Mrs. Martha to one of her sisters.

Fulham Palace, King's birthday. We arrived here Thursday afternoon, and found Mrs. Kennicott, who has just been reading to us a sweet letter from Mrs. Barrington; she says, "So Hannah More has again been persecuted; but she will indeed receive our Saviour's blessing, 'Blessed are they which are persecuted for righteousness' sake.'" The right reverends are all expected, the half-hour bell is just ringing.*. I had it this morning from a person who heard Bishop Horsley himself express his surprise at any person's attending to a syllable of B's accusations, after seeing that a clergyman and magistrate took affidavits himself in his own cause. Our friends say the business will have a good ending, even in this world. Nothing can exceed, and few things equal the behaviour of the bishop and Mrs. Porteus. I cannot express to you the very marked attentions which are paid to Hannah from all ranks and descriptions of people : they say such a persecution of such a woman is unexampled. Sunday, as we were sitting at breakfast, an old lady was announced; many rose to greet her, but she hobbled through them all to Hannah, whom she fervently kissed; I presently found it was Lady Elgin.

Extract from a letter from Mr. Knox.

Ireland.

Poor Mrs. More! I fear her habitually weak frame has been additionally racked by the trial of "cruel mocking" which those ruffians have brought upon her. I see another hostile attack about to be made by Edward Spencer of Wells "for the benefit of the Bath General Hospital," in which theatrical boast of charity there seems to be beforehand in the mind of the champion either a suspicion of something needing atonement, or a very disgusting kind of levity,-the latter I should think, certainly-as the allusion to the play-bill still is obvious. Really this is vexatious,-that one of the most illustrious females that ever was in the world--one of the most indefatigable labourers in the husbandry of God-one of the most truly evangelical divines of this whole age, perhaps almost of any not apostolic age (for such a view of complete yet unexceeding Christianity I soberly think I have never met with elsewhere except in the New Testament itself as in her later writings)— that such a personage should have her tenderest feelings thus barbarously sported with, not merely in pamphlets, but even in annunciatory advertisements-(see Spencer's motto) and her pure and exalted views traduced and vilified by every acri

It was the custom of Bishop Porteus to receive at dinner the archbishops and bishops on the king's birthday.

monious bigot-who has neither moral taste enough to discerr her motives, nor common sense enough to decide upon facts; that all this should be, perhaps the last scene in the life of Hannah More, is, I would say, in some sense, a national disgrace. Public candour and gratitude should, in my mind, call forth such an interference of the humane, the virtuous, and the respectable, as would authoritatively put an extinguisher on this ever-reviving flame.

I could not write to Mrs. More, really not knowing what to say to her, but when you see her, I wish you to express to her my ever kind and grateful regards, and to assure her of the sincere interest I take in her happiness. I wish I could silence her adversaries.

ALEX. KNOX.

PART IV

FROM THE YEAR A. D. 1802 тo A. d. 1828.

CHAPTER I.

A VARIETY of considerations had for some time been preparing the way for Mrs. More's determination to quit her little residence at Cowslip Green, which, though very pretty, was in many respects inconvenient. The purchase of a piece of ground was offered her at about a mile distant, in a singularly picturesque and healthy elevation, combining every possible advantage for a dwelling. Having selected the most advantageous spot, she built a confortable mansion upon this ground, which afforded ample scope for the exercise of her taste, and formed around it a delightful territory, planted and disposed with admirable skill and contrivance. The sisters soon became so attached to this place, called Barley Wood, and found it at once so cheerful and salubrious, that they soon afterward parted with their house at Bath, and made this their constant residence. Here Mrs. H. More hoped to enjoy that retirement and leisure for which she had long sighed; but her talents for society and the literary and spiritual advantages derivable from her conversation, were too well appreciated to allow her propensity to be gratified. The world broke in upon her from every quarter, and as the greater part of her visiters resorted to her for improvement and advice, she felt it her duty to be free and accessible towards all who sought her society. The disposition of grounds, the embellishment of rural scenery, and even practical gardening, as far as her fragile frame could permit, were her favourite pursuits-pursuits which were exalted and refined by those high associations by which all that she put her hands to were invariably characterized.

All her doings, little and great, from this epoch of her life, in which her time and her talents were consecrated to the highest service, were stamped with a divine impress that sufficiently denoted to whom they belonged, and to what they were directed.

It is somewhat to be regretted that her celebrity occasioned

such an unceasing influx of letters as to require the sacrifice of too large a portion of her time to the necessity (for her courtesy and kindness made it a necessity) of answering them. The world wanted her, and the world interrupted her-the world used and abused her-honoured her by its calumnies, and humbled her by its caresses-attempted to spoil, to affright, and to allure her equally in vain: its virtues made her weep for its vices, and its efforts to seduce her into conformity with its practices fixed her more on the safe side of that barrier which separates between earthly and heavenly-mindedness, between the children of disobedience and the subjects of grace.

From Mrs. More to Lady Waldegrave.

Barley Wood, Ash Wednesday.

MY DEAR LADY WALDEGRAVE,

I have forborne writing for some days, yet I know not why I should forbear it any longer; for though I can say nothing to you that your own heart has not already anticipated, yet there is a melancholy satisfaction in mixing one's tears with those of a friend, and in sympathizing with the most pure and genuine sorrow which the afflicted heart can ever be called to feel.

The duchess had the considerate goodness to write me the mournful intelligence immediately. She announced the sad tidings in one of the best letters I ever read, suggesting every motive of Christian consolation under one of the severest and most trying dispensations of Providence. My surprise was equal to my sorrow, because I did not know that the lying-in had taken place. Even now I can hardly persuade myself of the mournful reality. So healthy! so happy! so young! so prosperous! so lovely! so beloved! Oh, my dear Lady Waldegrave, I do not pretend to reconcile you to your trial by undervaluing the greatness of your loss: it is a loss which this world cannot repair-a loss which nothing short of the deep and everlasting consolations of religion can, I should think, enable the sufferer to sustain. Happily those consolations are neither few nor small; happily also, I am able to say you possess them. I have always hoped and believed that you were one of the favoured children of your heavenly Father, by the many trials to which you have been called. This recent sorrow only strengthens my opinion. He does not willingly afflict, but has always some gracious, though not obvious purpose. We must adore now; we shall understand hereafter. We shall then see laid open all the gracious purposes and merciful reasons of those afflictions which now seem so mysterious and inexplicable. These are the seasons which try our faith, and which, by calling it into exercise, prove it to be a really living, comforting, supporting principle. You have, my dear Lady Waldegrave, every consolation which the sad nature

of the case admits. Yours is indeed deep sorrow, but it is pure sorrow, it is unmixed by any still more poignant feeling. Her course was short and blameless. She had not adopted the reigning corruptions; she had been taught to fear God, to renounce her own merits, and to trust in those of her Redeemer. You have the blessed reflection of having contributed by the principles you gave her, to her present, I doubt not, inconceivable happiness. Think how insupportable your present situation would have been if you had to reproach yourself with a contrary conduct.

Poor Mr. Micklethwait! he is early called to suffer! May his sufferings be blessed to him. I do not know whether this fatal infant, for which he has paid so dear a price, is spared to him. If it be, I trust he will find great comfort hereafter in educating it in those religious principles which alone can give present peace or final happiness.

You have both of you my earnest prayers, that that Almighty being who has thus severely tried, may graciously support you. I am, my dear Lady Waldegrave, with true sympathy,

Your faithful
H. MORE.

From Dr. Magee (afterward Archbishop of Dublin) to Mrs. H. More.

MADAM

Trinity College, Nov. 12, 1802.

In offering to your acceptance the volume with which this is accompanied, I but pay that tribute of respect which every member of Christian society owes to the information, the talents, the piety, and the zeal which have so eminently distinguished your exertions in support of Christian belief and Christian morals.

Embarked in defence of the same cause, and combating (though with far inferior force) the same enemies, I feel that sort of tie which binds together in sentiment those who range under a common banner, in opposition to a common danger.

Intimately acquainted also with those excellent productions by which you have contributed so essentially to the improvement of the present times, I cannot persuade myself to view their author as a person totally unknown to me. Under these impressions, I have the less embarrassment in presenting myself to your notice, and in requesting you to accept a work, whose object at least will ensure your favourable attention. And in doing so, I entertain the less apprehension of appearing obtrusive, when I am enabled to mention the name of my much esteemed friend and relative, Doctor Percival of Manchester, and to state that it has not been without his approbation that I have taken this liberty.