| But to give a clear idea of the nature and manner of the operation of
God's Spirit, in this wonderful effusion if it, I would give an account
of two particular instances. The first is an adult person, a young woman
whose name was Abigail Hutchinson. I fix upon her especially, because she
is now dead, and so it may be more fit to speak freely of her than of living
instances: though I am under far greater disadvantages, on other accounts,
to give a full and clear narrative of her experiences, than I might of some
others; nor can any account be given but what has been retained in the memories
of her friends, of what they have heard her express in her lifetime.
She was of an intelligent family: there could be nothing in her education
that tended to enthusiasm, but rather to the contrary extreme. It is in
no-wise the temper of the family to be ostentatious of experiences, and
it was far from being her temper. She was, before her conversion, to the
observation of her neighbours, of a sober and inoffensive conversation;
and was a still, quiet, reserved person. She had long been infirm of body,
but her infirmity had never been observed at all to incline her to be notional
or fanciful, or to occasion any thing of religious melancholy. She was under
awakenings scarcely a week, before there seemed to be plain evidence of
her being savingly converted.
She was first awakened in the winter season, on Monday, by something she
heard her brother say of the necessity of being in good earnest in seeking
regenerating grace, together with the news of the conversion of the young
woman before mentioned, whose conversion so generally affected most of the
young people here. This news wrought much upon her, and stirred up a spirit
of envy in her towards this young woman, whom she thought very unworthy
of being distinguished from others by such a mercy; but withal it engaged
her in a firm resolution to do her utmost to obtain the same blessing. Considering
with herself what course she should take, she thought that she had not a
sufficient knowledge of the principles of religion to render her capable
of conversion; whereupon she resolved thoroughly to search the Scriptures;
and accordingly immediately began at the beginning of the Bible, intending
to read it through. She continued thus till Thursday: and then there was
a sudden alteration, by a great increase of her concern in an extraordinary
sense of her own sinfulness, particularly the sinfulness of her nature,
and wickedness of her heart. This came upon her, as she expressed it, as
a flash of lightning, and struck her into an exceeding terror. Upon which
she left off reading the Bible, in course, as she had begun; and turned
to the New Testament, to see if she could not find some relief there for
her distressed soul.
Her great terror, she said, was, that she had sinned against God: her distress
grew more and more for three days; until she saw nothing but blackness of
darkness before her, and her very flesh trembled for fear of God's wrath:
she wondered and was astonished at herself, that she had been so concerned
for her body, and had applied so often to physicians to heal that, and had
neglected her soul. Her sinfulness appeared with a very awful aspect to
her, especially in three things; viz. her original sin, and her sin in murmuring
at God's providence-in the weakness and afflictions she had been under-and
in want of duty to parents, though others had looked upon her to excel in
dutifulness. On Saturday, she was so earnestly engaged in reading the Bible
and other books, that she continued in it, searching for something to relieve
her, till her eyes were so dim that she could not know the letters. While
she was thus engaged in reading, prayer, and other religious exercises,
she thought of those words of Christ, wherein He warns us not to be as the
heathen, that think they shall be heard for their much speaking; which,
she said, led her to see that she had trusted to her own prayers and religious
performances, and now she was put to a nonplus, and knew not which way to
turn herself, or where to seek relief.
While her mind was in this posture, her heart, she said, seemed to fly,
to the minister for refuge, hoping that he could give her some relief. She
came the same day to her brother, with the countenance of a person in distress,
expostulating with him, why he had not told her more of her sinfulness,
and earnestly inquiring of him what she should do. She seemed that day to
feel in herself an enmity against the Bible, which greatly affrighted her.
Her sense of her own exceeding sinfulness continued increasing from Thursday
till Monday and she gave this account of it: That it had been her opinion,
till now, she was not guilty of Adam's sin, nor any way concerned in it,
because she was not active in it; but that now she saw she was guilty of
that sin, and all over defiled by it; and the sin which she brought into
the world with her, was alone sufficient to condemn her.
On the Sabbath-day she was so ill, that her friends thought it best that
she should not go to public worship, of which she seemed very desirous:
but when she went to bed on the Sabbath night, she took up a resolution,
that she would the next morning go to the minister, hoping to find some
relief there. As she awakened on Monday morning, a little before day, she
wondered within herself at the easiness and calmness she felt in her mind,
which was of that kind she never felt before. As she thought of this, such
words as these were in her mind: The words of the Lord are pure words, health
to the soul, and marrow to the bones: and then these words, The blood of
Christ cleanses from all sin; which were accompanied with a lively sense
of the excellency of Christ, and His sufficiency to satisfy for the sins
of the whole world. She then thought of that expression, It is a pleasant
thing for the eyes to behold the sun; which words then seemed to her to
be very applicable to Jesus Christ. By these things her mind was led into
such contemplations and views of Christ, as filled her exceeding full of
joy. She told her brother, in the morning, that she had seen (i.e. in realising
views by faith) Christ the last night, and that she had really thought that
she had not knowledge enough to be converted; but, says she, God can make
it quite easy! On Monday she felt all day a constant sweetness in her soul.
She had a repetition of the same discoveries of Christ three mornings together,
and much in the same manner, at each time, waking a little before day; but
brighter and brighter every day.
At the last time, on Wednesday morning, while in the enjoyment of a spiritual
view of Christ's glory and fullness, her soul was filled with distress for
Christless persons, to consider what a miserable condition they were in.
She felt a strong inclination immediately to go forth to warn sinners; and
proposed it the next day to her brother to assist her in going from house
to house; but her brother restrained her, by telling her of the unsuitableness
of such a method. She told one of her sisters that day, that she loved all
mankind, but especially the people of God. Her sister asked her why she
loved all mankind. She replied, Because God has made them. After this, there
happened to come into the shop where she was at work, three persons who
were thought to have been lately converted: her seeing of them, as they
stepped in one after another, so affected her, and so drew forth her love
to them, that it overcame her, and she almost fainted. When they began to
talk of the things of religion, it was more than she could bear; they were
obliged to cease on that account. It was a very frequent thing with her
to be overcome with the flow of affection to them whom she thought godly,
in conversation with them, and sometimes only at the sight of them.
She had many extraordinary discoveries of the glory of God and Christ; sometimes,
in some particular attributes, and sometimes in many. She gave an account,
that once, as those four words passed through her mind, WISDOM, JUSTICE,
GOODNESS, and TRUTH, her soul was filled with a sense of the glory of each
of these divine attributes, but especially the last. Truth, said she, sunk
the deepest! And, therefore, as these words passed, this was repeated, TRUTH,TRUTH!
Her mind was so swallowed up with a sense of the glory of God's truth and
other perfections, that she said, it seemed as though her life was going,
and that she saw it was easy with God to take away her life by discoveries
of Himself. Soon after this she went to a private religious meeting, and
her mind was full of a sense and view of the glory of God all the time.
When the exercise was ended, some asked her concerning what she had experienced,
and she began to give an account, but as she was relating it, it revived
such a sense of the same things, that her strength failed, and they were
obliged to take her and lay her upon the bed. Afterwards she was greatly
affected, and rejoiced with these words, Worthy is the Lamb that was slain!
She had several days together a sweet sense of the excellency and loveliness
of Christ in His meekness, which disposed her continually to be repeating
over these words, which were sweet to her, meek and lowly in heart, meek
and lowly in heart. She once expressed herself to one of her sisters to
this purpose, that she had continued whole days and whole nights, in a constant
ravishing view of the glory of God and Christ, having enjoyed as much as
her life could bear. Once, as her brother was speaking of the dying love
of Christ, she told him, she had such a sense of it, that the mere mentioning
of it was ready to overcome her.
Once, when she came to me, she said,-that at such and such a time, she thought
she saw as much of God, and had as much joy and pleasure, as was possible
in this life; and that yet, afterwards, God discovered Himself far more
abundantly. She saw the same things as before, yet more clearly, and in
a far more excellent and delightful manner; and was filled with a more exceeding
sweetness. She likewise gave me such an account of the sense she once had,
from day to day, of the glory of Christ, and of God, in His various attributes,
that it seemed to me she dwelt for days together in a kind of beatific vision
of God; and seemed to have, as I thought, as immediate an intercourse with
Him, as a child with a father. At the same time, she appeared most remote
from any high thought of herself, and of her own sufficiency; but was like
a little child, and expressed a great desire to be instructed, telling me
that she longed very often to come to me for instruction, and wanted to
live at my house, that I might tell her what was her duty.
She often expressed a sense of the glory of God appearing in the trees,
the growth of the fields, and other works of God's hands. She told her sister
who lived near the heart of the town, that she once thought it a pleasant
thing to live in the middle of the town, but now, says she, I think it much
more pleasant to sit and see the wind blowing the trees, and to behold in
the country what GOD has made. She had sometimes the powerful breathings
of the Spirit of God on her soul, while reading the Scripture; and would
express her sense of the certain truth and divinity thereof. She sometimes
would appear with a pleasant smile on her countenance; and once, when her
sister took notice of it, and asked why she smiled, she replied, I am brim-full
of a sweet feeling within. She often used to express how good and sweet
it was to lie low before God, and the lower (says she) the better! and that
it was pleasant to think of lying in the dust, all the days of her life,
mourning for sin. She was wont to manifest a great sense of her own meanness
and dependence. She often expressed an exceeding compassion, and pitiful
love, which she found in her heart towards persons in a Christless condition.
This was sometimes so strong, that, as she was passing by such in the streets,
or those that she feared were such, she would be overcome by the sight of
them. She once said, that she longed to have the whole world saved; she
wanted, as it were, to pull them all to her, she could not bear to have
one lost.
She had great longings to die, that she might be with Christ: which increased
until she thought she did not know how to be patient to wait till God's
time. But once, when she felt those longings, she thought with herself,
If I long to die, why do I go to physicians? Whence she concluded that her
longings for death were not well regulated. After this she often put it
to herself, which she should choose, whether to live or to die, to be sick
or to be well; and she found she could not tell, till at last she found
herself disposed to say these words: I am quite willing to live, and quite
willing to die; quite willing to be sick, and quite willing to be well;
and quite willing for any thing that God will bring upon me! And then, said
she, I felt myself perfectly easy, in a full submission to the will of God.
She then lamented much, that she had been so eager in her longings for death,
as it argued want of such a resignation to God as ought to be. She seemed
henceforward to continue in this resigned frame till death.
After this, her illness increased upon her: and once after she had before
spent the greater part of the night in extreme pain, she waked out of a
little sleep with these words in her heart and mouth; "I am willing
to suffer for Christ's sake, I am willing to spend and be spent for Christ's
sake; I am willing to spend my life, even my very life, for Christ's sake!"
And though she had an extraordinary resignation with respect to life or
death, yet the thoughts of dying were exceeding sweet to her. At a time
when her brother was reading in Job, concerning worms feeding on the dead
body, she appeared with a pleasant smile; and being asked about it, she
said, It was sweet to her to think of her being in such circumstances. At
another time, when her brother mentioned the danger there seemed to be,
that the illness she laboured under might be an occasion of her death, it
filled her with joy that almost overcame her. At another time, when she
met a company following a corpse to the grave, she said, it was sweet to
her to think that they would in a little time follow her in like manner.
Her illness, in the latter part of it, was seated much in her throat; and
an inward swelling filled up the pipe, so that she could swallow nothing
but what was perfectly liquid and but very little of that, with great and
long strugglings. That which she took in fled out at her nostrils, till
at last she could swallow nothing at all. She had a raging appetite for
food; so that she told her sister, when talking with her about her circumstances,
that the worst bit would be sweet to her; but yet, when she saw that she
could not swallow it, she seemed to be as perfectly contented without it,
as if she had no appetite. Others were greatly moved to see what she underwent,
and were filled with admiration at her unexampled patience. At a time when
she was striving in vain to get down a little of something liquid, and was
very much spent with it; she looked upon her sister with a smile, saying,
O sister, this is for my good! At another time, when her sister was speaking
of what she underwent, she told her, that she lived a heaven upon earth
for all that. She used sometimes to say to her sister, under her extreme
sufferings, It is good to be so! Her sister once asked her, why she said
so; why, says she, because God would have it so: it is best that things
should be as God would have them: it looks best to me. After her confinement,
as they were leading her from the bed to the door, she seemed overcome by
the sight of things abroad, as showing forth the glory of the Being who
had made them. As she lay on her death-bed, she would often say these words,
God is my friend! And once, looking upon her sister with a smile, said,
O sister, How good it is! How sweet and comfortable it is to consider, and
think of heavenly things! and used this argument to persuade her sister
to be much in such meditations.
She expressed, on her death-bed, an exceeding longing, both for persons
in a natural state, that they might be converted, and for the godly, that
they might see and know more of God. And when those who looked on themselves
as in a Christless state came to see her, she would be greatly moved with
compassionate affection. One in particular, who seemed to be in great distress
about the state of her soul, and had come to see her from time to time,
she desired her sister to persuade not to come any more, because the sight
of her so wrought on her compassions, that it overcame her nature. The same
week that she died, when she was in distressing circumstances as to her
body, some of her neighbors who came to see her, asked if she was willing
to die! She replied, that she was quite willing either to live or die; she
was willing to be in pain; she was willing to be so always as she was then,
if that was the will of God. She willed what God willed. They asked her
whether she was willing to die that night. She answered, Yes, if it be God's
will. And seemed to speak all with that perfect composure of spirit, and
with such a cheerful and pleasant countenance, that it filled them with
admiration.
She was very weak a considerable time before she died, having pined away
with famine and thirst, so that her flesh seemed to be dried upon her bones;
and therefore could say but little, and manifested her mind very much by
signs. She said she had matter enough to fill up all her time with talk,
if she had but strength. A few days before her death, some asked her, Whether
she held her integrity still? Whether she was not afraid of death? She answered
to this purpose, that she had not the least degree of fear of death. They
asked her why she would be so confident? She answered, If I should say otherwise,
I should speak contrary to what I know. There is, said she, indeed, a dark
entry, that looks something dark, but on the other side there appears such
a bright shining light, that I cannot be afraid! She said not long before
she died, that she used to be afraid how she should grapple with death;
but, says she, God has showed me that He can make it easy in great pain.
Several days before she died, she could scarcely say any thing but just
Yes, and No, to questions that were asked her; for she seemed to be dying
for three days together. But seemed to continue in an admirably sweet composure
of soul, without any interruption, to the last, and died as a person that
went to sleep, without any struggling, about noon, on Friday, June 27, 1735.
She had long been infirm, and often had been exercised with great pain;
but she died chiefly of famine. It was, doubtless, partly owing to her bodily
weakness, that her nature was so often overcome, and ready to sink with
gracious affection; but yet the truth was, that she had more grace, and
greater discoveries of God and Christ, than the present frail state did
well consist with. She wanted to be where strong grace might have more liberty,
and be without the clog of a weak body; there she longed to be, and there
she doubtless now is. She was looked upon amongst us, as a very eminent
instance of Christian experience; but this is but a very broken and imperfect
account I have given of her: her eminency would much more appear, if her
experiences were fully related, as she was wont to express and manifest
them, while living. I once read this account to some of her pious neighbours,
who were acquainted with her, who said, to this purpose, that the picture
fell much short of the life; and particularly that it much failed of duly
representing her humility, and that admirable lowliness of heart, that all
times appeared in her. But there are, blessed be God! many living instances,
of much the like nature, and in some things no less extraordinary.
But I now proceed to the other instance, that of the little child before
mentioned. Her name is Phebe Bartlet, (Footnote: She was living in March,
1789, and maintained the character of a true convert.) daughter of William
Bartlet. I shall give the account as I took it from the mouth of her parents,
whose veracity none who know them doubt of.
She was born in March, 1731. About the latter end of April, or beginning
of May, 1735, she was greatly affected by the talk of her brother, who had
been hopefully converted a little before, at about eleven years of age,
and then seriously talked to her about the great things of religion. Her
parents did not know of it at that time, and were not wont, in the counsels
they gave to their children, particularly to direct themselves to her, being
so young, and, as they supposed, not capable of understanding. But after
her brother had talked to her, they observed her very earnestly listen to
the advice they gave to the other children; and she was observed very constantly
to retire, several times in a day, as was concluded, for secret prayer.
She grew more and more engaged in religion, and was more frequent in her
closet; till at last she was wont to visit it five or six times a day: and
was so engaged in it, that nothing would at any time divert her from her
stated closet exercises. Her mother often observed and watched her, when
such things occurred as she thought most likely to divert her, either by
putting it out of her thoughts, or otherwise engaging her inclinations;
but never could observe her to fail. She mentioned some very remarkable
instances.
She once of her own accord spake of her unsuccessfulness, in that she could
not find God, or to that purpose. But on Thursday, the last day of July,
about the middle of the day, the child being in the closet, where it used
to retire, its mother heard it speaking aloud; which was unusual, and never
had been observed before. And her voice seemed to be as of one exceedingly
importunate and engaged; but her mother could distinctly hear only these
words, spoken in a childish manner, but with extraordinary earnestness,
and out of distress of soul, pray, blessed Lord, give me salvation! I pray,
beg, pardon all my sins! When the child had done prayer, she came out of
the closet, sat down by her mother, and cried out aloud. Her mother very
earnestly asked her several times what the matter was, before she would
make any answer; but she continued crying, and writhing her body to and
fro, like one in anguish of spirit. Her mother then asked her, whether she
was afraid that God would not give her salvation. She then answered, Yes,
1 am afraid I shall go to hell! Her mother then endeavoured to quiet her,
and told her she would not have her cry, she must be a good girl, and pray
every day, and she hoped God would give her salvation. But this did not
quiet her at all; she continued thus earnestly crying, and taking on for
some time, till at length she suddenly ceased crying, and began to smile,
and presently said with a smiling countenance, Mother, the kingdom of heaven
is come to me! Her mother was surprised at the sudden alteration, and at
the speech; and knew not what to make of it; but at first said nothing to
her. The child presently spake again, and said, There is another come to
me, and there is another, there is three; and being asked what she meant,
she answered, One is, Thy will be done, and there is another, Enjoy Him
for ever; by which it seems, that when the child said, There is three come
to me; she meant three passages of her catechism that came to her mind.
After the child had said this, she retired again into her closet, and her
mother went over to her brother's, who was next neighbour; and when she
came back, the child, being come out of the closet, meets her mother with
this cheerful speech; I can find God now! referring to what she had before
complained of, that she could not find God. Then the child spoke again and
said, I love God! Her mother asked her, how well she loved God, whether
she loved God better than her father and mother. She said, Yes. Then she
asked her, whether she loved God better than her little sister Rachel. She
answered, Yes, better than any thing! Then her elder sister, referring to
her saying she could find God now, asked her, where she could find God.
She answered, In heaven. Why, said she, have you been in heaven? No, said
the child. By this it seems not to have been any imagination of any thing
seen with bodily eyes, that she called God, when she said, I can find God
now. Her mother asked her, whether she was afraid of going to hell, and
if that had made her cry? She answered, Yes, I was; but now I shan't. Her
mother asked her, whether she thought that God had given her salvation:
she answered, Yes. Her mother asked her. When? She answered, Today. She
appeared all that afternoon exceeding cheerful and joyful. One of the neighbors
asked her, how she felt herself?. She answered, I feel better than I did.
The neighbor asked her, what made her feel better. She answered, God makes
me. That evening, as she lay a-bed, she called one of her little cousins
to her, who was present in the room, as having something to say to him;
and when he came, she told him, that heaven was better than earth. The next
day, her mother asked her what God made her for? She answered, To serve
him; and added, Every body should serve God, and get an interest in Christ.
The same day the elder children, when they came home from school, seemed
much affected with the extraordinary change that seemed to be made in Phebe.
And her sister Abigail standing by, her mother took occasion to counsel
her, now to improve her time, to prepare for another world. On which Phebe
burst out in tears, and cried out, Poor Nabby! Her mother told her, she
would not have her cry; she hoped that God would give Nabby salvation; but
that did not quiet her, she continued earnestly crying for some time. When
she had in a measure ceased, her sister Eunice being by her, she burst out
again, and cried, Poor Eunice! and cried exceedingly; and when she had almost
done, she went into another room, and there looked upon her sister Naomi:
and burst out again, crying, Poor Amy! Her mother was greatly affected at
such a behaviour in a child, and knew not what to say to her. One of the
neighbours coming in a little after, asked her what she had cried for. She
seemed at first backward to tell the reason: her mother told her she might
tell that person, for he had given her an apple: upon which she said, she
cried because she was afraid they would go to hell.
At night, a certain minister, who was occasionally in the town, was at the
house, and talked with her of religious things. After he was gone, she sat
leaning on the table, with tears running from her eyes; and being asked
what made her cry, she said, It was thinking about God. The next day, being
Saturday, she seemed great part of the day to be in a very affectionate
frame, had four turns of crying and seemed to endeavour to curb herself,
and hide her tears, and was very backward to talk of the occasion. On the
Sabbath-day she was asked, whether she believed in God; she answered, Yes.
And being told that Christ was the Son of God, she made ready answer, and
said, I know it.
From this time there appeared a very remarkable abiding change in the child.
She has been very strict upon the Sabbath; and seems to long for the Sabbath-day
before it comes, and will often in the week time be inquiring how long it
is to the Sabbath-day, and must have the days between particularly counted
over, before she will be contented. She seems to love God's house, and is
very eager to go thither. Her mother once asked her, why she had such a
mind to go? whether it was not to see fine folks? She said, No, it was to
hear Mr. Edwards preach. When she is in the place of worship, she is very
far from spending her time there as children at her age usually do, but
appears with an attention that is very extraordinary for such a child. She
also appears very desirous at all opportunities to go to private religious
meetings; and is very still and attentive at home, during prayer, and has
appeared affected in time of family-prayer. She seems to delight much in
hearing religious conversation. When I once was there with some strangers,
and talked to her something of religion, she seemed more than ordinarily
attentive; and when we were gone, she looked out very wistfully after us,
and said, I wish they would come again! Her mother asked her, Why? Says
she, I love to hear 'em talk.
She seems to have very much of the fear of God before her eyes, and an extraordinary
dread of sinning against Him; of which her mother mentioned the following
remarkable instance. Some time in August, the last year, she went with some
bigger children to get some plums in a neighbour's lot, knowing nothing
of any harm in what she did; but when she brought some of the plums into
the house, her mother mildly reproved her, and told her that she must not
get plums without leave, because it was sin: God had commanded her not to
steal. The child seemed greatly surprised, and burst out in tears, and cried
out, I won't have these plums! and turning to her sister Eunice, very earnestly
said to her, Why did you ask me to go to that plum tree? I should not have
gone, if you had not asked me. The other children did not seem to be much
affected or concerned; but there was no pacifying Phebe. Her mother told
her, she might go and ask leave, and then it would not be sin for her to
eat them; and sent one of the children to that end; and, when she returned,
her mother told her that the owner had given leave, now she might eat them,
and it would not be stealing. This stilled her a little while; but presently
she broke out again into an exceeding fit of crying. Her mother asked her,
What made her cry again? Why she cried now, since they had asked leave?
What it was that troubled her now? And asked her several times very earnestly,
before she made any answer; but at last said, It was because, because it
was sin. She continued a considerable time crying; and said she would not
go again if Eunice asked her an hundred times; and she retained her aversion
to that fruit for a considerable time, under the remembrance of her former
sin.
She sometimes appears greatly affected, and delighted with texts of Scripture
that come to her mind. Particularly about the beginning of November, that
text came to her mind, Rev. 3.20, "Behold, I stand at the door, and
knock: if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in, and
sup with him, and he with me." She spoke of it to those of the family
with a great appearance of joy, a smiling countenance, and elevation of
voice; and afterwards she went into another room, where her mother overheard
her talking very earnestly to the children about it; and particularly heard
her say to them, three or four times over, with an air of exceeding joy
and admiration, Why, it is to sup with God. Some time about the middle of
winter, very late in the night, when all were a-bed, her mother perceived
that she was awake, and heard her, as though she was weeping. She called
to her, and asked her what was the matter. She answered with a low voice,
so that her mother could not hear what she said; but thinking that it might
be occasioned by some spiritual affection, said no more to her: but perceived
her to lie awake, and to continue in the same frame, for a considerable
time. The next morning she asked her, whether she did not cry the last night.
The child answered, Yes, I did cry a little, for I was thinking about God
and Christ, and they loved me. Her mother asked her, whether to think of
God and Christ loving her made her cry? She answered, Yes, it does sometimes.
She has often manifested a great concern for the good of others' souls:
and has been wont many times affectionately to counsel the other children.
Once, about the latter end of September, the last year, when she and some
others of the children were in a room by themselves, husking Indian corn,
the child, after a while, came out and sat by the fire. Her mother took
notice that she appeared with a more than ordinary serious and pensive countenance;
but at last she broke silence, and said, I have been talking to Nabby and
Eunice. Her mother asked her what she had said to them. Why, said she, I
told them they must pray, and prepare to die; that they had but a little
while to live in this world, and they must be always ready. When Nabby came
out, her mother asked her, whether she had said that to them. Yes, said
she, She said that, and a great deal more. At other times, the child took
opportunities to talk to the other children about the great concern of their
souls, so as much to affect them. She was once exceeding importunate with
her mother to go with her sister Naomi to pray: her mother endeavoured to
put her off; but she pulled her by the sleeve, and seemed as if she would
by no means be denied. At last her mother told her, that Amy must go and
pray by herself; but, says the child, she will not go; and persisted earnestly
to beg of her mother to go with her.
She has discovered an uncommon degree of a spirit of charity, particularly
on the following occasion. A poor man that lives in the woods, had lately
lost a cow that the family much depended on; and being at the house, he
was relating his misfortune, and telling of the straits and difficulties
they were reduced to by it. She took much notice of it, and it wrought exceedingly
on her compassion. After she had attentively heard him awhile, she went
away to her father, who was in the shop, and entreated him to give that
man a cow: and told him, that the poor man had no cow! that the hunters,
or something else, had killed his cow! and entreated him to give him one
of theirs. Her father told her that they could not spare one. Then she entreated
him to let him and his family come and live at his house: and had much more
talk of the same nature, whereby she manifested bowels of compassion to
the poor.
She has manifested great love to her minister: particularly when I returned
from my long journey for my health, the last fall. When she heard of it,
she appeared very joyful at the news, and told the children of it, with
an elevated voice, as the most joyful tidings; repeating it over and over.
Mr. Edwards is come home! Mr. Edwards is come home! She still continues
very constant in secret prayer, so far as can be observed, for she seems
to have no desire that others should observe her when she retires, being
a child of a reserved temper. Every night, before she goes to bed, she will
say her catechism, and will by no means miss. She never forgot it but once,
and then, after she was a-bed, thought of it, and cried out in tears, I
han't said my catechism! and would not be quieted till her mother asked
her the catechism as she lay in bed. She sometimes appears to be in doubt
about the condition of her soul; and when asked, whether she thinks that
she is prepared for death, speaks something doubtfully about it. At other
times she seems to have no doubt, but when asked, replies, Yes, without
hesitation.
In the former part of this great work of God amongst us, till it got to
His height, we seemed to be wonderfully smiled upon and blessed in all respects.
Satan seemed to be unusually restrained; persons who before had been involved
in melancholy, seemed to be as it were waked up out of it; and those who
had been entangled with extraordinary temptations, seemed wonderfully freed.
And not only so, but it was the most remarkable time of health that ever
I knew since I have been in the town. We ordinarily have several bills put
up, every Sabbath, for sick persons; but now we had not so much as one for
many sabbaths together. But after this it seemed to be otherwise.
When this work of God appeared to be at its greatest height, a poor weak
man who belongs to the town, being in great spiritual trouble, was hurried
with violent temptations to cut his own throat, and made an attempt, but
did not do it effectually. He, after this, continued a considerable time
exceedingly overwhelmed with melancholy; but has not for a long time been
very greatly delivered, by the light of God's countenance lifted up upon
him, and has expressed a great sense of his sin in so far yielding to temptation;
and there are in him all hopeful evidences of his having been made a subject
of saving mercy.
In the latter part of May, it began to be very sensible that the Spirit
of God was gradually withdrawing from us, and after this time Satan seemed
to be more let loose, and raged in a dreadful manner. The first instance
wherein it appeared, was a person putting an end to his own life by cutting
his throat. He was a gentleman of more than common understanding, of strict
morals, religious in his behaviour, and a useful and honourable person in
the town; but was of a family that are exceedingly prone to the disease
of melancholy, and his mother was killed with it. He had, from the beginning
of this extraordinary time, been exceedingly concerned about the state of
his soul, and there were some things in his experience that appeared very
hopeful; but he durst entertain no hope concerning his own good estate.
Towards the latter part of his time, he grew much discouraged, and melancholy
grew again upon him, till he was wholly overpowered by it, and was in a
great measure past a capacity of receiving advice, or being reasoned with
to any purpose. The devil took the advantage, and drove him into despairing
thoughts. He was kept awake at nights, meditating terror, so that he had
scarce any sleep at all for a long time together; and it was observed at
last, that he was scarcely well capable of managing his ordinary business,
and was judged delirious by the coroner's inquest. The news of this extraordinarily
affected the minds of people here, and struck them as it were with astonishment.
After this, multitudes in this and other towns seemed to have it strongly
suggested to them, and pressed upon them, to do as this person had done.
And many who seemed to be under no melancholy, some pious persons who had
no special darkness or doubts about the goodness of their state-nor were
under any special trouble or concern of mind about any thing spiritual or
temporal-had it urged upon them as if somebody had spoke to them, Cut your
throat, now is a good opportunity. Now! now! So that they were obliged to
fight with all their might to resist it, and yet no reason suggested to
them why they should do it.
About the same time, there were two remarkable instances of persons led
away with strange enthusiastic delusions; one at Suffield, and another at
South Hadley. That which has made the greatest noise in the country was
the conduct of the man at South Hadley, whose delusion was, that he thought
himself divinely instructed to direct a poor man in melancholy and despairing
circumstances, to say certain words in prayer to God, as recorded in Psalm
cxvi. 4, for his own relief. The man is esteemed a pious man. I have seen
this error of his, had a particular acquaintance with him, and I believe
none would question his piety who had such acquaintance. He gave me a particular
account of the manner how he was deluded, which is too long to be here inserted;
but, in short, he exceedingly rejoiced, and was elevated with the extraordinary
work carried on in this part of the country; and was possessed with an opinion,
that it was the beginning of the glorious times of the church spoken of
in Scripture. He had read it as the opinion of some divines, that many in
these times should be endued with extraordinary gifts of the Holy Ghost,
and had embraced the notion, though he had at first no apprehensions that
any besides ministers would have such gifts. But he since exceedingly laments
the dishonour he has done to God, and the wound he has given religion in
it, and has lain low before God and man for it.
After these things, the instances of conversion were rare here in comparison
of what they had before been, though that remarkable instance before noticed
of the little child, was after this. The Spirit of God, not long after this
time, appeared very sensibly withdrawing from all parts of the country,
though we have heard of the work going on in some places of Connecticut,
and that it continues to be carried on even to this day. But religion remained
here, and I believe in some other places, the main subject of conversation
for several months after. And there were some turns, wherein God's work
seemed to revive, and we were ready to hope that all was going to be renewed
again; yet, in the main, there was a gradual decline of that general, engaged,
lively spirit in religion, which had been. Several things have happened
since, which have diverted people's minds, and turned their conversation
more to other affairs; particularly his Excellency the Governor's coming
up, and the Committee of general court, on the treaty with the Indians.
Afterwards, the Springfield controversy; and since that, our people in this
town have been engaged in the building of a new meeting-house. Some other
occurrences might be mentioned, that have seemed to have this effect. But
as to those who have been thought converted at this time, they generally
seem to have had an abiding change wrought on them. I have had particular
acquaintance with many of them since; and they generally appear to be persons
who have a new sense of things, new apprehensions and views of God, of the
divine attributes of Jesus Christ, and the great things of the gospel. They
have a new sense of their truth, and they affect them in a new manner; though
it is very far from being always alike with them, neither can they revive
a sense of things when they please. Their hearts are often touched, and
sometimes filled, with new sweetnesses and delights; there seems to express
an inward ardour and burning of heart, like to which they never experienced
before; sometimes, perhaps, occasioned only by the mention of Christ's name,
or some one of the divine perfections. There are new appetites, and a new
kind of breathings and pantings of heart, and groanings that cannot be uttered.
There is a new kind of inward labour and struggle of soul towards heaven
and holiness.
Some who before were very rough in their temper and manners, seemed to be
remarkably softened and sweetened. And some have had their souls exceedingly
filled, and overwhelmed with light, love, and comfort, long since the work
of God has ceased to be so remarkably carried on in a general way; and some
have had much greater experiences of this nature than they had before. There
is still a great deal of religious conversation continued in the town, amongst
young and old; a religious disposition appears to be still maintained amongst
our people, by their holding frequent private religious meetings; and all
sorts are generally worshipping God at such meetings on Sabbath-nights,
and in the evening after our public lecture. Many children in the town still
keep up such meetings among themselves. I know of no one young person in
the town who has returned to former ways of looseness and extravagance in
any respect; but we still remain a reformed people, and God has evidently
made us a new people.
I cannot say that there has been no instance of any one person who has conducted
himself unworthily; nor am I so vain as to imagine that we have not been
mistaken in our good opinion concerning any; or that there are none who
pass amongst us for sheep, that are indeed wolves in sheep's clothing; and
who probably may, some time or other, discover themselves by their fruits.
We are not so pure, but that we have great cause to be humbled and ashamed
that we are so impure; nor so religious, but that those who watch for our
halting, may see things in us, whence they may take occasion to reproach
us and religion. But in the main, there has been a great and marvellous
work of conversion and sanctification among the people here; and they have
paid all due respect to those who have been blest of God to be the instruments
of it. Both old and young have shown a forwardness to hearken not only to
my counsels, but even to my reproofs, from the pulpit.
A great part of the country have not received the most favourable thoughts
of this affair; and to this day many retain a jealousy concerning it, and
prejudice against it. I have reason to think that the meanness and weakness
of the instrument, that has been made use of in this town, has prejudiced
many against it; nor does it appear to me strange that it should be so.
But yet the circumstance of this great work of God is analogous to other
circumstances of it. God has so ordered the manner of the work in many respects,
as very signally and remarkably to show it to be His own peculiar and immediate
work; and to secure the glory of it wholly to His almighty power, and sovereign
grace. And whatever the circumstances and means have been, and though we
are so unworthy, yet so hath it pleased God to work! And we are evidently
a people blessed of the Lord! For here, in this corner of the world, God
dwells, and manifests His glory.
Thus, Reverend Sir, I have given a large and particular account of this
remarkable affair; and yet, considering how manifold God's works have been
amongst us, it is but a very brief one. I should have sent it much sooner,
had I not been greatly hindered by illness in my family, and also in my
own person. It is probably much larger than you expected, and, it may be,
than you would have chosen. I thought that the extraordinary nature of the
thing, and the innumerable misrepresentations which have gone abroad of
it, many of which, doubtless, have reached your ears, made it necessary
that I should be particular. But I would leave it entirely with your wisdom
to make what use of it you think best, to send a part of it to England,
or all, or none, if you think it not worthy; or otherwise to dispose of
it as you may think most for God's glory, and the interest of religion.
If you are pleased to send any thing to the Rev. Dr. Guyse, I should be
glad to have it signified to him, as my humble desire, that since he and
the congregation to which he preached, have been pleased to take so much
notice of us, as they have, that they would also think of us at the throne
of grace, and seek there for us, that God would not forsake us, but enable
us to bring forth fruit answerable to our profession, and our mercies; and
that our "light may so shine before men, that others seeing our good
works, may glorify our Father which is in heaven."
When I first heard of the notice the Rev. Dr. Watts and Dr. Guyse took of
God's mercies to us, I took occasion to inform our congregation of it in
a discourse from these words-A city that set upon a hill cannot be hid.
And having since seen a particular account of the notice which the Rev.
Dr. Guyse and his congregation took of it, in a letter you wrote to my honoured
uncle Williams, I read that part of your letter to the congregation, and
laboured as much as in me lay to enforce their duty from it. The congregation
were very sensibly moved and affected at both times.
I humbly request of you, Reverend Sir, your prayers for this county, in
its present melancholy circumstances, into which it is brought by the Springfield
quarrel; which, doubtless, above all things that have happened, has tended
to put a stop to the glorious work here, and to prejudice this country against
it, and hinder the propagation of it. I also ask your prayers for this town,
and would particularly beg an interest in them for him who is,
Honoured Sir,
With humble respect,
Your obedient Son and Servant,
Jonathan Edwards.
Northampton,
Nov. 6, 1736. |