Chapter II: Lydia Grenfell (1)

Twenty-six miles south-west of Truro, and now the last railway station before Penzance is reached for the Land's End, is Marazion, the oldest, the warmest, and long the dullest, of English towns. This was the home of Lydia Grenfell; this was the scene of Henry Martyn's wooing. Running out from the town is a natural causeway, uncovered at low tide, and leading to the most romantic spot on a romantic coast--the granite rock known to the Greek geographers as Ictis, and to English legend and history as St. Michael's Mount. Here it was that Jack slew the giant, Cormoran; here that the Phœnician, and possibly Israelite, traffickers found the harbour, and in the town the market, where they bought their copper and their tin; here that St. Michael appeared, as on the larger rock off Normandy, to the earliest Christian hermits, followed by the Benedictines; and here that King John made a fortress which both sides in the Great Rebellion held and took alternately. Since that time, possessed by the St. Aubyn family, and open to all the world, St. Michael's Mount has been a unique retreat in which castle and chapel, cemetery and garden, unite peacefully, to link the restlessness of the nineteenth century with the hermit saintliness and angel-ophanies of the fifth. It was the last spot of English, of Cornish, ground seen by Henry Martyn, and he knew that the windows of his beloved looked upon its grassy castellated height.

In the one ascending street of Marazion on the shore, there still stands the plain substantial Grenfell House, now boarded up and falling to ruin for want of the freehold tenure. Opposite it is the parish church, now on the site of the old chapel of ease of the neighbouring St. Hilary, which Lydia Grenfell deserted for the then warmer evangelical service of the little Wesleyan chapel. That is hidden in a lane, and is still the same as when she worshipped there, or only a little enlarged. The Grenvilles, Grenviles, or Grenfells, were long a leading family connected with Cornwall as copper-buyers and smelters. One, Pascoe Grenfell, was a Governor of the Bank of England. Mr. Pascoe Grenfell, of Marazion (1729-1810), Commissary to the States of Holland, was father (1) of Emma, who became wife of Martyn's cousin, Rev. T. Martyn Hitchins; (2) of Lydia Grenfell; and (3) of Pascoe Grenfell, D.C.L., M.P. for Marlow and Penryn. This Pascoe's four daughters--Lydia Grenfell's nieces--each became the wife of a remarkable man. The eldest, in 1825, married Mr. Carr Glyn, M.P. for Kendal, and the first Lord Wolverton; the second, Lord Sidney Godolphin Osborne; the third, Mr. James Anthony Froude; and the fourth, Charles Kingsley.

Lydia Grenfell, born in 1775, died in her sister's house, the old Vicarage of Breage, in 1829. She was thus six years older than Henry Martyn. As the sister of his cousin by marriage he must have known of her early. He evidently did not know, till it was too late, that she had been engaged to a Mr. Samuel John, solicitor, of Penzance, who was unworthy of her and married someone else. This engagement and its issue seem to have weighed on her very sensitive conscience; it became to her very much what Henry Martyn's hopeless love for her proved to be to himself. In the years from October 19, 1801, to 1826, she kept a diary not less devout, but far more morbid than his own. The two journals form, where they meet, a pathetic, even tragic, tale of affection, human and divine. Her bulky memoranda[10] contain few incidents of interest, rather severe introspections, incessant communings and heart-searchings, abstracts of sermons, records of visits to the sick and poor, but also a valuable residuum by which her relations with Martyn can be established beyond controversy. They show that she was as saintly as himself. She weighed every thought, every action, as in the immediate presence of God.

When Henry Martyn, at nineteen, entered on the higher life, he must have known Lydia Grenfell as the sister of Mrs. T.M. Hitchins, the cousin with whom his correspondence shows him to have been on most intimate, and even affectionate, terms. At that time the difference of age would seem slight; her it would affect little, if at all, while common experience suggests that it would be even attractive to him. With the ardour of a young disciple--which in his case grew, year by year, till he passed away--he sought spiritual counsel and communion. On his visits to Cornwall he found both in his younger sister, but it is evident that, from the first, the riper spiritual life of Lydia Grenfell attracted him to her. His triumph, at twenty, as Senior Wrangler put him quite in a position to dream of winning her. His unexpected poverty was relieved by his Fellowship of St. John's. In those days, however, that would have ceased with marriage. When it became more than probable that he would receive an appointment to Bengal, through Mr. Charles Grant--either as minister of the Mission Church founded by Kiernander, or as a chaplain of the East India Company--he was face to face with the question of marrying.

In these days the course followed by missionary societies as the result of experience is certainly the best. A missionary and a chaplain in India should, in ordinary circumstances, be married, but it is not desirable that the marriage take place for a year or longer, until the young minister has proved the climate, and has learned the native language, when the lady can be sent out to be united to him. At the beginning of the modern missionary enterprise, a century ago, it was difficult to find spiritual men willing to go to India on any terms, and they did well in every case to go out married. All the conditions of time, distance, society, and Christian influence were then different. If the missionary's or chaplain's wife is worthy of his calling, she doubles his usefulness, notwithstanding the cares and the expense of children in many cases, alike by keeping her husband in a state of efficiency on every side, by her own works of charity and self-sacrifice--especially among the women, who can be reached in no other way--and by helping to present to the idolatrous or Mussulman community the powerful example of a Christian home. Henry Martyn's principles and instincts were right in this matter. As a chaplain, at any rate, he was in a position to marry at once. As India or Bengal then was, Lydia, had she gone out with him, or soon after him, would have proved to be a much needed force in Anglo-Indian society, an influence on the native communities whom he sought to bring to Christ. Above all, as a man born with a weak body, with habits of incessant and intense application to study and to duty, Henry Martyn required one with the influence of a wife to keep him in life and to prolong his Indian service. It was the greatest calamity of his whole career that Lydia did not accompany him. But, since he learned to love her with all the rich devotion of his passionate nature, we cannot consider it 'a bitter misfortune,' as some do, that he ever knew her. His love for Lydia, in the fluctuations of its hope, in the ebb and flow of its tenderness, and in the transmutation of its despair into faith and resignation to the will of God, worked out a higher elevation for himself, and gives to his _Journals and Letters_ a pure human interest which places them above the _Confessions of St. Augustine_.

The first allusion to the possibility of marriage we find in his _Journal_ of January 23, 1803, and again in June 12 of the same year:

I was grieved to find that all the exertions of prayer were
necessary against worldly-mindedness, so soon had the prospect
of the means of competent support in India filled my heart with
concern about earthly happiness, marriage, &c.; but I strove
earnestly against them, and prayed for grace that, if it should
please God to try my faith by calling me to a post of opulence,
I might not dare to use for myself what is truly His; as also,
that I might be enabled to keep myself single, for serving Him
more effectually. Nevertheless, this change in my circumstances
so troubled me, that I could have been infinitely better pleased
to have gone out as a missionary, poor as the Lord and His
Apostles.

His friend Sargent's 'approaching marriage with a lady of uncommon excellence rather excited in me a desire after a similar state; but I strove against it,' he wrote on July 10. Next day, on the top of the coach from London to Bath, in the cold of a high wind, he was 'most dreadfully assailed by evil thoughts, but at the very height prayer prevailed, and I was delivered, and during the rest of the journey enjoyed great peace and a strong desire to live for Christ alone, forsaking the pleasures of the world, marriage, &c.' At Plymouth he spent two days 'with my dear cousin T.H.,' Lydia's sister. After Truro, Kenwyn, and Lamorran, near Truro, of which his sister Sarah's husband was vicar, he rode to St. Hilary.

_1804, July 29._ (Sunday.)--Read and prayed in the morning
before service with seriousness, striving against those thoughts
which oppressed me all the rest of the day. At St. Hilary Church
in the morning my thoughts wandered from the service, and I
suffered the keenest disappointment. Miss L.G. did not come.
Yet, in great pain, I blessed God for having kept her away, as
she might have been a snare to me. These things would be almost
incredible to another, and almost to myself, were I not taught
by daily experience that, whatever the world may say, or I may
think of myself, I am a poor, wretched, sinful, contemptible
worm.

Called after tea on Miss L.G., and walked with her and ----,
conversing on spiritual subjects. All the rest of the evening,
and at night, I could not keep her out of my mind. I felt too
plainly that I loved her passionately. The direct opposition of
this to my devotedness to God in the missionary way, excited no
small tumult in my mind. In conversation, having no divine
sweetness in peace, my cheerfulness was affected, and,
consequently, very hurtful to my conscience. At night I
continued an hour and a half in prayer, striving against this
attachment. I endeavoured to analyse it, that I might see how
base, and mean, and worthless such a love to a speck of earth
was, compared with divine love. Then I read the most solemn
parts of Scripture, to realise to myself death and eternity; and
these attempts were sometimes blest. One while I was about to
triumph, but in a moment my heart had wandered to the beloved
idol. I went to bed in great pain, yet still rather superior to
the evening; but in dreams her image returned, and I awoke in
the night with my mind full of her. No one can say how deeply
this unhappy affection has fixed itself; since it has nothing
selfish in it, that I can perceive, but is founded on the
highest admiration of her piety and manners.

_July 30._--Rose in great peace. God, by secret influence,
seemed to have caused the tempest of self-will to subside. Rode
away from St. Hilary to Gwennap in peace of mind, and meditated
most of the way on Romans viii. I again devoted myself to the
Lord, and with more of my will than last night. I was much
disposed to think of subjects entirely placed beyond the world,
and had strong desires, though with heavy opposition from my
corrupt nature, after that entire deadness to the world which
David Brainerd manifested. At night I found myself to have
backslidden a long way from the life of godliness, to have
declined very much since my coming into Cornwall, but especially
since I went to St. Hilary. Sat up late, and read the last
chapter and other parts of Revelation, and was deeply affected.
Prayed with more success than lately.

_July 31._--Read and prayed this morning with increasing victory
over my self-will. Romans vii. was particularly suitable; it was
agreeable to me to speak to God of my own corruption and
helplessness. Walked in the afternoon to Redruth, after having
prayed over the Epistle to the Ephesians with much seriousness.
On the road I was enabled to triumph at last, and found my heart
as pleased with the prospect of a single life in missionary
labours as ever. 'What is the exceeding greatness of His power
to usward who believe!'

After preaching to crowds in his brother-in-law's church at Kenwyn and Lamorran, on the two subsequent Sundays, he walked to St. Hilary:

_1804, August 26._--Rose early, and walked out, invited by the
beauty of the morning. Many different pleasing thoughts crowded
on my mind, as I viewed the sea and rocks, Mount and bay, and
thought of the person who lived near it; but, for want of
checking my natural spirits, and fixing on one subject of
thought, I was not much benefited by my meditations. Walked in
the evening with Mrs. G. and Lydia up the hill, with the most
beautiful prospect of the sea, &c.; but I was unhappy, from
feeling the attachment to Lydia, for I was unwilling to leave
her.

_August 27._--Walked to Marazion, with my heart more delivered
from its idolatry, and enabled to look steadily and peacefully
to God. Reading in the afternoon to Lydia alone, from Dr. Watts,
there happened to be, among other things, a prayer on entire
preference of God to the creature. Now, thought I, here am I in
the presence of God, and my idol. So I used the prayer for
myself, and addressed it to God, who answered it, I think, for
my love was kindled to God and divine things, and I felt
cheerfully resigned to the will of God, to forego the earthly
joy which I had just been desiring with my whole heart. I
continued conversing with her, generally with my heart in
heaven, but every now and then resting on her. Parted with
Lydia, perhaps for ever in this life, with a sort of uncertain
pain, which I knew would increase to greater violence
afterwards, on reflection. Walked to St. Hilary, determining, in
great tumult and inward pain, to be the servant of God. All the
rest of the evening, in company or alone, I could think of
nothing but her excellences. My efforts were, however, through
mercy, not in vain, to feel the vanity of this attachment to the
creature. Read in Thomas à Kempis many chapters directly to the
purpose; the shortness of time, the awfulness of death and its
consequences, rather settled my mind to prayer. I devoted myself
unreservedly to the service of the Lord, to Him, as to one who
knew the great conflict within, and my firm resolve, through His
grace, of being His, though it should be with much tribulation.

_August 28._--Rose with a heavy heart, and took leave of St.
Hilary, where all the happier hours of my early life were
passed. ---- and ---- accompanied me in the chaise a few miles;
but the moment they left me I walked on, dwelling at large on
the excellence of Lydia. I had a few faint struggles to forget
her, and delight in God, but they were ineffectual. Among the
many motives to the subjection of self-will, I found the thought
of the entire unworthiness of a soul escaped from hell to choose
its own will before God's, most bring my soul to a right frame.
So that, while I saw the necessity of resigning, for the service
of God, all those joys, for the loss of which I could not
perceive how anything in heaven or earth could be a
compensation, I said, Amen!

_August 29._--I walked to Truro, with my mind almost all the way
taken up with Lydia. But once reasoning in this way--If God made
me, and wills my happiness, as I do not doubt, then He is
providing for my good by separating me from her; this reasoning
convinced my mind. I felt very solemnly and sweetly the
excellence of serving God faithfully, of following Christ and
His Apostles, and meditated with great joy on the approach of
the end of this world. Yet still I enjoyed, every now and then,
the thought of walking hereafter with her, in the realms of
glory, conversing on the things of God. My mind the rest of the
evening was much depressed. I had no desire to live in this
world; scarcely could I say where I would be, or what I would
do, now that my self-will was so strongly counteracted. Thus God
waits patiently my return from my backsliding, which I would do
immediately. If He were to offer me the utmost of my wishes, I
would say, 'Not so, Lord! Not my will, but Thine be done.'

_August 30._--Passed the morning rather idly, in reading lives
of pious women. I felt an indescribable mixture of opposing
emotions. At one time, about to ascend with delight to God, who
had permitted me to aspire after the same glory, but oftener
called down to earth by my earthly good. Major Sandys calling,
continued till dinner conversing about India. I consented to
stay a day with him at Helston, but the thought of being so near
Marazion renewed my pain, especially taken in connection with my
going thither on the subject of my departure. After dinner,
walked in the garden for two hours, reasoning with my perverse
heart, and, through God's mercy, not without success. You preach
up deadness to the world, and yet not an example of it! Now is
the time, my soul, if you cannot feel that it is best to bear
the cross, to trust God for it. This will be true faith. If I
were put in possession of my idol, I should immediately say and
feel that God alone was, notwithstanding, the only good, and to
Him I should seek immediately. Again I weighed the probable
temporal consequence of having my own will gratified; the
dreadful pain of separation by death, after being united,
together with the distress I might bring upon her whom I loved.
All these things were of small influence till I read the Epistle
to the Hebrews, by which my mind, made to consider divine things
attentively, was much more freed from earthly things. 'Let us
come boldly to the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy,
and find grace to help in time of need,' was very precious and
comforting to me. I have found grace to help in this time of
need; I still want a humble spirit to wait upon the Lord. I
almost called God to witness that I duly resigned my pleasure to
His, as if I wished it to be remembered. In the evening had a
serious and solemn time in prayer, chiefly for the influences of
the Spirit, and rose with my thoughts fixed on eternity; I
longed for death, and called on the glorious day to hasten; but
it was in order to be free from the troubles of this world.

_August 31._--Passed the morning partly in reading and writing,
but chiefly in business. Rode to Rosemundy, with my mind at
first very unhappy, at the necessity of mortifying my self-will,
in the same particulars as for some days. In conversing on the
subject of India with Major Sandys, I could not help
communicating the pain I felt at parting with the person to whom
I was attached; but by thus dwelling on the subject my heart was
far more distressed than ever. Found my mind more easy and
submissive to God at night in prayer.

St. Hilary Church, in which Henry Martyn preached, is one of the oldest in England, containing, in the tower of Edward III.'s reign, two stones with inscriptions of the time of the Emperor Flavius Constantinus, who was killed by Honorius in 411. What Lydia Grenfell thought of Martyn's sermon on that day, August 26, thenceforth memorable to both, we find in her _Diary_ of that date:

_1804, August 26._--Heard H.M. on 'Now then we are ambassadors
for Christ, as though God did beseech you by us: we pray you, in
Christ's stead, be ye reconciled to God. For He hath made Him to
be sin (_i.e._ sin-offering) for us, Who knew no sin; that we
might be made the righteousness of God in Him.' Exordium on the
honourable employment of a minister of the Gospel. In the text
two things were implied. First, we were at enmity with God.
Second, we were unable to restore ourselves to His favour.
There were two things expressed in the text--the means of
reconciliation, and God's invitation to be reconciled; a
threefold address to saints, backsliders, and sinners; and a
farewell address. A precious sermon. Lord, bless the preacher,
and those that heard him!

At that time, in 1804, the lady was still preoccupied, in conscience or heart, or both, by her imaginary ties to Mr. S. John. But six months before that she had heard of his approaching marriage, though, in fact, that did not take place till 1810. All that time, if she did not feel, to one to whom her heart had been more closely united than to any 'earthly object,' as she had written in her _Diary_, what Mr. H.M. Jeffery describes as the attachment of a widow with the responsibility of a wife, her scrupulous introspective habit was an obstacle to a healthy attachment. The preacher, younger than herself, was in 1804 evidently to her only an interesting and gracious second cousin, or perhaps a little more.

On his way back to London Henry Martyn again visited Plymouth, where he learned from his cousin 'that my attachment to her sister was not altogether unreturned, and the discovery gave me both pleasure and pain.' He left them, his thoughts 'almost wholly occupied with Lydia.' London, Cambridge, his reading and his walking, his work and even his sleep, bring him no rest from the absorbing passion. His _Journal_ is full of it, almost every day. Fortescue's poems recall the happy mornings at St. Hilary, but his pensive meditation subsided into a more profitable one on the vanity of the world: 'they marry and are given in marriage,' and at the end of a few years what are they more than myself?--looking forward to the same dissolution, and expecting their real happiness in another life. 'The fashion of this world passeth away,' Amen. 'Let me do the will of God while I am in it.'

The first day of the year 1805 led him to review the past five years, and to renew his self-dedication to God the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, to be His servant for ever. The time for his departure to India was at hand, and his last act, on leaving London for Cambridge, to complete his arrangements for sailing, was deliberately to engage himself to Lydia Grenfell in the following letter to her sister.[11] It is thus referred to in his _Journal_:

I was in some doubt whether I should send the letter to Emma, as
it was taking a very important step, and I could scarcely
foresee all the consequences. However, I did send it, and may
now be said to have engaged myself to Lydia.

18 Brunswick Square (London), January 11, 1805.

My dear Mrs. Hitchins,--How unaccountable must my long silence
appear to you after the conversation that passed between us in
the carriage! You may well wonder that I could forbear, for
three whole months, to inquire about the 'beloved Persis.'
Indeed, I am surprised at my own patience, but, in truth, I
found it impossible to discover what it is which I wish or ought
to say on the subject, and therefore determined to defer writing
till I could inform you with certainty of my future destination.
But I have it not yet in my power to do this, for no actual
appointment has been made for me yet. I came to town the
beginning of this week to inquire into the present state of the
business, and learned from Mr. Grant that the situation he
intended to procure, and to which he had no doubt of getting me
nominated, was not in the Army, but at Fort William, near
Calcutta. Thus it pleases God to suspend the declaration of His
mind, and I can believe that He acts wisely. These apparent
delays serve to check my youthful impetuosity, and teach me to
look up to God, and wait for Him. If the chaplaincy at Fort
William should be given me, it would seem to be His design not
to call me to the peculiar work of a missionary, but to fix my
station among the English. At present my own inclination remains
almost unbiassed, as to the particular employment or place God
shall assign me, whether to pass my days among the natives, or
the more polished inhabitants of Calcutta, or even to remain at
home.

But you will easily conceive that the increasing probability of
my being settled in a town rather tends to revive the thoughts
of marriage, for I feel very little doubt in my own mind, that
in such a situation it would be expedient for me on the whole to
marry, if other circumstances permitted it. It is also as clear
that I ought not to make an engagement with any one in England,
till I have ascertained by actual observation in India, what
state of life and mode of proceeding would be most conducive to
the ends of my mission. But why do I mention these difficulties?
If they were removed, others would remain still more
insurmountable. The affections of the beloved object in question
must still be engaged in my favour, or even then she would not
agree to leave the kingdom, nor would any of you agree to it,
nor would such a change of climate, it may be thought, suit the
delicacy of her constitution.

Must I, then, yield to the force of these arguments, and resolve
to think of her no more? It shall certainly be my endeavour, by
the help of my God, to do it, if need be; but I confess I am
very unwilling to go away and hear of her only accidentally
through the medium of others. It is this painful reflection that
has prompted a wish, which I do not mention without some
hesitation, and that is my wish of corresponding with her. It
is possible you may instantly perceive some impropriety in it
which escapes my notice, and indeed there are some objections
which I foresee might be made, but instead of anticipating them,
I will leave you to form your own opinion. In religion we have a
subject to write upon of equal interest to us both, and though I
cannot expect she would derive any advantage from my letters, it
is certain I should receive no small benefit from hers. But I
leave it with yourself; if you disapprove of the measure, let
the request be forgotten. It will be best for her never to know
I had made it, or if she does, she will, I hope, pardon a
liberty to which I have been drawn only by the love of her
excellence.

N.B.--I remember _Leighton_; take care not to forget it nor the
desired MS.

On June 1 he wrote in his _Journal_:

My departure from my friends, and my deprivation of the sweetest
delight in society, for ever in this life, have rather dejected
me to-day. Ah! Nature, thou hast still tears to shed for
thyself!... I seem to be hankering after something or other in
this world, though I am sure I could not say there is anything
which I believed could give me happiness. No! it is in God
above. Yet to-night I have been thinking much of Lydia. Memory
has been at work to unnerve my soul, but reason, and honour, and
love to Christ and to souls, shall prevail. Amen. God help me!

Two days after, at the Eclectic Society, after a discussion on the symptoms of 'the state of the nation,' the subject of marriage, somehow or other, came to be mentioned.

Mr. Cecil spoke very freely and strongly on the subject. He said
I should be acting like a madman if I went out unmarried. A wife
would supply by her comfort and counsel the entire want of
society, and also be a preservative both to character and
passions amidst such scenes. I felt as cold as an anchorite on
the subject as to my own feelings, but I was much perplexed all
the rest of the evening about it. I clearly perceived that my
own inclination upon the whole was not to marriage. The fear of
being involved in worldly cares and numberless troubles, which I
do not now foresee, makes me tremble and dislike the thoughts of
such connection. When I think of Brainerd, how he lived among
the Indians, travelling freely from place to place, can I
conceive he would have been so useful had he been married? I
remember also that Owens, who had been so many years in the West
Indies as a missionary, gave his advice against marriage.
Schwartz was never married, nor St. Paul. On the other hand,
when I suppose another in my circumstances, fixed at a
settlement without company, without society, in a scene and
climate of such temptation, I say without hesitation, he ought
to be married. I have recollected this evening very much my
feelings when I walked through Wales; how I longed there to have
some friend to speak to; and the three weeks seemed an age
without one. And I have often thought how valuable would be the
counsel and comfort of a Christian brother in India. These
advantages would be obtained by marrying. I feel anxious also
that as many Christians as possible should go to India, and
anyone willing to go would be a valuable addition. But yet
voluntary celibacy seems so much more noble and glorious, and so
much more beneficial in the way of example, that I am loth to
relinquish the idea of it. In short, I am utterly at a loss to
know what is best for the interests of the Gospel. But, happily,
my own peace is not much concerned in it. If this opinion of so
many pious clergymen had come across me when I was in Cornwall,
and so strongly attached to my beloved Lydia, it would have been
a conflict indeed in my heart to oppose so many arguments. But
now I feel, through grace, an astonishing difference. I hope I
am not seeking an excuse for marriage, nor persuading myself I
am indifferent about it, in order that what is really my
inclination may appear to be the will of God. But I feel my
affections kindling to their wonted fondness while I dwell on
the circumstances of a union with Lydia. May the Lord teach His
weak creature to live peacefully and soberly in His love,
drawing all my joys from Him, the fountain of living waters.

_June 4._--The subject of marriage made me thoughtful and
serious. Mr. Atkinson, whose opinion I revere, was against my
marrying. Found near access to my God in prayer. Oh, what a
comfort it is to have God to go to. I breathed freely to Him my
sorrows and cares, and set about my work with diligence. The
Lord assisted me very much, and I wrote more freely than ever I
did. Slept very little in the night.

_June 5._--Corrie breakfasted with me, and went to prayer; I
rejoiced to find he was not unwilling to go to India. He will
probably be my fellow-labourer. Most of this morning was
employed in writing all my sentiments on the subject of marriage
to Mr. Simeon. May the Lord suggest something to him which may
be of use to guide me, and keep my eye single. In my walk out,
and afterwards, the subject was constantly on my mind. But,
alas! I did not guard against that distraction from heavenly
things which I was aware it would occasion. On reflection at
home, I found I had been talking in a very inconsistent manner,
but was again restored to peace by an application to Christ's
blood through the Spirit. My mind has all this day been very
strongly inclined to marriage, and has been consequently
uncomfortable, for in proportion to its want of simplicity it is
unhappy. But Mr. Cecil said to-day, he thought Lydia's decision
would fully declare the will of God. With this I am again
comforted, for now hath the Lord taken the matter into His own
hands. Whatever He decides upon, I shall rejoice; and though I
confess I think she will not consent to go, I shall then have
the question finally settled.

Discussion in the evening was about my marriage again; they were
all strenuous advocates for it. Wrote at night with great
freedom, but my body is very weak from the fatigue I have
already undergone. My mind seems very active this week;
manifestly, indeed, strengthened by God to be enabled to write
on religious subjects with such unusual ease, while it is also
full of this important business of the marriage. My inclination
continues, I think, far more unbiassed than when I wrote to Mr.
Simeon.

_June 7._--Oh, the subtlety of the devil, and the deceitfulness
of this corrupted heart! How has an idol been imperceptibly
raised up in it. Something fell from Dr. F. this evening against
my marriage which struck me so forcibly, though there was
nothing particular in it, that I began to see I should finally
give up all thoughts about it. But how great the conflict! I
could not have believed it had such hold on my affections.
Before this I had been writing in tolerable tranquillity, and
walked out in the enjoyment of a resigned mind, even rejoicing
for the most part in God, and dined at Mr. Cecil's, where the
arguments I heard were all in favour of the flesh, and so I was
pleased; but Dr. F.'s words gave a new turn to my thoughts, and
the tumult showed me the true state of my heart. How miserable
did life appear without the hope of Lydia! Oh, how has the
discussion of the subject opened all my wounds afresh! I have
not felt such heartrending pain since I parted with her in
Cornwall. But the Lord brought me to consider the folly and
wickedness of all this. Shall I hesitate to keep my days in
constant solitude, who am but a brand plucked from the burning?
I could not help saying, 'Go, Hindus, go on in your misery; let
Satan still rule over you; for he that was appointed to labour
among you is consulting his ease.' No, thought I; hell and
earth shall never keep me back from my work. I am cast down, but
not destroyed; I began to consider, why am I so uneasy? 'Cast
thy care upon Him, for He careth for you.' 'In everything, by
prayer,' &c. These promises were graciously fulfilled before
long to me.

_June 8._--My mind continued in much the same state this
morning, waiting with no small anxiety for a letter from Mr.
Simeon, hoping, of course, that the will of God would coincide
with my will, yet thinking the determination of the question
would be indifferent to me. When the letter arrived I was
immediately convinced, beyond all doubt, of the expediency of
celibacy. But my wish did not follow my judgment quite so
readily. Mr. Pratt coming in, argued strongly on the other side,
but there was nothing of any weight. The subject so occupied my
thoughts that I could attend to nothing else. I saw myself
called to be less than ever a man of this world, and walked out
with a heavy heart. Met Dr. F., who alone of all men could best
sympathise, and his few words were encouraging. Yet I cannot
cordially acquiesce in all the Lord's dealings, though my reason
and judgment approve them, and my inclination would desire to do
it. Dined at Mr. Cecil's, where it providentially happened that
Mr. Foster came in. To them I read Mr. Simeon's letter, and they
were both convinced by it. So I went away home, with nothing to
do but to get my heart easy again under this sacrifice. I
devoted myself once more to the entire and everlasting service
of God, and found myself more weaned from this world, and
desiring the next, though not from a right principle. Continued
all the evening writing sermon, and reading _Pilgrim's
Progress_, with successions of vivid emotions of pain and
pleasure. My heart was sometimes ready to break with agony at
being torn from its dearest idol, and at other times I was
visited by a few moments of sublime and enraptured joy. Such is
the conflict; why have my friends mentioned this subject? It has
torn open old wounds, and I am again bleeding. With all my
honours and knowledge, the smiles and approbation of men, the
health and prosperity that have fallen to my lot, together with
that freedom from doubts and fears with which I was formerly
visited, how much have I gone through in the last two or three
years to bring my mind to be willing to do the will of God when
it should be revealed! My heart is pained within me, and my
bodily frame suffers from it.

_June 9._ (Sunday.)--My heart is still pained. It is still as a
bullock unaccustomed to the yoke; the Lord help me to maintain
the conflict. Preached this morning at Long Acre Chapel on Matt.
xxviii., the three last verses. There was the utmost attention.
In the interval between morning and afternoon, passed most of
the time in reading and prayer. Read Matthew iii., and
considered the character of John the Baptist. Holy emulation
seemed to spring up in my mind. Then read John xvii. and last
chapter, and Rev. i., all of which were blessed to my soul. I
went into the church persuaded in my feelings--which is
different from being persuaded in the understanding--that it was
nobler and wiser to be as John the Baptist, Peter, John, and all
the Apostles, than to have my own will gratified. Preached on
Eph. ii. 18. Walked a little with Mr. Grant this evening. He
told me I should have great trials and temptations in India; but
I know where to apply for grace to help.

Cecil's final opinion, that Lydia Grenfell's decision would fully declare the will of God, was not borne out by the result, as we shall see. Meanwhile, let us trace the steps which led to the final appointment to India, and the farewell.

On his first visit to London at the beginning of the year 1804, by the Telegraph coach, the Cambridge recluse was distracted by the bustle of the great city, as he walked about the streets and called at the booksellers'. Dr. Wollaston, the British Museum, and the Gresham Lecture on Music, of which he was passionately fond, occupied his first two days. At the old India House, since swept away from Leadenhall Street, he met Mr. Charles Grant, who, as he took him to Clapham, the evangelical centre which Sir James Stephen has made so famous,[12] gave him much information on the state of India, such as this:

It would be absolutely necessary to keep three servants, for
three can do no more than the work of one English; that no
European constitution can endure being exposed to mid-day heat;
that Mr. Schwartz, who was settled at Tanjore, did do it for a
time, walking among the natives. Mr. Grant had never seen Mr.
Schwartz, but corresponded with him. He was the son of a Saxon
gentleman (the Saxon gentlemen never enter the ministry of the
Church), and had early devoted himself to the work of a
missionary amongst the Indians. Besides the knowledge of the
Malabar tongue, in which he was profoundly skilled and eloquent,
he was a good classic, and learnt the English, Portuguese, and
Dutch. He was a man of dignified and polished manners, and
cheerful.

This was the first opportunity that 'the Clapham sect' had to satisfy themselves that the Senior Wrangler was worthy of the commendation of Charles Simeon. Accordingly they dined with William Wilberforce at Broomfield.

We conversed about my business. They wished me to fill the
church in Calcutta very much; but advised me to wait some time,
and to cherish the same views. To Mr. Wilberforce I went into a
detail of my views, and the reasons that had operated on my
mind. The conversation of Mr. Wilberforce and Mr. Grant during
the whole of the day, before the rest of the company, which
consisted of Mr. Johnston, of New South Wales, a French Abbé,
Mrs. Unwin, Mr. H., and other ladies, was edifying; agreeable to
what I should think right for two godly senators, planning some
means of bringing before Parliament propositions for bettering
the moral state of the colony of Botany Bay. At evening worship
Mr. W. expounded Sacred Scripture with serious plainness, and
prayed in the midst of his large household.

In _The Life of William Wilberforce_, by his sons, we find this passage introduced by the remark, 'It is delightful to contrast with his own language the observation of one who, with as holy and as humble a soul, was just entering on his brief but glorious course:' Martyn 'drank tea at Mr. Newton's; the old man was very civil to me, and striking in his remarks in general.' Next day:

Read Isaiah. At one, we went to hear the charge delivered to the
missionaries at the New London Tavern, in Cheapside. There was
nothing remarkable in it, but the conclusion was affecting. I
shook hands with the two missionaries, Melchior Rayner and Peter
Hartwig, and almost wished to go with them, but certainly to go
to India. Returned, and read Isaiah.

From the ever recurring distractions of his soul, caused now by 'a despicable indulgence in lying in bed,' and again by the interruptions of visitors, he sought refuge frequently in fasting and ascetic self-denial, and occasionally in writing verse:

Composed some poetry during my walk, which often has a tendency
to divert my thoughts from the base distractions of this life,
and to purify and elevate it to higher subjects.... On my way
to Mr. Simeon's, heard part of the service in King's Chapel. The
sanctity of the place, and the music, brought heaven and eternal
things, and the presence of God, very near to me.

He seems to have competed for the Seatonian Prize. He was an ardent lover of Nature.

Walked out before breakfast, and the beauties of the opening
spring constrained me to adoration and praise. But no earthly
object or operation can produce true spirituality of heart. My
present failing is in this, that I do not feel the power of
motives.

Of another walk he writes:

I was led to think a good while on my deficiency in human
learning, and on my having neglected those branches which would
have been pleasing and honourable in the acquisition. Yet I
said, though with somewhat of melancholy, 'What things were gain
to me, those I counted loss for Christ.' Though I become less
esteemed by man, I cannot but think (though it is not easy to do
so) that it must be more acceptable to God to labour for souls,
though the mind remains uninformed; and, consequently, that it
must be more truly great and noble, than to be great and notable
among men for learning. In the garden afterwards I rejoiced
exceedingly at the prospect of a death fast approaching, when my
powers of understanding would be enlarged inconceivably. They
all talked to me in praise of my sermon on Sunday night; but
praise is exceedingly unpleasant to me, because I am slow to
render back to God that glory which belongs to Him alone.
Sometimes it may be useful in encouraging me, when I want
encouragement; but that at present is not the case; and in
truth, praise generally produces pride, and pride presently sets
me far from God.

Oh, what a snare are public ministrations to me! Not that I wish
for the praise of men, but there is some fear and anxiety about
not getting through. How happy could I be in meeting the people
of my God more frequently were it not for this fear of being
unprofitable! But since God has given me natural gifts, let this
teach me that all I want is a spiritual frame to improve and
employ them in the things of God!

Mr. K. White, of Nottingham, breakfasted with me. In my walk was
greatly cast down, except for a short time on my return, when,
as I was singing, or rather chanting, some petitions in a low,
plaintive voice, I insensibly found myself sweetly engaged in
prayer.

Such outpourings of his heart must be read in the light of a time when even the Churches had not awoke to their duty, and the most theologically orthodox were too often the most indifferent, or opposed, to the Lord's command.

_1804, January 13._--Walked out in the evening in great
tranquillity, and on my return met with Mr. C., with whom I was
obliged to walk an hour longer. He thought it a most improper
step for me to leave the University to preach to the ignorant
heathen, which any person could do, and that I ought rather to
improve the opportunity of acquiring human learning. All our
conversation on the subject of learning, religion, &c., ended in
nothing; he was convinced he was right, and all the texts of
Scripture I produced were applicable, according to him, only to
the times of the Apostles. How is my soul constrained to adore
the sovereign mercy of God, who began His work in my proud
heart, and carried it on through snares which have ruined
thousands--namely, human learning and honours: and now my soul,
dost thou not esteem all things but dung and dross, compared
with the excellency of the knowledge of Christ Jesus my Lord?
Yea, did not gratitude constrain me, did not duty and fear of
destruction, yet surely the excellency of the service of Christ
would constrain me to lay down ten-thousand lives in the
prosecution of it. My heart was a little discomposed this
evening at the account of the late magnificent prizes proposed
by Mr. Buchanan and others in the University, for which Mr. C.
has been calling me to write; but I was soon at rest again. But
how easily do I forget that God is no respecter of persons; that
in the midst of the notice I attract as an enthusiast He judges
of me according to my inward state. Oh, my soul, take no
pleasure in outward religion, nor in exciting wonder, but in the
true circumcision of the heart.

_January 16._-- ---- told me of many contemptuous insulting
things that had been said of me, reflecting, some on my
understanding, some on my condition, sincerity, inconsistent
conduct. It was a great trial of my patience, and I was
frequently tempted, in the course of the evening, to let my
natural spirit rage forth in indignation and revenge; but I
remembered Him of whom it was said, 'Who, when He was reviled,
reviled not again; but committed Himself to Him that judgeth
righteously.' As I was conscious I did not deserve the censures
which were passed upon me, I committed myself to God; and in Him
may I abide until the indignation be overpast!

In July 1804 he again visited London on his way to Cornwall, and to see Mr. Charles Grant.

Dined with Mr. Wilberforce at Palace Yard. It was very
agreeable, as there was no one else. Speaking of the slave
trade, I mentioned the words, 'Shall I not visit for these
things?' and found my heart so affected that I could with
difficulty refrain from tears. Went with Mr. W. to the House of
Commons, where I was surprised and charmed with Mr. Pitt's
eloquence. Ah, thought I, if these powers of oratory were now
employed in recommending the Gospel!

On his way back to Cambridge, through London, he

Went to St. Paul's, to see Sir W. Jones's monument; the sight of
the interior of the dome filled my soul with inexpressible ideas
of the grandeur of God, and the glory of heaven, much the same
as I had at the sight of a painted vaulted roof in the British
Museum. I could scarcely believe that I might be in the
immediate enjoyments of such glory in another hour. In the
evening the sound of sacred music, with the sight of a rural
landscape, imparted some indescribable emotions after the glory
of God, by diligence in His work. To preach the Gospel for the
salvation of my poor fellow-creatures, that they might obtain
the salvation which is in Christ Jesus, with eternal glory,
seemed a very sweet and precious employment. Lydia then, again,
seemed a small hindrance.

His duties as examiner, tutor, and in charge of Lolworth, and home mission work in Wall's Lane, the hospital and almshouse, left him little leisure, and that he gave to the Bengali grammars of Halhed and Carey, to Carey's Bengali New Testament, to Arabic grammars, and to the missionary accounts in the _Christian Observer_, for which, also, he wrote. Referring, evidently, to Carey's convert, he wrote:

The account of a Brahmin preaching the Gospel delighted me most
exceedingly. I could not help blessing God for thus glorifying
Himself.... I was much pained and humbled at reflecting that it
has never yet, to my knowledge, pleased God to awaken one soul
by my means, either in public or private,--shame be to myself.

Simeon gave me a letter from Mr. Brown of Calcutta, which gave
me great delight on many accounts. Speaking of me, he says, 'Let
him marry, and come out at once.' I thought of Lydia with great
tenderness, but without pain at my determination to go out
single. I found great affection in prayer for my dear brethren
at Calcutta, for the establishing of Christ's Kingdom among the
poor Gentiles, and for my being sent among them, if it were His
will.

Thinking my mind was in need of recreation, I took up Lord
Teignmouth's _Life of Sir William Jones_, and read till tea.

Low spirits at church, through being about to preach old
sermons, which I feel so ashamed of offering to God, that I
believe I shall rather leave everything undone, than not write
one new one at least every week.

Mr. Thomason preached on Heb. xii. to my edification.

Dr. Milner and Lord C. called. I was introduced as having been
Senior Wrangler; but how contemptible did these paltry honours
appear to me! Ah, thought I, you know not how little I am
flattered by these intended compliments.

In the hall was much affected by the sight of Lord B., whose
look of meekness and humility riveted my attention, and almost
melted me to tears. If there is one disposition in the world I
wish for more than another, it is this; but the bias of my
corrupted nature hurries me violently against it.

Mr. Grant's summons to him 'to sail for St. Helena in eight or ten days,' reached him a month before his twenty-fourth birthday, before which he could not legally receive full ordination, in the Chapel Royal at St. James's.

Felt more persuaded of my call than ever; indeed, there was
scarcely a shadow of a doubt left. Rejoice, O my soul, thou
shalt be the servant of thy God in this life, and then in the
next for all the boundless ages of eternity.

Not till August 31 was it possible for the fleet which convoyed the East Indiamen, in that year of war with France and Napoleon's Continental allies, to see the last of Ireland. The seven months were spent by Henry Martyn in elaborate preparations for what proved to be nearly a year's voyage, and in repeated farewells the anguish of which is reflected in his _Journal_ and correspondence. Having previously taken his M.A. degree, he received that of Bachelor of Divinity by mandate, which required the assent of all the heads of colleges, and then a grace to pass the senate, and the presenting of a petition to the King. Dr. Gilchrist, the Orientalist who had just returned from his long career in Calcutta, where he had been a colleague of Carey in the College of Fort William, gave him lessons in Hindustani pronunciation.