Sunday, November 22, 2009

Mary Cheesebrook

Sun 22 Nov 1747: I spent an hour with Mary Cheesebrook, a strange monument of the mercy of God. About six years ago she was without God in the world, being a kept mistress. An acquaintance brought her one evening to the chapel in West Street, where God gave her a new heart. She shed abundance of tears, she plucked out the right eye and cast it from her, and from that time procured for herself by hard labour what was needful for life and godliness. She missed no opportunity of coming to the preaching; often after a hard day’s work at Mayfair she came to the Foundery in the evening, running the greater part of the way. Every Saturday, after paying her little debts, she gave away all the money that remained, leaving the morrow to take thought for the things of itself.
Two years ago she catched a violent cold, which she neglected, till it settled upon her lungs. I knew nothing of her illness till it was past cure, she being then worn to a skeleton. Upon my mentioning her case to Mrs. ——, she sent her half a guinea. Molly immediately sent for a poor man, a baker, of whom she had lately taken her bread. She owed him about ten shillings. But an earnest dispute arose between them. For the man would not take the money, saying she wanted it more than he. But at length she prevailed, saying she could not die in peace if she owed any man anything.
But I found something still lay upon her mind. Upon my pressing her to speak freely, she told me it was concern for her child, a girl about eight years old, who, after she was gone, would have no friend to take care either of her soul or body. I replied, ‘Be at rest in this thing also. I will take care of the child.’ From that time she lay (two or three weeks) quietly waiting for the salvation of God.