1759

 

To Samuel Furly LONDON, February 17, 1759.

DEAR SAMMY,--James Kershaw [James Kershaw had been one of Wesley's preachers from 1752 to 1757. He returned to tile ranks, and in 1765 is stationed at Yarm. See letters of March 1, 1762, and Oct. 16, 1765, to Christopher Hopper.] is an independent minister. Probably, if we live till another Conference, he may be in connexion with us. Hitherto he acts as an independent. We have no Society at Renninghall.

I take John Pearse [One of the early preachers. See Tyerman's Wesley ii. 127.] to be an honest man. As soon as he sees the truth he will preach it. Dolly Furly was considerably better in health before I came from Bristol. And she was all athirst for God. I think her soul prospers more and more.

I will desire Mr. Gilbert [Nicholas Gilbert became an itinerant in 1744, and died in 1763. See Journal, v. 10 n; and for the Christian Library, letter of Aug. 14, 1748, to Ebenezer Blackwell.] to see whether the four volumes of the Library which you mention can be spared. And if they can, if they are not necessary for the making up of sets, they will be sent with the last Journal and the Pilgrim's Progress.

It is very possible the day of grace may be at end before the day of life is. But I believe this is very rarely the case. I have narrowly observed, and have found but one indisputable instance in thirty years.

Nancy [Probably his young wife.] must give me credit for her letter a little longer, for I am at present much straitened for time. March 1 I hope to be at Mr. Berridge's, whence I must strike off for Colchester; so that you will not see me this spring, unless you come to Everton.--I am, dear Sammy, Yours affectionately.

To Miss LONDON, February 21, 1759.

Probably, Miss -- , this may be the last trouble of the kind which you will receive from me. Therefore you may forgive me this, and the rather when you consider my motives to it. You know I can have no temporal view; I can have none but a faint, distant hope (because with God all things are possible) of doing some service to one whom I love. And this may answer the question which you might naturally ask, 'What would you have! What do you want with me!' I want you, not to be a convert to my opinions, but to be a member of Christ, a child of God, and an heir of His kingdom. Be anything as to outward profession, so you are lowly in heart, so you resist and conquer every motion of pride, and have that mind in you which was also in Christ Jesus. Be what you please besides; only be meek and gentle, and in patience possess your soul: so that one may truly say to you, Calm thou ever art within, All unruffled all serene. Hear what preacher you will; but hear the voice of God, and beware of prejudice and every unkind temper: beware of foolish and hurtful desires, or they will pierce you through with many sorrows. In one word, be anything but a trifler, a trifler with God and your own soul. It was not for this that God gave you A mind superior to the vulgar herd. No, Miss -- , no! but that you might employ all your talents to the glory of Him that gave them. O do not grieve the Holy Spirit of God! Is He not still striving with you! striving to make you not almost but altogether a Christian! Indeed, you must be all or nothing--a saint or a devil, eminent in sin or holiness! The good Lord deliver you from every snare, and guide your feet in the way of peace! How great a pleasure would this give to all your real friends, and in particular to Your affectionate servant for Christ's sake.

To Ebenezer Blackwell Editor's Introductory Notes: 1759

[1] EVERTON, March 2, 1759.

DEAR SIR,--When it is probable I may alter my judgement or practice, I am very willing to speak upon any head. But when I am clearly and fully fixed, then I do not speak; for it would be lost labour. For this reason I did not speak the other night; because I was fully fixed. My wife picks my lock and steals my papers. Afterwards she says, 'You cannot trust me.' I answer, 'I cannot, till you restore what you stole and promise to steal no more.' She replies, 'I will burn them, or lodge them with another, on such terms.' I answer nothing. Do you ask, Why so! I answer to you: (1) I will not consent my goods shall be burnt, much less accept it as a favour: I require her to restore them. (2) I will not thank her for lodging them with another: I require that they be restored to me. (3) I will not so much as consider the terms: I require the restitution of my own goods without any terms. And I know you would do so were it your case. And so would any man of common sense. 'But she will not restore them.' Then she must keep them. But let her not blame me because I cannot trust her.

Permit me to add one word to you. You think yourself a match for her; but you are not. By her exquisite art she has already made you think ill of two very deserving women. [Mrs. Ryan and Mrs. Crosby. See next letter and that of July 12, 1758.] And you have been more than once much puzzled what to think of me! Nor could you help thinking me a little in the wrong. I am almost afraid she likewise entertains you with the faults of many in the Society; the knowing of which (be they real or feigned) does you no good at all. O sir, let us look inward; let us live at home! The more we know of our own faults and the less of other people's, the more will the work of God prosper in our hearts. Wishing all happiness to you and yours, I am, dear sir, -- Your affectionate servant

From Ebenezer Blackwell Editor's Introductory Notes: 1759

[2]

DEAR SIR,--I this day received your favour of the 2nd inst. I am sensible of my incapacity either to speak or write in that lively, concise manner you do; but as well as I can I will paragraph by paragraph give a direct answer to your letter. And, first, I desire never to interfere between you and Mrs. Wesley, without there is at least a probability of my being of service to one, or (what I would much rather wish) to both of you; and I declare I have seldom if ever spoken of one to the other without being first desired either by yourself or Mrs. Wesley. Therefore you may be assured I will not in the least hinder your maintaining the authority of the husband in the greatest latitude that either myself or any man of common sense would wish.

I likewise say that I do not think myself a match for Mrs. Wesley or any one that studies to deceive me; but I deny that by any exquisite art she has made me think ill of two very deserving women. I suppose you mean Mrs. Ryan and Mrs. Crosby. The first I know nothing of, having never seen her in my life, and hardly ever (for I won't say never) spoken of her to anybody but yourself. The latter I only know from the letter wrote by yourself, which she owned to me was her handwriting, and which I think will plainly prove to every one of common sense that she is not that very deserving woman you think her; and, permit me to add, I am afraid she has too much art for my dear friend.

I think my behaviour must fully convince you what my thoughts have been of yourself. When I have spoken to you, it has been without reserve; and if at any time I have expressed myself a little freer than many others would dare to do, do not think the harder of me, for indeed it has constantly been with a view if possible to have established peace between yourself and Mrs. W. And I seldom if ever see Mrs. Wesley from the time you leave London until you return, and would even then be glad to be excused that honour if it was not out of civility to yourself. Therefore she has no opportunity, or if she had I dare not give encouragement to her or any one, to entertain me with the faults of any either in your Society or not. Indeed, sir, I am sensible, if I did, it would very much hurt my soul.

And yet, alas! I have been often much hurt, though I dare not blame my dear friend on that account, and yet must declare what you have said, and what I have seen of your brother, has very often much grieved and stumbled my poor soul. I feel I have an evil heart; I know I am not renewed; and I earnestly wish that my own faults were more and more engraver on my mind, that so I may never rest until I am born again and have the image of God stamped on my soul.

I earnestly wish you all happiness, and pray that the peace and love of God may continually attend you.--I am, dear sir, Your very affectionate and much obliged servant, EBENEZER BLACKWELL.

To William Alwood Editor's Introductory Notes: 1759

[3] NORWICH, March 6, 1759.

DEAR BILLY,--You spoil my plan. I had appointed, with God's leave, to be at Wakefield on Wednesday, April 18. But you tell me I must be at York. If I must, who can help it! Then I must set out from Epworth that morning, dine at Selby about noon, and so go on in the afternoon for York. But I hope you will begin the building directly. I suppose Dr. Cockburn has my plan. Lose no time. I have some money in my hands for you. The King's business requireth haste. You may still direct your letters to London.--I am Your affectionate friend and brother. To Mr. Will. Alwood, At Mr. John Hall's, In Newgate Street, York.

To Dorothy Furly NORWICH, March 6, 1759.

MY DEAR SISTER,--I shall always be glad to hear from you when you can write without hurting yourself. But I am almost afraid to write, for fear of tempting you to answer whether you can or not.

Since you left Kingswood, I hope you use the water at the Hot Wells as often as possible. If anything medicinal profit you, probably it will be this. But perhaps God will not suffer you to be healed by outward medicines. It may be He is determined to have all the glory of His own work. Meantime He designs by this weakness of body to keep your soul low, as a weaned child. There is a wonderful mystery in the manner and circumstances of that mighty working whereby He subdues all things to Himself and leaves nothing in the heart but His pure love alone.

I have no doubt but God will give you the answer to that prayer,--

Let me Thy witness live, When sin is all destroyed I And then my spotless soul receive, And take me home to God! --I am, my dear sister, Your affectionate brother.

To Matthew Lowes Editor's Introductory Notes: 1759

[4] NORWICH, March 6, 1759.

MY DEAR BROTHER,--Lawrence Coughlan, [Lawrence Coughlan was an Irishman who was afterwards ordained by the Bishop of London and sent to Newfoundland as a missionary. He had done fruitful service in Colchester. He died in 1785. See Journal, iv. 297; Atmore's Memorial, pp.80-3; and letter of March 6, 1763.] who was at first appointed for Whitehaven, is to set out from Colchester on Monday, and to stay at Whitehaven till the Conference in the beginning of August. Till he comes I desire you diligently to inquire whether the bulk of the Society are for or against W. Wilson's preaching. If they are against it, he had better not preach at Whitehaven (but he may preach anywhere else) till I come. If the bulk of them are for it, let him preach at some times: at others Brother Browning [Wilson and Browning were probably laymen beginning to preach.] may read a sermon. But if he does speak, let him take care to conclude the whole service within the hour.

Certainly, rather than any flame should have arisen concerning it, Brother Hodgson and the rest ought to have dropped their opposition. What would not one do (except sin) that brotherly love may continue!--I am Your affectionate brother. To Mr. Matthew Lowes, At the Methodist Preaching-house, In Whitehaven.

To the Countess of Huntingdon Editor's Introductory Notes: 1759

[5] NORWICH, March 10, 1759.

TO THE RIGHT HON. THE COUNTESS OF HUNTINGDON. The agreeable hour which I spent with your Ladyship the last week recalled to my mind the former times, and gave me much matter of thankfulness to the Giver of every good gift. I have found great satisfaction in conversing with those instruments whom God has lately raised up. But still, there is I know not what in them whom we have known from the beginning, and who have borne the burthen and heat of the day, which we do not find in those who have risen up since, though they are upright of heart. Perhaps, too, those who have but lately come into the harvest are led to think and speak more largely of justification and the other first principles of the doctrine of Christ; and it may be proper for them so to do. Yet we find a thirst after something farther. We want to sink deeper and rise higher in the knowledge of God our Saviour. We want all helps for walking closely with Him whom we have received, that we may the more speedily come to the measure of the stature of the fullness of Christ.

Mr. Berridge [Wesley stayed at Everton with John Berridge on March 1 and 2.] appears to be one of the most simple as well as most sensible men of all whom it has pleased God to employ in reviving primitive Christianity. I designed to have spent but one night with him; but Mr. Gilbert's [See letter of Feb. 17.] mistake (who sent him word I would be at Everton on Friday) obliged me to stay there another day, or multitudes of people would have been disappointed. They come now twelve or fourteen miles to hear him; and very few come in vain. His word is with power; he speaks as plain and home as John Nelson, but with all the propriety of Mr. Romaine and tenderness of Mr. Hervey.

At Colchester likewise the word of God has free course; only no house will contain the congregation. On Sunday I was obliged to preach on St. John's Green. The people stood on a smooth sloping ground, sheltered by the walls of an old castle, and behaved as men who felt that God was there.

I am persuaded your Ladyship still remembers in your prayers Your willing servant for Christ's sake. To the Right Honourable the Countess of Huntingdon, In London.

To Ebenezer Blackwell NORWICH, March 12, 1759.

DEAR SIR,--You have entirely satisfied me as to what I was afraid of. [See letter of March 2, and Blackwell's answer. His relations with his wife were easier for the moment.] We are at present upon pretty good terms; and I am not without hope that this good understanding will continue for some time longer. I am sure it will, if He who has the hearts of all men in His hand sees it to be expedient for me.

You have never yet spoken to me with more freedom than was agreeable to me. Your freedom is the best proof of your friendship. There are not many that will deal freely with me; nor, indeed, are there many from whom I would desire it, lest it should hurt themselves without profiting me. But I do desire it of you; and do not doubt but it will profit me, as it has done in time past. I know not if in all my life I have had so critical a work on my hands as that wherein I am now engaged. I am endeavouring to gather up those who were once gathered together and afterwards scattered by James Wheatley. [On Nov. 3, 1758, Wheatley had offered him the Tabernacle. Wesley preached there on Dec. 21, and took the lease on the 26th. He found on March 7 that 'the Society, once consisting of many hundred members, was mouldered into nothing.' See Journal, iv. 290-6, 301.] I have reunited about seventy of them, and hope this evening to make up an hundred. But many of them have wonderful spirits, having been always accustomed to teach their teachers; so that how they will bear any kind of discipline I cannot tell.

At Colchester the case is far otherwise. About an hundred and sixty simple, upright people are there united together, who are as little children, minding nothing but the salvation of their souls. Only they are greatly distressed for a larger house. What we could have done last Sunday I know not, but that, the day being mild, I took the field and preached on St. John's Green. I see but one way--to build a commodious house; and I desired them to look out for a piece of ground. It is true they are poor enough; but if it be God's work, He will provide the means.

Wishing an increase in all grace both to Mrs. Blackwell, Mrs. Dewal, and you, I remain, dear sir, Your very affectionate servant.

To Miss Johnson () COLCHESTER March 20, 1759.

My wife, Miss --, surprised me last night by informing me you are left mistress of a large fortune. Shall I say, agreeably surprised me! I cannot tell; because I believe there is another world, and I do not know what influence this change may have on your condition. Therefore I am in fear and in hope. You may be hereby far more happy or far more miserable in eternity! O make a stand! Consider the situation you are in; perhaps never before were you in so great danger. You know a little of your natural tempers: now you have means of indulging and thereby inflaming them to the uttermost. And how many will incite you so to do! How few will dare to warn you against it! Now what food will you have for pride! what infinite temptations to think more highly than you ought to think! You do so already. But O where will you stop! The good Lord arrest the storm in mid career! How impetuously now, unless God interpose, must self-will whirl you along! How deeply, unless He help, will you shortly be immersed in practical Atheism! as ten thousand things will concur to drive God out of your thoughts, as much as if He were not in the world. But, above all, how will you escape from being swallowed up in idolatry! love of the world, such as you never knew before!

Hitherto you have been greatly superior to every delicacy in food; but even this may assault you now, and perhaps raise in you other desires which you are now a stranger to. At present you are above the follies of dress; but will you be so a twelvemonth hence! May you not easily slide into the pride of life, in this as well as other instances! especially considering how your vanity will be gratified thereby! For who will not admire and applaud your admirable taste! It will only remain for you to marry some agreeable person that has much wit and sense with little or no religion; then it is finished! Either you will be throughly miserable in this world or miserable to eternity. 'But what business is this of yours! Cannot you let me alone! What have I to do with you!' Believe me, I could very easily let you alone, if I had not a real and tender goodwill toward you, and if I did not know (what perhaps you do not) that you have need even of me. You want friends who understand you well, and who dare tell you the whole, plain truth; and yet not in a surly, imperious manner, for then you could not receive it. I have endeavoured to do this once more. Will not you forgive me! I cannot but think, if you do not thank, you will at least excuse Your affectionate servant.

To William Alwood NORWICH, March 29, 1759.

DEAR BILLY,--I believe each window may stand eight foot (the bottom of it) from the ground, [The preaching-house at York was being built. See letter of March 6 to Alwood.] and be four foot broad and six or seven high, arched at the top.

If you think it would do good, I should have no objection to preaching at Selby about eleven o'clock, as I come from Epworth, on Wednesday, April 18.

Oblige Dr. Cockburn as far as possibly you can. We can bear with little tempers, though we do not approve of them. I can say little now to what T. Tobias [One of Alwood's colleagues. A letter from him to Wesley is given in Atmore's Memorial, PP. 429-30. He died about the year 1767.] writes of. I should think a patient, mild man might quiet two scolding women. Billy, pray and labour with your might. You may direct your next to me at Epworth.--I am Your affectionate friend and brother. I doubt Sister Hall [Ruth Hall (born at Woolley, near Barnsley, in 1732) did much for the spread of Methodism in and around York. See Lyth's Methodism in York, pp. 69-71; Arminian Mag. 1781, p. 477, 1789, p. 303.] forgets me.

To his Wife GRIMSBY, April 9, 1759.

MY DEAR MOLLY,--I must write once more. Then, if I hear nothing from you, I have done.

About a year ago, while I suspected nothing less, you opened my bureau and took out many of my letters and papers. Mr. Blackwell advised me, before you, if you refused to restore them, to send that instant for a smith, and break open your bureau and take my own. To prevent which you restored them. But it was not long before you robbed me again, and showed my private letters to more than twenty different persons on purpose to make them have an ill opinion of me. For the same end you spoke much evil of me while I was several hundred miles off.

Your presence was that I conversed with Sister Ryan and Crosby. [See letters of July 12, 1758, and March 2and Oct. 23, 1759.] I know it was only a presence, and told your friends the humouring you herein would leave matters just where they were. I knew giving a person drink would not cure a dropsy. However, at their instance I made the experiment. I broke off all correspondence with them, whether by speaking or writing. For a while, having gained your point, you was in a good humour. Afterwards it was just as I said. You robbed me again; and your sin (as before) carried its own punishment: for the papers you had stole harrowed up your soul and tore your poor fretful spirit in pieces.

Notwithstanding this, you wrote me two loving letters. (I hope, not with a design of reading them to other people; which I shall not suspect if you assure me you have not read or shown them in part or in whole to any one.) So that I was a little surprised when at our meeting in Colchester I found you throughly out of humour. It really seemed as if you was heartily vexed by the papers you had taken, and so were resolved to have it out with me. Accordingly you could not refrain from throwing squibs at me even in company, [He was at Colchester on March 19.] and from speaking with such keenness when we were alone, as I think no wife ought to speak to an husband--such as I apprehend you could not have used decently to any but Noah Vazeille. [Her first husband.] Perhaps you may now take the greater liberty, because, having stripped me of all my papers, you imagine it is now absolutely impossible for me to justify myself. But you are under a mistake. To all that know me my word is a sufficient justification. And if anything more is needful, I know One that is able to say to the Grave, 'Give back!' Yea, and if He say it to Jealousy, cruel as the Grave, it shall hear and obey His voice.

Wishing you the blessing which you now want above any other--namely, unfeigned and deep repentance,--I remain Your much injured yet still affectionate Husband. To Mrs. Wesley, At the Foundery, London.

To Sir James Lowther, afterwards Earl of Lonsdale Editor's Introductory Notes: 1759

[6]

LONDON, May 16, 1759.

DEAR SIR,--Since I received your favour I have had many thoughts on worldly and Christian prudence. What is the nature of each! How do they differ! How may we distinguish one from the other!

It seems worldly prudence either pursues worldly ends-- riches, honour, ease, or pleasure; or pursues Christian ends on worldly maxims or by worldly means. The grand maxims which obtain in the world are, The more power, the more money, the more learning, and the more reputation a man has, the more good he will do. And whenever a Christian, pursuing the noblest ends, forms his behaviour by these maxims, he will infallibly (though perhaps by insensible degrees) decline into worldly prudence. He will use more or less of conformity to the world, if not in sin, yet in doing some things that are good in themselves, yet (all things considered) are not good to him; and perhaps at length using guile or disguise, simulation or dissimulation; either seeming to be what he is not, or not seeming to be what he is. By any of these marks may worldly prudence be discerned from the wisdom which is from above.

This Christian prudence pursues Christian maxims, and by Christian means. The ends it pursues are holiness in every kind and in the highest degree, and usefulness in every kind and degree. And herein it proceeds on the following maxims: --The help that is done upon earth, God doeth it Himself. It is He that worketh all in all; and that, not by human power; generally He uses weak things to confound the strong;--not by men of wealth; most of His choicest instruments may say, 'Silver and gold have I none';--not by learned or wise men after the flesh; no, the foolish things hath God chosen;--not by men of reputation, but by the men that were as the filth and offscouring of the world: all which is for this plain reason--'that no flesh may glory in His sight.'

Christian prudence pursues these ends upon these principles, by only Christian means. A truly prudent Christian, while in things purely indifferent he becomes all things to all men, yet wherever duty is concerned, matters the example of all mankind no more than a grain of sand. His word is then, Non me, qui caetera, vincit Impetus; et rapido contrarius evehor orbi.1 He will not, to gain the favour or shun the hate of all, omit the least point of duty. He cannot prevail upon himself on any account or presence to use either simulation or dissimulation. There is no guile in his mouth, no evasion or ambiguity. Having one desire, one design, to glorify God with his body and with his spirit; having only one fear, Lest a motion, or a word,

Or thought arise to grieve his Lord; [Ovid's Metamorphoses, II. i. 72-3 (trs. by Addison): 'I steer against their notions: nor am I Borne back by all the current of the sky.' ] having one rule, the Word of God; one guide, even His Spirit, he goes on in childlike simplicity. Continually seeing Him that is invisible, he walks in open day. Looking unto Jesus, and deriving strength from Him, he goes on in His steps, in the work of faith, the labour of love, the patience of hope, till he is called up to be ever with the Lord.

Oh that this were in all points your own character! Surely you desire it above all things. But how shall you attain! Difficulties and hindrances surround you on every side! Can you bear with my plainness! I believe you can. Therefore I will speak without any reserve. I fear you have scarce one friend who has not more or less of the prudence which is not from above. And I doubt you have (in or near your own rank) hardly one example of true Christian prudence! Yet I am persuaded your own heart advises you right, or rather God in your heart. Oh that you may hearken to His voice alone, and let all creatures keep silence before Him! Why should they encumber you with Saul's armour! If you essay to go forth thus, it will be in vain. You have no need of this, neither of his sword or spear; for you trust in the Lord of hosts. O go forth in His strength! and with the stones of the brook you shall overthrow all your enemies.--I am, dear sir, Your obedient servant for Christ's sake.

To Clayton Carthy Editor's Introductory Notes: 1759

[7] NEWCASTLE-UPON-TYNE, June 12, 1759.

DEAR CLAYTON,--I hope you have received the sermon upon the New Birth. I can easily send you one a week. I have finished eight, and am now transcribing the fourth. You should supply any word that is wanting.

Go east, west, north, or south, to Norton [Norton St. Philips (Journal, iii. 324).] or elsewhere, and speak sense or nonsense for a quarter of an hour. I believe it will avail both for your soul and body more than you imagine.

I do 'think what is doing.' By this post (to leave that poor sinner without excuse) I have wrote once more in the following words:

I make you one more offer. Only leave off speaking against me behind my back (whereby you do not hurt me, but the cause of God) and restore my papers to me, and you will find me Your still affectionate Husband. [Carthy had incurred Mrs. Wesley's anger by defending her husband's character. See letter of April 9.]

My part is to go on my way and to finish my work.--I am, dear Clayton, Yours affectionately. To Mr. Carthy, At the New Room, In Bristol.

To Sir James Lowther NEWCASTLE-UPON-TYNE June 1, 1759.

DEAR SIR,--Considering the variety of business which must lie upon you, I am not willing to trouble you too often, yet cannot any longer delay to return thanks for your favour of May 21. How happy is it that there is an higher wisdom than our own to guide us through the mazes of life! that we have an unction from the Holy One to teach us of all things where human teaching fails! And it certainly must fail in a thousand instances. General rules cannot reach all particular cases, in some of which there is such a complication of circumstances that God alone can show what steps we should take. There is one circumstance in your case which claims your peculiar attention, and makes it necessary often to check that boldness and simplicity which otherwise would be both your duty and pleasure. But oh how easily may you comply too far, and hurt yourself in hopes of gaining another! nay, perhaps hurt the other too, by that very compliance which was designed to help! And who is able to lay the line! to determine how far you should comply, and where fix your foot! May the God of wisdom direct you in all your steps! And I conceive He will rather do this by giving you light directly from Himself in meditation and private prayer than by the advice of others, who can hardly be impartial in so tender a point. Is it not, then, advisable that you should much commune with God and your own heart! You may then lay aside all the trappings that naturally tend to hide you from yourself, and appear naked, as a poor sinful worm, before the great God, the Creator of heaven and of earth! the great God, who is your Father and your Friend! who hath prepared for you a kingdom! who calls you to forget the little things of earth, and to sit down with Him on His throne! O may you dwell on these things till they possess your whole soul and cause you to love the honour which cometh of God only!--I am, dear sir, Your obedient servant.

To Dr. Taylor, of Norwich Editor's Introductory Notes: 1759

[8] HARTLEPOOL, July 3, 1759.

REVEREND SIR,--I esteem you as a person of uncommon sense and learning, but your doctrine I cannot esteem; and some time since, I believed it my duty to speak my sentiments at large concerning your doctrine of Original Sin. When Mr. Newton of Liverpool [Afterwards the Rev. John Newton of Olney. See letter of April 9, 1765.] mentioned this, and asked whether you designed to answer, you said you thought not, 'for it would only be a personal controversy between John Wesley and John Taylor.' How gladly, if I durst, would I accept of this discharge from so unequal contest! for I am throughly sensible, humanly speaking, it is formica contra leonem. ['An ant against a lion,'] How gladly, were it indeed no other than a personal controversy! But certainly it is not: it is a controversy de re, if ever there was one in this world; indeed, concerning a thing of the highest importance--nay, all the things that concern our eternal peace. It is Christianity or heathenism! for, take away the scriptural doctrine of Redemption or Justification, and that of the New Birth, the beginning of sanctification, or (which amounts to the same) explain them as you do, suitably to your doctrine of Original Sin, and what is Christianity better than heathenism! wherein, save in rectifying some of our notions, has the religion of St. Paul any pre-eminence over that of Socrates or Epictetus!

This is, therefore, to my apprehension, the least a personal controversy of any in the world. Your person and mine are out of the question. The point is, Are those things that have been believed for many ages throughout the Christian world real, solid truths, or monkish dreams and vain imaginations!

But farther: it is certain, between you and me there need be no personal controversy at all; for we may agree to leave each other's person and character absolutely untouched, while we sum up and answer the several arguments advanced as plainly and closely as we can.

Either I or you mistake the whole of Christianity from the beginning to the end! Either my scheme or yours is as contrary to the scriptural as the Koran is. Is it mine, or yours! Yours has gone through all England and made numerous converts. I attack it from end to end. Let all England judge whether it can be defended or not!

Earnestly praying that God may give you and me a right understanding in all things, I am, reverend sir, Your servant for Christ's sake.

To Samuel Furly Editor's Introductory Notes: 1759

[9] YARM, July 7, 1759.

DEAR SAMMY,--Our Conference at Leeds is to begin on Wednesday, August 1. I hope to see you at it. If you are in Yorkshire some days sooner, we shall have more time together. Your present call to Kippax is clear: when you are called farther, that will be clear also. What avails all knowledge but that which ministers to the knowledge of Christ, and which qualifies us for saving our own souls and the souls of them that hear us! What knowledge you have of other things retain; but secure this in all and above all.--I am, with love to Nancy, dear Sammy, Yours affectionately. To the Revd. Mr. Furly, At Lakenheath, Near Brandon, Suffolk.

To Miss C-- YORK, July 15, 1759.

DEAR MISS C-- ,--Your letter gave me much satisfaction, though it was long before I received it. Now I find you can speak freely to me; and as you have found the way, I hope to hear from you a little oftener. In a few days I hope to be at Leeds. Why should you not give me the pleasure of hearing from you there!

At present you are a captive of unbelief, though an unwilling captive. But I trust you shall ere long know One that bringeth the prisoners out of captivity. You can say from your heart,-- I would not to the foe submit; I hate the tyrant's chain: Bring, Lord, the prisoner from the pit; Nor let me cry in vain.1 And you will not cry in vain; only cry on, though it be weariness and pain to slothful flesh and blood. If instability and ingratitude were sufficient to prevent either present or future salvation, then would no child of Adam ever have been saved from the foundation of the world. But these and all manner of sin are washed away by the blood of the covenant. You want only to be acquainted with this to have it sprinkled upon your heart. And how soon may it be! Why not now! If you have nothing to pay, leave all your harmlessness, your good desires or works, all you have and are behind! Are you to be saved freely! Then be it as thou wilt! Freely the gift of God receive, Pardon and peace in Jesus find. [Poetical Works of J. and C. Wesley, iv. 247, altered slightly.] Away with your preparation! The Lord Himself prepare your heart and then hearken thereto! Away with your reasoning! Be a little child! Sink down before the Saviour of sinners, the Lover of your soul! Let Him have the glory over you. What hinders! Dear Miss C-- , be not reserved or fearful when you speak to Your affectionate brother and servant.

To Mr. -- Editor's Introductory Notes: 1759

[10] EVERTON, August 6, 1759

DEAR SIR,--In the Minutes of the Conference we observe that 'poring too much upon our inbred sin' may bring us 'under a kind of bondage'--that is, when we fix, as it were, both eyes of the mind upon it; whereas one only should be fixed upon this, and the other constantly upon Christ. One with whom I was speaking a day or two ago, who seems to be entered into rest, by looking at sin alone, had lost all her joy and peace, and almost her faith, and was like a condemned unbeliever; while her friend (whom I judge to be higher in grace than her) only felt an inexpressible want and emptiness (yet consistent with peace as well as with love) till she was filled with the fullness of God. O tread in her steps! Be simple, little, nothing: yet be loved of God! yet a member of Christ, a child of God! an heir of all His promises! Be still, and know that He is God! Obmutesce, pulvis et cinis. kai genhsetai galhnh h megalh. ['Become dumb, dust and ashes. And there shall be a great calm.' A piece of the letter has been torn off; but this seems to be its substance.]

To Dorothy Furly Editor's Introductory Notes: 1759

[11] LONDON, August 19, 1759.

MY DEAR SISTER,--The observing that rule might prevent abundance of mischief: I wish others would observe it as well as you. Thomas Walsh was a good and a wise man; yet there were some circumstances, not commonly known, which easily account for the darkness he went through before he went to paradise. [See Wesley's Veterans, v. 190-8.]

I hope you have talked with Cornelius Bastable as well as heard him preach. He is an uncommon monument of the power of grace, strengthening the understanding as well as renewing the heart. For so weak an head and so bad a temper as he once had I do not know among all our preachers.

Probably the difference between you and others lies in words chiefly. All who expect to be sanctified at all expect to be sanctified by faith. But meantime they know that faith will not be given but to them that obey. Remotely, therefore, the blessing depends on our works, although immediately on simple faith.

Enjoy while you may the advantage which I had once, and shall have again when God sees best.--I am Your affectionate brother. Certainly you may say to me whatever you have a mind, either by writing or speaking.

To Mr. Jones Editor's Introductory Notes: 1759

[12] LONDON, August 22, 1759.

SIR,--Nothing is more certain than that the kingdom of God is not divided against itself; that peace and joy in the Holy Ghost are no ways obstructive of righteousness, even in the highest degree of it. Hold fast, therefore, that whereunto you have attained, and in peace and joy wait for perfect love. We know this is not of works, lest any man should boast; and it is no more of sufferings than it is of works. Nothing is absolutely pre-required but a sense of our want; and this may be a calm, peaceful, yet joyful sense of it. When I was lately in Rotherham, I talked with eleven persons who seem to be perfected in love. [Wesley says in the Journal for Aug. 2, 1759: 'Thence I went on to Rotherham, and talked with five men and six women (as I had done with many others before in various places) who believe they are saved from sin. And this fact I believe, that they "rejoice evermore, pray without ceasing, and in everything give thanks." I believe they feel nothing but love now: what they will do, I leave to God.' ] Of these Jane Green (the wife of one of our preachers) was facile princeps--higher and deeper in experience than them all; and she never was in darkness or heaviness one hour during the second conviction. Only she felt in a manner not to be expressed her own foolishness, emptiness, and nothingness. And in this state she quietly continued till God said, 'Be thou clean.'

While I was riding (since Christmas) three- or four-and twenty hundred miles I found no want of strength. But when my work was at an end, so was my strength. When I want it, I shall have it again. I thought you was to have been here in October; but God's time is the best! He cloth all things well. Why should we not trust Him in all!--I am, dear sir, Ever yours. Will you take the time and pains to read the Notes critically over, and give me your alterations and additions before I print another edition!

To Richard Tompson Editor's Introductory Notes: 1759

[13] LONDON, August 22, 1759.

I am afraid you would hardly save yourself harmless by the publication of those letters. However, if you are inclined to run the hazard, I do not object. Only it would be needful to advertise the readers that what I wrote was in haste, just as I could snatch a little time now and then, to answer the private letter of a private friend, without any thought of its going any farther.--I am Your affectionate brother.

To the Editor of 'Lloyd's Evening Post' Editor's Introductory Notes: 1759

[14] BRISTOL, October 20, 1759.

SIR,--Since I came to Bristol I heard many terrible accounts concerning the French prisoners at Knowle,--as that 'they were so wedged together that they had no room to breathe'; that 'the stench of the rooms where they lodged was intolerable'; that 'their food was only fit for dogs'; that 'their meat was carrion, their bread rotten and unwholesome'; and that, 'in consequence of this inhuman treatment, they died in whole shoals.'

Desiring to know the truth, I went to Knowle on Monday, and was showed all the apartments there. But how was I disappointed! (1) I found they had large and convenient space to walk in, if they chose it, all the day. (2) There was no stench in any apartment which I was in, either below or above. They were all sweeter and cleaner than any prison I have seen either in England or elsewhere. (3) Being permitted to go into the larder, I observed the meat hanging up, two large quarters of beef. It was fresh and fat, and I verily think as good as I ever desire to eat. (4) A large quantity of bread lay on one side. A gentleman took up and cut one of the loaves. It was made of good flour, was well-baked, and perfectly well-tasted. (5) Going thence to the hospital, I found that even in this sickly season there are not thirty persons dangerously ill out of twelve or thirteen hundred. (6) The hospital was sweeter and cleaner throughout than any hospital I ever saw in London. I think it my duty to declare these things, for clearing the innocent and the honour of the English nation.

Yet one thing I observed with concern. A great part of these men are almost naked; and winter is now coming upon them in a cold prison and a colder climate than most of them have been accustomed to. But will not the humanity and generosity of the gentlemen of Bristol prevent or relieve this distress! Did they not make a notable precedent during the late war! And surely they are not weary of well-doing. Tuesday night we did a little according to our power; but I shall rejoice if this be forgotten through the abundance administered by their liberality in a manner which they judge most proper. Will it not be both for the honour of their city and country, for the credit of our religion, and for the glory of God, who knows how to return it sevenfold into their bosom!-- I am Your humble servant.

To his Wife Editor's Introductory Notes: 1759

[15] COLEFORD, October 23, 1759.

DEAR MOLLY,--I will tell you simply and plainly the things which I dislike. If you remove them, well. If not, I am but where I was. I dislike (1) Your showing any one my letters and private papers without my leave. This never did any good yet, either to you or me or any one. It only sharpens and embitters your own spirit. And the same effect it naturally has upon others. The same it would have upon me, but that (by the grace of God) I do not think of it. It can do no good. It can never bring me nearer, though it may drive me farther off. And should you do as you often threaten, then the matter is over. I know what I have to do. In all this you are fighting against yourself. You are frustrating your own purpose, if you want me to love you. You take just the wrong way. No one ever was forced to love another. It cannot be: love can only be won by softness; foul means avail nothing. But you say, 'I have tried fair means, and they did not succeed.' If they do not, none will. Then you have only to say, 'This evil is of the Lord: I am clay in His hand.'

I dislike (2) Not having the command of my own house, not being at liberty to invite even my nearest relations so much as to drink a dish of tea without disobliging you. I dislike (3) The being myself a prisoner in my own house; the having my chamber door watched continually so that no person can go in or out but such as have your good leave. I dislike (4) The being but a prisoner at large, even when I go abroad, inasmuch as you are highly disgusted if I do not give you an account of every place I go to and every person with whom I converse. I dislike (5) The not being safe in my own house. My house is not my castle. I cannot call even my study, even my bureau, my own. They are liable to be plundered every day. You say, 'I plunder you of nothing but papers.' I am not sure of that. How is it possible I should I miss money too, and he that will steal a pin will steal a pound. But were it so, a scholar's papers are his treasure--my Journal in particular. 'But I took only such papers as relate to Sarah Ryan and Sarah Crosby.' That is not true. What are Mr. Landey's letters to them Besides, you have taken parts of my Journal which relate to neither one nor the other. I dislike (6) Your treatment of my servants (though, indeed, they are not properly mine). You do all that in you lies to make their lives a burthen to them. You browbeat, harass, rate them like dogs, make them afraid to speak to me. You treat them with such haughtiness, sternness, sourness, surliness, ill-nature, as never were known in any house of mine for near a dozen years. You forget even good breeding, and use such coarse language as befits none but a fishwife. I dislike (7) Your talking against me behind my back, and that every day and almost every hour of the day; making my faults (real or supposed) the standing topic of your conversation. I dislike (8) Your slandering me, laying to my charge things which you know are false. Such are (to go but a few days back)--'that I beat you,' which you told James Burges [One of the masters at Kingswood. Wesley visited the schoolhouse in 1739, and was there during the fire of 1757. See Diary in Journal, ii. 206, 240, 302; iv. 242.]; that I rode to Kingswood with Sarah Ryan, which you told Sarah Crosby; and that I required you, when we were first married, never to sit in my presence without my leave, which you told Mrs. Lee, [Eleanor Lee, 'a mother in Israel,' whom Wesley buried in 1778. See Journal, vi. 213.] Mrs. Fry, and several others, and stood it before my face. I dislike (9) Your common custom of saying things not true. To instance only in two or three particulars. You told Mr. Ireland [James Ireland, of Brislington, near Bristol. See next letter.] 'Mr. Vazeille learnt Spanish in a fortnight.' You told Mr. Fry 'Mrs. Ellison [Wesley's sister Susanna, who spent her last years in London. Evidently some reference to Sophia Hopkey.] was the author as to my intrigue in Georgia.' You told Mrs. Ellison 'you never said any such thing; you never charged her with it.' You also told her 'that I had laid a plot to serve you as Susannah was served by the two elders.' I dislike (10) Your extreme, immeasurable bitterness to all who endeavour to defend my character (as my brother, Joseph Jones, Clayton Carthy [See letter of June 12. ]), breaking out even into foul, unmannerly language, such as ought not to defile a gentlewoman's lips if she did not believe one word of the Bible.

And now, Molly, what would any one advise you to that has a real concern for your happiness Certainly (1) to show, read, touch those letters no more, if you did not restore them to their proper owner; (2) to allow me the command of my own house, with free leave to invite thither whom I please; (3) to allow me my liberty there that any who will may come to me without let or hindrance; (4) to let me go where I please and to whom I please without giving an account to any; (5) to assure me you will take no more of my papers nor anything of mine without my consent; (6) to treat all the servants where you are, whether you like them or no, with courtesy and humanity, and to speak (if you speak at all) to them, as well as others, with good nature and good manners; (7) to speak no evil of me behind my back; (8) never to accuse me falsely; (9) to be extremely cautious of saying anything that is not strictly true, both as to the matter and manner; and (10) to avoid all bitterness of expression till you can avoid all bitterness of spirit.

These are the advices which I now give you in the fear of God and in tender love to your soul. Nor can I give you a stronger proof that I am Your affectionate Husband.

To the Editor of the 'Morning Chronicle' Editor's Introductory Notes: 1759

[16]

November 4, 1759. On Tuesday, October 16 last, I made a collection at the New Room in Bristol for the French prisoners confined at Knowle. The money contributed then and the next day was about three-and-twenty pounds. Judged it best to lay this out in shirts and flannel waistcoats, and accordingly bought, of Mr. Zepheniah Fry, in the Castle, check shirts and woollen cloth to the amount of eight pounds ten shillings and sixpence; and of Mrs. Sarah Cole, check linen to the amount of five pounds seventeen shillings. The linen was immediately delivered to two or three poor women, who were to be paid the common price, and to some others, who offered to make them into shirts, &c., for nothing. The money remaining I lodged in the hands of Mr. James Ireland of Horsleydown Street, as he speaks French readily, and Mr. John Salter of Bedminster, who had been with me both at the prison and the hospital. I directed them to give a waistcoat and two shirts to every one who was remanded from the hospital to the prison, and the other half to those they should judge most needy or most deserving.--I am, &c.

To John Downes, Rector of St. Michael's, Wood Street Editor's Introductory Notes: 1759

[17] To Samuel Furly LONDON, November 21, 1759.

DEAR SAMMY,--At present you are just where you ought to be, and as you ought to be. It is of great use to be in suspense. Nothing more effectually breaks our will. While you stay, you do well to give all the assistance you can to the Society. They must be weak and undisciplined as yet. Probably they want you more than once a month. [See letter of June 19, 1760.]

I doubt not of Abraham's being perfected in love. But he was rather under the evangelical than the legal dispensation. And none can doubt but all the Jewish believers were perfected before they died. But that many of them were perfected long before they died I see no reason to think. The Holy Ghost was not fully given before Jesus was glorified. Therefore the law (unless in a very few exempt cases) made nothing perfect. It is certain the word 'perfect' in the Old Testament bears several senses. But we lay no stress upon the word at all. The thing is pure love. The promise of this was given by Moses, but not designed to be fulfilled till long after. See Deuteronomy xxx. 1-6. By the whole tenor of the words it appears it was then, when He had gathered the Jews from all nations, that God was so to circumcise their hearts. However, this may be fulfilled in you and me. Let us hasten toward it! With love to Nancy, I am Your affectionate friend and brother. To the Rev. Mr. Furly, At Kippax, Near Ferry Bridge, Yorks.

To his Wife BEDFORD, November 24, 1759.

MY DEAR MOLLY,--You have been much upon my thoughts this morning. Shall I tell you what I thought Then take it in good part. Take it kindly, as it is kindly meant.

What do you gain by keeping my papers [See letter of Oct. 23.] or, at least, think you gain Why, this: you gain the satisfaction of showing them, or parts of them, to others; you gain the power of justifying yourself, and of hurting (at least by vexing) me; you gain occasion to make people think ill of me, and to make them think well of you. And hereby you make yourself more friends and me more enemies.

Very well. But are you quite sure of this Is it pure satisfaction which you gain by showing them Is there not often a doubt whether you do right, a secret misgiving which spoils the satisfaction Will the showing them justify you for taking them Is it not rather adding sin to sin And will not even men of the world say, 'What a wretch is this, first to rob, then to expose her own husband' If, therefore, you make them think ill of me, you do not make them think well of yourself. If you make me more enemies, you do not make yourself one more friend--nay, all these after a time are less your friends than ever they were before.

But what if you did gain by it all that you suppose, would it make amends for what you lose thereby You totally lose my esteem; you violently shock my love; you quite destroy my confidence. You oblige me to lock up everything as from a thief; to stand continually upon my guard; to watch all the time you are near me, as never knowing what you may steal next and expose to all the world. You cut yourself off from joint prayer. For how can I pray with one that is daily watching to do me hurt You cut yourself off from all friendly intercourse with many who would otherwise rejoice to converse with and serve you. You rob yourself of many precious opportunities of public prayer and attending the Lord's Table. Now, how dearly must you love justifying yourself and blackening me, if you will do it at this expense! O Molly, throw the fire out of your bosom! Shun as you would a serpent those that stir it up. And see in a true light Your affectionate Husband. To Mrs. Wesley, At the Foundery, London.

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