To His Mother
January, 172/. I AM shortly to take my master’s degree. As I shall from that time be less interrupted by business not of my own choosing, I have drawn up for myself a scheme of studies, from which I do not intend, for some years at least, to vary. I am perfectly come over to your opinion, that there are many truths it is not worth while to know. Curiosity, indeed, might be a sufficient plea for our laying out some time upon them, if we had half a dozen centuries of life to come; but methinks it is great ill-husbandry to spend a considerable part of the small pittance now allowed us in what makes us neither a quick nor a sure return.
Two days ago I was reading a dispute between those celebrated masters of controversy, Bishop Atterbury and Bishop Hoadly; but must own 1 was so injudicious as to break off in the middle. I could not conceive that the dignity of the end was at all proportioned to the difficulty of attaining it. And I thought the labour of twenty or thirty hours, if I was sure of succeeding, which I was not, would be but ill rewarded by that important piece of knowledge, whether Biishop Hoadly had misunderstood Bishop Atterbury or no.
About a year and a half ago I stole out of company at eight in the evening, with a young gentleman with whom I was intimate. As we took a turn in an aisle of St. Mary’s Church, in expectation of a young lady’s funeral with whom we were both acquainted, I asked him if he really thought himself my friend; and, if he did, why he would not do me all the good he could. He began to protest; in which I cut him short by desiring him to oblige me in an instance which he could not deny to be in his own power: to let me have the pleasure of making him a whole Christian, to which I knew he was at least half persuaded already; that he could not do me a greater kindness, as both of us would be fully convinced when we came to follow that young woman.
He turned exceedingly serious, and kept something of that disposition ever since. Yesterday was a fortnight he died of a consumption. I saw him three days before he died; and, on the Sunday following, did him the last good office I could here by preaching his funeral sermon, which was his desire when living.
Ill — TO THE SAME.
March 19, 1727.
One advantage, at least, my degree lias given me: I am now at liberty, and shall be in a great measure for some time, to choose my own employment. And as I believe I know my own deficiencies best, and which of them are most necessary to be supplied, I hope my time will turn to somewhat better account than when it was not so much in my own disposal.
The conversation of one or two persons, whom you may have heard me speak of, (I hope never without gratitude.) iirst took off my relish for most other pleasures, so far that I despised them in comparison of that. I have since proceeded a step farther, — to slight them absolutely. And I am so little at present in love with even company, — the most elegant entertainment next to books, — that, unless the persons have a religious turn of thought, I am much better pleased without them. I think it is the settled temper of my soul that I should prefer, at least for some time, such a retirement as would seclude me from all the world, to the station I am now in. Not that this is by any means impleasant to me; but I imagine it would be more improving to be in a place where I might confirm or implant in my mind what habits I would, without interruption, before the fiexibility of youth be over.
A school in Yorkshire was proposed to me lately, oq which I shall think more when it appears whether I may have it or not. A good salary is annexed to it. But what has made me wish for it most, is the frightful description, as they call it, which some gentlemen who know the place gave me of it yesterday. “It lies in a little vale, so pent up between two hills that it is scarcely accessible on any side; so that you can expect little company from without, and within there is none at all.” I should therefore be entirely at liberty to converse with company of my own choosing, whom for that reason I would bring with me; and company equally agreeable, wherever I hxed, could not put me to less expense.
*’ The sun that walks his airy w’ay
To cheer the world, and bring the day;
The moon that shines with borrow’d light;
The stars that gild the gloomy night;
All of these, and all I see, *
Should be sung, and sung by me.
These praise their Maker as they can.
But want and ask the tongue of man.”
I am full of business, but have found a way to write without taking any time from that. It is but rising an hour sooner in the morning, and going into company an hour later in the evening; both which may be done without any inconvenience.
IV, — TO THE SAME.
June 11, 1731.
The motion and sun together, in our last hundred and fifty miles’ walk, so thoroughly carried off all our superfluous humours that we continue perfectly in health, though it is here a ver’ sickly season. And Mr. Kirkham assures us, on the word of a priest and a physician, that if we will but take the same medicine once or twice a j-ear, 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 mevi.ning o being righteous overmuch, or by the more common phrase of being too strict in religion? and what danger there was of any of us fallinsf into that extreme
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 a 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 [were] 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 absoluetly 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 temble words from what, if not directly necessary, would at least be useful.
v. — TO THE SAME.
February S8, 1732. One consideration is enough to make me assent to his and your judgment concerning the holy sacrament, which is, that we cannot allow Christ’s human nature to be present in it without allowing either co.v or TRAX-substantiation. But that his divinity is so united to us then as he never is but to worthy receivers, I firmly believe, though the manner of that union is utterly a mystery to me.
That none but worthy receivers should find this eflfect is not strange to me when I observe how small effect many means of improvement have upon an unprepared mind. Mr. Morgan and my brother were affected, as they ought, by the observations you made on that glorious subject; but though my understanding approved what was excellent, yet my heart did not feel it. Why was this, but because it was pre-engaged by those affections with which wisdom will not dwell? because the animal mind cannot relish those truths which are spiritually discerned? Yet I have those writings which the good Spirit gave to that end: I have many of those which he hath since assisted his servants to give us: I have retirement to apply these to my own soul daily: I have means both of public and private prayer; and, above all, of partaking in that sacrament once a week. What shall I do to make all these blessings effectual, to gain from them that mind which was also in Christ Jesus?
To all who give signs of their not being strangers to it, I propose this question, — and why not to you rather than any? Shall I quite break off my pursuit of all learning, but what immediately tends to practice? I once desired to make a fair show in languages and philosophy; but it is past: there is a more excellent way, and if I cannot attain to any progress in the one without throwing up all thoughts of the other, why fare it well! Yet a little while, and we shall all be equal in knowledge, if we are in virtue.
You say you “have renounced the world. And what have I been doing all this time? What have I done ever since I was born? Why, I have been plunging myself into it more and more. It is enough: “Awake, thou that sleepest.” Is there not “one Lord, one Spirit, one hope of our calling?” one way of attaining that hope? Then I am to renounce the world as well as you. That is the very thing I want to do: to draw off my affections from this world, and fix them on a belter. But how? What is the .surest and the shortest way? Is it not to be humble? Surely this is a large step in the way. But the question recurs, How am I to do this 1 To own the necessity of it, is not to be humble. In many things you haie interceded for me and prevailed. Who knows but in this too you may be sue cessful: If you can spare me only that little part of Thursday evening which you formerly bestowed upon me in another manner, I doubt not but it would be as useful now for correcting my heart as it was then for forming my judgment.
When I observe how fast life flies away, and how slow improvement comes, I think one can never be too much afraid of dying before one has learned to live: I mean, even in the course of nature. For were I sure that “the silver cord” should not be violently “loosed;” or that “the wheel” should not ‘-be broken at the cistern,” till it was quite worn away by its own motion, yet what time would this give for such a work A moment to transact the business of eternity! ‘hat are forty years in comparison of this? So that were I sure of what never man yet was sure of, how little would it alter the case I How justly still might I cry out, —
“Downward I hasten to my destined place;
There none obtain thy aid, none sing thy praise!
Soon shall I lie in death’s deep ocean drown’d;
Is mercv there, is sweet forgiveness found?
O save me yet, while on the brink I stand;
Rebuke these storms, and set me safe on land!
O make my longings and thy mercy sure!
Thou art the God of power.”