THE DAIRYMAN’S DAUGHTER
A true account by Rev.
Legh Richmond of the Isle of Wight (1772–1825)
[Reproduced (with minor editing) from a booklet produced by Academy Books,
U.K., 1994, with written permission.]
Part 1 of 2
Preface
It is a delightful employment to trace and discover the operations of divine
grace, as they are manifested in the dispositions and lives of God’s real
children. It is peculiarly gratifying to observe how frequently, among the
poorer classes of mankind, the sunshine of mercy beams upon the heart, and
bears witness to the image of Christ, which the Spirit of God has impressed
thereupon. Among such, the sincerity and simplicity of the Christian character
appear unencumbered by those fetters to spirituality of mind and conversation
which too often prove a great hindrance to those who live in the higher ranks.
Many are the difficulties which riches, polished society, worldly importance,
and high connections throw in the way of religious profession. Happy indeed it
is, (and some such happy instances I know), where grace has so strikingly
supported its conflict with natural pride, self-importance, the allurements of
luxury, ease, and worldly opinions, that the noble and mighty appear adorned
with genuine poverty of spirit, self-denial, humble-mindedness, and deep
spirituality of heart.
But in general, if we want to see religion in its purest character, we must
look for it among the poor of this world, who are rich in faith. How often is
the poor man’s cottage the palace of God! Many of us can truly declare that we
have there learned our most valuable lessons of faith and hope, and there
witnessed the most striking demonstrations of the wisdom, the power, and the
goodness of God.
Introduction
The character, which the present narrative is designed to introduce to the
notice of my readers, is given from real life and circumstance. I first became
acquainted with the dairyman’s daughter by the reception of a letter, a part of
which I transcribe from the original, now before me.
Rev. Sir,
I take the liberty to write to you. Pray excuse me, for I have never spoken to
you. But I once heard you preach at Arreton church. I believe you are a
faithful preacher, to warn sinners to flee from the wrath that will be revealed
against all those that live in sin and die impenitent. I was much rejoiced to
hear of those marks of love and affection which you showed to that poor soldier
of the S.D. militia. Surely the love of Christ sent you to that poor man; may
that love ever dwell richly in you by faith. May it constrain you to seek the
wandering souls of men, with the fervent desire to spend and be spent for His
glory.
Sir, be fervent in prayer with God for the conviction and conversion of
sinners. He has promised to answer the prayer of faith, that is put up in His
Son’s name. “Ask what you will, and it shall be granted you.” Through faith in
Christ we rejoice in hope, and look up in expectation of that time drawing
near, when all shall know and fear the Lord, and when a nation shall be born in
a day.
What a happy time, when Christ’s kingdom shall come! Then shall His will be
done on earth, as it is in heaven. Men shall be daily fed with the manna of his
love, and delight themselves in the Lord all the day long. Sir, I began to
write this on Sunday, being detained from attending on public worship. My dear
and only sister, living as a servant with Mrs —, was so ill that I came here to
attend in her place, and on her. But now she is no more.
She expressed a desire to receive the Lord’s Supper, and commemorate His
precious death and sufferings. I told her, as well as I was able, what it was
to receive Christ into her heart; but as her weakness of body increased, she
did not mention it again. She seemed quite resigned before she died. I do hope
she has gone from a world of death and sin to be with God for ever.
My sister expressed a wish that you might bury her. The Minister of our parish,
whither she will be carried, cannot come. She died on Tuesday morning, and will
be buried on Friday or Saturday, whichever is most convenient to you, at three
o’clock in the afternoon. Please to send an answer by the bearer, to let me
know whether you can comply with this request.
From your unworthy servant,
Elizabeth Wallbridge.
I was much struck with the simple and earnest strain of devotion, which the
letter breathed. It was but indifferently written and spelt, but this the
rather tended to endear the hitherto unknown writer, as it seemed
characteristic of the union of humbleness of station with eminence of piety. I
felt quite thankful that I was favoured with a correspondent of this
description; the more so, as such characters were, at that time, very rare in
the neighbourhood. As soon as it was read, I required who was the bearer of it.
“He is waiting at the outside of the gate, sir,” was the reply.
The Dairyman
I went out to speak to him and saw a venerable old man, whose long hoary hair
and deeply wrinkled countenance commanded more than common respect. He was
resting his arm and head upon the gate, and tears were streaming down his
cheeks. On my approach he made a low bow, and said, “Sir, I have brought you a
letter from my daughter; but I fear you will think us very bold in asking you
to take so much trouble.”
“By no means,” I replied; “I shall be truly glad to oblige you and any of your
family in this matter.” I desired him to come into the house, and then said:
“What is your occupation?”
“Sir, I have lived most of my days in a little cottage at —, six miles from
here. I have rented a few acres of ground, and kept a few cows, which, in
addition to my day labour, has been my means of supporting and bringing up my
family.”
“What family have you?”
“A wife, now getting very aged and helpless, two sons, and one daughter; for my
other poor dear child is just departed out of this wicked world.”
“I hope, for a better.”
“I hope so, too; poor thing, she did not use to take to such good ways as her
sister; but I do believe that her sister’s manner of taking with her before she
died was the means of saving her soul. What a mercy it is to have such a child
as mine is! I never thought about my own soul seriously till she, poor girl,
begged me to flee from the wrath to come.”
“How old are you?”
“Nearly seventy, and my wife is older. We are getting old and almost past our
labour; but our daughter has left a good place, where she lived in service, on
purpose to come home, and take care of us and our little dairy. And a dear,
dutiful, affectionate girl she is.”
“Was she always so?”
“No, sir; when she was very young, she was all for the world, and pleasure and
dress and company. Indeed, we were all very ignorant, and thought, if we took
care for this life, and wronged nobody, we should be sure to go to heaven at
last. My daughters were both wilful, and, like ourselves, were strangers to the
ways of God and the Word of His grace. But the eldest of them went out to
service; and some years ago she heard a sermon preached at — church, and from
that time she became quite an altered creature. She began to read the Bible,
and became quite sober and steady. The first time she came home afterwards to
see us, she brought us a guinea which she had saved from her wages, and said,
as we were getting old, she was sure we would want help; adding, that she did
not wish to spend it in fine clothes, as she used to do, only to feed pride and
vanity. She would rather show gratitude to her dear father and mother; and
this, she said, because Christ had shown such mercy to her.
“We wondered to hear her talk, and took great delight in her company, for her
temper and behaviour were so humble and kind, she seemed so desirous to do us
good both in soul and body, and was so different from what we had ever seen her
before, that, careless and ignorant as we had been, we began to think there
must be something real in religion, or it never could alter a person so much in
a little time. Her younger sister, poor soul, used to laugh and ridicule her at
that time, and said her head was turned with her new way. ‘No, sister,’ she
would say, ‘not my head, but I hope my heart is turned from the love of sin to
the love of God. I wish you may one day see, as I do, the danger and vanity of
your present condition.’ Her poor sister would reply, ‘I do not want to hear
any of your preaching: I am no worse than other people, and that is enough for
me.’ ‘Well, sister,’ Elizabeth would say, ‘if you will not hear me, you cannot
hinder me from praying for you, which I do with all my heart.’
“And now, sir, I believe those prayers are answered. For when her sister was
taken ill, Elizabeth went to wait in her place and take care of her. She said a
great deal to her about her soul, and the poor girl began to be so deeply
affected, and sensible of her past sin, and so thankful for her sister’s kind
behaviour; that it gave her great hopes indeed for her sake. When my wife and I
went to see her as she lay sick, she told us how grieved and ashamed she was of
her past life; but said she had a hope, through grace, that her dear sister’s
Saviour would be her Saviour too; for she saw her own sinfulness, felt her own
helplessness, and only wished to cast herself upon Christ as her hope and
salvation.
“And now, sir, she is gone, and I hope and think her sister’s prayers for her
conversion to God have been answered. The Lord grant the same for her poor
father’s and mother’s sake likewise.”
This conversation was a very pleasing commentary upon the letter, which I had
received, and made me anxious both to comply with the request and to become
acquainted with the writer. I promised the good old dairyman I would attend the
funeral on Friday, at the appointed hour; and after some more conversation
respecting his own state of mind under the present trial, he went away.
He was a reverend old man; his furrowed cheeks, white locks, weeping eyes, bent
shoulders, and feeble gait were characteristic of the aged pilgrim: and as he
slowly departed, supported by a stick which seemed to have been the companion
of many a long year, a train of reflections occurred which I retrace with
emotion and pleasure.
A Funeral
At the appointed hour I arrived at the church; and after a little while was
summoned to meet, at the church-yard gate, a very decent funeral procession.
The aged parents, the elder brother and the sister, with other relatives,
formed an affecting group. I was struck with the humble, pious, and pleasing
countenance of the young woman from whom I received the letter; it bore the
marks of great seriousness without affectation, and of much serenity mingled
with a glow of devotion.
A circumstance occurred during the burial service which I think it right to
mention. A man of the village, who had hitherto been of a very careless and
even profligate character, came into the church through mere curiosity, and
with no better purpose than that of a vacant gazing at the ceremony. He came
likewise to the grave, and during the burial service his mind received a deep,
serious conviction of his sin and danger through some of the expressions
contained therein. It was an impression that never wore off, but gradually
ripened into the most satisfactory evidence of an entire change, of which I had
many and long continued proofs. He always referred to the burial service, and
to some particular sentences of it, as the clearly ascertained instrument of
bringing him, through grace, to the knowledge of the truth.
The day was therefore one to be remembered. Remembered let it be by those who
love to hear “the short and simple annals of the poor.”
Was there not a manifest and happy connection between the circumstance that
providentially brought the serious and the careless to the same grave on that
day together? How much do they lose, who neglect to trace the leadings of God
in Providence as links in the chain of His eternal purpose of redemption and
grace!
“While infidels may scoff, let us adore.”
After the service was concluded, I had a short conversation with the good old
couple and their daughter. Her aspect and address were highly interesting. I
promised to visit their cottage; and from that time became well acquainted with
them. Let us bless the Lord of the poor, and pray continually that the poor may
become rich in faith, and the sick be made poor in spirit.
A sweet solemnity often possesses the mind while retracing past intercourse
with departed friends. How much is this increased when they were such as lived
and died in the Lord! The remembrance of former scenes and conversations with
those who, we believe, are now enjoying the uninterrupted happiness of a better
world fills the heart with pleasing sadness, and animates the soul with the
hopeful anticipation of a day when the glory of the Lord shall be revealed in
the assembling of all His children together, never more to be separated.
Whether they were rich or poor, while on earth, it is a matter of trifling
consequence; the valuable part of their character is, that they are now kings
and priests unto God. In the number of departed believers, with whom I once
loved to converse on the grace and glory of the kingdom of God, was the
dairyman’s daughter. I purpose now to give some further account of her, and
hope it may be useful to every reader.
A Pastoral Visit after
the Funeral
A few days after the funeral of the younger sister, I rode over to visit the
family in their own cottage. The principal part of the road lay through retired
narrow lanes, beautifully overarched with groves of nut and other trees, which
screened the traveller from the rays of the sun, and afforded many interesting
objects for admiration in the beautiful flowers, shrubs, and young trees, which
grew upon the high banks on each side of the road. Many grotesque rocks, with
little streams of water occasionally breaking out of them, varied the recluse
scenery, and produced a new, romantic, and pleasing effect.
Here and there the more distant and rich prospect beyond appeared through gaps
and hollow places on the roadside. Lofty hills, with navy signal posts,
obelisks, and lighthouses on their summits, appeared at these intervals; rich
cornfields were also visible through some of the open places; and now and then,
when the road ascended any hill, the sea, with ships at various distances,
opened delightfully upon me. But for the most part, shady seclusion and
beauties of a more minute and confined nature gave a character to the journey,
and invited contemplation. How much do they lose who are strangers to serious
meditation on the wonders and beauties of nature! How gloriously the God of
creation shines in His works! Not a tree, or a leaf or flower; not a bird, or
insect, but proclaims in glowing language, “God made me.”
As I approached the village where the good old dairyman dwelt, I observed him
in a little field, driving a few cows before him toward a yard and hovel, which
adjoined his cottage. I advanced very near him without his observing me, for
his sight was dim. On my calling out to him, he started at the sound of my
voice, but with much gladness of countenance welcomed me, saying, “Bless your
heart, sir, I am very glad you are come; we have looked for you every day this
week.”
The cottage door opened, and the daughter came out, followed by her aged and
infirm mother. The sight of me naturally brought to recollection the grave at
which we had before met. Tears of affection mingled with the smile of
satisfaction with which I was received by these worthy cottagers. I dismounted,
and was conducted through a very neat little garden, part of which was shaded
by two large, overspreading elm trees, to the house. Decency and cleanliness
were manifest within and without.
This, thought I, is a fit residence for purity, peace, and contentment. May I
learn a fresh lesson in each, through the blessing of God, on this visit.
“Sir,” said the daughter, “we are not worthy that you should come under our
roof. We take it very kind that you should come so far to see us.”
“My Master,” I replied, “came a great deal further to visit us poor sinners. He
left the bosom of His Father, laid aside His glory, and came down to this lower
world on a visit of mercy and love; and ought not we, if we profess to follow
Him, to bear each other’s infirmities, and go about doing good as He did?”
The old man now came in, and joined his wife and daughter in giving me a
cordial welcome. Our conversation soon turned to the late loss they had
sustained; and the pious and sensible disposition of the daughter was peculiarly
manifested as well in what she said to her parents as in what she said to me. I
was struck with the good sense and agreeable manner which accompanied her
expressions of devotedness to God, and love to Christ for the great mercies
which He had bestowed upon her. She seemed anxious to improve the opportunity
of my visit to the best purpose, for her own and her parents’ sake; yet there
was nothing of unbecoming forwardness, no self-consequence or conceitedness in
her behaviour. She united the firmness and earnestness of the Christian with
the modesty of the female and the dutifulness of the daughter. It was
impossible to be in her company and not observe how truly her temper and
conversation adorned the evangelical principles which she professed.
I soon discovered how eager and how successful also she had been in her
endeavours to bring her father and mother to the knowledge and experience of
the truth. This is a lovely circumstance in the character of a young Christian.
If it hath pleased God, in the free dispensations of His mercy, to call the
child by His grace, while the parents remain still in ignorance and sin, how
great is the duty of that child to do what is possible for the conversion of
those to whom it owes its birth! Happy is it when the ties of grace sanctify
those of nature.
This aged couple evidently looked upon and spoke of their daughter as their
teacher and admonisher in divine things, while they received from her every
token of filial submission and obedience, testified by continual endeavours to
serve and assist them to the utmost in the little concerns of the household.
The religion of this young woman was of a highly spiritual character, and of no
ordinary attainment. Her views of the divine plan in saving the sinner were
clear and scriptural. She spoke much of the joys and sorrows, which, in the
course of her religious progress, she had experienced; but she was fully
sensible that there is far more in real religion than mere occasional
transition from one frame of mind and spirit to another. She believed that the
experimental acquaintance of the heart with God principally consisted in so
living upon Christ by faith as to seek to live like Him by love. She knew that
the love of God towards the sinner, and the path of duty prescribed to the
sinner, are both of an unchangeable nature. In a believing dependence on the
one, and an affectionate walk in the other, she sought and found “the peace of
God which passeth all understanding”; “for so He giveth His beloved rest.” She
had read but few books besides her Bible; but these few excellent in their
kind, and she spoke of their contents as one who knew their value. In addition
to a Bible and Common Prayer-Book, Doddridge’sRise and Progress,
Romaine’s Life, Walk, and Triumph of Faith, Bunyan’sPilgrim’s
Progress, Alleine’s Alarm, Baxter’s Saints Everlasting
Rest, a hymn-book, and a few Tracts, composed her library.
I observed in her countenance a pale and delicate look, which I afterwards
found to be a presage of consumption; and the idea then occurred to me that she
would not live many years. In fact, it pleased God to take her hence about a
year and a half after I first saw her.
Time passed on swiftly with this little interesting family; and after having
partaken of some plain and wholesome refreshments, and enjoyed a few hours’
conversation with them, I found it necessary for me to return homewards.
“I thank you, sir,” said the daughter, “for your Christian kindness to me and
my friends. I believe the blessing of the Lord has attended your visit, and I
hope I have experienced it to be so. My dear father and mother will, I am sure,
remember it, and I rejoice in an opportunity, which we have never before
enjoyed, of seeing a serious minister under this roof. My Saviour has been
abundantly good to me in plucking me ‘as a brand from the burning,’ and showing
me the way of life and peace; and I hope it is my heart’s desire to live to His
glory. But I long to see these dear friends enjoy the comfort and power of
religion also.”
“I think it evident,” I replied, “that the promise is fulfilling in their case:
it shall come to pass that at evening time it shall be light.”
“I believe it,” she said, “and praise God for the blessed hope.”
“Thank Him, too, that you have been the happy instrument of bringing them to
the light.”
“I do, sir; yet when I think of my own unworthiness and insufficiency, I
rejoice with trembling.”
“Sir,” said the good old man, “I am sure the Lord will reward you for this
kindness. Pray for us that, old as we are, and sinners as we have been, yet He
would have mercy upon us at the eleventh hour. Poor Betsy strives hard for our
sakes, both in body and soul; she works hard all day to save us trouble and I
fear has not strength to support all she does; and then she talks to us, and
reads to us, and prays for us, that we may be saved from the wrath to come.
Indeed, sir, she’s a rare child to us.”
“Peace be to you, and all that belong to you.” “Amen, and thank you, dear sir,”
was echoed from each tongue.
Thus we parted for that time. My returning meditations were sweet, and, I hope,
profitable. Many other visits were afterwards made by me to this peaceful
cottage, and I always found increasing reason to thank God for the intercourse
I enjoyed. I soon perceived that the health of the daughter was rapidly on the
decline. The pale, wasting consumption, which is the Lord’s instrument for
removing so many thousands every year from the land of the living, made hasty
strides on her constitution. The hollow eye, the distressing cough, and the
often too flattering red on the cheek, foretold the approach of death. I have
often thought what a field for usefulness and affectionate attention on the
part of ministers and Christian friends is opened by the frequent attacks and
lingering progress of consumptive illness. How many such precious opportunities
are daily lost, where Providence
seems in so marked a way to afford time and space for serious and godly
instruction. Of how many may it be said, “The way of peace have they not
known”; for not one friend came nigh, to warn them to “flee from the wrath to
come.”
But the dairyman’s daughter was happily made acquainted with the things, which
belonged to her everlasting peace before the present disease had taken root in
her constitution. In my visit to her, I might be said rather to receive
information than to impart it. Her mind was abundantly stored with divine
truths and her conversation was truly edifying. The recollection of it still
produces a thankful sensation in my heart.
Part 2 of 2