Wesley's Letters: 1730
To his Mother
LINCOLN COLLEGE, February 28, 1730.
DEAR MOTHER, -- Two things in Bishop Taylor [Taylor's Rules and Exercises of Holy Living, chap. iv., Of Christian Hope. The five acts of Hope: Means of Hope, and Remedies against Despair (ed. of 1700), pp. 191-5. See letter of June 18, 1725.] I have been often thinking of since I writ last; one of which I like exceedingly, and the other not. That I dislike is his account of Hope, of which he speaks thus: 'Faith believes the revelations, Hope expects His promises; Faith gives our understandings to God, Hope our passions and affections; Faith is opposed to infidelity, Hope to despair.' In another place his words are: ' Faith differs from Hope in the extension of its object and the intension of its degree; Faith belongs to all things revealed, Hope only to things that are good, future, and concerning ourselves.'
Now, to pass over less material points, doesn't this general objection seem to be against him, that he makes Hope a part or species of Faith, and consequently contained in it, as is every part in its whole ? Whereas, had it been so, St. Paul would have broken that universally received rule, never to set things in contradistinction to each other one of which is contained in the other. May we not, therefore, well infer that, whatever Hope is, it is certainly distinct from Faith as well as Charity, since one who, we know, understood the rules of speaking, contradistinguishes it from both?
As Faith is distinguished from other species of assent, from Knowledge particularly, by the difference of the evidence it is built on, may we not find the same foundation for distinguishing Hope from Faith as well as from Knowledge? Is not the evidence on which we build it less simple than that of Faith, and less demonstrative than the arguments that create Knowledge? It seems to have one of its feet fixed on the Word of God, the other on our opinion of our own sincerity, and so to be a persuasion that we shall enjoy the good things of God, grounded on His promises made to sincere Christians, and on an opinion that we are sincere Christians ourselves. Agreeably to this, Bishop Taylor himself says in his Rules for Dying: ' We are to be curious of our duty and confident of the article of remission of sins, and the conclusion of those promises will be that we shall be full of hopes of a prosperous resurrection.' Every one, therefore, who inquires into the grounds of his own hope reasons in this manner:
If God be true, and I am sincere, then I am to hope.
But God is true, and I am sincere (there is the pinch):
Therefore I am to hope.
What I so much like is his account of the pardon of sins, which is the clearest I ever met with: ' Pardon of sins in the gospel is sanctification. Christ came to take away our sins, by turning every one of us from our iniquities (Acts iii. 26). And there is not in the nature of the thing any expectation of pardon, or sign or signification of it, but so far as the thing itself discovers itself. As we hate sin, grow in grace, and arrive' at the state of holiness, which is also a state of repentance and imperfection, but yet of sincerity of heart and diligent endeavor; in the same degree we are to judge concerning the forgiveness of sins. For, indeed, that is the evangelical forgiveness, and it signifies our pardon, because it effects it, or rather it is in the nature of the thing, so that we are to inquire into no hidden records. Forgiveness of sins is not a secret sentence, a word, or a record, but it is a state of change effected upon us; and upon ourselves we are to look for it, to read it and understand it.' [Holy Dying, chap. v. sect. 5.] In all this he appears to steer in the middle road exactly, to give assurance of pardon to the penitent, but to no one else.
Yesterday I had the offer of another curacy, [The curacy eight miles from Oxford. Was this Stanton Harcourt ? Cary's Survey of England and Wales, 1784, shows the distance from Oxford to be eight miles by curving road, about seven direct. Richard Green, in John Wesley the Evangelist, p. 86, says it is 'probably Stanton Harcourt.'] to continue a quarter or half a year, which I accepted with all my heart. The salary is thirty pounds a year, the church eight miles from Oxford; seven of which are, winter and summer, the best road in the country. So now I needn't sell my home, since it is at least as cheap to keep one as to hire one every week.
I have another piece of news to acquaint you with, which, as it is more strange, will, I hope, be equally agreeable. A little while ago Bob Kirkham [Son of the Rev. Lionel Kirkham. See Journal, i. 23-7; Telford's, Life of Wesley, pp. 232-3.] took a fancy into his head that he would lose no more time and waste no more money; in pursuance of which he first resolved to breakfast no longer on tea, next to drink no more ale in an evening, or however but enough to quench his thirst, then to read Greek or Latin from prayers in the morning till noon and from dinner till five at night. And how much may one imagine he executed of these resolutions? Why, he has left off tea, struck off his drinking acquaintance to a man, given the hours above specified to Greek Testament and Hugo Grotius, [The Dutch jurist and theologian (1583-1645). His Annotations on the Old and New Testaments appeared in 1641 -- 6.] and spent the evenings either by himself or with my brother and me.--I am, dear mother,
Your dutiful and affectionate Son.
I don't despair of spending two days with you before Whitsuntide is over.
To Mrs. Wesley, At Epworth. To be left
at the Post-house in Gainsborough.
To Mrs. Pendarves [1]
LINCOLN COLLEGE, August 14, 1730,
MADAM, -- It would ill become me to let this [The sermon which he had transcribed for her.] (I must not now say trifle, since it has been honored with some share of your approbation) wait upon you without endeavoring in some sort to express the sense I have of your goodness to me. This I acknowledge it was which, seeking something to approve, extorted so favorable a sentence from your judgment'; and however that may be hereafter forced to take part against me, this I trust will be ever on my side.
While I was transcribing the letters, those last monuments of the goodness of my dear Varanese, I could not hinder some sighs which between grief and shame would now and then find their way. Not that I was so much pained at seeing my utmost efforts so far surpassed by the slightest touches of another's pen: those which that observation has often called were always tears of joy. But I could not, I ought not to, be unmoved when I observe how unworthy I am of that excellent means of improvement: how few features I can even now call my own of that lovely piece which was drawn long ago; every stroke of which bore so true a resemblance to the person by whom (though not for whom) it was drawn, and therefore gloriously showed what I ought to have been, though not what I was.
Yet I trust so unusual a blessing of Providence has not been utterly useless to me. Surely something I have gained by it. To this I owe both the capacity and the occasion of feeling that soft emotion with which I glow even at the moment while I consider myself as conversing with a kindred soul of my Varanese [Wesley's first romance centers round Miss Betty Kirkham. She told Wesley that she loved him 'more than all mankind, except her God and king.' She seems to have married afterwards.]; though I own I feel not half that tenderness of gratitude which ought to expand my heart when I have the honor of subscribing myself Yours and Mrs. Granville's
Most obliged and most' obedient servant.
Here is one at my elbow that pretends to be not only as much obliged but as much devoted to your service as I am.
Mrs. Pendarves replies [2]
GLOUCESTER, August 28, 1730.
SIR,--I think myself extremely obliged to you for the favor of the sermon, and those letters that alone were worthy of the correspondence they maintained. I received them safe last week, and should sooner have made my acknowledgements for them but that I have been engaged with so much company since my return from dear, delightful Stanton, that till this moment I have not had time to express my gratitude for the elegant entertainment I have had, not only from the manuscripts, but in recollecting and repeating the conversation you and your brother made so agreeable, which I hope will soon be renewed. If you have any affairs that call you to Gloucester, don't forget you have two pupils who are desirous of improving their understanding and that friendship which has already taught them to be, sir,
Your most sincere, humble servants.
My companion joins with me in all I have said, as well as in service to Araspes.
To Mrs. Pendarves
September 12 [1730]. [The Diary for Sept. 12 gives three entries '5 ¾ beg to Asp.' He returned to his letter at twelve and at three.]
MADAM, -- I am greatly ashamed that I can only think how much I am obliged to you. Your last favor leaves me utterly at a loss, and even without hope of making any suitable acknowledgement; at the same time that it convinces me of a mistake which I should not otherwise have so easily given up, it convinces me it was possible I should enjoy an higher pleasure than even your conversation gave me. If your understanding could not appear in a stronger light than when it brightened the dear hill, the fields, the arbor, I am now forced to confess your temper could: you even then showed but half your goodness.
I spent some very agreeable moments last night in musing on this delightful subject, and thinking to how little disadvantage Aspasia or Selima would have appeared even in that faint light which the moon glimmering through the trees poured on that part of our garden where I was walking! how little would the eye of the mind that surveyed them have missed the absent sun l what darkness could have obscured gentleness, courtesy, humility, could have shaded the image of God ? Sure none but that which shall never dare to approach them; none but vice, which shall ever be far away!
I could not close this reflection without adding with a sigh, When will they shine on me! When will Providence direct my wandering feet to tread again that flowery path to virtue! My dear Varanese informs me you are going yet farther from us, but cannot inform me how soon. If either this or any other ill-natured accident (to speak in the language of men) denies me the happiness of waiting upon you so soon as I sometime hoped I should, 'tis best it should be denied me: wise is He that disposes of us; I acquiesce in His disposal.
Nothing can excuse me, of all persons in the world, from entirely acquiescing in all His disposals, to whom alone I can ascribe the happiness I now enjoy, so far above my most aspiring hopes. To Him alone can I ascribe it that I have found any favor in the sight of Selima or Aspasia; that I have before me such a proof of their generous condescension as the thanks of my life will poorly repay; that I once more feel the exquisite pleasure of calling myself
Their ever obliged and most obedient servant.
To Ann Granville [3]
LINCOLN COLLEGE, September 27 [1730].
What can Selima think of my long silence? Will it admit of any honorable interpretation? Can you believe that any business is of such importance as to excuse it in the least degree? That I might not seem utterly inexcusable, I have been several times for throwing everything by; and should have done it had I not been persuaded that you would not condemn me unheard. Every day since my return hither I have been engaged in business of far greater concern than life or death; and business which, as it could not be delayed, so no one else could do it for me. Had it not been for this, I should long before now have returned my sincerest thanks to Selima, which are due to her on so many accounts that I know not where to begin. Happy indeed should I have been, had it been my lot to meet you once more in that delightful vale! What we could, we did. The places where she was, we visited more than once. And though Selima herself was not there, yet there we could find the remembrance of her.
The more I think of you, the more convinced I am that here at least I am not guilty of flattery when I mention the vast advantage you have over me in gratitude as well as humility. The least desire of being serviceable to you is received by you as a real service, and acknowledged in so obliging a manner that at the same time I am quite ashamed of doing so little to deserve it. You give me an inexpressible pleasure. How differently turned is my mind! how little moved with the most valuable benefits! In this, too, give me of your spirit, Selima: let me imitate as well as admire.
I would fain imitate, too, that generous ardor which, in spite of all the hindrances that surround you, so strongly inspires you to burst through all and redeem time to the noblest purposes. I am afraid of nothing more than of growing old too soon, of having my body worn out before my soul is past childhood. Would it not be terrible to have the wheels of life stand still, when we had scarce started for the goal; before the work of the day was half done, to have the night come, wherein no one can work? I shiver at the thought of losing my strength before I have found [it]; to have my senses fail ere I have a stock of rational pleasures, my blood cold ere my heart is warmed with virtue! Strange, to look back on a train of years that have passed, ' as an arrow through the air,' without leaving any mark behind them, without our being able to trace them in our improvement! How glad am I that this can't be the case of Selima! The hours you have already given to that best of studies, divinity, forbid that, as sufficiently appears by your resolution to pursue it still. That, among the multitude of books writ on this subject, you prefer those that are clear and elegant, is surely right; 'tis doubly prudent to choose those writers before others who excel in speaking as well as thinking.
Yet, as nobly useful divinity is, 'tis perhaps not advisable to confine yourself wholly to it: not only for fear it should tire one who has been used to variety of subjects, but chiefly for fear it should make you less useful to those who have the happiness of your acquaintance; for whose sake therefore, as well as your own, I should fancy you would like to intermix some history and poetry with it. 'Tis incredible what a progress you might make in all these in a year or two's time, could you have a fixed hour for each part of your work [See letter of June 17, 1731.] Indeed, a great part of most days (I sigh while I speak it) is torn from you by your barbarously civil neighbors. But are not the mornings your own? If they are, why should you not enlarge and improve them as much as possible? O Selima, would it but suit your health, as wall as it would your inclinations, to rise at six and to give the first hour of the day to your private and part of the next to your public addresses to God, God is not unrighteous that He should forget that labor of love. He would repay it in prospering all your following employments. You would then never repent either giving what time remained of the morning to some lively writer in speculative divinity, or your calling in from the afternoon or evening (your usual place) an elegant poet or judicious historian. For were it possible for you to pursue this course, it would soon be as agreeable as useful.
Your knowledge would swiftly (though insensibly) improve, not so swiftly as your happiness. You would then find less pain from every accident; even from the absence of Aspasia. A treasure doubtless she is, the value of which nothing can teach so well as experience; every additional degree of intimacy with her may questionless enhance her value. Nor would it be human to be unconcerned at a separation from such a friend. Yet the time may come when that concern, though equally tender, shall not be equally painful to you: when you shall be as much pleased as ever with her presence, and yet not so much displeased at her absence. For there is a way (though it is a way which the world knows not) of dividing friendship from pain. It is called charity, or the love of God. The more acquainted we are with rids, the less anxiety shall we receive from the sharpest trial that can befall us. This, while it enlivens every virtuous affection of our souls, adds calmness to their strength; at the same time that it swells their stream, this makes it flow smooth and even.
Soft peace she breathes wherever she arrives,
She builds our quiet as she forms our lives,
Leaves the rough paths of nature even,
And opens in each breast a little heaven. [Prior's Charity, where it is brings,' not ' breathes,' in line I; 'heart,' in line 4; line 3, 'Lays the rough paths of peevish nature even.']
O Selima, never complain that it is not in your power to repay your friends much more than by receiving from them at least; don't complain with regard to me: any one of those! obliging things you have said is vastly more than a return for all the little service that is in my power to do you. I am amazed more and more, each time I reflect on those strange instances of your condescension, and feel how much I am overpaid, in (what I can never think of with due esteem and gratitude) the regard you show for Selima's
Ever obliged friend and faithful servant, CYRUS.
Araspes joins me in wishing he could make any return to Mrs. Granville's and Selima's goodness.
I beg you to correct what you see wrong in the enclosed, and to send it when you write. Adieu.
To Mrs. Pendarves
October 3 [1730].
MADAM, -- Though I am utterly ignorant where you are, whether at Gloucester or Bath or London, yet I can't bear to be silent any longer while so ill consequences may attend it. I even tremble to think what opinion you must have of me if my last is not come to your hands; how inexcusable a neglect it is, of which you can't but believe me guilty. An imputation of this kind is what, of all others, I suffer with most regret. A little gratitude and a constant readiness to own my obligations was all the merit I could ever pretend to; and ff I lose this too, I can never pretend to any share in Aspasia's friendship.
I am sensible nothing but this can atone for those improprieties of behavior in which my inexperience in the world so frequently betrays me; which both you and Selima must have so often observed, though still with pity and not contempt, Yet I wish I had no greater faults than these; I wish one of which I was lately guilty may meet with, what doubtless it does not deserve, as mild a censure from them. I own I deserve a severer censure for my want of consideration in positively recommending to them a book [Many references in the Diary for Sept. 1730 show how diligently Wesley was reading the Bishop of Cork's book at this time. See next letter.] of which I had read but a few pages, the beauties of which I find, upon a closer examination, to be joined with so many imperfections, with so many fallacies and falsehoods and contradictions, as more than balance them, and make it highly unworthy to take up any of their hours who know so well how to employ every moment. The only reparation I can now make for the injury I did you in recommending it is to beg leave to present you with an abridgement of it, which I hope to have finished shortly, in fewer words at least, if not with fewer mistakes, than would perplex you in the original.
Methinks I would fain ask another favor of you. I am persuaded, if it is not fit to be granted, you will impute my desiring it not to my want of modesty but of judgment. Indeed, sometimes I am inclined to defer speaking of it till I have the pleasure of seeing you again. But I fear I should then be less able to speak than now; I should be more ashamed and confused than I am at a distance. I will therefore defer no longer the begging Aspasia to be like my Varanese in one more instance: in continuing to me the honor and advantage of reading her sentiments when I am not permitted to hear them. I will not offer any reasons for my request. If it be fit to be granted, you do not need them.
The reason why I have not yet made use of that title which you or my Varanese was so good as to assign me is because it seems to imply, what never can be, some sort of equality between us. But this I totally disavow: as there can be no ground for it in nature, I am startled at an expression that even seems to set me on a level with Selima or Aspasia. No, it will not be! The eternal law is between us! I may pursue, but must not overtake! I cannot leap the bounds; it is not in friendship itself that I should ever be their equal: though it is most certain that, so long as the breath of life is in me (if not long after that is lost in common air), I shall continue to be, with the tenderest esteem,
Their most obliged and most faithful servant.
Mrs. Pendarves replies [4]
GLOUCESTER, October 12, 1730.
SIR, -- I am almost afraid to own my having had both your letters, lest I should forfeit that good opinion that I extremely desire Cyrus should always have of Aspasia. I must farther confess that, had I not received the second letter, I should not have had courage to have wrote. I am but too sensible how unequal I am to the task. Could I, like our inimitable dear Varanese, express my sentiments, with what pleasure should I agree to the obliging request you make! But why should I be afraid of your superior understanding when I know at the same time the delight you take in not only entertaining but improving all those you converse with? Then take me into your protection. Look on me as one surrounded with infirmities and imperfections, who flies to you for assistance against the assaults of vanity and passion. If you are desirous I should think you my friend, let this be the trial of it, not to leave any of my follies unreproved. I shall not scruple to discover to you those many defects which on a longer acquaintance with me your own observation must have pointed out to you; and it is no small argument of the great desire I have of improvement that I will run so great a hazard, for certainly you will value me less when you know how weak I am.
You have no reason to make an apology for recommending the book you mention (which I suppose was the Bishop of Cork's). I have not yet read it; but I shall wait with impatience for the Abstract [See previous letter and that of Feb. 13, 1731.] you promise me, which I am sure will very well deserve the time I shall bestow in reading of it. My stay in Gloucester is uncertain; but when we go to town we shall call at Oxford, where we shall not fail of inquiring after Cyrus and Araspes.
Selima adds:
Aspasia is called away before she has finished her letter, and has not said one word for Selima, who thinks of Cyrus and Araspes with that esteem their merit justly claims, desires always to be thought their friend, and wishes Selima was worthy of it. When we go to Oxford, we don't know at what college to inquire after our agreeable friends.
To Mrs. Pendarves
October 24 [1730].
MADAM, -- My brother and I are both sensible how poor a return our most humble acknowledgements are for the very many instances of goodness which both Mrs. Granville and yourselves and Mr. Granville [Brother of Mrs. Pendarves.] so lately showed us; which can't but be ever remembered by us, and remembered with the sincerest gratitude. Nothing less than experience could have given us the pleasing conviction that so many favors could be crowded into so short a time. Short indeed ! Much too short we should have thought it, but that He who seeth not as man seeth showed, by forcing us away so soon, that it ought not to have been longer.
I am, however, persuaded the effects of those happy hours will be of longer continuance, and every day gives us the strongest reason to wish ardently for their return. What the advantage of being present with you must be may be easily conceived from what you do even when absent. To your good wishes I can't but in a great measure impute it that we should exactly find our way through a country in which we were utter strangers and for some miles without either human creature or day or moon or stars to direct us. By so many ties of interest as well as gratitude am I obliged, whether present or absent, to be, madam,
Your most obliged and most obedient servant.
Bobby [Robert Kirkham, to whose resolution to lead a more earnest life reference is made in Wesley's letter of Feb. 28 to his mother.] and my brother join with me in tendering their most humble service to Mrs. Granville and the two excellent sisters.
Mrs. Pendarves writes:
GLOUCASTETR, October 26 [1730].
SIR,--We have determined to leave this place on Monday the 9th of November, and hope to see you on Tuesday at Oxford. Perhaps the weather and your inclinations may be so favorable to us that we may meet sooner (of hiring a coach [This and a similar phrase in the reply evidently refer to some arrangement by which the brothers joined their friends at Burford and rode with them to Oxford. See letter of Nov. 19.]).
You are very just to those friends you have lately obliged with your company, when you seem assured of their good wishes. The success that attended your journey was certainly owing to yours and Araspes's merit. Your guardian angels would not forsake a charge so worthy of their care. Happy should we be, could our intercession secure you from accidents.
The pleasure you gave us in your conversation we think of daily with thankfulness, and hope nothing will happen to prevent your making the visit you have promised us in January. My mother charges me with her particular compliments to you and your brother. Selima says she will not be contented with my making a bare compliment for her. If time would permit, I would gladly say more for her as well as for myself; but I have been in a hurry all this day. When shall I be worthy to subscribe myself, what I very sincerely desire to be, Cyrus's
Friend and most faithful servant, ASPASIA.
To Mrs. Pendarves
November, 3 [1730].
MADAM,--I sincerely ask pardon for not having acknowledged the favor of yours sooner. I might have considered that every day I passed by made my omission more inexcusable, as no business of my own could be a sufficient reason for seeming to neglect yours a moment. I ought doubtless to have set aside everything else, till I had given you an account of this (of the coach).
I am now more than ever at a loss how to avoid the imputation my brother throws upon me that I take the obliging things you say as patiently as if I thought they were my due.' Indeed, I don't think so; I am convinced they are entirely owing not to mine but to your goodness. But I don't know how to express my sense of that goodness in such terms as it requires, and therefore commonly hide my want of words in silence and don't attempt to express it at all. I own it is a fault to pay no part of my debt because I am unable to discharge the whole. I hope it is one of those many for which a remedy is designed me in the conversation I enjoyed at Gloucester:
For the sake of those less 'experienced travelers who have the cold hills beyond Burford to go over, I shall greatly wish that these sharp winds may either stay with us or be quite gone before Monday. To me any weather will be favorable, or any circumstance of life, which gives me the least opportunity of approving myself, madam,
Your ever obliged and most obedient servant.
From Mrs. Pendarves :
NEW BOND STREET,1 [‘Pease, cabbages, and turnips once grew where Now stands new Bond Street, and a newer Square; Such piles of building now rise up and down, London itself seems going out of town.’(Bramston's Art of Politicks, 1729.)] November 19 [1730].
The pleasure you and your brother gave us of your conversation at Burford, the entertainment we had upon the road to Oxford, which neither the dirty way nor rattling wheels could entirely deprive us of, the book to which we owe many agreeable hours, and the great consolation and civility which my mother received from you (which she has not faded to inform us of) after we left her, are favors that ought to be acknowledged with the utmost gratitude. You might reasonably have expected this small return much sooner, but we have been in a perpetual hurry since our arrival. I have not had time even to write to Varanese. You are inclined to think favorably of Selima and Aspasia; therefore I believe you will not easily accuse them of ingratitude. They are sensible of the advantage your friendship will be to them, and desire more than to be worthy of it. Nor is this a small ambition, for you cannot place your esteem but where there is the appearance of some perfection. Your example and instruction may in time make so great an impression on them, as that they may challenge your favor as their due. At present they look on it as an obligation.
Our journey ended with as good success, though not altogether so much satisfaction, as it begun. The company in the coach were tolerably entertaining and very complaisant. We got to town by six o'clock, and were not at all fatigued, nor have we caught any cold since we came. The life of noise and vanity that is commonly led here cannot possibly afford any entertainment for you. When we have an opportunity of conversing with a reasonable friend, we · wish that Cyrus and Araspes were added to the company. I have been at two operas and very much delighted. I hope it is not a fault to be transported by music. If it is, I will endeavor to correct it. I am ashamed of sending you so blotted a piece of paper; but I am in haste, and must trust to your partiality to excuse the faults of
Your most obliged, humble servant.
Araspes may assure himself of the good wishes of Selima and Aspasia.
To Mrs. Pendarves
November 25 [1730].
At last, then, the desire of my heart is given me, and I may say something of what I owe to good Aspasia. This, too, is your gift, and consequently given in such a manner as doubles its native value. Would I could thank you for it as it requires! That vain wish would give me much more pain, were I not assured you will believe I feel what I cannot speak. You believe I have not been unmindful of that favor in particular of which I could not speak at all till now; which so far outwent the highest expectations I could form even of Aspasia and Selima. O Aspasia, how unequal am I to the task you so obligingly assign me! How gladly do I fly to you, how earnestly do I hope for your assistance as well as pardon, in those numberless imperfections of my own, of which you would but can't long be ignorant ! I can't expect that your eyes should always be held, and far, far am I from desiring it. Only this let me desire, let me adjure you to this, that when you can no longer help seeing them, you would not see them with the anger they deserve, but with pity, that you may cure them.
This is friendship indeed! Such offices as this have a fight to that lovely name. Oh that our friendship (since you give me leave to use that dear word) might be built on so firm a foundation! Were it possible for you to find me any way of repaying part of the good I experience from you, then I would not dare to doubt but I should experience it still, but I should still have some place in your thoughts ! And why indeed should I doubt, since He who hath hitherto sustained me is the same yesterday and for ever! and since so long as I own and depend upon them, His wisdom and strength are mine!
Still shower Thy influence from on high,
Author of friendship's sacred tie!
Shower Thy graces, Holy Dove,
God of Peace and God of Love! [From A Wedding-Song, by Samuel Wesley, jun., a refrain to its eight stanzas, in which the first two of these lines read: Shower Thine influence from on high, Author of the nuptial tie.]
Thus it is that I often pour out my heart by myself, when it is full of Selima and Aspasia and Varanese. Thus I endeavor to steal into their protection, and to interweave my interests with theirs, if haply part of the blessing descending on you may light on my head also. Would they could be so interwoven as that, when humility (which sitteth by His throne) is sent down to rest upon you, one ray of it might glance upon my heart, to remove the stony from it; to make it duly sensible both of its own many infirmities and of your generous desire to lessen their number ! For want of this I cannot follow you as I would; I must be left behind in the race of virtue. I am sick of pride; it quite weighs my spirits down. O preserve me, that I may be healed!
I have the greater dependence on your intercession, because you know what you ask. Every line of your last, too, shows the heart of the writer, where with friendship dwells humility. Ours, dear Aspasia, it is to make acknowledgements; upon us lie the obligations of gratitude; 'tis our part, till we have some better return in our power, at least to thank you for the honor and favor of your friendship: as I do Selima for her last instance of it in particular, in which she found a way to make even Mr. Pope more pleasing. If it be a fault to have too harmonious a soul, too exquisite a sense of elegant, generous transports, then indeed I must own-there is an obvious fault both in Selima and Aspasia. If not, I fancy one may easily reconcile whatever they think or act to the strictest reason, unless it be your entertaining so favorable a thought of
Your most obliged and most faithful CYRUS.
To his Father [5]
LINCOLN COLLEGE, December 11, 1730.
DEAR SIR, --- We all return you our sincere thanks for your timely and necessary advice, and should be exceeding glad if it were as easy to follow it, as 'tis impossible not to approve it. That doubtless is the very point we have to gain before any other can be managed successfully: to have an habitual lively sense of our being only instruments in His hand, who, can do all things either with or without any instrument. But how to affix this sense in us is the great question. Since to man this is impossible, we hope you and all our friends will continue to intercede for us to Him with whom all things are possible,
To-morrow night I expect to be in company with the gentleman [The young gentleman of Christ Church who said, 'Here is a new sect of Methodists sprung up.'] who did us the honor to take the first notice of our little Society. I have terrible reasons to think he is as slenderly provided with humanity as with sense and learning. However, I must not slip this opportunity, because he is at present in some distress, occasioned by his being obliged to dispute in the schools on Monday, though he is not furnished with such arguments as he wants. I intend, if he has not procured them before, to help him to some arguments, that I may at least get that prejudice away from him that ' we are friends-to none but what are as queer as ourselves.'
A week or two ago I pleased myself mightily with the hopes of sending you a full and satisfactory solution of your great question; having at last procured the celebrated treatise of Archbishop King, De Origine Mali. [William King (1650-1729), Archbishop of Dublin 1703. De Origine Mali was published in 1702. It was translated by Dr. Edmund Law. See Journal, viii. 119n; and letters of Dec. 19, 1729, and Jan.1731.] But on looking farther into it, I was strangely disappointed; finding it the least satisfactory account of any given by any author whom I ever read in my life. He contradicts almost every man that ever writ on the subject, and builds an hypothesis on the ruins of theirs which he takes to be entirely new, though, if I do not much mistake, part of it is at least two thousand years old. The purport of this is, ' That natural evils flow naturally and necessarily from the essence of matter, so that God Himself could not have prevented them, unless by not creating matter at all.' Now this new supposition seems extremely like the old one of the Stoics, who I fancy always affirmed, totidem verbis, that ' All natural evils were owing not to God's want of will, but to His want of power to redress them as necessarily flowing from the nature of matter.'
I breakfasted to-day with a great admirer of the Septuagint, who was much surprised to hear that any one should charge them with want of integrity, and seemed to think that charge could not be made out. Nay, he went so far as even to assert that he took this Greek to be more faultless than our present Hebrew copies. I wished I had had one or two of the places you mention at hand, and I would have given him them to chew upon. One pretty large dissertation I have by me still; I propose to read and transcribe it against I go up to London to the Westminster Great Day, [The Westminster Feast and Play on Jan. 28. See letter of Jan. 27, 1731, to Mrs. Pendarves.] which I am afraid will be as soon as my brother will want it.
I am glad the Rector [Dr. Morley, who was a warm friend to Wesley. See letters of April 4, 1726, and April 14, 1731, n.] is in so fair a way of recovery; I showed Mr. Robinson [Michael Robinson, Fellow of Lincoln, was Chaplain of All Saints', Oxford, and Rector of Great Leighs.] what related to him this morning, who I found had received from Mrs. Morley a fuller account of the Doctor's illness. Before she writ he had got over all remains of his distemper, except a weakness in the fingers of his left hand.
We can't compass Thomas Burgess's [One of the prisoners whom the Methodists were caring for.] liberty yet, though it seems to have a fairer show than formerly. On Sunday they had prayers, and a sermon at the Castle; on Christmas Day we hope they will have a dinner; and the Sunday after, a communion, as many of them as are desirous of it, and appear prepared for it. I had almost forgot to tell you that on Tuesday se'nnight Mr. Morgan opened the way for us into Bocardo. [The debtors' jail above the north gate of the city. The previous August William Morgan had led them. to visit the jail at the Castle. See Telford's Wesley, p. 60.] --I am
Your dutiful and affectionate Son.
To Mrs. Granville [6]
LINCOLN COLLEGE, December 12, 1730.
MADAM, -- Were it possible for me to repay my part of that debt, which I cannot but be sensible is still growing upon me, your goodness would give me a still greater pleasure than I have yet experienced from it. To be the instrument of some advantage to a person from whom I have received so much, as it would be the truest instance of my gratitude, is the utmost wish I can form. But a view of my own numerous fadings checks the vanity of this hope, and tells me that though He in whom I move and speak does not always require wisdom and prudence, yet some degree of purity He does always require in those who would move or speak to His glory.. I have, therefore, little reason to expect that He will direct any motion of mine to that end, especially when the particular end proposed relates to one who is so far advanced in the race which I am but lately entered upon, if indeed I am entered yet. What shall I say to such an one as is almost possessed of the crown which I dimly see afar off ? To another I would recommend those assistances which I find so necessary for myself: I could say that if our ultimate end is the love of God, to which the several particular Christian virtues lead us, so the means leading to these are to communicate every possible time, and, whatsoever we do, to pray without ceasing; not to be content with our solemn devotions, whether public or private, but at all times and in all places to make fervent returns ' by ejaculations' and' abrupt intercourses of the mind with God'
to thrust ' these between all our other employments,' if it be only by a word, a thought, a look, always remembering
If I but lift my eyes, my suit is made;
Thou canst no more not hear than Thou canst die [George Herbert's The Temple, ' Prayer.'];--
to account what of frailty remains after this a necessary encumbrance of flesh and blood, such an one as God out of His mercy to us will not yet remove, as seeing it to be useful though grievous; yet still to hope that since we seek Him ' in a time when He may be found,' before the great water-flood hath overwhelmed us, He will in His good time ' quell the raging of this sea, and still the waves thereof when they arise.' To you, who know them so well, I can but just mention these considerations, which I would press upon another: yet let me beg you to believe that though I want the power I have the most sincere desire of approving myself, madam,
Your most obliged and most obedient, humble servant.
My brother joins me in his best respects both to yourself and those good ladies whom we love to call your family.
To Mrs. Granville, At Great Brickhill,
Near Stony Stratford.
To Mrs. Pendarves
INNOCENTS’ DAY [1730].
Had I not been engaged almost every hour in an employment which set Aspasia continually before my eyes, [His MS., finished on Christmas Eve: see letter of Feb. 13, 1731.] I could by no means have satisfied myself so long without saying anything of my obligations to her; I could not have been easy without repeating my acknowledgements for them, particularly for the last, that lovely instance of your condescension, which so opportunely relieved me from the perplexity I was in. Every pleasing reflection it has given me since was a farther reason for me to thank you again; and I have been sometimes afraid that my omitting it so long might give you hard thoughts of my gratitude. But I sincerely ask pardon for that fear, so injurious both to Aspasia and Selima; with whom I should 'by no means presume to converse at all, had I not so often experienced that candor which was ever as unwilling to observe a fault as willing to excuse it when observed. Do not think, good Aspasia, I am yet so vain as to dare to maintain any intercourse with you but upon a full conviction that you are 'always ready to forgive me both when I say amiss, and when I do not so, what your goodness requires.
While I am reflecting on this I can't but often observe with pleasure the great resemblance between the emotion I then feel, and that with which my heart frequently overflowed, in the beginning of my intercourse with our dear Varanese.
Yet is there a sort of soft melancholy mixed with it, when I perceive that I am making another avenue for grief, that I am laying open another part of my soul, at which the arrows of fortune may enter. Nay, but here will I hold: since the Christian name for fortune is providence, or the hand of God, should it wound me even in the person of my friend there would be goodness in the severity. Should one to whom I was united by the tenderest tie, who was as my own soul, be torn from me, it would be best for me; to me, too, it would, be the stroke of mercy. Though, were it a less good to myself,
I ought doubtless not to grieve because one who deserves so well of me is taken from me to God. Surely if you were called first mine ought not to overflow because all tears were wiped from your eyes.
That even in this a regard for your happiness ought to take the place of my regard for my own is most certain; but whether I could do what I ought I have great reason to question. I much doubt whether self-love in so trying a circumstance would not be found too strong for a friendship which I even now find to be less disinterested than I hitherto imagined. I used to flatter myself that I had at least the desire to be some way serviceable to Aspasia and Selima, and that this, unmixed with any meaner motive, was the sole principle of many of my actions; but even with this I perceive another principle is interwoven, a desire of recommending myself to their esteem. And if this be a fault, I am much to blame: it is a fault deeply rooted in my nature. But is it a fault to desire to recommend myself to those who so strongly recommend virtue to me? ardently to desire their esteem who are so able and willing to make me in some degree worthy of it? Tell me, Aspasia; tell me, Selima, if it be a fault that my heart burns within me when I reflect on the many marks of regard you have already shown
Your ever obliged and ever faithful CYRUS.
Editor's Introductory Notes: 1730
[1] Wesley returned from Lincolnshire, where he had been his father's curate, to Oxford on November 22, 1729, at the call of Dr. Morley, the Rector of Lincoln College, who put eleven pupils under his care. The Methodists had already received their nickname, and John Wesley became the leader of the Holy Club. In 1730 his romantic correspondence began with Mrs. Pendarves, afterwards the wife of Dean Delany. Lady Llanovet, who edited The Autobiography and Correspondence of Mrs. Delany, was ignorant of the existence of these letters, of which Wesley kept careful copies in one of his notebooks (now in the Colman Collection), with abbreviations of his own. The Rev. Dr. Hoole printed some of these in the Wesleyan Methodist Magazine, 1863, pp.134, 211.
Mary Granville was born at Coulston, Wilts, on May 14, 1700, her father being the grandson of Sir Bevil Granville, the Royalist soldier, who was killed in 1643 on Lansdown. Her mother was a daughter of Sir Martin Westcombe, Consul at Cadiz. When eight she was taken to live with her aunt Lady Stanley at Whitehall, where she was brought up with the idea of becoming a maid of honor, as her aunt had been to Queen Mary. Her father retired about 1715 to a house at Buckland in Gloucestershire, which faced the valley of Evesham; and there Miss Granville formed a friendship with Sarah Kirkham, afterwards married to the Rev. John Chapone, who was a year older than herself. The Rev. Lionel Kirkham was Rector of Stanton, within two miles' distance from Buckland.
Mary Granville was staying with her uncle Lord Lansdowne when Mr. Pendarves, of Roscrow, Cornwall, saw her, and wished to marry her. He was nearly sixty, she was seventeen. She married him in 1718 with 'great pomp,' but felt that she was sacrificed. Her father died in 1723; and Mrs. Granville, with her daughter Ann (variously spelt Anne and Anna), removed from Buckland. In 1724 Mr. Pendarves died in London. His widow was only twenty-four. Her fortune, she says, was ' very mediocre, but it was at my own command.' She writes to her sister on January 26, 1727: 'I heartily grieve to think how ill you have been used by your landlord. I am glad my mama has given him warning, and that she designs to remove in the spring.' Their new home was in Gloucester. Mrs. Pendarves tells her sister on November 11, 1727: ' You are very merry about your new habitation; I wish you merry in it.' Mrs. Pendarves lived chiefly with Sir John and Lady Stanley at Somerset House and Northend, mixed in Court circles, saw the coronation procession of George II start from Westminster Hall, and enjoyed the favor of the King and Queen. In June 1730, when staying with her mother, she heard Wesley preach, and asked him for a copy of the sermon. She had written to her sister on April 4, 1730: ' I honor Primitive Christianity, and desire you will let him know as much when next you see him' (Auto. and Corr. i. 250). Lady Llanover puts in a footnote, ' Probably a nickname,' but does not seem to recognize that it was meant for Wesley.
In the following correspondence Aspasia is Mrs. Pendarves; Selima is Miss Ann Granville; Cyrus is John Wesley; Charles Wesley is Araspes; Varanese is Miss Betty Kirkham; Sappho is Mrs. Chapoho. 'Cyrus' seems to be taken from the play, of which Mrs. Pendarves tells her sister on November 11, 1727: 'You shall have Cyrus as soon as I can get him' (ibid. i. 146). Wesley's Diary shows that he was at Stanton on July 31, where he stayed with the Kirkhams and met Mrs. Pendarves. He notes on August 10: ' Began transcribing sermon for Mrs. Pendarves.'
[2] On the fly-leaf of this letter is a postscript in Miss Ann Granville's writing. She tells Wesley that her sister is about to visit Bath, and that if he wished to wait on her he had best write to ascertain her movements. She says that Varanese had sent him a letter by the carrier a fortnight ago, and desired to know whether it had come safe to hand. The next words are of special interest, as they imply that John Wesley had begun that translation of hymns which bore such fruit in Georgia. ' I hope,' it runs, ' to see this beautiful hymn in verse according to a promise I had from Cyrus. I take this to be a plain translation, as near the author's sense as the language will bear; but that I submit to his better judgment, from whom I expect to see it in as great perfection as in the original.'
[3] There is no year attached to this letter, but Mrs. Pendarves was evidently away from her sister.' Perhaps the date was 1730. (See Auto. and Corr. i. 260.) Miss Granville was seven years younger than
Mrs. Pendarves. Wesley writes to her as though she were one of his own pupils.
[4] Mrs. Pendarves had been in Bath, and was staying with her mother when she sent this letter. She writes to her sister from Upper Brook Street on October 15, 1730: ' I came to town last night with Sir John' (Auto. and Corr. i. 263).
[5] Samuel Wesley was the wisest counselor of his sons in the persecution they had to bear at Oxford. The letter for which John thanks him was written on December 1, and is quoted in his letter to Richard Morgan on October 18, 1752.
[6] Lady Llanover says (Autobiography and Correspondence, i. 266) that there is a period of seven months (October 15, 1730--May 27, 1731) in which there is no letter from Mrs. Penalstyes to her mother or sister. It ' may be inferred that they were together in London and at Northend.' She also says (page 269) that it may be inferred that this 'period was probably spent with her family, and during which the following letter from John Wesley was written to Mrs. Granville.' The letters show, however, that the mother was in the country and, her two daughters enjoying a whirl of gaieties in London.
Edited by Michael Mattei
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