On Thursday morning she was up very early; and had recourse to the Scriptures to calm her mind, as she told Mrs. Lovick:  and, weak as she was, would go in a chair to Lincoln’s-inn chapel, about eleven.  She was brought home a little better; and then sat down to write to her uncle.  But was obliged to leave off several times—­to struggle, as she told Mrs. Lovick, for an humble temper.  ’My heart, said she to the good woman, is a proud heart, and not yet, I find, enough mortified to my condition; but, do what I can, will be for prescribing resenting things to my pen.’

I arrived in town from Belton’s this Thursday evening; and went directly to Smith’s.  She was too ill to receive my visit.  But, on sending up my compliments, she sent me down word that she should be glad to see me in the morning.

Mrs. Lovick obliged me with the copy of a meditation collected by the lady from the Scriptures.  She has entitled it Poor mortals the cause of their own misery; so entitled, I presume, with intention to take off the edge of her repinings at hardships so disproportioned to her fault, were her fault even as great as she is inclined to think it.  We may see, by this, the method she takes to fortify her mind, and to which she owes, in a great measure, the magnanimity with which she bears her undeserved persecutions.

MEDITATION

POOR MORTALS THE CAUSE OF THEIR OWN MISERY.

Say not thou, it is through the Lord that I fell away; for thou oughtest not to do the thing that he hateth.

Say not thou, he hath caused me to err; for he hath no need of the sinful man.

He himself made man from the beginning, and left him in the hand of his own counsel;

If thou wilt, to keep the commandments, and to perform acceptable faithfulness.

He hath set fire and water before thee:  stretch forth thine hand to whither thou wilt.

He hath commanded no man to do wickedly:  neither hath he given any man license to sin.

And now, Lord, what is my hope?  Truly my hope is only in thee.

Deliver me from all my offences:  and make me not a rebuke unto the foolish.

When thou with rebuke dost chasten man for sin, thou makest his beauty to consume away, like as it were a moth fretting a garment:  every man, therefore, is vanity.

Turn thee unto me, and have mercy upon me; for I am desolate and afflicted.

The troubles of my heart are enlarged.  O bring thou me out of my distresses!

***

Mrs. Smith gave me the following particulars of a conversation that passed between herself and a young clergyman, on Tuesday afternoon, who, as it appears, was employed to make inquiries about the lady by her friends.

He came into the shop in a riding-habit, and asked for some Spanish snuff; and finding only Mrs. Smith there, he desired to have a little talk with her in the back-shop.