'••* ^ THI \ FAMILIAR LETTERS OF ANN WILLSON. <' The sun shall be no more thj light bj day, neither for brightness shall the moon give light unto thee; but the I-ord shall be unto thee an everlasting light, and thj God thy glory." ♦' Thy sun shall no more go down; neither shall thy moon withdraw itself; for the fx)rd shall be thine everlasting light, and the days of thy mourning shall be ended." PHILADELPHIA: WM. D. PARRISH & CO., NO. 4 N. FIFTH STREET. 1850. 2.9-/'S'0 3 J MERRinEW & Thompson, Printers, 7 Carter's Alley. BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. Ann Willson was the daughter of John and Rebecca Will- son, of Rahway, East Jersey. Her childhood was marked by an ardent and affectionate temperament, and while her timorous and sensitive nature shrank from the observation of strangers, in the domestic circle were developed those various traits that BO conspicuously adorned her more matured character. In the twenty third year of her age, she had first to drink of the cup of affliction, by the death of her beloved father, to whom she was not only attached by nature's tie, but by a strong spiritual affinity. About five years after, her maternal support was also remov- ed. Her feelings on these occasions arc more fully portrayed in her letters to her friends, than they could be by the language of another. Iler brother Samuel, four years older than herself, she and a younger sister, now composed the family. The latter married in the spring of 1827, and removed to the south- ern part of Jersey ; and in the 10th mo. following, he to whom she clung with peculiar tenderness, and who was emphatically her earthly stay, was called to his eternal home. Under these repeated bereavements she evidenced a holy resignation, in which was uttered from the depths of feeling, " Thy will be done." Soon after the decease of her brother S., she went to reside with her brother and sister at Port Elizabeth, N. J. .Her frequent allusions to her home with them, prove the af- fectionate solicitude with which they were regarded. Not- withstanding her delicate and slender constitution, she was here eminently useful, blending the characters of aunt and mother in the full adoption of the children. And it is princi- pally that these objects of her care may have a knowledge of 4 BTOGRAPIIICAL SKETCH. one who watched their infantile years with unremitted anx- iety, and who appeared to live for them rather than for herself, that this little volume of "Familiar Letters" has been compiled, — believing they present a more faithful portrait of her pure and cultivated mind than could be otherwise drawn. And for the more full accomplishment of this, though they were often written in a hurried moment, and not with the most remote view to publicity, from which her humility would have recoiled, they are given in their native dress, except an occasional trans- position of a word or two, and the omission of such parts as were of interest only to those concerned. The love of the beautiful and good is so strongly depicted throughout them, that it scarcely requires a notice here, and yet it was so interwoven with each word and deed, that it seems inseparable from thought of her. The crowning virtue, charity, was her diadem ; if fault was found with another in her presence, she invariably had some palliative to offer, thus bearing an uncompromising testimony against detraction. Contrary to her usual practice in matters of duty, when her feelings were arrested on the subject of Free Produce, she turned from the requisition, unwilling to yield, and for a long time carefully avoided reading anything upon the subject ; but one day, on opening the New Testament, her eye rested upon the 23d verse of the 14th chap, of Romans ; she closed the book disarmed of all opposition, and continued through the remain- der of her life, a period of more than twenty years, faithful to her convictions by abstaining as far as possible from the use of the products of unrequited labor. In 1834, after many seasons of secret suffering, she appear- ed as a minister. To use her own simile, she " was obliged to expose her simple w^ares for the sake of a livelihood.'' Her offerings were distinguished for their vitality and originality — often exemplifying the proverb, that, " A word fitly spoken, is as apples of gold in pictures of silver.'' She became a member of the meeting for Ministers and Elders in 1836. During that winter, she accompanied her BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 5 friend, J, J., In a visit to the Particular and Monthly Meet- ings of Salem Quarter, and to some meetings within the limits of Burlington and Iladdonfield. She subsequently visited the families of her own Monthly Meeting, (^Maurice River,) also those of Woodbury, Piles Grove, Rahway, and Plainficld, and a number belonging to Kingwood. For this service she was peculiarly qualified, possessing in an eminent degree, the gift of quick spiritual discernment. Her religious missions were not frequent ; the most distant was that to the land of her nativity, which is touchingly alluded to in one or more of her letters. The death of her brother-in-law, I. Townsend, Jr., in the summer of 1839, opened again the floodgate of affliction. In this hour of trial she not only sought refuge herself beneath the wing of Divine Love, but extended a hand to gather the widow and the fatherless under its shadow. Her health, which had never been strong, was now evidently declining, attended with much suffering. In the spring of 1842, she removed with her sister and family to Philadelphia. Iler indisposition continuing to in- crease, she yielded to the wishes of her friends, who hoped a visit to New York might be useful ; but after a tarriance there of several months, she returned, without being materially bene- fitted. Her mind during this period was quiet and peaceful. She significantly remarked, " that her work basket was empty, and she seemed to have nothing to do.'^ A few daj's before her close she observed to a friend, that she "felt as a child resting upon a paternal bosom.'' Thus ended her excellent life on the 4th of 12th mo. 1843, in the 46th year of her age. LETTERS OF ANN WILLSON. To H. S- 1st month 29tk, 1820. With friendship's request I would willingly comply, could the effusions of my heart in any wise interest, but thou knowest, my dear H., 'tis with me mentally a season of gloom and dejection, and Anna's mind well accords with the sadness of nature over which winter has cast her freezing mantle — even so has sorrow thrown her sable garb over the gaiety and cheerfulness of my thoughts. Can then a solitary recluse light up a ray of pleasure in the peaceful heart of her absent (though well-loved) friend ? but this may my dull scrawl say — though adversity has way- laid my path, yet has she not been able to chill the genial stream of love which full oft flows towards thee. New things are not for Anna to communicate, for she has remained in home's vicinity ever since thou left us, and had it not been for the kindness of some friends who called a few minutes, I should, T suppose, have remained ignorant of thy departure. I rejoiced to hear thou hadst set out on a little jaunt of enjoyment, though I am a loser thereby. Notwithstanding the snow has thrown her fleecy car- pet over earth's surface, and wrapt in white each little twig, and clouds have veiled the fair face of the spangled 8 FAMILIAR LETTERS OF sky, yet have I been a nocturnal rambler with Hervey, and listened with interest to his nightly contemplations. I think he has a peculiar faculty for drawing an impor- tantly pious inference from even trifling subjects. Dost thou not, with me, when reading works of this kind, feel respect approaching to veneration for their author 1 Father has not been so well for a day or two past ; his is so variable a complaint that I am oft ready to tremble lest the next change may be a final one. Thou may'st, my dear, conclude, I lack magnanimity to bear with becoming firmness the ills of life ; of this I am sensible, yet still trust my friends will cherish for me a sympa- thetic feeling, well knowing 'tis difficult for nature passively to yield to so trying an allotment, and resign- edly to say " not my will but thine," Parent of Wisdom, ^'he done." Assuredly believing that charity abideth among the inmates of thy heart, to her I refer thee for a palliation of each fault, and am, in affection sincere, thine, &c. Anna. To H. S . 1820. I have for days past, been waiting an opportunity verbally to thank thee for the plant of feeling,* well assured it accords with the delicacy of thy own sympathy, which, though words have seldom expressed, I have deeply felt — for silence possesses a voice more eloquent than language. Suffice it to say, I have understood and acceptably received it — but acknowledgement therefor has only been mentally uttered; well I knew, did I orally make known the gratitude which rested on my heart, it * Sensitive Plant. ANN WILLSON. ^ would unlock the portals of sorrow, and perhaps so much unhinge the little strength of mind I am possessor of, as to unfit me for enjoying thy company and converse during the remainder of the time we were together ; therefore I have suppressed the feeling which flowed secretly and silently towards thee— 'tis very necessary I should endeavor to overcome nature. In my dear mother's bosom the wound continues yet too fresh, and 'tis my duty, as a daughter, as much as in me lies, to soothe and console her, though well I know to me belongs not the power effectually to do this, but I trust my cheerfulness will assist in supporting her drooping spirits, and my fervent and ardent desire is, that He, in whose hand remains Gilead's all powerful balm, will remember us, and in his own appointed time pour forth the oil of consolation and comfort. Not without agitated emotions, and a tremulous hand, do I commit these lines to thy perusal 5 cast over them the mantle of sisterly feeling ; and believe with me that mutual confidence is one of friendship's first laws, without which, the tender pledge of reciprocal affection cannot gather strength. Feeling quite indisposed this morning, I retired to my chamber as if to repose, but " sleep swift on his downy pinions flies from woe, and lights on lids unsullied with a tear," on hearts unladen with a sigh. My love is to thee and with thee affection- ately. Farewell. Anna. To S. A. W . Rahway, \Othmo. 17th, 1820. My friend S. has many times during the past week, been the companion of my mind, but varied engagements have hitherto prevented my telling thee so; when thine 10 FAMILIAR LETTERS OF arrived, the rain was pouring upon our dwelling 5 but Anna, welcomed the storm of the morning that brought with it tidings of Sally Ann. I regret to hear disease still lingers in your metropolis ; but, alas I 'tis not in P alone, that its eifects are knovvn and felt ; for the voice of grief is also heard in our land ; the messenger undeniable has again visited earth — the amiable Bertha is with me a fatherless mourner. I feel for her, and I trust mine is sympathy sincere, for I have wept over the relics of departed worth, and felt the full solemnity of sorrow at a time when my own life was not precious in my sight ; yet there is a consolation attendant on the exit of the Christian with which naught below can be compared ; and in this alone have I really found the "joy of grief.'* Oh! that the same comfortable evidence may be the soother of my dear afflicted friend, whom I have not seen since the consignment of dust to dust; but I greatly desire to clasp her hand in mine, and alleviate as much as in me lies the anguish of her heart ; yea, for I can set my seal to the words of Irving, " there are moments of mingled sorrow and tenderness, which hallow the caresses of aifection ;" but why should I dwell upon those things'? May the clouds of the mental hemisphere, at least for a season, be dispelled and the sun of pleasure beam through the shades of the past. Hast thou seen a little piece entitled the Good Master and the Faithful Slave ? a noble portrait, I think, of a generous feeling mind in the former, and attachment and gratitude in the latter. I would have sent it thee, but feared I should only burden thee with what thou hast already perused. How serious and how frauo;ht with instruction is the ANN WILL SON. 11 present aspect of nature ! the vegetable world fast de- caying, is truly emblematical of man's frail declining state. The bud and the leaf in renovated beauty again shall shoot forth, but " man's faded glory, what earthly change shall renew." This day has been so cold that I have been almost shaking in our jireless store, and fear from this first introduction of cold weather. Winter will encroach largely on the premises of his neighbor, Autumn 5 and glad enough have I been, at intervals, to get a seat in the little back room chimney corner. Thou may, if thou wilt, fancy me gabbling to my customers, but take care not to listen to " very good and very cheap.'' From cousin M. I this day expected letters, but come they have not ; to what cause to impute the omission I know not ; but believe, from the import of her last to me, that when the query is made, " are Friends just in the pay- ment of their debts 1" she will find herself lacking. Mother and A. desire their love may have a place in this, I had almost said, worthless scrawl ; but of as little value as it is, it may be the bearer of mv sincere love to S. A. To S. A. W . Rahway, '^th mo. 18^A, 1821. Embosomed in that enjoyment which thou well knows my 'cousin M. can bestow, how can I be otherwise than one of the children of pleasure 1 Yet, mark it, dear, " the thorn, though secreted, still lurks near the rose" — yes, joy and sorrow are mingled in life's illusive path ; and if thou wilt not deem it intruding on the hours de- voted to joy and rejoicing, I will speak ; otherwise my pen must be silent, for with notes of gladness I cannot 12 FA31ILL-\R LETTERS OF now impress this spotless page. My heart is turned to sorrow, and thou wilt not ask of me mirth. An aunt dearly beloved has gone the way of all the earth — yes, the aged has gone to her long home. Thou wilt per- haps recollect aunt S. H. After an half hour's illness she sunk into that sleep which is marked with eternal quiet and rest. In peace, I trust, her immortal spirit has left its clay tenement, and now inhabits that land which the righteous alone inherit. We know there is no cause of mourning for the departed, as a dear friend expressed while we were silently sitting at the habita- tion whose owner knowelh it no longer. "Daughters of Jerusalem, weep not for me, but weep for yourselves and for your children." Oh ! while thus numbered with the assembled company to perform the last sad office, how oft to time gone by the thoughts of Anna sped. Yes, memory pictured scenes alas too true ! — the painful season when I resigned, or rather co?isigned, to earth's low dwelling a form so loved^ so valued. Thou, my friend, knowest there are times when the chords of sorrow need but a touch ; yet am I not joyless, even when mantled in sadness — no, in that hope I desire t o put my trust which leads the wanderer on her way ; and surely the young have equal need of trimming the lamp and being ready to go forth to meet the bride- groom at w'hatsoever hour his coming be proclaimed. Ah, yes ! for even Mary's virtues averted not the blow ; death, irresistless, came and laid her low; a father's stay, a father's hope, a father's joy, alas ! forever gone. It reminds me of the gardener and rose tree. She w^as very amiable, and I believe a truly pious girl, and ANN WILLSON. 13 doubtless is transplanted to another garden far more beautiful and fair.* To this dear girl I felt strongly attached ; but nipped are the buds of promised happiness — worldly bliss pays but a rainbow visit, then's away. Yet do I not sorrow as those who behold not the bright star of Hope, which rises as a sun to gild and light the mental hemisphere ; when, but for it, clouds and thick darkness would have overwhelmed all other feelings, it brightly dawns a day upon the night of sorrow, and bids affliction's children yet lift up their heads. But in thus noting my bereave- ments, ought I not also to number my blessings, which I am sensible are many — and among them the com- pany of my dear cousins, M. and A., deserves a place. I enjoin it upon thee not to let the perusal of this grief-shaded sheet trespass on thy hours of gladness; let it not damp one spark of joy which in thy bosom glows, for full well I know the hour arrives, and now is near at hand, when thy heart should only wake to pleasure. Clear be the day, bright the ray, which marks and witnesses the unity, I paid, the other night, Glenov/en a dreaming visit, but behold no Sally Ann was there; 'twas sclitary and deserted ; no inhabitant could I find, and sadly disap^ pointed I homeward turned, after having plucked a branch in deep verdure drest from off one of the tall trees which o'erlook Glenowen's walls, and placed it in a topmost crevice of the railing before the door, as proof to thee, my friend, I had been there, and thought when I arrived at my own village I should write and desire *Allilding to the recent death of a young friend of hers, o 14 FAMILIAR LETTERS OF thee to go look for the green bough 5 but on awakening, behold 'twas but a sleeping journey. My dear mother has been quite ill for a week past, but is so much better to-day as to have left her cham- ber. I am glad, and know that her returning health demands the offering of my humble gratitude. Oh, long may she yet be spared me! After the wedding ceremonies are over, cannot thou come and spend vacation with usl Though Anna's pleasures are simple, yet could thou not partake of them with feelings of interest 1 — remembering, pleasure, when too ardently pursued, is like the butterfly, crushed in the grasp — but from the small and stilly stream en- joyment flows. Accept love from mother and sister, also from thy attached, though absent, Ay7