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.

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 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.

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.

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.

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 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.

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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.'

[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.

[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.

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