1731

To his Father

January 1731.

DEAR SIR, -- Though some of the postulata upon which Archbishop King [See letters of Dec. 11, 1730, and Jan. 6, 1791.] builds his hypothesis of the Origin of Evil be such as very few will admit of, yet, since the superstructure is regular and well contrived, I thought you would not be unwilling to see the scheme of that celebrated work. He divides it into five chapters.

The sum of the first chapter is this: The first notions we have of outward things are our conceptions of motion, matter, and space. Concerning each of these, we soon observe that it does not exist of itself; and consequently that there must be some first cause, to which all of them owe their existence. Although we have no faculty for the direct perception of this First Cause, and so can know very little more of Him than a blind man of light, yet thus much we know of Him by the faculties we have,--that He is one, infinite in nature and power, free, intelligent, and omniscient; that consequently He proposes to Himself an end in every one of His actions; and that the end of His creating the world was the exercise of His power, and wisdom, and goodness; which He therefore made as perfect as it could be made by infinite goodness, and power, and wisdom.

Chapter II. But if so, how came evil into the world If the world was made by such an agent, with such an intention, how is it that either imperfection or natural or moral evils have a place in it Is not this difficulty best solved by the Manichaean supposition that there is an evil as well as a good principle By no means; for it is just as repugnant to infinite goodness to create what it foresaw would be spoiled by another, as to create what would be spoiled by the constitution of its own nature: their supposition therefore leaves the difficulty as it found it. But if it could be proved that to permit evils in the world is consistent with, nay necessarily results from, infinite goodness, then the difficulty would vanish; and to prove this is the design of the following treatise.

Chapter III. All created beings as such are necessarily imperfect; nay, infinitely distant from supreme perfection. Nor can they all be equally perfect; since some must be only parts of others. As to their properties too, some must be perfecter than others; for, suppose any number of the most perfect beings created, infinite goodness would prompt the Creator to add less perfect beings to those, if their existence neither lessened the number nor conveniences of the, more perfect. The existence of matter, for instance, neither lessens the number nor the conveniences of pure spirits. Therefore the addition of material beings to spiritual was not contrary to but resulted from infinite goodness.

Chapter IV. As the evils of imperfection necessarily spring from this, that the imperfect things were made out of nothing, so natural evils necessarily spring from their being made out of matter. For matter is totally useless without motion, or even without such a motion as will divide it into parts; but this cannot be done without a contrariety of motions, and from this necessarily flows generation and corruption.

The material part of us being thus liable to corruption, pain is necessary to make us watchful against it, and to warn us of what tends toward it; as is the fear of death likewise, which is of use in many cases that pain does not reach. From these all the passions necessarily spring; nor can these be extinguished while those remain. But if pain and the fear of death were extinguished, no animal could long subsist. Since, therefore, these evils are necessarily joined with more than equivalent goods, the permitting these is not repugnant to but flows from infinite goodness. The same observation holds as to hunger, thirst, childhood, age, diseases, wild beasts, and poisons. They are all therefore permitted, because each of them is necessarily connected with such a good as outweighs the evil.

Chapter V. Touching moral evils (by which I mean 'inconveniences arising from the choice of the sufferer '), I propose to show: 1. What is the nature of choice or election. 2. That our happiness consists in the elections or choices we make. 3. What elections are improper to be made. 4. How we come to make such elections. And, 5. How our making them is consistent with the divine power and goodness.

1. By liberty I mean an active, self-determining power, which does not choose things because they are pleasing, but is pleased with them because it chooses them.

That God is endued with such a power I conclude: (1) Because nothing is good or evil, pleasing or displeasing, to Him, before He chooses it. (2) Because His will or choice is the cause of goodness in all created things. (3) Because if God had not been endued with such a principle, He would never have created anything.

But it is to be observed, farther, that God sees and chooses whatever is connected with what He chooses in the same instant; and that He likewise chooses whatever is convenient for His creatures in the same moment wherein He chooses to create them.

That man partakes of this principle I conclude: (1) Because experience shows it. (2) Because we observe in ourselves the signs and properties of such a power. We observe we can counteract our appetites, senses, and even our reason, if we so choose; which we can no otherwise account for than by admitting such a power in ourselves.

2. The more of this power any being possesses, the less subject he is to the impulses of external agents and the more commodious is his condition. Happiness rises from a due use of our faculties: if, therefore, this be the noblest of all our faculties, then our chief happiness lies in the due use of this -- that is, in our elections. And, farther, election is the cause why things please us: he therefore who has an uncontrolled power of electing may please himself always; and if things fall out contrary to what he chooses, he may change his choice and suit it to them, and so still be happy. Indeed, in this life his natural appetites will sometimes disturb his elections, and so prevent his perfect happiness; yet is it a fair step towards it that he has a power that can at all times find pleasure in itself, however outward things vary.

3. True it is that this power sometimes gives pain--namely, when it falls short of what it chooses; which may come to pass, if we choose either things impossible to be had, or inconsistent with each other, or such as are out of our power (perhaps because others chose them before us), or, lastly, such as necessarily lead us into natural evils.

4. And into these foolish choices we may be betrayed either by ignorance, negligence, by indulging the exercise of liberty too far, by obstinacy or habit, or, lastly, by the importunity of our natural appetites. Hence it appears how cautious we ought to be in choosing; for though we may alter our choice, yet to make that alteration is painful--the more painful the longer we have persisted in it.

5. There are three ways by which God might have hindered His creatures from thus abusing their liberty. First; by not creating any being free. But had this method been taken, then (1) The whole universe would have been a mere machine. (2) That would have been wanting which is most pleasing to God of anything in the universe---namely, the' free service of His reasonable creatures. (3) His reasonable creatures would have been in a worse state than they are now: for only free agents can be perfectly happy; as, without a possibility of choosing wrong, there can be no freedom.

The second way by which God might prevent the abuse of liberty is by overruling this power and constraining us to choose right. But this would be to do and undo, to contradict Himself, to take away what He had given.

The third way by which God might have hindered His creatures from making an ill use of liberty is by placing them where they should have no temptation to abuse it. But this too would have been the same in effect as to have given them no liberty at all. -- I am, dear sir,

Your affectionate and dutiful Son.

To Mrs. Pendarves

January 11 [1731].

Why will Aspasia let in these unpleasing thoughts, these uneasy fears upon me From your long silence I can't but apprehend either that you have been out of order, or that I have been so unhappy as to displease you by some indecent or foolish expression. What shelter can I fly to from these apprehensions, unless it were possible to take in a strict sense that strange intimation you have sometimes given of being afraid to converse with me O Aspasia, if you are afraid you can't come up to the character given you by our dear Varanese, how can I hope to reach that which equal kindness but not equal justice drew What excuse does your fear leave my presumption how can I speak, if you are silent I have reasons enough (if any reasons could be enough to keep one so obliged as me from owning it) entirely to decline an intercourse which every step I take shows me unfit for; in which I can no more keep up to the spirit of Aspasia than I can in this or anything answer her expectations, and expectations for which you have too much ground; which, considering the many advantages I have long enjoyed over and above the friendship of our Varanese, though I cannot, I ought to satisfy. I ought to be some way useful to you, as you have been many ways to me. I ought to have turned that charming freedom you indulge me in to yours as well as my own advantage; to have employed it the most generous friendly way, in endeavoring to correct those failings in Selima and Aspasia (for surely no human creature is wholly spotless) which I have not yet so much as observed. I ought--I know not what. When will these two or three weeks be over, that I may speak what I cannot write [See letter to his father (Dec. 11, 1730) about going up to Westminster, and letter of Jan. 27 to Mrs. Pendarves.] It is in your power to make them move less slow. A line from Aspasia or Selima would make the time roll more swiftly, as it would, I hope, remove the apprehensions of

Your CYRUS.

Mrs. Pendarves replies:

NEW BOND STREET, January 15, 1731.

I have but a moment's time, and I cannot employ it better than in assuring Cyrus, though I doubtless appear unworthy of the favor he shows me, that Aspasia has been more unfortunate than ungrateful. The true reason I have not wrote has been my incapacity of doing it. A great weakness I had in my eyes for a considerable time, and the fear of its returning if I strained them too soon, has been the only reason of my silence. I have received all your letters, and am infinitely obliged by them. Selima several times designed making up for my deficiency; but her heart faded, and she said she was ashamed, and talked of her not being able to write well enough, and several things of that sort, which I could not agree with her in. We talk of the worth of Cyrus and Araspes whenever we have any private conversation. I desire when you come to town you will let me know what day will be most convenient for you to come to me, a pleasure I depend upon; but do not come without sending, because my brother is in the house with us, and he is frequently engaged with company. It would be a great concern to me and to Selima to have you come at a time when perhaps we may either be abroad or engaged with company that would not be agreeable to you. I hope Araspes is well, though you do not mention him in your letter. I am called away. Ought I not to be ashamed to send such a hasty scrawl to Cyrus If it serves to convince you that I am not quite unworthy of your correspondence, I shall esteem it one of the best letters I ever wrote. And that you may not think you are the only person who have thought themselves neglected by me, at the same time I received your last I had one from Varanese that wounded my very heart. However, I hope I have regained her favor, and that you will not be less indulgent to one who knows very well how to value your acquaintance, and is

Your most faithful friend and humble servant, ASPASIA,

I make it my humble request that you will burn every letter I write. [She renews this request. See letter of Aug. 26.]

To Mrs. Pendarves

WESTMINSTER, January 27 [1731].

'Tis with a great deal of pleasure as well as fear that I take the liberty to acquaint you we have been in town some hours, and attend your commands as to the time when we may have the happiness of waiting upon you. To-morrow, indeed, we are obliged to give to the Westminster Feast. If you are pleased to fix on any day after that, it will be ever owned as a fresh instance of your goodness by

Your most obliged and most obedient servants.

From Mrs. Pendarves

January 27 [1731].

It is no small pleasure to us the hope of seeing Cyrus and Araspes on Saturday in the afternoon. We shall be at home from five till eight, at which hour we are obliged to go abroad to supper. We are sorry to stint your time; but we have been engaged some time, and cannot very well break it off. We join in our humble service to your brother, and are

Your assured friends and humble servants.

I am in great haste.

From Mrs. Pendarves [1]

January 30 [1731].

It is a vast concern to me and my sister that we are obliged to put off the favor you designed us this afternoon. My sister is so much out of order that she keeps her bed, and I cannot very well leave her bedside. We hope your stay in town will not be short; and if you are not engaged on Monday in the afternoon, we hope you and your brother will favor us with your company for an hour or two. If my sister is not well enough to leave her chamber, I will send you word. This is a great disappointment to us, but I hope we shall have amends made us.--I am, sir,

Your most humble servant.

To Mrs. Pendarves

February 4 [1731].

I should have been exceedingly pleased could I have read over these papers with Aspasia and Selima: both because I should have hoped to have confirmed or altered my own judgment in several particulars, and because longer experience in things of this nature might perhaps have enabled me to be of some use toward fixing theirs. But 'tis well; I leave you in His hands, 'who shall lead into all truth.'

To Mrs. Pendarves

February 11 [1731].

'Tis as impossible for us to remember as we ought our last obligation to Aspasia and Selima as it is to forget it; and that sure can never be--no, 'not in the land where all things are forgotten.' Even there we hope to remember, and with a more tender regard than we are here capable of, to whom we owe in great measure many changes in ourselves, of which we shall then feel the full advantage: who they were that so nobly assisted us in our great work in wearing off several stains from our nature; that so strongly recommended, by that irresistible argument example, whatsoever is honorable or lovely.

There are few, except the harsher, passions of our souls which you did not engage in those late happy moments: but none more than our wonder; our joy itself was not greater than our admiration. That London is the worst place under heaven for preserving a Christian temper any one will immediately think who observes that there can be none where its professed, irreconcilable enemies, the lust of the eye and the pride of life, are more artfully and forcibly recommended. Yet even here you retain a constant sense what manner of spirit we are to be of. In the utmost affluence of whatever the world can afford to chain down your affections to it, the whole tenor of your words and actions shows they are reserved for sublimer objects.

Who can be a fitter person than one that knows it by experience to tell me the full force of that glorious rule, 'Set your affections on things above, and not on things of the earth' Is it equivalent to 'Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, soul, and strength' But what is it to love God Is not to love anything the same as habitually to delight in it Is not, then, the purport of both these injunctions this,--that we delight in the Creator more than His creatures; that we take more pleasure in Him than in anything He has made, and rejoice in nothing so much as in serving Him; that, to take Mr. Pascal's expression, while the generality of men use God and enjoy the world, we, on the contrary, only use the world while we enjoy God

How pleasingly could I spend many hours .in talking with you on this important subject ! especially if I could hope to repay thereby one mite of the vast debt I owe you, to recall to your mind any hint by pursuing of which you might exalt it to a yet firmer temper. But I submit. By thus cutting my time short, Providence shows me it has more suitable methods of leading you into all truth, and fixing you in all virtue, than the weak endeavors of

Your obliged friend, CYRUS.

Feb. 12.--I have a thousand things to say, would time permit; but, O believe, I can never say half of what I feel ! Adieu.

Mrs. Pendarves replies [2]

February 13 [1731].

The few hours that Selima and Aspasia enjoyed the conversation of Cyrus and Araspes are too valuable to be forgot; which I should sooner have endeavored to convince you of if I could have found time: and the favor of the book is of so high a nature that we can never be so ungrateful as to look on it without the greatest thankfulness. How happy should we have been to have heard it read by one who so well knows to recommend everything he approves of! I am sensible there must be several things we shall not be able to comprehend in such a treatise; you must therefore give me leave to trouble you with my ignorance by desiring your explanation of what I may not understand. I hope we shall hear from you soon; I have not time now to enlarge my letter. I must again repeat my acknowledgements for the friendship you have shown us in many instances. Selima and Aspasia will always gratefully remember them.

To Mrs. Pendarves

February 19 [1731].

Yes, it is better to assure Aspasia now, though it be but in one line, that I am sensible of her strange goodness in thus preventing me a second time, than to put off still what, could it have been avoided, ought not to have been delayed a moment. But what can I do, thus hemmed in as I am with business over and above my own I am persuaded you would not condemn me, Aspasia, did you know how many days pass over my head in which I have not one poor hour from five to seven but what is engaged long before it comes. Yet never shall any engagement of any kind make me so false both to justice and friendship as to neglect any commands which I may have the pleasure of receiving from Aspasia or Selima. That particular .one which your last gives me leave to expect, I should earnestly have requested myself had not you mentioned it first. O Aspasia, how gladly should I receive into my soul your ignorance of some points in philosophy could ignorance of pride, ingratitude, and passion pass at the same time into (I dare hardly say) Your friend, CYRUS.

When Aspasia or Selima is the theme', I speak the sense of Araspes in my own. Adieu.

Mrs. Pendarves replies:

NEW BOND STREET, April 4, 1731.

In what manner can I make an excuse to Cyrus for being so long without acknowledging the favor of his last letter By this time he certainly repents of the great indulgence he has shown me. When I consider how every hour of your life is employed, either in your own improvement or bestowing part of your knowledge on those who are happily placed under your care; and that, notwithstanding the difficulty it is for you to command any time to yourself, you have always remembered me in the most obliging manner, and have studied not only how to entertain but to improve me, -- when I recollect all this, have I not reason to fear the loss of your good opinion, and that you think me unworthy of your favor and advice that surrounded by vanity and impertinence I are fallen into the snare, and refuse to hear the voice of the charmer, charm he never so wisely God forbid my state should be so desperate as to prefer sin and folly to virtue and wisdom! I will sincerely tell you the truth, and trust to your mercy. All the acquaintance I almost have are now in town, and they are continually soliciting us either to come to them or they will come to us; my sister being soon to leave me, all her friends endeavor to give her as much entertainment as they can: by which means our time is so entirely engrossed, that for two months past we have lived in a perpetual hurry, and shall do so for the month to come. I would not have you imagine we have neglected the book. Whatever comes with your recommendation is of too much value to be neglected. But the subject of it is too elevated to be read in a hurry; next week I hope we shall have leisure to read and reflect. I am a little at a loss for some words, not being used to shorthand [By which she means abbreviations.]; but I believe I shall be able to find them out.

Every Sunday evening there is a gentleman in this town has a concert of music. I am invited there to-night, and design to go. I charge you, on the friendship you have professed for me, tell me your sincere opinion about it and all your objections. For if I am in an error by going, you ought to prevent my doing so again.

Dear Varanese I have not heard from a great while; why are we denied the happiness and advantage of conversing with such a friend Araspes may justly claim our service and esteem. Selima joins with Aspasia in being to Cyrus a

Faithful and obliged friend.

I have hardly confidence to expect a return to this.

To Mrs. Pendarves

April 5 [1731].

Aspasia will hardly imagine how often, since I had the pleasure of returning my thanks for her last favor, I have been angry at this ill-natured business which has so long kept me from repeating them. Many a time have I sighed and said to myself: ' No, nothing ought to keep me from it. I ought not on any account to lose the only way I now have of enjoying such conversation. This is the voice of reason, not prejudice. Is there a more improving (as well as pleasing) employment When thy heart burns within thee at her words, is it not the warmth of life, of virtue Do they not inspire some degree of the purity and softness of that heart from which they come' Yet one consideration there is that as often checks my complaints and bids my soul be still: 'Should I neglect the work to which Providence so plainly calls me, even in hope of such a good, by thus striving to be more like I should be still more unlike Aspasia.'

The more I observe the dispositions of those poor creatures that make up the bulk of mankind, the more do I desire to shelter myself from them under the protection of Varanese and Aspasia and Selima. The stronger distaste I conceive at those, the more amiable light these appear in. And this doubtless is one of the uses which God makes even of the children of this generation. As they give us a stronger dislike to vice, which, though it appear hateful to abstracted reason, yet

Thus speaking and thus acting grows tenfold

More horrid and deform [Paradise Lost, ii. 705-6:

‘So speaking and so threatening, grew tenfold

More dreadful and deform.’];

so they inspire us with a livelier approbation of virtue, which never appears more awful and glorious than when it appears, like the great Author of it, ' with clouds and darkness round about it.' Then it is, when I am tired with the melancholy prospect of them whose eyes the god of this world hath blinded, whose hearts he hath so bowed down to earth that their admiration soars not so high as

The riches of heaven's pavement, [Mammon in Paradise Lost, i. 682.]

that I fly to those whose eyes are opened, whose hearts are enlarged, who see and love the noblest objects; that I can hardly forbear crying out aloud, 'How unlike are these to Selima, Aspasia, Varanese!'; that I most earnestly repeat that my frequent wish—

O might there be unfeigned

Union of mind, as in us all one soul! [Paradise Lost, viii. 6o3-4: ‘Which declare unfeigned Union of mind, or in us both one soul.’]

Were it possible that my mind should unite with yours, dear Aspasia, in the single instance of humility which I can't but particularly observe and admire whenever I consider your behavior toward me, I should then dare to hope that He who had wrought in me' to think as I ought to think' would in His own time work a farther resemblance to good Aspasia in

Her most obliged, faithful CYRUS.

The esteem of Araspes as well as Cyrus must ever attend both Aspasia and Selima.

To Mrs. Pendarves [3]

April 14 [1731].

I cannot, I will not delay any longer to return my sincerest thanks to dear Aspasia for, I had almost said, the greatest of her favors, as indeed every one seems greater than the preceding. Yet methinks I should not say that you seem to exceed even your former goodness in this; since that expression would imply some room for doubt, which surely there is not here. Not only the justice which you show to the sincerity of my intentions; not only the friendly applause you give me, which, undeserved as it is, is yet exceeding pleasing, when I consider it as a mark of that approbation which I must ever have in the highest esteem; but, above all, that lovely freedom you use with me in a point of the last (utmost) importance, leaves me no room to doubt but I may look upon the last as the greatest of my obligations.

Far be it from me to think that any circumstance of life shall ever give the enemy an advantage over Aspasia. Though she walk through the vale of the shadow of death, where sin and vanity are on every side; where vice and folly appear in so fair a fight as to deceive, if it were possible, the very elect; where the utmost skill of the world and the prince of it join to tear up humility, the root of Christian virtue, and consideration, which alone (under God) is able to give it any increase, --- even there her footsteps shall not slide; she shall fear and shall find no evil: He who hath overcome the world and its prince shall give His angels charge over her to keep her in all her ways. And far should I be from doubting but they would keep you safe, though you should see cause to withdraw your favor from me; though-you should at last perceive some of those numerous faults which were before so strangely hid from you, and so be obliged to choose a fitter object for that friendship to which I made so unequal returns.

O Aspasia, am I not already betraying myself, needlessly showing my imperfections, to give way to one thought of losing your friendship while I have such an evidence of its sincerity before me I greatly wish I may be able to give a full answer to the question you so obligingly propose; but a direct one I can't give, unless such an one may be deduced from any of the following considerations.

To judge whether any action be lawful on the Sabbath [On Sunday observance in the eighteenth century, see Abbey and Overton's The English Church in the Eighteenth Century, ii. 513—19.] or no, we are to consider whether it advances the end for which that was ordained. Now, the end for which the Sabbath was ordained is the attainment of holiness. Whatever therefore tends to advance this end is lawful on this day: whatever does not tend to advance this end is not lawful on this day.

Two things we may infer hence: (1) That works of mercy are lawful on this day; for they directly tend to advance this end,' to make us holy as God is holy. (2) That works of necessity are lawful on this day; of which there are two sorts: first, works which we ought to do but cannot do on another day; secondly, works that or works the neglect of which would obstruct this end, for whatever can't be omitted without hindering it do indirectly tend to advance it. One of these, to those who can't perform the offices of religion so well without it, is giving themselves some diversion from it. But of this we may observe that, it being therefore allowed because it tends to advance the end of the day, it is allowable so far and no farther as it does tend to it, to our advance in holiness. It is not enough to say this or that diversion does not obstruct this end; for what does so is allowable on no day: but unless it promotes this particular end, it is not allowable on this day.

Araspes (whose great esteem, as well as mine, ever attends Aspasia and Selima) was extremely delighted as well as me with a letter we received some time since, acquainting us with a resolution dear Varanese had lately entered into. Why it is that I am not allowed a stricter intercourse with such a friend is a question I could never fully answer but by another, Why is any intercourse with such a friend as Aspasia or Selima allowed

Their most obliged CYRUS.

On Monday we are to set out upon a pretty long journey, which will keep us out about three weeks. [This was their journey to Lincolnshire. They stayed three weeks at Epworth, and then walked back to

Oxford. Wesley's Diary shows that during this visit to Lincolnshire he was twice at Scotton, where the Rector of his College was lying ill. See letter of June 17.] We should be exceedingly grieved if Selima should be obliged to begin hers before that time, which would prevent our having that pleasure the very expectation of which gives us many agreeable moments. Adieu.

From Ann Granville

GLOUCESTER, May 8, 1731.

I had rather expose my own ignorance in writing than not hear from Cyrus and Araspes, whose letters give so much pleasure and improvement to your friends. Beside, at present I have my mother's commands to warrant my own inclination. She orders me to be very particular in her acknowledgements of the last letter she received from you. We were extremely vexed when we came [to Stanton] to find our agreeable friends had left it. [He was at Stanton on April 19.] Except that disappointment, our journey was as prosperous as we could wish. But my sister was not with us. The weakness we felt at parting we endeavored to correct by saying, Would not Cyrus blame us for this The reflection dried our tears; but, I must confess sincerely, it did not ease our pain. Is not this wrong in us Did I (for my sister has more fortitude) make a proper progress in Christianity, the things of this world would certainly be more indifferent to me than I find they are. How shall I learn the happiness of being above trifles Nobody can so well point out the way to me as yourself. But I could not make such a request did I not know how ready you are to do good.

I have not had the pleasure of a letter since I came home from our valuable Sappho, [Miss Sally Kirkham (1699-1764), eldest daughter of the Rev. Lionel Kirkham, Rector of Stanton. In

1725 she married the Rev. John Capon, or Chapone, who had a school there. Aspasia and Selima answered, as godmothers, for their daughter. See letter of June 17.] but I have heard she is well. My sister and I answered for her dear little girl, but she is in the hands of a person more capable of instructing her. I suppose you have heard from my sister by this time. If not, I must excuse her, because she is at present very much taken with some business in order to a little ramble she goes upon this summer. We were prodigiously obliged to you for the book you favored us with. The greatest objection I had to London was that I had no time to read it. My sister and I almost quarreled about it when I came away. But she promised to send it me when she had read it. There are some words puzzle us, not understanding shorthand. [See Mrs. Pendarves' letter of April 4.] We must beg of you to explain them; for we cannot consent to lose one word.

I am often angry with some of our neighbors, who, impertinently civil, take up more of my time than I am willing to bestow upon them. I am now guilty of the same fault, and write on without considering how many useful good things I may prevent your doing. I will make no excuses, because I hope you look upon my errors as a friend. Show me you are so by telling me as freely of them as I assure Cyrus and Araspes that I am

Your most faithful friend and humble servant.

My mother's best wishes attend the good brothers.

To Mrs. Pendarves

June [1731]. [The Diary shows that he was writing this letter at 10 a.m. and 3 p.m.]

It was not in the power of all the variety of objects that 'occurred to me in my late journeys to lessen the concern I felt at being so long cut off from the conversation of Aspasia. The impression which this had left on my mind was so far from being effaced by any succeeding pleasure that every agreeable entertainment I had recalled it to my thoughts, and made me as more sensible of my obligations to her, so more desirous again to acknowledge them.

You will easily judge whether the remembrance of Aspasia: made that entertainment in particular less agreeable which I enjoyed last week [From the Diary we see that he walked from Oxford by Shipton and Stowe, reaching Stanton at eight on Saturday evening, May 22, where he stayed with Mr. Kirkham and met Varanese and Mrs. Granville. He had tea with the two ladies on Sunday. On Monday he is in V.'s arbor. He is at Buckland on Wednesday, where' he met Varanese. ' Danced ' occurs twice in the entries. On May 31 he returns by Stowe and Shipton to Oxford.] in the almost uninterrupted conversation of dear Varanese. 'On this spot she sat,' 'Along this path she walked,' 'Here she showed that lovely instance of condescension,' were reflections which, though extremely obvious, yet could not but be equally pleasing, but give a new degree of beauty to the charming arbor, the fields, the meadows, and Horrel [See letter of Aug. 14.] itself.

The happy disappointment we met with here in having everything succeed beyond our expectations almost reconciled Araspes and me to our other disappointment of a less pleasing nature. And, indeed, I for my part cannot without the utmost immodesty repine at any dispensation of Providence while I am so unaccountably indulged both in the friendship of our Varanese and in calling myself dear Aspasia's

Most obliged, faithful CYRUS.

Araspes, too, begs leave to say that he is entirely at Aspasia's service. Adieu.

To his Father

June 11, 1731.

Our walk was not so pleasant to Oxford as from it, though in one respect it was more useful; for it let us see that four- or five-and-twenty miles is an easy and safe day's journey in hot weather as well as cold. We have made another discovery too, which may be of some service: that it is easy to read as we walk ten or twelve miles; and that it neither makes us faint, nor gives us any other symptom of weariness, more than the mere walking without reading at all.

Since our return our little company that used to meet us on a Sunday evening is shrunk into almost none at all. Mr. Morgan is sick at Holt; Mr. Boyce is at his father's house at Barton; Mr. Kirkham must very shortly leave Oxford, to be his uncle's curate; and a young gentleman of Christ Church, who used to make a fourth, either afraid or ashamed, or both, is returned to the ways of the world, and studiously shuns our company. [They got back to Oxford on May 12. See letter of June 26, 1734.] However, the poor at the Castle have still the gospel preached to them, and some of their temporal wants supplied, our little fund-rather increasing than diminishing. Nor have we yet been forced to discharge any of the children which Mr. Morgan left to our care: though I wish they too do not find the want of him; I am sure some of their parents will.

Some, however, give us a better prospect; John Whitelamb in particular. [In 1734 Whitelamb became Rector of Wroot, the living of which he held till his death in 1759. See Journal, iii. 24; Tyerman's Oxford Methodists, pp. 374-86; and letter of Nov. 17.] I believe with this you will receive some account from himself how his time is employed. He reads one English, one Latin, and one Greek book alternately; and never meddles with a new one in any of the languages till he has ended the old one. If he goes on as he has begun, I dare take upon me to say that, by the time he has been here four or five years, there will not be such an one of his standing in Lincoln College, perhaps not in the University of Oxford.

To his Mother

June 11, 1731.

The motion and sun together, in our last hundred-and-fifty miles' walk, so thoroughly carried off ail our superfluous humors, that we continue perfectly in health, though it is here a very sickly season. And Mr. Kirkham [When at Stanton on May 22.] assures us, on the word of a priest and a physician, that if we will but take the same medicine once or twice a year we shall never need any other to keep us from the gout. When we were with him, we touched two or three times upon a nice subject, but did not come to any full conclusion. The point debated was, What is the meaning of being ' righteous over much,' or by the more common phrase of being 'too strict in religion' and what danger there was of any of us falling into that extreme [See letter of July 19.]

All the ways of being too righteous or too strict which we could think of were these: either the carrying some one particular virtue to so great an height as to make it clash with some others; or the laying too much stress on the instituted' means of grace, to the neglect of the weightier matters of the law; or the multiplying prudential means upon ourselves so far, and binding ourselves to the observance of them so strictly, as to obstruct the end we aimed at by them, either by hindering our advance in heavenly affections in general or by retarding our progress in some particular virtue. Our opponents seemed to think my brother and I in some danger of being too strict in this last sense of laying burdens on ourselves too heavy to be borne, and consequently too heavy to be of any use to us.

It is easy to observe that almost every one thinks that rule totally needless which he does not need himself; and as to the Christian spirit itself, almost every one calls that degree of it which he does not himself aim at, enthusiasm. If, therefore, we plead for either (not as if we thought the former absolutely needful, neither as if we had attained the latter), it is no great wonder that they who are not for us in practice should be against us. If you, who are a less prejudiced judge, have perceived us faulty in this matter, too superstitious or enthusiastic, or whatever it is to be called, we earnestly desire to be speedily informed of our error, that we may no longer spend our strength on that which profiteth not. Or whatever there may be on the other hand, in which you have observed us to be too remiss, that likewise we desire to know as soon as possible. This is a subject which we would understand with as much accuracy as possible; it being hard to say which is of the worse consequence, -- the being too strict, the really carrying things too far, the wearying ourselves and spending our strength in burdens that are unnecessary; or the being frightened by those terrible words from what, if not directly necessary, would at least be useful.

From Mrs. Pendarves

[NEW BOND STREET], June 16 [1731].

Without the highest vanity how can I suppose my correspondence of so much consequence as to give Cyrus any pleasure I have no occasion to think it but from your own words: and can I doubt your truth No, certainly.

I will not say I envied either Varanese or Cyrus those moments they passed together, for indeed I did not; but happy should I have been to have shared them with you. How I please myself with the thoughts that I was not quite forgot at that interview! Perhaps I was wished for.

How differently were my hours employed just at that time! Instead of meeting with a favorite friend, I parted from one, my dearest Selima. I want her every moment, particularly when I am alone. Her conversation softened every care. But I own it is ungrateful for me to repine at her absence. My mother can't be happy without her, and I ought to resign her with cheerfulness. My natural disposition is hasty and impatient under disappointments, but your example and precepts have already corrected some part of that inexcusable temper; and I owe you my best thanks for many tranquil hours which I should not have had without that amendment.

The common conversation of the world disgusts me extremely; but I am not only disgusted at some principles which I find too much encouraged, but really afflicted. I know men of excellent understanding, learning, humanity, in short endowed with all the agreeable qualities that can be desired, and not destitute of good ones; but talk to them of religion, and they maintain an opinion that shocks me to hear it. They allow our Savior to be a great prophet, but divest Him of divinity; admire the Scriptures, but call every part that mentions the Trinity fictitious. I have one friend in particular of this opinion. He is in every other respect a most amiable man; -- in all moral duties none can excel him, the best husband, friend, master, son; charitable without the least ostentation; has a fine understanding and the greatest politeness, without the least tincture of vanity. What do you say that man's state is with regard to the next world Company is come in, and prevents my saying any more; but I shall be glad to hear soon from you. My service attends Araspes. --I am

Your obliged friend.

To Ann Granville [4]

June 17 [1731].

In what words can I express my thanks to Selima for the favorable opinion she entertains of myself, of which she has given me so obliging a proof, as I extremely desired but knew not how to ask for

Perhaps you don't know the inconvenience you are bringing upon yourself --- that your generosity will but embolden me to ask more. Yet thus I can assure you it will be: your letters will in one sense never satisfy me. But the oftener you favor me (if you should please to do it again), the more earnestly I shall desire it. You have already effectually convinced me of this--that it may be said with equal justice of every sort of conversation with Aspasia or you, ' It brings to its sweetness no satiety.' That the tearing asunder of such friendships as these should occasion a very sensible pain is surely the effect both of nature and reason, which don't require us to be without passions (no, be it a Roman virtue to be 'without natural affection '), but to proportion them to the occasion. Indeed, we are not required by reason to grieve on the severest occasion 'as those without hope': we have a good hope that, severe as it is, it is no less merciful--nay, more so; since no pain approaches a Christian but to pave the way for more than equal pleasure.

We had so much pleasure in the late hours we spent at Stanton, [On April 19 the Diary shows that he was at Stanton and met Mrs. Granville. Her daughters were in London.] that nothing could have added to it but Selima or Aspasia. All things else conspired to complete our happiness: nor was it a small share of it which we conveyed to Mrs.. Astell. Our dear Sappho showed us her proposal to the ladies, which gave us several agreeable conversations. Surely her plan of female life must have pleased all the thinking part of her sex, had she not prescribed so much of the two dull things, reading and religion. Reading, indeed, would be less dull, as well as more improving, to those who, like her, would use method in it; but then it would not rid them of so much time, because half a dozen books read in course would take up no more of that than one or two read just as they carne to hand.

That you propose and attain another end in reading [See letters of Sept. 27, 1730, and Aug. 14, 1731.] than throwing away a few leisure hours, that one sentence in truth so well expresses the end for which we live, move, and have our being. How glad should I be could I either teach or be taught by any one ' to be above trifles'! how doubly glad to have Selima for my instructor in indifference to the things of this world! Why, that is everything! that is to be happy, to be renewed in the image in which we were created, to have that mind in us which was also in Christ Jesus.

If it be ever in my power to assist any one in renewing their minds in this image, surely the more I conversed with them the more power I should have as well as the more inclination to pursue that glorious work. Do not then think, dear Selima, that anything you can say can possibly hinder me from doing good.

Every line from so friendly an hand, every word that comes from so good an heart, has a real tendency to increase both the desire and the power of being useful in the

Much obliged friend, CYRUS.

The death of one of the best friends I had in the world, [On June 15 his Diary entry is 'Rector dead.' Dr. Morley died on June 12 at Scotton. See next letter.] which happened last week, as it occasioned, will I hope excuse the delay of this, as well as the defects.

Araspes joins with me in sincere thanks to Selima, and begs she would, when it is convenient, present our best respects to good Mrs. Granville.

To Mrs. Pendarves

June 19 [1731].

Is it a proof that I am or that I am not duly sensible of my obligations to dear Aspasia, that I so extremely desire to contract more by more frequently conversing with her Would it were possible for me, once a month at least, to have the pleasure of seeing your thoughts! You shall not doubt but it would give me improvement too: the same freedom that shines through your last, whenever I admired it, could not but make upon me a lasting as well as pleasing impression.

There was no need of Selima's letter to our Varanese, or of that she was since pleased to favor me with, to make either of us wish both her and Aspasia a share in-all our happiest moments. 'Tis but a few days since that I had a little share in your misfortune in parting with a sincere friend. [He refers to Ann Granville's leaving London, and Dr. Morley's dearth.] But I shall go to him again, if he does not return to me; though he is gone a longer journey than Selima, I hope as far as paradise.

If Providence has used me as an instrument of doing any good to Aspasia, I had almost said, ' I have my reward.' Some part of it I have undoubtedly. The thought of having added anything to your ease will make many of my hours the happier. Yet perhaps I ought not to desire you should be easy at the common conversation of the world, which, if once it comes to be indifferent to us, will scarce be long before it be agreeable. We are indeed, as to this, in a great strait: either it displeases -- and who would be in pain, could it be avoided or it pleases, which surely causes, if it does not spring from, an entire depravation of our affections. Which side shall we turn to Oh that there were a middle way! that we could shun this unpleasant or fatally-pleasing impertinence! But it cannot be. All we can do is to be on our guard when we are engaged in it, and to engage no more in it than is plainly necessary.

Do not be surprised, good Aspasia, when I assure you that I exceedingly rejoice at your other affliction. I am extremely glad to find you among those few who are yet concerned for the honor of their Master, and can't but congratulate you upon your wise choice. ' If we suffer with Him, we shall also reign with Him.' I know there are in these last days many seduced by fair speeches 'to deny the Lord that bought them,' to affirm that He and the Father are not one, and that it is robbery to think Him equal with God. Indeed, the first reformers of the Christian Faith in this point (with whom Dr. Clarke [See letters of Dec. 6, 1726, and Sept. 24, 1753.] joins), only modestly asserted that the Church was bought with the blood of Christ, but not of God, i.e. not of 'the God who is over all, who is and was and is to come, the Almighty.' And it was many hundred years after, that Socinus roundly maintained that Christ never purchased any Church at all, nor 'gave His life a ransom for any man, all those phrases being purely metaphorical.' That any one had any hope of. outgoing him I never heard before; but surely those gentlemen who will prove them to be fictitious have a much better courage than even Socinus. Yet there is one step farther for these too -- to affirm the same of all the saints; and then Tindal's [Matthew Tindal (1657 - 1733), LL.D., the chief exponent of Deism, whose Christianity as Old as the Creation appeared in 1730.] arguments are ready to their hands.

That sometimes even a good man falls a prey to the cunning craftiness of these deceivers I can easily believe, having known one (otherwise) strictly virtuous person who was under that infatuation several years. That such an one has nothing to hope for from the terms of the gospel is likewise exceeding plain: seeing exactly equivalent to the words of the Church of England (who did not rashly adopt them in her Liturgy), ' This faith except every man keep whole and undefiled, without doubt he shall perish everlastingly,' are those of the very person they thus outrage, ' He that believeth not shall be damned.' Not that we have authority to apply this general sentence to any one particular offender; because, all sin being a voluntary breach of a known law, none but He who seeth the heart, and consequently how far this breach of His law is voluntary in each particular person, can possibly know which infidel shall perish and which be received to mercy.

Whenever you recommend to that all-sufficient mercy any of those that have erred and are deceived, then especially, dear Aspasia, do not forget Your ever obliged CYRUS.

The best wishes of Araspe's are yours. Adieu.

To Mrs. Pendarves

July 19 [1731].

Is it utterly impossible that I should hear a little oftener from dear Aspasia I can't be entirely satisfied till you assure me it is; that you have too many employments of a noble kind, and too many more useful and pleasing entertainments, to allow you a vacant hour to throw away upon me, so often as once a month. So soon as I am assured of this I shall cease to importune you about it; but while I have any hope of success I can't give up a cause the gaining of which would so much add to my happiness.

I can't help being more desirous now than even at other times of hearing from you, because of an imputation that has lately been thrown upon me, which I would fain, if it were possible, remove. I have been charged with being too strict, with carrying things too far in religion, and laying burdens on myself, if not on others, which were neither necessary nor possible to be borne. [See letters of June 11 (to his mother) and Nov. 17.] A heavy charge indeed! To be too strict! That is to blaspheme the law of God as not strict enough. To carry duties too far! Why, what is this but to change holiness itself into extravagance To impose unnecessary burdens! Then am I an hinderer as well as slanderer of the religion I live to recommend; then have I added to the words of God's Book, and He shall add to me all the plagues that are written in it.

Do not therefore blame me, Aspasia, for using every means to find whether I am thus guilty or no; and particularly for appealing to the judgment of one who in this is not likely to be prejudiced in my favor. Those among whom chiefly your lot is cast are not accused of too much strictness. Whatever other ill weeds may flourish there, a Court is not a fit soil for this. Give me leave, then, to lay freely before you what my sentiments in this point are, and to conjure you to tell me with the same freedom which of them you disapprove of.

My present sense is this: -- I was made to be happy: to be happy I must love God; in proportion to my love of whom my happiness must increase. To love God I must be like Him, holy as He is holy; which implies both the being pure from vicious and foolish passions and the being confirmed in those virtuous and rational affections which God comprises in the word charity. In order to root those out of my soul and plant these in their stead, I must use (1) such means as are ordered by God; (2) such as are recommended by experience and reason.

Thus far I believe we are all agreed; but in what follows we are not: for (1) as to the end of my being, I lay it down for a rule that I can't be too happy or therefore holy; and infer thence that the more steadily I keep my eye upon the prize of our high calling the better, and the more of my thoughts and words and actions are directly pointed at the attainment of it. (2) As to the instituted means, I likewise lay it down for a rule that as ' none teach like God,' so there are none like them; and consequently that I am to use them every time I may, and with all the exactness I can. As to prudential means, I believe this rule holds--of things indifferent in themselves, whatever hinders the extirpating my vile affections or the transferring my rational ones to proper objects, that to me is not indifferent, but resolutely to be abstained from, however familiar and pleasing: again of things indifferent in themselves, whatever helps me to conquer vicious and advance in virtuous affections, that to me is not indifferent, but to be embraced, be it ever so difficult or painful. These are the points which I am said to carry too far; whether I do or no, I beg you would not delay to inform me.

Perhaps it may not be long before I have it in my power at once to return my thanks for that favor (which I shall wait for with some impatience) and to hear your sentiments more fully on some of these subjects. I extremely desire to see one of my sisters who is lately come to town [His uncle Matthew Wesley, a surgeon, who lived near Temple Bar, visited Epworth in 1731, and offered to take Martha Wesley to live with him in London.]; which, with the hopes of waiting upon Aspasia, makes me greatly wish to spend a few days there. If your journey [In a letter of May 27, ~73~, to her sister, Mrs. Pendarves (Auto. and Corr. i. 272) speaks of a proposed visit to Ireland with Mr. and Mrs. Wesley of Dangan, of whom she had seen much in London. See next letter.] begins before I can have that happiness, yet it will be some satisfaction to me to reflect that you are with those who are equally willing as well as far more able to entertain you than

Your most obliged, obedient CYRUS.

Araspes joins with me in wishing all happiness to Aspasia. Adieu.

From Mrs. Pendarves [5]

NEW BOND SIRIET, July 21, I731.

The frequent interruptions that have happened to my correspondence with Cyrus I cannot place among my little disappointments: for, indeed, I have been heartily mortified by it; not so much for the loss I have had of an agreeable entertainment as the fear that you should censure me for it, and perhaps (though I believe it would be unwillingly) tax me with ingratitude. As I endeavor in every respect to guide all my words and actions by the rule of truth, even the most minute circumstances of my life, I must tell Cyrus the real cause of my silence, though at the same time I don't think I can excuse (at least not to myself) the having so long neglected answering your letter; and fear, when I have told you my manner of spending the last two months, you may condemn me as much as I do myself. My brother, whose company I am so happy as to enjoy in the house with me, takes up so much of my time in the morning that I with great difficulty find leisure to write to Gloucester. As I am no housekeeper, I seldom dine at home, but either go to my uncle's or to some particular friend who will not let me spend one day entirely at home since my sister left me. Besides this a gentleman and lady [Mr. and Mrs. Wesley, of Dangan Castle.] that I have a great regard for, who have left England about a week, engrossed so much of my time in going with them to see all the remarkable seats about London, and to shops to assist them in buying of clothes and furniture, that I have lived as much in a hurry as if I was immediately to take a long journey. To add to this, the thoughts I have of following them the next month (for they are gone to Ireland) have furnished me with new materials for employment. This is the true state of my case; and now I have troubled you with this impertinent account, am I guilty or not guilty Ah, too guilty I fear! that could not find in all that trifling hurry one moment's leisure to satisfy my mind in a rational way. But I hope you will forgive a fault that has had no ill consequence on your side: your not hearing from me has done you no wrong. I, indeed, have suffered by it.

The imputation thrown upon you is a most extraordinary one; but such is the temper of the world, where you have no vice to feed their spleen with they will condemn the highest virtue. O Cyrus, how noble a defense you make, and how are you adorned with the beauty of holiness I You really are in a state to be envied; but you deserve the happiness you possess, and far be it from me to envy such excellence. I may aspire after some part of it. How ardently do I wish to be as resigned and humble as Cyrus! I am not presumptuous enough (knowing too well I never can attain it) to desire the knowledge and strength of reason that you are endowed with by nature, and that you have carefully cultivated and improved. But I pray to God to give me an humble and contrite spirit, to let me taste of the crumbs that fall from His table. ' I believe I Lord, help Thou my unbelief.'

As you say, my lot is fallen among those who cannot be accused of too much strictness in religion; so far from that, that they generally make an open profession of having no religion at all. I can't observe my fellow creatures in such manifest danger without feeling an inexpressible concern. But God in His good time may make them sensible of their blindness, and call them into a state of salvation.

When I am in Dublin, which will be three weeks or a month hence, I doubt my correspondence will meet with more interruptions than it has hitherto. But in the meantime, to make me some mends, I promise to answer your letters as soon as I receive them. I am afraid, when you come to town, I shall not have the pleasure of seeing you; because I am to go out of town some days before I begin my great journey. I shall think myself very fortunate if I am not when you come hither. Our friend Varanese is very well, as a letter informed me last post. I have just had time to finish this letter in a hasty manner. Company is come, and will not allow me a longer conversation. I cannot always submit to this sort of life. It encroaches too much. Adieu.

I hope to hear soon; for I am in some doubt and concern about my late silence, and fear this letter is not powerful enough to dissipate those suspicions my past behavior may have occasioned. Cyrus has no friend in the world that wishes him happiness more sincerely than does his

Faithful and obliged ASPASIA

Assure Araspes of the same.

To Mrs. Pendarves

July 14 [1731].

You have, indeed, done me wrong in this, Aspasia., in thinking I could give way to any suspicion to your disadvantage;. and yourself too, in doubting the power of that letter to remove it, if any such there were. Other wrong I confess you have done me none; since I must ever acknowledge that delightful means of improvement which it has not been in your power to give me lately, a pure effect of your goodness, not justice. I can never pretend any right to that favor; unless this should seem so to generous Aspasia, -- that I endeavor to esteem it as it deserves, and not to let it be given in vain; and that when I feel something of your spirit transfused into mine, then my heart remembers and blesses you.

I am extremely happy in having your approbation there, where I am most careful to be approved; and though I am sensible how small a part of it I deserve, yet I can't help experiencing

How sweet applause is from an honest tongue.

What is popular fame, laid in the balance with this Who would not gladly make the exchange Give me the censure of the many and the praise of the few. What is the evil compared with the good! Evil It is none at all: it is all good. One that is learning Christ should never think censure an evil. No; it is a gracious gift of a wise Father to His children: it is subservient to the noblest purposes; in particular to the attainment of humility, which in order to holiness is all in all, which whoever thinks he has enough of already has nothing of yet as he ought to have. By this alone may we judge of the value of censure: God hath so constituted this world that, so soon as ever any one sets himself earnestly to seek a better, Censure is at hand to conduct him to it. Nor can the fools cease to count his life madness [Wisdom of Solomon, v. 4.] till they have confirmed him in the wisdom of the just.

May not one reason why God makes even these fools such a means of leading others to wisdom be this,--that those whose eyes are opened may the more tenderly pity their blindness; that the contempt and hate which such objects are apt to inspire may melt down into softer passions, and they may be the more unwilling to see those cast away who have (though unknowingly) helped them to their haven

I do not wonder that Aspasia is thus minded; any more than I did at the temper of dear Varanese when under the sharpest pain an embodied spirit can know. You will easily take knowledge of those words, if you have not heard them before: 'When I was in the greatest of my pains, if my strength would have allowed, I would gladly have run out into the streets to warn all I met that they should save themselves from pains sharper than mine.' Something like this methinks 'tis impossible not to feel even when we read a description of the great place of torment. What would not one do to save a poor wretch from falling into it ! How unwilling are we to give over our attempts to help him! how ardent to try every way, while time is, before the pit shut its mouth upon him!

In attaining some share of a better portion, some lot in a fairer heritage, I may aspire to imitate Aspasia; but vainly should hope for the same share in it. You have kept yourself unspotted from the world: I am sullied with many stains! Your mind is now adorned with many of those dispositions to which mine must probably be yet long a stranger. For though I would fain be nearer you; though I do what I can (alas! I fear not always) to overtake you: yet so hard is it to lay aside every weight, these follies do so easily beset me, that I find it will not be; -- the penitent can't avoid being left behind by the innocent!

True it is that I have all the advantages given me that outward circumstances can afford. I spend day by day many hours in those employments that have a direct tendency to improve me: you can rarely have one wherein to pursue that great work with the full bent of your mind. I have scarce any acquaintance in the world who is not either apt to teach or willing to learn: you are entangle among several who can plead for themselves little more than that they do no hurt. And would to God even this plea would hold! I much fear it will not. Is it no hurt to rob you of that time for which there is no equivalent but eternity, on the use of every moment of which much more than a world depends to turn your very sweetness of temper against you on this very account to encroach upon you with so much cruelty to force you to stand still so many hours when you are most ardent to press forward nay, to strike whole days out of your existence, while He that sitteth in heaven sees that all the kingdoms He hath made are vile compared to the worth of one particle of them O God, hath Thy wisdom prepared a remedy for every evil under the sun, and is there none for this Must Aspasia ever submit to this insupportable misfortune Every time a gay wretch wants to trifle away part of that invaluable treasure which Thou hast lent him, shall he force away a part of hers too tear another star from her crown of glory Oh, 'tis too much indeed! Surely there is a way to escape. The God whom you serve point it out to you!

In about eight days I hope to be in town. If you leave it before that time, I heartily recommend you to His protection who is able ' to save to the uttermost'; and if I have not the pleasure of seeing you now, I shall the more cheerfully bear my disappointment, since you are so good as to assure me that, notwithstanding the distance between us, you will now and then think of, dear Aspasia,

Your most sincere friend and most obedient servant,

CYRUS.

Though I had almost forgot Araspes, he will never forget what he owes to good Aspasia. Adieu.

From Mrs. Pendarvas

July 29 [1731].

I wish it could have been otherwise, but I doubt I shall not be in town when Cyrus is there. I am now in the country, and shall stay a fortnight longer. To make myself some amends, I lay hold of the first opportunity to write, and to convince you that, when I have not been regular in my answers to your letters, it has been my fault: though my not being at home is a reason why I have not much time at command, what leisure I have I dedicate to Cyrus, While I read your letters I find myself carried above the world. I view the vanities I left behind with the disdain that is due to them, and wish never to return to them: but as it is my lot to dwell among them as yet, I will at least endeavor to defend myself from their assaults; and with your assistance I hope to baffle and turn aside their sting. But as from every evil we may extract good, so in this particular I have great consolation that, weak and insignificant as I am, I have sometimes found means of maintaining the honor of our great God when I have heard the blasphemer say ' Where is now their God ' At such an instant, how have I wished for a capacity equal to the mighty Cause! for Cyrus's wisdom and words!

There is a young lady, a particular friend of mine, who by all that I can judge of her behavior omits no duty either to God or man, yet is so discontented with herself that she is upon the brink of despair. I believe her in an ill state of health, and that may contribute to her melancholy. I asked her when it was that she was most dissatisfied, and promised her great comfort from your advice. She says 'she has a coldness when she says her prayers (which she constantly does twice a day) and wandering thoughts, and that the week before she receives the sacrament she endures such agonies as are not to be expressed.' I know no one so able to assist her as you, and I am sure of your endeavor to do it, which will be fresh obligation to Your faithful ASPASIA.

Araspes is very good to me, and I am not ungrateful.

To Ann Granvill,

July [1731]

Selima will not believe that any other reason could have kept me so long from writing but the having so many things which I must do, as scarce give me any time for what I would do. I can by no means think the acknowledging it once a fit return for your last favor, and have often been upon the point of telling you so, when some fresh business has seized upon me and forced me to deny myself yet longer the pleasure of doing you that justice. And, to say the truth, I am even now as busy as ever, but not quite so patient; and therefore, since there is no end of waiting for this leisure, I must make what I cannot find. I am something the more reconciled to this confinement, because though it hinders my expressing it so often, yet it never hinders me from remembering that regard which on so many accounts I owe Selima. Nay, this very circumstance, that I am so confined, often recalls you to my thoughts, and makes me the more sensible of that hard trial to which you are frequently exposed. If I am compassed with business on every side, yet 'tis business of my own: such especially is that which I engage immediately for the sake of others; since I know to whom I lend that time and pains, and that what I so lay out shall be surely paid me again. But Selima, under as great a multitude of engagements, has not always the same thought to support her. You often are troubled about many things, few of which promise even distant pleasure, and are obliged to converse with many persons, too wise to learn, though not wise enough to teach.

O Selima, teach me to submit to such a trial, if ever it should be my portion: tell me how you let yours down to such capacities, and sustain the insipidness of such conversations, how you do to possess your soul in patience, when the floods of impertinence are around you. I have often wondered how so active a spirit as yours, that was not made for a common share of glory, but to force its way through all impediments to the heights of knowledge and virtue--how such a spirit as yours could bear with calmness to have its flight stopped in the mid-way by those mere children of earth, who will not take pains to be even as the angels of God in heaven; nay, who perhaps would not be angels if they might, since 'tis sure those ancient heirs of salvation are therefore the most happy because they are the most active of all created beings.

I have lately had the pleasure of two letters from Aspasia, [July 21 and 29.] and hoped for a still greater in waiting upon her next week; but her last informed me she is out of town, and does not return this fortnight, before which time I must leave it. I believe Providence is more careful of me than I am of myself, and knowing that, were I to see Aspasia or Selima often, I could not possibly act up to the favorable opinion they are pleased to entertain of us, removes me (for my interest, though against my choice) from the opportunities of betraying my weakness. If I have fewer opportunities, too, of expressing my gratitude in writing than I could wish, let it not deprive me of the pleasure of sometimes hearing from Selima, yet let me steal a few moments from you. I am sure none of them that converse with you (on however so many accounts besides you may give them the preference) are more thankful for that favor than Your most obliged and most obedient CYRUS.

To Mrs. Pendarves

August 12 [1731].

Nothing could have made our journey more prosperous than it was except the seeing Aspasia. We were successful in every other respect far beyond our expectations. Indeed, the chief design we went upon was very unlikely, humanly speaking, to succeed at all. But what is likelihood against any undertaking if He be for it ' whom all things serve'!

I am sensible how good you axe to me, Aspasia; both in writing so soon, engaged as you were, and in permitting me to hope that when you are less engaged you will again bestow some moments upon me. But this is not the only reason why I shall be heartily glad, whenever you are rescued from many of your engagements, whenever it is in your power to burst those chains that hang heavy on your noblest purposes and to move with a full and free course toward the haven where you would be!

I have a good hope that you will continue to disdain all the vanities that surround you, and that those choicest instruments of mischief, 'they that do no harm,' will never be able to undermine your resolution; because you take the true method of defense, the not standing barely on the defensive. Oh may you ever retain this just sense of our state: may you ever remember that we are to resist, not to stand still; that they who would overcome are not barely to repel, but likewise to retort the darts of the enemy; that to be innocent we are to be active, to avoid evil we must do good, and if it be possible in that very particular wherein we are solicited to evil. Hath the fool said aloud, ' There is no God' so much the rather let us prove there is one. Is His Son degraded into an equality with the sons of men the more zealously let us assert His equality with God. Do any blaspheme His Word that is our time to show that not otherwise under heaven can we obtain salvation. Who, indeed, is sufficient to prove these things against an artful, practiced unbeliever If even your address be not sufficient of itself, yet He is with you who is sufficient for all things, who hath often strengthened the weak for this very thing, 'to still the enemy and the 'self-avenger.'

'Tis a great instance of His never failing them that seek Him that the lady you mention has such a friend as Aspasia. Afflicted as she is, I can scarce call her unhappy; nay, I am almost tempted to envy her. Too tender a conscience is a glorious excess! Scarce has any one fallen by fearing to fall. Yet it is an excess; and I wish it be in my power to contribute toward the removing it.

Two things she seems to complain of most, inattention in prayer and uneasiness before the sacrament. The latter probably is owing in good part to the former, which therefore appears to require consideration most.

As to this I would ask first: 'Can you help it If not, do you think God is good If He be, He can't be displeased at what you can't avoid. That would be to be angry at Himself, since 'tis His will, not yours, that you are not more attentive.' Next I would ask: 'Do you expect while upon earth to be "as the angels of God in heaven" If not, you must expect to have a share in that infirmity which no one quite shakes off till he leaves earth behind him.'

As to shaking it off in some degree, if she thinks that worth while, and is resolved to use any probable means of doing it, I could propose one or two that seldom fail to be of service to those that regularly use them: ' Are you inattentive in prayer pray oftener. Do you address to God twice a day already then do so three times. Do you find yourself very uneasy before the sacrament, though you receive it every month your next resolution, with God's leave, should be to receive it every week.'

Your friend's case appears to be this: God, seeing the earnestness of heart with which she chooses virtue, sees that she is a fit object for a large measure of His blessed Spirit. As a preparative for this, He sends this pain {whether the immediate cause of it be in her body or mind) to cleanse her from all remaining sinful affections and to balance all those temptations that might prevent her pressing forward to that degree of holiness which becomes them whom God thus delights to honor. If so, it will continue with her till it has had its perfect work.

I want to say a great deal more on this subject, but am exceedingly straitened for time, being to begin a long journey in a day or two, though not so long an one as Aspasia. I was going to say nor so dangerous. But I know no danger that a lover of God can be in till God is no more, or at least has quitted the reins and left Chance to govern the world. Oh yes, there is one danger; and a great one it is, which nothing less than constant care can prevent--the ceasing to love Him: but that care will never be wanting in Aspasia. She will continually watch over her affections, and be going on from strength to strength; every new scene will be to her a new scene of action, of improving herself and others. This reflection greatly softens the thought of the distance that will be shortly between us; especially when I reflect farther that you will still indulge in a share of that improvement, dear Aspasia,

Your most faithful friend and most obliged servant,

CYRUS.

I intend to stay but a fortnight at my father's. If you don't set out till I return, may I not hear from you You will believe that the gratitude and best wishes of Araspes as well as Cyrus will ever attend Aspasia. Adieu,

To Ann Granville [6]

August 14 [1731].

I have neither time nor skill to thank Selima as I would for her repeated condescension to me, which nothing can excel, and that for which I am so deeply indebted to good Mrs. Granville. Both hers and your partiality toward me I cannot but observe with wondering gratitude; and hope it will continue to plead in my behalf, and to excuse my many faults and infirmities: and my observing this makes me the less surprised that, notwithstanding all my failings, you still have so favorable an opinion of me as to think me worth your correspondence.

Perhaps 'tis one of these failings that even now I intend to speak the plain sense of my [mind]. I do it in so unhappy a manner as to make even sincerity look like flattery: a fault I desire as carefully to avoid as stabbing my friend with a smile. For doubtless those words that inspire vanity, if they ' be smooth as oil, yet be very swords.' God forbid that mine should ever be such to Selima, or Selima's to me. I trust they will not, but that I shall always be enabled to consider them in the true light as a picture of what you are and what I perhaps shall be, if your friendship has its perfect work.

What you write with so generous a view as this justly claims the best return I can make: especially when it informs me 'that there is one particular wherein I may possibly be of some service to Selima. I had, indeed, spent many thoughts on the necessity of method to a considerable progress either in knowledge or virtue, and am still persuaded that they who have but a day to live are not wise if they waste a moment, and are therefore concerned to take the shortest way to every' point they desire to arrive at.

The method of or shortest way to knowledge seems to be this: (1) to consider what knowledge you desire to attain to; (2) to read no book which does not some way tend to the attainment of that knowledge; {3) to read no book which does tend to the attainment of it, unless it be the best in its kind; (4) to finish one before you begin another; and (5) to read them all in such an order that every subsequent book may illustrate and confirm the preceding. The knowledge which you would probably desire to attain to is a knowledge of divinity, philosophy, history, and poetry. If you will be so good as to direct me how I can be of use to you in any of these, it will give me a very particular pleasure. [See letters of June 17 and Dec. 1.]

I am glad you passed your time so agreeably in the country, [Mrs. Pendarves writes to her sister on Sept. 10: ' I suppose by this time you are returned from Stanton.] and doubt not but Sappho would have made it yet more agreeable. Surely you are very just in observing that a country life is in many respects preferable to any other; particularly in its abounding with those beauties of nature that

so easily raise our thoughts to the Author of them. Methinks, whenever

about us round we see

Hill, dale, and shady wood and sunny plain,

And liquid lapse of murm'ring stream, [Paradise Lost, viii. 261-3, v. 153.]

'tis scarce possible to stop that obvious reflection:

These are Thy glorious works, Parent of good. [Paradise Lost, viii. 261-3, v. 153.]

Nor is it hard here, where the busy varieties of a great town do not flutter about us and break our attention, to fix that reflection so deep upon our souls that it may not pass away, like the objects that occasioned it.

I hope to retain some of the reflections which the smooth turf on which we sat, the trees overshadowing and surrounding us, the fields and meadows beneath, and the opposite hills, with the setting sun just glimmering over their brows, assisted Aspasia and Selima in inspiring; till I have the happiness of meeting part, at least, of the same company on Horrel again. Perhaps Aspasia may be there too; though, if it should be long before we meet, we may trust her with Him in whose hands she is: what seems best to Him is best both for her and us. 'Tis a cheerful thought that even the winds and seas can only fulfill His word! Why is it, then, that our hearts are troubled for her Why does tenderness prevail over faith Because faith is not yet made perfect; because we yet walk partly by sight; because we have not yet proved the whole armor of God, and therefore still lie open to this suggestion of the enemy, ' Some things are out of the reach of God's care; in some cases His arm is shortened and cannot save.' Nay, but where is the darkness that covers from His eye, where is the place where His right hand doth not hold us As well, therefore, may we be shipwrecked on the dry land as shipwrecked on the sea unless He command it. And if He does command any of us 'to arise and go hence,' what signifies it where the command finds us As means can do nothing without His word, so when that is passed they are never wanting:

Since when obedient nature knows His will,

A fly, a grapestone, or an hair can kill. [Prior's Ode to Memory of Colonel Villiers.]

Whether it be in my power or no to do anything for Selima that will either make that summons, whenever it comes, less unpleasing, or in the meantime contribute to your ease and satisfaction and the conquest of those enemies that so easily beset us all, you will assure yourself of the best endearours

of

Your most friendly and most obedient CYRUS.

The best service of Araspes as well as Cyrus attends

Mrs. Granville and Selima. Adieu.

From Mrs. Pendarves [7]

August 26 [1731].

I hope this letter will reach you before I begin my journey, which I intend to do on Tuesday next. I shall go in five days to Chester, and from thence take shipping for Dublin. The passage is reckoned a bad one, and the time of year subject to storms. I must desire your prayers for me particularly at that time: though I thank God I have not one anxious thought about my journey or voyage. When I consider the worst thing that can happen will be death, I am not terrified at the reflection. I hope I am not too presumptuous: tell me if I am, and teach me how to fear in a proper way the King of Terrors.

The lady for whom you have so kindly given me your advice has been in the country almost ever since I received your letter. I shall take an opportunity of reading part of it to her; but not all, till I have heard again from you, for a reason which I will now tell you. A physician ought to know every symptom of a distemper, or how should he know properly to prescribe You say she should add to the length of her prayers or to the frequency of them. But she has tried that method already, and has reduced herself to death's door by her intense application to her devotions. To be sincere, I doubt one great cause of her uneasiness is a pride of heart which she is not sensible of. I have observed instances of it in trifles -as, Expecting great civilities and ceremony from her acquaintance, and thinking that they do not pay her respect enough and that they neglect her. When she has had her mind ruffled by any such unkind behavior as she calls it, she then falls into a deep melancholy; and from apprehending the loss of her friends' affections, she carries those fears farther, almost to despair. She has also a mixture of vanity (which bears a near relation to pride) to appear in as good clothes as any of her companions, when she can't so well afford it. If a proper humility could be instilled into her, I am apt to think it would dispel all those gloomy thoughts that now perplex her. She would be resigned to all the decrees of Providence when she was once convinced how little we any of us deserve the blessings we enjoy. That unfortunate disposition of hers would make me very criminal in her eyes, did she know what I have told you of her. But sure the intention with which I do it justifies my discovering those infirmities of my friend that cannot be cured without being known.

When you write to me, which I hope will be soon, direct your letter to my sister at Gloucester, and she will take care to convey it to me. I shall be glad to know from you the definition of pride and vanity, and the difference there is between them. Give me leave to tell you my opinion, and then set me right if my notion does not agree with yours. The proud man (according to my way of thinking) believes he deserves all honors that can be paid him, and the vain man would be 'thought to deserve all. I have not time to add a word more. -- I am to Cyrus and Araspes a faithful friend.

ASPASIA.

I must insist on your burning [Wesley probably did this (see also letter of Jan. 15), but kept careful copies, which have been preserved and are in the possession of Mr. Russell J. Colman.] all my letters, and pray don't make use of any epithet before my name when you write to me. I have not time to tell my reasons.

To Mrs. Pendarves

September 28 [1731].

I could not be unmindful of Aspasia in the stormy weather we had at the beginning of this month; though I did not receive your last till near three weeks after, when you too, I hope, had ended your journey. 'Tis not strange that one who knows how to live should not be afraid to die; since the sting of death is sin. Rather it would have been strange if Aspasia had been afraid, if either her nature or her faith had failed her: as well knowing that where death is the worst of ills there it is the greatest of blessings.

I am very sensible of the confidence you repose in me, in telling me the whole of your friend's case-illness. The symptoms you mention are these: (1) the expecting great civilities from her acquaintance, with an aptness to think herself neglected by them; (2) a deep sadness upon the apprehension of their unkindness and the supposed loss of their affections, which often carries her to such a length as to believe that God will forsake her too; (3) a desire to be equally well dressed with her companions, though she has not an equal fortune. The first question is, therefore, what disorder it is that is the cause of these effects.

One person I knew who had every one of these symptoms: she expected great civilities, and was extremely apt to think her acquaintance neglected her and showed less respect to her than to other people; the apprehension of whose unkindness, joining with ill-health, sometimes made her deeply melancholy. I have often known her pained at being worse dressed than her companions, and have heard her say more than once that few trials she had met with in her life were harder to be borne.

Is it not likely that it was the same cause that produced the same effects in both these persons If so, we are not far from finding what it is; for in one I knew it was chiefly vanity. Her sense of honor was not under due regulation; she was too fond of being admired, and therefore could ill bear to miss of this, but much worse to be contemned; and from too strong a desire of being approved and too great an aversion to being despised, which was her original distemper, wholly proceeded those painful symptoms. She seldom thought she met with respect enough, because she loved it too well; the least shadow of disrespect pained her, because she hated it too much. Hence, too, she dreaded whatever might expose her to it, and therefore was uneasy when less well dressed than her companions. Perhaps her taking their supposed unkindness so deeply might flow from a better fountain. Is too tender a sense of the loss of a friend's affection a necessary proof of vanity May we not put a milder interpretation, even upon an aptness to suspect it where there is no real ground of suspicion This is a weed; but is it not the weed of an excellent soil for

Such flaws are found in the most noble natures.

It seems probable that this is the disease of yours as well as of my acquaintance, namely vanity; which you justly distinguish from pride, though indeed they are nearly related, pride regarding (as you well observe) our opinion of ourselves, vanity the opinions of other men concerning us: the former being immoderate self-esteem, the latter immoderate desire of the esteem of others. The proper remedy for either of these distempers you rightly judge to be humility. But how to infuse this God knows. With men it is impossible.

I know none more likely to be an instrument in His hand to perform this work of omnipotence than Aspasia. For you will not depend on your own strength while you insinuate to her the great cause of her melancholy; while you use all your address to make her sensible how apt vanity is to steal in even upon the best tempers; how useful it might be, seeing nothing but the finger of God can cast out this stubborn spirit, to mix with (intersperse) all our solemn addresses to Him with particular petitions against it. O Aspasia, how amiable do you appear while you are employed in such offices as these, especially in the eyes of Him who seeth more clearly than man seeth ! how just a return are you making to Him for the talents He has bestowed upon you I and how generous a use of your power over your friends while you thus direct it all to their advantage ! Watch over me too for good, Aspasia. Though we are far, far divided as to our persons, yet let your thoughts (at least morning and evening) be with

Your most obliged friend and servant, CYRUS.

Is there need for Aspasia to desire one thing twice of Cyrus or Araspes I hope both of them are more sensible of their obligations to her. Adieu.

To Ann Granville

October 3 [1731].

'Tis in vain for me to think I shall ever be able to tell Selima how much I am obliged to her for her last. Why do you thus add to the obligations that were before too great to admit of any return I am now entirely reconciled to my late disappointment by the charming manner in which you mention it, and share in the pleasure of your lovely conversations while you tell me I was thought of in them. Nothing could give me a livelier satisfaction, unless I should once again meet Selima, and assure her that those are some of the happiest hours of my life when I can give any proof of the value I have for her friendship, and that no employment is more agreeable to me than that which gives me any hopes of improving it.

An account I received some time since from Aspasia (for whose safety you will believe I am sincerely glad [Mrs. Pendarves went to Ireland in September. See letter of Aug. 26.]) so much resembles yours that I have been in some doubt whether you did not speak of the same plan. [See letters of July 29, Aug. 12 and 26, and previous letter.] Whether you did or no, I wish that you have not both much too favorable an opinion of me. I am sure I should of myself, did I think it in my power ' to heal the broken in heart, to use any words that would cure a wounded spirit, or be a medicine for that sickness.' Nor, indeed, have I time to weigh so nice a case thoroughly; do not, then, be surprised, good Selima, if while I dare not wholly decline what you desire, yet I am forced to do it in so imperfect a manner as neither suits the importance of the thing itself nor my obligations to the person that desires it.

One that is generous, charitable, and devout, that has an easy fortune and many sincere friends, is yet unhappy; something lurking within poisons all the sweets, nor can she taste any of the goodness she enjoys. She strives against it, but in vain. She spends her strength, but to 'no purpose: her enemy still renews his strength: nature even—

When 'gainst his head her sacred arms she bent

Strict watch, and fast severe, and prayer omnipotent. [The Battle of the Sexes, xxxvi., by Samuel Wesley, jun.]

Still he pursues her prayer; still he wounds her doubts and scruples of various sorts, so as to make the very ways of pleasantness uneasy and the path of life like that which leads to destruction.

And is there no help Yes. If Selima can believe, all things are possible to her that believeth. The shield of faith will yet repel all darts, if she can be taught to use it skillfully; if the eyes of her understanding can be enlightened to see what is the hope of her calling: to know that our hope is sincerity, not perfection; not to do well, but to do our best. If God were to mark all that is done amiss, who could abide it Not the great Apostle himself, who, even when he had finished his course on earth and was ripe for paradise, yet mentions himself as not having already attained that height, not being already perfect.

Perfect, indeed, he was from sin, strictly speaking, which is a voluntary breach of a known law; at least from habits of such sin: as to single acts, he knew whom he had believed. He knew who had promised to forgive these, not seven times but seventy times seven. Nay, a thousand times a thousand, if they sincerely desire it, shall all sins be forgiven unto the sons of men. We need except none; no, not the sin against the Holy Ghost, for in truth this phrase is nowhere in the whole sacred book. 'The sin against the Holy Ghost' is a term invented by the devil to perplex those whom he cannot destroy. The term used by God is the blasphemy against the Holy Ghost, a phrase that instantly shuts out all thoughts and accusations, for blasphemy must be a speech; and what speech it is Christ has expressly told us in Mark iii. 22, 29, 30: ' He hath Beelzebub, and by the prince of the devils casteth He out devils.'

Shall He not cast out by the finger of God that anxiety which they have instilled in His servant shall He not avenge her that cries to Him day and night, [though] (for wise reasons) He bear long with her enemies I trust He shall avenge her speedily. At last, if she ceases not to cry unto Him to deliver her from her weakness, then let her be assured it shall not be in vain: for ' God is in the cry, but not in the weakness.

I do not say that she shall immediately be delivered: nor yet are her good dispositions lost; seeing there is a reward for suffering as well as for acting, and blessed are they that endure temptation. God has given them a means of improving their good dispositions, which is not given to the rest of the world; a means which supplies the want of activity and gives them all the advantage of a busy life without the dangers. This is the surest, it is the shortest way, as to all virtue, so particularly to humility, the distinguishing virtue of Christians, the sole inlet to all virtue.

Neither do I believe that she will ever be wholly freed either from wandering thoughts in prayer, or perhaps from such as would be wicked were they chosen or voluntarily indulged, but which, when they are not voluntary, are no more voluntary than the beating of the heart or of the arteries. I never heard or read of more than one living person (Mr. De Renty) [Wesley published An Extract of the Life of Monsieur De Renty in1741. He died at Paris on April 24, 1649, aged thirty-seven.] who had quite shook off the weight, and much doubt if of the sons of men now alive there be one who is so highly favored. And perhaps we have scarce another instance of an embodied soul who always did the work of God with cheerfulness. The common lot of humanity seems to be, to be various, more particularly in the things that pertain to God, from whom we are so far estranged by nature. With regard to these even David could sometimes say, 'Why go I so heavily while the enemy oppresses me' His rule it was therefore, as it is ours, to judge of us not by what we feel but by what we do.

To his Brother Samuel

LINCOLN COLEGE, November 17, 1731.

DEAR BROTHER,--Considering the other changes that I remember in myself, I shall not at all wonder if the time comes when we differ as little in our conclusions as we do now in our premises. In most we seem to agree already; especially as to rising, not keeping much company, and sitting by a fire, which I always do, if any one in the room does, whether at home or abroad. But these are the very things about which others will never agree with me. Had I given up these, or but one of them rising early, [See letter of March 19, 1727.] which implies going to bed early (though I never am sleepy now), and keeping so little company--not one man in ten of those that are offended at me, as it is, would ever open their mouth against any of the other particulars. For the sake of these, those are mentioned: the root of the matter lies here. Would I but employ a third of my money, and about half my time, as other folks do, smaller matters would be easily overlooked. But I think nil tanti est. ['Nothing is worth such a sacrifice as this.'] As to my hair, I am much more sure that what this enables me to do is according to the Scripture than I am that the length of it is contrary to it. [See letter of Dec. 5, 1726.]

I have often thought of a saying of Dr. Hayward's when he examined me for priest's orders [He was ordained priest at Christ Church by Dr. Potter on Sept. 22, 1728.]: 'Do you know what you are about You are bidding defiance to all mankind. He that would live a Christian priest ought to know that, whether his hand be against every man or no, he must expect every man's hand should be against him.' It is not strange that every man's hand who is not a Christian should be against him that endeavors to be so. But is it not hard that even those that are with us should be against us that a man's enemies (in some degree) should be those of the same household of faith Yet so it is. From the time that a man sets himself to his business, very many, even of those who travel the same road, many of those who are before as well as behind him, will lay stumbling-blocks in his way. One blames him for not going fast enough; another, for having made no greater progress; another, for going too far, which, perhaps, strange as it is, is the more common charge of the two: for this comes from people of all sorts; not only infidels, not only half Christians, but some of the best of men are very apt to make this reflection: ' He lays unnecessary burdens upon himself; he is too precise; he does what God has nowhere required to be done.' True, He has not required it of those that are perfect; and even as to those who are not, all men are not required to use all means, but every man is required to use those which he finds most useful to himself. And who can tell better than himself whether he finds them so or no ' Who knoweth the things of a man better than the spirit of a man that is in him '

This being a point of no common concern, I desire to explain myself upon it once for all, and to tell you, freely and clearly, those general positions on which I ground (I think) all those practices, for which (as you would have seen, had you read that paper through) I am generally accused of singularity. [See letter of July 19.](1) As to the end of my being, I lay it down for a rule that I cannot be too happy, or therefore too holy; and thence infer that the more steadily I keep my eye upon the prize of our high calling the better, and the more of my thoughts, and words, and actions are directly pointed at the attainment Of it. (2) As to the instituted means of attaining it, I likewise lay it down for a rule that I am to use them every time I may. (3) As to prudential means, I believe this rule holds of things indifferent in themselves: whatever I know to do me hurt, that to me is not indifferent, but resolutely to be abstained from; whatever I know to do me good, that to me is not indifferent, but resolutely to be embraced.

But it will be said I am whimsical. True; and what then If by whimsical be meant simply singular, I own it: if singular without any reason, I deny it with both my hands, and am ready to give a reason, to any that asks me, of every custom wherein I willfully differ from the world. I grant, in many single actions I differ unreasonably from others; but not willfully: no, I shall extremely thank any one who will teach me to help it. But can I totally help it, till I have more breeding or more prudence to neither of which I am much disposed naturally; and I greatly fear my acquired stock of either will give me small assistance.

I have but one thing to add, and that is as to my being formal. If by that be meant that I am not easy and unaffected enough in my carriage, it is very true; but how shall I help it I cannot be genteelly behaved by instinct; and if I am to try after it by experience and observation of others, that is not the work of a month but of years. If by formal be meant that I am serious, this too is very true; but why should I help it Mirth, I grant, is fit for you; but does it follow that it is fit for me Are the same tempers, any more than the same words or actions, fit for all circumstances If you are to 'rejoice evermore' because you have put your enemies to flight, am I to do the same while they continually assault me You are glad, because you are 'passed from death to life'; well, but let him be afraid who knows not whether he is to live or die. Whether this be my condition or no, who can tell better than myself Him who can, whoever he be, I allow to be a proper judge whether I do well to be generally as serious as I can.

John Whitelamb wants a gown much, and I am not rich enough to buy him one at present. If you are willing my twenty shillings (that were) should go toward that, I will add ten to them, and let it lie till I have tried my interest with my friends to make up the price of a new one.--I am, dear brother,

Yours and my sister's affectionate Brother.

The Rector [Euseby Isham, 1731-55.] is much at your service. I fancy I shall some time or other have much to say to you about him. All are pretty well at Epworth, my sister Molly [Mary Wesley, who married John Whitelamb in 1734 and died the same year. See letter of Oct. 4, 1769.] says.

From Ann Granville [8]

GLOUCASTER, December 1, 1731

It is very unwillingly that I have been so long prevented thanking Cyrus for the last proof of his friendship, though you have reason to be glad of it; for my letters are so trifling, that you show the most good nature and humility in the world to suffer my correspondence. I hope in time to be more worthy of it; nothing will be more conducive to it than the advantage of such an instructor.

I can't help believing my friend is the better for your good and kind advice. She has not mentioned anything upon that subject in her last letters, but says her spirits are more lively, and she enters a little into the diversions of the Bath, which at first she was quite averse to; for I fancy the more satisfied one is with oneself, the more cheerfully may one partake of the innocent entertainments of the world. How far, indeed, and what sort of diversions are the most allowable and consistent with one's duty, is what I would fain be satisfied in. Suppose I go every week to an assembly, play at cards two or three hours, if I omit no duty by it, is it a fault or would it be in an older person than myself though I don't think being young exempts me from any good or religious act.

You see, Cyrus, how freely I expose to you all my errors, all my scruples; and though I expose the weakness of judgment, yet I show how desirous I am to' reform my will and rectify my thought':

for sure, the active principle within is worth improvement; you have confirmed me in the inclination of doing it--have already, and I hope will continue to assist me in it. I shall be extremely thankful

for that scheme of books you mention. [See letter of Aug. 14.] Oh that I could make as good a use of them as the person it was made for I What happiness is it to have those we love follow after virtue! and how sensible an affliction to see them forsake those paths which can alone make them happy! That is a pain Cyrus has not, and I hope will never know, any otherways than the general benevolence he has for all his fellow creatures makes him grieve when they do miss.

Now give me leave to say that I can't find out the advantage of losing the conversation of particular sensible and virtuous friends. Their words, their example excite us on to goodness; they blow up and keep alive those sparks of religion which are too apt (with sorrow I speak it) to grow faint and languid. I can recollect many instances where they have been of advantage to me. At church their attention has increased mine. At home they have begun good conversations that I have been the better for; as we were often together, we used to assist each other in bearing a multitude of impertinence that I am now forced to support singly. Now, have I not more reason to imagine 'twas rather for their good than mine that they were removed Now, I fear I show great arrogance to deny anything you say, but I only make this objection in order to be more fully convinced. No one can do it so soon as Cyrus. His arguments are so plain and sensible, and withal so well expressed, they please the fancy while they inform the understanding; which is what I very seldom have met with before, most instructive things being dry and tedious--at least to me, who cannot, like my dear Sappho, search for through all her obscure recesses.

I am now reading a book I want your opinion of. 'Tis Mr. Burkitt's Explanation of the New Testament; he calls it Expository Notes with Practical Observations. Sure Cyrus cannot sit without a fire this weather. I hope the good Society prospers; one way I'm sure they do. I often think of them, especially when the cold makes me shrink. They are those that are chosen of peculiar grace; the influence of it will, I hope, extend to their weaker brethren.

The last letter I had from Aspasia she said she was very much concerned she had not writ to you, and desired me to assure the good brothers of her friendship and good wishes, as does my mother, who is very much out of order with a cold. The last time I heard from Sappho she was well. Is not Araspes' hymn quite charming You have not sent your poetic herd so far but you can call them in whenever you please.

Cyrus may be certain I shall never forget him in the only way I can show my gratitude to him. Oh that I had reason to think my prayers would be as efficacious as his with[out] doubt are l What is uttered with so much real piety must be successful for himself and for his friends. There I hope he will always place

SELIMA.

Editor's Introductory Notes

[1] She had to write on January 30 altering the date of the visit.

[2] The ' book' is the MS. in the Colman Collection, ' The Procedure, Extent, and Limits of the Human Understanding.' It has 103 pages, and is dated Christmas Eve, 1730. The last two chapters are on the Improvement of Knowledge by Revelation and the Improvement of Morality by Revelation. It is an epitome of The Procedure (or Progress), Extent, and Limits of Human Understanding (1728), by Dr. Peter Browne Bishop of Cork 1710-35. See Journal, iv. 192; and letters of October 12, 1730, and January 6, 1756, sect. II. 7.

[3] This is Wesley's answer to the letter of Mrs. Pendarves of April 4 on the Sunday concerts.

[4] Mrs. Chapone (the 'Sappho' of the letter) was a gifted woman. Her letters on behalf of Mrs. Elstob, the Anglo-Saxon scholar, made a great impression on Queen Caroline in 1730. The reference here is evidently to some writing of hers. Mrs. Pendarves describes one of her papers as ' an excellent piece of wit and good sense'; and says: ' Sally would shine in an assembly composed of Tullys, Homers, and Miltons;' at Gloucester she is like a diamond set in jet, their 'dullness makes her:

brightness brighter!' See Autobiography and Correspondence, i. 487, 586.

[5] On July 13, 1731, Mrs. Pendarves tells her sister: ' I have not heard from Sally [Sally Kirkham (Mrs. Chapone). See letter of June 17.] a good while. I am indebted to Cyrus, but I will write as soon as I can. If you write to him soon, you may say I am in some hurry preparing for my intended journey.' She found time to write a week later.

[6] Horrel, where Wesley had spent such a pleasant summer day, is a plantation of beech-trees on the crest of the hill above Stanton on its south side. There is a beautiful view from it of the village nestling among the trees below and of the church with its graceful spire. In the distance are the hills between Stanton and the Malvern Hills; and more to the north and west are the fields and meadows extending through the valley of Evesham. The Rector of Stanton, the Rev. T. W. Reynolds, to whom we owe this description, can understand how Wesley and his friends enjoyed their seat on the turf under the beech-trees.

[7] Mrs.Pendarves replies to Wesley's letter of August x2. She writes to her sister from Chester on September 10 that she and her friend Mrs. Donnellan have secured the best cabin in the Pretty Betty, for which they are to pay five guineas. They had a good voyage. On September 25 she tells her sister from Dubhn: ' I desired Cyrus to direct any letter he wrote to me to Gloucester, but I did not consider that will double the expense, therefore I desire you will send him the direction to me here' (Auto. and Corr. i. 292).

[8] Miss Granville's reply, endorsed by Wesley 'M[iss] Granville, Dec. 1731,' is in the Colman Collection, and is far too important to be. omitted. It has never before been printed.

Selima's friend, about whom Wesley had written on October 3, is probably the young lady whose case her sister had laid before him on July 29. It is a relief to find that she was in happier spirits at Bath.

Miss Granville's reference to Araspes' 'quite charming' hymn is the first tribute to the great hymn-writer of the future, and enables us to date the beginning of Charles Wesley's hymn-writing six years earlier than was previously known. The earliest hymns we possess were written in March 1738 on his recovery from a serious illness in Oxford. It was after his conversion on Whit Sunday 1738 that the great stream of sacred song began to flow, and never ceased till he was on his death-bed in 1788. ' Your poetic herd ' must have been verses sent by the brothers to their friend. See heading to letter of August 28, 1730; and for the quotation from Prior, which Wesley had probably used in writing to her, see letter of July 13, 1771 to Philothea Briggs.

The letter is also interesting because of its reference to Burkitt's Notes on the New Testament, which John Nelson had for his pillow when he and Wesley slept on the floor at St. Ives in September 1743. ' The good Society ' is the Holy Club, which was then in its early days; and the sitting without a fire gives a glimpse of the self-sacrifice which made it possible for Wesley to carry out his works of charity.

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