MEMORIALS & LETTERS 
 
 OF ANN HUNT 
 
 IP2 ! 
 
 MATILDA STURGE 
 
PRINCETON, N. J. ^ 
 
 BX 7795 .H86 S88 1898 
 Sturge, Matilda, 1829-1903. 
 Memorials and letters of Am 
 Hunt 
 
A 
 
MEMORIALS AND LETTERS 
 ANN HUNT. 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2015 
 
 https://archive.org/details/memorialslettersOOstur 
 
From a Photo, by William Clark, 87, Park St., Bristol. 
 
MEMORIALS AND LETTERS 
 
 OF ANN "Hunt, compiled 
 
 BY MATILDA STURGE. 
 
 O sweet calm face that seemed to wear 
 
 The hxik of sins forgiven ! 
 O voice of praj'er that seemed to bear 
 
 Our own needs up to heaven ! 
 
 How reverent in our midst she stood 
 
 Or Ivuelt in grateful praise ! 
 What grace of Christian womanhood 
 
 Was in her household ways. 
 
 J. G. Whit tier. 
 
 PUBLISHED BY HEADLEY BROTHERS, 
 14, BISHOPSGATE STREET WITHOUT, 
 LONDON, 1898. 
 
HEADLEY BROTHERS, 
 PRINTERS, 
 LONDON, AND ASHFORD, KENT. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 In preparing these Memorials I have had the 
 vahiable assistance of Hannah Southall, without 
 whose sympathy and encouragement, combined with 
 the materials which she and her sister have so kindly 
 furnished, they would never have been offered to the 
 public. 
 
 I am also indebted to Anne M. Hunt and Rebecca 
 Zaytoun for letters and information, as well as to 
 Joseph Storrs Fry, and many other friends, who will, 
 I hope, accept my cordial thanks as if each one were 
 mentioned by name. 
 
 Those who knew Ann Hunt will feel that no 
 apology is needed for the attempt to represent her 
 character, and to carry on a little of her influence, but 
 a lenient judgment may be required for the manner 
 in which the task has been accomplished. The letters 
 speak for themselves, but letters alone would scarcely 
 suffice, and in trying to supplement them it is not 
 easy to achieve a satisfactory result. All portraiture 
 has to encounter two kinds of criticism— the com- 
 ments of those who were acquainted with the original, 
 and may find the representation inadequate and un- 
 like, and those of others who may fail to discern in it 
 the distinctive qualities and personality of the subject, 
 
vi. 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 Probably most biographies fall short more or less in 
 fulfilling their ideal, yet when they succeed but in 
 part, the}' have their value, and may be interesting and 
 profitable to both classes of readers, and it is for this 
 measure of success that I venture to hope. 
 
 At least it may be said that this little book contains 
 no empty eulogy ; it is an attempt to preserve the 
 record of one of the humble souls whom Whittier 
 called " The dear Lord's best interpreters," and tb 
 impart to others the Gospel " of her life. 
 
 M.S. 
 
 1898. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER. PAG] 
 
 I. Early years, and interests of middle 
 
 life ------ I 
 
 II. Illness and death of her only sister. 
 
 — Death of her step-mother - 23 
 
 III. A new home. — Increased scope and 
 
 service ----- 38 
 
 IV. Trials and difticulties - - - 54 
 
 V. Death of a niece. — Grief and con- 
 solation ----- 73 
 
 VI. Peaceful years - - - - - 82 
 
 VII. " Family visits " - - - - 94 
 
 VIII. Operation for cataract. — Sketches of 
 her character and service by three 
 friends - - - . - 112 
 
 IX. Letters of sympathy and encom-age- 
 
 ment. — Death of Catherine Hunt 131 
 
 X. Death of Phyllis Rowe.— Calm old 
 
 age ----- - 158 
 
 XI. Failing strength. — Last days. — Death 
 
 and funeral - - - . i6q 
 
 XII. Recollections of Ann Hunt", by Hannah 
 Southall. — Sketch by Harriet New- 
 man 181 
 
CHAPTER I. 
 
 Life teaches us its lessons by degrees, 
 And slowly yields its secrets ; as some hill 
 Which in the shadeless noon lay smooth and still, 
 Reveals undreamed of chasms, if a breeze 
 Fleck it with cloud-born shadows ; so are these 
 Learnt by long- watching as the sunbeams fill 
 Our depths, and the storms chasten, if we will 
 But strive to see them as our Father sees. 
 
 y. E. A. Brown. 
 
 A XX HL'X'T was the daughter of Henry and Ann 
 Hunt, of Bristol, and was born in that city on 
 the 2ist of October, 1810. Her father was the son 
 of George and Ann Hunt, who were the parents of a 
 numerous family to whom other branches of the 
 Hunts trace their descent. The mother's maiden 
 name was Ann Marshall ; she belonged to a family 
 of Marshalls which can be traced back to 1608. 
 They were early connected with the Society of 
 Friends, and intermarried with the Hunts more than 
 once. There is in tiie possession of the Marshall 
 family a Bible, with an inscription, which has 
 descended from father to child for eight generations. 
 
 Henry Hunt was a man of considerable force of 
 character. He was during his early married life a 
 partner with Joseph Storrs Fry, grandfather of the 
 
 2 
 
2 
 
 present bearer of that name, in the cocoa and choco- 
 late business, which was the beginning of the large 
 manufactory now so well known ; and it was in 
 Union Street, Bristol, in one of the houses still used 
 in connection with that establishment that Ann Hunt 
 was born. She was the fourth of six children, having 
 three brothers older than herself, a sister next her in 
 age, and a younger brother, who was an invalid 
 during most of his life. The children were not 
 brought up in the city ; they lived chiefly with their 
 mother at Thornbury, a small town about ten miles 
 distant, until Ann was six years old. Their father's 
 visits were doubtless constant, but could not have 
 been of daily occurrence ; much of his time was taken 
 up in travelling for the business. 
 
 Henry Hunt was a strict Friend, who in time 
 became an Elder, and was deeply interested in the 
 discipline of the Society. He had his children 
 for the most part educated by a tutor at home — a 
 measure of doubtful wisdom as regarded the sons, 
 but one which may have been for the benefit of the 
 daughters, who were taught with their brothers, and 
 probably received a better education than they would 
 at that time have obtained at school. The mother of 
 the family died when her elder daughter was about 
 fifteen. Her death is feelingly alluded to in Ann 
 Hunt's early journals, which begin a year later, and it 
 was a loss that coloured her after life. 
 
 She was a girl of strong feelings, sensitive and 
 highly strung, and accustomed from an early age to 
 
3 
 
 express herself in writing, pouring out her thoughts 
 in words that burn with the emotions of the hour. In 
 those early days she formed a romantic friendship 
 
 with Anna B , a young girl about her own age. 
 
 They appear to have been closely united and very 
 intimate, but while Anna was yet young the friend- 
 ship was terminated by her death. Ann was deeply 
 afflicted, and bitterly mourned her loss. She wrote a 
 poem on her departed friend, and drops a hint in 
 lier journal that even her sister could not sympathise 
 with the extravagance of her grief. These things are 
 mentioned to show the natural warmth and tender- 
 ness of one whose heart was afterwards wrung by 
 sorer troubles — one, too, who learned in the school of 
 sorrow to become the consoler of others in an 
 imusual degree. A letter, written in 1859, to one of 
 her nieces, contains an interesting allusion to her 
 ■early religious experience, and may fittingly be 
 introduced here : 
 
 I feel as if I could scarcely go to bed to-night 
 without saying a few words to thee, my very dear 
 child, for though I lind it difficult to get settled time 
 for writing I have thought very much of thee since I 
 had thy letter. I read it with great interest, and I 
 •desire to be very thankful for the mercy thou hast 
 received. A fresh bond of affection and sympathy 
 springs up between us. How can it be otherwise ? 
 For very lively is my recollection of the time when 
 the description thou hast given of thy previous self 
 applied, perhaps, with greater force to me, and when 
 all unsought and most undeserved, my eyes were 
 
4 
 
 opened to see something of the sinfulness of ni)^ 
 course, and those things in which I had dehghted 
 were made hateful to me — some sense was given of 
 that wonderful love which gives hope to the most 
 wretched, and in some weak measure the resolution 
 was formed to seek and serve the Lord. In the many- 
 long years that have passed since then I have seen 
 with far more clearness of how great importance was- 
 this turning point in life. I see now, as I could not 
 then, the hand of a most merciful Father in many 
 circumstances, and can a little more estimate the 
 exceeding goodness and long-suffering which turned 
 giddy feet out of the way to destruction. I see in 
 looking back how much suffering might have been 
 spared, how much less unworthily might the early- 
 covenant have been kept had I been more earnest,, 
 more faithful, and more willing to take up the cross. 
 And as I have gone back over these things I have 
 longed, my precious child, that the like gracious 
 visitation extended to thee may be received and 
 yielded to with full purpose of heart." 
 
 It must have been while she was very young that 
 Ann Hunt's heart w^as thus touched, for in the journal 
 above mentioned is found the following entry on the 
 day after her sixteenth birthday — in 1826 : 
 
 Enable me to become Thine, I beseech Thee^ 
 though it may cost me much ; throw down my idols, 
 if I have any, that stand in the way, and oh ! let Thy 
 devouring fire burn up the chaff." 
 
 And some years later her birthday petition was^ 
 Give me, if it please Thee, light clearly to see my 
 duty and grace to do it." 
 
5 
 
 Henry Hunt, after leaving the firm of the Frys, 
 Avas engaged in the wholesale tea trade, and was very 
 prosperous for a time. He had removed to a house 
 in what is called The Royal Fort," a part of Bristol 
 Avhich derives its name from its having been a forti- 
 fication in the time of the Civil War. The remaining 
 portion of the Fort is entered by an old gateway, 
 :and within this stand several houses round a green. 
 The one formerly occupied by Henry Hunt is large 
 •and roomy, and has an extensive garden. Here Ann 
 Hunt had her home, passing through many changes 
 .and vicissitudes, from girlhood or early womanhood 
 till she was sixty-four years of age. This house is 
 now unoccupied, the carriage drive which used to run 
 round the green is rough and overgrown, and some of 
 the neighbouring buildings are used for institutions 
 •of different kinds. 
 
 Henry Hunt married again in 1829, his second 
 •wife being a widow of the name of Towell. She was 
 an aunt of Edward Ash, ^I.D., of Norwich and 
 Bristol. Martlia Hunt had poor health, and lived but 
 a few years. In 1834 Ann Hunt's father was married 
 for the third time to Eliza, daughter of John Southall, 
 of Leominster. She was a person of ability, of culti- 
 vated mind and dignilied appearance and manners, 
 .and she became from that time the dominating force 
 in the home at The Fort, exercising an inliuence 
 which was in some ways elevating, but not possessing 
 the gift of allowing free scope for the development 
 ;and life work of those who had already reached 
 
6 
 
 maturity before they came in some sort under her 
 control. 
 
 But before this important change of circumstance- 
 took place another event had occurred which affected 
 the Hves of both sisters to an untold degree. In 183 1, 
 one of their brothers had married, and within a year 
 afterwards his young wife died, leaving a little 
 daughter, who while yet an infant of weeks was. 
 brought to The Fort and committed to Ann and 
 Rebecca's care. Ann was not strong, and had been 
 damaged by an accident when a child, so Rebecca 
 was the more active nurse, but both cared tenderly 
 for the little one, and she became the object of almost 
 maternal affection. The introduction of this child 
 into the family might have been, and was for a time^ 
 a source of vivid interest and much pleasure. But the 
 girl proved unusually wayward and difficult to manage, 
 with a violent temper and propensities hard to 
 account for, and when she was about thirteen it was. 
 decided to make another arrangement — apparently 
 suitable — and she was removed from her aunts' imme- 
 diate care. As A. grew towards womanhood diffi- 
 culties only increased, and her subsequent career was- 
 such as to cause her friends the keenest anxiety and 
 distress. The story of this niece's life ran like a dark 
 thread through the web of Ann Hunt's existence, and 
 it will be needful later on to recur to it again. At the: 
 time now under review she had besides many other 
 occupations and claims. Her brother Henry had 
 married Catherine, daughter of Samuel Capper, of 
 
7 
 
 Bristol, and had a numerous family, who, as well as 
 other nephews and nieces were the objects of Ann 
 Hunt's auntly interest during the greater part of her 
 life. The earliest letter of hers that has been dis- 
 covered is addressed in 1837 to Catherine Hunt, and 
 there is another a few years later to the second 
 Catherine, her brother's eldest daughter, who had 
 pleased her by a childish epistle written when she 
 was a little girl. There w^ere also many family 
 anxieties and troubles, some of them relating to the 
 care of the invalid brother, whom Rebecca nursed 
 with a devotion beyond her strength, and others which 
 cannot be related here. It is true, as Ann Hunt said 
 long afterwards, that the sorest troubles are not those 
 w^hich are known to those around us, and in which 
 we receive their sympathy and kindness, but those 
 which can be conhded to God alone. 
 
 The records of many years are scanty, and chiefly 
 conflned to some memorandum books, not journals in 
 the true sense of the word, but consisting of entries 
 made occasionally. Such notes are apt to be 
 mementoes of times of strongest feeling, and it is 
 therefore possible that they convey an exaggerated 
 impression of the sadness, w^hich seems from various 
 causes to have been the prevailing tone at this period 
 and for long afterwards of Ann Hunt's mind and lot. 
 Some letters to her sister, written during their 
 occasional separation, certainly convey a more 
 cheerful impression, and are interesting from their 
 freedom of expression, and the touches of humour 
 
8 
 
 with which her friends were famihar in later years. 
 The fuhiess of these epistles, often written after 
 retiring for the night, are suggestive of a long past 
 clay, when letters were less numerous but more 
 carefully written than now. The note books before 
 mentioned contain abundant evidence of deep 
 earnestness in the religious life : they show the most 
 ardent aspirations after holiness, and are tinctured 
 with the self accusation then usual with Christians, 
 who seemed to think that in writing bitter things 
 against themselves they were best pleasing their Lord. 
 The following, dated ''26th of loth month, 1851," 
 shows her earnestness of spirit and her concern for 
 others : 
 
 In beginning a new year of my mortal existence 
 I did afresh desire one thing, and all things else 
 seemed as dross in comparison, that I might know 
 Christ and be found in Him. Earnestly did I desire, 
 and I make the record, that I may be reminded of 
 the covenant then afresh entered into, that during the 
 year now before me, or such days and weeks of it as 
 may be given, — that this one thing maybe my pursuit, 
 the object of my desires, my prayers, — that if I be 
 favoured to know any advance towards so blessed an 
 experience, all the events of life however trying, 
 however vexatious, may be taken quietly, thankfully. 
 I desire to have no will about any of them but the 
 will of the Lord, who may see meet to make me less 
 dependent on human comfort or affection, that I may 
 serve Him with more singleness of aim. Enable me 
 to say, so be it, O Lord ! But oh that the souls of 
 those dear to me may live in Thy sight. Oh the 
 
9 
 
 inexpressible blessing that He who loves them equalh', 
 is ready to show to those who are yet afar off the 
 tender mercy by which He drew me from hardness 
 of heart and vanity to look unto Himself. For ever 
 praised and Adored be His holy name for this His 
 goodness and for all that marvellous long-suffering 
 whereby He has borne with me these many years 
 since, and has not yet given me over unto death. Oh 
 that in His loving-kindness He may pour out upon 
 me of His spirit and make me a living member of 
 Christ's body, a fruit-bearing branch in the vine, that 
 so in humility and faith I may fulfil His gracious 
 designs during the short remainder of my pilgrimage, 
 and be instrumental in leading others to Him who 
 has done so much for me. Thine is the word. Thine 
 only is the power, and to Thee on earth and in heaven 
 be all the glory." 
 
 It is clear from some of these memoranda that Ann 
 Hunt was conscious of a call to the ministry from an 
 earlv period of her life. As was usual amongst Friends 
 lifty or sixty years ago, the prospect appeared to her 
 -an awful one, and the thought of its being required 
 of her occasioned severe conflict. The time between 
 the lirst thought of this line of service and its actual 
 •commencement was in her case much prolonged. 
 The prevailing tone of opinion on the subject and 
 her own special circumstances alike increased the 
 difticulty ; and in addition, the characteristic of her 
 story — outward as well as inward — is contiiuiaiice. In 
 some lives and in some minds and hearts, much 
 experience, much startling contrast between light 
 and darkness, are compressed into a few vears. The 
 
10 
 
 remainder of such lives, though chequered with the 
 ordinary vicissitudes of humanit}^, present nothing 
 comparable to the early experience, but are compara- 
 tively calm and even. With Ann Hunt it was 
 otherwise. Difficulties of outward circumstance, 
 trials of the affections, acute anxieties and disappoint- 
 ments, events of the most painful import lasted on 
 and on, or were scattered over long periods of time. 
 It was the less remarkable that the spiritual history 
 partook of the same character. 
 
 The picture of Ann Hunt's earlier and maturer 
 life must not, however, be made too dark ; indeed the 
 recollections of her friends supply much to relieve 
 the shadows of her lot. She was always a bright and 
 interesting companion, and had much enjoyment in 
 social intercourse, and she was greatly attached to 
 her sister, who, though not possessing her attractions, 
 was a person of character, remarkably unselfish, and 
 possessed of considerable mental independence. 
 Ann's time was a good deal taken up in attendance 
 on her stepmother, who was often an invalid and 
 went frequently from home on that account ; she 
 was thus introduced in part into the circle of Eliza 
 Hunt's friendships with superior people, and she no 
 doubt profited by the association. There are but few 
 now who can remember her in early womanhood. 
 Those who can recall her in middle life remember a 
 pale smooth face often lit up by a sweet smile, with 
 fine eyes of shaded grey, which were capable of a 
 great deal of expression. She was always dressed 
 
II 
 
 in the plain garb of a Friend, which became herwell^ 
 was of middle height till bent with age and weakness, 
 and had a pleasant voice and an affectionate gracious 
 manner, which invited confidence in those with whom 
 she came in contact. She took much interest in 
 those younger than herself, and had a faculty of 
 finding out any who were needing help or sympathy 
 in matters of religious experience ; with these she 
 would seek and make opportunities of conversation, 
 so that to them she was more accessible than to some 
 of her contemporaries, who found impediments in the 
 way of much private intercourse. She had from an 
 early period much pleasure in associating with 
 Elizabeth and Hannah Southall, who were nieces of 
 her step-mother. They were a good deal younger 
 than herself, and the connection gave her the oppor- 
 tunity of forming friendships with them which 
 partook of the character of relationships, and very 
 true and helpful were the offices of friendship which 
 they were enabled to render her in later times. 
 The following to Elizabeth Southall is characteristic : 
 
 nth mo. 2nd, 1854. 
 " And now my dear Bessie, I sit down with 
 pleasure to send thee a few lines, for thou art indeed 
 often affectionately remembered by Rebecca and me, 
 with thy kind dear ways which often arise in the mind 
 with a little cheer. . . . For my own part I 
 have been sorry since thou left not to have made 
 more of the time we were together. I think we 
 might have been more to each other than we were, 
 but I take blame to myself for a kind of stupifying 
 
12 
 
 embarrassment, especially when surrounding circum- 
 stances are harassing, which, I cannot tell why, 
 prevents me from mentioning subjects of deepest 
 interest, and interferes with the quiet enjoyment 
 of a friend. . . . The time which thou spent with 
 us several years ago, marked by the occurrence of 
 deeply sorrowful things, used often to come vividly 
 before me when thou wast here, and the thought of 
 what had been passed through since, the anxiety and 
 labour and pain not to be told, the hopes and fears, 
 and the result of all, seemed almost overwhelming. 
 , . . But I wanted to tell thee, dear Bessie, that 
 through all and after all I can in a feeble way bear 
 testimony that the Lord is good, and His mercy 
 endureth for ever, even when we do not see it, can 
 scarcely believe it. He answers us not according to 
 our complainings, our repinings and our fears, but 
 according to His own loving-kindness, and even when 
 the cherished desire of the heart is withheld, can and 
 does sometimes till the void and solace the pain, and 
 even put into the mouth the new song of praise. So 
 that the feeling is strong with me that nobody need 
 despair or be overmuch discouraged. I do not know 
 that it is thy tendency, but I know very well that we 
 can little judge of what passes within by the circum- 
 stances without, or by the cheerfulness upon the 
 surface ; and knowing too that through whatever 
 different dealings with us, the same work has to be 
 accomplished in each of us, a work not easy to our 
 nature, I can well believe thou hast thy share, dear 
 Bessie, of tribulation. Oh that we might together 
 pursue the one end of life with full purpose of heart, 
 desiring to regard all pursuits, all events, only in the 
 light of eternity." 
 
13 
 
 In a letter also written in 1854 to the same corres- 
 pondent, she touches on a different theme : 
 
 " We have lately had the two volumes of Ruskin's 
 * Modern Painters ' from the Book Society. It was 
 the first time I ever had an opportunity of looking at 
 them. ... I have scarcely a right to have [an 
 opinion] after so imperfect a reading, but I was 
 greatly interested in the aim, and in many parts I 
 think I gained some valuable new ideas as respects 
 the subserviency of art to devotional feeling in the 
 Christian age ; but I cannot help thinking his views 
 of edifying the world at large by means of pictures^ 
 somewhat delusive, beautiful but unreal, with little, 
 perhaps nothing, of Christianity in them, and so 
 attractive and fascinating they are ; the vision put me 
 a little in mind of the beautiful soap bubbles we used 
 to blow when we were children ; for I cannot but 
 fear it would be found almost as unsubstantial when 
 coming in contact with the practical duties of life. I 
 am afraid thou wilt think me too dull to appreciate 
 him, and perhaps I do too nearly approach that class 
 of lovers of the useful which he treats so disrespect- 
 fully." 
 
 Ann Hunt's time was not wholly occupied with 
 home claims and cares, absorbing as they often were ; 
 she took much interest in the affairs of the Societv of 
 Friends, was at one time Clerk of the Women's 
 Monthly Meeting, and subsequently an Elder. In 
 1845, and for some years earlier and later, she was 
 Superintendent of the Girls' First-day School, sharing 
 it, however, with another Friend, and attending only 
 every other week. The School was held then as 
 
14 
 
 now near the Friends' Meeting-house, in a room 
 afterwards divided into class-rooms, and still in use 
 in that form. It seems curious that many of the 
 teachers also attended alternately at that time. It was 
 when as a young teacher taking a class occasionally, 
 that I first knew Ann Hunt, in any way but as an 
 older Friend in the same Meeting. I remember that 
 her gentle earnest influence was felt, and that she 
 was looked up to by the teachers ; and I recall also, 
 what will not surprise those who knew her in later 
 years, that her Scripture questions, addressed to the 
 whole school, had a depth and thoughtfulness which 
 w^as not quite understood by the girls, who answ^ered 
 better when her colleague examined them merely on 
 matters of fact. Some seven years later the acquain- 
 tance between Ann Hunt and myself was deepened, 
 the wise and loving woman having approached the 
 young Friend, as she did many others, with sympathy 
 and interest in the difficulties of the spiritual life. 
 She seemed not to seek for interviews, and never 
 forced confidence, but would take advantage of a 
 walk to visit a Sunday scholar or for some similar 
 object, to lead the conversation to subjects of deepest 
 moment, and to give the word in season as she well 
 knew how to do. Some of her words spoken on such 
 occasions, with the tone in which she uttered them, 
 remain in the memory after many changeful years. 
 
 As illustrating her dealings with others in matters 
 of religious experience, the following extracts from 
 letters to two of her nieces may be given : 
 
15 
 
 26th of 5th month, i860. 
 
 ^'My Very Dear Nieces, 
 
 [Catherine and Rebecca Hunt.] 
 
 ''I do not know that I have anything to say 
 to you that seems worth sitting down to write a note 
 about, but you are so often in my thoughts, with so 
 much love and thankfuhiess on your account, that I 
 feel as if I should like to tell you that though there 
 may be little expression of it, my heart is truly with 
 you in affectionate feehng and sympathy. It does 
 appear to be so great a mercy that the blessed 
 Saviour's call has been heard by you each — that you 
 have been, as I trust, enabled to hear His voice and to 
 * open the door,' and that in the precious sense 
 granted of His love, there has been known some- 
 thing of the experience described in the condescending 
 W'ords which follow, even though you may hesitate to 
 apply them to yourselves. These things are indeed 
 so great a blessing, how can we be sufficiently thank- 
 ful ? I am . ready to say, * What can we render ? ' 
 And is not this the language of your hearts, though 
 perhaps sometimes with fear and misgiving ? I 
 ■cannot say hov^ earnest is the desire that nothing may 
 be permitted to mar the work so graciously and 
 hopefully begun. It makes the heart sink to think 
 , how often the blessed work is marred, and if not 
 wholly frustrated, grievously checked and interfered 
 with to the unspeakable loss and suffering of 
 individuals and of the church. But it is not our 
 ■compassionate Lord's design that it should be so with 
 you dear girls, or with any of us. Let us seek to 
 keep close to Him with watchfulness and prayer, that 
 we] may know and do His will, avoiding most carefully 
 
i6 
 
 everything of whatever kind, or however unimportant 
 it may appear, which tends to draw away the heart,, 
 to bring a cloud over the spirit, and weaken the 
 abihty to trust and hope in Him. Oh that we might 
 continually lay all as upon His altar, and offer up all 
 that we are and have to the service of our God and 
 Saviour. As I write I feel deeply unworthy, and see 
 my own exceeding need of that which I desire for 
 you. I sometimes think it would be a comfort if we 
 could have a little quiet time together occasionally 
 for reading and conversation, but there seems to be 
 no way for it at present, and far is it from my thought 
 that you need any such help as mine. This note was. 
 begun days ago, but being often interrupted was laid 
 by. I think I will give it to you in token of the 
 affectionate interest and love of your truly attached 
 aunt, 
 
 "A. H." 
 
 To her niece Anne M. Hunt. 
 
 ^*'The Fort.' [No date.] 
 
 My Very Dear Anne, 
 
 It seems a long time since we saw^ each 
 other or had any direct communication, but I hope 
 and believe that on neither side has there been 
 forge tfulness. It has been a trial to keep awa}^ from 
 you during dear Kate's illness and thy own, and often 
 indeed have we thought affectionately and sympa- 
 thisingly of you. ... I desire 'to be very thankful 
 that you are all restored, or nearly so, and that the 
 malady does not spread further, but it is a fresh 
 proof how uncertain life and health are, even to the 
 young and strong. I felt the separation from thee 
 more, dear girl, because it was so long since we had 
 any intimate communication, and I longed to know 
 
17 
 
 how thou wast feehng. Perhaps at the worst there 
 was httle abiUty for reflection, . . . but I do not 
 doubt there have been times wlien the reahties of the 
 hfe to come and the z/;/reahties of this present hfe 
 have been seen afresh — when there has been a fresh 
 desire that Hfe and strength if given again might be 
 more devoted to His service and glory who claims 
 thee for His own. Now, my dear child, if this be so, 
 and if sometimes in looking forward thou art ' dis- 
 couraged because of the way,' I feel as if I could so 
 S3^mpathise and understand thy feelings. This quiet ' 
 evening, when I happen to be alone, the thought of 
 thee is so dear and precious to me, that I long to say 
 a word of encouragement, in the full belief that thou 
 art under the best teaching and discipline, and that 
 goodness and mercy are following, and will follow 
 thee through what may sometimes feel a difficult and 
 wearisome path. It has been especially sweet and 
 helpful to myself lately to endeavour to realise the 
 great privileges bestowed upon us through the Gospel^ 
 freely given to all who seek them aright, notwith- 
 standing our exceeding unworthiness and unfitness 
 by nature. Those are wonderful words : ' God has 
 sent forth the Spirit of His Son into your hearts, 
 crying, Abba, Father.' ' As many as are led by the 
 Spirit of God, they are the sons of God,' and if we 
 know anything of this, through His great mercy, or 
 even do earnestly desire to know it, may we not look 
 on the events of life in quite a different light from 
 that they would otherwise appear in ? All the trials, 
 little or great, tiresome occurrences, uncongenial 
 intercourse, or w^hatever may fall in our way, is it not 
 all sweetened and elevated by the thought that all 
 form part of the discipline by which we are being 
 
 3 
 
i8 
 
 taught, and may all, even things apparently hurtful 
 and trying to our best feelings, be made to conduce to 
 our growth in grace. It may be, dear, that thou art 
 not feeling the need of these considerations at the 
 present time. If so, lay this aside, and may He who 
 knows thy need teach thee Himself, bless thee, and 
 make thee a blessing." 
 
 To the same (no date). 
 
 Thy little note was very acceptable, my dear 
 Anne. I like to know something of thy feelings and 
 hope it may not be unprofitable for either of us to be 
 able to partake a little in them. And truly I can well 
 enter into that dread of lukewarmness w'hich some- 
 times troubles thee. I do not know of anything more 
 fearful than the thought of gradually falling aw- ay from 
 W'^hat one has known of the highest good, and becom- 
 ing careless and worldly. ... I would desire to 
 encourage thee, my dear child, to cherish that sense 
 of the divine love and goodness bestowed upon thee 
 at times, resting upon this tender mercy in undoubting 
 confidence that He who hath begun the good work 
 in thee will carry it on even to His praise, and look- 
 ing unto Him day by day and hour by hour that thou 
 mayst see how to act in this carrying on of His work. 
 In thinking of thee as well as of my own great need, 
 those words in i John, ch. v. have been very en- 
 couraging : ' And this is the confidence, . . . that 
 if we ask anything according to His will, He heareth 
 us.' Now we know that it is His will that we should 
 be His earnest self-denying followers, that w-e should 
 not be overcome by our soul's enemies, but be of those 
 to whom the victory is given through Jesus Christ our 
 Lord. And what precious encouragement this is, to 
 
19 
 
 ask and to believe that He hears, and reverently to 
 expect that our petitions will be granted. It is my 
 hope that thou wilt be !;;"iven to know more and more 
 of this precious experience and that neither heights 
 nor depths, things present nor things to come, will be 
 able to separate thee from His love. So may it be, 
 my beloved Anne, is the desire of 
 
 Thy truly affectionate Aunt, 
 
 '^A. H." 
 
 To her niece Rebecca Hunt. 
 
 i860. "Truly I have thought affectionately and 
 sympathisingly of thee since that letter was received 
 describing a state of mind with which too many of us 
 are well acquainted. Perhaps it has passed by, leaving 
 only, I would hope, a deeper sense of the emptiness 
 and evil of self and the freeness and greatness of the 
 grace by which alone any can grow^ as branches in the 
 vine. Truly all is of unmerited mercy, yet let us not 
 be content, let us not * give sleep to our eyes ' while 
 conscious that the struggle with evil is not maintained. 
 . . . Think, my dear child, of the vow^s that are 
 upon thee, of all the goodness and favour of which 
 thou hast been permitted to partake, and ask afresh 
 the ability to give thyself, body, soul and spirit, to 
 Him who has formed thee for His own praise. Then 
 even if it may not be permitted thee to enjoy much 
 sensible refreshment, and the feeling of thy own 
 poverty may be humiliating, yet peace will be given, 
 and after a little season it may be, the beams of 
 heavenly light and comfort may again shine with 
 greater brightness." 
 
20 
 
 To the same (no date). 
 
 ''I do affectionately feel for the trial connectecT 
 with thy inner life in the painful sense given thee that 
 a snare lurks even in the duties called for from thee, 
 and that thy heart is by this means cleaving unto the 
 dust. Yet, my dear child, I am ready to think that 
 the battle to be fought must be encountered there 
 through the might of Him who can give the victory, — 
 that thy heart must be cleansed of its idols, not by 
 running away from those lawful things which usurp 
 an unlawful place there, but by so yielcling to the new 
 creation in Christ Jesus that thy affections will know 
 their true object and He will rule and reign over all 
 in thy heart. If it be not so, change of place and 
 duty would not cure the evil. The same love of self 
 and undue desire for approbation, which are a 
 temptation to thee now, would recur probably under 
 more difficult and enthralling circumstances in any 
 other family. . . . Once again, dearest R., draw 
 near before Him whose service thou hast entered. 
 He knows thy temptations. Ask of Him for thy 
 Saviour's sake that He will enable thee to hold all 
 things as a trust from Him, that whatever thou do it 
 may be thy aim to do it to His glory. And then 
 devote thyself afresh to the duties of the day, looking 
 unto Jesus. . . . Remember thou art not thy own. 
 So wilt thou find a growing willingness in sharing thy 
 cherished duties with a sister, in watching the oppor- 
 tunity to put forward anyone who is discouraged or 
 unskilful into some little cheering service — in laying 
 thyself out for the performance of some duty less 
 delighted in, from which others shrink. Especially 
 would I commend to thee a deep affectionate interest 
 
21 
 
 in thy brothers, whose position individually is of so 
 much importance — for the younger ones especially. 
 Trv to make them feel thee to be their friend and use 
 the influence with which thou art entrusted for their 
 best welfare and happiness. So, dear R., thou wilt 
 And a held of abundant labour until it shall please 
 Him who graciously directs the paths of those who 
 acknowledge Him in their ways, to place thee in a 
 different position. Alayst thou be privileged to walk 
 now and hereafter in the hght of His countenance. 
 " Ever thy most affectionately attached Aunt, 
 
 ^'A. H." 
 
 To Catherine Hunt, Jun. 
 
 ''Clifton" (no date). 
 " I am much interested in your reading Madame 
 Guyon. I was going to ask thee what books thou 
 found most comfort and benefit in, and will take this 
 for an answer, though I fear it may not be exactly so 
 from thy remark about the discouraging contrast 
 with such good people. It is a feeling most of us are 
 well acquainted with, though I am afraid it is a result 
 of faithlessness and pride — two enemies hard to be 
 overcome. Yet knowing them to be enemies, and 
 their suggestions not to be trusted or yielded to, let 
 us rather remember that the same Lord over all is 
 rich unto all that call upon Him, that our blessed 
 Saviour came not only that we might have life, but 
 have it more abundantly. I should very much like 
 for thee to tell me some time and in some way, a little 
 more about the time when that great change came 
 over thee, which made itself so manifest in counten- 
 ance and manner as to need no information that it 
 had taken place. Then, dear Kate, I trust thou didst 
 
22 
 
 in reality cease to live to thyself, though the old 
 habits of mind do not at once give way. I was struck 
 with a remark made the other day by the mistress of 
 this house, when telling us of a brother who had been 
 brought under the influence of religion by means of 
 Miss Marsh in London; she spoke of his much greater 
 affection for and interest in her and his other relations 
 since that time. ' While we are in the world,' she 
 said, ' we are strangers to one another,' and it is toO' 
 often so. 
 
 "Thy very affectionate Aunt, 
 
 A. H." 
 
 It may strike the reader that the counsel con- 
 tained in these and some other of Ann Hunt's letters 
 is rather old-fashioned," and truly it reminds one 
 occasionally more of Thomas a Kempis than of any 
 recent writers on religious experience. Yet even so 
 it may find a response in some hearts ; and at the 
 least there is evidence of the warm affection and 
 tender sympathy which gave the writer so much 
 power. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 " There is no Friendship like a sister's 
 In calm or stormy weather 
 To cheer one on the tedious way, 
 To fetch one if one goes astray, 
 To lift one if one totters down, 
 To strengthen while one stands." 
 
 Christina Russetti. 
 
 IX 1862, Ann Hunt's father died at an advanced 
 ai^e. He had a somewhat ruling spirit, a quaint 
 mode of expression, and possessed altogether a 
 marked individuality of character, ^vith some of the 
 characteristics of a Friend of the old school. About 
 three years later an event occurred which made a 
 great change in his daughter Ann's life. This was 
 the death of Rebecca, her only sister. Ann had 
 never been strong, and seemed in her early woman- 
 hood very seriously out of health. From this 
 condition she recovered, having, as was afterwards 
 proved, considerable capacity for endurance, and 
 recuperative power. But she was never equal to 
 great exertion in consequence of the accident before 
 mentioned, and her kind and unselhsh sister was 
 always accustomed, in anything requiring physical 
 strength, to take the harder task. Xow, however, 
 her ow^n health began to fail, and before long her 
 
24 
 
 case, obscure at first, was pronounced by the 
 physicians to be of a hopeless character. A letter 
 addressed in May, 1865, to Elizabeth and Hannah 
 Southall, gives a touching account of her illness and 
 death : 
 
 How often, my dearly loved cousins and friends, 
 has my heart — have our hearts— turned to you since 
 this great affliction was recognised, with a sense that 
 few could feel with us as you would. On the day 
 before the notes so expressive of this were received, 
 
 we were talking of you. * Ah,' dearest R said, 
 
 ' ihey know, they know we must be passing through 
 deep waters.' And so indeed we were. It was then 
 a time of deep conflict and distress, the truth in all 
 its awfulness and sorrow beginning to be realised by 
 each of us. We were mercifully dealt with, and 
 the deep waters were not permitted to overwhelm, 
 vet it was a time of feeling such as no words can 
 describe. You have heard of my precious sister's 
 generally calm and peaceful state. . There was, how- 
 ever, a very marked change in the course of her 
 illness, — for at first, though she bore the intelligence 
 of fatal disease with surprising composure, and for a 
 while seemed more occupied with thoughts of the 
 result for others than herself, she maintained the 
 same way of speaking of her own feelings as she had 
 done in health — as utterly cold and lifeless, unable to 
 realise her interest in redeeming love and mercy. 
 She felt there was a great work to be done — her 
 strength was failing, how could it be accomplished ? 
 Not that she doubted infinite power and love, but 
 she could not take hold. I know not how these 
 seasons of anguish would have been supported but 
 
25 
 
 for the hope granted me, and the strong faith of your 
 beloved aunt, that she would not be taken away under 
 this cloud. And when ability was given to feel some- 
 thing of the pardoning love of which she had so often 
 heard, the change wrought was all the more inex- 
 pressibly comforting from the previous hfelong 
 experience. The blessing came gently and gradually, 
 but the effect could not be mistaken. The feeling 
 acknowledgment in words did not bear stronger 
 witness than the altered frame of mind. Patient she 
 always was, most thoughtful of others and anxious for 
 their benefit, very affectionate ; but there were points 
 in which a great change was manifest, and she was 
 enabled to leave all the future as regards herself and 
 others in a loving confidence that He who had been 
 so gracious to her would do all things well. 
 
 ^' The thought of our separation, and my path in 
 life without her, was at first almost more than she 
 could bear, but the same thankful submission was 
 wrought in this. She would allude to the trials 
 possibly in store, but 4iold fast,' she would say, ' cling 
 close,' and often do her loving injunctions sound as it 
 were again in my ears. No one scarcely could bear 
 a stronger testimony to the free, unmerited mercy of 
 God through Jesus Christ, than it was her privilege to 
 do. She 'longed to magnify it'; these were her 
 words of tenfold meaning as coming from her. 
 She longed that she could in any way show forth His 
 praise, ' bring glory to Him ' whose wondrous love 
 she scarcely dared to appropriate to her most 
 unworthy self. Such things she would say almost 
 inaudibly, often after those turns of exhaustion which 
 ^rew more and more distressing till the last came, 
 and did its allotted work. At these times, she said. 
 
26 
 
 encouraging texts of Scripture would be presented to- 
 her mind with much comfort. ' Him that cometh to 
 me/ ' Underneath are the Everlasting Arms,' ' I have 
 blotted out as a thick cloud,' etc., ' I will never leave 
 thee ' ; these were some she mentioned. But, as the 
 powers of life grew lower, and the suffering condition 
 of the body required more constant attention, there 
 was less sensible perception of things unseen. She 
 lamented it sometimes with discouragement, but I 
 think she never lost hold of the precious hope in her 
 Saviour, — and the sweet tranquillity with which she 
 signified her belief that ^ the time of release must be 
 near,' when I was called to her for the last time, bore 
 witness to the support granted to the end. 
 
 "And now, beloved friends, when I view in this 
 way my precious sister's experience, and recall my 
 own, — how every feeling seemed swallowed up in the 
 desire for blessing upon her, and in thankfulness for 
 that blessing, when I think of her sorrowful weary 
 life, under the pressure of causes mental and 
 bodily, and of the unutterable mercy bestowed upon 
 her, as I venture to believe, and pray that I may be 
 permitted yet more to realise — how is my selhsh 
 sorrow checked. How do I long that I might take 
 up the ascription of praise begun by her feeble voice, 
 and magnify the grace bestowed on both of us in that 
 time of sore extremity. These are my feelings not 
 unfrequently, marking as I still do the mercy mingled 
 in this dispensation, thankful especially for the 
 measure of comfort granted in my mother's sympathy 
 and union of feeling. Yet is the rending exceeding 
 hard to natural love, and the close binding together 
 of not short lives. The loss of her faithful, under- 
 standing, always to be trusted affection, her kind, 
 
27 
 
 considerate, self-sacrificing care, must indeed take 
 much of the earthly solace from life. It can never be, 
 as you say, the same to me again, but life is short — 
 may be very short to me ; I hope I may be able to 
 take a right interest in its concerns, but at present it 
 feels almost as if there were but one event of interest 
 in life, and that is licalJi, with its inconceivable change, 
 its unfathomable mysteries. . . . (Later) It has 
 been a low day and I must be prepared for such, as 
 the little business of the week comes round and round 
 without her, and I have to realise what at hrst one 
 cannot, that she is gone to return no more. You will 
 know how desolate this room is, how the afternoons 
 when we used to be together to help each other, to 
 consult, to feel the blessing of our union, — how they 
 feel now, recalling not only my much loved sister, but 
 others gone, the dead and the living — twice dead ! 
 Oh dear cousins, prize your blessing in having each 
 other, and help me to be thankful that she was taken 
 and I am left; that in spite of this natural sorrow and 
 loneliness, and through it all I have a precious life- 
 long source of comfort, and a strong link with another 
 world, where we all desire that our artections may be. 
 . . . Under all circumstances equallv, 
 
 Your warmly attached and affectionate friend, 
 
 "A. H." 
 
 A year later she thus wrote : 
 To iJie same. 
 
 " I know you will have thought of the season 
 come round again of so many affecting associations 
 to me. It was as last Second-day that Dr. Symonds was 
 called in, and gave the verdict of death, and as next 
 Second-day that his visit was repeated, and his opinion 
 
28 
 
 given that perhaps scarcely even weeks remained. 
 Oh the conflicts that were passed through then, the 
 bitter sorrow with which I looked out on the bright 
 spring days like these, and walked perforce in the 
 garden as now^ But now the room upstairs is empty, 
 and I have learned to realise what then seemed too 
 hard to believe. I look back upon what then lay 
 before in the unknown future, and feel, and oftener 
 desire to feel, deeply thankful for all the mercy shown, 
 and gracious upholding through the deep waters. It 
 is hard to refrain from a sad looking forward now, 
 but if I may venture to say ' Thou hast been my help ' 
 is there not ground to trust the petition w411 still be 
 answered, ' Leave me not, neither forsake me,' most 
 unworthy as I am. I cannot write to you, my very 
 dear friends, superficially, and therefore must acknow- 
 ledge that these last months have been a period of 
 much conflict, of being permitted to' feel even bitterly 
 on account of the past and the present, and I scarcely 
 know that at any period has a lowxr depth been 
 reached than the beginning of this week, so that I 
 have really looked upon the visits of our dear friends 
 and as a little help granted in time of need." 
 
 The account of Rebecca Hunt's last days, as given 
 in the former letter, will impress many as painful, 
 since it is clearly implied that her want of confidence 
 and the assurance of hope w^as no passing cloud, such 
 as sometimes darkens the mind of the faithful 
 Christian when there first opens before him the 
 immediate prospect of death, but rather that it had 
 been the characteristic of the previous experience. 
 Some allowance must be made for natural tempera- 
 
29 
 
 ment and depressing circumstances. Much was 
 probably due to these, and more to the prevaiHng 
 habit of mind on rehgious subjects. There was then 
 amongst Christians a dread of presumption, a 
 tendency to look within for signs of faith and grace, 
 combined among Friends especially with a great fear 
 of disobedience to the dictates of the Holy Spirit, so 
 that it seemed as if some earnest souls never gained 
 the courage of faith, and continued, while leading 
 devout and exemplary lives, to know little of the 
 cheerful confidence and deep peace which are part 
 of the Saviour's legacy to those who love Him. Had 
 it not been thus with Rebecca Hunt her sorrowful 
 Hfe might have been less sad, and she would have 
 had earlier opportunities of magnifying the love and 
 mercy in which at last she rejoiced. I have myself a 
 vivid recollection of the way in which Ann Hunt 
 spoke of her sorrow soon after her sister's death. 
 She touched on their mutual affection and unity of 
 feeling, saying that no one could have lost more," 
 but added that when she thought of her sister's 
 troubles and how they weighed upon her, she could 
 only be thankful that she had laid her burdens down. 
 The survivor was not, as she had imagined, to have a 
 short journey without the companionship of a sister- 
 friend. More than thirty years were to pass ere she, 
 too, was to reach the bourne of hfe ; for the blessing 
 of many she was to live to old age, and to find that 
 those who give their love freely to others are never 
 really lonely, never uncared for nor unloved. 
 
30 
 
 The following recollections by Samuel Southall of 
 Leeds, refer so much to this period of Ann Hunt's 
 life that they may suitably be introduced here : 
 
 My first recollections of mv dear friend and 
 cousin date back nearly sixty years, when she and her 
 sister Rebecca paid more than one visit to the little 
 town of Leominster, where I was brought up. The 
 only impression left on my mind was of her gentle- 
 ness and love. I felt she understood boys and felt 
 for them. 
 
 " I next remember her when a school-boy. I was 
 for two and a half-years at a school at Thornbury, about 
 nine miles from Bristol. During this time my uncle 
 and aunt, Henry and Eliza Hunt, frequently invited 
 me to The Fort for two or three days together. On 
 the occasion of these visits much of my time was 
 spent in the parlour, which was specially occupied by 
 Ann and Rebecca Hunt. I was a shy boy, not in 
 strong health, and I was not happy at school. This 
 made me the more grateful for sympathy, and I soon 
 found out that Ann Hunt had a wealth of it to bestow, 
 and that she was ready to take a warm interest in all 
 that was interesting to me. I think that ever since 
 that time we have corresponded with more or less 
 regularity. 
 
 " My next reminiscence which is worth recording 
 refers to a visit paid to The Fort in the year after Rebecca 
 Hunt's death. I shall never forget one afternoon, 
 when Ann Hunt and I were left alone, and she told 
 me all the circumstances of her sister's death. The 
 
31 
 
 •comparatively calm way in which she spoke, and yet 
 the evidence of intense feeling which her words con- 
 veyed were indescribable. That evening, sitting with 
 my aunt and Ann Hunt, I thoughtlessly asked the 
 latter to read aloud Jean Ingelow's ' Divided.' As I 
 write this long years after I can recall the tone in 
 Avhich the words were read : 
 
 0 
 
 * Glistens the dew and shines the river, 
 Up comes the lily and dries her bell, 
 But two are walking- apart for ever, 
 And wave their hands in a mute farewell. 
 * -x- -x- -x- •)<• 
 
 Farther, farther, I see it — know it — 
 
 My eyes brim over, it melts away, 
 Only my heart to my heart shall show it 
 
 As I walk desolate day by day.' 
 
 " How cruel I was to ask for the reading of that 
 poem ! When I heard of the death of my dear 
 friend and cousin, almost my first thought was, — now 
 the sisters are together once more. I have no doubt 
 Ann Hunt never lost the sense of her loss, and yet 
 the succeeding years of her life were not unhappy. 
 As she said of herself, ' My heart has been formed 
 with capacity to feel sorrow deeply, but also has the 
 power been given to rise above the weights and 
 burdens, and to enjoy the blessings given with a keen 
 and thankful joy.' 
 
 During the remainder of her life, I only met 
 Ann Hunt occasionally, and our lives were so busy 
 that we rarely exchanged letters oftener than once a 
 year, but I always felt that her love to me and my 
 
32 
 
 wife was just the same, and when these letters did 
 come they were overflowing with interest, showing 
 not only how complete was her grasp of what was 
 passing in the philanthropic and religious world, but 
 how every detail of our family and personal interests 
 was retained in the memory. The last two or three 
 letters were written in a feeble and faltering hand, 
 and then I received messages only through her 
 amanuensis. Now she is ^ at home with the Lord.^ 
 Looking back on our intercourse I feel that only once 
 in a lifetime are men usually permitted to have such 
 a friendship as hers." 
 
 There are but scanty memorials of the next few 
 years. Catherine Hunt, Jun., was at Saffron Walden 
 for some ^-ears, in attendance on the declining days 
 of the late Priscilla Green. A few extracts may be 
 given from her aunt's letters to her during that time. 
 
 The Fort, 7th month 7th, 1868. 
 
 " I was very much interested by what thou told 
 me of the remarks on the Epistle to young Friends in 
 the Yearly Meeting. ... It does seem so truly 
 desirable that every right exercise of spirit, every 
 honest effort for the advancement of the blessed 
 Redeemer's kingdom, should be acknowledged and 
 owned as far as it can be done by those who have 
 been more largely taught in His school. . . . It 
 is remarkable indeed how strong the current has been 
 running of late on the subject of women's ministry. 
 I suppose the rapid decline in the number so engaged 
 has turned attention to the subject." 
 
33 
 
 The same topic is resumed in a later letter, bearing 
 postmark October 26th, 1868 : 
 
 Thou remarked how much the ministry of 
 women was dwelt on in the Yearly Meeting, and how 
 much encouragement was given in that direction. 
 The same view has been brought before Friends 
 very much of late in different ways, and seems to 
 have excited much concern in the Meeting of 
 Ministers and Elders. It does indeed seem remark- 
 able that while the place of women in the Church is 
 being more acknowledged among Christians in 
 general, our Society should seem to be retrograding 
 in practice, and often in individual opinioli. But the 
 root of the deficiency seems to me to lie deeper than 
 can be affected by any of the encouragement or 
 persuasion, of which one is sometimes a little afraid. 
 There are doubtless some faithlessly holding back, 
 and experiencing that poverty to which they are 
 contributing in the Church ; but in the main is there 
 not a want of the preparation of the heart ? . , . 
 It is a cause for thankfulness that some press through^ 
 and make proof of their allegiance by public offerings^ 
 accepted by their Master as such, when perhaps not 
 much beyond is required ; for it has long seemed to 
 me that if things were as they should be, that very 
 marked line of separation between ministers and 
 others to which we have been accustomed would not 
 be drawn ; that when a company of worshippers sit 
 down together, it would not be almost certain that 
 one or two would speak and all the rest he silent, but 
 that now and then, especially when the more gifted 
 are absent, there may be a lively and acceptable 
 expression of Christian concern or sympathy, or 
 
34 
 
 utterance of the petitions which hve in the heart, 
 even though much exercise in the office of a Gospel 
 minister may never be designed. I hope thou wilt 
 not mistake me, dear, nor suppose I would lower the 
 true standard in any wise. The voice must be heard 
 the same, the call real, though the service may be 
 different in extent, and as such requiring perhaps a 
 different course of spiritual preparation or training. 
 
 . . . Barclay and must be left I think ; I do 
 
 not quite unite with either, presumptuous as it seems — 
 I mean as to the interpretation of texts ; but it is a 
 blessing to be preserved from much anxiety or per- 
 plexity about these differences of view — seeking to 
 follow that which brings peace to our own souls, and 
 looking to Him who is the unerring Teacher and 
 Guide, whose cause it is." 
 
 As regards the work of the ministry, neither of 
 the hindrances hinted at in the foregoing letter 
 applied to Ann Hunt herself ; it is impossible to 
 attribute to her conscious unfaithfulness or want of 
 preparation of heart. Yet, as has been said before, 
 something had hindered her for many years ; partly, 
 it may be, her natural timidity and tendency to self- 
 depreciation, and partly the degree in which she was 
 habitually influenced by the opinions of others. The 
 first time that she actually spoke in a meeting for 
 worship appears to have been at Clevedon, where she 
 was staying for the improvement of her health about 
 1873. The following remarks contained in a letter to 
 Hannah Southall allude to this, or possibly to a 
 subsequent occasion in Bristol : 
 
35 
 
 " Most thankfully would I tell thee, beloved sister 
 and sharer in my sombre experiences, that with re- 
 newed natural strength and spirit has come the far 
 richer blessing of light in the dwelling. Something 
 more of liberty of spirit was granted during my stay 
 from home, and I look back to last First-day evening 
 as a time of breaking of bonds — with the deepest 
 humiliation, yet vvith solemn thankfulness altogether 
 beyond words ; and it is no more in my power to 
 doubt the evidence of Divine merciful owning than it 
 would be to question whether the sun shone in the 
 morning, or whether the darkness of night still con- 
 tinued. Ask for me, my beloved friend, when thou 
 canst, that the help I so urgently need may yet be 
 granted, that no slavish bonds may again fetter my 
 spirit, but that while it is yet day any little service 
 in doing or suffering may be fulhlled to the glory of 
 my Lord." 
 
 Some time before this an event had occurred 
 which lightened a heavy burden of anxiety and sorrow 
 borne patiently for many years. The niece whose 
 childhood had been spent at The Fort and whose 
 course had occasioned so much distress, was married 
 actually from her aunt's home and under her care in 
 the autumn of 1872. There seemed a reasonable 
 prospect of happiness in the future, and as was hoped, 
 tokens of improvement in A. herself ; and though 
 troubles and disappointments were yet to come, 
 something had been really gained, and for a time the 
 alleviation was great and most thankfuUv received. 
 
 Early in 1873 Ann Hunt became a member of a 
 committee appointed to meet with Friends, and 
 
36 
 
 especially 3^oung Friends, as invited to do so, and to 
 have communication with them on religious sub- 
 jects. She was prevented by home circumstances 
 from taking her full share in this service, but she was 
 greatly interested in it, and the visits in which she 
 took part were the means of developing the powers 
 of sympathy and influence which were later on to 
 come so fully into play. 
 
 The health of Eliza Hunt, always precarious, was 
 failing seriously in these later years, and Ann Hunt 
 was much engaged in attendance upon her, assisted 
 from time to time by Hannah Southall, whose timely 
 aid on many occasions earned her the title of 
 Partner," so often afterwards given her by her 
 much tried friend. At length, after a distressing 
 illness, the object of so much care, the invalid of 
 many years, died at an advanced age in April, 1874. 
 Ann Hunt wrote thus to Hannah Southall about two 
 months after : 
 
 First-day afternoon. 
 
 " Thy sweet note is most cheering — comes in so 
 seasonably on this day of something like funeral still- 
 ness and recollections. I seem to be passing through 
 the parting now, in the solitary walks and such a long, 
 long look back among places and things having 
 touching, yes, far more associations. But how merci- 
 fully have the wounds been healed — is the bitterness 
 tempered ; and thy cordial, loving greeting bringing 
 me heart to heart with you again, came Hke a beam 
 of sunshine. I am so glad it is likely to suit you for 
 
37 
 
 me to come soon, but the time for leaving Bristol is 
 a little uncertain." 
 
 She seems to have left The Fort the clay after this 
 was written, taking refuge at hrst with Hannah C. Price, 
 the faithful friend of many years. This Friend was 
 remarkable for her Christian benevolence, which w^as 
 shown in an unusual way. She had at different times 
 adopted several orphans, for whom she cared in the 
 kindest manner, and she had also taken charge of two 
 motherless children, whose father was in a foreign 
 land. One of these, a young man just starting in life, 
 had died at her house some years before. Ann Hunt 
 had been greatly interested in him, and there still ex- 
 ists in MS. an account which she wrote of the 
 experience of his last days. To those nearer to her 
 H. C. Price had also rendered kind and timely 
 assistance, and it seemed fitting that Ann Hunt should 
 make this house her home until she had decided on 
 one for herself, where she should begin life again 
 independently and alone. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 " Thrice blest whose lives are faithful prayers, 
 Whose loves in higher love endure ; 
 What souls possess themselves so pure ? 
 Or is there blessedness like theirs ? " 
 
 Te?inyson. 
 
 HE year 1874 marks a change in Ann Hunt's life, 
 
 -L which is manifest in the tone of her correspon- 
 dence. This was more extensive than it had been 
 before, and from this time material would be 
 abundant, but for the fact that few of her letters 
 of the earlier dates appear to have been preserved. It 
 was some time before a house was found that seemed 
 to suit her requirements, but the letters written 
 during this interval show little anxiety on this head. 
 She wrote thus from H. C. Price's to Hannah 
 Southall : 
 
 ''The house search seems almost at a standstill ; 
 there is nothing at all likely to look at, and some of 
 my friends think I had better go into lodgings than 
 take anything unsuitable. For the present it must be 
 
 12, South Parade, Clifton, 
 
 '' 2nd loth mo., 1874. 
 
39 
 
 left. To-moiTOW, if all's well, I go to Ashle}- Down,* 
 and dear Maria Hayward writes that they shall be 
 ready for me after this week, so I do not feel driven 
 into lodgings just yet. Hast thou thought, dearest, 
 that it is six months this very morning since thou and 
 I stood and knelt by that bed for the last time ? 
 How vividly is the scene before me now, though it 
 seems in the far longer past. . . . And then the 
 turning away to a new phase of life begun already, 
 new duties, new prospects — a weight which would 
 have been overpowering but for the trust. Yes, 
 dearest partner in it all, He is able to keep that which 
 we have committed to Him, and from that day to this I 
 can set my seal to the truth that He is able and 
 abundantly willing to supply all our need. I need 
 not tell thee that He has been very merciful and 
 gracious unto me, short as I have fallen in an 
 answerable walking, yet it has been so by the touch 
 of His blessed Spirit upon my spirit, and by His 
 gracious dealings outwardly [in] giving me thee and 
 other dear loving friends in this time when I might 
 otherwise have mourned for the dead and the living 
 with a sense of desolation. . . . But I must not 
 fill up paper and time in this way, I want to allude to 
 some things in thy letter of true interest. ... I 
 am very glad I met Elizabeth Comstock and know 
 her stvle and spirit better than I could otherwise. 
 She has a great gift in her power over the minds and 
 souls of others, exercised perhaps in rather a whole- 
 sale way, and so we must not be surprised if it lacks 
 some of those hner touches, and that adaptation to 
 one's Christian and natural tastes, which specially 
 
 * The home of her dear friend Catherine B. Charleton at that time. 
 
40 
 
 endears and attracts personally — but perhaps this is 
 my notion. . . . Do not think I fastidiously 
 undervalue her. Thy account of her service among 
 you gives a high impression of its character, and I 
 wish she or anyone else could stir us up. But I do 
 not like that statement about our being lost or saved 
 and the results. I doubt if our human faculties are 
 equal to that kind of crystallization of solemn 
 mysteries into epigrammatic sentences without risk of 
 error. We can, as thou said, cordially accept the 
 hrst part, 'We are not saved because we do right,' 
 but to say, ' We are not lost because we sin, but we 
 sin because we are lost," seems to me almost in direct 
 contradiction to Scripture teaching, and liable to 
 some of the most deplorable results of what we call 
 Calvinism. Is it not better to confine our statements 
 to what we do know and most surely believe, which 
 equally magnihes the free grace whereby and wherein 
 alone we have any hope, and [to] encourage all to take 
 hold of it, to accept the offered salvation, and to be 
 created anew unto good works as His workmanship 
 in Christ Jesus, without making starthng assertions 
 which cut two ways, disheartening the honest seeker 
 after Christ, when only intended to warn the self- 
 righteous ? One shrinks so much ,from those hard 
 keen lines of distinction some people try to draw in a 
 region where there is no hold for them, where the 
 darkness seems to dawn into the light, and the light 
 shadow into the darkness by imperceptible degrees. 
 I suppose we cannot conceive of any change taking 
 place without there being some moment when the 
 one condition passes into the other, but as respects 
 that great change from the condition of the lost 
 sinner to the sinner saved by grace, how often it is 
 
41 
 
 beyond the power of any eye or spirit but that of the 
 All-seeing to discern the time.* The apostle John 
 says how they knew they had passed from death unto 
 life, not in a way which betokened any sudden sense 
 of change ; and while it does sometimes come in that 
 way, I cannot think we are warranted in looking for 
 it either in ourselves or one another, and I cannot but 
 beheve that every motive and every exhortation and 
 entreatv may be brought to bear on those who we 
 fear are not yet within the fold, without judging them 
 in that way or insisting that they shall judge them- 
 selves. But I did not mean to write so many words 
 on these most deeply interesting, inexplicable points. 
 There is no need of more darkening of counsel, so I 
 hope thou wilt not let any words of my unwisdom 
 have that effect. How much more does one grain of 
 experience do for us than mountains of talk and con- 
 ' troversy ; yet I like very much to know thy thoughts 
 on these things." 
 
 A little before this she had written to the same 
 correspondent about another religious teacher of the 
 day : 
 
 Very comforting to me was thy letter from M., 
 and much indeed should I have liked to share in 
 some of the occasions of deep interest of which thou 
 spoke. As to Hannah Whitall Smith and her 
 
 * It seems to be a mistake arising partly from pre-conceived tlieological 
 ideas, and partly from the over-pressing of certain figures and analogies, to say 
 that there must necessarily be such a " moment." If there has been none such 
 to the consciousness of a person who is nevertheless in hopes, beliefs, and 
 affections a true Christian, why inquire into the matter at all ? To say nothing 
 of cases where there has never been a time of actual rebellion against God, how 
 can we talk of the moment of change in the eyes of Him to whom the future 
 is open, and who sees His returning child when he is yet afar oft' ? — Ed. 
 
42 
 
 teaching, I should be indeed grieved to think she 
 was not fuliiUing a mission on which a blessing 
 largely rests, yet it will remain that there are those 
 whose line or stage of experience does not enable 
 them so to appropriate the truth she urges as to make 
 it their own, and when this is at any time the case 
 there must be a chill in the failure. But what a com- 
 fort it is that the warmth and light for which we long 
 is not in the keeping of any man or body of men to 
 bestow or to withhold, and perhaps it will be one of 
 the instructive lessons which some of those dear 
 young friends will have to [learn] when the reliected 
 warmth of this contact shall cool among the hard 
 common things of life, and they will have to discover 
 as for themselves, or rather know it to be revealed 
 even to them, what it is to know the precious legacy 
 of our Lord to be abidingly theirs. I long that we 
 may not lose sight of the reality of the promised 
 blessing, either in the tangle of words wherein some 
 desire to set it forth, or in our own experience of the 
 things which hinder the possession. Among these 
 truly is that physical trial to which thou alluded — 
 nerves strung to painful sensitiveness, refusing to be 
 stilled. I have often felt it so consoling to remember 
 that He, our blessed Master, knows equally and can 
 equally cure the suffering which arises from each 
 department of our wonderful complex being ; that 
 He can see and understand and compassionate what 
 our fellow men are disposed to blame, and does in 
 His infinite love hold out the hand of help, give 
 the healing balm — little, perhaps, as we can do for 
 ourselves, except by avoiding those efforts and 
 endurances which overtax the brain and nerves ; and 
 the endeavour to cast ourselves upon His healing 
 
43 
 
 and compassionate love will assuredly be blessed to 
 ourselves and those around." 
 
 Early in 1875, the dear friend with whom Ann 
 Hunt had been for the most part since her own old 
 home had been broken up, Hannah C. Price, died at 
 the age of eighty-six. She was not only a succourer 
 of many, but had in past years helped the sisters, 
 Ann and Rebecca Hunt, in straits in which their 
 other friends felt powerless to assist. At the time of 
 her death she had residing with her a valued Friend 
 named Phyllis Rowe. She and Ann Hunt were much 
 attached to each other, and when the time came for 
 the latter to make a new home, it was Phyllis who 
 was with her on her lirst entrance on it. The house 
 ultimately decided upon was situated in an old- 
 fashioned square in Bristol. It had the advantage of 
 being near the Friends' Meeting-house, and as there 
 was a green in front and a strip of garden behind, it 
 was not so close or confined as many other situations. 
 There were, of course, drawbacks to a residence so 
 completely in town, but perhaps they were more 
 evident in later years. For a long time she rejoiced 
 in being able to walk to m.eeting, and some of her 
 friends found her dwelHng a delightful resting place, 
 where they could enjoy her compan\' in the intervals 
 between different engagements. To herself the 
 entrance upon this position was a great event, the 
 more so that she had passed the age of sixty-four 
 before she thus attained to anything like inde- 
 pendence. Something of her feelings may be 
 
44 
 
 gathered from the following extracts from letters 
 written at the time : 
 
 To Hannah Sonthall. l8/S. 
 The changes and surprises are indeed great, and 
 it will take long, perhaps too long, to be ever learnt 
 before I feel that time and servants and rooms and 
 all the materials of daily life are really under my con- 
 trol. How do the responsibilities as well as the trials 
 of life, inward and outward, change as we pass on. 
 Some of my fresh causes of thought and feeling I 
 hope some time to tell you of — not of special interest 
 to tell ; but it seems as if the cup of life would be 
 filled, it may be perhaps with a different mixture 
 from that I am now tasting." 
 
 And, again, in the prospect of a visit from a 
 Friend : 
 
 " It seems so strange and new to me to be able to 
 offer such accommodation that I have almost to go 
 through a process of reasoning to convince myself of 
 the fact. But this occurs continually in one way or 
 other, sometimes in a very different sphere, bringing 
 a sense of responsibility over my spirit which can 
 only lead to the one spot where burdens are laid 
 down, or strength renewed to bear them. I go on in 
 much feebleness, yet with a precious sense of a 
 Saviour near, mighty to save. It looks large to write, 
 and in my exceeding weakness is it too much to say ? 
 But then, the weakness only makes the blessing 
 more precious and dear, and I can only long that 
 everyone who feels weak and tempest tossed might 
 come to the waters, come to the shadow of a great 
 Rock, come to the strong for strength. Oh ! that the 
 
45 
 
 reality of these things may be more and more known 
 by us all." 
 
 To Hannah SoutJiall. 
 
 9, Brunswick Square, 1875. 
 
 "A line, clear H., to go with this which was found 
 in the drawing room. . . . Much do I think of 
 you still in loving interest, though now for a time our 
 paths divide. Mine is in the old track again, but in 
 a large measure exempted from the thorns and briars 
 of former years, though there is the constant need of 
 care and watching, and resort to the place of refuge 
 and strength." 
 
 It could not have been long after settling into her 
 house that it was opened for a little gathering, held 
 under the appointment of a " Pastoral Committee," 
 of which Ann Hunt was a member. In reference to 
 this she wrote : 
 
 To Elizabeth Southall. 
 
 " I have been trying to get the drawing-room 
 ready for a meeting we are intending to hold to- 
 morrow evening with Friends who are mothers of 
 young children. We shall probably number twenty- 
 two or twenty-three, to take tea at six. Think of us 
 if thou canst, for the prospect seems rather heavy. 
 It is the first gathering in that room since it was mine. 
 Ma}- it be blessed. . . . Scarcely at all have I 
 felt the marvellous change that has passed more than 
 in putting the drawing-room to rights. The things 
 fresh as it were from her hand — where is she now, 
 and why am I here? Wonderful thoughts, but 1 
 must leave more that I want to say." 
 
.46 
 
 To Hannah Sonthall. 
 
 " 7th month loth, 1875. 
 
 M}^ last to thee, dearly loved sister and friend, 
 has remained as unlinished in my mind ever since. 
 So many things I did not say and have not said, and 
 Ihe wheel of life goes round so fast that it is 
 impossible to catch that which is flying off day by 
 day, superseded by other interests and feelings. Yet 
 there are some which abide, and ever must, and some 
 of these my heart calls up as I turn to thee, loving and 
 faithful as I have proved thee under many a trial. 
 Ah, my friend, touching the Almighty we cannot And 
 Him out. Truly in many ways His thoughts and 
 ways are not as ours, and yet He leadeth by a right 
 way, and bringeth the tempest-tossed to the desired 
 haven. And so it is that He condescends to employ 
 us who feel so utterly unworthy and unfit, to do here 
 and there a little service for Him, and to send light 
 and warmth into our souls, as He did to thee in that 
 cottage meeting and at that time. O hold fast by 
 Him, as the ever compassionating, ever present, ever 
 helping Saviour and Friend, and never mind the 
 tossings ; do not believe in the dark hours, or the 
 dark thoughts, for is not He near who is our light 
 and our salvation ? Wh}' should we be afraid ? I 
 think I have felt these blessed things more than ever 
 of late, though poor, and failing, and stumbling often 
 alas, yet also at times conscious of a gracious help 
 and a blessed guidance far beyond any of my own 
 poor resources. 
 
 Thou asked about our Pastoral Tea. Though 
 several of the invited were unavoidably absent, we 
 -were about eighteen who passed the evening 
 together ; several who have large young families of 
 
47 
 
 rather the less privileged class, with some in very 
 different circumstances. (Besides several before 
 mentioned) Susanna Gayner. both Committee Friend 
 and object of the meeting, was with us — but we 
 eschewed the men. Truly it was a time of much 
 feeling ; after a little reading, and something more 
 directlv of a meeting character, there was a tolerably 
 free conversation on points connected with the 
 training of voung children, the degree in which 
 * unconditional obedience ' should be enforced, the 
 best wav of inculcating religious truth and feeling, 
 the needs of the mother herself, etc. I believe it was 
 felt to be a profitable and enjoyable time. Manv 
 said so. and some tears said more than words. I 
 wish something of the kind could be kept up in 
 freshness. This week there was to be a meeting for 
 children, and the ' Children's Epistle ' read, but I 
 have not heard of it yet. ... It felt very strange 
 to have such a company at mv own house, and 
 thankfully did I feel it as a time of (in a sort) public 
 dedication, as truly I had longed to dedicate it and 
 all the means given me to His service who has 
 brought me hitherto, during the short remainder of 
 my life. I often think of thy kind droll exhortations 
 to live at Westbury or somewhere out of the wav of 
 things ; and advice of that nature still comes in 
 which I hope to bear in mind. It is a great comfort 
 and blessing to have a quiet useful home. Thus far I 
 am increasingly satisfied with the situation, and with 
 being alone, though it has yet been but little that this 
 has been the case. I think I shall do better if health 
 is granted, to have the freedom of no other inmate, 
 and the entire rest. But I hope to do whatever seems 
 to be ordered dav bv day." 
 
48 
 
 It was indeed late in life for Ann Hunt to attain 
 full liberty of action, and the power to follow without 
 hindrance the lines of service to which she was 
 especially called. But little as it might have been 
 expected she had before her more than twenty years 
 of loving service. Her home was, in a sense, solitary 
 for many years, though from time to time it became a 
 shelter to relatives who were sorrowful or distressed, 
 but even when she was alone she could not be said to 
 dwell in solitude. So many sought her company or 
 came to her for sympathy or counsel, that when later 
 on her friend Phyllis Rowe began to pay her 
 lengthened visits, she used to say that there was 
 scarcely room or time for her companionship. Ann 
 Hunt received all — and they were people of every 
 variety of character and position — with a kind and 
 gracious bearing, patiently enduring interruptions 
 which must sometimes have been untimely, and 
 managing with wonderful tact and insight to enter 
 into the feelings of her visitors, to gain their con- 
 fidence and give them what they needed of sympathy 
 and help. The party which has been described was 
 the first of many more. Bible classes, meetings of 
 ministers, committees of various kinds were often 
 gathered in that "upper room." 
 
 About this time she began to speak more 
 frequently in meeting, to the comfort and satis- 
 faction of her friends, who rejoiced to welcome her 
 definite entrance on this line of service. She was 
 recorded a minister in the year 1876. A few words 
 
49 
 
 as to her ministry, in this sense of the word, may not 
 be out of place here. Her communications were 
 marked by spirituahty and deep reverence. Thev 
 were varied in subject, and had much freshness, and, 
 though simple in one aspect, were sometimes rather 
 elaborate in thought. It might have been expected 
 that a person of her deep experience, combined with 
 mental power and considerable command of language, 
 would have reached a higher level in the ministry, 
 than, speaking after the manner of men, it can be said 
 that she attained. She never lost a peculiar timidity 
 of manner, and it is probable that the repression of 
 her earlier life and the long retarded exercise of her 
 gift were hindrances to its full development. She 
 might have been more admired had it been other- 
 wise, but it does not follow that her service would 
 have been more blessed. Her words were valued for 
 their own sake and for the evidence they bore of her 
 close walking with God, as well as for the weight and 
 humility with which they were uttered and their 
 entire consistency with her life and conduct. 
 
 The following, addressed to Phyllis Rowe. alludes 
 to her acknowledgment as a minister : 
 
 There is another subject, which no circum- 
 stances can put out of mind, to which thou alluded, 
 mv beloved friend, which I must only just touch on. 
 I believe thou understands mv feelings, and so will 
 know something of how I feel the solemn recognition, 
 the added responsibility which seems coming upon 
 me. Next Fourth-day it is to be spoken of finally, if 
 
50 
 
 nothing interpose. May the dear Saviour, to whom 
 we have desired to give ourselves, guide and rule over 
 all. I feel it the more because our meeting is so dif- 
 ferent from , so few come forward, almost none 
 
 of the young men and strong." 
 
 And the way in which she regarded the subject is 
 shown in a letter, written somewhat later, to her friend 
 Joseph Storrs Fry : 
 
 The excessive dread of this kind of service 
 which, combined with discouraging circumstances, 
 kept back any expression during the best years of my 
 hfe, does perhaps still produce the w^ant of power to 
 command my voice, which might be reasonably 
 expected in my circumstances of age, etc. I do feel 
 very thankful for the forbearance and the unity of my 
 dear friends ; and feeling that the time for service 
 must be short, and may be very short, it is my earnest 
 desire to devote it unreservedly to Him who has so 
 borne with my unfaithfulness, and has not cast me 
 wholly out of His service. But especially my heart 
 responds to thy desire that all personal considera- 
 tions may give place to the endeavour to take our 
 part in the work of the Lord ; and that by whatever 
 means and through whatever instruments, it may be 
 our prayer that His name may be exalted and the 
 great need of men may be supplied." 
 
 Ann Hunt continued to correspond with her niece 
 Catherine as long as she remained at Saffron Waldon, 
 where she was attending Priscilla Green in her last 
 illness. 
 
51 
 
 ''9, Brunswick Square [September, 1875]. 
 
 "Yes, I can understand what thou art passing 
 through, my dearly loved niece — described in thy. 
 letter received this morning. I was very much 
 wishing to hear, though there was little to expect but 
 the report thou hast given of still increasing weakness 
 and sinking. How hard for thee to witness, with thy 
 devoted love to the dear sufferer. I know so well 
 the dreariness of the prospect, the shrinking from the 
 future, the pain of the present, even though merciful 
 support is granted. And yet I want to say even in 
 these circumstances, ' Be careful for nothing.' There 
 is no need. The peace of God can keep our hearts — 
 we cannot keep them — as in everything by prayer and 
 supplication we make known our requests. Among 
 the miracles which He w^ho redeemed us yet works 
 for His people, one of the greatest, I have often 
 thought, is that change and over-ruling of our natural 
 will and feelings, which is just as much out of our 
 own power to effect as it is out of the power of 
 another. But as we give them over unto Him, He 
 can and does work in us to will as well as to do 
 according to His good pleasure. And then the sting 
 of sorrow is taken away, the blank and void are tilled 
 up by the light and blessedness of His presence, and 
 at times He does enable us to go on our way rejoicing. 
 We feel that we are but of one family on earth and in 
 heaven. ^ Part of the host have crossed the flood and 
 part are crossing now ! ' I must not stay to write 
 much, but I want thee, dearest Kate, to trust and not 
 be afraid. He is able to keep thee in peace and He 
 will, I cannot doubt, show thee that His own hand is 
 ordering all as regards thy future." 
 
To the same. 
 
 14th of Third Month, 1876. 
 " We do indeed seem greatly in need of re- 
 inforcements here, and oh when I think of such an one 
 as / coming to the front in a sense in our meeting, I need 
 not tell thee what feelings are excited. Oh that it 
 may truly be not /, but through Him whose strength 
 is made perfect in weakness, that ever a word may be 
 said or a service offered. I know and am comforted 
 in feeling that I have thy sympathy and best desires. 
 May the mercy and condescending love whereby I 
 have been led on, be an encouragement to thee to 
 make better use than I have done of the prime of thy 
 days and the vigour of thy powers in whatever way 
 opens before thee. I do see the need and the privi- 
 lege of it more and more." 
 
 To the same, soon after P. Green's death. 
 " 9, Brunswick Square, 
 
 24th of Fourth Month, 1877. 
 " My Dear Kate, — I have received tw^o welcome 
 notes from thee since I wrote. I have been wishing 
 to reply, for truly my thoughts and sympathies have 
 been much wath thee. I do not think, as thou sayst, 
 that anyone can understand such feelings as thine 
 without a somew^iat similar experience. I know well 
 how time only seems to increase the sense of loss, the 
 indescribable longing after the dear voice, the 
 presence, the sympathy to which we were accustomed. 
 And then too I know how apt the mind is to turn 
 back on the past with thoughts of what one might 
 have done better, what it would have been better not 
 to have done, and all this comes with a keen pang. 
 My own experience has been that in the very things 
 
53 
 
 Avhich other people have thought one has done 
 particularlv well, in which one is congratulated 
 perhaps on having satisfaction in the retrospect — in 
 those verv things I have been so conscious of fault 
 and shortcoming that nothing but humiliation remains. 
 A httle remark of thine in the letter to Anne which 
 thou ^ave her leave to show me made me think that 
 some such feelings mav come over thee. And I want 
 to ask thee to turn away from them. I believe they 
 are a temptation bringing one into needless distress. 
 ' The past is still in His keeping-. 
 The future His love will clear.' 
 " It is often a comfort to me to feel that His mercy 
 is over all the past, and that this shall not separate 
 from His love and the blessed enjoyment of it anv 
 more than things present or things to come. Xot that 
 these remarks are applicable to thy present circum- 
 stances, my beloved niece. Thou hast indeed great 
 cause for thankfulness for the help graciously given 
 thee to discharge thv duties with true devotedness 
 and affection, and if any thought of a regretful land 
 arises, try to look at it in a wav which she would do 
 now, which she would wish thee to do, all trouble 
 being swallowed up in the eternal weight of glory. 
 
 There are many other subjects I should like 
 to speak of, but must leave them until another time. 
 Such a pressure of things, often of a trving character, 
 forbids one to dwell wholly on one subject, and vet 
 how much there is of gracious help and mercv 
 through all. " Thy very loving Aunt. 
 
 "A. Hunt." 
 
 This letter closes the correspondence with Catherine 
 Hunt, who afterwards returned to her home in Bristol. 
 
CHAPTER lY. 
 
 " Quiet from God . . . 
 
 It g-iveth not a spell to humankind 
 
 To lay all suffering powerless at its feet,* 
 
 But keeps within the temple of the mind 
 A place of refuge and a mercy seat. 
 
 A spiritual ark, bearing the peace of God 
 
 Above the waters dark, and o'er the desert sod." 
 
 .V. y. Williams. 
 
 IN one of her letters to Hannah Southall, Ann 
 Hunt said : Thy dear letter was as pouring in 
 oil (we won't say wine) into wounds which will ache 
 and pain, much as I desire to disregard them, and 
 know that in the right time healing will be given for 
 all. It does not seem to me that in this world there 
 will be much of rest, except that which outward un- 
 rest cannot break ; very thankful I am for any measure 
 of that graciously given." 
 
 She did, indeed, need the experience of that 
 inward rest in an especial manner during the next 
 few years. It almost dismayed her friends to witness 
 the anxieties that gathered round her just when they 
 had imagined that she had entered on a period of 
 peace and freedom from pressing cares. The niece 
 A., concerning whom she had been less anxious for a 
 
55 
 
 time, became again an object of much solicitude ; her 
 health was shattered and her domestic happiness 
 precarious. She began to spend much time with her 
 aunt, and when not actually with her there was con- 
 tinual intercourse or correspondence, so that the 
 experiences and the varying moods of a person of 
 impulsive temperament were continually brought 
 before her, often to the disquieting of her loving 
 heart. From the year 1878, after a crisis in these 
 troublous affairs which brought for the first time the 
 look of old age to Ann Hunt's calm and peaceful face, 
 A. became wholly dependent on her " Mother Aunt,'^ 
 as she called her, not indeed for means of subsistence 
 but for every arrangement for her health and com- 
 fort. She did all she could for her with almost more 
 than maternal love and patience, bore with her way- 
 wardness, watched over her wherever she might be, 
 and always made the best of her, both to herself and 
 others ; indeed, it must be admitted that her affec- 
 tions sometimes blinded her judgment in this case. 
 All could unite, however, in pity for the forlorn con- 
 dition of her charge, which was not the result of any 
 flagrant error on her part. 
 
 In addition to all this, and before she knew how 
 heavy would be the claim, Ann Hunt had offered 
 home and shelter to an aged relative, Charles 
 Hayward, whose wife, a beloved cousin of her's, 
 had died unexpectedly in the winter of 1876. The 
 one arrangement complicated the other, so that the 
 home in Brunswick Square had its full share of cares 
 
56 
 
 and anxieties at this time. Yet nothing hindered the 
 response to other demands, or the dihgent fulfilment 
 of other duties. There was still the capacity to 
 meet the glad with joyful smile," as well as to 
 wipe the weeping eyes." The following words are 
 to be found in a letter belonging to one of the most 
 painful years : 
 
 What a mercy that the capacity for love and joy 
 does not wear or grind out of the heart, no not even 
 though one is ' brayed as in a mortar among wheat 
 with a pestle,' which seems rather like my experience." 
 
 She thus alludes in a pocket-book diary to her 
 cousin Maria Hayward's death : 
 
 " I cannot realise it yet, but I have lost the nearest 
 to a sister this world contained. But if ' nearer to 
 Thee ' it brings me, all is well for me, as for her." 
 
 And on the following day : " A day of feeling the 
 shadow which death casts over the living as it is long 
 since I have done." 
 
 At the close of the year 1876, in the same book, 
 she wrote : 
 
 Year just passing away has had its trials. The 
 cloud under which it began deeply shaded the earlier 
 half — mitigated but not removed. Dearest Maria's 
 unlooked-for death a great blow, and health failed 
 under continual trial. . . . My own course more 
 defined. Recorded as a minister, great kindness and 
 sympathy shown, and often have I been helped to my 
 thankful wonder ; yet great cause for humiliation. 
 . . . And now, in the last hour of 1876, how does 
 
57 
 
 my soul crave the continued, the yet more abundant 
 blessing for the ensuing year, craves it for me and 
 mine. . . . For us who venture to speak in Thy 
 name be pleased to give more love for Christ, and 
 communion with Him, and fellowship one with 
 another, more life and power and liberty, that if it 
 please Thee there may be an awakening out of sleep, 
 ancl a putting on of strength in Thy name, to the 
 blessing of our little church, and exaltation of Thy 
 glorious name through and with the blessed Saviour. 
 And so I close the book, yet be Thou still near me, 
 most gracious Lord." 
 
 To J. S. Fry. 
 
 " 7th Month 7th, 1877. 
 I often long that we may not be waiting for 
 special occasions, as the holding of general meetings 
 or the visit of some gifted stranger, in the hope that 
 our gracious Lord would then manifest His presence 
 and power among us in a way which we do not look 
 for at other times. Surely we have had evidence that 
 He has not taken His Holy Spirit from us, and is not 
 the longing and the prayer which He puts into the 
 hearts of some of us a token that He designs yet more 
 abundant blessing ? Sometimes I wish that we had 
 more opportunity for united supplication that so it 
 may be, but I trust there is indeed a union of many 
 spirits, though perhaps unknown to each other, in 
 such requests." 
 
 At this time of her life the little entries in her 
 diary were made at the end of the weeks only : they 
 sum up as it were the past seven days, and show the 
 
58 
 
 spirit in which she had learned to do and to bear. 
 Thus : 
 
 Many engagements and troubles, but some deep 
 peace and precious access in prayer. My soul longs 
 for a fuller measure and more entire devotion." 
 
 " A sense of blessed union almost unknown before. 
 My soul longs for its increase, even for fulness of 
 blessing." 
 
 " Surely the prayer of last week was answered ; I 
 have been kept in peace, more deep and solid than 
 perhaps ever known by me. Yet, blessed Lord, give 
 more." 
 
 A very gracious instance of guidance — Oh that 
 it may bring forth the fruit of faith. Blessed Lord, 
 a week is before me full of need of Thee. Grant 
 accordingly if it be Thy w411." 
 
 " A week of watching, of tears kept back, of 
 sadness, of prayer, but of longing for more sense that 
 the Comforter is with me. Yet of gracious help." 
 
 In 1878 the Southalls were travelling on the 
 Continent, and Ann Hunt wrote thus to Hannah S. : 
 
 9, Brunswick Square, 25th 4th month, 1878. 
 
 " I am beginning a second letter to thee, as I 
 conclude from your packet, which reached me 
 yesterday, that one I posted on the 22nd for Milan 
 will not hnd thee, as you left that place that day. 
 . . . I had the consoling thought, while writing, 
 how small the loss would be- if the uncertainties of 
 travel led it astray. So now it is a great comfort and 
 interest to be able to acknowledge yours, so full of 
 
59 
 
 loving remembrance, and of such reports of your 
 seeings and doings as seem to bring me to you in a 
 sense. Thy own faithful thought of me so soon, in 
 that gay absorbing Paris was very sweet to me, and I 
 can understand what a relief it would be to thee to be 
 spared the evidences of such degradation as our miser- 
 able 'Leek Lane ' furnishes.* How many times have I 
 thought of thee since I heard thee speak of it, as I 
 have traversed that unlovely passage to our Meeting- 
 house. Yes, you must indeed have witnessed 
 dazzling spectacles, and sights of sadness too, on that 
 festival day of the Roman Catholic Church. It 
 always feels such a comfort to know that the one 
 gracious, all-seeing Father of spirits looks right 
 through all the mummery, and all the mistakes, and 
 sees the sincerity of even the benighted worshipper, 
 or the half-enlightened priest. Truly their zeal and 
 devotedness might often rebuke us, with our clearer 
 light, and our unthankful lethargy. Seeing all these 
 conditions of rehgious and social life must have an 
 enlarging and enlightening effect on one's mind, which 
 perhaps I, who have only travelled down one flight 
 of stairs since dear E. left, can hardly realise. I got 
 into the drawing-room yesterday, after being just 
 three weeks in my room, or almost entirely so. It 
 seems long, considering the degree of illness, but I do 
 not think anyone could wonder at my not getting on, 
 who knew what I have had to get iliroiigh and to get 
 over. These continue, but I will not dwell on the 
 heart soreness they create, for I have been wonder- 
 fully helped thus far through one of the most tangled 
 
 * The old Meeting-house in Bristol called "The Friars" is situated in a part 
 of the city which has much gone down. The lane alluded to (now improved), 
 was the nearest way from Brunswick Square to meeting. 
 
6o 
 
 and 'worrying' portions of my life. Perhaps I gave 
 the impression that things were more ehicidated 
 than they are. . . . The weather is beautiful 
 here, and I have a sense of spring and returning 
 brightness even through all in-door-ness and cares. 
 What a blessing there is in the returning seasons. 
 We trust them in the outward creation, and do they 
 come less surely, or the Sun of Righteousness arise 
 less certainly on the soul ? Surely no. I can feel the 
 ^ healing on His wings ' even through the twilight, 
 and look for brighter beams. . . . 
 
 *' Farewell, in true and near affection am I thy 
 own 
 
 '*Axx Hunt." 
 
 The troubles alluded to in this letter did not 
 lessen as the months rolled on ; in November they 
 culminated, that is the worst became known, and the 
 loving aunt found that poor A. was an object of 
 commiseration to a deeper extent than she was aware 
 of before. Keen anxieties followed, and much 
 perplexity as to what to do for the best. Through 
 all Ann Hunt was unwearied in her patience, and 
 ready to accept any help and alleviations as they 
 came ; it was touching to observe her gratitude to 
 her own friends when thev extended kindness to her 
 charge. There was improvement after a time, and a 
 lightening of the burden, and though cares never 
 ceased until after A.'s death, yet Ann Hunt was able 
 gradually to resume her former life, and to enter into 
 its many interests. 
 
6i 
 
 The following was addressed to Hannah Southalf 
 on the death of a friend : 
 
 9, Brunswick Square, nth 12th month, 1879. 
 
 " I was grieved to think that I had been remiss, 
 dearest partner, in sharing thy great loss and sorrow 
 from the death of thy much loved friend, so worthily 
 the object of the large affection and value which she 
 received, — and truly I know what it is to have a 
 blank made, where tender feeling and associations, to 
 iind the object of them all no longer there. I hope I 
 was not unmindful of it, dearest H. ; but perhaps I 
 felt too much as if the parting had been gone through 
 before, wlien continued life was known to be as it 
 were only measured by suffering. Still I know that 
 it is then, when all present anxiety or ruffled feelings 
 are at an end, that the mind looks back on the past 
 as a whole, and the foreground of the picture does not 
 detain the view or bias the feelings as it may have 
 been doing. My own experience of life has been so 
 sad, — there seems so much more danger of being 
 separated from the love of God by life rather than by 
 death, that perhaps the feeling has its effect almost 
 unconsciously, when I think of those who sorrow, 
 when with the morning comes everlasting consolation 
 and good hope through grace. But it is indeed a sad 
 void and a sore loss which that dear family and 
 many with them, are called to pass through and 
 suffer, and they are old enough to feel this most 
 keenlv and abidingly. . . . Thank thee for letting 
 me know about your Monthly Meeting and reception 
 of members. ... I have taken the little part I 
 am able to take in Society matters lately w^ithout 
 interruption, and am thankful not to have been laid 
 
62 
 
 by. . . . But I keep under cover a good deal in 
 this cold and foggy weather. Dear A. has a great 
 advantage in that respect in being in pure country 
 
 air. She writes comfortably from . . . . There 
 
 seemed nothing else to be done, but I could not help 
 anxious thoughts. These have been mercifully 
 calmed however, and I only desire that preservation 
 for the present and right guidance for the future may 
 be mercifully granted." 
 
 To the same. 
 
 14th of First Month, 1880. 
 It was good to have thy letter, for truly, though 
 letters may be crowded out in the warfare of daily 
 life, I do not the less but the more value the loving and 
 understanding sympathy of the few to whom my heart 
 turns as friends faithful and true given me by God. 
 And among these there is a peculiar place held by 
 thee, who hast borne with me the burden and heat of 
 many a trying day. So I did and do rejoice in the 
 sense of help hitherto wherewith we are both, I trust, 
 enabled to meet this fresh year. We w411 not say of 
 the shadowed one that is gone, * Let the dead past 
 bury its dead.' The past never is dead in my ex- 
 perience. It is always fraught with power to influence 
 the present, and so we will give it over into His hands 
 who has mercifully led us through, to be laid up with 
 them according to His goodness and compassion, and 
 press forward towards the mark for the prize accord- 
 ing to our high calling. I cannot say that it has been 
 a very easy time with me lately, but this is not to be 
 expected and there have been merciful mitigations." 
 
63 
 
 To Elizabeth South all. 
 
 " 28th of Fifth Month, 1880. 
 
 I was much interested by thy remarks on Mary 
 Carpenter's life. Quite the same impression was 
 given me by the extracts from some of the journals, 
 etc., which were published at the time of her death, 
 but I have not seen the book. The father's Unitarian- 
 ism was of the same stamp. It was difficult to see 
 where the difference was which the name implies. 
 One does feel so thankful that the AUseeing Eye does 
 not class us as we class one another, but looks through 
 all disguises right through to the heart." 
 
 To Hannah Son thai I. 
 
 " 24th of Fourth Month, 1880. 
 
 " How can I have written all this without alluding 
 to the gladsome tidings of this morning over which 
 the country has rejoiced. What a w^onderful thing it 
 is to see the power of a nation's will concentrated as 
 it were upon one man, and forcing him to the front in 
 spite of court influence or the manoeuvres of the man 
 who was at the helm. How thankful we all ought to 
 be that once more Christian motives will be avowed, 
 :ind whatever mistakes may be made there will at least 
 l^e the endeavour to rule with justice and mercy. 
 Once more those of us who mav read the newspapers 
 will be able to do it without shame and sorrow for our 
 country. But what a weight falls upon Gladstone in 
 his advanced years. Surely he will need a strength 
 beyond his own, and surely it will be given him." 
 
64 
 
 To the same. 
 
 nth of Eleventh Month, 1880. 
 (In allusion to a departed friend.) 
 
 " She seems to have closed a life of great useful- 
 ness and devotedness by a short illness — suffering, 
 but with the testimony of happiness throughout, and 
 her husband and children and loving sister must 
 rejoice in the midst of sorrow. And so must those 
 who have watched the departure of dear Alary Water- 
 house. A heavenly spirit gone to its home. I do not 
 know how to grieve much over such privileged ones, 
 — I W'ho know so much of the deep sorrows of life, 
 and of death coming in a less favoured form. But 
 there is mercy over all." 
 
 To the same correspondent in the month of 
 December she speaks of the praise which often filled 
 her heart in feeling something like present deliverance, 
 and " the opportunity of attending to daily engage- 
 ments without a load upon my heart," and then goes 
 on to tell about one of those engagements, a meeting 
 of young Friends in which she was able to take part. 
 And at the close of the year she wrote in her pocket- 
 book : 
 
 The year began under dark clouds. My precious 
 Lord has brought me through and given hght at even- 
 tide. Here I would afresh consecrate all that is 
 indeed His, that His will may be done. For Thy 
 name's sake lead me and guide me, O Lord, even 
 continually and to the end." 
 
65 
 
 To J. S. Fry. 
 
 ''5th of First Month, 1881. 
 
 My Dear Friexd, 
 " It was not a httle striking to me to receive thy 
 note written last evening. I was then engaged for 
 some hours in connection with a very trying affair, 
 and in the early morning had been feeling strongly 
 the need of asking the blessing of that peace which 
 our gracious Lord alone can give. Thy desires for me 
 in reference to this very need, and the word of 
 encouragement and sympathy, came to me with true 
 cheer, and I trust have helped me once more to thank 
 God and take courage. I can indeed bear my testi- 
 monv to His faithfulness. ' I will not fail thee nor 
 forsake thee' is a promise which thou and I, clear 
 friend, have tested and found true for us. I felt it a 
 great privilege this morning to lay aside personal 
 feeling, and to join in the prayer which went up for 
 all the oppressed and enslaved by sin in its fearful 
 power." 
 
 To Elizabeth Son t ha I L 
 
 ''27th of First Month, 1881. 
 " It is a very long time since I wrote to thee, but 
 over all this ice and snow have my thoughts gone to 
 thee and to dear H. with even special warmth. How- 
 good it is that with the thermometer even below zero 
 (not that it has been so low^ here) there is no freezing of 
 love, and that this is true also when the mental and 
 spiritual register is low likewise. . . . How 
 thankfully I have felt the contrast to former years in 
 the rest and comparative freedom from anxiety per- 
 mitted, I can hardly say. Morning by morning I do 
 
 6 
 
66 
 
 indeed recognise the new mercies and long to be 
 more trustful and stronger in love and faith, should 
 ever such trials come again ; meanwhile doing any 
 little service for which opportunity is given. I am 
 trying too, in a slow and small wav, to set my house 
 in order, by the arranging and destroying of letters, 
 papers, etc. But this has to be endured, like a series 
 of surgical operations, as it can be borne. One 
 hardly dares to look back into those depths again 
 from which time after time the Lord graciously 
 delivered. 
 
 I have just read F. R. Havergal's Life — what a 
 different experience ! Yet she with everv advantage 
 had her wilderness travel, though it was compara- 
 tively short, and Beulah seemed on the other side." 
 
 To Hannah Soutliall. 
 
 ^' ist of Third Month, 1881. 
 " It was a cheer to get thy nice long letter telling 
 me so many things of interest and bringing us 
 together again as it were. Not that I feel separated 
 during these intervals when life jostles those who are 
 near in spirit, but apart in outward experience. It 
 often feels to me as a proof that hereafter there is a 
 communion in store for those who have been fitted 
 for it here, and yet the opportunity comes so scantily, 
 perhaps is almost wholly denied. However, I trust 
 it is not so with us even here. But life's scenes shift 
 so often that there need be pretty frequent intercourse 
 if we are to keep abreast of each other's circumstances, 
 and so I will not put off a response to thine in which 
 thou kindly thought of me as engaged in ' pastoral 
 work.' I have been good for very little in work of 
 
67 
 
 anv kind lately, and my small ability is mostly 
 absorbed by the family claims that come nearest to 
 hand and cannot be left to another." 
 
 To Elizabeth Souihall (undated, probably 1881). 
 
 " There is great excitement here, as elsewhere, 
 about * The Protection of Young Girls.' A meeting 
 for men is to be held in the Colston Hall this evening, 
 at which, Mayor. High Sheriff, Bishops, and M.P.'s, 
 etc., are to unite in demanding better measures, and 
 on Second- day a similar meeting for women is to be 
 addressed by Miss Ellice Hopkins and others. The 
 Chamber of Horrors unveiled by the Pall Mall is 
 telling its tale. I wonder what you have seen of it. 
 The details are too dreadful. Yet surely what some 
 have to endure others ought not to feel too dreadful 
 to hear of. with the view of finding a remedy. The 
 only comfort one can extract is from seeing how- 
 many good earnest people of all classes and sorts are 
 banded together for that purpose. And one condones 
 the mistakes of the Salvation Army in the strength of 
 the testimony borne by the Editor of the Pall Mall 
 and Mrs. Butler as to the value of their great and 
 uniform devotion to this good service. I am going to 
 send a copy of The War Cry with fuller reports of 
 meetings than other papers give. . . . Mean- 
 while our walls are placarded in large letters 
 announcing a lecture by ^Irs. Besant on ' The Morality 
 of the Bible I ' We can judge what the tendency of. 
 that will be. The opposing forces are strong. How 
 one longs to help ever so little on the Lord's side." 
 
 To Elizabeth Southall {no date). 
 " I do feel very much that there is a great deal 
 going on, and in the midst of dreadful doings and 
 
68 
 
 revelations that make one feel uncertain where the 
 lowest depth may be, it seems to me that there is a 
 wave of fresh spiritual earnestness going over the 
 nations, and that it can be recognised among us as a 
 community. The fresh missionary movement maybe 
 one outcome, but I feel it more in what I can but 
 think is a more general upspringing of life in 
 individual cases under different circumstances, which 
 it is one of the greatest interests in my Hfe to be per- 
 mitted to recognise or to hear of from others. How 
 greatly one longs to be enabled even in ever so small 
 a measure to help forward this work. Surely it must 
 be a part of the joy of Heaven to do this where His 
 servants shall serve Him." 
 
 In the year 1881, Ann Hunt attended the Yearly 
 Meeting. She did so several times about this period 
 of her hfe, but having had on this occasion the privi- 
 lege of accompanying her, I am able to speak more 
 definitely of her interest in it, and of the impression 
 she made on others. I was almost surprised that this 
 was as deep as it seemed, as it appeared to me that 
 so little of her, so to speak, came out in these 
 meetings. Yet I remember the remark of one Friend 
 that she was to her mind the Mother of the Yearlv 
 IMeeting." 
 
 To Hannali Soutliall. 
 
 "29th 6th Month, 1881. 
 We have had Priscilla H. Peckover here for a 
 week or two on a social visit to her cousin, but a 
 good deal of service has been combined with this. 
 . . . The visit has stirred up a good deal of 
 thought on the Peace subject, and led to a series of 
 
69 
 
 meetings for discussion, in which those not fully 
 satisfied were encouraged to state their doubts. I 
 Avas at one of these when John Thirnbeck Grace 
 presided ablv, and much interesting and profitable 
 •conversation took place. The opposing view resolved 
 itself into this, that war was wrong but necessary. So 
 if that is a tenable position we must change our 
 ground entirely, and say nothing to the poor man 
 who steals his neighbour's goods because he is 
 starving, or other such cases of necessity." 
 
 To Matilda Sturge. 
 
 "■26th 9th Month, 1881. 
 This is the day of the President's funeral. Such 
 a uniting of millions in one deep feeling of unselfish 
 sorrow was perhaps never known. I have been 
 wishing that some gifted person would write worthy 
 lines setting forth the contrast between the results of 
 this death and these sufferings, binding together nations 
 in brotherly sympathy, as they vie with each other 
 in offices and words of kindness — and I was going to 
 say, the harvest of hate and revenge which follows the 
 ■exploits of the warrior who 'lays down his life for his 
 •country.' " 
 
 To J. S. Fry. 
 
 •'19th I2th Month, 1881. 
 In thy kind call last evening our conversation 
 turned chiefly on causes of solicitude or discourage- 
 ment. This was not the prevalent feeling of my 
 mind. I feel sure it was not of thine. As my eye 
 afterwards fell on the text, ' The Lord doth build up 
 Jerusalem,' and the precious words that follow, it 
 came like a fresh assurance that He will take care of 
 
70 
 
 His own cause. May we as a Society never forget 
 that while the Lord alone can build up His Church, 
 or gather the outcasts, yet that He uses His servants- 
 to do the blessed work. As one whom the dear 
 Saviour has owned in this service I would, my dear 
 friend, hold up thy hands by prayer and any outward 
 help permitted, rather than throw a shade of dis- 
 couragement across thy path." 
 
 To Hminah Soiithall. 
 
 5th 3rd Month, 1882. 
 The past I hold warmly in remembrance, the 
 present, dear Hannah, hnds thee able to enjoy, and to 
 do what thy hand finds to do with that sense of 
 support and power given which is the privilege of 
 our Father's confiding children. I was greatly 
 interested by thy report of the visit of M. A. Southall 
 and thyself to the little company at Almeley, and feel 
 how great a blessing must attend such labours. The 
 future is rich in promise in that way. May thy hands- 
 be made strong by the hands of the Mighty. Accept 
 all love and heartfelt best wishes now and always, 
 from thy own friend and partner, 
 
 A. H. 
 
 To the same. 
 
 6th 3rd Month, 1882. 
 " I wonder if A. would mention a little meeting 
 held at this house,* when, in carrying out a sugges- 
 tion approved by the Meeting on Ministry and 
 Oversight, a number of Friends (Women) were 
 invited who have families still under their parental 
 care. . . . We numbered twenty-five to tea, and 
 
 * Similar to one mentioned some years before. 
 
71 
 
 had afterwards an interesting occasion in the drawing 
 room, partly of a devotional character, bnt principally 
 occupied by interchange of feeling and results of 
 experience, in which several took part very helpfully. 
 The expressions of satisfaction and hope of profit 
 received were very encouraging, and M. Sturge and I, 
 who (spinsters though we are) had the principal 
 management, assisted by C. R. Charleton, were I 
 think very thankful as a collateral advantage that it 
 was an occasion for bringing together with a common 
 object the extremes of our social grades ; and it was 
 a comfort to see how thoroughly this could be done 
 with apparently equal satisfaction to those in the most 
 and the least exalted position. 
 
 I have just had the interest of reading ' Caroline 
 Fox.' It far exceeded my expectations, and in ad- 
 dition to its intrinsic interest it was like re-peopling the 
 scene with those long since departed, or if still here, 
 veiled from my sight. Those people and doings — how 
 much I heard of them at the time — heard too of conse- 
 quences and feelings not told there. And how striking 
 the acknowledgment that in her life, so privileged, so 
 bright with outward possession and intellectual superi- 
 ority, the teaching had been mostly through sorrow. 
 Many things one might say about it and might learn 
 from it. It is better to try to do the latter, and take 
 the consolation and the teaching it is calculated to 
 give as regards those who have been nurtured in a 
 different atmosphere from ours, but who are children 
 of the same Father in heaven. 
 
 I will not enter now into personal matters. We 
 do not expect the continuance of unruffled sailing or 
 untangled threads. But if the sunlight and the peace 
 be but given day by day we may well be thankful. 
 
72 
 
 Dearest partner, I desire these blessings for thee as 
 for myself, and am thy truly loving 
 
 ''A. Hunt." 
 
 To the same. 
 
 " i2th of Fifth Month, 1882. 
 How melancholy a sequel to those terrible Dublin 
 events* and the united feeling of detestation and 
 sympathy inspired, was given in the House last night ; 
 all bitterness and opposition let loose again. Where 
 will it all end ? Surely if it were not for the know- 
 ledge that ' The Lord reigneth,' He sitteth upon the 
 floods even of turmoil and wickedness, one might 
 almost despair ! " 
 
 To Matilda Stiirge. 
 
 Leominster, 5th of Eighth Month, 1882. 
 
 My very dear Friend, — I am glad 's note 
 
 induced thee to send me a word, for it was very con- 
 genial to hear, and I have been wishing to tell thee 
 of our arrival here and that thus far we are going 
 on comfortably. . . . How continually one feels 
 the need of that rest which outward turmoil cannot 
 disturb — especially does it seem essential for some of 
 us who are more open to wounds from this pain-pro- 
 ducing world than those of more stolid temperament 
 or less deep feeling. It is our discipline, my dear 
 friend, and I do believe a blessing is wrapped up in it 
 if we can but get below the surface with its roughness 
 and its stings. I think I never felt so sure of this 
 nor so desirous to encourage others to hold fast their 
 confidence, for there zs great recompense of reward." 
 
 * The murders of Lord Frederick Cavendish and Mr. Burke in Phctnix Park. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 "* All was ended now, the hope, and the fear, and the 
 sorrow ; 
 
 All the dull, deep pain, and constant anguish of patience ! 
 And as she pressed once more the lifeless head to her 
 bosom, 
 
 Meekly she bowed her own, and murmured, 'Father, I 
 thank Thee.' " 
 
 Longfellow. 
 
 To Haniiali Southall. 
 
 "29th of Third Month, 1883. 
 ^' A S there is soon likely to be more space, as miles 
 fx, reckon, between us, I will not delay a few lines 
 lest they be swallowed up in the transit, and I want to 
 send such love and good wishes as a note can take ex- 
 pression of in the prospect of your journey. We shall 
 follow you as we can with affectionate thoughts and 
 hopes for good and blessing every w^ay, and we will 
 trust that by some channel or other we may hear of 
 your progress and well doing. It seems to me a tax 
 that ought not to be levied on travelling friends to 
 expect descriptions of scenery and the like. I am 
 sure the avocations must be too absorbing, and the 
 weariness too great for such letters to be other than 
 a tax except in rare instances. If you are kind 
 enough to write let it be only a report of yourselves 
 and any special personal interest. . . . Dear E. 
 
74 
 
 would, I hope, get a packet from me yesterday 
 containing J. M. Wilson's * Lectures, and a note 
 from me. The course of lectures is still going on by 
 different speakers, under the title of ' Why I believe 
 the Bible.' There is one reported briefly in this 
 morning's Press. . . . On referring I find the 
 expression I wished to quote was used by Dean 
 Plumptre, whose sermon on opening a Church here 
 yesterday is reported in the same paper. He speaks 
 of ' a kind of wave of doubt and denial and unbelief 
 passing over the minds of men in this and other 
 countries.' The great argument on the other side is 
 assuredly the Christian life. The key-note of the 
 address is : 'Is life worth living if this life be all ? ^ 
 The subject rather runs away with me, but I did not 
 intend to go into abstract themes." 
 
 To Elizabetli Soitthall. 
 
 I2th of Fourth Month, 1883. 
 I noticed thy remarks as to the unguarded and 
 exaggerated way in which Scripture truth is some- 
 time stated even by good and'wise people, and can 
 but grieve over the thought that in this way, as well 
 as most notably by the inconsistencies of their lives^ 
 professing Christians have much to answer for in 
 respect to the outward world." 
 
 To the same (1883). 
 (In reference to an engaged couple.) 
 " I had a very nice visit from the dear young 
 people. My heart goes out to them more and more^ 
 and I earnestly hope that the union in prospect may 
 
 ♦ Then Head Master of Clifton College, now Archdeacon of Manchester. 
 
75 
 
 be just the thing wanted to strengthen all that is good 
 and to correct anything that will not tend to happi- 
 ness. . . . We must not expect freedom from 
 ups and downs, but yet I think a plain path is before 
 them now. When one can look back upon a 
 married life from its beginning to its end, and see in 
 addition, something of the consequences involved 
 after the end has come, it does, if possible, deepen 
 one's sense of the importance of these linkings of 
 lives which are often entered into in such a short- 
 sighted and superticial way." 
 
 The year 1883 brought a change to Ann Hunt's 
 life and circumstances, the death of her niece A. 
 occurring late in the summer of that year. Other 
 family bereavements, — the deaths of her brother 
 Henry and his wife had occurred during the time 
 that she had been living alone, and in connection 
 with these as well as in many other family events, 
 her feelings and sometimes her active assistance had 
 been called into play. But the death of A. was the 
 removal of her most pressing and most personal care. 
 It set her, as she herself said, more at liberty for 
 service, and was attended by circumstances which 
 enabled her to enter upon it with a thankful heart. 
 A. had not of late been a person devoid of religious 
 feeling. From time to time her aunt had been 
 hopeful about her in this respect, and again and 
 again was made anxious and disappointed. That 
 there was some desire to do right, notwithstanding 
 all appearances to the contrary, is the conviction of 
 a friend of her aunt's to whom A. once appealed for 
 
76 
 
 counsel. That she should have asked her advice at 
 all at this time was only to be explained by a desire 
 to be strengthened in what she herself knew to be 
 the right course ; and this course, it may be added, 
 she was enabled to take. 
 
 A. had been living for some time in a family at G., 
 and thither her aunt was summoned in the month of 
 July, — she being little Ht, as to physical strength, for 
 the trials that awaited her. A sad time followed. 
 A. was very ill, and a difficult patient in all respects — 
 aware of her condition but shrinking from the 
 thought of death, and showing little sensibility on 
 religious subjects. But about a fortnight after Ann 
 Hunt went to her, a great change occurred. A. had, 
 what she designated, a message from Heaven," — her 
 heart seemed to open to the free love of Christ to 
 sinners ; she joyfully embraced the pardon offered, 
 and became, as was reverently believed, a new 
 creature in Christ Jesus. Many tokens of the change 
 were thankfully marked by her aunt, who regarded it 
 as ''a miracle of grace," and believed that through all 
 the vicissitudes of nearly a month of suffering the 
 anchor held firm ; so that wiien on the 4th of 
 September the end came, she was left, shaken indeed 
 by her weeks of watching, and feeling the parting 
 from one whom through all, she had loved most 
 tenderly, but inexpressibly thankful for such an 
 answer to the prayers of many years. 
 
 Believing that it might be useful to others, though 
 not without hesitation, 'Mest any might be encouraged 
 
77 
 
 in wrong-doing or thoughtlessness by the account of 
 this death-bed experience," Ann Hunt thought it well 
 to publish a little book about it, without giving names, 
 under the title, He Giveth the Victory." 
 
 It must not be supposed that her own cares did, 
 except indeed for a tew pressing weeks, prevent her 
 from sympathising with the lives and trials of others. 
 Perhaps they only added to her power of entering 
 into their feelings. In writing to her niece Rebecca, 
 married some years before to William Zaytoon, and 
 residing near Beyrout. in Syria, she says : 
 
 "28th 6th Month. 1883. 
 " Oh. how continuallv have we to fall back on the 
 cheer left us by Him who took our nature upon Him. 
 and so knows its needs and inhrmities, and from the 
 experience which He condescended to pass through, 
 knows how to succour them that are tempted in anv 
 way. . . . Truly, again and again, we feel that 
 ' God moves in a mysterious way 
 His wonders to perform.' 
 And He does perform them, though the footsteps in 
 the sea cannot be recognised, nor can we see His 
 face as He rides upon the storm. And the storm is 
 sometimes very bewildering for awhile. . . . One 
 thing I want especially to say — Do not look back, 
 that is not with any self blame or regrettings for any- 
 thing that was done at the time with the desire to do 
 right, and in the belief that it was so. There are few 
 things, perhaps, that occasion more bitterness and 
 sadness of feeling than this. We are apt to forget 
 that though we acted in blindness as to the result. He 
 who is the disposer of all knew the end from the 
 
78 
 
 beginning, and could with the same ease have made 
 things turn out differently, or averted the con- 
 sequences we regret. Perhaps, if we did not see 
 darkly, we might have a view of some good end to be 
 answered, or of some w^orse trouble that would have 
 followed, had a different course been taken than the 
 one which we are lamenting." 
 
 To Hannah Southall she wrote thus, 19th 12th 
 Month, 1883," at the conclusion of a letter full of 
 other topics : 
 
 Yes, the season does bring my dearly-loved child 
 very vividly to mind. She would have been coming 
 now in a day or two with heart and hands full of love 
 and love's offerings. But I can truly say, ' // is icelL' 
 And not only in a sorrowful way am I reminded of 
 her. There w^as an instance the other day. She had 
 several times had periodicals, etc., bound at a shop 
 not very far off, where there is a circulating library 
 attached. I had been there with her once or twice, 
 and saw the master, a man past middle age, very civil 
 but nothing particular — I should not have known him 
 again. In dear A.'s illness she told me she thought 
 some trifle was owning to this man, and said she had a 
 good many books which I should not want. There 
 was no harm in them she thought, and perhaps this 
 man would take the lot. (One or two she named that 
 I had better destroy.) So I went to ask him to call, 
 and paid the is. 6d. which he said was owing. He 
 looked over the books, and offered what he thought 
 them worth. He had heard of dear A.'s death, and 
 naturally asked if she had been long ill. I told him a 
 little about it, and when I spoke of her having been 
 in a happy state of mind, he listened with so much 
 
79 
 
 interest that I said more than I otherwise should. He 
 went away carrying rather a heavy packet of books, 
 though I offered to send them, and when he had 
 occasion to come back, I said I thought he must be 
 tired. ' Xo,' he answered, ' the glorious news you 
 told me put fresh life into me.' I thought it was a 
 strong expression, but said nothing, and he went 
 away. This was several weeks ago, and I heard 
 nothing of him until the other day, when I had a 
 note, saying that he was bringing back some binding 
 he had done, and that if I had remembered an^lhing 
 more I could tell him of the Lord's great goodness to 
 Airs. he should be very much interested, inti- 
 
 mating that he had a hope himself, but no assurance. 
 Accordingly he came, apologising for the liberty of 
 writing ; but he said what I had told him had been 
 like a spring of fresh life and hope, that he had been 
 thinking of it so very much, it seemed as if it was 
 intended to come to //////. And then ensued a con- 
 versation that might have done for an inquiry room — 
 tears and all. He was a man of few words, I should 
 think not making any religious profession, but his 
 mind seemed like the thirsty ground, prepared for 
 •any drops of refreshment. I was greatly struck with 
 what may seem a little incident, but truly as A. often 
 said, ' The Lord's ways are not as our ways ; oh, how 
 •different ; ' and that her experience should be thus 
 made helpful to a person about as unlikely as anyone 
 I could have thought of, does make me very 
 thankful." 
 
 This incident reminds me of another, different 
 indeed, but showing in the same way how Ann Hunt 
 could embrace opportunities, and was ready for every 
 
8o 
 
 good work. She told me, and I would I could repeat 
 it in her own words, about a man who was employed 
 in taking care of the green in the centre of Brunswick 
 Square, to see that the grass and trees were un- 
 injured. This man had occasionally come to her and 
 she had had a little talk with him — not much it would 
 appear — on religious subjects. After a considerable 
 time he called one day to tell her, with all apparent 
 sincerity, that what she had said had taken hold of 
 him, and that she had been the means of a happy 
 change in his heart and life. She related this with a. 
 touching humility, saying, I who have done so very 
 little — to think that this should have happened to 
 me." 
 
 The following was written about the same time as 
 a postscript to a letter to Hannah Southall. One of 
 Ann Hunt's nephews had recently lost his v^-ife, who 
 died after an operation from which much benefit had 
 been expected. 
 
 I have yielded to another half-sheet to say that. 
 T. has given me as a remembrance of his wife the 
 text book given her by A., which she used to use,, 
 with an affectionate inscription and the text, ' The 
 Lord bless thee and keep thee ! ' As it had A's own 
 marks in it, I rather begrudged the book to anyone 
 else, little thinking how and in what way it was. 
 coming back to me. There is an added interest in it 
 now, for dear L. took it with her to London, and 
 when T, went to see her before the operation he told 
 me that almost the lirst thing she said was what 
 comforting texts she had found for the day, and 
 
8i 
 
 showed them to him : ' I am with thee to dehver 
 thee/ and ' Be strong and of a good courage, fear 
 not.' She wrote the date 'November 14th, 1883' 
 against these texts, and there it stands. Truly the 
 promises are fuliilled to her, though not in the way 
 she expected." 
 
 The experience gone through at the death-bed of 
 A. left a deep mark on her aunt's mind. She had 
 always been patient and loving to those who had 
 erred, but henceforth her heart was fuller of hope and 
 trust. She wrote thus in her diary at the beginning 
 of 1884 : 
 
 A year new in its circumstances and feelings. 
 Do not the words 'Sorrowful yet always rejoicing' 
 describe my feelings. The sore pang ever ready to 
 distress as the wounding things of life give their 
 harsh touch, this is taken away. The tender clinging 
 love is gone too. But anxiety is changed into blessed 
 remembrances, fear into abounding thankfulness, and 
 in a sense I feel it is written, ' Free to serve.' May it 
 be so, body, soul and spirit, during the short 
 remainder of life here, and then, oh, to serve Him 
 and to see His face who is worthy, ten thousand times 
 worthy of all prayer and blessing." 
 
 7 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Through constant watching, wise 
 To meet the glad with joyful smile 
 
 And to wipe the weeping eyes, 
 And a heart at leisure from itself 
 
 To soothe and sympathise." 
 
 A. L. Waring. 
 
 To Hannah Soiitliall. 
 
 i6th of First Month, 1884. 
 
 I DO not mean this as a reply to thine, for this is 
 very different from the letter I meant to write, 
 but I know you will feel especial interest in what is so 
 interesting us. ... I wonder if any intelligence 
 has reached you of the solemn event which broke up 
 our Quarterly Meeting yesterday without the trans- 
 action of any business, but amidst deep sympathy and 
 earnest prayers. Our dear Friend Thomas Pease 
 had not been. well, but an attack of influenza seemed 
 to be passing off and he was taking part as usual in 
 different meetings. There had, however, been much 
 
 anxiety about his son , and this prevented dear 
 
 S. A. Pease from being present. At the M. and O. Meet- 
 ing on Second-day evening T. Pease seemed as usual 
 and spoke earnestly on the present tendencies of re- 
 ligious thought — the difficulty of upholding those 
 truths which were the result of conviction, well- 
 considered investigation and experience, without 
 being laid open to the charge of narrowness and 
 
83 
 
 bigotry, than which nothing can be more foreign to 
 the mind and feehngs. He spoke of the danger of 
 seeing these important principles ooze away as it 
 were, one thing after another, and how great was the 
 need of wisdom in this direction. . . . The next 
 morning he was heard in prayer, very fervent and 
 earnest and evidently under much feeling. There 
 were several addresses, but more silence than usual, 
 and we broke up to reassemble for a Joint Conference 
 before dinner. A report was read from a committee 
 
 having the care of the smaller Meetings and and 
 
 spoke in a rousing way of our failures in that direc- 
 tion and our lack of doing as our predecessors in the faith 
 had done. Soon after, our dear Friend (T. P.) rose 
 to speak. In reference to this subject he pointed out 
 the different state of religious feeling now, and drew 
 attention to the recurrence of revivals of the kind 
 which George Fox, Wesley and others were endowed 
 Avith gifts to lead. He wished we should not dis- 
 courage ourselves by looking at our small Aleetings, 
 but remember the prevalence- of our principles in 
 Southern Russia, Constantinople, etc., and in parts of 
 our own country, on the borders of Wales and else- 
 where. He spoke, too, warmly of the comfort he had 
 lately had in visiting in our little Meetings individuals 
 of a high standard of Christian life, humble minded, 
 yet exercising a wide influence for good, and full of 
 acts of kindness and love. Then he began to say some- 
 thing of the dangers which threaten from the linking 
 services of religion with the fasts and vigils and saints' 
 days, which come down from a dark age, yet still remain 
 in force. I noticed an agitation of voice, but was un- 
 aware of anything alarming till an effort as to repeat 
 a word — and a pause — and in a moment the hurried 
 
84 
 
 uprising of the Friends on the other side as they went 
 to his support and laid down the helpless form inside 
 the gallery rails. . . . The consternation was 
 great. We were asked to withdraw, but there was 
 no intimation to relieve alarm and none such could be 
 given. For awhile, however, the anxious groups out- 
 side cherished the hope that he was ' coming round,' 
 and it was not till J. S. Fry made his appearance, pale 
 
 and answering inquiries by saying that Dr. thought 
 
 he had passed away, that the fact was realised. It 
 was made evident by seeing the dear sad party on 
 their way to a carriage to take the tidings to his home. 
 
 We were asked to assemble in the dining 
 hall, and there after awhile the announcement was 
 made and the Clerk read a minute which he had pre- 
 pared recording the awful event and adjourning all 
 business till the spring. A meeting was then held for 
 prayer, and surely a compan}^ has seldom been over- 
 spread by a more solemn and united feeling." 
 
 To Matilda Stiirge. 
 
 ''2ist of Third Month, 1884. 
 I am afraid I must give up the Bible Class, which 
 is a disappointment, as I doubt not there will be much 
 of interest in considering the subject to be brought 
 forward.'^ There is often an advantage in the clear 
 explanation of a term, and I hoped to hear defined 
 what * Assurance ' is. This might help to answer 
 another question : What prevents our having it ? 
 When our kind friend invited us to meet next time at 
 B. House, I doubt whether any of us went away con- 
 
 * The subject on this occasion was " The Assurance of Faith." 
 
8s 
 
 sidering whether we felt sure she intended us to go. 
 We may have had many doubts of getting there, but 
 the doubt if she would receive us if we came never 
 occurred probably to any mind. We all had ' assur- 
 ance' on that point. Turning to the great invitation of 
 all, we should scarcely like to confess more unwiUing- 
 ness to trust. The promises are too abundant, too 
 delinite, on too high authority to allow us to doubt their 
 meaning. So far then as regards the momentous 
 question we have assurance. But assurance of whatf 
 The invitation to our friend's house did not take us 
 there; the glad tidings do not bring us great joy unless 
 we receive them. And as in the familiar illustration 
 that I have used there are hindrances which keep 
 some of us away, so there must be something in or 
 connected with ourselves which prevents any of us 
 from consciously accepting the great salvation as it is 
 freelv offered without money and without price. 
 The causes are manifold. It will be very interesting 
 and profitable to have light thrown upon some of 
 these, for there are inward fears as well as outward 
 objects that are the more formidable by reason of the 
 darkness. Perhaps some one may be helped to 
 remember that there is no presumption in the most 
 undoubting trust in another who is able and willing 
 to give all and to do all that our deepest need can 
 require. The Apostle wrote to those that believe on 
 the name of the Son of God, that ye may knoiv that ye 
 have eternal life (i John v. 13). So that we have a 
 warrant to expect a share in this highest form of 
 assurance. May a blessing be given as you consider 
 it together, dear friends. 
 
 "Affectionately, A. H." 
 
86 
 
 To Hannah SouUiall. 
 
 " loth of Fourth Month, 1884. 
 I do not wonder that with all the pressure upon 
 thee and the causes of anxiety in various ways, to say 
 nothing of the household overturnings, thou didst 
 not feel able to look round on the world very cheerily. 
 How many times hast thou helped to hold up my 
 hands when they hung down, and were ready to fail 
 from very weakness, and I would it were in my power 
 to give thine a little strengthening touch, and breathe 
 a life-giving thought into thy heart. The ' Be of 
 good cheer ' seems sometimes to come rather as an 
 echo of something true but far away, than as the word 
 for to-day and this very hour. But what a comfort 
 that the Great Speaker knows it all, ' not alone as God 
 all knowing,' ' but as man our mortal weakness He 
 has proved.' And so He is able to succour even body 
 and mind." 
 
 To Rebecca Zaytoun. 
 
 i6th of Seventh Month, 1884. 
 I do believe that these mental trials and priva- 
 tions are intended as a means of discipline to assist us 
 in learning what we earnestly desire to be taught, but 
 shrink from the necessary lessons. Perhaps the 
 remedy for such pain is to be sought in such entire 
 trust and loving confidence in Him who is dealing 
 with us, that the sore anxiety, the keen sting will be 
 taken out of our trials, and a measure even of liberty 
 known to sympathise with the sorrows of others, who 
 perhaps have not yet been taught the secret of rest 
 unto the soul. But I know that the conflict is strong^ 
 and it is not often that the victory is known. I 
 thought of thee this morning while listening to a very 
 
87 
 
 interesting address from R. B. Rutter on ' Keep Thou 
 my feet,' going on to expand the subject in con- 
 nection with the race to be run with patience, 
 ' Looking unto Jesus.' " 
 
 To Phyllis Rowe. 
 
 Ashley Down, Bristol, 
 
 " 9th of Eighth Month, 1884. 
 
 My Dear Phyllis, 
 " I know thou wilt like to think of me here during 
 the remarkably hot w^eather of the present season, as 
 I do to know that thy lot is cast among refreshing 
 breezes and restful country pm-suits. Thy reports of 
 your places of tarriance are exceedingly attractive. It 
 is good of thee to wish me to share them, but mine 
 seems to be an inland way of life at present. This is 
 a nice change, and a sweet reposeful scene offers to 
 the eye ; while dear C. R. Charleton's unfailing kind- 
 ness and desire to do good and give pleasure are a 
 solace and cheer. ... A kind invitation for dear 
 Rebecca* will allow of my having her company here 
 part of the time. . . . The parting with her will 
 leave a blank, for she has an exceptionally loving 
 nature, and more power of sympathy than some, and 
 we must of course regard it as a last parting for this 
 world. One learns to look on these things differently 
 however as years go on. I think there is more power 
 to estimate the relative importance of events after 
 seeing the beginning and the end of so many. In 
 early life we only see the beginning — no end is 
 realised, and we cannot compare attempts with the 
 results, as time enables us to do. . . . How" 
 
 * Who was visiting her friends in Enijland at this time. 
 
88 
 
 vividly stands out in memory this very day and hour 
 last year, when to my wondering thankfulness I was 
 permitted the evidence of a miracle of grace and 
 redeeming love, which only feels more marvellous 
 and more precious as the eternal world is neared. I 
 do not say or write much about these things — they are 
 too sacred, but I know thy loving sympathy, thy 
 power of understanding the life lived below the 
 surface of passing things." 
 
 To M. C. 
 14th of Eighth Month, 1884. 
 I want to say how much I am interested in those 
 extracts of Dr. Carpenter. I am so ignorant that I do 
 not know who he was— not Mary Carpenter's father, 
 I suppose ? — though the sentiments and feelings are 
 like those of that good man, of whose brotherhood in 
 Christ I could not doubt, Unitarian minister as he 
 was. It is to me such a rich delight to feel that those 
 who call themselves by such different names, w^ho 
 think themselves so far asunder, are really one in 
 heart and experience and hope, and will join in the 
 same song and service through a blessed eternity. 
 Truly may we say, * Grace be with all who love our 
 Lord Jesus Christ in sincerity,' and own Him as their 
 Redeemer and their King. . . . My sympathy 
 responded warmly, my dear friend, to thy remark on 
 the delay in the answering of prayer. Yes, indeed, 
 Why ? Many a sad heart has asked it, and perhaps 
 heard the answer given of old, 'What I do thou 
 knowest not now, but thou shalt know hereafter.' 
 We talk a great deal about faith. When it comes to 
 be needed we often find that we have but little. 
 Somehow things feel quite different from what we 
 
89 
 
 read of them in books or when there was nothing 
 particular to fear. I will copy a passage from ' The 
 Fourth Watch ' on ' Jesus went unto them walking 
 on the sea ' : ' We who are waiting for Christ, are we 
 ready to have Him come what way He pleases ? Can 
 we give Him a welcome ? Welcome, however it 
 may be ? Ah I we are so slow to put a blank into the 
 Lord's hand ! Afraid of His ways and of His 
 thoughts, so different from our thoughts, not knowing 
 and believing the love which He hath towards us. 
 We like to draw up the paper ourselves, even to the 
 ■date, presenting it then only for His signature, and 
 we hardly know what to do with an answer more 
 strictlv of His sending, but are disturbed and 
 -affrighted and ready to question whether it be the 
 Lord. However much the disciples had longed for 
 their Master, now when He was really coming they 
 were afraid.' I was thinking yesterday (just about 
 the time, perhaps, that thou wast writing thy letter), 
 what a sore trial of faith it must have been to the 
 sisters of Lazarus — when thev knew that Jesus could 
 heal him, that if He were there their brother would 
 not die — and they sent that touching message to tell 
 Him. No doubt they thought He would come 
 directly. How thev must have looked out and 
 waited, and how sad to see their brother die, as if 
 Jesus did not care to come or send any answer. And 
 yet we know now what a marvellously greater mani- 
 festation of love and power was in store for them and 
 for us all in all ages through that waiting and delay. 
 I do not want to hll paper with old truisms, thou 
 kuowest it all well, dear, and yet I feel so sure that 
 that sore heart hunger and pain can only be allayed 
 by trust, trust in our Father's love and wisdom. We 
 
90 
 
 cannot find out, we never shall find out in this world 
 why things are permitted. Perhaps some time in 
 the life of that other world we shall see what has 
 been done for us, and for our dear ones, and what 
 we and they have been spared through the very 
 dispensations which have been so inscrutable." 
 
 To Elizabeth Soiithall. 
 
 Brunswick Square, 9th of Tenth month, 1884. 
 
 " I should like to begin a letter to thee to-night 
 lest it should be crowded out and so delayed to my 
 disappointment at least, for I do wish to use the 
 address thou gave me. It was nice to think of you 
 with dear friends at S., and now I hope thou art 
 finding comfort in being with another, long known 
 and loved. What different sets of feelings and 
 characters of friendship our hearts can find room for, 
 and give the right place to each. Does not this 
 capacity of ours in an infinitely small way betoken 
 our likeness to Him who made man in His own 
 image, and who takes in the stupendously great and 
 the microscopically small, all our individual concerns 
 and unending requirements under His fatherly and 
 redeeming care ? " 
 
 In the same letter she mentions for the first time 
 the failure of sight, and describes her visit to an 
 oculist on this account. It happened that I was with 
 her on this occasion, and I remember her saying to 
 me afterwards, in reference to the unfavourable 
 opinion that had been given, that she believed she 
 should have sufficient eyesight for all that was 
 allotted to her to do. It had been discovered that 
 
91 
 
 she was suffering from cataract, but no operation 
 was spoken of at this time. 
 
 To Rebecca Zaytoiiii. 
 
 i6th of Tenth Month, 1884. 
 
 It is a very common temptation of him who was 
 a har from the beginning to represent that any faihn-e 
 in Christian conduct on the part of professors is a 
 proof that tiieir rehgion is false. It seems to me that 
 it would be just as reasonable to shut the shutters 
 close in a room, and then looking in and finding it 
 dark there, to say : ' O, there is no sun, there is no 
 light anywhere ! ' Perhaps these terrible trials (for 
 such they are) are permitted to make us feel that our 
 faith must not stand in the goodness of men any 
 more than in their wisdom, but in the power of God, 
 in His unspeakable love in sending His Son to die 
 for us, to save us from our sins, and give us eternal 
 life and blessedness with Himself. Truly to whom 
 shall we go ? Thou, the Saviour of our souls hast the 
 words and the gift of eternal life. Yea, let God be 
 true, though every man be a liar ; and happily there 
 are no small number who can set to their seals that 
 God is true." 
 
 To the same. 
 
 " 30th of Tenth Month, 1884. 
 
 I often think how expressive those Scripture 
 images are : ' Under the shadow of His wings.' * He 
 will cover thee with His feathers, under His wings 
 shalt thou trust,' and many more. These promises of 
 shelter and refuge show that there is something to 
 
92 
 
 require it, that we are not to look for all fair weather 
 and sunshine — this seems to me to be a mistake in 
 the teaching of our faith-healing friends — that because 
 the Lord Jesus ' bare our sicknesses and carried our 
 sorrows/ we are justified in claiming exemption from 
 them — a view not given in Scripture nor confirmed 
 by experience." 
 
 To the same. 
 
 nth of Twelfth Month, 1884. 
 I was much struck yesterday in reading that 
 beautiful Psalm, prophetic of the Messiah with the 
 verse : ' He shall deliver the needy when he crieth, 
 the poor also, and him that hath no helper.' How 
 often have I felt as the poor, and as him that hath no 
 helper, and it is at such times that the ever-present 
 compassionate and all-powerful Saviour is felt to be 
 indeed precious. . . . Things are wisely ordered 
 for ends which we see not at the time, and so it 
 seems to me that every case has its own rule, and 
 every one his or her own place if it can but be 
 attained unto. I have thought many and many a 
 time that I must have missed mine, the trials of life 
 have been so intense, and the results so small. But I 
 am more inclined now to leave all, the past as well 
 as the present and the future with Him w^ho knows 
 the end from the beginning, who work His will deep 
 in unfathomable mines to our poor shallow compre- 
 hension. There is great rest in thinking of this, in 
 feeling assured that His infinite love is over us, no 
 more to be turned away by our involuntary fears and 
 shrinkings, than is that of a mother by the fretting of 
 a restless child. What a precious promise : ' As one 
 whom his mother comforteth so will I comfort you.' " 
 
93 
 
 To Hannah Sontliall. 
 
 [Early in 1885.] 
 " And now I have been reading over again thy 
 dear letter written on the last day of 1884. Very 
 precious it is in every way, especially in its loving 
 desires and sweet thoughts for me. Yes, I do feel 
 very thankful for the degree of calm permitted, the 
 * sparing mercies,' as I have known such called. Things 
 are difficult sometimes now, and [there are] many 
 causes of anxiety, and yet how different from the 
 experiences, the extremities of former years. I do 
 feel reverently thankful, sometimes with wonder, at 
 the power of enjoyment which yet for a little season 
 remains, and for the absence of soul and body 
 weariness, after all that has been gone through. 
 The trying season of Christmas and the Xew Year 
 passed more cheerily than the last, without that ache 
 of gone-ness ; though I have realised more than 
 before how old I really am. Xot that I feel it in 
 any particular way, but it seems natural now to fill 
 the part of an old woman — to take some one's arm to 
 go up and down stairs, and to be dependent on help 
 in walking out in the evening. Of course this is not 
 from age exactly, but it is an infirmity that must be 
 expected to increase till the end comes." 
 
 To Rebecca Zaytoun. 
 
 22nd of First Month, 1885. 
 How remarkably it is the case that our earthly 
 but heavenward journey is taken in the midst of sa 
 many trials and difficulties. I come in contact with 
 such in my own experience, and sharing in that of 
 others to a large extent, and must believe that it is in 
 this way that much of our spiritual education — the 
 strengthening of our faith and the enlargement of our 
 understandings is carried on." 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 "In a service which Thy will appoints, 
 
 There are no bonds for me, 
 For my inmost heart is taught the truth 
 
 That makes Thy children free : 
 And a life of self-renouncing love 
 
 Is a life of liberty." 
 
 A. L. Waring. 
 
 IN the summer of 1885, Ann Hunt laid before her 
 Monthly Meeting a proposal to visit the families 
 of Friends in Bristol and its neighbourhood, and to 
 her great comfort and help, her friend Joseph Storrs 
 Fry desired to accompany her in this service. The 
 proposition was cordially received and both Friends 
 were set free to accomplish it. Ann Hunt was fitted 
 for such work by nature and experience; her sur- 
 roundings were now calm and peaceful, and though 
 age and past troubles had told upon her strength, she 
 had full confidence that ability would be given her to 
 do that which she felt called to perform. Her com- 
 panion writes thus on the subject, after mentioning 
 that the visits included many of the attenders not in 
 membership in our meetings and were afterwards 
 extended to the members of other Monthly Meetings 
 in the compass of the Quarterly Meeting: 
 
95 
 
 For one in advanced life and in rather feeble 
 health the service was somewhat arduous but she was 
 •enabled to perform it to the comfort and spiritual 
 help of her friends. It was striking to observe with 
 what interest and discrimination she entered into 
 sympath}^ with persons in very varied circumstances, 
 and how appropriately the message was delivered 
 with delicacy and tact. Her habitual diffidence and 
 humility were remarkably combined with Christian 
 ■courage and faithfulness in speaking the word in 
 season as occasion called for it. To those in sickness 
 or other affliction she was peculiarly fitted to hand 
 the consolations of the Gospel, and to speak of the 
 loving-kindness of the Lord from her own experi- 
 ence." 
 
 What she felt herself in reference to this engage- 
 ment may be best seen in her letters of about this 
 ■date. ^ 
 
 To yohn Gayner. 
 
 24th of Seventh Month, 1885. 
 
 ''The subject spoken of has taken so strong a hold 
 of my mind that I have ventured to mention it to 
 
 , proposing to ask the sanction of Friends at 
 
 the next Monthly Meeting for such service as we 
 were speaking of. . . . It seems a great, an 
 almost fearful thing to have done, for though old in 
 3'ears I am young in such experiences, — but it is 
 nothing with the Lord to help whether with many or 
 Avith those who have no power, and I have abundant 
 cause to trust his loving-kindness and His faithful- 
 ness." 
 
96 
 
 To Hannah South all. 
 
 '^9th of Eighth Month, 1885. 
 I do not hke to let the quiet hour this afternoon 
 pass over without telhng thee how sweet and precious 
 was thy letter. It is a great clieer to me that amid 
 the occupations of your life of abounding interests, 
 thou and dearest Bessie have been able to go with 
 me even into these deeps, — such they are as respects 
 feeling, though not of the character of overwhelming 
 sorrow, through which also you have gone with me. 
 Let it be so still, even until that river has to be passed 
 where alone the One can walk with us, can sustain 
 and take over in safety. I want you to know that the 
 adjourned Monthly Aleeting is hxed for Third-day at 
 7 p.m. Very few indeed know the part I am expect- 
 ing to take in it, and thou canst well suppose I am 
 unable to realise it myself. With all my life-long 
 and long-life experiences, this one is so new. At 
 times it seems like going down out of the ship like 
 Peter to walk on the water. Yet I cannot be thank- 
 ful enough for the condescension whereby I have not 
 been left to doubt, and I can believe that however 
 feebly any service of mine may be rendered, there is 
 a purpose of blessing in it which will not be wholly 
 lost." 
 
 To John Gayner. 
 
 " 19th of Eighth Month, 1885. 
 
 We paid two visits at . ... I felt it a 
 
 merciful condescension that on this entrance in the 
 work there was a precious sense that the Lord was 
 graciously with us, and I may venture to say the 
 same in the first call I made by myself. . . . In a 
 
97 
 
 rather striking way, wholly unlooked for, the visit 
 seemed seasonable. Then, yesterday we went to 
 Brislington, and had a time with the dear aged 
 Friend there,'-' so bright in mind and spirit. . . . 
 I can thankfully say the work is made easier to me 
 than I expected, while the privilege of the com- 
 panionship is even unexpectedly great." 
 
 To Elizaheih Soiithall. 
 
 "21st of Eighth Month, 1885. 
 " Dearest Cousin and Friend, 
 
 " I know thou hast sometimes thought of me in 
 this ' walking on the water ' that I am doing day by 
 day. How I feel that but for the help of Him who I 
 trust called me to do it, I must sink. But in great 
 mercy I have not felt it to be so, rather on the con- 
 trary a little measure of life and strength given from 
 time to time both to soul and body." 
 
 To Hannah Southall. 
 
 28th of Eighth Month, 1885. 
 I often feel as if we were in danger of getting 
 out of our depth when we try to explain the deahngs 
 of Him whose thoughts are above our thoughts. 
 There is much in those lines of Dora Greenwell's, 
 who was herself so firm a believer in the expiatory 
 sacrifice : 
 
 ' I am not skilled to understand 
 What God hath willed, what God hath planned ; 
 I only know at His right hand 
 Stands One who is my Saviour. 
 
 * Elizabeth Thomas, widow of George Thomas. She lived eight j'ears 
 after this, and died at the age of 98. 
 
 8 
 
98 
 
 I take God at His word and deed — 
 Christ died to save me, so I read ; 
 And in my heart I find the need 
 Of Him to be my Saviour. 
 
 Yes, Hving, dying, let me bring 
 My strength, my solace from this spring, 
 That He who lives to be my King 
 Once died to be my Saviour.' " 
 
 To J. S. Fry. 
 Clevedon, 24th of Eleventh Month, 1885. 
 The unity in essentials with diversity in modes is 
 so high a privilege of the One Church. I felt it last 
 evening when we attended a meeting of the London 
 Missionary Society, and heard very interesting state- 
 ments by missionaries from Pekin and a province of 
 India. One felt afresh how every true work for 
 Christ is in one service, and longed that any portion 
 ever so small that might be allotted should be done 
 heartily as unto Him." 
 
 To Elizabeth Soiithall. 
 
 ''5th of Twelfth Month, 1885. 
 "Then I want to tell thee, my own dearly-loved 
 friend, that I have not broken down, nor diu-ing the 
 last month was prevented paying a single visit by any 
 hindrance of my own. Indeed, I think I bear the 
 work better now than I did at the beginning, taking 
 as I do every possible care — going on at an average 
 rate of about ten visits per week. We shall scarcely 
 finish this year, if there should be no interruption, 
 but it would make the residue small. It will, indeed, 
 be a great mercy if I am permitted to accomplish 
 what seemed so marvellously great to propose, but I 
 
99 
 
 do continually feel as if help was given for the day 
 and the hour, and I am deeply thankful for this con- 
 firmation of faith and fresh experience of the tender 
 mercy of the Lord. Of course, the variety of those 
 we meet is very great, the well-to-do in luxurious 
 houses and the poor hving on Friends' charity in their 
 small abodes. We have one member living in an 
 almshouse — we have not been there yet. I think the 
 onlv expression of endearment I have heard from a 
 stranger was from an almost blind old man of this 
 class, ' Good-bve, Dear," which I treasured up with 
 much encouragement. Then we have the university 
 student, and the man who cannot read, some aged 
 above 90. and many little children, with contrasts in 
 everv other department. There are a good many 
 who are not members, only connected with such, 
 who like to join us, and no one is excluded." 
 
 It may seem to some perhaps, who remember the 
 *' Familv Visits " of former days, when they often 
 formed part of the service of Friends from a distance, 
 and were accomplished even in large meetings in a 
 short time, that Ann Hunt felt almost too deeply the 
 solemnity and importance of the work. But her 
 deep humility and lowly estimate of her gifts, com- 
 bined with the fact that her previous acquaintance 
 with her fellow-members caused her to be aware of 
 the difficulties of the undertaking, made it inevitable 
 that she should feel as she did about it, nor can we 
 doubt that the spirit in which she carried on the 
 work conduced to the blessing likely to follow it. 
 She wrote thus at the end of the vear : 
 
100 
 
 "Now in its last hour I look back upon 1885. It 
 has been an eventful year to me. May I thankfully 
 record it as the happiest of my life. Part of it spent 
 in much feebleness . . . but strength gradually 
 given again. Then the engagement of visiting the 
 families here with my dear friend J. S. F., a marvellous 
 thing indeed, brought about, I reverently trust, in the 
 blessed Lord's own way, for what was I to think of 
 such a thing ? And then the help from time to time, 
 and the fellowship a privilege. The work not 
 finished, but prayer for a blessing on it goes up con- 
 tinually. ... I would offer at this hour luyself a 
 living sacrifice, rendering unto Thee that which is 
 Thine own. Accept and bless the offering, O Lord, 
 in Thy condescending mercy. The gradual failing 
 of sight may be called the year's chief trial, yet 
 I have hardly felt it so. As yet it has been easy to 
 say, ' Thy will be done.' Should I live another year 
 perhaps this record will be lost to me, for the dim- 
 ness increases. Even so enable me to say, gracious 
 Father, if it be Thy blessed will." 
 
 To Joseph Slorrs Fry. 
 
 13th of Second Month, 1886. 
 
 As we stand on the threshold of another week, 
 which if it comes to iis will be one of rather special 
 interest and importance, it is a comfort to believe 
 that united prayer goes up for the guidance and the 
 blessing so essential at every step of the way. We 
 do believe that our blessed Lord is willing to give 
 abundantly, ' For of His fulness have we all received 
 and grace for grace.' Wherefore let us comfort one 
 another and our own hearts by these thoughts." 
 
lOI 
 
 Her insight into character is occasionally shown 
 bv touches in her letters — naturally not often, as she 
 was very careful in what she said of others. In a 
 letter to E. Southall, written about this time, she 
 remarks of a young friend : 
 
 I was delighted to see , she seemed to me 
 
 so much grown in desirable points since she was here 
 before — warmer, brighter, and generally elucidated — 
 that the little intercourse has left a very favourable 
 impression." 
 
 To Rebecca Zaytoun. 
 
 ''1 8th of Fifth Month, 1886. 
 I am more and more convinced how needful it 
 is, if we are to have any true peace and spiritual 
 blessing, if we are to grow in grace, that we should 
 know our foundation laid for ourselves on Jesus 
 Christ, the Rock of our salvation, that we should 
 know whom we believe, and that He is able to keep us, 
 and all that we commend unto Him. It is the want 
 of this to the extent we need it, that really makes us so 
 liable to be unsettled and beclouded by the misdoings 
 and mistakes of others. These are very trying, but 
 we must look beyond them. Our gracious Lord said 
 those things before He suffered ' that in Ale ye might 
 have peace,' even when He told His disciples that in 
 the world they should have tribulation, they were to 
 be of good cheer for He had overcome the world. 
 And truly He means it now as much as He did then. 
 We shall never get the peace or keep it by escaping. 
 It will, and does, and must come, we know it and feel 
 it, all of us. But I do long that those who in truth 
 name the name of Christ as their Lord and Lawgiver, 
 
102 
 
 should live so close to Him, so abide in Him, as not 
 to be greatly moved by the wrongs and distresses of 
 earth." 
 
 In the summer of this year it was decided that 
 Ann Hunt's and J. S. Fry's visits to families should 
 be extended beyond the limits of Bristol and 
 Frenchay Monthly Meeting. In reference to this 
 prospect she said in a letter addressed to myself : 
 
 If this may be done, as to my share in it with 
 something of fear and trembling, it is not on account 
 of what may be involved of trouble or effort, or even 
 risk to health, but lest having attempted to walk 
 upon the water, faith may fail. But these are 
 unworthy misgivings, if the service or any portion of 
 it be indeed called for and accepted. Thou wilt 
 think of us, my much loved friend, and perhaps dear 
 C. will also." 
 
 To HannaJi SoiUhall. 
 
 9, Brunswick Square, 
 
 29th of Seventh Month, 1886. 
 
 My own Beloved Partner, 
 
 It is rather long since I wrote. Circumstances 
 have caused it, not I am sure it is needless to say, any 
 lessening of loving thought or sense of communion. 
 It seems as if I had almost paid you a visit myself^ 
 so vividly have scenes been photographed by dear 
 Matilda. She came to me early on Third-day after- 
 noon, and stayed till the Monthly Meeting Conference 
 at seven o'clock, so that we had a nice time together, 
 and I heard a good deal of your doings. ... It 
 is a great pleasure to me to have this fresh bond of 
 
103 
 
 interest established between those who are on each 
 side though in different ways so closely linked with 
 me. Xow she has put on harness again. ... It 
 seems, dear love, as if everything one does almost 
 opens some fresh sphere of interest and responsibility. 
 I have felt this almost solemnly even this morning, 
 not that anything fresh has occurred, but the scroll 
 keeps unrolling, and as I consider how soon the 
 earthly portion of it must end for me, the interest 
 thickens and the longing grows more earnest that 
 whatever mv hand finds to do may be done in the 
 strength given. . . . Oh the diversity of human 
 experience ! During part of the time it [a Children's 
 Meeting] was going on, I was reading in XigJit and 
 Day the story of wretched waifs of similar age, of 
 whom Dr. Barnardo tells the heart-rending tale. And 
 then again, what a picture of heathendom does C. W. 
 Pumphrey draw in her paper in The Friends' Quarterly 
 Examiner just come out. I did not get through it. 
 Surely it is permitted us in mercy that we do not, 
 cannot realise these things — we could not endure the 
 agony. One longs that such portion only mav be 
 brought closely home as we may be enabled in any 
 way to relieve. It seems to me that this is the only 
 way in which such thoughts can be healthfully borne 
 — not excluding but giving a large place to the help- 
 fulness of prayer." 
 
 To Rebecca Zayloun. 
 
 " 5th of Eighth Month, 1886. 
 " I noticed thy remark about the effect of so much 
 ' secular work.' It always seems to me as if it were 
 a part or a department of religious work. It was my 
 
104 
 
 lot during so large a portion of my life to be closely 
 occupied by common-place duties, to be so almost 
 entirely shut off from what is called Christian work, 
 and very much from religious privileges, that if my 
 spiritual life and growth had depended on these, it 
 could scarcely have survived at all, even in the feeble 
 way of which I am conscious. This experience has 
 helped me to reaUse that it is not the work we have 
 to do, but the spirit in which we live on which the 
 blessing depends. . . . We cannot beheve that 
 so much of the time of Christian people would be 
 necessarily employed about these things connected 
 with our earthly life, if their souls were unavoidably 
 losers thereby. On the contrary I believe the true 
 religious w^ork and the true spiritual growth are often 
 found in connection with outward affairs wdien so 
 done as unto the Lord. . . . It is as we abide in 
 Christ that we are safe and blest, not whether we are 
 doing this or that. A different kind of service is 
 sometimes given as in my case, but I feel it is the 
 same now that I have been permitted to share in 
 more direct religious engagements." 
 
 To the same. 
 
 " 30th of Ninth Month, 1886. 
 " Truly it is a troublous world, making one feel 
 very strongly the need of a refuge as well as strength. 
 Do not think that there is any special trouble affect- 
 ing me. In great mercy it is not so. I can truly say 
 that I can look back to no period of my life in which 
 I was so free from trouble, and had so much of real 
 enjoyment as during the last year — thankfully I say it, 
 and with desire to devote every faculty still granted 
 
105 
 
 me to the service of my precious Saviour and Lord. 
 But this personal exemption only makes me more able 
 to feel for others who are struggling with the waves, 
 and drinking the bitter cups from which / have drunk 
 so deeply. Going about as J. S. Fry and I do from 
 one family to another, in different lines of life and 
 circumstances, we hnd so much trial, very diverse in 
 kind, and yet proving the insufficiency of earthly 
 things to give rest and peace ; and yet the one remedy 
 is all-sufficient. Where there is the love of Christ 
 and true submission of heart and life to Him and His 
 will, there is calm and peace, even though surround- 
 ings are those of tribulation. And where this love 
 and devotedness do not bear sway there is unrest, and 
 often discord and disappointment, even w^hen outward 
 things are comparatively easy." 
 
 To Matilda Sturge. 
 
 14th of Twelfth Month, 1886. 
 I am afraid w^e must not look for help from thee 
 [at the Bible Class]. After thou w^ent from home, as 
 Ave had no ' subject,' and there was no one hardly to 
 consult with, I ventured to suggest ' Christian Work, 
 What is it ? ' my idea being that something might be 
 made of it, not by depreciating that which is generally 
 called so, but by enlarging the area and pointing to 
 the root of it. Though we minimize the functions of 
 leadership, I suppose something of the kind is 
 •desirable, and I feel especialh' disqualified for it now 
 by the failure of sight. I was almost surprised at the 
 •extent of this between the time of our previous 
 meetings and the last. However, I have found hitherto 
 such very kind help in every department of this trial 
 that I am hoping it will be so now. . . . What 
 
io6 
 
 thou said about people who do not know anything 
 worse than the sorrow of bereavement means a great 
 deal. And yet, until the heart's inner circle is left 
 empty, one hardly knows what that is. How con- 
 tinually we feel the need of a refuge as well as 
 strength, and the time of trouble in which we want 
 the very present Help comes in so many forms and so 
 frequently. . . . Now I am almost afraid I have 
 tired thee. Will only add the dfear love, which will 
 be no burden I hope, for thee and dear C. 
 
 From thy ever affectionate friend, 
 
 ''A. Hunt." 
 
 To y. S. Fry. 
 " 27th of Twelfth Month, 1886. 
 Before thy present came I was longing to say a 
 word to thee, as is the custom of the season, not 
 indeed exactly in the customary form, but in the true 
 desire that the peace which passeth all understanding 
 may rest upon this closing year, and that the joy of 
 the Lord may be richly granted, to be strength in 
 that which is soon to come. . . . How^ wide and 
 how heartfelt is the consolation of knowing that our 
 ' God shall supply all your need,' according to the 
 glorious measure spoken of in the text. And surely,, 
 if He suffers us at times to feel that need very deeply^ 
 it is that we may experience how all sufficient is the 
 supply." 
 
 Ann Hunt and Joseph Storrs Fry proceeded in 
 their visits to other Meetings, and with the exception 
 of one or two very small ones at some distance, which 
 J. S. Fry visited alone, were enabled to accomplish 
 that which they had in view. Ann Hunt was much 
 
107 
 
 interested in the new friendships which were formed 
 in this way, and there was something very appropriate 
 in this extension of her sympathies beyond the circle 
 of Friends to which she had always belonged. She 
 bore up well, though it became evident that strength 
 and eyesight would scarcely have sufficed for more 
 than was actuallv accomplished. 
 
 The following letter contains the first allusion 
 to her possible need of companionship in her home : 
 
 To Elizabeth Soiithall. 
 
 i6th of Fourth Month, 1887. 
 I am expecting Phyllis on Second-day to stay 
 the night, and then we can talk of future plans. 
 . . . More than one friend has suggested her 
 staying with me as desirable, and I had before 
 thought of asking her to spend the winter months 
 here, should there be no unforeseen change. Of 
 course, I do not know that she would like it, but her 
 being set at liberty* and my growing dependence 
 seem rather like guiding circumstances. M. Sturge 
 was very earnest about it the other evening, and I 
 have thought about it a good deal. I should like it as 
 a trial — that is, to try how it would suit — for I have 
 got into wavs, not perhaps what is called selfish, but 
 of by-mvselfness, which perhaps might a little inter- 
 fere. She is, however, not only a most kind and 
 efficient, but most easy and unselfish person, and I 
 should find her a great comfort in many wavs. So I 
 trust it may all be ordered for the good of both, if I 
 continue to need a companion." 
 
 * By the death of Eliza Barclay, of Darlington, with whom she had resided 
 for some years. 
 
io8 
 
 The result of this suggestion was that PhylUs 
 Rowe accepted the invitation for the winter months, 
 and ahhough she did not, for various reasons, prefer 
 to make Ann Hunt's house her home, she continued 
 to pay her long visits up to the time of her own 
 unlooked-for death. She came to Brunswick Square 
 for the hrst of these visits in November, 1887. Pre- 
 viously to this, some young Friends, knowing of her 
 failing sight, had offered to come one by one at stated 
 times to read to her. She gladly acceded to the pro- 
 posal, rejoicing as much in the opportunity of inter- 
 course with those in whom she was interested as in 
 the advantage to herself, and the plan continued in 
 operation until the commencement of her last illness. 
 On their side her young visitors delighted in her 
 society ; the book was often laid aside and the time 
 occupied by earnest talk, personal or discussive. 
 
 She could still write clearly and legibly at this 
 time. 
 
 To Hannah Soict/iall. 
 Brunswick Square, 
 
 15th of Tenth Month, 1887. 
 While dear Cousin E. is gone out to do some 
 shopping, it feels very congenial to me to wTite a few- 
 lines to my partner beloved, and thought of with un- 
 dying remembrance — not to die, I trust, even when 
 the body dies, w-hich now encases the living memory. 
 . . . Dearest, I have heard of thee, of course, 
 through Bessie, and, as far as permitted, have entered 
 into present interests and difticulties. But still more 
 does my heart turn to the subject on which thou 
 
109 
 
 spoke in thy last and asked sympathy, which is truly 
 rendered : I mean about the causes of concern arising 
 in your Meeting. These matters come very closely 
 home to those who are earnestly engaged in endea- 
 vouring to raise the standard, and to draw into true 
 union those who uphold it. I do not know that there 
 is anything more depressing, nor that tries the faith 
 more, than the falling out of rank of those enlisted 
 under the banner which the Lord gives to those who 
 fear Him. There are so many influences that lead to 
 this, sometimes not easy to recognise — I expect it is 
 so among you. It is not felt exactly in the same way 
 among us, and yet there is much that leads to close 
 searching of heart. I desire to be shown wherein 
 anything in ourselves or our ways of working, or the 
 neglect of these, may be obstructing that measure of 
 blessing which our Lord designs to give — He who is 
 the Shepherd and Bishop of the souls, for whose 
 salvation and growth in grace we long. One seems 
 to come back again and again to the conviction that 
 the true cause of all failure as to fruit-bearing is the 
 want of close personal union with Christ — that 
 blessed condition of which it is said that the living 
 water shall be in him, and shall flow out of him. 
 Whenever I begin at the faults and failures (which 
 abound with us also), I always seem to come back to 
 this ; and the longing to realise it more myself and, if 
 it might be permitted, to help others to realise it, 
 seems to swallow up the thought of other remedies. 
 And 3'et measures of this kind, as auxiliary, must be 
 adopted, and such I have no doubt you are doing. I 
 
 was very much interested in hearing about poor . 
 
 I hope all patience and forbearance will be exercised^ 
 for perhaps we can scarcely estimate the strength of 
 
no 
 
 the temptation which comes over such an one at 
 times, and is utterly overpowering without Divine 
 help. It may be that his fall may be made a blessing 
 in awakening him more clearly to see his danger and 
 where alone his safety lies." 
 
 To HannaJi Soiilliall. 
 
 " 5th of Sixth Month, 1887. 
 Thank thee very much for mentioning that nice 
 book — but like many other things my reading is more 
 in name than reality, for thou seest that though there 
 are several readers there is but one hearer, who has 
 besides other functions. Times do not always suit, 
 and altogether we do not get through rapidly ; there 
 is often a good deal of talk, which I would by no 
 means have eliminated. The passing literature which 
 one used to look hastily down and extract the essence, 
 has very much to be foregone ; — though I do not 
 cease to take interest in public affairs, and hope not 
 to subside into that somewhat lamentable condition." 
 
 To Eliza belli SoutliaJl. 
 
 i8th of First Month, 1888. 
 " I have been thinking lately of the promise of 
 leading the blind by a way which they know not, of 
 making darkness light before them and crooked things 
 straight, and the precious assurance ' these things 
 will I do unto them and not forsake them.' Now 
 that I cannot as formerly refer to Scripture passages 
 and read a chapter or more at will, these priceless 
 gems of promise seem to shine out with special bright- 
 ness and are full of rich consolation. I have not felt 
 lonely or dull during this week since coming home, 
 but on Second-day I have arranged to go to C. R. 
 Charleton's, and stay if all be well until Fifth-day." 
 
Ill 
 
 To the same. 
 
 17th of Second Month, 1888. 
 " I feel that I have owed thee a letter for a long 
 tune, not that the loss is thine, for I feel the privation 
 of intercourse tells most on me, — and yet I feel too 
 that this slowness of execution and narrowing up of 
 opportunities belong, to the discipline I will not say, 
 but to the preparatory treatment of advanced years, 
 mercifully arranged by Him who promises to carry in 
 old age as in tender years. * I will carry and will 
 deliver you.' I never understood the blessedness of 
 this promise to hoar hairs until I was old myself — 
 though as yet mercifully spared many of the infirm- 
 ities and trials of this stage of life. Neither has the 
 laying aside yet come, for seldom has life seemed 
 busier, or [have there been] more claims on thought 
 and action since I have had in a sense the disposal of 
 my own time. Dear Ph\-llis is an excellent and most 
 kind helper, or rather in many things efficient co- 
 worker, as well as having schemes and kindnesses to 
 carry out on her own account." 
 
 To J, S. Fry, 
 
 " i8th of Fifth Month, 1888. 
 " There are, I truly feel, many mercies — and if the 
 words suggested by Milton be true for me, the 
 privation which we spoke of last night will be one of 
 these, 
 
 * My vision hast Thou dimmed that I might see 
 More of Thyself alone ! ' 
 
 "That this blessing which includes so much may 
 be increasingly thine (though with undimmed vision) 
 is my prayer very often," 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 " He giveth rest more perfect, pure and true, 
 While we His burthen bear ; 
 It springeth not from parted pain, but through 
 
 The accepted blessing there, 
 The lesson pondered o'er with thoughtful eyes, 
 The faith that sees in all a meaning wise." 
 
 Lucy Fletcher. 
 
 IN the spring of 1888 the question arose as to the 
 desirability of an operation for cataract, which 
 had previously been considered a thing not to be 
 thought of for a person so advanced in years. Nov^, 
 however, her friends told her of an oculist who 
 thought little of this difficulty, who had been success- 
 ful with aged patients and was willing to operate at a 
 comparatively early stage of the disease. " I need 
 not say," she remarks in a letter to Hannah Southall 
 on the subject, " how pleasant it would be to look 
 again on the lovely country and on the faces of dear 
 friends as well as to have books and papers unsealed 
 and to feel less of helplessness. Yet I could scarcely 
 have believed how little of distress there has been in 
 this, so mercifully are minds and circumstances 
 adapted to each other." 
 
113 
 
 It was decided to try the experiment, and accord- 
 ingly in the month of July she went to Nottingham 
 with her kind friend Hannah Southall, /md had the 
 operation performed on one eye, the one in which 
 there was the more complete loss of sight. It was 
 skilfully and successfully accomplished, but her health 
 was shaken, and it was many weeks before any im- 
 provement in her sight became apparent. She went 
 to Malvern for awhile to recruit her strength, but it 
 was not till some time after her return home that good 
 results began to appear, as good perhaps as her 
 friends could reasonably anticipate. From this time 
 until within about two years of her death she was 
 able to read and write more easily and doubtless also 
 to see more of the outward world and of the kind 
 faces round her, though she never acquired any 
 confidence in moving about outside her own house. 
 But she soon resumed her place as a worker in various 
 ways. 
 
 To Elizabeth ^oiithall. 
 
 " 29th of Eighth Alonth, 1888. 
 I am thinking of thee, my own dearly beloved 
 friend, in relation to thy birthday, which I believe is 
 to-day. The dimness of vision which prevents my 
 being quite sure, does not extend to the heart, nor 
 does the uncertainty as to the place where thou art 
 affect the nearness inwardly, which miles of land or 
 leagues of ocean cannot render less vivid in its reality. 
 May it be granted us while we are on this earth to- 
 gether to live in such sweet communion, and when 
 death separates us I like to think that only ties of 
 
 9 
 
114 
 
 this world will be dissolved, and that all love which 
 comes from Him who is love will survive death and 
 continue with a deeper and purified existence, may 
 we not hope, in life eternal." 
 
 To Rebecca Zaytoim. 
 
 "20th of Twelfth Month, 1888. 
 Here, though in a different way, the claims on 
 anyone willing to attend to them are very strong. 
 . . . They do not seem to grow less with advanced 
 years, so that the precious promise of finding rest to 
 the soul is equally appropriate. Yet it would be un- 
 grateful and, as it were, bearing false witness to a 
 most condescending Lord not to acknowledge His 
 loving-kindness through all and the overruling of His 
 gracious hand when earthly hopes and aids have 
 failed and faith has been tried as by fire." 
 
 After giving an account of a temperance meeting 
 held by the Bristol and Somerset Friends' Total 
 Abstinence Association for the servants of Friends, 
 she says to Hannah Southall : 
 
 "26th of Second Month, 1889. 
 I had no intention of saying a word, but just 
 threw in my mite at the end as the oldest member of 
 the committee and the oldest abstainer in the room, 
 having never virtually been anything else, and the 
 audience were very responsive." 
 
 It should be noted here that her interest in the 
 Temperance cause was very warm and invariably 
 consistent. The Association above mentioned was 
 established in 1877. She became a member of the 
 Executive Committee, and only resigned when 
 
115 
 
 advancing age compelled her to give up some of her 
 engagements. 
 
 To Rebecca Zaytoiui. 
 
 28th of Second Month, 1889. 
 How many and wonderful are the ways in which 
 our gracious Lord teaches and comforts and directs 
 His children. I used to think, in days when I had to 
 struggle as for spiritual existence, that some special 
 sense of comfort or life was often permitted before 
 some fresh trouble. I cannot think that we are 
 intended to be so raised above natural feelings as not 
 to suffer pain from loss and disappointment and other 
 afflictions. If it were so where would be the chasten- 
 ing which is the portion of the Lord's children and 
 the proof of His love ? Yet it is said to be for the 
 present grievous. He who took our nature knows 
 what our nature must feel, and it seems to me that 
 the power of His grace is shown when in the midst 
 of natural pain and sorrow the heart remains true in 
 its submission and loving trust in Him, and in His 
 doing all things well. . . . As to bearing provoca- 
 tion I do believe the secret of this is in keeping close 
 to Him, living near as in His presence, and then it is 
 like bein^ hidden in the secret of His tabernacle, 
 under the shadow of His wings, where those provoking 
 things very much lose their power — do not reach you 
 as it were." 
 
 To J. S, Fry. 
 
 Clevedon, 
 " i6th of Third Month, 1889. 
 " Fifth-day evening the usual week-day meeting 
 was held, as it had been put off to allow of another 
 engagement. And it was congenial to think of those 
 
Tl6 
 
 at ' The Friars ' as occupied at the same time and in 
 the same worship. I wondered if thou would be able 
 to get there after the engagement of the morning, yet 
 felt how little there is of separation in miles of railway 
 or walls of buildings, or even of occupation of hands^ 
 where spirits are united. May this blessed fellowship 
 be granted to us more and more, my dear friend, in 
 our Lord and Saviour. And may He be abundantly 
 felt to be continually present, supplying every need 
 in the service which is in prospect abroad as well as 
 at home." 
 
 To the same. 
 
 19th of Sixth Month, 1889. 
 " It is, I think, profitable to have an opportunity 
 of knowing the inner working of a different style of 
 Quakerism from one's own, such as is in operation 
 here. One sees, perhaps, both the strength and the 
 weakness of it, and must desire to imitate it in the one^ 
 and to take warning by the other. I think it strikes 
 one afresh how utterly vain and barren all efforts are» 
 apart from the grace bestowed, and how liable we are 
 to lapse into error, except there be the keeping on the 
 armour of righteousness, preserving both on the right 
 hand and the left." ♦ 
 
 2o . 
 
 ''2nd of Eighth Month, 1889. 
 '' My beloved Friend, 
 
 '* I should like if I can to reach thee with a few 
 
 lines before thou hast left our dear friends at , 
 
 that I may take the opportunity of sending them a 
 warm message of love while acknowledging thy very 
 welcome letter. It has been sweet to think of thee 
 in such congenial association, and I would thankfully 
 
117 
 
 rejoice in the feeling of refreshment that thou wast 
 able to speak of. I also have felt it a fresh proof of 
 the loving-kindness of our gracious Heavenly Father 
 that He gives us help in this particular way, suited to 
 both body and mind — and have felt an instance of it 
 now given. It is of His grace that after seasons of 
 deep trial, and sometimes of long continuance of it, 
 there is ability to recognise and acknowledge the 
 blessings granted, and to know indeed that He 
 restoreth the soul, and does help our inhrmities by 
 the renewing of His grace." 
 
 To Elizabeth Southali:' 
 
 2nd of Twelfth Month, 1889. 
 " It was quite affecting to read thy report of the 
 afflictions in [that] circle. I know thy deep loving 
 svmpathv would bring thee into much feeling with 
 the bereaved and the depressed, and cannot doubt 
 that thy presence must have been a real cheer. In 
 how many different ways do the trials of life come, 
 and yet in all there is the same need of the Divine 
 healing and support, and of the solace of human 
 sympathy, as I can largely bear witness, but the one 
 availing Helper can always be told, can always be 
 trusted with our sorrows and our perplexities, and 
 what a boon is this to man, who is born to trouble. 
 For myself I would rather just now speak of mercies, 
 which often feel to me to be 'new every morning,' 
 both in what we call the great and the smaller 
 ones.'' 
 
 To Ala til da Sturge. 
 As it appears, in acknowledgment of a card having 
 the words. My meditation of Him shall be sweet, I 
 will be glad in the Lord." 
 
ii8 
 
 " 25th of Twelfth Month, 1889. 
 I think I can say that this which I might take as 
 thy desire for me, has been in rather unusual measure 
 the experience granted to-day. Many years now 
 have passed since I was alone on this day of general 
 gathering together, and I have not been without kind 
 and interesting visitors. Still many hours have been 
 given for meditation, and many as are the Christmas 
 Da3^s that I have seen, never did the wonderful 
 character and world-wide blessing of the message 
 w^hich the angels brought from Heaven itself, feel so 
 marvellous and so inspiring with love and trust. So 
 that the meditation has been indeed calculated to 
 make glad in the Lord.'' 
 
 The year closes with the following memorandum : 
 " Brought once more to a closing year. What 
 can I say of thankfulness for the Lord's goodness 
 from its beginning until now ? Health almost 
 throughout, no severe trials, blessings unnumbered, 
 the very great one of a new precious friendship. 
 And spiritually, ever increasing sense of what it is to 
 have such a Saviour. O Blessed Lord and Master^ 
 wilt thou take more full possession of my being, and 
 glorify Th^'self in and by me. Here would I dedicate 
 all that remains of life to Thy service. Be Thou my 
 Guide even unto death." 
 
 To Hannah SoiithalL 
 
 ''6th of First Month, 1890. 
 ''I want to thank thee lovingly, dearest H., for the 
 letter which gave a welcome farewell to the Old Year 
 (I don't mean that the departure was welcome, but 
 thy letter w^as), and which helped me to look forward 
 
119 
 
 to that on which we have now fairly entered, ahnost 
 a week of it gone ah-eady. The entrance on the last 
 decade of my life in all probability felt very solemn. 
 And truly as thou sayst there is much around us to 
 cause reflection and to make us feel our need of trust 
 in Him who is strong while we are weak. ... I 
 have not read ' Looking Backward ' yet. There seem 
 to me other and more real ways of looking at the 
 subject, and we — I and my readers — are rather deep 
 in other books. I am reading myself, with intense 
 interest, Paton's Life. I have got about half through 
 the lirst volume, and am in the midst of his mission 
 miseries and discouragements. People who believe 
 in the goodness of human nature should ponder the 
 case of those wretched savages, and those who are 
 looking out for remedies for evil should study the cure 
 which has been so efficacious there." 
 
 To a Friend on her birthday. 
 
 "6th of First Month, 1890. 
 My mlxh loved Friend, 
 " Though I hope we may meet to-morrow, I am 
 thinking of the morning as it will dawn upon thee, as 
 I trust in that deep peace which times and seasons 
 cannot affect — and I long to add one to the many 
 affectionate expressions which will reach thee on the 
 entrance of another year of life. Many there are 
 who will ask for a fresh blessing upon thee and thy 
 house. And how comforting it is to feel, as I think I 
 do rather afresh as I write, that no outward circum- 
 stances — not deep trial even, not sore bereavement — 
 can interfere with or intercept this blessing which 
 does indeed make rich. Surely the sympathy of our 
 precious Saviour is round thee now. He who knows 
 
I20 
 
 all the pain and all the blank that attend life, and 
 which His own healing power and His own presence 
 can alone effectually reach. May this be a sweet 
 and strengthening experience, dearest friend, daring 
 the coming year, shared as I know it must and will 
 be by many — those who are nearest and those who 
 are farther removed from thy daily life. It is one of 
 the arrangements whereby the ' manifold grace ' 
 effects its designed purpose, that experience some- 
 times at heavy cost w^orks hope, not only for the 
 subjects of it but for those who witness its effect. 
 . . . Hoping to meet to-morrow evening, 
 
 " I am thine most lovingly, 
 
 A. Hunt." 
 
 During this year Ann Hunt, as a member of a 
 Committee of the Meeting on Ministry and Oversight, 
 took a very useful part in visits to Friends at their 
 homes, which were being carried out under the 
 direction of that Meeting. The engagement resembled 
 the one in which she had been occupied in 1885, 
 with the difference that several others shared the 
 labour, and that the visits in which she took part 
 were made with varied companionship. In allusion 
 to this service she wrote to J. S. Fry : 
 
 " 8th of First Month, 1890. 
 " Perhaps it is likely that as the time becomes 
 necessarily so very short in which any service, 
 however humble, can be rendered, that one should 
 feel increasingly earnest in the desire to see and to 
 do the little that may be permitted. The work that 
 is going on in the earth is so great, the needs are so 
 
121 
 
 vast, and the power of our Redeemer is so all- 
 sufficient, that one wonders sometimes how it is that 
 His children and servants do not get more hold of it, 
 are not more strongly impressed than many of us are 
 by the all-surpassing importance of this matter. 
 These thoughts have made me feel lately almost 
 more than ever the importance of doing even what 
 may seem like a fragment of the great work with 
 diligence and such wisdom as may be graciously 
 given. In this way I have thought of these visits of 
 the Committee which are in prospect, for the Lord 
 can bless even the barley loaves or the widow^s mite, 
 and He can and does bless even abundantly the gifts 
 which He has Himself bestowed for the witness to 
 the world and the building up of His Church." 
 
 To the same. 
 
 9th of First Month, 1890. 
 ''Just now I am rather hastening to finish the 
 iirst volume of J. G. Paton's Life. . . . It is a 
 remarkable book. One seems to want a term to 
 apply to it. ' Interesting' is all too w^eak. We have 
 heard much of the awful degradation and cruelty of 
 heathendom, and of the depravity of the white 
 savages who resort to such lands, of traders, etc. 
 Also of the marvellous changes wrought by the 
 Gospel. But I think these realities are seldom so 
 forcibly brought out as in this record, in which, 
 however, as far as I have gone, the sad and the 
 aw^ful predominate. Still, such an instance as is 
 afforded of Divine Grace, as sustaining under and 
 through years of suffering and danger, unsupported 
 by human sympathy is surely invaluable." 
 
122 
 
 To Hannah Soiithall. 
 " Clevedon, 12th of Fourth Alonth, 1890. 
 ''A card from me would I hope reach thee after 
 thine was written, which would tell you of our 
 proposed flitting to this place, where we have since 
 been, amid much of wind and rain, and almost 
 winter cold. Now there is a line bright day, though 
 strong wind and a shower occasionally, and I have 
 been out in a pony chair. . . . There is much of 
 interest awaiting our return, mv visits on the Ministry 
 and Oversight Committee above all in prospect. Oh 
 how unequal one feels, vet there was a text which 
 abides with me on our beginning dav : ' In everything 
 ye are enriched by Him.' " 
 
 To Matilda Sttirgc. 
 
 27th of Seventh Month, 1890. 
 ^' Thy letter was truly welcome. I found it here on 
 my return from a short visit to Taunton, and I do not 
 leave for Farm (Leominster) until the 29th, so that I 
 have the pleasure of reporting what little I can from 
 the old place. It is one of our bonds of union that our 
 interest in this Meeting is so strong. . . . Thou 
 spoke of recollections of last year. This is a period 
 unusually marked by my own recollections. . . . 
 Two years ago I passed through the operation which 
 mercifully restored, I might almost say, sight to the 
 blind. And it is just seven years since I enterecl on 
 that never-to-be-forgotten six weeks of nursing at 
 Gloucester, — an experience which has never since, 
 been for long together absent from my thoughts. 
 . . . I have done a little more visiting since we 
 met. . . . Think of the difference in character of 
 these three visits. They cannot be catalogued, — but 
 
123 
 
 what an expanse of mental and spiritual experience 
 one has a ^i^limpse of. Surely if one did not ^o in the 
 conviction of unfitness for anything but the humblest 
 service, one would shrink from it altogether. I have 
 not found reading ' Jonathan Merle ' * at all incon- 
 gruous. It is long since any book took such hold on 
 me. ... I have read more than half with my 
 own eves or eye. ... It seems to me a very 
 remarkable book. Is it not 'Uncle Tom's Cabin' 
 translated into English life ? Our slavery cannot be 
 abolished even by a war, but the vivid picture of it 
 given here cannot fail to stir many hearts to work for 
 its amelioration, and truly there must be ' a good time 
 coming/ and there must be more proof of what 
 Christianity means, what it ought to do and can do. 
 I almost wish that more place was given in the book 
 to the evils of the drink customs, for whatever is 
 done with the land there can be nothing but ruin 
 unless this cause can be removed. I heard another 
 fearful story of misery from this cause in our own line 
 of life while I was at ." 
 
 To y. S. Fry. 
 
 " Leominster, 
 30th Seventh Month, 1890. 
 I was privileged with a safe and easy journey 
 here yesterday, and was kindly met at Hereford by 
 Hannah Southall. Everything looks bright and 
 beautiful in the pleasant countrv, and the flowers are 
 abundant. I enjoy the change yet would not give up 
 the dim old city with its deep interest for any of these 
 
 * '• Jonathan Merle." by Elizabeth Boyd Bailey. Two subsequent books by 
 the same author, "Zachar\- Brough's Venture" and " Forestwick " fulfil the 
 desire expressed by Ann Hunt farther on. 
 
124 
 
 charms. I thought of you this morning, as we were 
 in our Httle Meeting, and you were I hope in larger, 
 though not large numbers at the Friars." 
 
 To Phyllis Rowe. 
 
 " Brunswick Square, 
 " 13th of Ninth Month, 1890. 
 Yes, the world is poorer as we say by the loss of 
 James Backhouse, — who has gone where doubtless 
 he has a higher service, — how far this may be con- 
 nected with earth we know not. Yet I think as one 
 after another passes away one cannot resist the con- 
 viction that there is a united service carried on by 
 the one family in heaven and on earth. They serve 
 perfectly one cannot doubt, seeing His face. But to 
 our finite view the service on earth seems to be much 
 left to the dwellers here, and is also but very im- 
 perfectly performed. Still there are workers, good 
 and true, and our little Society rejoices in a good many 
 such in one field of service and another. John Gayner 
 has put a letter in to-day's [paper] on the Opium 
 subject, trying to awaken people's minds to their 
 responsibility as to this awful conduct of ours as 
 regards China. It is very pathetic to find the ruhng 
 men of that country deploring the ruin of their 
 people by this terrible plague, yet not daring to try 
 to check it lest they should be involved in another 
 war. Sometimes one thinks almost with trembling 
 on the query, ' Shall I not visit for these things ?' saith 
 the Lord : ' shall not My soul be avenged on such a 
 nation as this ' ? Is it still as Cowper says, ' the salt 
 preserves it ' ? Then there is our own dreadful 
 drunkenness which they say is on the increase, spite 
 of all efforts to check it." 
 
125 
 
 Allusion was made by Ann Hunt, before entering 
 on 1890, to a new and precious friendship." She 
 referred to Caroline E. Stephen, whom she met 
 occasionally from this time, and with whom she kept 
 up a correspondence which has not been preserved. 
 C. E. Stephen wrote thus of her and of their friend- 
 ship, after her death. 
 
 No words of mine can say what w^as the blessing 
 to me of our seven years intimacy. I think I never 
 knew so motherly a soul, and the combination of 
 most unusual mental vigour and openness to every 
 variety of serious thought with profound and tender 
 reverence, made her for troubled minds indeed a 
 refuge and a counsellor of the rarest order. Then 
 the raciness and sparkle of her talk always seemed 
 the outcome of such quickness of sympathy as could^ 
 I suppose, have learned in no less severe school than 
 that in which she was so long and deeply exercised. 
 I can quite enter into the difficulty of conveying to 
 an outer circle true impressions of a character which 
 was the result of so much necessarih' veiled experi- 
 ence, and whose natural sphere of action and influence 
 was in the most intimate and deepest region of other 
 lives. A brief indication of the key-notes of her life 
 is all that would seem to me possible." 
 
 To this testimony may be added that of Anna 
 Lcetitia Waring: 
 
 In fellowship with all who love and highly 
 esteem Ann Hunt, I would gladly, if it were given me^ 
 add some worthy testimony to what she was as I 
 knew her. But I would not take upon me, in recalhng 
 the great spiritual pleasure of intercourse with her^ 
 
126 
 
 made so rare by her cultivated natural gifts, to say 
 more than what I know she would like me to say, 
 that to be with her was in my experience to 
 be very near the Son of God and of man, in the 
 brightness of His revelation of the Father, His faith- 
 fulness to those who trust and wait upon Him, His 
 goodness awaiting those who know it not. Her's was 
 a character that must be felt. ... I never had 
 any written correspondence with her, but the meeting 
 was always in one holy place, common to all who 
 believe, but dearly loved and deeply dwelt in by 
 her." 
 
 The words of such witnesses scarcely bear 
 addition, yet it may be well to try a little further to 
 indicate the key-notes of her character from the 
 standpoint of a longer acquaintance, and to do it at 
 this point, when Ann Hunt was in the midst of her 
 Indian summer, enjoying a clearness of atmosphere 
 and a radiance of light which she had not known in 
 the spring-time of life. The sympathetic power for 
 which she was so remarkable was, as may be seen 
 from her letters, of no common kind. She seemed to 
 see as with the eyes of others, but in a purer, clearer 
 light. She held intercourse with all sorts and con- 
 ditions of men," some of whom held views on 
 religious subjects entirely different from her own. 
 She never yielded on any point that was regarded by 
 her as important, but she seemed able to reach to the 
 heart of things and to iind a ground of union there. 
 Once after talking with an intimate friend about a 
 doctrine on which they differed, she said, " What is 
 
127 
 
 the difference in the attitude of soul between thee and 
 me ? " Her friend was able to answer, None." 
 
 As a Friend she was hberal, and ready to rejoice 
 in good wherever and however it might appear. At 
 one time she ching with a natural tenacity to the 
 external distinctions and other restrictions which had 
 marked the Society long after the time when she 
 grew up, and she dreaded lest the changes which had 
 begun should affect the reality or the devotedness of 
 the spiritual life. But gradually, while making no 
 alteration herself, she became reconciled to these 
 thiiigs, learning to look beyond and beneath them, 
 and to understand that change may be a necessary 
 indication of life and growth. The point she would 
 insist on with her young friends, in the wide held 
 now open to them in pursuits and engagements, was 
 that they should, in the exercise of their freedom, be 
 always ready to choose and put first the highest good. 
 She was one who knew how to reprove so as not to 
 break the head," and still more how to touch the 
 springs of action and produce the right effect without 
 reproof. A friend once wrote to her, that while con- 
 scious of powers which might be turned to more 
 account, she also felt that their value was largely 
 counterbalanced by an unhappily constituted tem- 
 perament and disposition. Ann Hunt's reply is not 
 preserved, but it is remembered that she said with 
 emphasis that it could not be that the grace of God 
 was insufficient in such a case. It is difficult to con- 
 vey an impression of the charm of her society, of the 
 
128 
 
 way in which she entered into the interests of others^ 
 different as some of them were from anything in her 
 own experience, of the brightness of her manner and 
 the earnestness of her talk, seasoned, as it often was, 
 with touches of humour and playful smiles. She was 
 the recipient of every kind of confidence, and her 
 advice was sought continually in cases of difficulty or 
 perplexity. She had besides a great love of children^ 
 and her interest in them was so tender and dis- 
 criminating as to be delightful to those who brought 
 them under her notice, scarcely expecting perhaps 
 that she would have much attention to bestow. It 
 happened in hev own circle of relations that two 
 young families were very much thrown on the care of 
 aunts and uncles — she, the great aunt, had not the 
 charge of these young people, but helped when she 
 could, and was consulted as to ever}^ arrangement 
 made for their good. But it need hardly be said that 
 she entered into every event, jo^'ful or sorrowful, in a 
 large and scattered family with the keenest interest ; 
 what is less common, her feelings were similarly 
 called forth for many others, who leaned on her judg- 
 ment and reposed in her sympathy and love. As to the 
 nature of her influence, one is reminded of the words 
 of Elizabeth Barrett Browning in describing a friend : 
 
 " She never found fault with you, never implied 
 Your wrong by her right, and yet men at her side 
 Grew nobler. . . . " 
 
 For the effect of it was penetrating, beyond the 
 apparent value of her words. In return for her loving 
 
129 
 
 kindness, affection was given her in ** good measure " 
 and " running over," so that lonely as she was in an 
 outward sense, she was never in her latter days lonely 
 in heart. Her friends vied with one another in 
 helping her in any way possible ; if need were in 
 greater things, and always in smaller matters, such as 
 calling on their way to take her to meeting, or sup- 
 plying her with flowers from greenhouse or garden, 
 or fresh from the country lanes or fields. And she 
 always appreciated every little kindness or token of 
 love. 
 
 It should be mentioned that she took especial 
 interest in Meetings for Church Affairs," especially 
 the Meetings on ^linistry and Oversight. She 
 attended them as long as she was able to do so, and 
 did her best to infuse into them something of the tone 
 and spirit which ought to prevail on such occasions. 
 In the winter of 1890-91 she took a leading part in a 
 little series of meetings for Friends who had been 
 lately received into membership, A few others 
 united with her in this engagement ; the gatherings 
 were small and held at her house. They were con- 
 ducted for the most part in a conversational manner, 
 the special topic being the principles of the Society 
 of Friends. One of the members of Bristol Meeting 
 remarked lately that nothing had helped him so much 
 as these little meetings. In a letter to Hannah 
 Southall she thus alludes to them herself : 
 
 "Your district is great in Teas — and doubtless 
 such institutions are a great assistance to the more 
 
 10 
 
130 
 
 spiritual ones. That little meeting here, which I have 
 told you of, has to do its best without such assistance, 
 for I give neither bit nor drop to the attenders. Still 
 those who come seem to feel an interest and I trust 
 there may be some benefit received ; certainly / can 
 acknowledge it." 
 
 Ann Hunt had no lack of taste for the pleasures 
 of social intercourse ; she delighted to spend an even- 
 ing or pay a longer visit at the houses of her friends, 
 and she also kept up an interest in a variety of subjects, 
 and was often to be seen at lectures or committee 
 meetings when attendance must have required con- 
 siderable effort on her part. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 " How quiet shows the woodland-scene ! 
 Each flower and tree, its duty done, 
 Reposing in decay serene, 
 
 Like weary men when age is won ; 
 Such calm old age as conscience pure 
 And self-commanding hearts endure, 
 Waiting their summons to the sky, 
 Content to live, but not afraid to die." 
 
 Keble. 
 
 To Rebecca Zaytoiin. 
 
 loth of Second Month, 1891. 
 
 IF I could, I should like to encourage thee to a 
 simple, confiding trust in Him whose love is so 
 immeasurably great, has been so marvellously proved 
 by His life and death for us, becoming poor that we 
 might be rich. Well, if so, will He not undertake 
 for thee in spiritual as well as natural needs ? When 
 the temptation comes to feel unloving or irritated, 
 cast th^'self upon Him. Look away from the thought, 
 from the object that causes the temptation, to Him 
 and His dear love. I have found this the greatest 
 help myself in besetments which have been exceed- 
 ingly hard and painful and persistent in my own 
 experience. Didst thou ever notice that in the text 
 'We love Him because He first loved us,' the Re- 
 vised Version leaves out ' Him ' and makes it read, 
 ' We love because,' etc. At first I was sorry for the 
 
132 
 
 change, but there is a rich meaning attached to it, 
 signifying that Christ's love to us enables us to live in 
 the very spirit of love to all those whom He has given 
 Himself for. Then about the giving away one's 
 possessions. I do not at all think that we are intended 
 to take our Lord's words literally without regard to 
 the circumstances and motives. Perhaps it helps 
 us if we think of that other rule of conduct, ' What- 
 soever ye would that men should do to you, do ye 
 even so to them.' If one considered what we should 
 really feel right and reasonable if we were in the place 
 of the asker, I think it might sometimes be clear that 
 the request should not be granted. It seems rather 
 as if the injunction meant that we should act in a 
 liberal and ungrudging spirit as regards our pos- 
 sessions, because, if taken literally, the least deserving 
 people would often despoil others of all they had and 
 so prevent the good use of their money and 
 stew^ardship." 
 
 Early in 1 891, Ann Hunt's beloved friends Elizabeth 
 and Hannah Southall experienced a succession of 
 bereavements in a very short time. Next door to 
 them lived a widowed aunt (by marriage) Anne 
 Southall, and her daughter, a cousin, Mary Anna, 
 with whom they were very intimate, and who laboured 
 with them in many of the good works w^hich were 
 carried on in the town or in connection wdth 
 Leominster Meeting. This dear cousin died first, in 
 February, after a short illness, her aged mother 
 following her only a few weeks afterwards ; and then, 
 towards the end of March, came the unexpected blow 
 of the death of their brother John's wife at their home 
 
133 
 
 near Ross, Herefordshire. A. Hunt felt the deepest 
 sympathy with her beloved friends, and shared in 
 their sorrow. She wrote thus of the hrst of these 
 bereavements to Hannah Southall : 
 
 " It is indeed a sorrowful, and as we call it, a 
 mysterious dispensation, for this beloved and efficient 
 one was so greatly wanted according to our view — 
 can be so ill spared. It seems impossible at present 
 to realise it, one looks round on the different places 
 left vacant, above all on the hotnc^ and can well 
 understand that touching query, ^ What shall I do ? ' 
 The heart turns for rest from such thoughts to the 
 sure Refuge, which never failed anyone yet, and will 
 not now. But one needs it very much. How blessed 
 the assurance that our God is a very present help in 
 trouble." 
 
 Again during the mother's illness : 
 To Hannah Southall. 
 
 " I desire to go with thee now in the only way in 
 which it is possible. Would that any feeble desires 
 of mine could uphold thee under this fresh experience 
 of the shadow of the valley. Him that had the power 
 of death is indeed destroyed, and life and immortality 
 are the ht subjects of our thought now. . . . 
 
 Dear is with you, I expect. . . . Very 
 
 tenderly do I feel for him — called away from abound- 
 ing public interests to the dift'ering duty of the sick or 
 d^'ing room. What a blessing that no separate 
 preparation is required for the most public or the 
 most hidden service, all being done, as I know it is 
 with him, as unto the Lord." 
 
 * Said by the poor aged mother on hearing of her daughter's death. 
 
134 
 
 In reference to the death of EUzabeth T. Southall 
 (wife of John T. Southall) she says : 
 To Hannah Southall. 
 
 ''29th of Third Month, 1891. 
 I feel it such a blessing that the dear one leaving 
 her own was able to speak to them. At the time I 
 think it impossible to realise fully the value of such 
 parting words. I have found the exceeding precious- 
 ness of such myself only increasing as years go on. 
 . . . It is needless to say that I shall think of you 
 as I can on Fourth-day. May there be as the shadow 
 of a great rock in a weary land." 
 
 To J. S. Fry. 
 
 ''4th of Fourth Month, 1891. 
 " It is indeed remarked how in one form or other 
 sorrow prevails. Do we not feel sure that a perfectly 
 loving and all-powerful Kuler of all Kings would not 
 suffer this to be so if there were not a blessing within 
 reach of the sufferer which does really make the 
 affliction but for a moment, not w^orthy to be com- 
 pared with the result ? But oh it is hard to recog- 
 nise this." 
 
 To the same. 
 Clevedon, 
 
 " ist of Fifth Month, 1891. 
 
 " We have been thinking of the wedding at 
 
 to-day. It always seems difficult to give the appro- 
 priate amount of feeling to the different interests that 
 arise, calling forth sensations so diverse. I think it 
 is mercifully ordered that, unless in very exceptional 
 cases, these matters stand apart from one another, 
 occupy, as it were, a different niche in the mind, so 
 
135 
 
 that the sadness of one does not overshadow the joy 
 of another. There may be something hke rejoicing 
 with them that rejoice side by side with the weeping 
 with them that weep. Certainly the latter feeling is 
 rather uppermost now." 
 
 To M. Sturgc {then absent from home), 
 
 " Clevedon, 
 
 30th of Fourth Month, 1891. 
 " I was truly glad to have thy letter. When 
 expatriated as I seem to feel everywhere else than at 
 home, tidings from dear absent ones are of special 
 value, and I do especially rejoice in the report thou 
 wast able to give of you and yours. Dear I. S. seems 
 held by a special bond that grew while she was so 
 kind in reading to me, and which has not loosened — I 
 think rather otherwise — in the ending of that. . . , 
 Here we are having every advantage, pleasant and 
 very comfortable lodgings every way, and it is nice 
 to feel an almost childish delight in the beautiful 
 country, the sw^eet tender spring-green, and the 
 wealth of wild flowers which the kindness of one and 
 another has enabled us to enjoy. Our friends here 
 too are very kind. It is not selhsh, I hope, to feel 
 these as things given us richly to enjoy, though there 
 is still so much and even near at hand that is of a 
 different character." 
 
 To Isabel Gayner. 
 " Clevedon, 
 
 ''8th of Fifth Month, 1891. 
 "When one looks at the young and the strong 
 physically and the gifted mentally, blessed with every 
 outward privilege, who are around us, how nuist we 
 
136 
 
 long for that full tide of spiritual life the ' more abun- 
 dantly ' which would flow into all our channels, 
 revive ' waste places/ overleap sometimes time- 
 honoured barriers, yet bring life wherever it came. 
 This is the true remedy against the red-tape-ism that 
 is liable to hamper — not surely that any true order 
 should be broken through. Yet while human nature 
 is faUible failures must be expected. And it becomes 
 us, each one, older and younger, to take heed to our- 
 selves that we do not add to these or cause any to 
 stumble tlirough our own lack of a walk worthy of 
 our high calling." 
 
 To Hannah Sonthall. 
 
 ''8th of Seventh Month, 1891. 
 This matter of giving does appear to me one of 
 the most difficult of the age, pressing as painfully, 
 perhaps more so, on those who have little to give as 
 on the more largely endowed. Surely some better 
 mode will be found out than the universal begging 
 which often feels to me like a moral picking of 
 pockets. In the meantime, and certainly I do not 
 expect to outlive the present mode, there is probably 
 but one satisfactory way of defence, by each one 
 doing according to his or her several ability, and 
 enduring what is beyond powder to relieve. . . . 
 There seems to be an extraordinary influx and 
 gathering of royal personages in London now about 
 these weddings, the real and the ' silver ' ones. So 
 far one can sympathise, but it does seem very odd 
 that the favourite entertainment provided for a 
 foreign visitor should be our preparations for defence 
 against him, or if need be, for attacking his country — 
 to show him how well we could do it. However, this 
 
137 
 
 seems to be considered the correct thing, and, 
 curiously enough, it seems to be equally enjoyed by 
 both parties." 
 
 7ci Rebecca Zaytoun. 
 
 27th of Eighth Month, 1891. 
 " How little we know of the future ! But we are 
 allowed to let the morrow take thought for itself, and 
 perhaps one meaning of this may be that while we 
 are endeavouring to live to-day in accord with our 
 dear Lord's wish, we may believe that a preparation 
 will be given to receive to-morrow's experience, 
 whatever it may be, in a like spirit of trust and 
 resignation of will. I have often been thankful in 
 noticing this in smaller and greater matters, how 
 what looked so formidable and full of trouble when 
 at a distance, comes, as it were, almost easily when 
 the time for it arrives, and can even be received with 
 thankfulness. . . . It is so much more gratifying 
 to our human nature to feel lively emotions such as 
 love and joy, that I think there is sometimes a snare 
 in the desire and endeavour to arouse them. Our 
 Saviour, who knew so entirely what his disciples 
 Avould need, did not teach them to ask for feelings of 
 this kind, but taught the prayer, 'Thy will be done,' 
 and surely this seems to include all. If it is our 
 earnest desire that His will should be done in us and 
 by us, I do not think we need to distress ourselves 
 because our feeling of life is low — so manv causes 
 lead to this — while the allegiance of the soul is 
 unchanged, and I believe we may even, as respects 
 changes of feeling, take the exhortation, ' Be careful 
 for nothing but in everything,' etc. There are some 
 
138 
 
 lines in one of A. L. Waring's hymns that I often 
 think of : 
 
 ' I was not called to walk alone, 
 
 To clothe myself with love and light, 
 And for Thy glory, not my own, 
 
 My soul is precious in Thy sight. 
 My evil heart can never be 
 A home, a heritage for me, 
 But Thou canst make it fit for Thee.' 
 
 . . . I think sometimes we lose comfort and 
 strength from not realising as we might the fulness 
 and freeness of the love of God in Christ our Saviour. 
 I feel how very far I have been from doing this — how 
 much loss 1 have sustained — and so I w^ant to 
 encourage thee to keep this thought before thy mind 
 and heart. ' Greater love hath no man than this, that 
 a man lay down his life for his friends.' Well, then, 
 we know something of what human love can be, how 
 it bears with faults and endures suffering — and has no 
 pleasure so great as in adding to the happiness of the 
 loved one. And so when we feel so unworthy and so 
 unlovely in the Divine sight, may we not feel that His 
 compassions are over us, that He is teaching us even 
 by these trials and this liability to temptation and sin,, 
 teaching us to lean more closely upon Him, and tO' 
 prove more and more hoW' great His loving-kindness 
 is. In this way joy and peace spring up in the heart. 
 Sometimes I am afraid that the ' Army ' teaching is at 
 fault here, by giving an idea that somehow or other 
 people are to be raised into a state of freedom from 
 their soul's enemies — are to go henceforth in con- 
 tinual rejoicing and triumph ; and sometimes it is to 
 be feared they lay aside the spiritual armour and Hnd 
 to their great loss that the liery darts have not lost 
 
139 
 
 their power. I know it is otherwise w^ith many, but 
 there seems to me a danger in this kind of teachings 
 and the continual profession of an experience in the 
 same hne. Oh, how needful for everyone who thinks 
 he stands to take heed lest he fall." 
 
 To J. S. Fry. 
 
 9, Brunswick Square, 
 
 " 2nd of Ninth Month, 1891. 
 " How thankful we ought to feel, and I trust I do 
 to some extent, for that ' renewing of the Holy Spirit ' 
 whereby dear Friends are enabled to meet the daily 
 and varied claims upon them with a calmness of spirit 
 and a freshness of life which is a wonder and a bless- 
 ing. May it continue to be so, in our Lord's great 
 mercy and care for the Church. Truly we may well 
 pray for those who go forth among the heathen. 
 Many such prayers are going up this evening. But 
 it often seems to me that for the round of home and 
 business duties — the ever recurring, varying calls on 
 the spiritual life and faculties, in the experience of 
 many not spoken of as in the mission lield, a no less 
 supply of grace and of fresh anointing is indispensable 
 — that the prayer for the sustaining and comfort of 
 these is no less the duty and the privilege of the 
 Church. I long to make use of it more, according to 
 my small capacit}'." 
 
 To Hannah So nth a II. 
 
 " I St of Tenth Month, 1891. 
 "And so, dearest partner, the months and the 
 years go on. How many have passed since I and 
 thou first met each other. I, a grown woman with 
 the interests of life thick upon me, thou a little child 
 
140 
 
 ■full of intelligence, ready for those interests in thy 
 future life. And how little could any one have 
 guessed what we were to be to each other ! what 
 most especially thou hast been to me during a partner- 
 ship of years — in illness, in sorrow, in deep conflict 
 and perplexity — and what to those linked indissolubly 
 to my own life. But so does a merciful Providence 
 arrange for us beyond all that we could have ventured 
 to ask or think. And now that life has come into a 
 calmer period, not with fewer interests, but of a less 
 exacting and distracting kind, let not our partnership 
 be less real, though I trust it may be less distressing 
 in its effects upon thee, dearest cousin. If it be indeed 
 with me that at evening time it is light, I would that 
 special beams of the light might rest on thee, helping 
 to illuminate thy own path as it shines more and 
 more unto the perfect day. I can never be thankful 
 enough for the blessing bestowed on my late years, 
 nor fail to desire to encourage every one to hold up 
 their heads in hope, even when the billows seem 
 ready to overwhelm. . . . 
 
 I am sure thou would be interested in the work 
 going on here away in the school and mission line, 
 and the energy of some of our younger members 
 in carrying it on. In the villages especially, and in 
 one of the suburbs here, there is quite a new 
 departure. Whenever any Adult School is opened 
 scholars flock in, and there does seem an appreciation 
 of our distinctive views which is very interesting." 
 
 Soon after this letter was written her niece, 
 Catherine Hunt, died. She and her sister, Anne M., 
 had latterly resided not very far from their aunt's 
 home. 
 
141 
 
 To y. S. Fry. 
 9, Brunswick Square, 
 
 22nd of Tenth Month, 1891. 
 
 " My Dear Friend, 
 
 I should not Hke thee to hear only by casual 
 report, or by the announcement in the newspaper, of 
 the removal of one of our family circle, who has filled 
 rather an important position in it. My dear niece 
 Catherine had been unwell for more than a week, and 
 for some days a doctor had been in attendance, . . . 
 but there seemed to be no apprehension of immediate 
 danger. The end came, however, at about 4 p.m. 
 As yet it is difficult to realise the change that has taken 
 place. For her we may fully believe that it is a 
 blessed one, and the gracious Lord who has ordered 
 it knows all that will be involved to those who remain 
 here. He can make up for all, and give wisdom and 
 sufficient grace." 
 
 Ann Hunt, hke others who live to advanced age, 
 was repeatedly experiencing the loss not only of con- 
 temporaries, but of those dear to her who were much 
 younger than herself. Towards the end of this year, 
 in allusion to her niece's death, she wrote in her 
 diary, " Another bereavement ; may our precious Lord 
 comfort and sanctify." 
 
 To the same. 
 
 "7th of Tenth Month, 1891. 
 " It is true, as thou sayest, that the nearness of 
 spirit seems rather helped than hindered by outward 
 distance. Perhaps the crowd of surroundings are 
 less present to our spirits when they rise overhead 
 of them all, to meet one too far away to have any 
 
142 
 
 share in the pressure. Anyway, it seems to me that 
 this endowment of the spirit belongs to the citizen- 
 ship which is in heaven, and sm-ely will be perfected 
 there. May we not humbly trust that it will be so, 
 through rich and free mercy in our Lord and 
 Saviour." 
 
 To the same. 
 
 8th of Twelfth Month, 1891. 
 
 " It is indeed a time when the uncertainty of 
 every earthly plan and thing is brought strongly into 
 view\ Well may I at my age feel it, and I think I 
 do, though not to the profit that I would desire. It 
 does not, however — and I could not wish it — at all 
 lessen interest in the affairs of life so linked as they 
 are with the interests of the world unseen that one 
 cannot separate the two. . . . 
 
 " Thank thee much, my dear friend, for thy kind 
 thought about me. It is not often that I feel my 
 small engagements to be more than I can comfortably 
 get through, and I do indeed feel inexpressibly the 
 tender compassion whereby I am spared crushing 
 trials and anxieties of former years, and a measure of 
 health and capacity granted for entering into the 
 interests of others. I desire to be ready for any 
 change in these respects, and to trust the same 
 unfailing mercy for myself and all my dear friends 
 and relatives. While we continue here it feels a 
 privilege — surely it is graciously afforded — to realise 
 our fellowship one with another, and to uphold each 
 other by prayer and sympathy. I do feel the 
 sweetness of this, and often long that it was more 
 sensibly in exercise than the press of life seems to 
 allow opportunity for." 
 
143 
 
 To Isabel Gnyner. 
 
 15th of First Month, 1892. 
 
 I have missed thee much, dear child, but have 
 been comforted by the hope that this laying aside is 
 not attended bv serious symptoms, and I hope before 
 long it may be safe for thee to do as usual. It is not 
 needful for me to enjoin patience in doing this. 
 Thou wilt have every advantage as to advice and 
 care. But, dear Isabel, it is and must be to all of us, 
 I think, a time of solemn thought. I feel it so, not so 
 much as to the call for the preparation for death 
 (though that perhaps specially concerns mc)^ but as to 
 what is indeed but another aspect of it — the vast 
 importance of making a right use of life while it is 
 given. One feels so strongly that there is no time 
 that any one can afford to lose. The young and the 
 prosperous cut off while only preparing- to live, only 
 entering on the expected work of life. And now we 
 rejoice when the end comes at any period, early or 
 late, when we feel that thus far the service has been 
 rendered, the end for which life was given has been 
 answered, that the Lord's gracious purpose has been 
 fulhlled as regards that one whom He has redeemed. 
 And feehng this, as I do, though very insufficiently, 
 I do not feel able to repine over any of that gracious 
 Lord's ways of training His dear children, those 
 whom He may be calling into some special service, 
 though we might like to spare some of the lessons. 
 I do believe this training goes on through health 
 and sickness, by means of joys and sorrows, even 
 through fulness of spiritual enjoyment and a deep 
 sense of poverty and unworthiness — all this and 
 much more goes on in the maturing of fruit under 
 
144 
 
 the great Husbandman. And so, my precious child, 
 may this period of pause in outward engagements, 
 good as they are in their season, be accompanied by 
 a drinking in as of the dew of heaven. There may 
 not be a recognised shower of blessings. The 
 physical condition often inclines to inactivity even 
 spiritually, but do not let that be any discouragement. 
 Thy Redeemer knows it all, and He is strong though 
 thou art weak, and He will provide all things needful 
 for the soul as well as for the body. Even as regards 
 the sustenance of the spiritual life there is a right 
 sense in obeying the injunction to be careful 
 (overmuch) for nothing. Only may He on whom we 
 rest our spirits, keep them in subjection to Himself, 
 ever looking unto Jesus, for in so doing alone, I 
 believe, can we run with patience the race set before 
 us, and know the victory intended for us in the end. 
 . . . Accept these few lines in token of loving 
 remembrance from thy motherly friend, 
 
 ''A. Hunt." 
 
 To Hannah Southall. 
 
 ist of Second Month, 1892. 
 So we begin another month. It is wonderful to 
 see the developing of things around one, and the 
 great wheels moving on while the insects of an hour, 
 comparatively, are permitted to watch. It is granted 
 even to me to do this for a little longer, while I see 
 all around those called away who seem to have a 
 tighter hold of their position. But the wise Director 
 of all knows. ... I was much interested in 
 hearing of the employment of thy quiet hours over 
 those letters. That is a mode of retrospection from 
 
145 
 
 which I shrink, ahnost more than any other ; but 
 happily there are few memories in which such 
 skeletons are enshrined. And now, in the ' evening 
 light ' I can bear better to look into the recesses. 
 Thankfulness ought to enwrap the forms of terror 
 as with the garment of praise — and so in some poor 
 way it sometimes does. — Here was an interruption. 
 I find too, that having a home companion tells on my 
 correspondence, for when ' interviews,' etc., have 
 occupied most of the day, it seems too unsociable to 
 settle down in the evening to write letters, so claims 
 of this kind accumulate. Dear Phyllis, 1 rejoice to 
 say, seems very well, and we are still favoured in the 
 matter of health as a household." 
 
 To J. S. Fry. 
 
 " 9, Brunswick Square, 
 
 9th of Third Month, 1892. 
 " Different, widely, as our circumstances are in 
 many ways, there is yet also something of likeness. 
 . . . Far more than this, there has been some 
 fellowship in service, poor as my share has been, and 
 in concern for the welfare of others, especially in the 
 * shepherding of the flock.' This makes me long to 
 share with thee any encouragement that falls in my 
 way in this respect ; and I have been made especially 
 thankful by the assurance given by several of our new 
 younger members of our Ministry and Oversight 
 Meeting of the value they attach to this privilege, and 
 for the effect evident in more earnestness in seeking 
 spiritual good. The only occasion on which some of 
 these have been present was felt to be a time of 
 blessing, as one of the youngest said to me, ' It was a 
 
 11 
 
146 
 
 quickening meeting.' It makes one feel our responsi- 
 bility afresh. Thou dost not need any reminder of 
 that kind. But I think I never felt so much — though 
 insufficiently still — the solemn character of that which 
 we speak of as ' a gift in the ministry.' The wonder- 
 ful condescension — the greatness of the trust com- 
 mitted to the frail ' vessel' — the need that this should 
 indeed be kept lit for the Master's use — and then the 
 responsibility for the exercise — for the occupation of 
 so high a stewardship. I sometimes fear whether we, 
 many of us who have even a small share, think of 
 these things enough — whether there is not something 
 in the high vocation to which we fail to give due 
 heed, and so fail, in lowliness of mind to apprehend 
 it. I do not know whether in any way we might be 
 more helpful one to another in this respect. But 1 do 
 feel strongly how important this branch of the service 
 is, which the gracious Head of the Church designs 
 for His followers. I hope I do not seem to write 
 complainingly, or unthankfuUy as to the blessing in 
 this way enjoyed in our Meeting. Far otherwise ; 
 from one time to another I recognise it with thanks- 
 giving as respects others, though often w4th humilia- 
 tion for myself, and I long that we may help one 
 another in pressing forward, and reaching forth to the 
 highest standard set before us." 
 
 To the same. 
 
 " Clevedon, 25th of Fourth Month, 1892. 
 There was a sorrow cast over the occasion by 
 the decease of M. B., of Ross, a valued Friend, who 
 will be much missed in the little Meeting there. She 
 had been almost like a mother to and his family, 
 
147 
 
 and very much felt their expected removal from the 
 neighbourhood. There will be no distances now to 
 separate their spirits. Perhaps this is more easily 
 recognised when the earthly habitation is no longer 
 thought of, and yet the communion of spirit even 
 while here below is a precious reality. It would be a 
 loss, indeed, if it were not so. The meeting here 
 yesterday morning was rather large. ... I ven- 
 tured a few sentences also, addressed to any who 
 might feel as having nothing to draw with, and that 
 the well is deep — while to such He who is Himself 
 the fountain is offering the living water. 
 
 Oh, my dear friend, hon) inadequate are such 
 poor words as mine ! I often feel as if no more 
 could be uttered, and yet how comforting to know 
 that the very poorest offering may be accepted, may 
 be blessed. We were reading this morning that 
 chapter in Daniel where it tells of his prayer and 
 confessions of the sins of his people, and how the 
 assurance came that from the beginning of his sup- 
 plication the answer was determined — that he was 
 greatly beloved. Yet how great had been his 
 humiliation. Surely we know more about our access 
 than had been revealed to him. Do we make use of 
 it as we might individually and as a Church — as those 
 bound together by a common exercise for the con- 
 version of sinners and the building up in the faith and 
 hope of the Gospel ? " 
 
 The customary visit to Clevedon was paid this 
 year in company with Elizabeth and Hannah 
 Southall, as well as Phyllis Rowe. The spring 
 Avas particularly variable, and the change proved 
 
148 
 
 of little advantage to the aged member of the party, 
 who, moreover, had to encounter fresh claims on her 
 attention immediately on her return home. She had 
 an attack of indisposition, which, though not very 
 acute, brought down her little strength, and occa- 
 sioned some anxiety to her friends. On the 20th of 
 May, 1892, she wrote in pencil to one of her young 
 friends : ''I am getting on not very fast, but have 
 every abounding care, and mover She improved 
 gradually, and was able as usual in the summer to 
 set her friend Phyllis Rowe free for a few months, 
 the interval being filled up in part by various relatives 
 or friends. While she was still far from well, her 
 feelings of tender sympathy were much awakened by 
 the sudden death of Emily Sturge — elder sister of her 
 friend Helen M. Sturge — who lost her life by a fall 
 from her horse on the morning of June 3rd, 1892. 
 She was a person of much ability, and had long been 
 a member of the Bristol School Board, where, by 
 single-minded devotion to her work she had acquired 
 a position and obtained a hold on the hearts of 
 teachers and scholars of a quite uncommon kind. 
 Her death, with the manner of its occurrence, was a 
 shock to the whole city, and the funeral at the 
 Friends' burying ground at "The Friars" was almost 
 of a public character. Early information of E. 
 Sturge's death was sent to A. Hunt by the writer, to 
 prevent her, if possible, from hearing it in any other 
 way. The two following letters, addressed to myself, 
 refer to this subject : 
 
149 
 
 To Matilda Sturge. 
 " 9, Brunswick Square, 
 
 6th of Sixth Month, 1892. 
 " I feel as if I must send a few hues to thee, my 
 very clear friend, thou^^h truly there is much more to 
 feel than to say at this solemn time, and I need not 
 tell you that all of me that can be present with those 
 gathered at ' The Friars ' to-morrow afternoon will 
 be there. . . . How much we have all longed 
 that more mercies may be wrapped as in this cloud to 
 ^ break in blessings.' It must be gratifying to feel the 
 high and affectionate appreciation of what she has 
 been, and truly the loss is great. I have felt a 
 longing, especially of late, to know something more 
 of dear Emily, a feeling as if there was that which 
 would respond if only it could be reached, and I used 
 to think that perhaps opportunity would be given. L 
 do not know that any was neglected, nor do I sup- 
 pose for a moment that any such poor help of mine 
 was needed. Yet such events are, indeed, solemn 
 warnings to us all that the day's work should be faith- 
 fully done. I want to say again how much I valued 
 thy kindness in writing. The newspaper reports 
 alone would have been doubly a shock and a distress. 
 And what it must have been to you to hear of, dear 
 loving aunts, with hearts so full of care and interest as 
 regards all concerned. . . . Dear love is with you from 
 " Thy own friend, 
 
 "A. Hunt." 
 
 To the same. 
 
 " Later, First-day, 23rd. 
 " I have finished the ' Portrait in Outline'* now, 
 and find it even more interesting than I expected, 
 
 * A sketch of Emily Sturge, by M.S. Printed for private circulation. 
 
I50 
 
 which is saying a great deal. Perhaps it is a proof 
 of the self-love which she says clings so closely to us, 
 that I can but feel afresh the wish to have known 
 her ; but often as we met, and I longed for it, no way 
 opened. There was a hope for it in the future often, 
 especially of later time, yet it is in unison with the 
 * broken arc ' that it should be as it is. She wrote of 
 that prophetically as it were, and you took up the 
 idea so remarkably by the words on the card. We 
 see not now, but surely there will be nothing left 
 imperfect or disjointed when the fulness of time 
 comes." 
 
 To explain the allusion here made a few words 
 may be quoted from the unpublished sketch before 
 mentioned. 
 
 It is difficult in such a case, when the end has 
 been so sudden, and to our apprehension so untimely, 
 to say that 
 
 ' Death has rounded to a full completeness 
 The vStatue of her life ! ' 
 
 Rather we may apply another simile suggested 
 by herself in the words (in her note book) : 
 
 "'It is all a perplexing problem, and would be 
 utterly insoluble if one regarded this life as anything 
 but a phase — a link in a chain : a minute arc of that 
 great circle the sweep of which we cannot see.' 
 
 " Her friends had not read this sentence when 
 they chose as a motto for her memorial card those 
 lines of Browning: 
 
 * On the earth the broken arc, 
 In the Heaven the perfect round.' " 
 
151 
 
 To y. S. Fry. 
 
 9. Brunswick Square, 
 
 10th of Sixth Month, 1892. 
 Surely goodness and mercy followed me, making 
 the latter years of life though not without trials, the 
 happiest portion of it. . . . How comforting it is 
 that the nearness of fellowship and anything permitted 
 of spiritual communion, are unaffected by any change 
 of circumstances — by any knowledge or any ignorance 
 of them. I have thought of it as being a faint 
 emblem, perhaps rather a faint reflection of that 
 unalterable Love which enwraps our spirits, even 
 when the mists and clouds around prevent us from 
 being fully sensible of its presence, or enjoying its 
 soul-warming power. We can indeed desire this for 
 one another." 
 
 To John Gayner. 
 
 ''26th of Sixth Month, 1892. 
 I did not attempt the meeting this morning^ 
 though quite feeling the loss of privilege. This, 
 
 however, was lessened by a very nice visit of 
 
 with . It is long since I was in a room with 
 
 him, and I could well trace the effect on his 
 countenance of years of growth in grace. The 
 expression tells of this in a striking degree. I 
 felt his call to be a true privilege, and shall think of 
 him and his service in future with a warm personal 
 interest. ... I don't know whether it is quite 
 out of date to send a birthday greeting, but times and 
 seasons have to extend their influence beyond the 
 dates in the almanack. I think that this is the case 
 especially with birthdays in later life. They are no 
 
longer times of looking forward as with younger 
 persons. The tendency is to look back. . . . 
 Yet it seems to me that just the contrary is the appro- 
 priate privilege offered to us, even though we may, 
 and I have cause enough to do so, feel that a poor 
 use has been made of the opportunities offered, the 
 talents given, the goodness and the mercy that have 
 followed. Are not these failings and even worse than 
 these ' blotted out ' with all that was included in the 
 handwriting that was against us, having been taken 
 out of the way ' nailing it to His cross.' We are 
 bidden to rejoice in Christ Jesus. This is the only 
 ground of rejoicing, . . . but our souls' enemy is 
 ever ready to present other objects of thought, and 
 try to bring again into the spirit of bondage, weaken- 
 ing for service those whom the Lord would make 
 strong in His own joy. . . . May it be so more 
 and more, ' forgetting the things that are behind ' 
 as far as they hamper or distress, and reaching 
 forward towards the glorious prize of which there is 
 even now granted a very blessed earnest." 
 
 To J. S. Fry. 
 
 "9, Brunswick Square, 
 
 " 9th of Twelfth Month, 1892. 
 ''We seem almost to have lost a personal friend 
 in J. G. Whittier. Yet we must be thankful that a 
 long period of feebleness has been spared him. How 
 many are being gathered in. As the eternal world is 
 brought nearer, the sense of its influence on and 
 connection with our present state of being seems to 
 grow stronger — the interest of life increases rather 
 than fades with advancing years." 
 
153 
 
 To Helen M. Stiirge ( then at Rome ). 
 
 "It was a great pleasure to have thy letter, clearest 
 Helen. It would have been responded to sooner, 
 onlv it takes more than inclination to bring thoughts 
 from the brain and feelings from the heart through 
 the pen to the paper. And yet I think there is a kind 
 of communion going on just as easily between the 
 old place here and Italy as when but half a mile lies 
 between us. We do indeed, as thou and Thomas a 
 Kempis say, take ourselves with us, or they stay. And 
 so we are continually wanting a remedy for the 
 trouble they give. I think we are intended to tind it. 
 AVhat does good Wkittier say ? 
 
 ' O Friend ! no proof beyond this yearning, 
 
 This outbreak of our hearts we need, 
 God will not mock the hope He giveth, 
 Xo love He prompts shall vainly plead.' 
 
 " And surelv this is applicable to the longing after 
 Himself, the delivering power of His Spirit, as to the 
 yearning after departed friends. That dear good man 
 is gone to prove what he so hrmly believed in. I am 
 sorry not to have heard any particulars as to his death. 
 If thev have been given anywhere, I have not met 
 with it. My reading is fragmentary of necessity, yet 
 I am verv thankful to use mv eves I think rather 
 better than a few weeks ago, also to be very nicely in 
 general health, which, I know, thou wilt kindlv be 
 pleased to be told. I have not half thanked thee for 
 thy letter, so full of interest in different wavs. and in 
 that beautifully clear hand-writing, which added to 
 the enjoyment of reading it, exceptional as such com- 
 binations are. . . . The weather seems quite 
 broken up now. This is a thoroughly wet dav — 
 
154 
 
 such as must seem very far away from you in the land 
 of sunshine and beauty. And yet, would we change 
 this dear dirty place for all the glories in atmosphere 
 and grandeur of temples ? But I think that wonder- 
 ful hgure in the Apostle's writings when he says : 
 ' Ye are the temple of the living God ' must come 
 more vividly home to the feelings amid so much of 
 beauty and grandeur of design and w^orkmanship, on 
 which so much labour and thought have been be- 
 stowed. In a sense this puts our lukewarmness to 
 shame. We do not endeavour as we ought to make 
 these human temples ht for such indwelling." 
 
 To Rebecca Zaytoiui. 
 
 i2th of Tenth Month, 1892. 
 " This one thing I do, forgetting the past and 
 pressing forward — I think I never saw such point and 
 force in the text before. But I have thought in my 
 own case that time, peace of mind and any measure 
 of spiritual strength depended upon this — forgetting 
 in a sense the past, leaving it to the same mercy in 
 which I am permitted to trust for the present and 
 future. I think that thoughts of this bitter overlook- 
 ing of events gone by are often made a temptation 
 and great cause of weakness. They are to be turned 
 from as well as prayed against. We are, too, very 
 incompetent judges of the effect of the events we look 
 back upon, especially if we did not see at the time 
 what we now see. Our Father in Heaven knows all 
 and we were then even as now under His gracious 
 notice. I think we are safe in leaving it all in His 
 merciful hand. Nothing shall separate us from the 
 love of Christ, not things present, nor to come — surely 
 
155 
 
 not things that are past. Let the remembrance only 
 lead us to press forward more diligently — to reach for- 
 ward to the blessed goal." 
 
 About this time Ann Hunt wrote and distributed 
 the following letter, addressed : 
 
 "To the Ministers in our Meeting. 
 
 " Dear Friends, — In the midst of many engage- 
 ments it is not easy to find opportunities for meeting 
 together, and this must be my excuse for asking you 
 to read a few lines on a subject which has been much 
 on my heart of late. It is indeed of much interest to 
 us all. We shall, I doubt not, all agree that among 
 the gifts bestowed on the Church by Him whom we 
 especially acknowledge as its Head, that which we 
 speak of as a ' gift in the ministry ' is of a high order, 
 involving great responsibility. Even a small share in 
 it brings this conviction home. The views held by 
 our Society on this point seem to be especially im- 
 portant, not only as a protest against all money 
 recompense for spiritual benefit, but as a continual 
 testimony to the immediate and perceptible operation 
 of the Holy Spirit upon the spirit of man, guiding his 
 thoughts and directing all his faculties into their right 
 line of service. We know that much of assumption 
 has resulted from the setting apart of a priestly caste ; 
 but there are dangers on every hand, and while we 
 disclaim any thought of superiority over their brethren 
 for those who are called to the ministry of the word, 
 is it not possible that this high privilege and solemn 
 service may be undervalued, even by those on whom 
 it has been bestowed ? — that the waiting on the min- 
 istry may be crowded out to some extent at least by 
 the pressure of other claims ? 
 
156 
 
 Those who are much engaged in business or in 
 philanthropic work, or are weighted by family cares and 
 anxieties, do indeed require the continual supply of 
 grace — the fresh anointing from time to time to enable 
 them to occupy the spiritual gifts entrusted to them 
 faithfully and to the honour of God. In the endeavour 
 to do this surely w^e all need the sympathy and the 
 prayerful help one of another. It was easier formerly 
 to find opportunities for giving and receiving such 
 help. When anything made it desirable, Friends, 
 either ^vlinisters or Elders, could easily come together 
 for conference at the close of a meeting for worship. 
 It is different now. The need continues, perhaps in- 
 creases, as the sphere of service widens, both as to 
 character and in extent. But there is not, perhaps 
 there cannot be, any corresponding change to supply 
 the need. Our Meetings on Ministry and Oversight, 
 interesting and valuable as these are, scarcely afford 
 the occasion for a confidential reference to a service 
 which rests mainly on a few of those present. Yet 
 is there not a fitting place for closer communion 
 among these ? Separated as they are in the hurry of 
 life and surrounded by influences widely differing in 
 character, there would seem to be some danger lest 
 the bond of fellowship should be weakened — the unity 
 of the Spirit less sensibly felt. Would not a blessing 
 be found in sometimes coming together, waiting on 
 the Lord for the renewal of strength and unitedly 
 seeking grace to help in time of need ? There is 
 much in the present position of our Society which 
 calls for very serious thought and needs a wisdom 
 beyond that of man. Surely He who giveth liberally 
 will bestow the spirit of judgment and will strengthen 
 
157 
 
 with all might those who are asking these blessings in 
 humble and confiding prayer. 
 
 May none of us lose sight of our high calling, 
 nor miss the privilege of being helpers one of another 
 in the faith and hope of the Gospel. 
 
 "Your affectionate friend, 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 " For us whatever's undergone, 
 Thou knowest, wiliest what is done ; 
 Grief may be joy misunderstood, 
 Only the good discerns the good ; 
 I trust Thee while the days go on. 
 
 HE year 1892 had drawn quietly to its close, and 
 
 JL in the first month of the New Year Ann Hunt was 
 expecting Phyllis Rowe to come for her usual winter 
 visit. The latter had been staying for a short time 
 with another Friend in the neighbourhood, and whilst 
 there was seized suddenly with influenza in a severe 
 and painful form. The Friend she had been visiting 
 entreated her to remain and be nursed at her house, 
 but Phyllis Rowe preferred going to Brunswick 
 Square, as had been previously arranged. She 
 arrived there on the afternoon of January i6th, and 
 on the 2oth, after a few days of great anxiety, she 
 passed quietly away. It w'as a severe shock, and the 
 difficulties wdiich often attend sudden and alarming 
 illness were in this case neither few nor slight. The 
 way in w^hich Ann Hunt bore this unexpected trial 
 w^as an illustration of her faith. She received it in 
 
 Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 
 
159 
 
 meek submission, and while feeling deeply the loss of 
 so kind a friend, she indulged in no vain regrets about 
 anything that had been done or left undone — acting 
 herself according to the advice she had given to her 
 niece Rebecca Zaytoun — never to do this where the 
 aim and endeavour of those concerned had been to 
 do that which was right. There were many others 
 who mourned for Phylhs Rowe, who had been known 
 and loved in the circle of Friends in Bristol and 
 elsewhere. She was one in whom the Christian 
 graces shone with no uncertain light ; disregard of 
 self and consideration for others seemed natural to 
 her; she shared in many of Ann Hunt's interests, and 
 seemed during her long visits to be the very 
 companion that she needed. 
 
 The vacant place left by this great loss was tilled 
 for the next few weeks by a cousin who was truly 
 glad to render any help, and a more permanent 
 arrangement was made with a friend some months 
 afterwards, as it had become evident even to herself 
 f that it was not well she should be left alone. Ann 
 Hmit had taken an interest in Mary C. Salmon, w^ho 
 had joined Friends a few^ years before, and had 
 cherished a wish to live with and assist her aged 
 friend ; so it was decided to try this plan, which 
 afterwards became permanent. It was not, however, 
 till the summer that she actually came, to bestow, as 
 it proved, her care and affection to the end. Ann 
 Hunt's sight had failed again, and her letters from 
 about this time appear to have been less full and 
 
i6o 
 
 frequent. Yet she was never lacking when she 
 thought she could give help or comfort to any of her 
 friends. 
 
 To Hannah Southall. 
 
 ''6th of First Month, 1893. 
 " Yes, last year was indeed a perplexed and trying 
 one to many ; I trust that the present one may bring 
 more of rest to you, and, if it may be so, of repair and 
 restoration. . . . My sympathies are warmly 
 
 with dear . The experiences of aunthood are in 
 
 a sphere of service and suffering by no means under- 
 stood or appreciated generally, in my opinion. You 
 know a good deal about it, and so do I, in large 
 measure." 
 
 To the same. 
 
 2nd of Third Month, 1893. 
 (In allusion to the religious visit of a party of Friends 
 to Bristol Meeting.) 
 ''I do want very much to write to thee, but inten- 
 tions are so often frustrated. We have gone through 
 those meetings now, and the Friends are all gone. 
 . . . It is truly encouraging to observe what 
 different and what really grand gifts are bestowed on 
 some members of our Church. And yet, as the 
 greatest forces are made up by combinations of 
 lesser, perhaps the most work of all is done through 
 the faithful use of the smaller gifts, those least noticed 
 by man. Well, about these meetings. They have 
 been really remarkable times, nothing like them has 
 occurred during the seventy years over which I can 
 look back. Not that I could agree with everything 
 
i6i . 
 
 said and done, but it is impossible not to feel that a 
 good work was going on in the experience of very 
 man}', and I have not met with any one who did not 
 feel helped in some way, though unable to accept 
 all." 
 
 To y. S. Fry. 
 
 Portishead, 17th of Fifth Month, 1893. 
 I need hardly say that I think much of what lies 
 before Friends in London. There must be decisions 
 made of great importance to our branch of the 
 Church, even perhaps far beyond its visible limits. 
 . . . I desire to take such share as is possible to 
 me in the exercise of spirit which the occasion will 
 bring, and in seeking for the guidance so greatly 
 needed. . . . Perhaps it is a mistake, but my 
 great fear is lest a separating spirit should get a hold 
 among us, lest those that look at truth under differing 
 aspects, and set a special value on that portion which 
 they see most clearl}-, should conclude that there is 
 some real contradiction of the truth itself involved in 
 the view which differs from their own, and so there 
 might be a division which would tend to extreme 
 views on both sides. I will not trouble thee with 
 needless words. I know how truly we both feel in 
 whom alone our help lies. He has been mindful of 
 us, and will be so still. May we be permitted again 
 to bless His name ! " 
 
 Portishead had been selected this year instead of 
 Clevedon for her annual change, parti v on account of 
 the little Meeting there, which had recently been 
 incorporated with Bristol and Frenchay Monthly 
 Meeting. On her return she writes thus : 
 
 12 
 
l62 
 
 To Hannah Southall. 
 "I am safely at home again, looking back on 
 much privilege in health and comfort of companion- 
 ship, all things to be acknowledged with thankfulness. 
 Welcome letters awaited me here, one from dear 
 C. R. Charleton, telling me a little of your Yearly 
 Meeting proceedings. . . . All information is so 
 especially welcome in its freshness. Now I feel 
 entering as it w'ere into the w^orld again, the world 
 and its various interests. It seemed almost like being 
 out of it at Portishead, and yet that is my ignorance, 
 for the world is everywhere.'^ 
 
 To Alice M. Sliirge. 
 
 23rd of Eleventh Month, 1893. 
 " I do often wonder what there is to repay any of 
 my dear young friends for the effort of coming into 
 this remote region, unless indeed it is the pleasure of 
 doing a kindness. Much as I love, and long to help 
 them in any way, there feels so little qualification for 
 it that I am ready to lament our opportunities to some 
 extent wasted, leading as I fear to disappointment on 
 their part. Let us hope that it may not be so in the 
 future, if a future be given." 
 
 To J. S. Fry. 
 
 23rd of Eleventh Month, 1893. 
 Though I am afraid I come to thee by note 
 almost too often, I must ask thee to accept a warm 
 acknowledgment of thy very kind birthday greeting, 
 . . . not in the least less acceptable because I 
 entered on my eighty-fourth year just a month 
 earher. It feels wonderful to have lived so long, and 
 
163 
 
 the retrospect would be overwhelming in its sadness 
 were it not for some sense graciously given of the 
 mercy which is over all. Few can have more reason 
 than I for desiring to forget the things that are 
 behind in their sorrows, conflicts, and failures. But 
 surely the remembrance heightens the sense and 
 deepens the value of the undeserved love, of the 
 sparing mercy experienced in these latest days. Can 
 I do otherwise than long that those who have yet 
 years of life before them (as well as for my own short 
 period), should indeed be whole-hearted, fervent in 
 spirit, diligent in the service of so gracious a God 
 and Saviour." 
 
 To L. Hunt. 
 
 2nd of Twelfth Month, 1893. 
 " I can hardly say what a deep interest thy letter 
 has been to me. I was almost afraid mine to thee 
 would have failed to be of any value, I felt it so short 
 of what I would have said, that I could not wonder 
 if it failed to elicit more than a bare acknowledgment. 
 But it seems as if heart influences come to inspire 
 even unspeaking words. I am sure, dear child, they 
 came with thine. . . . My heart has asked for 
 thee, does so still, and yet with a comfort in the 
 thought that the branch which beareth fruit has to 
 be pruned that it may bring forth more fruit. As has 
 been well said the gardener in doing this has to cut 
 deep. Be it as it may we are assured that inhnite 
 love cannot suffer needless pain or real injury to be 
 inflicted on those who are looking to His love and 
 power for help. Do not be discouraged because the 
 way is dark for a time. We are apt to expect that 
 when deep or keen trial comes we ought to feel a 
 
164 
 
 sensible support, something that sweetens the bitter 
 cup. It is so sometimes, no doubt, but I do not think 
 when the proving is the closest. It has been so in 
 my experience, and 3^et afterwards I could not doubt 
 that there had been a preserving hand held out, 
 that a shield had protected, and that the struggle 
 which to my feelings was as a death strife had been 
 watched over and made to result in some freshness of 
 life. So it is that we have to be weaned from earthly 
 dependence, and taught our own weakness and help- 
 lessness by humbling experiences." 
 
 To Alice M. St urge. 
 
 " 8th of Twelfth Month, 1893. 
 As respects thyself I have not at all said how 
 much I feel for thee in this long confinement and trial, 
 as I am sure it must be in various ways. I know how 
 much there is besides the bodily suffering caused 
 by any malady, which is hard to bear — calling for 
 more patience and submission than the pain or ill- 
 ness itself, and I think this is specially the case when 
 the malady is not very acute, and therefore does not 
 excite the sympathy, or deprive one of the desire for 
 active life which attend more urgent attacks. . . . 
 I should be truly glad to hear that more decided 
 improvement was taking place. But whether this be 
 so or not, and however much the depressing 
 influences may be felt, do not for a moment suppose 
 that any strange thing has happened to thee, nor that 
 thou art less under the loving care, or less in the 
 favour of Him who knows alike our bodily and 
 mental frame, than if every thing in thy outward life 
 was prosperous and happy. We are apt to accept 
 the truth in theory that 'whom the Lord loveth He 
 
i65 
 
 chasteneth,' and assurances as to the benefit of afflic- 
 tion, but when the trial comes it seems so different, 
 it is so hard to recognise and accept it as a proof of 
 love, and as being for our benefit ' that we may be 
 partakers of holiness.' We want this blessing to 
 come in some other way, and so are apt to ' faint 
 when we are rebuked of Him.' I long that it may 
 not be so with thee, and perhaps I am writing that 
 which is quite beside the mark in suggesting it, yet I 
 know thou wilt accept the loving sympathy that 
 prompts it." 
 
 To Hannah Soniliall. 
 
 " 15th of Second Month, 1894. 
 " I want, if I can, to send though only a few lines 
 by the mail to-morrow, to say how I prized the letter 
 written before thou left, and how I think of thee in 
 thy new experiences. Partners we are still in heart, 
 though our experiences are so diverse at present. 
 Thine in all the bustle and changes of travel, and I 
 still in one room, from whence, however, thought 
 does travel, and share to some extent what goes on in 
 the world, looking out through the loopholes of 
 retreat. . . . There is so very much going on, 
 missions, lectures, meetings on almost every con- 
 ceivable subject. And yet how many fail to get the 
 one thing needful. How much one feels this, and 
 that it is the one thing needful. ... I must not 
 waite more now, only say how well and more than 
 kindly I am cared for. Thy loving heart will be glad 
 that it is so. I cannot be thankful or grateful 
 enough. 
 
 Ever thy own, 
 
 " A. Hunt." 
 
1 66 
 
 To J. S. Fry. 
 
 loth of Third Month, 1894. 
 " Now that it is all I can do to unite in spirit in 
 public service, I almost think there is a deeper feeling 
 of the reality and the momentous character of the 
 truths spoken of than when able to take a little share 
 oneself. There does seem to be a widespread long- 
 ing after fresh spiritual life, though one hardly knows 
 what some who use the expression mean by it. Yet 
 surely the longing is designed to be satisfied." 
 
 To L. Hunt. 
 
 " i6th of Third Month, 1894. 
 ''I do not like this hiatus in our intercourse, my 
 dear child, so that I am not altogether stirred up to 
 write by the recollection that thy birthday is to- 
 morrow, though that has a place of added interest. 
 I know thou wilt have many letters, but no one can 
 write for me, and there are few indeed who can feel 
 quite as I do, for thou art very near my heart, and 
 thou hast allowed me to come near to thine, even the 
 inner temple. And this being so, changes of circum- 
 stance cannot bring a feeling of strangeness. Nor 
 any number of miles a sense of separation. But cir- 
 cumstances may and do prevent expression, even as 
 they have done with us. . . . Perhaps some one 
 has mentioned my being laid aside — though not 
 seriously ill, my small powers have been additionally 
 limited in the way of writing, as otherwise, for my 
 sight goes down with the general health. 1 am very 
 thankful to feel stronger now, and have to-day 
 walked up and down a little in the sunshine, after 
 being entirely in the house almost two months, 
 much of the /time upstairs. If I should continue as 
 
1 67 
 
 well I hope to get to 'The Friars' on First-day, so that 
 it seems like taking up life again for a little while, 
 . . . I must not write much more. . . . When 
 another birthday comes round may it be given thee to 
 look back upon the interval with thankfulness for the 
 way in which thou hast been led, and with fresh hope 
 and dedication of heart for the future." 
 
 To J. S. Fry. 
 
 ''Sixth of Fifth Alonth, 1894. 
 " There is much said, and rightly, to encourage 
 the young and inexperienced, and to help them to 
 dedicate themselves to the Lord's service, but I have 
 been thinking how great also is the need of those 
 who have been long engaged in this service, a need 
 not only of the fresh anointing for the performance of 
 it, but also of the consolation and joy which can come 
 by the renewings of the Holy Spirit. As the burden 
 of years and of varied labours increasingly tends to 
 weigh down the spirits, the need is greater than ever 
 perhaps for the rich supply whereby every vacant 
 place can be filled and every weariness of spirit taken 
 away. 
 
 " My dear friend, may we not feel assured that 
 the God of comfort means His confiding children to 
 enjoy such blessing ?— that He is bestowing it even 
 now, though the mental and spiritual pressure 
 prevents it sometimes from being fully realised ? " 
 
 To a young Friend. 
 
 "23rd of Sixth Month, 1894. 
 (After giving an account of a meeting.) 
 " I often fear lest the holding back of those on 
 whom some service might rightly devolve is the cause 
 
i68 
 
 •of others taking up a position for which they are not 
 quahtied. Perhaps it may be ahiiost more from a 
 shrinking from the preparation than from actual dis- 
 obedience to the call when received, that this failure 
 occurs. Is there not a danger of having the mind too 
 full of other things, perhaps lawful in themselves, to 
 give that first place to the service of Christ in what- 
 ever way that it surely deserves ? And then, there is 
 hardly the capacity to listen to the call and to say, 
 ' Here am I ; send me.' I do feel that these matters 
 require much watching unto prayer. I have had such 
 large experience of failure m3'self, and of dwarfishness 
 in the spiritual life, that I do greatly long for those 
 coming into every advantage, and with such possi- 
 bilities before them, that nothing may be permitted to 
 mar their usefulness or take away the blessing which 
 is intended for others through them." 
 
 On the last day of 1894 Ann Hunt concluded a 
 letter to Hannah Southall with these words: ''This 
 has been such a year of mercies bestowed and trial 
 spared, that I look back upon it very thankfully, and 
 would take that which may be given of another in 
 more trust and so more devotedness — and would 
 more earnestly commend my dear friends to Him 
 who watches over them night and day, lest any hurt 
 them." 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 " Saviour, Thou art not far away, 
 No need to make request. 
 Nor even, * quickly come ' to say. 
 But only in Thee rest. 
 
 " Some day, some hour, at word of Thine, 
 Shall break the silver cord — 
 The hope fulfilled, the rapture mine — 
 For ever with the Lord ! " 
 
 M.S. 
 
 IK the early part of 1895 the weather was very 
 severe, and Ann Hunt and myself met but 
 seldom, she being much confined to the house, and I 
 being also more restricted than usual in consequence 
 of an illness the winter before. On January 9th she 
 thus wrote : 
 
 To Matilda Sturge. 
 ^' My ever dear Friend, 
 
 This morning has brought another disappoint- 
 ment to my hopes of our meeting, for even if thou art 
 to be at ' The Friars/ which seems unlikely, I am 
 staying at home for no better reason than the 
 weather. I have felt the blank in our intercourse 
 more than usual lately. It has lasted so much longer 
 than I like or had intended. ... I think it has 
 made me think about the limitations that surround 
 
170 
 
 our lives in a very realising way. As one looks back 
 one can recognise these ; strong and even painful at 
 the time, which are now removed ; but there come 
 others quite different in kind, but putting a Hmit to 
 one's doings, and in some sort to one's beings, in a 
 very effectual way. I feel these tightening round me 
 very sensibly. The sense of this is not joyous, and 
 yet I do feel it such a blessing to know that there is 
 an inner circle in the heart where the pressure of 
 such bonds has no power. I have felt this now, 
 beloved friend, as I have thought of thee, and know 
 that the love and unity of spirit have no share in 
 the outward separation. I feel, too, and this has 
 been a comfort, that though health, or age, or any- 
 thing else may prevent some lines of service, yet 
 there must ever be a sphere — a place for the exercise 
 of spiritual gifts — for shedding forth such influence 
 for good as one may be privileged to have, though 
 knowing not how. However, all this, which I had no 
 thought of saying, does not prevent a somewhat 
 special desire to hear of thee, and to know how you 
 are both bearing this cold and snow. I hope to see 
 your M. this afternoon : she kindly proposed coming 
 before going to Cambridge again, and others of your 
 nieces I hope to see this week." 
 
 It was indeed true that her limitations were 
 increasing, although only in an outward sense : she 
 remarked in a scrap addressed to Isabel Grace {7ic'e 
 Gayner) : 
 
 How full life is of interest ! None the less, I 
 think even more so, up to the end — one sees so much 
 more clearly what it all means." 
 
171 
 
 The frequent intercourse with visitors, in which 
 she recognised a hue of service committed to her 
 trust, was about to receive a check. In the beginning 
 of March she was laid by with an attack of the 
 prevaihng influenza — not in a severe form, but serious 
 on account of her age and weakness. Her medical 
 attendant was from the first doubtful of her recovery. 
 Her friends accepted the warning but did not give 
 up hope, and were encouraged, after weeks of 
 prostration, to see tokens of amendment. What 
 they did not so clearly perceive was, that though 
 there was to be a partial recovery, she would never 
 regain her former little strength ; the thread of life 
 was henceforth feeble, and though she lived more 
 than two years longer she was never the same again. 
 She was at the usual week-day meeting at "The Friars" 
 on February 27th, when her voice was heard in the 
 ministry for the last time. Only once more did she 
 attend meeting, and then the exertion seemed too 
 much for her, and it was never afterwards attempted. 
 But her friends were hopeful as they watched her 
 improvement — saw her able to go out again, and at 
 length, in the month of May, to accept an invitation 
 from her friend J. S. Fry to stay at his home on 
 Durdham Down. It was a delightful change from 
 Brunswick Square, and she greatly enjoyed her visit 
 and the pleasant drives in the r.eighbouring country, 
 which was much more accessible from this spot than 
 from her own home. Writing at this time she savs 
 in a note addressed to myself : 
 
172 
 
 " Dim as is my sight, I am ready to ask if the trees 
 and the country ever were so beautiful before. It 
 was so deHghtful to thread about the lanes with the 
 hedges so close that I could see the beauty of the 
 fresh bright leaves. Surely there are compensations 
 even in the loss of privilege, for one values so much 
 more w^hat one retains." 
 
 While on the Down she was nearer than usual to 
 many of her friends, so that visitors abounded, and 
 she received them with all her old cordiality and 
 sw^eetness. But she felt that she had not regained 
 her strength, and this soon became painfully evident 
 when, after a month's absence, she returned home. 
 She was advised to try further change, and went to 
 Portishead, where she had a quiet, refreshing time. 
 
 To Rebecca Zaytoun. 
 
 loth of Seventh Month, 1895. 
 There is much we cannot understand. If it was 
 not so wliere would be the exercise of faith ? It seems 
 to me that when no hght comes on our path there is 
 a call for heart searching, to learn if there be any- 
 thing in our feelings or our conduct that is causing 
 the Lord to withhold His counsel until we are more 
 able to receive it with profit. If it be so, it will 
 doubtless be shown to the sincere seeker. But if in 
 sincerity of heart w^e can appeal to Him without 
 censure for guidance and teaching of His will, there 
 can but be the privilege still ours of leaving ourselves 
 and our affairs in His most wise and loving hands. 
 And He does all things well, and makes all work 
 together for good to them that love Him." 
 
173 
 
 She reported herself to Hannah Southall as feeling 
 " much hrmer and better " before she left Portishead, 
 but soon after she was attacked b}^ a new and trouble- 
 some complaint, which caused much pain and sleep- 
 lessness, and altered her appearance more than any- 
 thing that had gone before. As soon as possible after 
 this malady had disappeared she resumed her former 
 habits, even coming down to breakfast ; she enjoyed 
 a visit from Hannah Southall and saw many of her 
 Bristol friends. But in the autumn she took cold, 
 bronchitis supervened, from which indeed she rallied, 
 but only henceforth to be a complete invalid. The 
 sunny upstairs drawing-room, which looked out on 
 the green in the centre of the square, and was as 
 pleasant as was possible in the city, was fitted up as 
 a bed-room. Here she spent the winter, often much 
 prostrated by weakness, but perfectly clear in mind, 
 and alive to the interests of former vears. The 
 political events of the day shared her attention still ; 
 it must have been in the spring of 1896 that a cousin, 
 who was taking M. C. Salmon's place for a short 
 time, was aroused at her eagerness to hear about the 
 Budget as soon as the morning paper was brought. 
 Her sufferings at this time were not acute, but there 
 was enough to make — not exactly her patience which 
 never failed — but her unclouded serenity, remarkable 
 to those who witnessed it from day to day. Her 
 whole appearance — the worn face and wasted hands, 
 sometimes the feeble voice — gave the impression 
 of such exceeding frailty, that it seemed wonderful 
 
174 
 
 that the inner self was so entirely the same— the 
 same mental grasp, the same real and understanding 
 sympathy, the same calm judgment, and something 
 more than the same tenderness and sweetness. She 
 was still able, care being taken in arranging their 
 visits, to see her more intimate friends, and 
 occasionally others ; and these were times, especially 
 during the last summer of her life, when the old 
 freedom and discursiveness which had marked 
 intercourse with her, did not seem unwelcome or out 
 of place. Gradually the opportunities narrowed, the 
 number of those who desired to see her making 
 them more difficult to secure, while the fear of 
 wearying her checked the flow of talk, or confined it 
 to subjects which seemed worthy to occupy the short 
 and precious time. Some of her words spoken on 
 such occasions come back to the memory with force 
 and vividness, bearing as they seemed to do a stamp 
 of value from the saintly character of the speaker 
 and her nearness to the eternal world. She knew 
 how to cheer the hearts of those who might be 
 discouraged as to their service, or to comfort those 
 who were troubled and anxious about the welfare of 
 others. " The lesson of a long life," she said with 
 emphasis, on one occasion, " is one of Iiope, and not 
 of despair." Her faithful friends C. R. Charleton and 
 ]. S. Fry were among her most constant visitors, and 
 Hannah Southall came to spend a few days from 
 time to time. 
 
 Ann Hunt was not during all this period longing 
 
175 
 
 to depart, though in her state of weakness and 
 frequent sleeplessness it would not have been sur- 
 prising had this been the case. She still felt as if she 
 had " a work of lowly love to do " for her Lord, and 
 she was glad to remain a little longer, if thereby she 
 could cheer or help any of those for whom He lived 
 and died. Her busy pen was almost laid down ; 
 weakness and want of sight deprived her of that 
 mode of service, and when some special circumstances 
 called forth the effort to express her tender sympathy 
 in writing, her notes were scarcely legible, yet were 
 they highl}' prized by those who received them, 
 while they sadl}' noted the contrast to the old letters 
 so well written in every sense of the word. She did 
 not often talk much of death. Some months before 
 the end she seemed to wish me to know that it was 
 much in her mind, and that she was very peaceful in 
 the prospect, so looking at me she said : My dear, I 
 can say, * If Thou art near I shall not fear to die.' " 
 The words were from a hvmn which I had sent to 
 her niece on her dying bed. Scarcely inclined to talk 
 about it, I finished the verse : 
 
 " My sins are many, but Thy mercy more, 
 
 Thou wilt be with me when the waves are high, 
 I shall be with Thee on that other shore, 
 
 Where I shall know Thee as I now am known, 
 Saved to the uttermost by Thee alone." 
 
 The following to Caroline E. Stephen was dictated 
 to Mary C. Salmon, the accompanying note being 
 dated February 4th, 1897 : 
 
176 
 
 " I want her to know that it is not all calm and joy- 
 ful waiting for the summons to come ; perhaps it is 
 really the Land of Beulah, for there is a looking over 
 sometimes to the City beyond, but I find that it re- 
 quires a firm footing, for the soil is apt to slide and 
 carry one down into the lower levels. I find that the 
 armour is wanted still, especially perhaps the shield 
 of faith, for the fiery darts still sometimes reach those 
 who have escaped the enemy's power. And there is 
 need of such a deep experience of the things where- 
 of we speak. I should like, however, to say that 
 some of those long, wakeful, suffering nights that I 
 have passed through are times especially remembered 
 with thankfulness for the nearness of intercourse, as 
 it seemed to me, that was permitted. And the light 
 that shone upon different portions both of the Scrip- 
 ture and of views of truth, such as continually remains 
 to be a comfort and a help. I do not speak of these 
 things, they are too sacred, and yet to her* there may 
 be something like face answering to face. I feel in- 
 deed there is no separation either by life or death 
 from the love in which we are one." 
 
 In the month of March, Elizabeth and Hannah 
 Southall took lodgings for a time at Clifton, in order 
 to be able to see something once more of their 
 beloved friend. H. S. was often with her in the 
 morning, and speaks warmly of her brightness and 
 cheerfulness, and of how much A. Hunt seemed to 
 enjoy talking with her. She said one day to them 
 both, Yes, it gets brighter and brighter, instead of 
 
 • To the person for whom the message was dictated. 
 
177 
 
 duller and duller. All is clear, more than ever. 
 Sometimes I have such beautiful thoughts ; many 
 things come into my mind as I lie here." Then she 
 continued : '* All have a service ; we must not think 
 because we are laid by that there is nothing for us to 
 do." She was reminded, " They also serve who only 
 stand and wait," to which she replied. " He hlleth 
 the waiting soul with His goodness." 
 
 On the 30th of March a message was sent to her 
 from the Meeting on ^linistry and Oversight, expres- 
 sive of the sympathv of her friends and of the loss 
 they had sustained in the withdrawal of her presence 
 and help. She was much gratified with this. ** I 
 have had a lovely message from ' M. and O.,' " was 
 her remark to myself when I called on her soon 
 afterwards, and she dictated a message in return. It 
 seemed as if, in her deep humility, she had not been 
 aware that her influence in such meetings had been 
 so truly felt. 
 
 The end was now drawing near, she was 
 extremely weak, and one after another of her loving 
 friends went to see her— sometimes with the belief, 
 and sometimes without realising that it was for the 
 last time. If any of them came when she was too ill 
 to see them, she would often send down an affec- 
 tionate message. "Tell her some of my latest 
 thoughts have been of her" was one given on an 
 occasion of this kind, and when very near her end she 
 sent messages to absent friends. To one she quoted 
 the words, " I know in whom I have believed, and 
 
 13 
 
178 
 
 He is able but weakness prevented her from 
 
 finishing the passage. To another, " He loved me, 
 and gave Himself for me." Once she said, " I feel 
 peaceful ; I never had anything to trust to but God's 
 mercv in Christ, and that I trust to now. I feel He 
 has taken me to be His own.'' 
 
 She had most loving and tender care, AI. C. 
 Salmon and her devoted servant attending her by 
 day, and a nurse, to whom she had become attached, 
 watching over her by night. Towards the last, w^ien 
 almost wandering, she said, It is time for Jesus to 
 come." It was the hrst time in her long illness that 
 she had expressed a desire to depart. Her kind 
 watcher rejoined, " You would like to go to Him ? " 
 " I have gone to Him already '' — words which seemed 
 to imply that for her death would be no abrupt 
 transition — the Lor/l was with her now on earth, and 
 would be with her ''on that other shore." 
 
 Sunday, the i8th, passed quietly, but the next 
 morning brought with it much pain and restlessness. 
 Once more she sent a message to an absent friend, 
 concluding it with the lines, which she had not 
 strength to finish : 
 
 " My knowledge of that life is small, 
 The eye of faith is dim, 
 But 'tis enough that Christ knows all, 
 And I shall be with Him." 
 
 She was conscious throughout, and bore her 
 sufferings with unfailing patience. Once she said, 
 I shall soon be gone." Her friend said, "You 
 
179 
 
 remember the Ministry and Oversight Meeting is to- 
 night ? " She answered, emphatically, Yes." 
 
 The evening twilight was gathering, and she was 
 alone with her faithful friend, when at an unexpected 
 moment the bonds of earth were loosed, and she 
 passed quietly away. 
 
 She died on the 19th of April, 1897, in the eighty- 
 seventh year of her age. 
 
 The intelligence of her departure was brought to 
 the Meeting on Ministry and Oversight which had 
 not failed to be present to her thoughts. A deep 
 feeling of solemnity followed the receipt of the 
 tidings. It was no occasion for Innient, though there 
 were some there, and many more who were not 
 present, who felt, and who still feel that the loss was 
 of a kind that is in a true sense irreparable. But 
 thankfulness for her life and service, and for her 
 peaceful release from pain and weakness rose to their 
 hearts, and was reverently expressed before the close 
 of the meeting. 
 
 On the 23rd, amidst a large concourse of relations 
 and friends of every description, the worn tenement 
 of clay was laid to rest in the old Friends' burying- 
 ground at " The Friars." Close to the Meeting-house 
 which was endeared to her by so many associations, 
 and itself the spot where lay many of her departed 
 friends, it was for her a fitting resting-place, though 
 surrounded by houses and far away from country 
 solitude and peace. Just at that time of year, how- 
 
i8o 
 
 ever, the dreariness of this burying-ground is reHeved 
 by the sweet touches of spring green, and these may 
 be typical enough of the faith and hope that iUumin- 
 ated a hfe dark in many of its passages, yet leading 
 onward with more and more " shining unto the 
 perfect day." 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Recollections of Ann Hunt, by Hannah 
 southall. 
 
 My first remembrance of Ann Hunt goes back 
 into early years, when she came with her only sister 
 Rebecca to visit my grandmother. Her brightness 
 and sympathetic friendliness soon won our childish 
 hearts. It was not till about ten years later that I 
 recall her again when we were both staying with 
 relatives at Torquay and had some delightful walks 
 and excursions. In another decade we were thrown 
 together in a visit which I paid at 'The Fort,' and from 
 this time a bond was formed which circumstances 
 only welded with firmer and firmer links as time 
 rolled on, bringing its strange web in which blessings 
 and trials were inextricably woven. 
 
 Perhaps, to those who only knew Ann Hunt in 
 the serene brightness and calm of the evening light, 
 it w^ould be impossible to reach the influences by which 
 her character was moulded. Her nature was one of 
 singular sensitiveness, and the sweet calm of the 
 exterior gave but little index of the power of passion- 
 
l82 
 
 ate love which lay beneath, and it was this nature 
 which, welded in the furnace and brought under the 
 sanctifying power of Christ, yielded the gold well 
 refined, which all recognised in later years who were 
 brought within the magic circle of her influence. 
 This influence had a kind of centrifugal power, 
 which made her hrst a unique bond of union in the 
 family circle and then an equally attractive centre to 
 those not dra wn together by the ties of kinship. 
 
 " She had in a greater degree than I have ever 
 known, long-suffering, tenderness, and love for the 
 erring, and the knowledge of this faithful love and 
 the suft'ering it had brought to herself made many of 
 us regard her with deeper reverence and closer 
 affection. 
 
 " Her life may be divided into two portions, that 
 spent in the old home at ' The Fort.' and that at Xo. 9, 
 Brunswick Square. In the hrst she shone as 
 daughter, sister and aunt. Brunswick Square is not 
 an especially attractive locality, but it was astonishing 
 to how great a degree it became so during the time 
 she resided there. There was alwavs such a welcome 
 to her home. Tennyson speaks this feeling of enter- 
 ing there after absence: 
 
 ' Doors where my heart was wont to beat 
 So quickly waiting for a hand.' 
 
 "Then in earlier times, there were the night hours 
 when, feet on fender, we used to sit and talk (and no 
 interest was too small to share) and then commune 
 
1 83 
 
 together of those deeper things that touch our hves 
 with their hidden meaning. 
 
 " Those hours were all the more prized, because 
 at this time there were so many to share the privilege 
 of her counsels and friendship that few days passed 
 without long interviews claiming her time and 
 thought. She had the hopefulness of true love, that 
 recognises the hidden germ of good, and turns dross 
 into gold and has in some sense the power of making 
 crooked things straight. 
 
 "At Xottingham, where I was her companion 
 during the operation for cataract, I recall her sweet 
 patience and the joy with which she received the 
 letters of sympathy her friends so freely bestowed. 
 The renewed gift of sight gave her for a few years the 
 power of more diversified reading, and it was delight- 
 ful to compare notes on many themes ; her mind was 
 so open, and her grasp of ideas so livelv and the 
 range of interest wide, and in argument it was almost 
 as great a pleasure to differ as to agree, she was 
 always so quick to see the humorous side of things. 
 
 " The later intercourse during the rather slow 
 decline of two years did not give the painful impres- 
 sion failing health not unnaturally sometimes does, 
 because while the bodily powers declined, the mental 
 kept so bright. Inside the curtains of the bed was a 
 feeble form, but the sense of weakness seemed over- 
 powered by the brightness of the spirit. The deep 
 interest in pubhc and social affairs was maintained, 
 constant enquiries showed the absent were not 
 
i84 
 
 forgotten, thankfulness for mercies were unfailing. 
 Her bed-side was a haven of rest and peace, while 
 the joyousness of her spirit brimmed over sometimes 
 into real merriment. The secret of her life was 
 abiding trust in One mighty to save. This never 
 failed her in the darkest hour. It had sustained her 
 through a chequered life of more than eighty years, 
 and was found able to support through the Valley of 
 the Shadow of Death." 
 
 The following Sketch abridged from a paper by 
 Harriet Newman, written for a corresponding Bible 
 Class, will be read with interest. The subject given 
 was Influence," and the w^riter calls her essay An 
 Illustration " : 
 
 " Near the centre of one of our large cities is an 
 old-fashioned square, where the dwelling houses have 
 not yet been swept away nor turned into warehouses 
 or offices, but where quiet inhabitants who have not 
 followed the multitude into the suburbs still live 
 within a stone's throw of crowded business streets. 
 We make our way towards a row of houses all 
 exactly alike, and all with an equally uninteresting 
 look, except for the human interest which lies behind, 
 and gives to one door or another an attraction which 
 the rest do not possess. 
 
 We have come by appointment to one of the 
 doors where callers are frequent, and without some 
 previous arrangement you will probably find some 
 
i85 
 
 other visitor before you. Many find their way to this, 
 quiet house, young and old, rich and poor, people 
 whose Hves are widely dissimilar, men and women 
 whose needs are very various, yet it will be their own 
 fault if they go empty away. 
 
 We are soon welcomed in the comfortable old- 
 fashioned sitting-room by the dear Friend past her 
 eighty-fourth birthday, in her Friends' cap and shawl, 
 and we sit down together before the fire as if w^e had 
 just come back to a corner that had been waiting for 
 us, instead of making an ordinary afternoon call. 
 Ordinary we said, but if these social duties brought 
 us as near together and gave us the communion of 
 spirit which sitting round that cosy hearth does, they 
 would be a power for good that no one would 
 venture to call a waste of time. One girl who had 
 seen something of the influence of those visits asked 
 if she might call there too, and speaking of it after- 
 wards said : ' She talked to me as if I was the one 
 person in the whole world she was interested in.' 
 She probably expressed what many others have felt, 
 as they have found the time pass so quickly while 
 they have sat there and have had that pleasant sense 
 of having something to give as well as take. 
 
 "The dear Friend can no longer get out much, or 
 actively mix w4th others in work and service as she 
 once could, and you may have the privilege of telling 
 of someone you have met or a meeting you have 
 attended, with the encouraging remark, ' Oh, I was 
 wanting to hear more about that,' or, ' I expect now 
 
 14 
 
i86 
 
 thou canst tell me something of so-and-so/ and so 
 you go on from one topic to another of mutual 
 interest, till you lose any idea you may have started 
 with that you would not hnd much in common with 
 a Friend who has sat at the head of the meeting as 
 long as you can remember, or who will not under- 
 stand half the ideas which seem so large a part of 
 the modern young person's life. 
 
 " You find yourself talking over difficulties which 
 you had not previously thought of mentioning there, 
 and as you listen to the answers to your questionings, 
 given slowdy, with a careful choosing of the right 
 words, life seems less intricate and obscure, and you 
 are quite ready to acquiesce in the suggestion that 
 begins, ' But, my dear, doesn't thou think,' etc. 
 You may not have thought so before, but you wonder 
 now that you did not, and as you look out on that 
 dull square and see the last leaves coming down from 
 the trees, or watch burdened men and women 
 hurrying across between lines of iron railings — you 
 take a firmer grasp of the things which are eternal, 
 and you feel fresh patience to go on learning for 
 yourself and others, even if it be but slowly ' of the 
 measure of the stature of the fulness of Christ.' 
 
 You have no reason for thinking that your call 
 has been exceptional, and you marvel at the wide- 
 spread influence which advancing age has so little 
 power to check. Some reference to a new book leads 
 you to ask, ' Canst thou read much now ? ' and the 
 answer is, ' No, only when the print is very clear and 
 
i87 
 
 the light good, but I have several young friends who 
 kindly come regularly to me, and she added brightly, 
 ' I can still read hand-writing for myself, because the 
 letters are not so close together and thus the limita- 
 tions of life sink into nothingness, as all the possi- 
 bilities that remain are so thankfully used." 
 
JOHN T. BORLAND, 
 
 WITH NOTES OF SOME OF HIS BIBLE READINGS AND ADDRESSES. 
 By W. KING BAKER. 
 Edited by AXNE \V. RICHARDSON, B.A. 
 
 COPIOUSLY ILLUSTR.ATED. 
 
 qPHE unique work accomplished by John T. Dorland while 
 still in early manhood, the remarkable results attending his 
 ministry, his pronounced personality, and his devoted consistent 
 character, should make this work of unusual interest to readers of 
 Christian Biography. 
 
 Demy 8vo., Cloth gilt, bevelled boards, 6s. 
 Popular edition, cloth boards, 3s. 6d. 
 
 '• Of the deepest interest and should find a place in every 
 Friends' home where there are young men as well as in every Adult 
 School Library." — Ilie Friend. 
 
 " We cannot pass the very able preface which the editor has 
 contributed without a word of appreciation." — Spectator. 
 
 •• No one can read this book without being the better for it." — 
 
 Alethodiit Times. 
 
 " We find much to stimulate and encourage Christian workers." 
 
 — TJie Baptist. 
 
 "The record of his life and labours is delightful reading." — 
 
 Preacher^ s Magazine. 
 
 "We have read with much satisfaction." — American Friend. 
 
 LONDON : 
 HEADLEY BROTHERS, 
 14, BISHOPSG.ATE STREET WITHOUT, E.C. 
 
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