His Marriage; His Children
My DEAR Children, — It is one of the peculiar circumstances which, without any contrivance and purpose of my own, have attended me through life, that, after another year of faith and patience (neither of these graces being very perfect), and just as I was going to settle in Bath, Mr. Davies having a dispensation for noH-residence at his living, accepted the curacy of Batheaston, a pleasant village, only two mUes from Bath. Nothing could have been more gratifying to the feelings, and more friendly to the intercourse of the young parties, than this wholly unexpected approximation of residences. Things being now more favourable, Mr. Davies soon gave his consent; and some time after I went to London, where the elect was on a visit to her most intimate friend, Mrs. Rowland Hill. We were married at St. Peter’s, Cornhill (January 6, 1791), Mr. Hill performing the service. In returning to Bath we paid our first visit to Mr. and Mrs. Winter at Painswick.
How much has resulted from this auspicious connexion for which I can never sufficiently praise the providence of my God and Father! How far I have succeeded it does not become me to attempt to determine; but of this I am conscious, that I was always desirous and anxious to be a good husband; nothing in my estimation and remarkirigs ever being able to atone for the want of consistency and excellency here, especially in a minister.
But I must have been one of the basest of men had I not always endeavoured to act worthily towards the wife of my youth to whom I am under so many obligations. It was she (for we always judge of the whole by parts, and chiefly by those parts with which we are most acquainted), it was she who contributed so much to give me that exalted idea of the female character which I have always entertained and expressed. She excluded perfectly the entrance of every notion and feeling of submission or authority, so that we had no rights to adjust, or duties to regulate. She possessed every requisite that could render her a helpmate. Her special qualities were admirably suited to my defects. She had an extemporaneous readiness which never failed her, and an intuitive decisiveness which seemed to require no deliberation. Her domestic virtues rendered my house a complete home, the abode of neatness, order, punctuality, peace, cheerfulness, comfort, and attraction. She calmed my brow when ruffled by disappointment or vexation; she encouraged me when depressed; she kept off a thousand cares, and left me free to attend to the voice of my calling. She reminded me of my engagements when I was forgetful, and stimulated me when I was remiss, and always gently enforced the present obligation, as ‘^ the duty of every day required.’^
I mention this the more distinctly, not only to express my own gratitude, but that my church and the public, if they have derived any little advantage from my labours, may see how much of it they owe to this wise and good woman. She now stood in the additional relation of a mother, and in process of time furnished me with a most lovely family of six children, three of each sex, who” rose up and called her blessed.^’
My first-born was a daughter, and named Anne, after her mother. She seemed one of those who are sanctified from the womb; and, instead of being averse to any of the duties required of her in her training, she appeared naturally and
without admonition to fall in with them. She never gave us pain but by her own pain. When she was only seven years old, and we went abroad for a few days, not waiting for any intimation from us, the little creature read a chapter and a prayer every morning and evening with the servant and the nursemaid. At the age of sixteen she impressed a young American who was travelling through England, and, bringing letters of introduction, abode for a short time at our house. To him she was early married, and brought him a family of no less than thirteen children. They are all yet spared; * they are all walking in the truth, adorning their profession, blessing their generation, and showing what education, by the grace of God, may accomplish. After some years Mr. Bolton returned to the United States with the whole of his family. This separation, which could not be viewed but as probably a final p|arting as to this world, was one of the greatest trials of my life. Yet there were things which prevented my opposing it, and made it appear to be the path of duty. The dispensation has already had issues which serve in a great measure to explain it, while it seems also pregnant with future consequences of much importance. The marriage itself was strange and marvellous. What probability was there that a young gentleman from another quarter of the globe, first passing through Bath, and casually seeing her, should have been united in marriage to my daughter? One thing struck me much in this affair from its beginning. It was my learning that he who asked to become my son-in-law was himself the grandson of the pious and worthy Mr. Bolton, merchant of Savannah, mentioned with so much respect by Mr. Winter in one of his letters to me, to be seen in my life of him; for when this man of God was not only neglected but
* Abby Wolsey, the fifth daughter, has since been gathered to her rest, at the age of 21; a memoir, written by her sister, was published, entitled the “Lighted Valley,” to which her grandfather added a preface, the last production of his pen which, we believe, has been given to the public.
despised, because he had gone to America purposely to teach and Christianize the poor negroes Mr. Bolton received and encouraged him, and accommodated him with a room in which he could instruct his sable charge free of expense.
After awhile my son-in-law joined the Episcopalian Church, and is now the rector of St. Paul’s, East Chester, New York, where his labours are crowned with much acceptance and success.*
My second child was a son, named after myself. From the turn of his mind, when he had fulfilled his schooling, he was apprenticed to an architect and surveyor in London, where, after his time had expired, he continued for awhile, and then went to Savannah in Georgia. There he was employed for a few years; when, leaving many proofs of his professional ability behind him, he returned to England. After several attempts to succeed at home, he went out, by the appointment of Lord Glenelg, on government service, to the Mauritius. There his taste and talents met with full encouragement, and his prospects were very promising; but he was cut off by a premature death. A little before his own dissolution he had buried a most pious and interesting child, whose remains lie in the same grave with those of Mrs. Newell, the wife of the American missionary. An account of him has been published and widely circulated, called” Little Willy,’^ drawn up by his mother, to which I prefixed a preface. Many, as well as myself, can testify that what is said of him is
* Mr. and Mrs. Bolton, with part of their family, returned to England some years before Mr. Jay’s death, and had the melancholy satisfaction of attending him in his last days. Mr. Bolton is now minister of the chapel built by the late Lord Ducie on his estate in Gloucestershire. Two of his sons are ministers in the Episcopal Church of England, and one in the American; viz., Kev. “William Jay Bolton, curate of Christ Church, Cambridge; Rev. James Bolton, minister of St. Paul’s Chapel, Kilburn; Rev. Cornelius Winter Bolton, assistant minister of Christ Church, Balti-LET. IX.] DEATH OF HIS SON WILLIAM. 95
not maternal lavishment, but truth. My son had married a veryestimable wife, Miss Louisa Coulston of Henley, by whom he had two other children besides” little Willy.’^ These were left to be the care and comfort of the widowed mother, now keeping a school in her native place. My son, besides professional talent and cleverness, had a large share of wit and humour, qualities always dangerous and commonly injurious to the possessor. So it was, alas! here. His comic powers drew him into company not the most friendly to youthful improvement. He was led into expense by his admirers and flatterers, and for awhile left the path in which he had been taught to go. But the principles which had been early sown revived, especially under the teachings of affliction, and the conjugal influence of gentle, wise, and consistent piety. He sought the Lord God of his fathers, walked soberly, righteously, and godly, and finished his course in peace. And I record it to excite my gratitude and praise, and to encourage others who may be tried for a time in the same way. It has been delightful to my sorrowing spirit to read the testimonies concerning him which I received from two ministers, the one a missionary of the London Society, the other of the Church of England Missionary Society; as also from Mr. Alexander, the Keeper of the King’s Stores.
My third-born was a daughter, whom we called Arabella, after a step-mother of Mrs. Jay’s of uncommon piety, whose letters to her children were published, and of whose character an account is found among Gibbons’” Pious Women.’^ She was early married to Garfit Ashton, Esq., a solicitor at Cambridge, and now also Clerk of the Peace. She has no family, but has been the most devoted of children, and has so attached herself to the comfort of her afflicted mother, as to entitle her to every endearment of my heart.*
* Mrs. Ashton was suddenly removed by death shortly after the funeral of her beloved father. The particulars of this mournful event will be given
My fourth-born was named Cyrus. As I always admired the Friends, and they seemed exemplary in training their youth to habitudes of order, and self-control, and disregard of ridicule and reproach, I was induced to place him for a considerable time at one of their schools. But I was not entirely satisfied with the result. The want of more express evangelical instruction, and the comparative deficiencyof instrumental religion, were a disadvantage which I found it was not so easy to remedy. He fixed in London as an attorney, and married a daughter of my inestimable friend, the pious and benevolent Robert Spear, Esq., of Manchester.
My fifth child was named Edward, after his maternal grandfather. When quite a child he had nearly perished. His nursemaid had, by reading herself asleep, set fire to the curtains. I had just time to snatch him from a flaming bed, which was nearly all consumed, with other furniture in the room. He was at first educated for the ministry, and preached for some time with much approbation. But a timorousness and even dread with regard to his appearing and officiating in public, instead of decreasing by use, so grew upon him, and so threatened and even affected his health, that I was constrained to acquiesce in his importunity to leave the pulpit and enter secular life.
The last of my family was a daughter, named Statira after an eminent female of Grecian extraction, to whom my preaching had been useful in drawing her from the world into the way everlasting. She was not endowed with those personal attractions which some children possess, yet was pleasing to the eye of parental affection. She was a child of a very lovely and obliging temper, and apt at learning. She was also truly pious, and like her two sisters had early come to the table of the Lord. But at the
in the Supplement to the Autobiography, in connexion with the account there inserted of the interment and funeral service of Mr. Jay.
age of nineteen I was summoned to resign her. She had been always free from ailments. I left her in perfect health, to go and preach at the opening of a new chapel at Tavistock in Devonshire; but I had not proceeded further than Totness before a messenger overtook me with foreboding intelligence. I hastened back in anxious, trembliug suspense, and reached home only just in time to see her dying of typhus fever. She was incapable of knowing the father around whose neck she had so often clung. I turned away, and was led by her mother into the solitude of my study. We kneeled down hand in hand to pray; but not a word was uttered. At such a season, how poor is speech; and how surprising is it that persons should employ it, and not yield to the devotion of silence and tears!
This was the first time death had entered our indulged dwelling. Till now I knew not what it was truly to be a parent. My heart was desolate within me; and there was danger that weeping would hinder sowing. As my ministry had always been very much of a consolatory kind, I began to dread the application of the address of Eliphaz to Job, “Behold, thou hast instructed many, and thou hast strengthened the weak hands; thy words have ipholden him that was falling, and thou hast strengthened the feeble knees. But now it is come upon thee, and thou faintest; it toucheth thee, and thou art weary .^^ What in a measure prevented this?
“Oh, woman!....
When pain and anguish wring the brow,
A ministering angel thou!”
As being not only her husband, but her pastor, I ought to have solaced and supported my wife under the loss, but she solaced and supported me.
One thiQg I peculiarly remember as arising from our affliction. Though I was not wanting in love to my wife before, yet now I felt her the more sinarly endeared. No thought of her seemed so sacred and tender as that of the mother of my beloved and glorified daughter; and so I commonly addressed her in my letters.
I am, &c.