SECTION I.—SUSANNA WESLEY.

“She was an admirable woman, of highly improved mind, and of a strong and masculine understanding; an obedient wife; an exemplary mother; a fervent Christian.”

Home is woman’s most appropriate sphere, and it is there that her influence is most powerfully felt. Perhaps the three most beautiful, musical, and suggestive words in the English language are love, home, and mother; and in these three words is comprehended all the history of a perfect woman. It is woman indeed, that makes home, and upon her depends whether home shall be attractive or repulsive—happy or miserable. We cannot urge too strongly the formation of domestic habits. The lack of them is one of the greatest drawbacks in family life. Many young women are incompetent to fulfil rightly these claims, hence their homes become scenes of disorder, filth, and wretchedness, and their husbands are tempted to spend their evenings in the beer-house, the gin palace, or places of public amusement. Were your education different from what it is, we doubt not you would soon prove your fitness for many things from which you are at present debarred; but that would not alter the fact that your nature qualifies you specially for the performance of home duties. Nor is domestic work of small importance. The woman who shall try to do it rightly is attempting something far greater than those achievements which the trump of fame would blazon abroad. The training of young immortals for an everlasting destiny, is nobler employment than framing laws, painting cartoons, or writing poems. It is well only with the people in general, in proportion as household duty and religion are taught and practised. From that sacred place go forth the senator and the philosopher, the philanthropist and the missionary, to form the future nation. Home is the proper sphere of woman’s usefulness. There she may be a queen, and accomplish vastly more for the well-being of humanity than in the popular assembly. King Lemuel, in describing a virtuous woman, says, “She looketh well to the ways of her household, and eateth not the bread of idleness:” industry and economy go hand in hand.

“How many children has Dr. Annesley?” said a friend to Thomas Manton, who had just dedicated one more to the Lord in the holy sacrament of baptism. “I believe it is two dozen, or a quarter of a hundred,” was the startling reply. Some of these withered like early spring flowers; others bloomed into youthful beauty; and a few developed into mature life. Susanna was the youngest. She was born in Spital Yard, near Bishopsgate Street, on the 20th January, 1669. Her father, at no small cost of feeling, and at a sacrifice of £700 a year, refused to declare his unfeigned assent to all that was contained in the Book of Common Prayer. His nonconformity caused him many outward troubles, but no inward uneasiness. He was a man of marked prominence, and a very prince in the tribe to which he belonged. But who was Susanna Annesley’s mother? The daughter of John White, the eminent lawyer and earnest Puritan, a member of the House of Commons in 1640. The following curious epitaph was written on his tombstone:—

We should like to know something of the place and mode of her education. But whether she was sent to school or trained at home by tutors, an elder sister or her good mother, we know not. It has been said that she was well acquainted with the languages of ancient Greece and Rome. That we believe to be a mistake. But if she was not a classical scholar, she had a respectable knowledge of French; prosecuted as one of her chiefest studies, the noble literature and tongue of Britain; and wrote with marvellous neatness and grammatical accuracy. While careful to strengthen her mind by such abstruse studies as logic and metaphysics, she was not neglectful of accomplishments. Whether she could stir the depths of feeling by her skilful performances on the piano, we know not; but there is ample evidence that she was not destitute of the gift of song.

With Susanna Annesley, the dawn of grace was like the dawn of day. In after-years she wrote:—“I do not judge it necessary to know the precise time of our conversion.” The seed of truth took root imperceptibly, and ultimately brought forth fruit. As she advanced in years, she increased in spirituality. Hear her own words:—“I will tell you what rule I observed in the same case when I was young and too much addicted to childish diversions, which was this,—never to spend more time in any matter of mere recreation in one day, than I spend in private religious duties.” This one passage explains the secret of her noble life.

Good books she recognised among the mercies of her childhood. No doubt they related mainly to experimental and practical religion, and were written by such men as John Bunyan, Jeremy Taylor, and the early puritans. Socinianism was not uncommon in those times, and Susanna Annesley’s faith in the leading doctrines of the gospel was shaken. Happily, Samuel Wesley, most likely her affianced husband, was an adept in that controversy, and he came to her rescue. Her theological views became thoroughly established, and her writings contain admirable defences of the Holy Trinity, the Godhead and atonement of the Lord Jesus, and the Divine personality and work of the Eternal Spirit. Discussions on Church government ran high. Conformity and nonconformity were pitted against each other, and championed by the ablest of their sons. The din of controversy reached her father’s house, and she began to examine the question of State churches before she was thirteen. The result was, that she renounced her ecclesiastical creed, and attached herself to the communion of the established Church. Samuel Wesley’s attention was directed to that subject at the same time, and the change in their opinions seems to have been contemporaneous.

Behold her now, at the age of nineteen, “a zealous Church-woman, yet rich in the dowry of nonconforming virtues;” and over all, as her brightest adorning, the “beauty of holiness,” clothing her with salvation as with a garment.

She was a maiden worthy of the most princely spirit that might woo her hand and win her heart; and such Providence had in store for her, in the noble-hearted and intelligent Samuel Wesley. Probably late in 1689, or early in 1690, accompanied by “the virgins, her companions,” she went forth out of Spital Yard, decked in bridal attire, and was united in holy matrimony to the Rev. Samuel Wesley, according to the rites and ceremonies of the Church of England.

Her husband was a curate, on only £30 a year. They “boarded” in London and the neighbourhood, “without going into debt.” In the course of a few months, Mr. Wesley received his first preferment in the Church. Upon £50 a year, and one child additional per annum, his thrifty wife managed to make the ends meet. After existing seven long years in the miserable rectory of South Ormsby, the rectorship of Epworth, valued at £200 per annum, was conferred upon the Rev. Samuel Wesley. The town is a place of deep interest to two religious denominations. There the founder of Methodism and the planter of its earliest offshoot were born, and in the old parish church they were both dedicated to God. One would almost imagine that devouring fire was the rector of Epworth’s adverse element. Scarcely had he and his noble wife taken possession of the new home, when a third of the building was burnt to the ground. Within twelve months after, the entire growth of flax, intended to satisfy hungry creditors, was consumed in the field; and in 1709 the rectory was utterly destroyed by fire. If the number and bitterness of a man’s foes be any gauge of his real influence, then the Rector of Epworth must have been the greatest power in the isle. The consequences of carrying out his sincere convictions regarding things secular and sacred were terrible. The conflagration, involving all but the temporal ruin of the Wesley family, was the work of some malicious person or persons unknown. Instead of appreciating his eminent abilities and scholarly attainments, his brutal parishioners insulted him in every possible way. His friends advised him to leave, but he resolutely disregarded their counsel. “I confess I am not of that mind,” he writes to the Archbishop of York, “because I may do some good there: and ’tis like a coward to desert my post because the enemy fire thick upon me.” Two of his most violent enemies were cut off in the midst of their sins, and in these events Mrs. Wesley saw the avenging hand of Him who hath said, “Touch not mine anointed, and do my prophets no harm.”

For nearly forty years the Rector of Epworth sowed with unfaltering hand, and saw no fruit. But ere he departed, the autumn came. He saw “the full corn in the ear,” and a few patches of the golden harvest ready for the reaper’s sickle. A new generation widely different from their fathers, had grown up around him, and in the midst of their tenderest sympathy he passed the quiet evening of life. Memorable sentences were ever and anon dropping from his ready pen, indicating that he was looking for the coming crisis. On the 25th of April, 1735, just as the golden beams of that day shot their last glances upon the old parsonage, so eventful in domestic vicissitudes, the sun of the rector completed its circuit, and sank behind the western hills of old age to shine in a brighter sky for evermore.

When all was over, Mrs. Wesley was less shocked than her children expected. “Now I am heard,” said she, calmly, “in his having so easy a death, and my being strengthened so to bear it.” She, nevertheless, felt deeply her lone and lorn situation. Epworth had been no paradise of unmixed delight to her. The serpent had often lurked among its flowers; poverty, like an armed man, had frequently stood at the gate, and sometimes crossed the threshold, and death had many a time entered the dwelling; but, as in widow’s weeds and sable dress, she left the dear old spot, never more to return,

After spending some months with her daughter in the neighbouring town of Gainsborough, Mrs. Wesley went, in September, 1736, to reside with her eldest son, at Tiverton, where she remained until July, 1737. Thence she removed to Wootton, Wiltshire, where Mr. Hall, who had married her daughter Martha, was curate. In the course of a few months, Mr. and Mrs. Hall removed to Salisbury, and Mrs. Wesley accompanied them to that ancient cathedral city. In the spring of 1739, she returned to the place of her birth, and there spent the remainder of her days. Fifty years before, in the bloom of early womanhood, she had left the mighty metropolis, to share in the joys and sorrows of a minister’s wife. Then, her father, mother, sisters, and brothers were all alive; now, all were numbered with the dead. The mother of the Wesleys herself was waiting, as in the land of Beulah, for the call, “Come ye up hither.” Her closing hours afforded ample evidence of a triumphant death. On the 23rd July, 1742, the founder of Methodism wrote in his journal—“Her look was calm and serene, and her eyes fixed upward, while we commended her soul to God. From three to four, the silver cord was loosening, the wheel breaking at the cistern, and then, without any struggle or sigh or groan, the soul was set at liberty.” Her distinguished son and all her surviving daughters stood round the bed, and fulfilled her last request: “Children, as soon as I am released, sing a psalm of praise to God.” Some of those strains afterwards written by the dying widow’s minstrel son, would have been most appropriate.

In the presence of an almost innumerable company of people, John, with faltering voice, conducted her funeral ceremonies. As soon as the service was over, he stood up and preached a sermon over her open grave, selecting as his text Rev. xx. 11, 12. That sermon was never published. “But,” says the preacher, “it was one of the most solemn assemblies I ever saw, or expect to see on this side eternity.” “Forsaking nonconformity in early life,” says her biographer, “and maintaining for many years a devout and earnest discipleship in the Established Church, which, in theory she never renounces, in the two last years of her life she becomes a practical nonconformist, in attending the ministry and services of her sons in a separate and unconsecrated ‘conventicle.’ The two ends of her earthly life, separated by so wide an interval, in a certain sense embrace and kiss each other. Rocked in a nonconformist cradle, she now sleeps in a nonconformist grave.” There, in Bunhillfields burying-ground, near the dust of Bunyan, the immortal dreamer; of Watts, the poet of the sanctuary; De Foe, the champion of nonconformity; and of many of her father’s associates, her mortal remains await the “times of the restitution of all things.” A plain stone with a suitable inscription stands at the head of her grave.

A true wife, like the grace of God, is given, not bought. “Her price is far above rubies;” and, “the heart of her husband doth safely trust in her.” Such a wife was Mrs. Wesley. In early life she did not disdain to study the minute details of domestic economy, hence she took her proper place at once in the parsonage at Epworth—managed a large household on very inadequate means—while her love for her husband, and regard for the welfare of her children, constrained her to use wisely and well the income entrusted to her control. Her husband laid his purse in her lap, assured that the comfort and responsibility of his house and the interest of his property were in safe keeping. After the disastrous fire, in regard to everything save their eight children, Mr. and Mrs. Wesley were about as poor as Adam and Eve when they first set up housekeeping. Thirteen years after that sad event, a wealthy relative was “strangely scandalised at the poverty of the furniture, and much more so at the meanness of the children’s habit.” The rector’s incarceration for a paltry debt of less than £30, before his friends could come to his rescue, was the heaviest trial of the heroic Mrs. Wesley. What little jewellery she had, including her marriage ring, she sent for his relief; but God provided for him in another way. “Tell me, Mrs. Wesley,” said good Archbishop Sharp, “whether you ever really wanted bread.” “My lord,” replied the noble woman, “I will freely own to your Grace that, strictly speaking, I never did want bread. But then, I had so much care to get it before it was eat, and to pay for it after, as has often made it very unpleasant to me; and I think to have bread on such terms is the next degree of wretchedness to having none at all.” “You are certainly in the right,” replied his lordship, and made her a handsome present, which she had “reason to believe afforded him comfortable reflections before his exit.”

It is certain that the Wesley family lived a life of genteel starvation. The worldly circumstances of the clergy are better now. Curates have £100. South Ormsby is worth more than £250; and the rectorship of Epworth is now upwards of £900. But even in our days, the common tradesman exceeds many clergymen of the Church of England, and ministers of other Churches, in his command of real comfort and substantial independence. The former is respectable in moleskin, but the latter must have broad-cloth. This state of matters is intolerable, grossly unjust, and fearfully oppressive—a wrong done not to pastors only, but to society at large; whose interest suffers through theirs. England lodges in palaces and clothes her nobles, bishops, and merchants in purple; while she leaves many of the most pious and laborious ministers of Christ to be fed by the hand of charity, and clothed in the garments which respectability can no longer wear! What a reproach! When shall it be wiped away?

Between persons of so much decision and firmness as Mrs. Wesley and her husband, no doubt differences of opinion arose. But they were neither serious nor of long duration. The story about a protracted breach caused by the diversity of their sentiments concerning the revolution of 1688, if it have any foundation in fact, is grossly exaggerated in its details. Samuel Wesley and Susanna Annesley were drawn to each other by love and reverence; and if you want to see a marriage noble in every way, you must go to the rectory at Epworth where this couple lived. Their entire married life is one of the sweetest, tenderest, and noblest on record. Mrs. Wesley was always ready to stand by the rector. “Old as I am,” she writes, “since I have taken my husband ‘for bettor for worse,’ I’ll take my residence with him. Where he lives, will I live; where he dies, will I die; and there will we be buried. God do so to me, and more also, if aught but death part him and me.” These strong feelings of attachment were reciprocated by Mr. Wesley. “The more duty you pay her,” he writes to his son Samuel, “and the more frequently and kindly you write to her, the more you will please your affectionate father.” His picture of a good wife is an ideal description of the blessed virgin; but there is reason to believe that the original from which it was drawn was the rector’s own wife.

Who can over-estimate a woman’s worth in the relation of mother? The great Napoleon said: “A man is what his mother makes him.” Is there not much truth in the statement? The tender plant may be trained by the maternal hand for good or evil, weal or woe. John Randolph, the statesman, remarked: “I should have been a French atheist if it had not been for one recollection, and that was, the memory of the time when my departed mother used to take my little hands in hers, and cause me on my knees to say, ‘Our Father, who art in heaven.’” Providence blessed Mrs. Wesley with a large family. She was the mother of nineteen children, most of whom lived to be educated, and ten came to man’s and woman’s estate. Her heart was deeply wrung by bereavements, probably at intervals too short to allow the wounds to heal; but the desolateness of her spirit was broken in upon by the faith that the departed were well, and that the mourner would go to them.

While Mrs. Wesley, like every good mother, thanked God for gladdening the earth with little children, she knew that they were sent for another purpose than merely to keep up the population. That a family so numerous, and composed of characters so powerfully constituted as the Wesleys, should grow up from childhood to maturity without their domestic disquietudes, would be beyond the range of probability. There were trials deep and heavy, but as far as we can judge, the family of the Epworth parsonage are now collected in the many-mansioned house above. A mother’s influence is the first cord of nature, and the last of memory. She who rocks the cradle, rules the world. A generation of mothers like Mrs. Wesley, would do more for the regeneration of society, than all our Sunday-schools, day-schools, refuges, reformatories, home missions, and ragged kirks put together.

The code of laws laid down by Mrs. Wesley for the education of her children was about perfect. We can do little more than suggest some of the main principles upon which she acted in the discharge of this important duty. No sooner were her children born than their infant lives were regulated by method. True she delayed their literary education until they were five years old, but from their birth they were made to feel the power of her training hand; and before they could utter a word they were made to feel that there was a God. Some parents talk of beginning the education of their children. Every child’s education begins the moment it is capable of forming an idea, and it goes on like time itself, without any holidays. She aimed at the education of all their mental and bodily powers. The sleep, food, and even crying of her children was regulated. Her son John informs us, that she even taught them as infants to cry softly. One of the most difficult problems of education is, to form a child to obedience without making it servile. The will is the key of the active being, and in a great measure the key of the receptive too. Along with the inclinations, its purveyors and assessors, it must be the earliest subject of discipline. Without subjecting the will you can do nothing. On this subject we believe the views of Mrs. Wesley to be equally just and propound—to lie at the very foundation of the philosophy of education. “In order to form the minds of children,” she writes, “the first thing to be done is, to conquer their will, and bring them to an obedient temper. To inform the understanding is a work of time, and must with children proceed by slow degrees, as they are able to bear it. But the subjecting of the will is a thing that must be done at once, and the sooner the better. For by neglecting timely correction, they contract a stubbornness and obstinacy which are hardly ever conquered, and never without using such severity as is painful to me, as well as the child.” But education is something more than the teaching of proper obedience; hence she developed their physical powers, stored their intellects, cultured their tastes, and disciplined their consciences. God blessed Mrs. Wesley with signal ability for teaching; and even had the pecuniary circumstances of the family not compelled her to undertake the literary instruction of her children; she would have felt that their religious education was her special charge, and that the solemn responsibility could not be delegated to another. She was the sole instructress of her daughters. Her work was arduous, but she encouraged herself with the faith that He who made her a mother had placed in her hands the key to the recesses of the hearts of her offspring; and that the great part of family care and government consisted in the right education of children.

Never has a century risen on Christian England so void of soul and faith as the seventeenth. Profligacy and vice everywhere prevailed, and the moral virtues of the nation were at their last gasp. God had witnesses—men of learning, ability, and piety: but they won no national influence. Methodism was the great event of the eighteenth century. For several generations there had been at work powerful influences in the ancestry of its appointed founders, which look like providential preparations. In the history of John Westley, of Whitchurch, we find a beautiful pre-shadowing of the principles more extensively embodied in the early Methodist preachers whom the illustrious grandson who bore his name associated with himself in that glorious revival. The rector of Epworth, looked favourably upon what the churchmen of his day regarded as unjustifiable irregularities, and published an eloquent defence of those religious societies which existed at the time. The religious pedigree, so evident in the paternal ancestry, was no less observable in the mother of the founder of Methodism. Maternal influence exerted over John Wesley and his brothers an all but sovereign control. His mental perplexities, his religious doubts and emotions were all submitted to the judgment and decision of his mother. When Thomas Maxfield began to preach, Wesley hurried to London to stop him. The opinion of his mother was unmistakable, and led to important consequences. “John, you know what my sentiments have been. You cannot suspect me of favouring readily anything of this kind. But take care what you do with respect to that young man; for he is as surely called of God to preach as you are. Examine what have been the fruits of his preaching, and hear him for yourself.” In estimating this remarkable woman’s relation to Methodism, we must not forget that during the different times of her husband’s absence, she read prayers and sermons, and engaged in religious conversation with her own family, and any of the parishioners who came in accidentally. What was this, but a glorious Methodist irregularity? How significant are the words of Isaac Taylor: “The Wesleys’ mother was the mother of Methodism in a religious and moral sense; for, her courage, her submissiveness to authority, the high tone of her mind, its independence, and its self-control, the warmth of her devotional feelings and the practical direction given to them,—came up, and were visibly repeated in the character and conduct of her sons.”

She had a strong and vigorous intellect. The variety of subjects discussed in her letters is not more astonishing than the ability with which they are all treated. Predestination is one of the topics; the lawfulness of enjoyment another; and even love forms the theme of one admirable letter, which Dr. Adam Clarke says, “would be a gem even in the best written treatise on the powers and passions of the human mind.” Her temperament was thoughtful and reflective; her judgment when once fixed, was immovable. At the same time she was refined, methodical, highly bred, and imparted these qualities to all her children.

Perhaps the most remarkable feature in the character of this distinguished woman was its moral grandeur. The holy vigilance and resolute control which she exercised over herself, meet us at every turn of her life. She held her mouth as with a bridle, lest she should offend with her tongue. “It always argues a base and cowardly temper to whisper secretly what you dare not speak to a man’s face. Therefore be careful to avoid all evil-speaking, and be ever sure to obey that command of our Saviour in this case as well as others,—‘Whatsoever ye would that men should do unto you, do ye even so unto them.’” The same vigilant government was exercised over all her appetites and passions. She believed that “any passion in excess does as certainly inebriate as the strongest liquor immoderately taken.” Such is a specimen of the golden rules which were sacredly observed by Susanna Wesley.

As regards personal appearance, the mother of the Wesleys seems to have been inferior to her sisters. They possessed fair claims to be called beautiful; she was a graceful and noble English lady, but not strikingly beautiful. Mr. Kirk, her biographer informs us that there are two portraits of Mrs. Wesley, just now claiming to be genuine: the one taken in early life, the other in old age; but neither of them conveys the idea of the elegant lady dressed À la mode. Her figure was probably slight; and her stature about the average female height.

SECTION II.—ELIZA HESSEL.

“To the common-place but important qualification for domestic duties, she added literary culture, and a character adorned with Christian virtues.”

We live in an age of novelty,—new plans, new discoveries, new opinions, are common enough. Many of these relate to woman, whose importance in the scale of humanity, no rational being, above all no Christian, can doubt. We are anxious that women should be roused to a sense of their own importance and responsibility; assured that if they understood these, surprising changes would immediately take place in society, giving it a higher tone and a purer spirit. For them we claim no less exalted a mission than that of instruments for the regeneration of the world,—restorers of God’s image to the human soul. This mission they will best accomplish by moving in the circle which God and nature have appointed them. We look forward to the time, not perhaps so remote, when women shall cease to be employed in those works—rough, hard, toilsome, exhausting works—in which many are now engaged. The time will come, when capital and labour shall have become so reconciled one to another as that men may do the work of men, and women may be spared that work in order that they may the more fully preside over the work of the household. Then there will be more refinement of manner, more enjoyment of soul, more enlargement of the intellect, and more cultivation of the heart. If circumstances permit, an ambition to excel in everything that comes within woman’s domain is laudable; but if not, then do not think too much of having to forego accomplishments, in order to acquire useful, every-day attainments. The former may add to the luxuries of life; the latter is essential to the happiness of home—to the joys and endearments of a family, to the affection of relations, to the fidelity of domestics. “Woman’s mission” has become almost a phrase of the day. That there are other duties for women besides household, and for some women especially, we by no means deny. But here are the broad, general, and permanent duties of the sex.

Real worth will in the long run far outweigh all accomplishments.

Eliza Hessel was born at Catterton, near Tadcaster, on April 10th, 1829. Her father Benjamin Hessel, was a man of great mental and moral excellence, a worthy descendant of ancestors who had occupied a farm at Althorp, in the neighbourhood of Howden, for about five hundred years. The mother, Hannah Hessel, was a genuine Christian, born of parents who bravely shared the reproach which assailed the early Methodists. The whole family of this noble couple—two sons and three daughters, became truly pious. Both sons were called to the Christian ministry. The elder went down to his grave at the early age of twenty-four, lamented by many to whom he had been a blessing; and the younger at present occupies one of the most important positions of the Wesleyan Church in Australia. From infancy Eliza Hessel was the subject of the strivings of the Spirit. We have abundance of facts, to enable us to form a sufficiently accurate estimate of the influences operating upon her early years, and the peculiarities of her mental and moral nature. At this period she might have often been seen wandering alone wrapt in deep thought. What are the stars? How could the Almighty always have existed? Why was sin permitted to enter into the world? Such were the questions on which her young brain ruminated. An eager thirst for knowledge was associated with intense susceptibility. The sigh of the storm was to her celestial music. “Judge,” says her biographer, “of a girl of sixteen pacing the long garden walks in the cold moonlight, sitting down on the ground, and clasping her hands, uttering in a voice of such passionate earnestness as even startled herself: ‘I would gladly die this moment to solve that problem.’ That girl could be no cipher in the world. She could be no mere unit. For good or evil, she was destined to exert considerable influence.”

In August 1842, her eldest sister, Mary Ann, became the wife of the Rev. Thomas Brumwell, a Wesleyan minister, and it was arranged that Eliza should spend a few months with the newly wedded pair at Melton Mowbray. On reviewing this period, three years after, she writes: “I have sat poring over works of history, and more frequently of fiction, till my aching eye-balls have refused their office; the solemn tones of the midnight bell, and occasionally, the light chimes of the third hour of morning have warned me to my little couch, while strange visions of enchanted castles, rocking images, ominous sounds, and wild apparitions, have disturbed my feverish repose, and unfitted me for the active duties of life. Oh, these are painful reminiscences!” She remained at Melton Mowbray about ten months, and after having benefited by the educational advantages at Tadcaster, entered Miss Rinders’ boarding-school at Leeds, in January, 1845. That lady relates this portion of Eliza’s school-days thus:—“I remember distinctly the morning she was introduced into the school-room. Little did I then think what an influence the new comer would acquire over my own mind and heart. She was shy and reserved at first, but susceptible of any advance towards friendliness, and eager to reciprocate the least kindness. It was not long before her position amongst us became clearly defined. Being one of the tallest girls, a degree of freedom was at once awarded her, but her mind soon asserted a superior claim. She was a most earnest and successful student; and it became a privilege to be admitted into her little coterie of inquirers after knowledge. At her suggestion, three or four of us rose at five o’clock every morning, and met in the library to read. The books chosen were generally such as aided in our after-studies. Sometimes they yielded more pleasure than profit, but the recollection of those morning meetings is very pleasant. During our walks, too, we read together, or when books were forbidden, Eliza was never at a loss for some topic of discussion. A flower, or an insect, often supplied us with a theme. Anything in nature called forth her deepest sympathies, and made her eloquent. She told me what a wild delight she used to feel, when a mere child, amidst the scenes of nature, rambling at her own sweet will for hours together with no companions but the bee and butterfly. The love of the beautiful became more intense as she grew older, and you will not wonder that she had also a decided tinge of the romantic at this time. Her young muse sung of deeds of daring, and the achievements of fame. She bowed at the shrine of genius, and made it almost her god.”

She had a strong ambition to excel, and when the monthly budget of anonymous maiden compositions were read, a smile of recognition might have been seen passing round the school-room, as Eliza’s pieces betrayed their authorship. In a letter to Miss Rinders, she says, “I will tell you, dear Sarah, what were my reflections the first day I was at school. In the evening I sat down, and asked myself, ‘What have I learnt to-day?’ The answer my heart gave somewhat startled me. It was this: I have to-day learnt the most important lesson I ever did learn; that is, that I know nothing at all.’”

Whilst Miss Hessel was basking in the sunshine at Leeds, a dark cloud was gathering on the domestic horizon. Consumption had seized her sister, Mrs. Brumwell. Fatal symptoms rapidly developed, and with the words, “Victory, victory, through the blood of the Lamb,” upon her lips, she winged her way to the realms of the blessed. Two motherless boys, one only seven months old, and the other but two years, were now committed to the trust of Miss Hessel. Mr. Brumwell resided at Burton-on-Trent, and thither, early in 1846, she repaired. Though she did not hide her repugnance to domestic duties, the dawnings of “a horror of undomesticated literary women” were already felt, and she determined to excel in this as in other departments. Apprehensions soon began to be entertained by Miss Hessel, that the disease which had already cut off a brother and a sister had marked her as its prey. Her lungs were pronounced free from disease, but sea air was recommended. She visited Scarborough, and after three weeks returned home with improved health.

Her father’s health had been for some time declining, and in the autumn of 1847 the family left Catterton and removed to Boston Spa. Regret was naturally felt at quitting the old house, but in every respect the change was beneficial.

October, 1849, brought a fatal domestic affliction. Mr. Hessel was suddenly seized with an illness which excluded all hope of recovery, and died November 10th, aged sixty-seven years. This great loss was made up, as far as possible, by the filial and fraternal affection of her brother. He had been three years in the ministry, was now located in the Isle of Wight, and before the end of November his widowed mother and eldest sister were comfortably settled at Percy Cottage, Ventnor. Having visited Carisbrook Castle, the church of St. Lawrence (the smallest church in England,) the grave of “the Dairyman’s Daughter,” and other interesting places, Miss Hessel returned to Boston Spa the following spring. Her brother had been delicate, and it was deemed desirable to try the effect of his native air.

We now arrive at the period of Miss Hessel’s conversion. The instruments were ministers in various parts of Scotland, who were persuaded they had received “new light” on several vital doctrines. Renouncing the limited views in which they had been trained, they vigorously advocated the impartially benignant and strictly universal love of the Father, atonement of the Son, and influence of the Spirit. In the spring of 1850, a number of these zealous men visited several northern counties of England. One of them, the Rev. George Dunn, preached at Boston Spa. By that sermon, together with a subsequent conversation, Miss Hessel came to a knowledge of the truth as it is in Jesus.

On the 12th March, 1851, her brother consummated an interesting engagement with a lady resident in Bristol, the new sphere of his ministerial duty, and early in May Miss Hessel visited the bridal pair. How greatly she enjoyed that sojournment two brief sentences attest. They were written on September 13th, a few days before she left. “I have much to tell you of dear old Bristol, the city of the west, and its noble children. God bless them for the love and heart-warm kindness they have shown to a stranger and sojourner within their walls.”

Miss Hessel had not much time for the acquisition of knowledge. Her large circle of friends entailed a large correspondence. The value placed upon her society involved the consumption of much time. She gave a large amount of service to her own religious community, and often assisted efforts in distant places to promote the general welfare of humanity. Nevertheless, being possessed of strong intellectual tastes, and lively poetical sensibility, her mental powers were seldom at rest. We find her holding communion with Martin’s celebrated pictures, “The Last Judgment,” “The Plains of Heaven,” and “The Great Day of Wrath,” admiring the early spring flowers, and the glowing tints of the autumnal trees. Her poetical compositions were numerous, some of them of considerable merit, and her reading was multifarious. Every department of literature was laid under tribute. She could discover the gems, and point out the heterodox opinions in Alexander Smith’s “Life Drama;” revel beyond measure in the “Life of Dr. Chalmers;” grow sad over “Talfourd’s Final Memorials of Charles Lamb;” wonder at Coleridge’s “Aids to Reflection;” derive benefit from the prodigious vigour of Carlyle and the lofty sentiment of Channing.

During the summer of 1853, her health improved so greatly that a hope of protracted life began to dawn; but early in 1856 she began to feel that life was fading. About this time, a beloved relative died at Howden, and Miss Hessel’s health received a blow, from which it never fully rallied. She had a premonition at Mary’s grave that she should soon follow her. On the 27th August, 1857, she wrote—“My strength is very much reduced, my appetite poor, and my cough no better. I feel now that I hold life by a very slender tenure.” Early in January, 1858, she said, “All my wishes are now fulfilled. I wished to live over the new year’s tea-meeting, because my death would have cast a gloom over the rejoicings. I desire also to receive one more letter from William. The Australian mail has arrived, and here is my brother’s letter. How kind my heavenly Father is!” On Wednesday, the 27th, she entered the dark valley, the atonement her only hope. Seeing her mother weep, she said, in a tone of deep affection, “Mother, don’t cry; I am going home.” When life was well-nigh gone, with great distinctness she said, slowly, “Salvation is by faith.” A period of unconsciousness ensued, then one bright momentary gleam, and Miss Hessel was no more.

Crowds of mournful people followed her remains to the cemetery adjoining the Wesleyan church at Boston Spa. “Is not that a peaceful resting-place?” she said, a few months before. “I have chosen my grave there. Our family vault is in the churchyard, but I have a wish to be buried among my own people—the people with whom I have worked and worshipped.” In her last letter to her much-loved brother, she said, “Do not think sorrowfully of me when I am gone. Let this be my epitaph in your memory:—

In order to the realization of any true and practical life-purpose, three great elements seem to be necessary: to inquire for yourself, to act for yourself, and to support yourself. Miss Hessel was deeply conscious of the fact that while brutes are impelled by instinct to the course proper to their realm and nature, she was endowed with rationality, that she might act upon choice, and, though she might often not have it in her power to choose the place where to act, she could always choose how to act in it. It is not given to many to be doers of what the world counts great actions; but there is noble work for all to do. As the author of the “Christian Year” has well sung:—

She well fulfils her part in this world, who faithfully discharges the common every-day duties, and patiently bears the common every-day trials of her calling and her home. Miss Hessel had no idea of her education terminating when it was deemed necessary she should enter upon the practical duties of life. She says:—“I am endeavouring in this rural retreat to gain something every day. Though it be a little only, it is better than nothing, or, what is still worse, retrograding.” In the prime of womanhood, we find her, in every pursuit, seeking to serve and honour God. To a friend in Leeds she writes:—“I must combine expansiveness of view with concentration of purpose, in order to that beautiful harmony of character so desirable in a woman. It is true that for a man to excel in anything, for all the purposes of life, he must devote himself to some branch of science or business. I mean, I would have him to follow one business and excel in it. But woman’s mission is somewhat different, at least, that of most women,—for there are exceptions to every rule,—and my model is perfect in everything that comes within the sphere of a virtuous, intelligent, domestic woman;—so perfect that it is no easy matter to determine in what she most excels.”

Miss Hessel bound the best of all ornaments, filial love and obedience, on her brow. This is the only commandment of the ten that has the promise joined to it, as if to show the place it holds in the Divine estimation. Without this virtue we should think very little of all there might be besides. Some daughters go abroad seeking pleasure where it never can be found; but Miss Hessel remained at home, giving pleasure that was more cheering to her parents than the brightest beam that ever shot from the sun, and more precious than all the riches the broad earth could have poured into their lap. As a daughter, she was anxious to do her duty. The discharge of that duty brings with it innumerable blessings; its nonperformance has been the first step in the downward course of untold thousands, and will be, we fear, of thousands more. Her strong filial affection is exhibited in the following sentences:—“There is one who demands all my sympathy and affection; who as a wife and a mother, has discharged the important duties of her station in a manner which evinced the strength of her conjugal and maternal affection, and whose peculiarly trying circumstances gave an opportunity for the full development of that self-devoted disinterested, Christian heroism, which her children will remember with gratitude, when her name and the memory of her high work, will be enshrined only in the hearts of those who witnessed such devotedness. Of such fortitude in trial, steadfastness in adversity, and dauntless energy when despair would have overwhelmed some hearts, and, above all, of such unassuming piety, fame speaks not. But these are engraved in a more enduring page, and will have their reward when earth and its emblazoned pomp and pride shall have passed away like a vision.” Well done fair lass! The recording angel takes notes of thy dutiful devotion, and publishes it beyond the domestic hearth. Happy mother, whose toils, sufferings, and sacrifices, deserved such recompense!

As a sister it would be difficult to over-estimate Miss Hessel’s worth. Being wise and virtuous, she swayed an influence of untold power. How often have we observed the difference between young men who have enjoyed, when under the home-roof, the companionship of a sister, and those who were never so favoured. Sisters, with few exceptions, are kind and considerate; and home is a dearer spot to all because they tread its hearth. How touching are Miss Hessel’s reminiscences of her beloved and highly-gifted brother, who died when she was only nine years old. In a letter to her biographer she says, August 16th: “As I wrote the date at the top of this letter, the recollection flashed across my mind that this is the anniversary of dear John’s birthday. He has been nearly seventeen years in heaven. Seventeen years of uninterrupted progression in knowledge, in holiness, in bliss, with a mind unfettered in its researches and a soul unencumbered by infirmity or sin in its aspirations! How incomparably nobler he must be now than when he first entered his heavenly mansion! I did not tell you how of late years the idea of him has strangely interwoven itself with my inner being.” How faithful generally is a sister’s love. Place her by the side of the sick couch, let her have to count over the long dull hours of night, and wait, alone and sleepless, the struggle of the grey dawn into the chamber of suffering—let her be appointed to this ministry for father, mother, sister, or brother, and she feels no weariness, nor owns recollection of self. Miss Hessel never entered the marriage relation. She is not to be undervalued because of her freedom from conjugal engagements. From the ranks of maidenhood have risen some of the noblest specimens of noble womanhood. Long will our soldiers talk of Miss Nightingale moving to and fro on the shores of the Euxine, like an angel of mercy. Long will our navvies think of the happy hours spent in Beckenham, where Miss Marsh taught them to live “soberly, righteously, and godly.” Long will Miss Faithful be remembered by the needy of her own sex in pursuit of employment.

The whole household duties were performed by the mother and her two daughters, and Miss Hessel, in consequence of the delicate health of her sister, took more than her share. After making some observations on “Todd’s Student’s Manual,” she writes her brother: “I am not speaking of it as a whole, for what was written expressly for students cannot be applicable to the case of a woman whose character must ever be domestic, while she humbly strives to be intelligent. I detest the word ‘intellectual’ when applied to a woman. It is impossible for my mind to separate it from those horrid visions of untidy drawers, unmended stockings, neglected families, and all the other characteristics of a slatternly wife.” About six years afterwards, she says to a friend: “I have just been reading an article in a periodical which has amused me greatly. It is on ‘Female Authors.’ Its purport is that an unmarried woman, once fairly convicted of literature, must never expect to sign her marriage-contract, but may make up her mind to solitariness in the world she presumes to create for herself. Miss Landon is the only scribe recognised ‘who was ever invited to change the name she had made famous.’ All married literary women, it is asserted, ‘wore orange-blossom, before they assumed the bay-leaf.’ It is enough to frighten one if matrimony were the great end of our existence. But as I believe that a life of usefulness, in the fullest and best sense of that word—universal usefulness, if you will admit the term—is the highest good of woman, I think that matrimony even should be subservient to this end.” Miss Hessel, to her credit be it said, never neglected domestic duties for literary pursuits. Her aim was not to win for herself the notice of the public, but to build up a monument of usefulness—to make her life a noble and useful one—to build well “both the seen and unseen parts.” “The mistaken idea,” says an excellent lady, “that has generally prevailed, that woman’s work comes intuitively to her, and requires no learning, has caused, and is causing, a vast amount of misery and mischief.”

When a girl, Miss Hessel was tall, delicate, and sickly; a glance at her pale countenance was enough to satisfy any intelligent observer that the activity of the brain was morbid. Rapid growth contributed to physical debility; and at one period she suffered a good deal from tic-douloureux. When she became a woman, she was well-proportioned. Her features resembled those of her sainted brother, and intimate acquaintance was not necessary to prove that there were other than physical approximations.

The intellect was keen, comprehensive, and discriminating. In these hollow times, the female world teems with fantastic puppets of affectation and vanity, but here we have no creature of carnality, but an intelligent woman, with large reflective powers. A refined ideality was early developed, and carefully cultivated by the thorough mastering of our best literature, and especially of our best poetry. In consequence of her capacious memory, and strong imagination, she became almost a reflection of her favourite authors. Her love for poetry, flowers, and everything beautiful in nature or in art, amounted to a passion.

The moral character of Miss Hessel was of still superior glory. Of high spirit she gave ample proof when a pupil, and not beyond her eighth year. In the master’s absence one day, an occurrence transpired which kindled his displeasure. He thought Eliza’s younger sister was the chief culprit, and ordered her into the “naughty corner.” Eliza, knowing her sister’s innocence, rose from her seat, marched boldly forth, brought away the victim, and defiantly exclaimed, “My sister shall not be put into the corner!” However, unmagisterial acquiescence was deemed prudent. To fortitude she added great love of humanity. A purer benevolence has seldom glowed even in the bosom of woman. Of disinterestedness her whole life was one bright example. Like all young people, she had many faults, but as she approached womanhood, she discovered and by Divine assistance corrected them. Her chief excellencies are within the reach of all.