 thankful. The last few days have been as usual. A 
 great party of Friends on sixth day. Some very nice 
 talk with Jane B. Now dear Uncle and Aunt Fowler, 
 their son, and nephew, are here. The days do bring their 
 trial with them, and we are just now clouded by Aunt 
 Fry's illness. The accounts , are very discouraging. I 
 cannot bear to think how it may end. My Cousin Hudson 
 Gurney has been very ill also. Thus things look gloomy, 
 and I feel the effect of them. A sense of dependence on. 
 a never failing Protector, alone makes- these times easy'; 
 ajid truly my desires are very often raised to Him for his 
 guiding, teaching help. What should I be without tJiat, 
 in looking forward into, life !- I know I ought to be very 
 
ANNA BACKHOtrSE. i05 
 
 thankful for all tie mercy shown me ; but I am afraid that 
 I am too apt to be' overweighted by the oppressive sense of 
 leaving so much that is dear, and of meeting so much that 
 I know nothing Or little about. But, 
 
 "What thou shalt to-day provide, 
 
 Let me as a child receive ; 
 What to-morrow may betide, 
 
 Calmly to thy wisdom leave." 
 
 "First day evening, the 21th of Kith mo., 1843. — This 
 is the last Sabbath but one, before my marriage, I suppose, 
 and I will try and write, a few words while Aunt Catherine 
 sits by the fire. I am really sorry not to say more of days 
 whose history I wish to remember, but it is impossible, 
 with the multitude of things 'I have to do. The. Foxes 
 were here the early part of last week, and I was with 
 them a good deal — ^most agreeable they were. H. C. B. 
 came home poorly; and little Charley Grurney, who had 
 been staying with us, became so ill that I could not leave 
 his side. He made us all truly anxious, and we were glad 
 to get him aafely packed off to Euncton, the next morning. 
 Aunt C. has .been sadly nervous about him, but the 
 accounts are better now. He is a dear, sweet feUow. 
 
 " bth day morning. — I was poorly at home, and enjoyed 
 some very quiet, almost solemn time' alone — only a little 
 disturbed by Aunt C.'s anxiety about Charles. That 
 afternoon, Chenda came, and has been with us since. Her 
 company is most delightful, helpful, and comforting. Her 
 &ister-like tenderness, and herpOwerful clear mind, do me 
 such good. 
 
106 ' BEIEI' SKETCH OB 
 
 " Gth day.. — Tli« Kgtts, S. Hoare, A. ©pie, to lodgei 
 C. and Laxly Jane Wodehouse, and the girls, meeting 
 them at dinner-'-a really pleasant,, bright; party. H, C. B; 
 rose from her hed of illoiesSj as we thought it, to- pay theigi 
 a visit. Sarah G. is come back to the Lodge, and is a 
 good deal with us. I ha,ye been very, very busy — ^packing 
 to superintend — farewell calls to make, &c. &c. I have 
 been a good deal with Aunt C. My parents and John 
 Henry between times. I cannot enter much on my own 
 mind. I am often truly low, and inconveniently tearful ; 
 but, on the whole, I get" on fairly, and am quite tranquil, 
 with a little trust in. Him, who is A^ighty^^Vts^^^ to 
 believe that He will hel^, sustain, and guide- — Keep me 
 near Himself, and teaeh me to serve and love Him, as I 
 desire to do. Duties of- eveiy sort rise before me. Oh ! 
 may the help for them be abundantly given. Uncle 
 Forster's sermon, this morning, wonderfully fine. 
 
 " ^ih day night, IXih mo., 4rtK, 1843. — It is very late, 
 yet I must say one word of this week— the last, I suppose, 
 of my unmarried Ufe. 
 
 "On second day, Sarah and Ghenda and I went to 
 Halesworth. We had much and very interesting discourse, 
 such as we shall long remember, on general and individual 
 interests. Priscilla most interesting as usual. Ghenda 
 left us on third day; and the Tf eek, has rolled on heavily 
 since, with Sarah and me. Aunt R.. Fowler has joined 
 our party. The Ham-House circle came, this evening, to 
 John's— Bessy, this morning. It is most helpful to have 
 the latter. I am very quiet in mind, surprisingly so, 
 to myself, and I have got through almost aU my busi- 
 ness. Oh ! may it be, that in the coming week, over 
 
ANNA BACKHO0SE. 107 
 
 every interest, and every conflict, there may spread that 
 sheltering wing, which is extended by the Grod of peace j 
 and in hearty trust in Him, may we be carried through 
 each successive effort in His feaj*, and with quiet confidence 
 in Him as our Father! I dare not touch on the details 
 past or to come ; but I think I may look forward to the 
 hope of a happy tranquility this day week. If I do not 
 write again until my marriage, sufely I must say before 
 I end, how greatly I desire to acknowledge, with deep 
 thankfulness, the mnumerdhle mercies I have received up 
 to this point in my life. " BleSs the Lord, oh, my soul ! 
 and /sr'^ei not all His benefits." I desire that this m^y 
 be my motto. 'I beseech you,, therefore, brethren, by the 
 mercies of God, that ye present your bodies, a living 
 gaerifiee,. holy, acceptable unto the Lord, which is your 
 reasonalDle service. And be not conformed to this world, 
 but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind, that 
 ye may prove wharf; is that good and acceptable, and perfect 
 wUlofaod.' 
 
108 BRIEF SKETCH Or 
 
 CHAPTER Vin. 
 
 On the 9th of 11th month, 1843, Anna Gurney 
 became the wife of John Church Backhouse, of 
 DarUngton ; and, in confirmation of the increase of 
 happiness which this union was the means of be- 
 stowing upon her, it is only needful to quote her 
 own words, in one of her first letters after she quitted 
 the paternal roof : — " It was a , great trial to part 
 from you, but ' I have all, and abound.' " 
 , The beautiful residence, which her husband had 
 fitted up for her, on the banks of the Teese, (and in 
 which she afterward so greatly delighted) not being 
 quite ready for their reception, they settled for a 
 month at Polam Hill,* aftet their 'wedding' tour. 
 
 How does the first entry in her journal evince the 
 strength of her aifection for her only brother, to 
 whom her heaft continued to be closely bounds 
 
 "Nottingham, 11th ma,,l'2,th, 1843.'^I cannot say 
 how earnest have been my desires on behalf of my beloVed 
 brother, that, if he loSes, by my leaving him, something of 
 Jiel^p and encouragement in his religious course, it may^ 
 through mercy, be abundantly made up to him, by the 
 
 • Polam Hill, near Darlington, was the residence of H. C. 
 Backhouse, who, with her children, had been spending the 
 greater part of 1843 in Norfolk, at the home of her early child- 
 hood. 
 
ANNA BAdKHOtJ^i. 109 
 
 same Gracious Hand which calls me away. I feel how 
 little I have done, in this, or any other way, for him, dear 
 fellow; but I know, now, in leaving, how deeply I have 
 clung to him, and how constantly my heart has been filled 
 with love and care for him. It shows me how mercifully 
 I am provided for, when the place of such as he, and even 
 of my precious parents, seems supplied. Sometimes, I 
 must confess, I should have been almost overwhelmed with 
 the change of position, and all it involves, had it not been 
 for the belief, that an ever-present fether is with us, our 
 shield and our stay — one in whose hands are all things. 
 
 " Letters from home, this morning, have been sufficiently 
 touching; especially the account of my dearest father's 
 feeling my departure a ^ood deal more than I expected he 
 would. It has brought to my mind all the unusual privi- 
 leges I have enjoyed, and that verse in Isaiah iv, has been 
 solemn to me this morning, : ' What could I have done more 
 to my vineyard than I have done in it ? ' Most earnestly 
 do I desire that I may not bring forth ' wild gra,pes.' I 
 have been full of desire — I think I may say prayer — this 
 morning, for the precious, gift of grace for us, that all-suf- 
 ficient grace which guides, and helps, and teaches, and 
 protects. How much I have to be thankful for, in knowing 
 something of its helping power in my single life ! May it 
 be the first thing which we seek, and may it guide evei;y 
 Step of our way." 
 
 None of the affectionate little notes addressed to 
 her parents, on her wedding journey, appear to 
 have been preserved. The following was writteu 
 the day after her arrival at Darlington : 
 
110 BRIEF SKETCH OE 
 
 "PoLAM Hill, V2,th mo., 23d, 1843- 
 " Ij/lj dearest motker : 
 
 " How I wish I could give thee a long account 
 of last evening, and this morning, also ; but Blackwell has 
 run away with my time, and I can only send you a few 
 lines. We came by the train from Derby yesterday, and 
 did not arrive till near eight. The Beechwood carriage 
 was in waiting at the station, and brought us to Polam- 
 Dear Eliza met us in the hall. A most warm greeting 
 ensued from her, there, and from our father and mother in 
 the drawing-room. I only felt they were too kind, espe- 
 cially as I was too much stupefied to say any thing ; and 
 yet I most thoroughly enjoyed their cordial reception of 
 us. Eliza came up with me to my own room, to take off 
 my things, and then we were very glad of some tea. It 
 felt so truly odd to be at Polam, and not see the dear Polam 
 circle ! Soon after, we went back into the drawing-room, 
 we had a precious little sitting ; my mother B. kneeling 
 down, and very sweetly returning thanks for all the bless- 
 ings bestowed upon us, and praying for each of our little 
 party. It was such a contrast to the numbers we left at 
 Earlham : but just the same peace seemed to rule everything. 
 I think you can understand me. This morning we have 
 inspected our various packages, which have come quite safe ; 
 and Eliza has introduced me to aU the servants. Every 
 thing has been most beautifully arranged for us ; but I 
 cannot enter into particulars now. We three have since 
 been to Blackwell, which is in great confusion, but looks 
 most promising. The garden is charming, and the house 
 very pleasant, indeed. It looks more entirely to my taste 
 than I expected. But I shall write a long account to Aunt 
 Catherine, in a day or two. Many thanks to all for their 
 
ANNA BAOKHOTJSE. Ill 
 
 letters, dearest Papa, especially. Cousia E. Pease has sent 
 me a most kind greeting, and has callfed, but I was out. 
 
 " Now I must stop. How I wish I could send yoa a 
 more descriptive account. But you will know from this, 
 that again I can say, 'I have aU, and abound.' 
 " Most affectionately thine, 
 
 " With dearest love to you all,^ 
 " Anna Backhottse: 
 
 " POLAM HiLl;, 12ih mo., 22d, 1^43. 5th day evening. 
 My room. — ^As- this, I suppose, is my last night at Polam, 
 I will try and say a few words of the month we have spent 
 here ; I feel it has been a month like all the others of this 
 1843, very full of life ; one that I shall not soon forget. 
 We have had a luxurious habitation in this beautiful 
 house, to which I feel quite attached ; and, amongst all the 
 odd things, it has not been the least to find myself mistress 
 in a place with which I have such different associations ! 
 
 " We^ arrived on fifth day, the 22d of 11th month. I 
 felt coming very much. My new parents and Eliza met 
 us here and gave us a very warm reception. Once, for all, 
 I must say how 'heartily kind they have been to me, all three 
 of them. With Eliza, I was on an intimate footing directly. 
 With my mother, I am so now ; and, though, of course, I 
 have not had the -same opportunity of being exactly inti- 
 mate with my father, yet his constant kindness makes me 
 feel quite easy and open with him. I cannot write all I 
 would about these dear ones, but truly I ought to be 
 thankful that such a family is the one I have entered. 
 Dearest Eliza is away now, but she was most sweet while 
 she stayed. With the rest of the circle I was much pleased j 
 their kindness Is so genuine and hearty, and their reception 
 of me has been so truly cordial, that I could not but prize 
 
113 BRIEI' SKETCH Or 
 
 the love from which it springs. Especially I feel the value 
 of the dear Aunts at West Lodge, and of my dear cousin, 
 Emma Pease, and her party. Perhaps, if coming here 
 does me no other good, it wiU at least make me perceive 
 advantages and privileges under a new shape. 
 
 "Blaokwell pleases me very much. We are to begin 
 to-morrow our life there. It is a little like being married 
 over again, and it makes me rather low to-night, to think 
 of the responsible position which the mistress of a fajnily 
 occupies. I have not often more strongly felt how greatly 
 I need helpj yes, even grace, which is the help. I fear 
 the period I. have spent here, has been one in which the 
 occupations of mind and thought, have diverted me from 
 the diligent seeking of that grace, and I ought to be hum- 
 bled under a sense of my own cold-heartedness and neglect- 
 fulness. ' Fervent in spirit,' I wish. to be my motto; but 
 how very little has it characterized me the last few weeks. 
 We had an interesting, rousing visit from Benjamin See- 
 bohm; but, except that, outward helps in these things, 
 have not beea great., I miss Papa's Christian spirit over 
 me ; but I desire to remember, that, where we are provi- 
 dentially placed, there, if we prosper not, it is our own 
 fault ; and sometimes I do know and feel, that my Heavenly 
 Father, in his forgiving love, does not cast me off. 
 
 " I have much enjoyed our daily readings. Oh ! if we 
 may indeed have abundance of the ' dew of Heaven,' I 
 should have nothing left to wish for. 
 
 Dear Uncle Buxton's, and Aunt Fry's state of deep ill- 
 ness has been a great trial, and is so, still. I have painfully 
 felt being away from Northrepp's. I hope I do not end 
 my poor little account of this month without feeling thankful 
 to Him, who is giving us so many mercies — ^who truly 
 'crowneth the year with his goodness/ " 
 
ANNA BAOKHOrSE. 113 
 
 To the beloved family at Beechwood, into whicii 
 she was now introduced, consisting of John Back- 
 house, his wife, and widowed daug;hter, she soon 
 became warmly attached. Alive to the excellence 
 of their Christian character, and impressed with a 
 grateful sense of their unremitting kindness to her- 
 self, her young heart glowed with daughterly a,nd 
 sisterly affection for them, And, truly, this affection 
 was returned abundantly ; they loved her as their 
 own. Her married life was, in every respect, a very 
 happy one; and, in 10th month, 1844, she became 
 the mother of a lovely little boy. In allusion to 
 him, she says, 12th month, 20th, 1844: 
 
 " We had the great pleasure of shewiBg our darling boy 
 to Hs Earlham grand-parents. They have been bo delighted 
 with him ; more than I could have expected. They came 
 to PoTam on sixth day, and spent seventh day morning here. 
 Baby was perfectly good, and I do feel that the very great 
 pleasure he will be, if he lives, to them, is one- of the chief 
 happinesses connected with him, dear little fellow ! They 
 are staying at Polam, but, of course, we have been con- 
 stantly together. On fifth day the four grand-parents dined 
 here, and dear Baby descended in his night clothes to be 
 exhibited. It was quite a pretty sight, to see that poor 
 little mortal, surrounded by all the elders, admiring him. 
 
 " I am afraid the warmth of my heart is far, far less than 
 it should be, in thinking of all our blessings. How apt 
 each new one is, to become an engrossing object of atten- 
 tion, and to draw away from the Source of all good. May 
 I be preserved from this deep ingratitude, of which I have 
 found more than I like to say, in myself. 
 l2 
 
lU 
 
 BBIEP SKETCH OP 
 
 Of her first visit to Earlham, after the birth of 
 her little babe, she says : 
 
 "Bd mo., 1845.-rJohn Henry's most welcome voice 
 greeted us at the Norfolk Hotel, and we were soon bundled 
 — Baby, maids, luggage and all — into the Earlham car- 
 riage. , Happily, Baby awoke as we drove up to the door, 
 and was in an excellent mind, and ready for the seizure 
 which ensued ; three or four maids quarrelling about him 
 in the hall, and every one. calling loud for him, as soon as 
 we got up-stairs. We found Aunt' Fry and Louisa, Aunt 
 Catherine and my father and mother^ all at dinner. But 
 I must not attempt to say how they rejoiced over Jacky, 
 or to give more than a very slight account of our visit. 
 Aunt Fry and her suite were at Earlham, for two or three 
 weeks of our stay, and I had a delightful opportunity of 
 being with her. She is very sweet, but certainly her power 
 of character is much weakened by her protracted sufferings. 
 I think you see it more in the loss of her commanding dig- 
 nity, than in particular failure of memory, or any thing 
 of that sort. Such cases are affecting to witness, but they 
 show that there is sometMng stronger and more enduring 
 than powers: ofhody, or understanding, and which remains 
 when the rest decay. Dearest Aunt Gatherine was very 
 nicely on the whole} though feeble, I thought. She 
 extremely enjoyed Baby, who was charmed with her. It 
 gave me great delight to see her enjoyment in him. I had 
 some very nice ' private conversations with John Henry, 
 which excited all my heart for him, dear fellow, with some- 
 times rather a painful feeling of his want of somebody to 
 take my place towards him. What happiness it would be 
 to see him well married ; but how difficult is this.- Then 
 my father was most dear and delightful to me ; rather dif- 
 
ANNA BAOKHOtJSir. 115 
 
 ficiilt to get at, his occupations absorb his mind so much ; 
 but I had him by scraps, and once or twice most pleasantly. 
 It wa» the greatest treat to see him and his grandson 
 together, especially when Papa was resting in the afternoon 
 on the bed, and Baby came to him. With my mother, the 
 child was always in full glee, and most kind she was to 
 him. I truly valued her growing love and interest in him, 
 and it was quite ; beautiful to watch her kindness to the 
 many guests who were constantly in and out. I had a 
 good deal of her company, which was very valuable to me. 
 
 *!* ^fi -7* ^ ^ t^ 
 
 I can't pretend to enumerate the visitors, small and great, 
 who came to see us. 
 
 The following note appears to have been -written 
 a few months after her return to Blackwell, and 
 serves to shew that neither time nor distance could 
 at all diminish the warmth of her affection for her 
 parents, nor her tender sympathy and interest in all 
 that concerned them : 
 
 ■ ■ ? ' r 
 
 , x ■■ • •' " BiiACKWELL, 11<^ mo., VJthj 1845. 
 " My dearest mother :' 
 
 " I received thy letter yesterday, and was very much 
 interested in thy account of your visit from the Chevalier 
 Bunsen and his lady. I am not surprised to hear how 
 much you liked them, and long to know them myself. Of 
 the other part of thy letter, I hardly know what to say. 
 Thou knowest how every pain of Papa's afflicts me — I do 
 not think the word is too strong. Yet, in regard to the 
 present cloud, I. am thankful to be able to believe that 
 brighter days wUl come. With thee, dearest mother, I 
 
116 BKIEF SKETCH OF 
 
 do, indeed, most deeply sympathize. Tkou hast so very 
 much to feel on every side ; and I am afraid we all save 
 thee too little, when we pour out our troubles to thee. 
 Yet I am always rather inclined to quote B. Seebohm's 
 text in a different sense, when I think of thy ' Coming to 
 the Kingdom for such a tilne as this,' and of thy helping, 
 cheering, strengthening Papa, in the deep waters through 
 which he often has to pass. Mayst thou, my precious mother, 
 be abundantly helped and strengthened thyself, so that the 
 waters may truly not overflow thee. We must trust and 
 believe that so it will be. I fancied you having a comfort- 
 able Sabbath yesterday, with dear Uncle Gurney and John 
 Henry with you. :(:***** 
 
 Thine, lovingly, 
 
 Anna Bagkhotjse." 
 
 In 1845, not only was she called upon to mourn 
 the loss of her beloved Aunt Fry and Uncle Bux- 
 ton — ^to both of virhom she was tenderly attached — 
 but two dear cousins* also, with whom she had been 
 on terms of almost sisterly intimacy ; on which 
 occasion the following record appears in her- 
 journal : 
 
 "Thus two more of my familiar friends have done with 
 time, and have entered on Eternity ! I ^o not doubt a 
 blessed one to them both. I do trust these repeated caMs 
 are not unheeded ! The last few days have been very 
 serious ones to me — ^waking me from a stupid state, I 
 
 * Elizabeth Barclay and Ann Hodgkia. 
 
ANNA BACKHOUSE. 117 
 
 hope, making me- feel our infinite privileges, in having One 
 to plead the cause of sinners with the righteous God ! I 
 do not know that I have ever much more felt this. May 
 I realize it more and more till earth is completely outshone 
 in my mind by that which is eternal ! It is well / feel 
 that We have had our share in all these dispensations, for 
 otherwise there would have been danger in our smooth, 
 happy life — very, very full of blessings has it been this 
 year. Our darling child does grow so, lovely, but as I 
 have begun a book about him, I must not enlarge. We 
 have had, this summer, delightful visits from Aunt 
 Catherine and- the Cunninghams; two or three days from 
 the dear parents, whom we also met at Carlisle; from 
 Aunt E. Eowler; John's cousin, Charles Church; two or 
 three most valuable days from John Henry, before we 
 went into Norfolk. I have bfeen much occupied in the 
 village. The school has been really prospering, and a 
 great pleasure to me." 
 
 When she removed to Blackwell, she found the 
 moral culture of the children had been much 
 neglected, and all the energies of her young and 
 ardent mind were called into action, in the hope of 
 producing a better state of things amongst them. 
 
 Her first step was to procure a good and efficient 
 teacher. She then went round, the neighbourhood 
 encouraging the parents to send their children to 
 school — ^visited it herself almost daily, and en- 
 deavoured to persuade the young ladies in the 
 immediate vicinity to do the same. A wonderful 
 reformation was soon produced, both in the con- 
 
118 BRIEF SKETCH OP 
 
 duct and acquirements of the pupils; and the 
 School continued to be an object of great interest, 
 until, in 1847, she was obliged to forsake her 
 delightful home, and all her pleasant useful avoca- 
 tions, and take a long and fatiguing joiirney in 
 pursuit of health. But' we will not anticipate. 
 The year just mentioned was" one of the ijiost 
 marked and memorable of her brief existence, for, 
 at its very commencement, she was deprived of a 
 parent to whom she was so tenderly attached, that 
 it might almost be said her life was bound up in 
 his life, and death could not long divide them. 
 
 A few pages from her journal, written after her 
 return from Earlham, will give her own recital of 
 this deeply sorrowful event. Taking a retrospec- 
 tive view of the few preceding months, she says, 
 (writing under date of 1st mo., SOth, 1847): 
 
 " We made up oui- minds not longer to delay our Norfolk 
 journey, and I started with the maids and Johnny, so as 
 to arrive there on the last day of the eighth month, 
 spending one day first at Upton by the way. Then came 
 five whole weeks at Earlham^ including several days at 
 Northrepp's, and my dearest parents returned with us to 
 Darlington, on the 3rd of the 10th' month. They staid 
 about three weeks between Blackwell and Polam, so that 
 never before since I married had I had so much of their 
 company. How thankful I ain that these visits were 
 permitted, for it was difficult to arrange them at first. 
 ThatsA, Earlham was a very full one. They had a great 
 deal of company — Alexanders, Dudleys, &c.j and the. 
 
ANNA BACKHOtrSE. 119 
 
 Bible and quarterly meetings happening in the same ■week, 
 produced rather an awkward run of people. I am so glad 
 I was at iliat, his last Bible meeting ! His speech was 
 delightful; and most , interesting to me, was his interest 
 in John Henry's, when he nobly pledged himself to the 
 cause his father had advocated so many years. After 
 his death, we found in his pocket-book, a little bit. of the 
 newspaper containing J. H.'s speech. I never saw him 
 more delighting in Earlham, then in its flowery beauty^ 
 One day, I remember particxilarly, J. H. and Mary were 
 there — the latter in youthful glee, her dog Keeper and 
 my Johnny gajmboUing by her on the lawn-^he walking 
 about in his cloak and cap, his beautiful hair blowing 
 about it, really taking hearty pleasure in this dear girl, 
 and delighted to be able to do so, while every thing glowed 
 with sun and beauty, and his own countenance shone 
 with heavenly peace! Can it — can it be that I am to 
 see that dear loved- form, walking about the Earlham 
 garden, no more? How I did love to watch him there-! 
 and how bitter was it to see the cloak and cap and 
 stick in the hall closet, at Earlham, the other day, useless ! 
 And how he did enjoy Johnny ! I can see him now 
 feeding him with grajpes, and telling him about the pigs 
 squeaking ; making him repeat ' Jack Horner' ; showing 
 him off on the drawing-room table, at the Bible-meeting 
 breakfast, ' Now I'll show you my grand-son' ; then making 
 the child walk ; never tired of all his Uttfe feats, anxious 
 too when he was not quite good. How he did dislike it 
 when I sent him to bed before dessel-t! .. All these recol- 
 lections are inexpressibly dear to me. My child did give 
 him pleasure, and that J. may be glad of. But it is over 
 now ! Then. John joined us at Earlham, in time for the 
 
120 BRIEF SKETCH 0» 
 
 Bible meeting, and we all came back together, arriving 
 here on 7th day, the 3rd of 10th month. I had not been 
 well in Norfolk, and so they made me see Dr. Smith, in 
 London-^dearest Papa arranging it all himself — so tender 
 about me — so^ careful of me — he never more enjoyed a 
 visit here^he enjoyed the place so extremely — treading 
 and drawing, while I read to him Scott's Force of Truth, 
 ko. I remember several of the walks I took with him, 
 especially one down the long walk. He was speaking of 
 Harriet, who had just arrived, and saying the great 
 comfort it was to have her, not only as to the , present 
 pleasure, but it was 'such a satisfaction to him that my 
 mother should have one of her own, the only one she 
 could keep he thought. I think, adding, in case she was 
 left ahne-^-^&i least, alluding to the uncertainty of his life 
 — but I turned it off, for I could not bear such allusions. 
 He wanted to have some trees cut down that spoiled his 
 view. I had such pleasure in getting John to let me have 
 them taken away. And now, in coming home again, it is 
 hard to think I must never shew him any more improve- 
 ments, and that the pleasure of my beautiful home is 
 stained indeed ! 
 
 "But to go on- with my history. He and my mother 
 both had very bad influenza colds, while they were staying 
 at Polam, which detained them longer than they had 
 intended in this neighborhood, thus giving me still more 
 opportunity of being with them; he so enjoyed being 
 with John, and spoke of him constantly with so much 
 pleasure. How extremdy I felt leaving them one evening 
 when I thought they were going the next day ! I remem- 
 ber telling John, ' Perhaps I should never see him again,' 
 but I put the uncertainty to my own state. However, my 
 
ANNA BACKHOUSE. 1^1 
 
 Biotlisr was too poorly to move, so they stayed, and dearest 
 Papa himself had the influenza. It was such a comfort 
 to see that he was not so much pulled down as he liad 
 been by these attacks, though he was very -poorly a day or 
 two. He used to think the air at Blackwell better than 
 at Polam, and spent one day here entirely, but he was 
 very uncomfortable most of it. I was making my wax 
 model of him. How well do I remember it, where he sat 
 in the drawing-room, and every thing ! Oh ! how glad I 
 am that he had a home in this dear house, and that every 
 room almost is associated with him. He was delighted to 
 have Harriet safely arrived ;• and I saw directly what a 
 nice, bright companion she would make for him this winter. 
 " But I must not omit to mention the meetings, while 
 they were here. His ministry was so lovely, dwelling so 
 much on Heaven and heavenly things. The feeling of 
 peace and the loveliness of his spirit were .remarked by 
 many. I only could shrink from acknowledging to myself 
 how ripe he seemed- for a better land ! I remember the 
 thought passing through my mind often, and as often my 
 turning from all it involved ! Most of the^ time, he was 
 in very comfortable spirits, and remarkably degage and 
 easy : but I must come to our last interview, and, oh ! how 
 does it wring my heart to write that word ! Still I ought 
 to be only thankful for such a parting as it was. We had 
 dined at Polam, and, as I thought, taken leave of them 
 there, only we talked a little of going to see them oif by 
 the train the nest morning. However, the nest morning 
 I was confined to bed by influenza, and was surprised, as I 
 lay there, to hear his voice in the hall. He had come up 
 to take leave of us, riding on the pony. He looked so 
 well and handsome, and wag so extremely tender and 
 M 
 
122 BRUr SKETCH OF 
 
 affectionate. He called for little Jacky directly, as he 
 always did; and John and he had breakfast together. 
 After it was over, he came into my room and sat by my 
 bedside. We three alone; he read a Psalm, and then 
 kneeling down, poured out sueh a beautiful prayer for us. 
 How I wish I could remember it every word ! But I shall 
 never forget the general impression of it, nor how it went 
 to my very heart. He spoke of our ' sweet natural love' 
 for each ' other ; besought ' that this might increasingly 
 become a spiritual union;' and then, for our child, 'that 
 the yoke of obedience and parental authority might be 
 firmly established on him, as "the best preparation for the 
 yolce of Christ ;' and more, about bringing him up for the 
 service of his Lord, which I cannot accurately remember. 
 Then he prayed that the ' desire of our hearts might be 
 given us;' that he himself, if consistent with the Divine 
 will, might be permitted to see„ his children's children, 
 and peace upon Israel !' 
 
 " When he rose from his knees, he sat a few minutes, 
 then kissed me, told me to take care of myself, and he left 
 me — ^left me forever in this world-! Oh ! may a meeting be 
 granted us, where there is no more parting — ^no more 
 death ! After his return to Harlham, he wrote me more 
 letters than usual. Such happy letters — bespeaking such 
 an easy, joyous state ; for though afiBioted about the dis- 
 tressed condition of Ireland, he had endeavoured to cast 
 off that burden, after doing all he could to help them. 
 He spoke constantly of his pleasure in Hallie; of his 
 happy home-life ; of the beauty of the flowers, even of 
 the cockatoo, as adding to their pleasure. Two family 
 events of a touching character occurred at the end of 
 the year — ^Uncle Hoare's sudden death, the night after 
 
a™a backhouse. 123 
 
 Christmas, and the unexpected birth and death of Eachel 
 Buxton's baby-boys, on the 1st of 1st month, 1847. Thus 
 did the new year begin gloomily to many, and seriously to 
 us all ! For my own part, I could not get over a sort of 
 presentiment of something in store for us. 'The coming 
 event had cast its shadow before.' It was well for us that 
 it had. I received a delightful letter from Papa, written 
 on ' Christmas day,' the last he wrote me ! He did not 
 mention that he had had a fall from his horse, in the 
 course of that week. I heard of it, in a letter from my 
 mother to Aunt Backhouse; but it had hardly made me 
 anxious, as it seemed to have no iU effect. On the day 
 before New Year's, I. received the first account of hia 
 being poorly, written on the previous third day. The 
 account did not in itself make me anxious, as it described 
 nothing serious ; but the one on the following day made 
 me more uncomfortable. The succeeding ones were, 
 however, very relieving. So that we never even discussed 
 the subject of going to them. John went to New Castle 
 on the 4th, and I spent a particularly pleasant day at 
 Beechwood. We read niy mother's note together : no one 
 was alarmed by it. , The next morning, I had a note from 
 Aunt Birkbeck, giving me suddenly a most acute sense of 
 the depths of his iUness, conveying a new impression to 
 nie. I sent off for John at once. Ten minutes afterwards 
 he came into my sitting-room, looking very pale. He had 
 brought me the LAST account ! ! I need not describe that 
 next hour, in which he gradually broke to me the tidings, 
 or the awfulness of the shock ! It is better not to do it, 
 but only to commemorate that even then, we were not left 
 to ourselves, but that with the hurricane came the sense 
 of the shelter of the wing of our Father's love. Oh, how 
 
124 BRIEF SKETCH^ or 
 
 has that shelter been given us ever since ! Such mercy 
 Calls for the deepest gratitude ; and may I be enabled to 
 be most entirely thankful to Him, who has not allowed 
 the ship to sink, even in this storm. Before I go on with 
 my history of our mournful journey to Earlham, I am 
 inclined to pause, and if I can, to defin« in some measure 
 the effect on myself' of this great change — ^its influence on 
 our life, &o. And, first, can I wonder at it ? Can I doubt 
 that there was 'a need 6e'"in this case? How often have 
 I thought lately, that such prosperity as ours, could not 
 continue untouched. Life has been too swimming — too 
 fully satisfying to the heart's affections, to be permitted to 
 go on. Now, oh ! I can feel it to be stained ! It is not 
 absolutely, that the necessaries of one's social life are 
 taken away. On the contrary, I have cause for deep 
 thankfulness that my husband and my child are left to 
 me ; but it is impossible to find words to describe how the 
 zest of the pleasure of' every constitueht part of my home 
 life, is fled. The child's feats are so useless- — the beauty 
 of my home is so valueless, now that' I cannot show them, 
 to him. This is a false feeling in degree, when I really 
 consider it, and I do not wish to encourage it. But, oh ! 
 the heart ache of it ! ! then there is the loss itself! How 
 can r describe that!, I have Ibst that constant, faithful 
 tenderness,,to which I could always go, which always seemed 
 on the watch to help me.. How different, for instance, is 
 the pleasure ai possession to that of his gifts! How 
 I haye enjoyed that hundred pounds he sent me last 
 winter to give away ! But, perhaps, more than all^ I feel 
 the loss of the minister, the religious counsellor, the 
 upholder of the highest standard. It has been hard to 
 understand that this has ' worked for good ;' and T ha've 
 
ANNA BACKHOUSE. 125 
 
 craved, from the very bottom of my heart, that we may 
 be permitted to drink far more deeply of the fountain, 
 now that this rich and precious stream no longer flows 
 upon us. How have I looked to his influence in bringing 
 up a family. How have I valued, on these grounds as 
 well as others, his friendship with my dearest husband. 
 Yet I know that this wonderful loss may be_^more than 
 supplied. Oh! for grace, most diligently and most 
 humbly, to seek for the supply of all our needs, great and 
 small. 
 
 "Words seem very feeble on this subject, but I am 
 glad to have what may recall the conflict as well as the 
 sorrow through which we have been brought ; and I think 
 I may say our desire is deep and earnest to be stimulated 
 ■by his bright example, and truly to profit under the 
 chastening hand of our Lord, who has, we may confess, 
 been very near to help and encourage us. Sometimes we 
 have had a sweet feeling, that he will not leave us or 
 forsake us ; and sometimes, as I said before, I have known 
 something of the shelter of His wing. I have desired 
 perfectly to submit to the dispensation, which includes the 
 loss of some of my sweetest pleasures. What, can my 
 visits to Norfolk be now? Where can the delight of 
 intercourse with my own be ? But to return to my history. 
 My darling husband did indeed help and soothe my 
 sorrow. I think I shall never forget, not only his sympa- 
 thy for me, but his sharing the affliction so entirely. 
 Those days look like a- strange dream, but one I shall 
 never forget. We had a coupee, and reached London on 
 fifth day evening. I felt wholly stunned, like a ■ person 
 under an immense weight; as if I could not yet receive 
 my share of the event, but could only muse and wonder 
 m2 
 
126 BRIEF SKETCH Ot 
 
 at it. The next d^y we went on to Earlham. Dear Mary 
 met us at the train. Oh ! the faint, sicJc feeling of that 
 ai'rival! Still- it was more a crushing than a sorrow. 
 Dearest Jjohn Henry met us at the door. He was most 
 kind and tender ; and then we went up to my mother ! 
 ^ ^ * ^ # # 
 
 I cannot describe the minutiae of my stay at Earlham. It 
 tire? me too much to write. A few things only I will 
 mention, and first, the loveliness of those dear remains. 
 The clay was emphatically beautiful, almost heavenly — the 
 noble forehead only reminding, by its coldness, that it was 
 altered since my hand had passed over it before. * * 
 
 ****** jje lay in his dressing-room — my 
 old room ! Most sweet to me was the full belief, that that 
 beautiful form was the seed of the far more beautiful, 
 heavenly one. That even that precious form, I may see 
 again, though doubtless ' glorified V I have not much to 
 say of the funeral. It was wonderfully interesting as a 
 spectacle. The crowded roads, the mourning city, would 
 have been most touching in any case; but that very sort 
 of interest took off a little, to my feelings, from the settled 
 solemnity of the day, except at the grave, where the silence 
 was as peaceful as it was awful and profound ! And in 
 the evening, when my mother's most lovely memoir was 
 read. As to ministry, not only- then, but all through 
 those days, we were permitted to feel what we had lost 
 — ^not only himself, as if that were not enough, but 
 Wncle Buxton and Aunt Fry — ^all seemed gone together ! 
 Writing is so difficult to me, that I hardly know how to 
 say all I wish ; but I must mention one or two things to 
 make my record at all complete. And, first, about my 
 mother ! To her, dear creature, I feel as if I had acquired 
 
ATJNA BACKHOUSE. 127 
 
 a new and strong tie. With the keenest sense of the 
 weight of the sorrow and desolation that presses upon her, 
 I have had, at the same time, a consciousness of being 
 helped by her in a remarkable way ! I feel bound for life 
 to her, not only from inclination, but from the strongest 
 sense of duty ; and heartily desire that I, and mine, may 
 always prove faithful to this dear one, who is, as it were, 
 bequeathed to our tenderest care. ****** 
 
 * # * * * * g]jg ^g^g eminently supported by 
 grace, but I am afraid she has drooped more and more 
 since we left her, and no wonder ! Oh ! the utter loneli^ 
 ness of her position ! * * * * * * * * * 
 
128 BKIEP SKETCH OF 
 
 CHAPTEK IX. 
 
 One or two letters, selected from the many that 
 were written by A. B. to, her mother, during this 
 season of sore bereavement, will show the depth and 
 fulness of her sympathy, and the low estimate she en- 
 tertained of her own progress in the Christain race : 
 
 " Bbechwood, §th day, Zd mo.y 1847. 
 
 " It is a relief to come to the time for writing to thee, 
 though I am almost afraid- it is hardly right for the out- 
 pourings of a full heart to come on ihee, my precious 
 mother. I do so well know the greater weight of thy 
 sorrow, and especially to-day. My very heart shrinks for 
 thee from the monthly meeting, and aU it involves, 
 returning the certificate, &c. Still there is the Power, by 
 whom even such hard things as these may be made easy j 
 and I have seen thee to be so helped, that I dare not 
 mistrust for thee even in the bitterest moments. I do 
 endeavour to commend thee, my dearest mother, almost 
 minute by minute, to that ever present unfailing Helper, 
 who can never be taken away from thee — can never leave 
 thee alone ! While I often feel I hardly dare take some 
 of those precious promises to myself, yet for thee I can 
 fuUy take them and rest upon them, and know thee to be 
 one of his fold, and that no storm can ' pluck thee out of 
 his hand.' This is my abiding comfort in thinking of 
 
ANNA BACKHOUSE. 129 
 
 thee ; and however unworthy, I desire to lay hold also for 
 myself. Thou knowst how extremely anxious I shall 
 be to hear of thee and of how thou has got through 
 to-day. It is the greatest comfort to think of Susanna 
 Corder being with thee. This reminds me to say that, if 
 thou hast no objection, I should so • very much like to 
 have a copy of that beautiful passage from the journal, 
 about ' my best, my very best,' ' my all, my very all,' &c. 
 Perhaps, dear Harriet would copy it for me. I should 
 just like to show it to my mother B. One can hardly in 
 word do his spirit justice about all that matter, and as, I 
 suppose, it is doubtful whether it can go in the journals, 
 I should be very glad to have it for myself. 
 
 " Ever, most affectionately, thine, A. B. 
 
 " Shull, 5th mo., 23d, 1847. 
 
 "My precious Mother : 
 
 "These days of yearly meeting do bring thee so 
 constantly to my remembrance, that I do not feel as if I 
 could refrain from writing to thee again, to-day. Thankful, 
 as I know thou art, for all 7ie is spared, yet I am sure 
 there must be something inexpressibly affecting in once 
 more, and in rather a new form, recognizing the mighty 
 change ! I can hardly trust myself to think of thee, 
 solitary at Barlham, during yearly meeting. Each day, as 
 it goes by, is very touching to me, in the remembrance of 
 our being all together last year. But yet, in the midst of 
 it all, how elevating is the thought of that. 'General 
 Assembly and church of the first born,' with whom he is 
 now worshipping; and when I remember the extreme 
 Qpmfort a^ 'real good meeting,' at these times, gave him, oh !, 
 
130 EEIEP SKETCH OF 
 
 there is even a delight in thinking of him where there ie 
 no interruption to his holy happiness — where all around 
 him are in perfect unison, and even where no physical 
 infirmity now mars the joy of his heavenly employments 
 for a single moment ! 
 
 " I hardly know why I write all this, dearest mother, 
 to thee; for I well know thou art enabled to take fast hold 
 of these glorious truths, very, very far more than I can ; 
 but I do not feel as if I could help pouring out a little of 
 my heart to thee, this morning — ^it is so full of thee and 
 of him. I long to hear of thee again, now that thou art 
 so much alone. I hope thy work may be prospering, and 
 thou wilt, perhaps, find it more easy than sometimBs to 
 attend to it, when some of thy callers are away. We 
 intend, staying at Shull till second day. I think I am a 
 good deal stronger for being here, though I cannot boast 
 very much at present. My cough is better, but it is most 
 tiresome in its determination not to go quite away. I feci 
 sure it is of no importance, but .should be very glad to get 
 rid of it, as it is a tease to myself and much more to John. 
 
 ''A little quiet settlement at home is very desirable 
 before we move again. I think thou hardly "knowst how 
 completely my confinement, and poor state since, have 
 prevented this, yet we wish very much to do what may be 
 most comfortable to thee, my dearest mother. It will, 
 indeed, be a help to be with thee; though there is 
 certainly much besides in the prospect of coming to 
 Earlham, which my weak mind can hardly bear. But I 
 hope to be stronger, body and mind, before I think of 
 really setting out. ****** 
 
 " Ever, thine own loving, A. B." 
 
ANNA BACKHOUSR 131 
 
 These touching lines were addressed to her 
 sister-in-law, Mary Gurney, on reading " A 
 Father's Welcome," six months after, it was 
 written : 
 
 " Sweet was the welcome, Mary ! Can it be. 
 Those tones of tenderness are heard no more, 
 The smile that beamed so lovingly on thee, 
 
 Lighting that Heaven-stamped countenance, is o'er ? 
 
 " Yes, thus it is ! ' Tis over ! He has run 
 His course, with aim unswerving on to life : 
 For him, the fight is fought — the victory won ; 
 For us remain the struggle and the strife. 
 
 " Then be it ours, to drink, those healing springs 
 Which fertilized the path where'er he trod — 
 Grave him that faith which to the Saviour clings, 
 His love to man, and fervent love to Grod. 
 
 " May we, like him, our work appointed see ; 
 
 Such precious grace. Sister, to thee be given — 
 That thus a " Father's Welcome" next may be 
 Still liolier welcome to the joys of Heaven." 
 
 A. B. 
 
 In the spring of 1847, her little girl was born, 
 whom she called Eliza Jane, and in the following 
 summer, accompanied by her beloved husband and 
 precious little ones, she visited her early and still 
 dear, but sadly altered, home ; and, oh ! how 
 touching it was to behold her there — her pallid 
 cheek, her wasted form, the soft lustre of her hazel 
 
1S2 BRIEF SKETCH OP 
 
 eye, rendered unnaturally bright by a warm hectic 
 glow — all told, too plainly, that she was come to 
 take a final leave of those scenes of her happy 
 childhood ; that her sun was going down " while it 
 was yet day." It would be difficult to describe 
 her as she then appeared, without seeming to sketch 
 an exaggerated picture. Though^the tear was often 
 in her eye, as the remembrance of the past came 
 vividly before her, and though her bodily sufferings 
 were not small, from cough, debility, &c., yet did 
 this youthful Christian's lovely countenance look 
 so serene, so placid and so Heaven-iound, that one 
 was almost ready to rejoice, that the short but 
 stormy voyage of life was nearly over, and bid the 
 little bark "God speed" into the port of ever- 
 lasting blessedness. After passing about eleven 
 weeks at Earlham, during which tJiere was but 
 little apparent improvement, her watchful and 
 anxious husband (by the advice of the medical 
 men, and in accordance with her own inclinations,) 
 was induced to try the effect of change of climate, 
 and accordingly, toward the latter part of the ninth 
 month, they set out for the Continent, not having 
 any very definite plan in view, but designing to 
 continue travelling south, until they met with a 
 more genial atmosphere. 
 
 The following extract from her foreign journal 
 describes her feelings at this interesting juncture : 
 
 "Nice, IQth mo., %lst, 1847. 
 " How long it is since I wrote last ! but I do not like 
 
ANNA BACKHOUSE. 133 
 
 quite 'to forsake my ]itti« history, and I will try and put 
 down a brief sketch of the past five months. Soon after 
 our return from Shull, we had a deeply interesting Tisit 
 from dear Dr. Chalmers, of which the particulaxs are 
 elsewhere — made most memorable by his sudden death 
 four days after he left us ! Our hearts were closely united 
 to him. I truly felt him fatherly, and his death was a 
 stunning blow. I continued but, poorly, but hoped the 
 change, to Norfolk would set me upj and consulting 
 Caleb Williams on the way, (at York,) we started for 
 Norfolk the fest of seventh m.onth, going round by 
 Kuncton. 
 
 ''What can I say of that touching arrival at dear 
 Earlham? Oh! how straage it was to find my mother 
 and Harriet the only inhabitants of our old home ! But 
 it would be in vain to endeavour to desca-ibe the blank, 
 which I thought increased every day during my ten week's 
 stay. I had rather dwell on that feeling of peace which 
 was remarkably over us. It was truly to be felt at every 
 moment, I was going to say. I was nearly united to my dear 
 mother, aad deeply interested in my beloved father's jour- 
 nals, with which she indulged me most liberaHy. Nothing 
 could exceed her kindness and aifection all the time we were 
 there. We paid a short visit to Aunt Catherine, at 
 Jjowestoft, and she returned with us to Earlham. It 
 was most interesting to be with her, dear creature, as 
 it always is. She has a house, at Lowestoft, just suited 
 to her needs, and it is no small comfort to thidk of her 
 being there. It was delightful to be with dear J. H. and 
 Mary, who seemed most prosperous, though the loss of 
 their little one was sad to me. However, I eould not but 
 feel in this trial, as in all others, that the Judge of the 
 
 N 
 
134 BRIEF SKETCa 01" 
 
 wtole earth most assuredly doeth right. Poor dear J. H, 
 had suffered much. It was touching to think how much ! 
 " My dearest hushand was obliged to leave me in about 
 three weeks, and I continued in a poor state of health, 
 cough, &c. ; so that, after ^weaning my little pet, John 
 came to me, and we went to London together for medical 
 advice. There, we saw Dr. S. Smith, who confirmed us 
 in the opinion, we had previously formed, that we must 
 spend the winter abroad. The next day, at Upton, came 
 the affecting intelligence of the sudden death of our 
 beloved Father Backhouse ! It took place at ShuU, and 
 was quite sudden, though hardly to be called unexpected, 
 for he had himself told my mother, only a short time 
 before, that he felt himself failing, and she was quite 
 prepared to expect he would sink in one of his fearful 
 attacks. To Mm, we have no doubt, it was the welcome 
 summons to perfect joy ! To us, it was one more heavy 
 blow, and truly we felt deeply bowed down under it. My 
 darling husband had to leave, of course, directly. I 
 returned to Earlham ; and our separation, at such a time, 
 could not but be truly painful ; but I seemed to have no 
 power to go to Darlington, and I was thankful to be so 
 spared as I was, in my quiet refuge at Earlham. Indeed 
 I ought most gratefully to acknowledge, that all through 
 these weeks, when it was impossible to dwell in anything 
 but low places, I was mercifully helped, day by day, and 
 all anxiety about the journey, or anything else, was 
 remarkably taken away from me, so that I was preserved 
 in great calmness and peace — a proof, indeed, of the 
 tender, pitying care of a loving Father. My great 
 concern was' — -if this journey should not answer, and my 
 health should quite give way: — am I safe ? After some 
 days of earnest desire for a true answer to this important 
 
ANNA BACKHOtrSE. 135 
 
 question, I became very peaceful on the subject — the 
 Saviour, I think I may say, being very precious to me, 
 and I felt that in my own utter unworthiness, I might 
 throw myself on his inexhaustible merits. We were 
 much helped through the parting days at Earlham. 
 Dearest Eliza came to us, which was quite a stay, and we 
 left Upton on the 20th of ninth month. Sarah Gumey, 
 and Chenda and Charles Buxton, were our delightful 
 companions for the first ten days, and since then, we have 
 been travelling on by Bordeaux, Pan, and Marseilles, to 
 this place. I am certainly better, though stUl very for 
 from strong; but there seems great hope that the journey 
 may answer the purpose intended. "We have enjoyed a 
 few quiet days here, and the treat is great of having my 
 dearest husband all to myself. Dear baby has been very 
 poorly, but is better ; still it is, of course, a care to travel 
 with such young children ! But in this, as in all other 
 things, we desire to commit our way to our merciful Father. 
 How tender has He been to me ! Surely I can say, ' He 
 has attended to my cry,' raised, as it often is, in weakness 
 of body and mind. May all teach me to depend more and 
 more upon Him for the supply of every need. 
 
 " Leghorn, llth mo., 30<A. 
 " I open my book to record another sorrow, which it has 
 pleased our Heavenly Father should come upon us. Our 
 precious little baby died last sixth day, at Pisa, after about 
 ten days' illness ! She had been in very poor health all 
 the journey, and though she seemed to get nicely again at 
 Nice, where we staid a fortnight, her disorder returned 
 just as we left^Grenoa, and by the time we got to Pisa, I 
 believe no human skill could have saved her, she was so 
 extremely wasted, dear little lamb. The Doetorj at Pisa,. 
 
136 BRIEF SKETCH OV 
 
 seemed to think we might take her to Eome, and I believe 
 his persisting in this, helped to blind me to her real state; 
 bat a change for the worse eame over her the very morning 
 we were to start ; her head had become suddenly affected, 
 and there was a great tendency to coQvulgions. I feel 
 truly thankful that we were spared this, feomt which I 
 shrank iaexpressibly. Most peacefully she breathed her 
 little life away on Sarah's lap, while her father and I were 
 ■watching her. I am tired, this morning, and cannot say 
 all I would about this event. . Her dear father and I have, 
 indeed, bitterly wept for our darling; and I have some- 
 times felt in my weak state of body and of spirits, as if I 
 should be almost crushed! But, our tender Heavenly 
 Father has not forsaken us. He has even lifted up the 
 light of his countenance upon us, and given, at times, a 
 feeling of peace, which cabne every thing ; so that 'I trust 
 we have been enabled to resign our little . one without 
 nmrmaring into the hands of Him, who lent us the 
 treasure for a short season. The question, is much before 
 me, why such repeated /chastenings visit us, with the 
 earnest desire that He who is pleased to inflict them, will 
 cause them to work for our profit, and draw us yet nearer 
 to Himself. My precious husband and I have been most 
 closely united in drinking this cup of sorrow, and I do not 
 wish for any one in the world beside him. We brought 
 our little one here to her grave on first day morning, and 
 fclt sweet peace as we stood by her Httle tomb«!' 
 
ANNA BACKHOTTSE. 135" 
 
 CHAPTEK X. 
 
 Thus one sorrow after another seemed to come 
 with crushing weight on her enfeebled frame ; but 
 "God is faithful." He did not suffer her to be 
 tried beyond what He himself enabled her to bear, 
 and the song of thanksgiving and praise was again; 
 and again poured forth from her submissive, loving,, 
 and devoted heart. A few of her letters from the 
 Continent, though they must necessarily carry the 
 reader back a little, will give the best d'escriptiorr 
 of this journey in pursuit of health. A.las ! how 
 often does it prove- a, vain, pursuit : 
 
 " Hotel Wergram, "> 
 "FABis,2Sd, 9th mo., lSi7.\ ■ 
 
 " My dearest Mother and Aunt Catherine : 
 
 " I know how glad you will be to hear we are safe, and 
 comfortably, at Paris. We find ourselves in the most 
 delicious warm air, wonderfully comfortable to my throat, 
 which is more in repose this morning, than for many weeks 
 past J and I am less tired than might be expected, for -we 
 came late last night. We have most comfortable rooms, 
 and are now going out for a drive. The children are quite 
 well, and hayeheenveri/ good so far. Johnny is charmed 
 with Paris. To me, dearest Mother, thou knowst it ia 
 almost too full of touching associations to be very 
 n2 
 
138 BETEP SEETCH OB 
 
 inspiriting — and I feel the effect of this — ^but I am thank- 
 ful, too, to be brought so far on our -way, and much enjoy 
 our dear companions. Altogether I am quite encouraged 
 about the journey, as I have caught no cold, and so enjoy 
 the air and change — bodily, I mean. 
 
 " I wUl try and write fully in a day or two, and then 
 send our further address, but plans are not yet determined. 
 The thermometer is at 78. We are called. 
 
 " Most lovingly, thine, A. B. 
 
 "Pabis, 9<^ mo., 24:th. 
 
 " My precious Mother : 
 
 "I must allow myself one line just to thee and 
 dear Hally, whom, I fancy, alone now, at Earlham. Thy 
 letter, received at Upton, was the triuest comfort to me ; 
 and I am so glad to think thou has beea pretty fairly 
 since I left thee. I hardly know how to think of thee 
 without me ; for I am sure thou must at times have missed 
 that deep sympathy irhich I seldom expressed, but I felt 
 that thou knew it existed, I do not mean to say / did or 
 said anything to help thee, my dearest Mother, but we 
 had such a tie in our constant all-pervading feeling about 
 that precious one — such a feeling && no one else could 
 fully have — that we cannot be separated without feeling 
 it very sensibly ; and while I have much to cheer me, thou 
 art left in that dear, lonely room, and I know what it is 
 for thee, at least I know in measure; yet I love to think 
 of thee there, and to call to Kcimd how help was so per- 
 ceptibly given to thee day by day — the waves will not 
 overwhelm thee — and I can fancy thou hast even thy 
 secret pleasures over the journals, &c. * * * * 
 
 :f;:|: ****** We hear, this morning,. 
 
ANNA. BACKHOUSES. 139 
 
 that dear Emma's happy spirit has escaped. I almost 
 fancy thee envying her a little I How very sweet is 
 the thought of another safe ! They were so dreading more 
 Buffering for her, that I am sure they wiU have much 
 thankfulness mingled with their sorrow. I am afraid dear 
 Eliza would only just be there in time. 
 
 " I am sitting in> our most comfortable saloon alone — 
 my dear companions gone to the Louvre. I am really 
 nicely; better, certainly, than at Upton, and much enjoying 
 the mild weather. We took the most delicious drive 
 yesterday — ^how Hally would have liked it — all down the 
 ' Cha,mps- Eljsees' to that fine entrance arch, and round 
 home by the ' Bois de Boulogne.' The sun was shining, 
 the fountain playing, the people in their pretty dresses. 
 It was delightful, dear Hally; and the air comforted me 
 so, that I could not fail to enjoy it. But to-day requires 
 more care. Dear H.'s letter a great treat. 
 
 " Pray, write directly to Bordeaux, for us, on first day 
 week. 
 
 " The Countess Pelet is out — ^fifty miles off — so I have 
 seen nobody. It is so strange to be here, in so new a 
 way. I think thou may be quite encouraged about me. 
 I am certainly well-suited at least, by travelling. 
 
 " Most tenderly, thy own, A. B. 
 
 "Patj, \Qth mo., Sfh, 1847. 
 " My dearest Mother : 
 
 "I have been quite longing to write to thee foE 
 days, and now, if I am not too sleepy, I will. I have so 
 liked fancying Aunt Backhouse and dear Jane with thee. 
 I do trust their visit has been a comfort, and I cannot 
 
140 BKtEF SKETCH OJ 
 
 doubt it, though I know what an effort it would be to thee 
 to see Jane at first, and how she would feel coming to 
 Earlham under such changed circumstances. * * * 
 
 * * * * j)o, dearest Mother, if. thou canst, write 
 me a little letter to Nice. I do long to know how thou 
 truly art, thy own self,- body as well as mind. Also, I long 
 to know how thy work progresses. 1' fancy thee getting 
 forward with the journals the second time of reading, and, 
 perhaps, thinking of beginning printing soon. I can 
 hardly believe it as I write it. It all seems so like a 
 dream ! only when I think of thee, my dearest Mother, in 
 thy loneliness, then it all becomes a reality These places, 
 do so put me in mind of your letters— and his sketches — 
 which I only wish I had looked over again ; but our life 
 is so perfectly different from yours — ^we make no acquaint- 
 ances, and except in the way of tract-giving, can do 
 nothing for those around us. I must indulge myself in a 
 little private word with thee — as I know thou wilt wish to 
 hear how I am really getting on — and I feel indeed I have 
 much to acknowledge with thankfulness. I have begun so 
 much more to enjoy things, than I did at first, and the beauty 
 of scenery is very congenial. My first thought about 
 scenery, and all small tilings too — ^flowers, fruit, &c. — is, 
 how he would have liked it. I am so constantly reminded 
 of his vivid pleasure in everything. I think thou can 
 easily understand, dear Mother, in a journey like this, 
 and made in a weak condition, that there are moments of 
 a good deal of discouragement, when I feel poorly in some 
 new way, or am anxious about the baby, as I have often 
 been, in her tender state, dear child j but I mention these 
 moments, because I like to tell thee how mercifully help 
 has been given ; there is such a sweet feeling pervading, of 
 
AifNA BACKHOUSE. 141 
 
 the lovmg-kmdness that is over us, that I csm. hardly help 
 acknowledging it to thee,, knowing how thou has sought it 
 for us. We have, indeed, everything to be thankful for ; 
 and I quite think I am getting steadily better, though 
 slowly. Oh ! how sweet it is to think of those we love so 
 dearly, being under the shadow of His wing, as thou art, 
 dearest Mother, and that under that we may all trust, and 
 Bot be afraid. 
 
 " Yesterday was rather disappointing, for it rained most 
 of the day,, and I could not get out at all. However, we 
 fixed to remain to-day, and it has been most delicious. 
 We took a wonderful long walk, for me, this morning, to 
 the fine old castle, and then to the park : the Pyrenees 
 Still chose to keep on their cloudy caps, but the river and 
 the beautiful green hiUs, in front, sparkled in the sun j 
 and nothing could exceed- the delightfulness of the air, as 
 we sauntered and sat about — such a climate is a luxury to 
 me — and as we intend to spend our Sabbath at Bagniers, 
 still further in the mountains, we do hope not to be finally 
 cheated of the Pic du Midi. We caught a scarlet speci- 
 men of an unmentionable, but very active, animal, on our 
 way home, which zeal in Natural History I hope John 
 Henry would approve. I think Mary would have laughed to 
 see our start in the afternoon — on two bare-boned Spanish 
 horses. However, we took a most lovely ride among the 
 wooded hiUs, the view ever bounded by the cloudy giants. 
 
 "I extremely enjoyed being oa horseback again j but 
 the whole affair was rather novel. I was obliged to keep 
 my parasol up, though the l)utt end had to act ooeasionally 
 SiS a whip; and the pace the beasts like, is a sort of jog- 
 teot; quite comfortable, doubtless,, when you are used to it, 
 
142 EEtEF SKETCH OP 
 
 biit peculiar at first. Occasionally, by dint of great effort, 
 we broke into a kind of short gallop. 
 
 " Dear Hally, wouldn't thee have liked to see us going 
 along, I first, and husband after me ? The cottage gardens, 
 as we passed them, looked most tempting, with their 
 grapes, figs, and medlars, but as the country people here 
 only speak patois, one cannot , communicate with them. 
 We have nice rooms, and live very well, on mountain 
 strawberries, trout from the river, and quails cooked in 
 vine leaves. I am afraid, if you were to see dear baby, 
 you would think her sadly pulled down. She is so thin, 
 poor child, and very weak. It has been so difficult to get 
 her right, but she is really going on satisfactorily now. 
 Johnny grows fatter every day, and enjoys himself 
 extremely. He is delighted with the oxen in the carts. 
 John says I must stop. To all our dear love. Please 
 write to Nice. We go to Toulouse, on the way to Ma*- 
 seilles. 
 
 " With dearest love, most affectionately, thine, A. B. 
 
 " MONTPELIER, \Qth mo., l&th. 
 
 " My dearest Mother : 
 
 " I was rather disappointed to receive no letter, 
 either from Earlham or Easton, at Toulouse. We do so 
 long to have some news of you, and it is now a fortnight 
 since John Henry's and Harriet's letters reached us at 
 Bordeaux ; but I hope we may hear at Marseilles, for we 
 seem to know sadly little about you all. We had a very 
 interesting visit to the Courtois, at Toulouse. We were 
 sorry we had brought no letter. However, we went te 
 call in the morning, and the l&dies soon, appeared one 
 
ANNA BACKSOtrSE. 143 
 
 after the other, and kindly believed at once who we were. 
 Directly they found whose daughter I was, they seemed as 
 if they could hardly express their interest and affection. 
 I gave them thy message, and they spoke most affection- 
 ately of thee. Soon the gentlemen appeared, warmer, if 
 possible, than their wives. Nothing would do but that 
 we must dine with them at 4 o'clock, and bring Johnny, 
 which, as I came away at 7, we were able to do. I wish I 
 could tell thee how delightfully they spoke of my dearest 
 Father. They poured out their love for him till I .hardly 
 knew how to bear it. Among other things, they told us 
 that he had been the means of entirely animating the anti- 
 slavery cause in Prance. 
 
 " ' He brought ' de Felice' to sound opinions on the 
 subject, and induced him to write a book, which is pro- 
 ducing the most remarkable effect, far more than anything 
 else that has ever appeared j' and they now consider that 
 the cause is gaining ground fast, and seem to have no 
 doubt of its ultimate success. 'Thus was your Father 
 greatly blessed,' said one of the brothers, 'in these last 
 years of his life, and you must tell your Mother, Mrs. 
 Grumey so.' 
 
 " They begged to be most affectionately remembered to 
 thee, and they seemed sadly disappointed that we could 
 not stay longer. We are spending a quiet Sabbath at 
 Montpelier, in a nice comfortable inn. We found, to our 
 surprise, that the road to Marseilles passes through 
 Nismes, so I hope we shall just call and see Justine 
 Benezet, to-morrow. We could not arrange to spend first 
 day there, indeed we had a very long, tiring day to get here. 
 Perhaps; oh some accounts, it is well not to have those 
 dear warm-hearted friends with us the whole day, as they 
 
144 BREEF SKETCH 01 
 
 would have been ; ba± liad w« knoml in time, we should 
 have been tempted to do otherwise. 
 
 " Dear little baby has been decitiedly better the la«t few 
 days, but she is very touchy stilly and I am afraid will be 
 so while we travel, as I think the constant change of milk 
 disagrees with her. Our plans are we feel, uncertain, till 
 we hear a little more accurately in what state Naples is. 
 I can't think what we shall do„ if we cannot go there. 
 The long Voyages are such disagreeable obstacles in the 
 way of Malta and Malaga ; but I hope we may be able to 
 pursue our first plan. 
 
 " Jackey is in high glee altogeth&r, but rather tiresome 
 and fretful, poor child, if he is long in the carriage^ 
 When we change horses, he entreats Scbutz to put him on 
 the saddle-biorse, and there, armed with the post boy's long 
 whip, he sits in testacies, the by-staaders, much amused, 
 as you may suppose. It is a^great relief that he has one 
 side of the canjage all to himself, where he can fidget to 
 his pleas-ure, and he is often outsid« a great deal. 
 
 " I let the maids change places a little while m the day, 
 so thaA Sarah gets an hoar csf two outside to refresh 
 herself. Both the maids have plenty to do; but they 
 behave extremely well, and hardly ever complain of any- 
 thing, while nothing can exceed their attention to me. 
 
 " I did not tell thee, that the Courtois thought Johnny 
 so extremely like his grandfather. It was quite delightful 
 to me,- that they saw the likeness so strongly, for it shews 
 how real it is. Thou wffuld have liked to see him at pl^ 
 with their eight children. One, a dear little girl, near his 
 own age, 
 
 " Pra-y, let dearest John Henry and Mary have this 
 letter. I long to write to them also, but as I am very 
 
AlUNA. BACKHOUSE. 145 
 
 tired to-day, I must not, I tiiiiik. Nine little larks, laid 
 on their backs and spitted through, made me wish for J. 
 H. the other day at dinner, but, generally, we see little 
 that is ornithological, except partridges and quails. We 
 gave some of John Henry's money to llie Courtois for 
 their valuable objects, which they liked very much. 
 
 "Dearest Mary, do write to me again soon (direct 
 G-enoa), and tell me everything. Dearest love to all. Of 
 -course, this will go to Aunt Catherine. I wonder which 
 is Jane Birkbeek's wedding-daiy ! at all events, dear love to 
 her and all the party, Forsters, A. Opie, Cousin L. A., John 
 and Laura, and dear Hally, whose handwriting I should 
 be very glad to see again. 
 
 " Ever, thy most loving child, A. B. 
 
 " I believe I have forgotten the bulletin of myself. My 
 •chest continues to be Ibettet, and my coUgh is less. I 
 certainly gain both flesh and strength, but still feel very 
 queer sometimes; yet I am, no doubt, much better, and 
 daily rejoice in the climate, though it is rather cloudy just 
 now. I am not so sensitive to cold as I was, which is a 
 great comfort, and John is niost careful of me. 
 
 to KltiHENDA BUXTON. 
 
 "AkleSj 10th mo., ISth, 1847. 
 " My dearest Chenda : 
 
 "We are arrived at such a comfortable hotel, in 
 good time, this evening, that I am tempted to begin an 
 epistle to thee, though I must not finish it till I reach 
 Marseilles ; for there, I do hope *e may hear something 
 from you. If it had not been for Aunt Catherine's letter, 
 at Toulouse, we should have had no Norfolk or London 
 o 
 
146 BEIEP SKETCH OF 
 
 news. Dear Sarah's, from Tours, iras mogt acceptable. 
 How long it seems since we parted, dear ! The account of 
 your journey was most pleasant. I thiiii you must have 
 really enjoyed it. I now long to hear of your being at 
 home, and a little family news would be most acceptable. 
 It is nearly a month since our start. It is not fast 
 travelling, is it, to be not quite at Marseilles; but the 
 journey has suited us well, and has certainly answered to 
 me. I am not only better, but have much more power of 
 enjoyment than I had, and some of the fine scenery has 
 been most congenial. I think dear baby is the only one 
 who is dissuited by travelling, and I fear she will not be 
 really right, till we are settled somewhere. Where that 
 may be, seems rather doubtful. I was a little overdone 
 and poorly yesterday evening, partly, I think, from the 
 effects of our visit to Toulouse. I wrote to my mother 
 about it and our seeing the ' Courtois.' It was only too 
 interesting and affecting to hear their lively impression 
 of my dearest father. To-day, we called on the dear 
 Eriends, at Nismes, who were delighted tcj see us; but 
 they, too, had hearts full of the same subject. They 
 were astonished to see I had a boy so great as Johnny ; and 
 Aunt Catherine would have enjoyed to see him hugging 
 an immense bunch of grapes, nearly half as long as him- 
 self, with which they uoould load him in spite of all I 
 could say. They were most splendid certainly, like our 
 hothouse grapes. My mother will like to know that poor 
 Lydia Majolier, who came to Nismes without knowing we 
 were coming, told me, with many tears, that she had just 
 lost her Mother. I am afraid she is very solitary in her 
 home, at Congenies. The boys' school looked very bright, 
 under its nice young master. Poor Justine was poorly; 
 
, ANNA BACKHOUSE. 147 
 
 but nothing could exceed their kindness and love, and we 
 found it difficult to get away from them. 
 
 " Marseilles, 10th mo., 20th. 
 "I turned so sleepy by the end of the last sentence, 
 that I was obliged to forego writing, and now here we are 
 at last ! It is the greatest treat to receive nine letters — 
 one delightful one from Aunt Buxton to thee, for which 
 pray thank her, with my dearest love, as I appropriated 
 it. I long, dear, to hear from thee. We are very glad of 
 the accounts being as good as they are, but I fear it is a 
 sad time still in London. Poor dear TJucle, I feel for 
 him. We had a most interesting visit to the amphitheatre, 
 &c., at Ajles- It was quite a treat to have a peep at such 
 real antiquities. The strangest thing to me, was the burying- 
 ground, with its hundreds of old. Koman coffins piled, in 
 all directions, the coffins so entirely remaining, what they 
 had held so entirely gone ! We had a nice, easy journey 
 here, after our sight-seeing morning, (and,, for once, I saw 
 all the lions with ease). The wind was very strong, 
 though warm, and I could not get outside at all, so I was 
 rather weary, but we were here by 8 o'clock, and I am 
 quite rested this morning. The accounts seem to be better 
 from Naples, so that, I hope, we may be still able to go 
 there — very likely by sea from G-enoa. It is such a 
 pouring day, I am afraid we shall see little of the 
 wonders of Marseilles, if we leave to-morrow, as I suppose 
 we shall, for Hyeres and Nice. We are having a shut-up 
 morning, over letters, &c. — a pleasant change. Letters 
 from my mother, Jane Fox, Aunt Catherine, John Henry 
 and Mary, and Sarah Gurney — all most welcome. I have 
 nothing particular to say of myself. I am often very 
 
145 BEIEr SKETCH OF " ^ ' 
 
 nicely indfeed, and certainly much stronger; my cough 
 and night perspirations both continue troublesome, but the 
 feeling in my chest is far more comfortable.. The maids 
 go on very well ; they are sometimes a little poorly, and 
 sometimes a little low with the fleas, but they behaye 
 extremely well, and have plenty ta do. Shutz continues 
 most efficient and useful. Johnny's extreme desire to get 
 the postillion's, long whip wherever we change horses, 
 prompts him to use all the Fifench in his possession, and S 
 hear him shouting from the box, ' PbstiUon, donnez moi, 
 si vous plait.' His admiration is for the rivers. When- 
 ever we go over one, he says, ' See, mama, isn't that a 
 petty iver?' The other day I promised him an apple, 
 when we got to the inn. Directly we drove up to the 
 door, he seized on it, by my leave. At that moment a 
 beggar came up to the window, ' Oh, mama ! se wants 
 somepen to eat. Sail I give her my apple?' 'If thou 
 likes, dear.' Instantly he popped it into her hand, and 
 was quite content. These stories for Aunt Catherine, with 
 my dearest love — let it go to her and Earlham, please., 
 " Thy most loving, A. B. 
 
 "Nice, IQth mo., 2Qth, 1847. 
 "My dearest Mother and Aunt Catherine: 
 
 "Your letters received here were most welcome.. 
 Letters are such a pleasure and comfort, as I can hardly 
 express, separated as we are from you all, and every 
 particular is most interesting! Thy encouragement, my 
 dear mother, is truly helpful, for sometimes faith and 
 patience are both a little tried ; though we have, indeed, 
 much to be thankful for. I am grieved to hear of dear 
 iiucy B.'s illness; f(W I fear^ from, thy account), it mjiat. 
 
ANNA BACKHOTTSE. 149 
 
 te very serious indeed. How kind of thee, dear mother, 
 
 to offer to take two of 's children. Poor A. ! she is, 
 
 indeed, to be felt for. You would have liked to see us at 
 our breakfast, this morning, and almost envied us, I think, 
 at our open window, looking straight on to the sea, the 
 sun- pouring in deliciously;. while you, I suppose, had 
 ■ each a good fire instead, to warm you. I thittb I told you 
 in my last, that we intended to stay here a few days. It 
 is quite pleasant to get a scrap of settlement, and we are 
 nicely established in beautiful sunny rooms — the nursery 
 just on the other side of the passage. There is not so 
 much beauty as I expected in the situation of this place, 
 but the sea is very lovely with its de&p hlue ! We are 
 much nearer to it than thou art, Asax aunt, at Lowestoft,, 
 and not in the heart of the town — quite an advantage.. 
 We arrived here on seventh day, after a sweet journey of 
 nine days from Marseilles^. We w€nt to Hyeres on the 
 way. It looked very tempting, with its fine gardens, of 
 orange trees; but I should think it would be a- dull place 
 to stay long at;, the sea is three miles off, which would be 
 a great loss, I think. I can hardly say how delightful it 
 was however, there and at other places, to see the real 
 blue Mediterranean, and to make, more and more acquaint- 
 ance with it,, as- we travelled on. Its brilliant colour, dear 
 mother, would charm, thee,, and now it is delicions to be 
 close to its waves,- The sun. is very hot; but I do not at 
 all long to stay here foE the winter, for. there is at times a 
 decidedly keen air, and I have no doubt the wind would 
 be really trying, further on ..in. the year. We found there- 
 was a highly esteemed English doctor here, and as there 
 were some things, (bathing, diet, &o.), -about which I 
 wished to ask advice, I was glad to take advantage of it, 
 q2 
 
150 BUrEI" SKETCH OF 
 
 and saw him yesterday. It was pleasant to find that he 
 had married one of the Daltons, who live near Darlington, 
 and knew all about the Backhouses ; so thdt he turned out 
 quite friendly and kind. I liked his doctoring he seemed 
 so very reasonable. He says much the same as the others 
 — that there is nothfng of importance the matter, but a 
 very low state of circulation, and he thinks the stomach 
 much out of- order, in which I quite agree with him. He 
 says it is just the case for a warm climate, which will do 
 what nothing else can. He recommends horseback, and 
 plenty of the open air, but no fatigue body or mind. I 
 had a warm sea^water bath yesterday, which, I think, 
 suited- me, and a capital ride on a nice horse. So you see 
 I am quite. devoted tataking care of myself. Dear baby 
 is much better ; but I intend to speak to him about her, 
 when he comes again; and, I think, we shall be ^U the 
 better for being under his care. You must not think I 
 am worse; it was not for that, I consulted him; but 
 because I thought that, /or once, a little medicine would 
 do me good. I am taking a tonic, and, he says, I am to 
 eat meat in plenty. He makes me exchange the vin 
 orcHnawe for Bordeaux claret,, which is not' stronger but 
 sounder wine. I have been on the shingly shore, this 
 morning, enjoying the waves breaking on to it. Now I 
 have my- luncheon, and then we are going to ride. Th« 
 children and maids take a nice walk after their dinner, at 
 2, and Johnny generally goes out besides, with his father, 
 or Shutz, in the morning. We dine at 6": Yesterday, 
 after dinner, I was overcome with sleep, owing to my ride, 
 bath, &c ; but after tea, I woke up, and we had a very 
 busy evening, I working and John reading. It was quite 
 disagreeable to go to bed at 10 o'clock. I write all these 
 
ANNA BACKHOUSE. 151 
 
 particulars, Because I think thej are what you best like to 
 know. * 
 
 "We had bftped to have met two of John's cousins,, 
 (the Church's), as we heard from one of them, that they 
 are likely to be here ; but we have seen nothing of them 
 yej;. We hardly know where to ask you to direct, as our 
 place for wintering is stilF uncertain. We both wish for 
 Naples and Palemo; of the climate of the latter every 
 one speaks well ; but whether we can go there with safety, 
 is uncertain. If you write by return, we think we should 
 catch letters at G-enoa; after that, Rome, where I think 
 we must go, if Only to hear about Naples. I must now 
 get ready for a ride. Dearest love to yourselves, J. H. 
 and M., and all. / 
 
 "Ever, your most loving, 
 
 A. Backhouse. 
 
 " Nice, Uth mo., ith. 
 
 " My dearest Mother : 
 
 " I must enclose Mary Ann's epistle, with a few 
 lines of my own, partly to say that I think her account of 
 me is not good enough," as my cough is certainly better, 
 though not gone, and John says I look much better, and 
 I am decidedly improved in every respect. We intend 
 leaving this place on second day, and, I think, we have 
 remained as long as desirable. It is most flat to get no 
 letters, but I hope we may have some at Glenoa, next 
 week. I hardly know how to write, I feel so in the dark 
 about you all. 
 
 "Yesterday, we took a charming' long ride into the 
 country ; and to-day, we are going boating. It sometimes 
 seems very odd to have the object of our lives a constant 
 
152 BRIEF SKETCH OP 
 
 4 
 
 holyday-maldng ; and it woulii not be comfortable, if there 
 was not a far stronger moti^ tli%n pleasure in it. As it 
 is, we do oiir very best to get all, the g^d we caa, and 
 nothin^an exceed John's care of me.. He is inost watch- 
 ful on all occasions,, so that it is impossible *r any one'to 
 be better attended to 'than I, am. Wg may not give away 
 any books here — which is rather«ad^but the gOTi^nfiieB^ is 
 most strict about it; and if jthe rule is bro^n, it is of no use, 
 for they are instantly given up to the priests by the people 
 themselves, who do not venture to read them. It is a 
 remarkably agrefeable looking population — the women so 
 neat and compact and nice-looking, and the men decidedly 
 interesting with their dark Italian faces. Last night there 
 was a great illumination, in consequence of the King 
 having granted liberty of the press and some other favours. 
 John said it was quite a beautiful sight, and the people 
 seemed so perfectly orderly, though in great glee. Johnny 
 is becoming a well-known character here, as he rides on 
 my horse, and marches .about the town with Schutz. His 
 beauty is sadly spoiled by the musquitoes, but he looks 
 fat and flourishing. You would be amused to hear him 
 (driving chairs as he used to do at Earlham), saying, 
 ' Now we'll go to Bordeaux ;' ' Now we'll go to Paris ;' 
 ' Stop, I must put on the sabot,' or ^ Now we've got to the 
 hotel, but we wont stop here ; they have'nt got nice beds' 
 — all his plays partaking of our present mode of life. 
 Dear -little baby is really nicely, and very sweet. Our 
 courier, Schutz, is most kind to her, and she is very fond 
 of him. 
 
 "When shall I hear again from thee, dear H'ally? 
 My very dear love fb John and Laura, and Uncle and 
 Aunt Forster! I hope thou redeived J.'s letter, which he 
 despatched a day or two since. Dearest love at Easton. 
 
ANNA BAOEHOUSE. 158 
 
 Oh, how I do long to hear again, but I dread what the 
 news may be, a^out poor dear Lucy Birkbeck. 
 
 "Ever, dtearest mother, thy most'lOvihg child, A. B. 
 
 " N. B. John says I am improved in my writing. I 
 hope thou tlmiks so al8o ! ,s. 
 
 *^' "Pisa, IMwto., 2M. 
 
 " My dearest Mother : 
 
 " After my letter to J. H. and Mary, I am sure 
 you will be anxious for further accounts of baby. She is 
 a little better, I am thankful to say ; but it has been a sad 
 attack, and if thou could see her_ poor little emaciated 
 body, thou would not doubt her having :been very ill. She 
 has certainly more power than a few days ago, so that I 
 no longer feel seriously anxious as to the result of this 
 present attack, but her whole state is a most delicate and 
 difficult one. She was so extremely reduced, with appa- 
 rently so little cause, (for the diarrhoea was far from 
 violent) ; the loss of flesh was so wonderfully rapid, that 
 I felt much alarmed on our first arrival here; and I am 
 sure thou would have been so too, had thou seen her lying 
 on my knee last seventh day, pale and sunk, her eyes half 
 shut, and her little mouth open and drawn up. As I 
 write I feel that she is very different now ; for though she 
 is very weak of course, she takes notice, and even plays a 
 little for a minute or two. She has still, however, a great 
 tendency to sickness-, so that it is difficult to nourish her, 
 poor little darling, but she has improved in this altogether. 
 Of course, it has been quite impossibLe to move; and I 
 hardly know how we are to accomplish the transit to 
 Kome, where I should be very glad to be settled ; but we 
 may, perhaps, get off by sixth day evening's' steamer; and 
 
154 BKIEP SKETCH OP 
 
 as we have again lovely weather, we Should be glad to take 
 advantage of it for our voyage. We have- no choice about 
 sea, as it will save us a six days' journey by land, quite out 
 of the case in her present condition. She has no teeth nearly 
 through, so that I fear we shall hav# her in a very delicate 
 state; but if we are settled at Rome for a. little time, I_ 
 trust we may see her get into a strongeraone. I am Very . 
 nicely indeed myself, and now that the rain has ceased,, 
 the air is delightful. I do not attefapt to take much part 
 in nursing darling baby, so that you need not fear my 
 being overdone. Nor do I think I am at all more anxious 
 than is quite reasonable, and, altogether, endeavour to 
 keep very quiet about her. Sarah manages her beautifully, 
 and Mary Ann is most willing to help, either with Johnny 
 or her. Schutz, too, nurses her almost by the hour 
 together, and a most capital nurse he is, while the dear 
 father's part is to help everybody, which he does most 
 effectually, so we are well off. Pray, go on writing to 
 Rome, as I quite expect we shall stay there for sometime^. 
 " Ever, dearest Mother, 
 
 " Thy most loving, A. B. 
 
 "TisA,llth mo.', 2,Qth, 1847., 
 " My dearest Mother : 
 
 " I am sure we shall have thy very near sympathy^ 
 when I tell thee that our darling baby's illness terminated 
 this morning in her peaceful death 1 Though she had 
 gained some strength, yet her disorder was never the least 
 really subdued; an,d yesterday afternoon I perceived it 
 had gained more power over her. However, the Doctor 
 still thought we might start to-day ; but when I "went to 
 her this morning, her glazed eyes told me a sorrowful tale«. 
 
A"NNA BACKHOUSE. 155 
 
 1 seut for the Doctor directly. He was alarmed, and went 
 for further advice. I held her, dear little thing, on my 
 lap; and aa she rolled up her eyes once or twice, I felt 
 that it would indeed be sorrowful, if we had to watch her 
 in convulsions, which were evidently approaching. I 
 could only ask that she might be spared suffering, and, in 
 this, we were mercifully dealt with; for about h^lf an 
 hour after, as she was lying on Sarah's lap, her father and 
 I watching her, she passed so quietly away that we could 
 not detect the moment when she drew her last breath- 
 We had a warm bath, &c., but all was unavailing, and we 
 were forced to believe at last, that the life of our little one 
 was gone ! I thought her looking very ill when I left her 
 the evening before, therefore the blow, though it came at 
 last rather unexpectedly, was not unanticipated. She 
 looks very lovely now, the expression of intense illness 
 gone, and her cheeks are even round again. There is no 
 burying-ground here, and we shall have to take her to 
 Leghorn, I suppose, on second day. It does seems sorrow- 
 ful, that we must leave that precious little form, and go 
 far from it ; but we do endeavour rather to think of the 
 spirit that 'soars on angel wing.' Of course, we are 
 brought very low by this trial, but do most earnestly 
 desire to yield ourselves wholly to the hand of love, which 
 is laid upon us ; and I am thankful that she was spared 
 further suffering, which she must have had, had she lived 
 a little longer. I wish you could see her as she lies now, 
 looking so peaceful ! 
 
 "Let this go to Easton, and dearest Aunt Catherine, 
 &c. I cannol; write to any one else; and I know how 
 you all will feel for us. My dearest husband takes the 
 tenderest care of me. 
 
 " Ever, thine most affectionately, A. B. 
 
156 BRIEF SKETCH OP 
 
 "Leghoen, 12th mo., lid, 1847. 
 
 " I am afraid thou hast thought me slow in ■writing, 
 but I felt as if I could not write, tilll received thy letter 
 about darling baby's • death ; and now it is come, most 
 sweet and helpful it is'^-really appreciating the sorrow, 
 and yet so cheering. Yes, dearest mother, I trust I have 
 been' enabled to submit to Him who has sent the blow, 
 and in many times of bitter sorrow, I may confess to thee 
 that He has been very near -us. Oh, it is sweet to feel 
 near to Him, and one can then almost rejoice in suiFering. 
 Thou knowst far more of this than I do, but it is a privilege 
 even to taste it. Indeed I have much to be thankful for; 
 though I would not wish thee to think, if I write cheer- 
 fuly home, that I do not need thy tenderest sympathy. 
 Oh ! what all these days will be to thee, my precious 
 mother ! May the strength be indeed sufficient for the 
 -day, as it will be doubtless. I am so glad we shall not be 
 at Rome on Christmas-dajf . It is a grand day there, but 
 quiet here. Do not suffer thyself to dwell on the details 
 of that sad week too minutely, and yet what is the use of 
 saying so? At all events, do not pain thyself with the 
 thought that anything more might have been done, for 
 ■surely so it was to he ! and, as thou says, every succeeding 
 sorrow of this sad year makes one afresh see mercy in his 
 being taken from such pain, to perfect glory ! As dear 
 Johnny constantly repeats out of that hymn thou taught 
 him — 
 
 "I long foT the joy of that glorious clime, 
 The sweetest and brightest and best !" 
 
 1 wish thou could hear him saying it often to himself in 
 bed ; it always makes me ,think of thee, particularly those 
 
ANNA BACKHOUSE. 15? 
 
 lines. As to the book, I hope nothing will discourage 
 
 Take courage, clearest mother, in the prosecution of this 
 thy great duty. 
 
 " I have hardly left room to say that I am nicely ; hut have 
 not got on so much, as I should haVe dcSie if 'ffe had not 
 been entirely confined to the house by violent rain for days. 
 ' It is clearing a littie now, and they say after this, we shall 
 have lovely weather. My cough continues much better. 
 Indeed it is almost nothing, and when I can get out I 
 shall soon be stronger. I can boast very little in this way 
 just now, but I have lost all uncomfortable feelings, so 
 that I hope I shall soon overcome my weakness. I have 
 not half said how I hope nothing will discourage thee in 
 thy work. We must not mind too much about it, nor 
 must thou expect to have every one .pleased. It will carry 
 
 its own weight with it. 
 
 " In dearest love, thine, A. B. 
 
 "Rome, I2th mo., %ih, 1847. 
 " My dear. Mother : 
 
 " Anna wrote to thee the day after our amval 
 'here, but as I find, the steamer sails to-day, I thought I 
 would just send a few lines, as you may like to hear from 
 me, how she has been since the lossof our little one. 
 
 "Before that affliction, she had sensibly improved; had 
 become stronger and stouter^ and her spirits had recovered 
 to a great degree their usual tone, so that she was really 
 able to enjoy the scenes we were passing through. She 
 felt herself decidedly gaining ground. Her anxiety about 
 the dear baby, at Pisa, and her grief on its death, have, of 
 course, told upon her delicate frame, but not more, I 
 p 
 
158 BRIEr SKETCH OF 
 
 think, than it was natural to suppose would be the ease, 
 and it is a comfort to know from what cause this painfully 
 retrograde movement arose, which shewed itself in an 
 increase of her cough and a general loss of strength. 
 Since our arrival here, we have consulted Dr. Deaken, 
 who has (even in this short time) considerably relieved 
 her cough, and I quite hope a little quiet and (if possible) 
 a warmer air will soon restore her to her former state. 
 As we are anxious to secure both these points as soon as 
 possible, we shall probably leave early next week for 
 Naples, and if we do not find that place suit, and Sicily 
 should prove in too nnsettled a state, we then intend to 
 proceed to Malta. We find it almost as difB.cult to ascer- 
 tain the true position of Naples here as in England. 
 
 "You can place no dependence on the papers, and no 
 letter containing aay unfavorable account would be allowed 
 to pass the Neapolitan post-office. 
 
 " Jacky is very well, and generally in high spirits. We 
 'find it impossible to make him comprehend what has 
 bedome of his little sister. When we told him she had 
 gone to Heaven, he asked, ' Is the ' Campo Santo' Heaven ? 
 Will Johnny die in the Campo Santo?' anS many ques- 
 tions of a similar nature. 
 
 " Since I wrote the above, we have had an encouraging 
 visit from Dr. Deaken, who thinks dear Anna already 
 improved, and that her cough will soon yield to his reme- 
 dies. He is more than ever confirmed in the opinion that 
 it is a nervous one. 
 
 "We were glad to find so many letters on our arrival 
 here. I hope, in future, we may be able to give you our 
 direction more regularly. 
 
 " With dear love to Harriet, John and Laura, and all 
 
ANNA BACKHOUSE. 159 
 
 your party, in -wEich Anna joins, believe me, tbine, very 
 affectionately, J. C. Backhouse. 
 
 " I have only time to add one word of dearest love. 
 John has told thee all about us. I really feel encouraged 
 about my cough, as this Doctor's medicines have certainly 
 touched it thoroughly, which no others have ever done. 
 
 " I may indeed give a comfortable account of myself. 
 The remembrance of darling baby mingles closely with 
 every thing, but I have many sweet thoughts about her ; 
 and I have had more power of being interested in things 
 here than I expected; so that I hope the spirit of cheerful 
 submission, for which, I believe, I sought, has not been 
 entirely withheld; and day by day we have reason to 
 acknowledge the tender love that is over us. 
 
 " So do not be uncomfortable about us, dearest mother. 
 I have hardly written any of my little book. It has been 
 so impossible, in our unsettled life; but I will try to do it, 
 if we settle a little at Naples. 
 
 "In dearest love, thy most affectionate, A. B. 
 
 "KoME, Vlth mo., bth, 1st day^. 
 " My precious Mother : 
 
 " I think those sweet and solemn words were not 
 only given thee for those who were present, but rather 
 remarkably for thy 'chastened' chUd at a distance; and, 
 indeed, they have been very sweet to me this morning. I 
 really could not keep them from John, for I dared not — ^it 
 was so intended for. us — and he has been so truly bowed 
 low, dearest mother. ******** 
 - " I am afraid thy influenza was more troublesopie than I 
 knew ; but I am very glad to hear from John Henry that it 
 
160 BRIEF SKETCH OF 
 
 is gone. I am so pleased that thou went over to Lowes- 
 toft; for, though I do appreciate the effort it cost thee, yet 
 it seems to have been such a comfort to Aunt Catherine, 
 that I am sure thou will be really repaid. Dear creature, 
 I am afraid she is not very strong ; but her letters are 
 most bright. All thou tells me of thy own work is truly 
 interesting. My dear love to Uncle Forster ; and do tell 
 him how much I should like to hear of his helping in this 
 work. Oh, how deeply interesting a one ! 
 
 " But thou wilt be wishing to know about us. After 
 taking a farewell of our precious baby's grave, we embarked 
 on the steamer from Leghorn, on 6th day evening, and 
 had a most beautiful smooth passage to Civita Tecchia. I 
 was not the least ill, and Johnny slept sound enough, but 
 poor Mary Ann suffered sadly, and Sarah a little, 
 
 " We were a long while landing in the morning, and I 
 was excessively tired and exhausted; but a good breakfast 
 at Civita Vecchia set me up, so that I was quite able to 
 start at 10 o'clock. It was a melaiieholy driVe, my dear 
 mother-r— the ,/?rs*, without my darling, (except to her 
 funeral). However, dear John came inside to me. It 
 was a most lovely day, and altogether things were made 
 easier than we might have expected, as th«y always are, 
 and we arrived at this comfortable hotel,. ' De Russie,' in 
 good time for dinner. We had a fine view of St. Peter's^ 
 as we drove in, and it was most striking; but I am glad 
 to be sheltered in our quiet inn, and to feel that the duty 
 of seeing anything does not begin to-day. We feel very 
 quiet ; and with a little time and patience, I think, I shall 
 recover the tone of body and mind, which this blow has, of 
 course, brought low. I am sorry thou wast made anxious 
 by anything I said about myself. I do faithfully tell thee 
 the truth ; and before dear baby's illness, I was sensibly 
 
ANNA BACKHOUSE. l&l 
 
 getting on. Of couMe, this shock has weakened me, and 
 prostrated the little energy I had acquired. But it is a 
 great comfort that I am not in any way made ill by it. 
 My. chest is very comfortable, but, I must confess, still to 
 a cough, which is most troublesome in the evening and at 
 night, though hardly at all any gther part of the day. I 
 feel sure it is not from the lungs. 
 
 "We have always intended to see a first-rate medical 
 man here (at least, we have very high testimonies about 
 him), on the subject of climate, where we ought to go, &c..; 
 for nothing can exceed the contradictory reports we hear 
 about every place almost. I hope he will be able to 
 help my cough, and then I might have good nights again, 
 which would be a comfort. It shows how nervous it is, 
 that it has been much worse ever since I began to be so 
 anxious about darling baby. Dear John Henry's letter 
 was most acceptable, so are Harriet's and Chenda Buxton's. 
 It is very sad to'^hear of dear Lucy's continued illness. 
 
 " With nearest love, I remain, thine, most truly, A. B- 
 
 "B.OME,12tKmo.,14:th,lS4:7~—Bdday. 
 " Dearest Aunt Catherine : . 
 
 "We intend leaving Rome to-morrow, and, I think, 
 I must send one more dispatch before we set out. I am 
 sure I have great reason to be thankful for the progress I 
 have made, during the time I have been here. Certainly 
 Dr. Deaken has treated me very skiUfuUy. He will hardly 
 let me eat anythisg bat meat, and orders very little vege- 
 table; but I am consoled by being allowed to feast on 
 oranges, for which I have quite a craving — they are so nice 
 here. He quite approves of our going to Naples now, but 
 he does not suppose we can stay there much more than a 
 p2 
 
162 BRIEF SKETCH OF 
 
 month, as the winds then become so cold. I am greatly 
 afraid that the disturbed state of Sicily will prevent 
 our going to Palermo, which every one unites in saying is 
 fliuch the finest climate for the early spring. Every where 
 else there seem to be such very cold winds ; but we shall 
 see our way, I hope, when the time comes ; and we may 
 get there after all. We are much favoured in weather. 
 It has generally been beautiful, though it is only for two 
 or three hours in the middle of the day that it suits me to 
 go out — ^the mornings and evenings are so cold. However, 
 the days are nearly at the shortest, and I long for the 
 advantage of their lengthening. Yesterday, I saw some 
 of the fine sculptures at the Capitol, which was a great 
 treat. I do not attempt the larger galleries, as, we think, 
 they would be too much foi; me; but I have tasted just 
 en.ough to make me feel what a field of interest is re^y 
 for us here, .whenever we are a little more free to explore 
 it. I have, of course, often been very low ; but on the 
 whole I am quite' as' comfortable as I could expect to be; 
 and the relief of having my cough so much better, is so 
 very great, that that is in itself helpful even to the spirits, 
 I had*begun to be so extremely worn by it. Now I sleep 
 delightfully. John and I have just been taking a walk 
 in the Borghese gardens, which are near here — a lovely 
 place, with seats for poor old people like me to repose 
 upon. It was beautifully warm. I was sorry I had 
 forgotten 'my parasol, though I did not find thy plaid 
 shawl too warm over my thick satin frock. The shawl 
 looks very nice, and is.most useful. I wish I could shew 
 thee the beautiful fountains, with which these gardens are 
 interspersed — the sounds of running or dropping water, 
 everywhere, would just please thee. It makes me rather 
 
ANNA BACKHOUSE. ' 163 
 
 sad to see the ladies walking about with their, little girls. 
 How many happy dreams of future cajmpanionship, I had 
 with my little Tot; but, dear child, I believe she would 
 have suffered much had. she lived; so,' I am sure, I ought 
 not to wish her back ! I hope some one wrote to dear 
 Aunt E. Fowler, to tell her about it. I had a most kind 
 letter from her to-day, and intend to write to her soon. 
 She will sympathize with us, I know. How I do hope 
 thou dost not find the cold Weather very trying : certainly 
 Italy is very different from England, though it has its cold 
 winds. I enjoy to fancy thee in thy Lowestoft home, and 
 can do it so easily now that I know it all. What a pleas- 
 ant succession of visitors thou hast had. Pray, give out 
 very dear love to Uncle and Aunt Cunningham. I should 
 enjoy to hear again from them. Remember me parti- 
 cularly to Esther. If she ever writes to Howson now, I 
 wish she would tell her about us, with a particular message 
 from. me. I think thou hast every reason to be encouraged! 
 about my health. / am, more so than I ever was (though 
 I am rather weak now), because, I believe, the irritation 
 of the mucous membrane is allayed in a way it never was 
 before ; and the tonic, lAich is quinine and steel and some 
 mineral acid,, evidently suits me, and gives me power. I 
 cannot describe the relief of so nearly losing that wearing 
 cough. Please let my mother have this at once. I hope 
 to write to her when we get to Naples, which we shall 
 probably do on 6th day evening. 
 
 " Most affectionately, A. B. 
 
164 BRIEF SKETCH OF 
 
 "Naples, 12th mo., ISth, 1847. 
 
 " My dearest Mother : 
 
 " Thou wilt be glad to hear that we arrived safely 
 at Naples, and are located in a very coinfortaMe inn, 
 commanding a lovely view of Mount Vesuvius) the beau- 
 tiful bay, &c. If the cold winds will but keep away, I 
 think the place will suit us very well, and we are both of 
 US glad to get here. The journey was quite easy and 
 very ii^teresting — just the road which Paul travelled when 
 he was going to Rome ! Abundance of ruins every where, 
 and some lovely views the latter part of the way. 
 
 " I am rather tired to-day, and am glad to get into nice 
 quarters. I am sure thou would admire the orange 
 gardens, laden with their beautiful fruit, which is fast 
 ripening; aiid a louc/h of oranges in the carriage is a most 
 agreeable travelling companion. 
 
 " We have uninterrupted lovely weather, though the air 
 is very cold, morning and evening ; but I never attempt 
 going out, except just in the middle of the day. Still it 
 is delicious to see the sun all day long, and I am sure 
 thou and Harriet would enjoy it. My cough continues 
 wonderfully better, though it is not absolutely gone. I 
 have capital nights, and I hope I shall soon get a little 
 stronger, as the tonic medicine suits me so well. 
 
 " Anna begs me to finish this, as she is rather tired by 
 her journey to-day, and the letter has to be sent very soon 
 to the post. 
 
 "I can fully confirm the good account she gives of 
 herself: her nights now are excellent, almost without 
 cough or perspiration, and she has abeady gained strength 
 under Dr. Deaken's tonics, which, considering what she 
 
ANNA BAOKHOtTSE. 165 
 
 has gone tLrough, is almost more than I could haye 
 exj)ected so soon. 
 
 "Jacky is quite well, much interested about tlie 'burning 
 mountain and the castle below our windows, where his 
 great Uncle General Church was imprisoned for some time. 
 
 "This is a shabby note to send, but we thought you 
 would like to hear of our arrival. 
 
 " In great haste, thine, very affectionately, 
 
 "J. C. Baokhotjse. 
 
 " Naples, 1st mo., 2«?, 1848. 
 
 "These marked days so extremely call thee to mind, 
 that I cannot refrain from sending thee a few lines this 
 morning. Oh, my precious mother [ what these hours 
 must be to thee as they pass along ! I doubt not almost 
 every one can be traced. I have Jieartily felt being away 
 from thee at this time; for though I could have done 
 nothing for thee really, yet, at least, I could have 
 shared thy sorrow in some measure. But it is a mercy 
 that we may commend One another to our compassionate 
 Father oftener than the day ; and this, in my poor way, I 
 have indeed done. Oh ! I do not doubt that strength has 
 been given thee proportioned to thy need, and in that, I 
 desire to repose for thee ! I long to hear of thee, but I 
 do not expect thou wilt be in a mind for much writing. 
 Mary Ann is now copying the little that I have written 
 in my book. I have only brought it down to the time he 
 left us for America. I believe I must not attempt doing 
 more just now, nor do I mind much about it, as thou 
 knowst in fact so perfectly every succeeding year. I do 
 not think thou wilt find anything in it that will be useful 
 to thee, but I thought I would just send it, such as it is.. 
 
166 HRIEF SKETCH OP 
 
 I have continued very nicely, though not getting on as I 
 should have done had the weather been more favourable. 
 However, I felt like a different creature, for being able to 
 get out on a donkey, yesterday ; and to-day it is lovely, so 
 that I hope we shall be out a great deal. Such a rainy 
 time is most uncommon at Naples. I think we shall go to 
 Palermo very soon, and there we intend- to settle down. 
 We have seen nothing here yet, of course; but John 
 thinks I should be able to enjoy every thing much more 
 on our return from Sicily, than now, when they are a little 
 more than we know how to manage. 
 
 " We -had a £ne view of Mount Vesuvius burning, the 
 other night; the red lava pouring down its sides, was 
 beautiful, while the stars were bright above. Johnny 
 wanted to know, ' When that burning mountain throws 
 up stones, will they spoil the stars V 
 
 "He looks a little pale from being so much indoors, but 
 is quite well and very merry, full of play with Schutz, 
 who is most kind to' him. Indeed he is to all of us. 
 Nothing -can exceed his attention to me, only is he greatly 
 concerned, that I will have suoh good fires, which, he says, 
 make me weak. To-day,I really do not want one, for the 
 sun is pouring in, and -the room is yery warm; so we are 
 a little better off than you. Johnny is much amused at 
 his window by watching the different shows that come 
 along, especially Punch and Judy, which is a most frequent 
 visitor. I long for thee and Aunt Catherine to hear his 
 bursts of delight. His education is not entirely neglected. 
 Yesterday, being first day, he took to saying all the hymns 
 he knew, and his father and I were really pleased to find 
 how nicely he knew them— five or six quite well. * * * 
 « Ever, my dearest Mother, thy own loving, A. B." 
 
ANNA BACKHOUSE. 16T 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 After receiving such flattering accounts of ira- 
 provement in the health of this cherished invahd, 
 from her own pen as well as her husband's, it 
 would be vain to attempt to describe the efiect of 
 the following letters on her relatives and friends in 
 Englandj who were beginning to anticipate, with 
 heartfelt pleasure, her probable return to them 
 again, at no very distant period : 
 
 TO E. P. GUBKET. 
 
 On board the Bull-Dog,, war steamer. 1 
 
 Off Palermo, 1st mo., nth, 1848. j 
 
 My beloved Mother : 
 
 I scarcely know how to write, or to find words to 
 convey the tidings of the stunning blow, with which it has 
 pleased our Heavenly Father to visit me. My precious 
 Anna breathed her last, on board this ship, this morning, 
 about 12 o'clock ! 
 
 We have not been able to write for some days, to tell 
 you that we were almost obliged to leave Naples, as the 
 cold winds and continued confinement to the house did not 
 at all suit dearest Anna. Though we had a rough voyage 
 here, she seemed benefitted by it, and her cough, which 
 the dull weather at Naples had brought back, again almost 
 left her. 
 
168 BRIEF SKETCH or 
 
 X)a 7th day, we were obliged to come on boaord this 
 boat; and yesterday dearest Anna seemed nicely, and 
 «njoyed a walk on deck. Last night she slept well, and 
 went on deck agaiji, about 11 o'clock, this morning. Soon 
 after this, Schutz, wha had slept in another vessel, came 
 on board and told her tiiat Mary Ann was not at all 
 comfortable where she was. This evidently distressed her, 
 and she begged me to ask permission of the captain for 
 her to come to this ship. This I obtained, and she followed 
 me to speak herself to the captain. On going back to the 
 chair, she complained of shortness of breath. I got her a 
 glass of water, but the feeling still continuing, she begged 
 to be laid on deck. Two medical men were on board, who 
 gave her every assistance. Ether,, mustard plasters, hot 
 water, &c., were applied, which revived her for a time. 
 She soon became aware of her state, and said she 'was 
 going to Jesus,' and 'to be with her dearest father,' and 
 that she ' felt verif comfortable^ though it was a strange 
 place to die in.' She called for Sarah, and begged her to 
 take care of Johnny ; then kissed him, and told him that 
 if he was a good boy he would go to Heaven, &c. She 
 then reco^ized.Mary Ann, who had just come on board: 
 repeatedly said she felt very comfortable, and soon passed 
 quietly away! It was a most solemn time! The passen- 
 gers who stood axoand were truly kind and feeling. It 
 still seems like a dream. I can scarcely believe in the 
 reality. Surely if ever a spirit was ripe for Heaven it 
 was hers ; and may the thought of the unutterable joys 
 she is now a partaker of, with her dearest father and her 
 child, in some degree enable me tp bear with resignation 
 this overwhelming blow. 
 
 •'It is the greatest comfort to me, that it was dearest 
 
-Anna bACkhoitsB. 3.69 
 
 Anna's decided wish to come here. We did not conclude 
 to" come without consulting our Italian and English friends, 
 "Who all thought, in our circumstances, we were wise in 
 doing so. Dearest A. said she felt most peaceful in the 
 prospect, and that the verse, ' There shall no evil befall 
 thee,' &c., had been broilght to her mind in reference to 
 this journey. I cannot now write more, or to any one 
 else, except -to Beechwood. How dear Aunt C. will feel it 
 —indeed every one. 
 
 Witli dearest love to John Henry, Mary, and all, thj' 
 dee.ply afflicted son, J. C. Backhouse. 
 
 ISth. — ^I could not send this letter yesterday. This 
 morning I have followed the precious remains to the 
 •cemetery, where, for the present at least, thej must repose. 
 The captain and soine of the officers accompanied me, and 
 were most kind and feeling. Nothing can exceed the 
 attention of Captain Key. I do not yet know what I shall 
 do ; but, of course, I shall return home as soon as possible. 
 , I will write again soon. I sc^eely know whether I have 
 •frritten sense. I feel altogether so stunned by the 
 suddenness of the shock ; but yesterday she was alive and 
 apparently well— to-c?o^ she sleeps in her grave ! May I 
 be enabled to seek consolation where alone it can be found. 
 
 Palermo, \&t mo., 24:th, 1848, 
 My dear Mother : 
 
 We are still at this memorable place, but I htfpe 
 we shall be able to leave to-morrow for Naples, from which 
 we shall proceed home with as little delay as possible. 
 For a week we have been on board the Bull-Dog, but as it 
 
 Q 
 
170 BRIEF SKETCH OP 
 
 was extremely crowded (though the captain and officers 
 did all in their power to make us comfortable), and as 
 Johnny had got a cold which did not improve on board, 
 we came on shore the day before yesterday, and have found 
 the comfort of the quiet of this inn. It is a week to-day 
 since my most precious one was taken from me, and yet I 
 can scarcely belieTC in the sad reahty. It was an event 
 so sudden and so unlocked for by us, and I believe by 
 herself also! 
 
 For her we cannot mourny for she was most ripe for 
 Heaven; but to me, and to my child, the loss is indeed 
 overwhelming ; yet I desire not to murmur, but to receive 
 all these dispensations as a proof of our Heavenly Father's 
 love. How true is the sentence in thy addition to my 
 Aunt B.'s letter to dearest A., of the 1st, which I have, 
 this morning received, 'We are commencing with a 
 year of the contents of whose unseen pages we know 
 nothing.' ************* 
 
 Naples, 26th. 
 
 We arrived here this morning. What my future plans 
 may be, is a little uncertain, as I am very anxious, if I 
 can, to get the dear remains removed to Leghorn before I 
 leave, and should have waited at Palermo for that purpose 
 could I now have accomplished it. I hope, however, in 
 the course of a fortnight, I may be able to effect this, 
 during which time I shall probably remain here, or in the 
 neighbourhood, and then, with the exception of a few 
 days I shall be obliged to stay at Leghorn, I intend to 
 proceed direct to Earlham. •*****•** 
 I have, this morning, received a large packet of letters. 
 It is most touching to think that she to whom they are 
 
Ai^NA BACKHOUSE. 171 
 
 addressed is now no more t******** 
 I was glad to hear of John Grurney's prosperity, and hope 
 he may long be spared a trial like mine. 
 With dearest love to all, 
 
 I am, most affectionately, J. C. B. 
 
 BETTER rBOM H:. a. %•• TO HER SISTEX. 
 
 Palermo, January l^th, 1848. 
 I must try to write you, but I know not how. Oh, 
 when I tell you that my precious liiistress is gone ! I can 
 hardly believe I have my senses, to be sending such news 
 to you. I am sure yoii will all feel for me in this very, 
 very great trial. We arrived at this place, Palermo, last 
 Wednesday, the 12th. We left Naples the day before by 
 steamer, and had a most trying passage — aU very ill, 
 except my dear mistress, and she was really nicely, only 
 very tired, as might be expected ; but I cannot enter into 
 particulars now. Well, we stayed at the hotel until 
 Saturday, 15th, when Mr. and Mrs. Backhouse, master 
 Johnny, and Sarah, went on board the "Bull-Dbg," man- 
 of-war; there was not room for us all, so that I, with 
 Schutz, went on board the "European." My dear 
 mistress spoke so kindly to me, and asked me if I would 
 mind going, as she could not spare Johnny, and she 
 thought Sarah had better be with him. I felt uncomfort- 
 able, but, of course, I did not say so to Ker. It was a wet 
 night, but she was carried on board in a chair by two men. 
 I heard nothing of them on Sunday; but on Monday, 
 feeling uncomfortable, I sent a message to her, by a man 
 who was going from one vessel to the other, to ask if I 
 might be with them, in the course of the morning. I 
 
172 
 
 BRiEi' sketcjh: of 
 
 went in a boat, and almost the first thing that met my 
 eyes, on coming on, board,, was my precious mistress, lying 
 on the deck ! She had beea waiting and turned feint; but 
 the Hionjent she saw me, she said, " Oh, Mariann ! I was 
 afraid I should not see thee again, come and kiss me." I 
 • did so, and she said, " Don't go away. Thou hast been 
 a faithful friend to me. It is nearly over, I shall soon 
 be gone." I cannot describe my feelings. There were 
 three doctors on board. I said, "is there nothing you 
 can do? do try." They had gi^en her ether, &c. I 
 had all her clothes cut through directly, thinking they 
 inight be tight.. She was sick and seemed relieT.ed, and 
 said a great deal to my poor master and the doetorSj. so 
 calmlyand beautifully ! She spoke to Mr. Backhouse, and 
 asked him if he had not better, after she was gone, try. to 
 find out the cause of her illness. Then she asked for 
 Johnny, after, taking some more ether was again sick, and 
 then all was over .'' Poor Mr. Backhouse,,, his trial aud 
 grief are great. Oh ! I shall never forget that day— 'Such 
 numbers around us ; but the captain was most kind, and 
 Lady Mountedgcombe also. We had nothing but carpet- 
 bags on board. The captain had a place made at one end 
 of the ship, and there I did my very best for the dear 
 remains, with the help of Sarah and the kind Lady's old 
 nurse. The coffin was ready by the evening, and she 
 looked sweeth/, as she always did. Poor master came in 
 to look at her, and the coffin was afterwards fastened 
 down, and the next morning, at 8 o'clftck, was taken on 
 shore in a boat, by English sailors— Mr. B., the captain, 
 officers, and Schutz following in another boat. I don't 
 know anything yet, but don't think we shall, leave my dear 
 mistress here; how glad I shall be to get back to England; 
 
ANNA BACKHOTISE. 173 
 
 but, oh ! the paiu of returning without this my hestfriind 
 — no one knows how dear she was to me. I feet almost 
 as if it cannot be. ******«#*« 
 
 Your truly affectionate sister, 
 
 Mariann Lincoln. 
 
 setteh fhoh s. g. to heu pakests. 
 
 Naples, 1st mo., 29th, 1848. 
 I thought you would most likely be anxious about me, 
 as, no doubt, you have heard of the dreadful revolution in 
 Sicily, and I recollect- mentioning in my letter to Samuel, 
 that we were going there. However, we have, at last, got 
 away. What an awful time it has been ! I never, never 
 shall forget it. After being there two days, we were 
 hurried off- to an English man-of-war, to preserve our 
 lives. What a liight that was ! cold, and almx)st dark, we 
 were all hurried off" in boats to the ship — of couis^ypoor 
 accommodations for so many. I should say, that all the 
 English thut were staying in that place went. The officers 
 kindfy gave' up th^ir cabins to the ladies, so' that dear 
 mistress had a comfortable one. I, with many others. Had 
 to manage as we could. I l^y on the floor without taking 
 off my clothes for a week. But I have some melancholy 
 news to tell you ! . It was seventh day morning when we 
 went on board : on first day dear mistress seemed" nicely : 
 in the evening, when she came to bed, she said, "Really, 
 Sarah, I feel so much better, and my cough has been so 
 nicely aU, day : it is very odd, is it not ?" The next 
 morning, when I dressed her, she was so cheerful, and 
 several times said how glad she was it was such a fine day ; 
 she should be able to go on deck, and she thought it would 
 q2 
 
174 BBIEP SKETCH- OF 
 
 do her so mueH good.. She did go, but she had not walked 
 long before she was taken faint. I ran down to the cabin 
 to fetch her smelling bottle ; when I returned, I found her 
 laid on the deck in a sort of fit I There were three 
 doctors on board — all came to her assistance— but it was 
 of no use; and I think in less than one hour, all was 
 over! She was quite sensible that she was going-r-so 
 sweet and so prepared to, meet her Saviour. She spoke to 
 us all, and bid us farewell.- Oh, what a scene it was ! I 
 never, never, shall forget it. The captain was very kind. 
 He had a place enclosed at one end of the deck with the 
 sails. There was the death chamber ! There we did what 
 we could for the dear remains ! The sun ceased to shine; 
 it rained, and the wind blew in upon us ; and what with 
 the ringing of bells, the firing of cannons, part >of the 
 town in. a blaze, and the consciousness of the great blood- 
 shed that was going on, it was the most awful scene I 
 ever witnessed ! Her coffin came about 9 o'clock in the 
 evening.i She was put into it, and then she looked beau- 
 tiful, and seeme(^, to have something to shelter her from 
 the storm. Schutz stayedwith her all night : it was a 
 very stormy one. The next morning, about 8 o'clock, 
 they were obliged .to.-bury her. It seemed such hm-rying 
 work. What a funeral procession it was ! in hoats, across 
 the sea : it goes tcmy heart while writing it. . 
 
 EXTRACT EKOM J. C. B. S. JOURNAL. 
 
 " The morning after our arrival at Palermo, the revolu- 
 tion, which had partially begun the day before, broke out 
 in earn3st. 
 
ANNA BAOKHOirSE. 175 
 
 " This was in fact, as we afterwards understood, the one 
 which had been fixed upon for its commencement, but 
 accidental circumstances hastened its development. 
 
 " For three days we were confined to the house, by the 
 disturbed state of the town ; and the noise of cannons, 
 and the loud ringing of bells^ which frequently greeted 
 our ears, and occasionally the bursting of shells, were any- 
 thing but agreeable, though, from the situation of our 
 hotel, we did not apprehend any danger. Notwithstanding 
 this, dearest Anna often said, how much more comfortable 
 she felt since our arrival; and her cough, which had been 
 troublesome at Naples,^ again^ nearly disappearefi. 
 
 " On the evening of the third day; several Neapolitan 
 war-steamers were descried in. the horizon, and it became 
 evident that the hopes of the Palermotans, that no troops 
 could be spared from Naples, were shortly to be crushed. 
 Soon after this, the captain of the 'Bull-Dog' came to 
 the hotel and advised all the English to go on. board his 
 ship. after dusk, as it was impossible to say what steps the 
 steamers might be disposed to adopt. Accordingly about 
 6 o'clock, we went on board and found, for the size of the 
 ship, very comfortable accommodation. The next morning 
 dearest Anna breakfasted with the company, and. in the 
 course of the day went on deck, which she much enjoyed.- 
 
 " She appeared nicely, and dined in the cabin in the 
 evening." 
 
 Then follows the account of the seizure, con- 
 tained' in the letters, which we omit, and only quote 
 a few particulars, not elsewhere given : 
 
 " Almost, from the first she seemed aware of her state, 
 and said to me, 'My love, I- shall not be here long now;' 
 
176 BRIEF SKETCH OF 
 
 I am going to Jesus and dearest Papa.' On my replying, 
 'Oh ! no, dear,' she most sweetly answered, ' Yes, I am ; 
 I shall soon be with him. I am, indeed, going. Lord 
 Jesus receive my spirit.' ******** 
 She afterwards said, ' Farewell, my dearest, farewell. I 
 wish I had made thee a better wife. This is hard for thee, 
 but look to Jesus — ^love him — live to him ; and our darling 
 Johnny, do bring him up in the rigM way. Give him a 
 good education, and let him be brought up as a ' Friend.' ' 
 
 " She afterwards said, ' I shall soon be gone. I am so 
 happy. It is Jesus makes me happy. I did,hope to have 
 had a more quiet end, but this is a very public one. It is 
 a strange place to die in. I know it is very painful to you 
 all, and for thee, my dearest, it wiU be sad for thee to be 
 left, but don't forget to build upon Jesus. I am quite 
 happy and comfortable, dear. Farewell all — ^givermy love to 
 
 my dear mother and Richenda and Sarah Goirney, and aU.' 
 
 ******** 
 
 " And truly it was a strange place for such a soence ! 
 On boaj'd a man-of-war, in the harbour of Palermo, sur- 
 roun^d by those who had taken refuge there ; with nine 
 of the Neapolitan Navy anchored nea^; one of the officers 
 Tabbing her hands, another preparing to administer some 
 stimulant, amid the roaring of the cannons, and the 
 ringing of the bells on. shore, there she lay ! The doctors 
 now gave her some more ether, and said she was better; 
 but dearest A. replied, with a smile, not easily to be 
 mistaiken, 'Yes, you think so, but J know. You think of 
 sending me to sleep, but you cannot. ***** 
 I, will try and be quiet, for it hurts my breath very much. 
 I. have something at my heart.' ******* 
 
ANNA BAOKHOirSE. T7T 
 
 She then asked, if it would not be welli, after she was 
 gone, to trj and find out the cause of her illness. In a 
 few minutes she became quite still,^ and most peacefully 
 breathed her last ! 
 
 " For a short time, at the first, we had a hope that she 
 would revive. . I cannot describe the intensity of feeling 
 with which I watched each chaise of her countenance 
 But from the beginning, the words she uttered, ' I am 
 going to Jesus,' had nearly deprived me of any expectation 
 of her recovery. It was, indeed, an awful time — so 
 sudden, so unexpected, and in such a spot ! 
 
 " Every one on board was most kind, and nothing could 
 exceed the feelirig attention of Captain Key. He ordered 
 a place on deck, where the dear remains could be placed 
 until the cof5n was ready for than ; and there I took my 
 child to behold, for the last time, his mother ! 
 
 "The next morning, at 8 o'clock, all the men were 
 drawn up on deck, and the coffin lowered into a boat ; and 
 accompanied by Captain Key and his officers in full 
 uniform, in two other boats, we conveyed it to the ceme- 
 tery, steering round the Mole to the base of Monte 
 Pellegrino. Here all was quiet, as this part of the harbour 
 was in possession of the troops, ^e landed opposite the 
 Lazaretto. The mariners first stepped on shore, and unco- 
 vering, bore the precious burden to its temporary resting- 
 place.* We slowly followed ; and there, in that beautiful 
 spot, amongst Cyprus, palm, aloes, and cactus, we stood in 
 silence over her sandy grave ! 
 
 J. C. Backhouse." 
 
 • The remains were afterward removed to Leghorn, and 
 placed by the side of her little babe^ 
 
178 BEIEP SKETCH OF 
 
 CHAPTEE Xn. 
 
 A FEW of the letters that were written on this 
 sorrowful occasion have been preserved, and will 
 tend to shew how painful and unlooked for was 
 the intelligence, and in what high estimation this 
 beloved one was held by her family and friends : 
 
 FROM HER MOTHEE TO HEB AUKT CBNHIHGHAM, AHHOUNOIHG THE EVBNTi 
 
 Eablham, 2d mo., 2d, 1848. 
 My dearest sister, wliat a stroke is this ! Our precious, 
 heavenly-minded Anna is no more ! I feel astonished and 
 dismayed. Oh, this stunning blow ! who could have 
 anticipated it f Yet never was there a spirit more meet 
 for the heavenly inheritance ; and she is gone to he forever 
 reunited to the father she so tenderly loved. She told 
 me, last summer, during the hallowed weeks' we passed 
 together, that life was How so changed to her ; she had so 
 deeply felt the removal of that supporting arm, on which 
 she had loved to Ifean, that were it not for the conscious- 
 ness of the dtity she owed her beloved husband and 
 children, she believed she could rejoice in the prospect of 
 her illness terminating differently from- what her dear 
 friends had desired. 
 
 Oh, then, my precious sisters, truly painful and 
 affecting as this stroke is, to our natural feelings, let us 
 seek for that grace which can enable us to rejoice that the 
 desire of her heart waa fulffled. What a reunion round 
 
ANNA BACKHOUSE. 179 
 
 the throne of God I Let us turn from the grave and a'l 
 its gloom and fearful desolation, and fix the eye of faith 
 upon that blessed compaihy, who, even tww, are singing, 
 as we may believe, the glorious anthem, ' Great and 
 marvellous are thy works. Lord God Almighty'; just and 
 trwe are all thy ways, thou King of saints.' 
 
 ,May we be fitted and preipared to join them, where 
 sorrow, death, and separation come no more ! I cannot 
 write to-day, but will enclose the sad, sad tidings from 
 Palermo, just received. 
 
 K. CUNNINGHAM TO E. T. GUENEY. 
 
 LoWESTorT, February 3d. 
 What can I say, my beloved, afiSicted sister ! This is 
 a grief, a most heartfelt sorrow. One view of the dispen- 
 sation is as afl3[ictive, as desolating, as anything can well 
 be ; but by faith, we may turn the picture, and there see 
 a blessed translation, without tasting death! 'She was 
 not, for God had taken her.' Her soul, we may believe, 
 was " as a weaned child." Her affections were set on things 
 above, and her final dismissal presents to us the most 
 beautiful picture of the dying Christian, one almost ever 
 heard of — that lovely, gentle spiarit taking its departure en 
 the deck of a man-of-war surrounded by ofGicers, was 
 strange, as she, dear creature, said, ' A strange place to die 
 in' — ^but deeply interesting — the beautiful picture haunts 
 my mind, and is impressed on my imagination ; -but what 
 an event for him — words utterly fail to express it. Francis 
 and I entered Catherine's room, this morning, with trem- 
 bling. I felt exceedingly overwhelmed in spirit. The 
 shock was great indeed to her. She looked amazed and 
 stunned, as if she could not, and dared not, believe it ; but 
 
ISO teRIEl' SKETCH OP 
 
 thy note was the very thing, dear, to break it to her. She 
 first heard that, which convinced her of' the awful reality. 
 Nature will shrint from sorrow, but faith comes in to our 
 aid. Oh, what a merey that Grod should have removed 
 the sting of such a curse as death, and the believer dies 
 in perfect calmness ! What could be so lovely as her 
 translation ! But, as Young says, " 'Tis the Survivor 
 ■dies." 
 
 What must have - been John's feelings, when com- 
 mitting that precious form into the silent grave, surrounded 
 fey of&cers and Tstrangers ! It ■ is a wonderful history ! 
 How delightful that she was able to say, ' I am going to 
 my dearest father — ^most. blessed reunion 1 I can believe 
 thy soul longs to be with them. Catherine now begs me 
 to tell thee, she does feel greatly sustained. She cannot 
 shed tears, which would-be, I think, a great relief to her, 
 but she finds much consolation in Scripture. She is now 
 lying on the sofa calm and resigned. We are profoundly 
 quiet. She likes me to sit with her. Francis is the 
 greatest stay and comfort to us, and enters most deeply 
 into sympathy with us. He did so heartily love her. 
 Who did not in our circle ? Oh, she was such a gem ! 
 She was so entirely the Lord's. How striking was what 
 she said to thee in the summer? precious hallowed hours. 
 May their memory ever be a comfort to thee. Poor, dear 
 John, how desolate his return ! — the grave to have been 
 opened twice to his small party. And that darling Johnny 
 — how lovely was her leave-taking of him ! The whole 
 scene seems to have been but a few minutes. It reminds 
 us of poor Charles Cunningham's death, the place, and its 
 overwhelming suddenness. Catherine has been comforted 
 in looking back on the text for that day in her Moravian 
 
ANNA BACKHOUSE. 181 
 
 book, which she always uses, ' He doeth according to His 
 will in the anny of Heaven, and amongst the inhabitants 
 of the earth; and none can stay His hand, or say to Him, 
 what doest thou?' 'Ck)d sits as Sovereign on the storm. 
 He doeth all things well.' Our minds had been so deeply 
 impressed by the papers, which we have been absorbed in, 
 the last few days, and more especially yesterday morning, 
 when we read the touching, lovely history of the death of 
 her mon mother. I could not read it without many tears. 
 How have we seen that 'all flesh is grass, and all the 
 glory of man as the flower of grass !' I hope to write to 
 thee again, to-morrow. It will be deeply interesting to 
 hear further particulars. Poor John was- evidently so 
 overcome when he wrote. I think the event will thrill 
 through our circle with much sorrow. She was such a 
 darling, such a favourite. How John Henry is left 
 alone, and Mary has lost a sister indeed-^^-one whose place 
 can never be supplied to her. How lovely was hes 
 conduct to her from first to last. What a tone of deep 
 submission has jun through her letters, with every effort 
 to bear her afflictions with cheerfulness. This has often 
 been quite touching to me. Ought we not to seek and 
 to desire, that these repeated blows may have a true, 
 weaning, preparatory effect upcm all our hearts? I am 
 thankful dear Laura was not overset by this heart-rending 
 blow. 
 
 With near love and truest heartfelt sympathy, most 
 affectionately, B. C. 
 
182 BRIEF SKETCH ©V 
 
 E. P. G. TO 'CAIHEKINE GUIINE7. 
 
 Earlham, 6th day. 
 My very dear Sister : 
 
 I felt as if I could not write to thee, until thorn 
 hadst received the startling tidings, which did indeed come 
 upon us like a thunderbolt, on fourth day morning. 
 But now that our minds have had a little fause to take in 
 the solemn event with all its bearings, I feel disposed to 
 have some communion with thee, on a subject so deeply 
 interesting to us both ! On first hearing the mournful 
 intelligence, I felt only dismay. My thoughts turned from 
 one sorrowful heart to another, with deep sympathy for 
 all, and then sunk within me, under the overwhelming 
 consciouaiess that almost the only little gleam of sunshine 
 which remained for me in this wilderness world, was 
 forever shaded by the removal of this precious child. L 
 soon saw, however, that this was a false view of the case, 
 presented by "blind unbelief," and that a proper estimate 
 of this dispensation is calculated to fiU the heart with 
 thanksgiving to that gracious God, who " is righteous in 
 all his ways and holy in aU his works." What tokens of 
 tender-loving kindness, of Heavenly protection, of pitying, 
 watchful care, could we have asked for this beloved one, 
 which have not been granted her? First a season of 
 precious intercourse with many of those who were nearest 
 and dearest to her, (hallowed, as it was, by the abiding 
 sense, that " time is shorf), then a choice period of intiiliate 
 association with her dearest earthly friend, during which 
 they together resigned their little helpless infant to the 
 safe care and keeping of their Lord, and then, without a 
 pain or struggle, in perfect peace (although within the 
 sound of war and tumult), her spotless soul returned to 
 
ANNA BAOKHOirSE. 183 
 
 God whd gave it, washed and made white in the blood of 
 the Lamb ! What must have been the feelings of the 
 captain, officers and crew, when they beheld this youthful 
 Christian (to whom wisdom was indeed gray hair), at a 
 momenfs warning, compose herself to die ? With perfect 
 self-possession, taking leave of her darling child, her 
 husband, and her maids, and telling them, at such an 
 awful hour, that she was " very comfortable," that she was 
 " going to Jesus" and to " her dearest father !" Surely this 
 was the death by which she -was to glorify God ! Can we, 
 for a moment doubt, that the whole dispensation, from 
 beginning to end, was ordained by Him ? Can we, for a 
 moment, withhold the acknowledgement, that He has 
 'dealt well with His children, according to His word?' 
 Still, dearest sister, though I write thus, and though I feel 
 bound to rejoice and give thanks for the mercy, the 
 amazing mercy, the spwring love, which have been sO' 
 manifest in this translation, do not suppose that I aip 
 unmindful of the deep privation, the heartfelt sorrow of 
 this blow to thee. I can truly say ii has hardly been out 
 of my mind — few can more entirely appreciate it than 
 myself, for I well know what a daughter she has been to 
 thee ; but I feel sure that the holy Chastener, who is also 
 " the God of all true consolation," will be very near to help 
 and comfort in this hour of need; that He will permit 
 thee, with the eye of faith, to pierce the veil which hides 
 the unseen world, and there behold the glorious re-union 
 of those sainted ones, who were .lovely and pleasant in 
 their lives, and in their deaths they were- not long divided. 
 Oh, my endeared sister, surely there are favoured moments 
 in which we seem \a partake of their fulness of jpy, and 
 to hear at least their song of victory : " Worthy is the 
 
184 BRIEF SKETCH OP 
 
 lamjj tiiat was slaia to receive glory and tononr and 
 felessing and power, for He hatii redeemed' us." What my 
 feelings have been about their re-union, it would he easier 
 for you to imagine than for me to describe ! When 
 shall I wake and find me there ? I do remember the 
 the conversation to which thou alludes, dearest Chenda; 
 and may we not say, '^the Lord hath fulfilled her petitions ?" 
 Thy letter, this morning, is truly comforting. We did so 
 long to hear of dearest Catherine, and of you all. How 
 striking was the text for the day in the Moravian text- 
 book ! Dear Sarah G-urney has been- a great comfort to 
 me. John Henry is as kind and affectionate as possible ; 
 and we expect dearest Sister Buxton and Chenda to-morrow. 
 I have had a precious letter from the. former; indeed, the 
 full letter-bag, this morning, has been but too reminding 
 of last pear. Poor John Henry looks very low — more so 
 than he did at first, when he seemed almost unwilling to 
 ta^e it in. What an unspeakable loss to him ! How 
 striking and how true was the remark iu' his letter to 
 Cousin Anna, that " she had been all her life hungering 
 and thirsting after righteousness, and now she is filled." 
 Poor dear John Church, and that precious child ! where 
 can they be ? . I trust we shall hear again in a day or two. 
 Wouldest thou mind sending this note to dear E. Fowler? 
 She would, I know, be glad of any particulars. It was 
 quite a comfort to me to find that dearest Anna had written 
 to her very lately. 
 , 1 am, thy truly affectionate sister, 
 
 E. P. GrURNEY. 
 
 How far more sad would it have been to hear of her 
 being in great suffering of either mind or body, and so 
 
ANNA BACKHOUSE. ISS" 
 
 distant from us. Let us try to rejoice in her escape from 
 all tribulation, to everlasting blessedness. 
 
 EXIKACT FROM B. E. HANKIMSON's LETTER TO C. G. 
 
 " Lynn, Feb. 21st.. 
 " My dearest Friend i 
 
 " I feel that you may well be surprised' that I have 
 not sooner written to you, on' a subject of such common 
 sorrowful interest. I have wished to do it, but I cannot 
 tell you how I have shrunk from touching the case with 
 you. It was not necessary for me to say how deeply I 
 could sympathize with youj, because you know more 
 almost than any one, how I valued and admired and loved 
 that dear creature ; and I knew too what she had been to 
 you, and how close was the tie between you. She was a 
 plant, that from circumstances, was forced into bearing its 
 fruit too soon, and, therefore, we might be disposed to say, 
 was too soon exhausted — and yet not exhausted — trans- 
 planted only into a more genial soil, where it can never be' 
 exhausted^ — ^where the north wind can. never chill^ — ^where 
 the sun will always shine- upon it — where its' fruitfulness 
 will be far, far more ^abundant, and its beauty be far more 
 complete. It is my. strong conviction that her dear father's 
 removal gave a shock to hex constitution, that has led to 
 this termination ; and amidst all the sorrow and the loss 
 here, I love to dwell upon their re-union — the father's 
 welcomie to his child, the child's rejoicing in. and -with her 
 father! Their cup is now. running over-, for the Lord 
 himself is the portion, of it^ But now, my dearest friend, 
 I must turn to you ; for, you are so closely identified with 
 her in my mind, that I can scarcely think of the one 
 without having the other. before me. I am. so thankful to 
 
 k2 
 
186' BRIEF SKETCH OT 
 
 hear tKat jron have felt calm and sustained under this 
 unexpected loss; and how comforting it is to know that it 
 is the everlasting arm that is upholding you — that it is the 
 peace of Grod shed 'abroad in the heart. It seems as if it 
 were appointed, that one prop after another were to he 
 removed, in order that you may be more sensible of the 
 strength and security of the eternal foundation; and that 
 God, as He reveals himself, may be all in all to you." 
 
 CATHEKINE GUEHEY TO J, ,C. BACKHOUSE. 
 
 LoWBSToaPF, Feb. 4:th, 1848. 
 
 My beloved Nephew : 
 
 Most nearly do I share with thee this heavy 
 calamity, and sore bereavement; and inexpressible are my 
 affection and interest for thee and thy darling child.. Thy 
 pleasant pietiires are indeed marred, and the, fiituTe does 
 appear desolate; and every thing in life tinged with 
 mourning — ^the delight of thy heart and the sweetness of 
 thy home taken from thee. May the God of mercy and 
 compassion in some way or other supply thy necessities, 
 and uphold thee in the path of duty and Service. We 
 must trust and not be afrjtid — simply relying on his righte- 
 ousness and strength — if we are enabled to dwell in the 
 strong holds of fdiiJi, walking steadfastly on bi/ faith, not 
 by sight — the Scripture is full of consolation and encou- 
 ragement. With regard to thy own future path, I am 
 comforted by the xlii. Isaiah,~ 16th verse — the guidance 
 and protection of Providence oter us — and nothing could 
 be more applicable to our peculiar trial than those passages 
 which relate to the overruling hand in all our concerns ; 
 all our own plans, our doings and goings, so subordinate 
 
ANNA BACKHOUSE. 187 
 
 to the councils of tlle/Loi-d,; Wrthont fatalism, we can 
 but acknowledge, with the most unqualified satisfaction, 
 the doctrine of Providence in its ' application to the most 
 minute turns and the greatest events of life and death ; 
 and what a rsfuge and shelter from the storm of affliction 
 is this! With what efficacy it tranquilizes the troubled 
 spirit! Do, my dear John, open the book of Proverbs, 
 and take home to thyself the following verses — chap. ;xvi. 
 9, 33^ XX.. 24. My text for January 17th, the day of her 
 departure, was Dan. IV. 35. What could be more season- 
 able ? and to herself, Ps. txxiii. 24, apply : " Thou shalt 
 guide me by thy counsel, and afterwards receive me to 
 glory." Can we for a moment doubt that this has been 
 fulfilled? Then in Job, what assurance have We of the 
 Divine appointment and agency. Lamentations, chap, iii., 
 are, to me, consoling, from 17th to 38th verses. Above 
 all, let us turn to the full exhibition of light and truth in 
 the Gosigd', which meets out case in every point, both for 
 time and eternity! I have been greatly helped by all this;, 
 and I have been marvellously to myself sustained and 
 tr^iiquiljzed under this heavy blow, which at first was so 
 overwhelming : but I think I never experienced so much 
 peace aiid tranquility under, any trial, and, perhaps, never 
 was sto' enabled to look beyond' all human instrumentality 
 to the will of God, inflicting it for some blessed purpose, 
 above our capacity to discover or comprehend. I do hope, 
 my dear John, this may be some encouragement to thee., 
 1 fully believe you were rightly guided, and that ibo- 
 mistake was permitted in the whole affair, and that the 
 result to her has been ghrious.' It was certainly remark-, 
 able that she should have been so decided in her wish to 
 go. According to our human measures and judgment, it 
 is extremely afifecting and the' deepest disappointment. 
 
IS'? BRIEF SKETCH OP 
 
 How we do feel for thee in thy unutterable privation ; and. 
 as for thy darling boy,, incalculable as the loss is, he will 
 still be kept, as well as his father, under the shadow of the 
 Most High; and he wiU be taken good care of by thyself, 
 thy mother, and sister, when you return home. I am not 
 very uneasy about him, though feeling every thing which 
 relates to you both, I cannot enter into any other subject, 
 and I wish to adhere to the spiritual and eternal side of 
 the dispensation, and in this take up my rest." 
 
 C. G. TO J. H. S. 
 
 February ^ 19<A, 1848. 
 
 My dear John Henry ; 
 
 Though I have not expressed il to you before, 
 I have felt how entirely we share this great loss. It 
 may affect us iii different ways, yet it is a very sad 
 bereavement to all of us, not only in the way of enjoy- 
 ment, but stUl more, I think, as to her most excellent 
 example and influence. In this respect it is very great to 
 the whole' circle of young people, amongst whom she 
 moved as " a shining light.' Not one in my view com- 
 bined such talents, with wisdom to apply them, to the be^t 
 account. She was most remarkable for the use of the 
 gifts bestowed upon her ; her love of serving others, and 
 contributing to their happiness' by the. most judicious 
 means — ^her, mind was so well balanced: under such true 
 religious control ! She possessed great Christian enlarge- 
 ment and liberality,, " the spirit of power and of, bve and 
 of a sound mind." She had no obstacles in her heart to 
 uniting with others who were led in. a different religious 
 course from herself. I do not think I ever knew any one 
 
ANNA BACKHOtrSE. 189 
 
 of her years who combined,, in the same degree, the 
 kindest sympathies with very uncommon discretion; so 
 that she had a peculiar capacity for the service of those 
 amongst whom she was placed, both in council and conduct. 
 I always followed her advice, for I could depend on her 
 judgment. She is, in my estimation, an incalculable, 
 unspeakable loss, and no one can fully replace her. How 
 much I feel for her husband and child, I cannot say. We 
 can only trust to a merciful Providence to supply their 
 necessities ; but what a blank in life it is for J. C. B. ! 
 What a mournful change ! — ^his sweet, beautiful home 
 stripped of its charm ! 
 
 Well; I have lived to see the destruction of many a 
 pleasant picture, and can only desire it may produce the 
 full eflFeet of spiritual fruit and prepairation for Heaven ; 
 and this I do desire for us all, according to our measure 
 and circumstances — for you, my dearest J.. H. and Mary, 
 perhaps^ above all; because I know how deeply and 
 tenderly she loved you and cared about you, and how she 
 always longed to serve you. May the remembrance of 
 her and all her virtues long abide, not only in affection, 
 but in influence: her vieWs and sentiments are worth 
 being remembered, and may furnish many a practical 
 lesson, I am not inclined to dwell much on the circum- 
 stances of this grievous event; but rather look beyond 
 them all, to the will and agency of Him who numbers our 
 days and has appointed the bounds that we cannot pass : 
 in this, we must rest, and receive His dispensation with 
 implicit submission. 
 
 I have been less overcome and affected in health by 
 the shock than I should have expected ; but I had been, 
 in measure, prepared, by the sense of the precarious 
 
190 BRIEF SKETCH OP 
 
 tenure by which we held the prize. Still I do feel a good 
 deal shaken by the renewal of trial at times. It is a 
 mercy to have been kept in peace and tranquility for the 
 most part. The situation here is very favourable for me. 
 I ought to be truly thankful for such an abode, now poor 
 dear Earlham is so entirely shaded/ which is to me 
 extremely touching; though I have cared less about it 
 since this blow came to complete the tarnishing of that 
 once lovedi home ! I must now take my leave of you, as I 
 am tired of writing, and am 
 Your most affectionate Aunt, Catherine GtURNEY; 
 
 On the 1 7th of third month, J. C. B. and his 
 precious little motherless boy, arrived at Earlham^ 
 where they remained till the 22d, and then returned 
 to their changed and desolate home. They were 
 acaompanied by his sister, Ehza Barclay, from 
 whose pen we extract the following recital of 
 their touching, yet peaceful arrival : 
 
 K. u, TO E. P. GUENEY. 
 
 "Blaokwell, Bd mo., 2bth, 1848. 
 " My beloved Cousin : 
 
 " Settling quietly in, this morning, to this deq)li/ 
 shaded home, my first writing occupation must be to tell 
 thee how we have fared since leaving'Earlham. But, oh ! 
 the indescribable blank in every room of this once bright 
 and happy dwelling ; and yet the very fact of her vacant 
 place here, seems to lift the heart iip mofe realizingly to 
 the sense of her inconceivably happier lot; I could not 
 but feel, last evening, as though her spirit was still very 
 
ANNA BACKHOUSE. 191 
 
 neartis, and that oould. she speak, it would be to animate 
 us to greater love to faith and patience — that we should 
 not faint under sorrow, but, with renewed diligence, serve 
 Him who has done all for her. But it is fact, not thought 
 and feeling, that I meant to give thee; I know how thy 
 fiaind would tenderly follow us in every turn of this 
 most mournful time, and its inexpressibly touching details. 
 "Our journey to London was' a very easy one; dear 
 Johnny sleeping soundly, after it became dark, till we 
 arrived at the station. About 11, he was comfortably in 
 bed at Euston square, and seemed none the worse for his 
 late travel. We started again at 9, the next morning, 
 most of the way in a coupe to ourselves, very quiet — 
 except dear Johnny"' s play, iDut Tie was truly good : I very 
 full of feeling all the way ; but he kept up pretty well, 
 till we reached Blackwell. There, my dear mother was 
 waiting our arrival in the drawing-room, and in silent 
 "weeping we continued for some minutes, when even 
 Johnny, for once, seemed subdued and spoke not a word. 
 After a time, we had tea, &c., and then the comfort of a 
 sweet little sitting, in which my dear mother supplicated 
 laeautifully ; and when amidst all our sorrow, I felt there 
 was given us a taste of that peace which is not o'f this world, 
 which sustains the soul when the waves seem at the very 
 highest. ********* yf^ liaye had a 
 very nice visit from my dear Aunt Backhouse and Jane. 
 
 "A mist this morning, and dusk last evening, were 
 rather in harmony with our feelings, concealing in degree 
 the beauties here, which would have been even yet more 
 painful, if seen in greater brightness. Violets in fuU blow 
 from the windows — ^the place looking just as it did this 
 
192 BRIEF SKETCH OF 
 
 time last year, when baby was a day or two old. We are 
 now going out for a walk in the garden with Johnny, who 
 remembers every thing, and was delighted with his nursery 
 and toy-closet. J. requests his love very particularly. 
 
 " I am, my beloved Cousin, in near affection, thy truly 
 attached, Eliza Barclay." 
 
 FROM E. BAROLAT TO C. S. 
 
 " Blackwell, Sdmo., 1848. 
 " My dear Friend : 
 
 " I hope my letter to Earlham was forwarded to 
 thee, that thou mightest have a few particulars of our 
 return. Most affecting as this has been, and as it is in 
 every way to be here, I do think we have, from day to 
 day, got on more comfortably and easily than we could 
 have looked for. Dearest J. deeply feeling, but quietly 
 meeting things as they arise, and not even shrinking from 
 taking some iaterest in his beautiful garden, which, almost 
 more than anything, must be so touching. It looks lovely, 
 the banks clothed with spring flowers, as sJie so delighted 
 to see them ! Johnny is greatly pleased to return to his 
 old toys, &C, and has settled down extremely well into 
 regular home-habits. He is .generally as good as I could 
 desire, and certainly of an uncommonly sweet disposition : 
 his little mind so companionable with all the expansion 
 that it has undergone, that, he is quite a delightful com- 
 panion, and his remarks are often more like five or six, 
 than three and a half. I iave begun a little daily lesson 
 with'bim, which I thought would be good in its effect, but 
 he is already quite far enough advanced for a child of his 
 age. I see that what now rather requires to be guarded 
 against in his education, is, his expecting too exclusive 
 
ANNA' BACKHOUSE. -198 
 
 attention to himself. The little books thou gave him 
 before leaving England, 'Little Charles, and original 
 Poems,' are great favourites. I think the return to this 
 place brought some association with it ; but he had never 
 alluded to the subject till last evening, when in a very 
 sweet, affectionate mind, after I had been reading him a 
 little hymn before going to bed, he said, ' Tell me some- 
 thing about the BuU-Dog-^something that happened u-^oa 
 it.' I replied, something about dear mamma ? When he 
 directly answered, 'Yes, tell me.' G-eneraUy his asso- 
 ciations have seemed so entirely those of pleasure in 
 connection with that vessel, that it was quite painful to 
 hear his glee the other evening, when begging his Papa 
 that his own little steamer might be called the ' Bull-Dog.' 
 His father said, 'Not that name, 'The Pilot,' or 'Cromer,' 
 would be better.' Johnny was earnest for his own selec- 
 tion for a moment, but seeing his Papa look sad, he paused 
 And sweetly said, 'Yes, yes. Papa, it shail'b& called 'The 
 Pilot.' ******** 
 He is now amusing himself by me in the library. I 
 "thought how pleased thou wouldst have been couldst thou 
 have heard him yesterday. He was playing with his 
 'Noah's ark,' at Beechwood, when I asked if he knew 
 ■why the people were destroyed by the flood ? He directly 
 ■answered, ' Because they were so wicked, as it says in my 
 "grain of wheat."* 
 
 "The people were wicked and did not fear (jddj 
 So he made them to feel the effects of his rod. 
 Her towns He destroyed and her cities devoured, 
 By the pestilence, famine, or edge of the sword." 
 
 * A puzzle about some wheat, brought from Egypt. 
 
194 BBIEF SEETOH OF 
 
 VERSES 
 
 BV RACHEL CRESSiyELI.. 
 
 The blue sky shone above her, 
 The soft breeze floated by— 
 
 Where, on a stranger vessel deck, 
 She laid her down to die. 
 
 She heard the din of battle, 
 But she heeded not its roar j 
 
 For mortal care or terror 
 Could trouble her no more. 
 
 She knew the voice that called her, 
 
 Tho' suddmdy it came. 
 She spoke of " peace with Jesus," 
 
 And breathed her " father's" name. 
 
 And the "babe's" which she so lately. 
 Had cherished on her breast — 
 
 For she thought of <^em in Heaven, 
 And of sharing in their rest ! 
 
 " ' Tis a strcmge place to die in" 
 Were the words she calmly said. — 
 
 She kissed and blessed her little child, 
 And her weary spirit fled! 
 
ANNA BACKHOUSE. 195 
 
 The sun shines bright as ever, 
 
 The breezes softly blow — 
 All unheeded by the mourner, 
 
 In his solitary woe. 
 
 The bright-eyed boy beside him 
 
 Gazes wistfully, to see 
 His father's look of anguish, 
 
 And checks his baby glee. 
 
 Poor child! thy Efe will tell thee, 
 
 Its realities impart, 
 What love so e'er may bless thee, 
 
 That motherless thou art ! — 
 
 They'll teU thee that a mother 
 
 Once held thee on her knee. 
 Bright, gentle, gifted, loving. 
 
 And HOW DEEPLY she loved thee ! 
 
 And some faint shadowed memory 
 
 May be imaged on thy brain-r 
 Tread thou the path she has trodden. 
 
 And ye yet will meet again. 
 
196 BRIEF SKETCH OT 
 
 The following graphic description of this 
 lovely young creature, was written by Priscilla 
 Johnstone to Mary Gurney, soon after the sad 
 tidings came to hand : 
 
 Haieswokth, February StK, 1848. 
 My dear Mary : 
 
 I have thouglit so very much of yOu and John 
 Henry, since hearing of the event which fills all our 
 thoughts, that I must write and tell you how truly I do 
 feel it for you. Yet is there not very much to comfort 
 under, and even reconcile, this startling dispensation ? I 
 mean the manner of her departure. Surely the real pain, 
 was in giving her up to go that jflurney, with the heavy 
 forebodings of it. And to have had her spared lingering 
 illness in a foreign land — translated without suffering — 
 and so quickly, is enough to reconcile us to the shock, 
 great as it has been ! How highly characteristic was her 
 behaviour in that awful hour — so calin, steady, and right- 
 minded. I have been much impressed, in thinking of her 
 with her pecuUar characteristics, and'iii remembering her 
 a,t different periods of her hfe. She has risen before me 
 with the utihost vividness. I only wisJi T could retain, 
 either with pencil or pen, the Uvely images of her I now 
 recall — ^first, as a little child in that large nursery at 
 Earlham, then a little older, with John item-y, as I saw 
 them brought to our dear Aunt Eachel's dying bed-side.. 
 That was a beautiful scene ! After that, I recall her indis- 
 tinetly for some years of her life, with Hannah Lean (her/ 
 governess), under Aunt Catherine's care. Then, too, her 
 sweetness in dear Aunt Mary's time, and her spirit and 
 brightness as a school-room child. Sut after the death of. 
 
ANNA BACKHOUSE. 19T 
 
 that dear motier, how did she step forward in a new 
 position ! and what did she not become as a daughter 1 
 The religious principles which had been so early, diligently, 
 and deeply planted in her, began now more especially to 
 show their fruits. She had naturally a peculiar love of 
 service, a true taste for being of use, and as her character 
 developed, JDuiy was its Pole Star. She remarkably 
 balanced and proportioned her duties, and, to our view, 
 seemed never to fail in them. It was a most rare post 
 that she now filled. Her father's dependence on her was 
 intense. Her unvarying devotedness to him, united with 
 uncommon wisdom, cheerfulness, and simplicity, such as 
 one is not often to see. I was staying at Earlham, in the- 
 summer of 1836 (after Aunt Mary's death), and never 
 can forget the touching dependence he had upon her, and 
 the grace with which, though only a child of fifteen, shei. 
 filled that post. Again, I saw the same thing at Kenny- 
 hill, in the same autumn, and then how did she assist and 
 strengthen him in the tremendous effort of duty he made, 
 in leaving her and John Henry to go to America 1 
 
 In 183&^ during his absence, I was again staying some- 
 time at Earlham, on our transit to Halesworth, and then 
 I saw her in the character of sister. Of this, I need not 
 speak ; but, I think, it was unequalkd ; her forbearance, 
 'her love, her lively admiration and delight in John Henry. 
 It is too affecting to think of ! The next image I strongly 
 recall is, when she came to nurse Chenda in the measles, 
 and this leads me to remember the treasure we have lost 
 — the faithful, efifi^ient, and dependable friend and relation. 
 There were few, indeed,, whose company I would so desire, 
 or whose judgment and example I would more profit from. 
 In these years, too, the sight of her in the " eleven-sided 
 g2 
 
198 BRIEF SKETCH OP 
 
 attic," with her Sunday scholars, is memorable. Her 
 unforgetting attentions to H. Scarnell and Nurse Norman, 
 and all her sweetness and fragrance as the very flower of 
 Earlham ! Then I recall the scenes (as described, for I 
 did not see them),' of your father's return from America, 
 and of his marriage. I did see her as step-daxighter ; but 
 I shall borrow the words of the mothery sh« so truly loved, 
 to describe her in this capacity. Who could do-it so well ? 
 She writes to me, Eebruary llth, 1848 : 
 
 "Never has that dear one shone more brightly than in 
 • her generows, noble, loving, most unselfish conduct to myself. 
 In the first place, when I was the innocent means of 
 robbing her of that uncommon dependence, which had for 
 several years been placed upon her, and in which (though 
 she was often weighted by it), she greatly delighted. Then 
 her most dutiful, aflectionate and truly tender conduct t» 
 us hoih, entering with such delight into, our pleasures, and 
 giving us the very depth a.'oA.fuihiess of her, young heart's^ 
 sympathy in all our pains. But, above all, how lovely, 
 how exalted, how far beyond all praise, was the self- 
 sacrificing spirit with which she sought, in our common 
 sorrow, to lay aside the sense of her own heart-breaking 
 portion of it, while- she devoted all her energies to cheer 
 and comfort me. Dear, precious child ! in the fulfilment of 
 her various duties, / never saw her equalled, and none 
 will ever know what Ih&^& lost." 
 
 The next picture that rises is of herself on- her- wedding- 
 day ! Her pale, elevated loot, when. she first entered th& 
 meeting; her happy smile afterwards; her charming 
 demeanour through the day, thoughtful of every one, fall 
 of feeling,, yet perfectly steady, and like herself — the stay 
 ©f all others. That day is, indeed, memorable — hoih oui 
 
ANNA BACKHOUSE. 199 
 
 fathers in such brightness ! and the whole scene a crown 
 of Earlham gatherings ! I am glad to have it fixed in my 
 mind, though now so clothed with melancholy. I saw her 
 many times afterwards, but was not so much or closely 
 thrown with her again, tilt we had the privilege of 
 spending a few days at BlackweU, in 1846. There she 
 was shining indeed, as wife, mother, mistress, neighbour — 
 truly a blessing to the world around her. I saw her at 
 Beechwood, at Polam, in her own little school, with her 
 neighbours poor and rich — everywhere the same Anna;, 
 quiet, judicious, enlarged, hopeful, generous and encou-- 
 raging; the most loving, dutiful daughter-in-law, niece, 
 and cousin. Oh, what a hopeless vacancy is there left — a 
 place that cannot be filled ! 
 
 I next met her in Jaauary, 1847 ! and even in that 
 scene, how was she still herself! I can never forget her 
 on the day of his funeral. It is sorrowful to remember her 
 marble face, so lovely, yet almost fearfully calm, holding 
 her place even there, in those rooms, and with every one. 
 I was frightened at it at the time ; and it is painful to 
 remember it now. Did she ever recover that grief? / 
 think not, though other things combined to undermine her 
 health. Only once more did I see her at Earlham; in 
 August, 1847 — not six months ago ! What a picture of 
 "refinement, of chastened feeling, of quiet resolution, and^^ 
 above all, of deep religious trust and experience L She 
 was such a reasonable, sensible, manageable invalid — free 
 from self-will, and making the best and easiest of every 
 thing, while she conducted every thing with power and 
 decision. I parted with her with strong love and admira- 
 tion, and a deep fear, though not without hope. In 
 herself, hope predominated She told me she expected ta 
 
200 BREIF SKETCH Of 
 
 return, though perfectly aware pf the risk of her critical 
 state. I saw her unexpectedly for a moment, at the rail- 
 way station, at Stratford; like herself was every part of 
 her behaviour in that bustle and agitation, and this was 
 my last sight of her, dear, dear creature ! I deeply feel 
 in the contemplation of her whole course and character, 
 that something unequalled in many respects is gone from 
 amongst us. There was combined with her grace such 
 remarkable wisdom, enlargement, and affection; such 
 peculiarly sound and dependable conduct in all the turns 
 of life ; that we can but feel that a standard is removed 
 from our circle, and that we — (our world) — we and our 
 children are truly and lastingly the poorer. The great 
 loss of all — ^the unspeakable loss of her husband and child 
 — these cannot be touched by me. But, oh ! my heart 
 does ache for John Church. I mourn for that darling 
 Jacky, unconscious of his inexpressible privation ! 
 
 I did so long to try and put down some of my remem- 
 brances of her, that I have poured it all out to you, dearest 
 Mary. But now I feel half afraid of adding to your 
 sorrow by it. May we, as long as we remember her 
 (which surely will be for life), remember her example and 
 seek to follow it. 
 
 With true love and sympathy to John Henry, whose 
 sorrow I well believe is not easily estimated. 
 I am, dear Mary, 
 
 Your truly affectionate Cousin, 
 
 Priscilla Johnston. 
 
 The preceding outline of Anna Backhouse's 
 character was delineated by the valued cousin, of 
 
ANNA BACKHOUSE. 201 
 
 whom such frequent and affectionate mention is 
 made in this little sketch. 
 
 Gifted alike by nature in no ordinary degree, and 
 refined and purified by unreserved submission tO' 
 the transforming operations af Divine Grace, there- 
 was much congeniality between them, and each 
 formed a high but just estimate of the talents and 
 attainments of the other. Surrounded by the luxu- 
 ries and indulgences of life, they yet may be said, 
 to have lived, " as strangers and pilgrims on the 
 earth," "seeking a better country." And now, as 
 we confidently believe, through the fulness of 
 atoning love and mercy, they are " fellow-dtizens- 
 with the saints and of the household of God" — 
 joined to that countless company, who, with the 
 palm of victory in their hands, surround the throne, 
 and day and night, are praising Him who hath re- 
 d-eemed them, "on- the psaltery and.harp" — praising 
 Him "on the high sounding cymbals" — praising 
 Him "according to His excellent greatness?' — 
 praising Him " in the firmament of His power." 
 That this unpretending little volume may shew 
 forth His praise, is the sincere desire of the Editor, 
 "and let everything that hath \>xea.\h, praise the 
 Lord." 
 
 FINIS.