Chapter L: Tyerman (16)

Perplexity is here. Wesley had written twice to Hervey, criticising “Theron and Aspasio.” Hervey was obviously offended at Wesley’s abruptness, and, as Hervey believed, dogmatism. Of course, remembering their former friendship, Wesley expected a reply; but, for some reason, Hervey, almost unexceptionally gentle and courteous, resolved to maintain a sort of sullen silence. As yet, Wesley’s critique was not printed; it was simply a _private_ letter. Hervey was apparently as unfit for controversy as he professed to be averse to it: in fact, he was actually dying; and, yet, the tremulous energies of the dying man were exerted to the utmost, in preparing an answer to Wesley’s _private_ letter, not to be sent to Wesley himself, but to be committed to the press. Why was this? If Wesley’s letter was _wholly private_, why should Hervey answer it in _public_? He had a right to feel grieved, to be offended, and, if not discourteous, to refuse writing a reply; but was it fair that, without consulting Wesley, he should resolve to _publicly_ answer a _private_ communication, even though that communication was not in the most complaisant language? Wesley’s second letter was dated, October 15, 1756, so that, Hervey had now had it in his possession for nearly a year and a half; and, as his correspondence proves, had shown it to several of his friends. Why did he, at the commencement of 1758, when his health had entirely failed, begin to answer a letter, which, for fifteen months, he had treated with silent sullenness? Was he instigated by Mr. Cudworth, who, at the same time, was in diligent correspondence with Mr. Sandeman? Or had Wesley been so annoyed, by Hervey’s contemptuous silence, as to make his letter the subject of conversation among his friends, and Hervey having heard, that, what had been a private communication was now becoming the subject of public observation, was so extremely sensitive, and so afraid of tarnished honour, that, he unadvisedly resolved to print a public answer, and employed his dying days in writing it? It is impossible to answer these questions with certainty. Opinions will differ. Two holier men than Wesley and Hervey did not live; but, by a most painful misunderstanding, they were now estranged. Which of them was blamable? Was either? or were both?

Wesley disliked Hervey’s doctrine of the imputed righteousness of Christ, and he told him so;—a thing which, as a friend, he had a perfect right to do. If he erred at all, it was in using a brusque abruptness, the very opposite of the sort of style usually employed by Hervey, and which was undoubtedly somewhat grating to a sensitive mind like his. Still, even this may be excused. Wesley was without “learned leisure.” Bearing in mind the incessant duties of his itinerant life, the wonder is, how he found time to write at all. Perforce of circumstances, as well as by deliberate choice, his style of writing was always concise, and frequently abrupt. Besides, in this instance, he was writing, not for the public, but privately to a friend.

“It is no wonder,” says he, “that, several of my objections, as
Mr. Hervey observes, ‘appear more like notes and memorandums,
than a just plea to the public.’ It is true. They appear like
what they are, like what they were originally intended for. I
had no thought of ‘a plea to the public’ when I wrote, but of
‘notes and memorandums to a private man.’”[254]

One cannot but lament, that, they were not thus regarded. In such a case, an unseemly and unhappy controversy would have been avoided. For want of confidence, and a frank and friendly explanation, the two old and warm-hearted friends were alienated from each other. Hervey submitted Wesley’s private letter to the inspection of friends who had no right to see it; Wesley, perhaps, yea probably, heard of this, and made it the subject of remark; Hervey, increasingly irritated, began to write an answer; and now Wesley, in an unlucky moment, published what, up to the present, had been a _private_ letter. Hence the following, by Hervey, to a friend, perhaps Cudworth:—

“WESTON-FAVEL, _June 23, 1758_.

“I little thought, when I put Mr. Wesley’s manuscript into
your hand, that I should see it in print so soon. I took very
little notice of it, and let it lie by me for several months,
without giving it an attentive consideration. It seemed to
me so palpably weak, dealing only in positive assertions and
positive denials, that, I could not imagine he would adventure
it into the world, without very great alterations. But it is
now come abroad, just as you received it, in a two shillings’
pamphlet, entitled, ‘A Preservative from Unsettled Notions in
Religion.’ Of this pamphlet, what he has wrote against me,
makes only a small part. Now then, the question is, Whether I
shall attempt to answer it? Give me your opinion, as you have
given me your assistance. Ill I have been, and ill I am; torn
almost to pieces by a cough in the night, which admits of no
remedy; whatever is taken to assuage, exasperates it. Of all
men living, that are not absolutely confined, surely I am the
weakest. If by such weakness, the Lord Jesus will vouchsafe
to glorify His name, how transparent, how effulgent, will be
the glory of His power! Blessed be the Lord, for setting our
affections on a happier state! Blessed be His grace, for giving
us some knowledge of Jesus, as the way to immortal mansions!
There we may be citizens; here only sojourners.”

Hervey not only wrote his answer; but, unfortunately, he submitted it, for revision, to Mr. Cudworth, between whom and Wesley, for several years, Christian charity was nearly at zero. Most of Hervey’s manuscript was sent to Cudworth during the three months, next succeeding the date of the foregoing letter.

“I apprehend,” writes Hervey, “that the piece will make a
two-shilling pamphlet. I must entreat you to get time for the
revisal of all of it. If you could suggest or insert anything
to make it edifying and useful, I should be glad. Would it not
be proper to print Mr. Wesley’s letter, and prefix it to my
answer?”

Hervey’s reply to Wesley was completed in September. A month afterwards, he wrote as follows:—

“WESTON, _October 19, 1758_.

“I am now so very ill, that, I scarce think I shall live to
see the approaching Christmas. I spend almost all my time in
reading and praying over the Bible. Indeed, indeed, you cannot
conceive how the springs of life are relaxed and relaxing.
‘What thou doest, do quickly,’ is for me a proper admonition,
as I am so apprehensive of my approaching dissolution.”

Ill as he was, however, his mind was, at least, occasionally occupied with his controversial pamphlet, which, though written, was still under the revision of his friends. Five days after the date of the preceding extract, he says:—

“Let me repeat my thanks for the trouble you have taken,
and for the assistance you have given me, in relation to my
controversy with Mr. Wesley. He is so unfair in his quotations,
and so magisterial in his manner, that, I find it no small
difficulty to preserve the decency of the gentleman, and the
meekness of the Christian, in my intended answer. May our
Divine Master aid me in both these instances, or else not
suffer me to write at all.”[255]

A fortnight later, he wrote again:—

“WESTON-FAVEL, _November 7, 1758_.

“I am now reduced to a state of infant weakness, and given over
by my physician. My grand consolation is to meditate on Christ;
and I am hourly repeating those heart-reviving lines of Dr.
Young, in his Fourth Night.

“‘This, only this, subdues the fear of death:—
And what is this? Survey the wondrous cure:
And, at each step, let higher wonder rise!
Pardon for infinite offence!’ etc.

“These amazingly comfortable lines, I dare say, you will
treasure up in your heart; and, when you think of them, will
think of me. Dear sir, pray for me, that, I may not disgrace
my ministry, or dishonour the gospel of my Master, in my last
moments, by unbelief—base, provoking unbelief. This probably
is the last time you will ever hear from me: for, indeed, it
is with some difficulty I have written this; but I shall not
fail to remember you, in my intercession for my friends, at the
throne of Christ.”

The following letter, though long, is too important to be withheld:—

“LONDON, _November 29, 1758_.

“DEAR SIR,—A week or two ago, in my return from Norwich, I met
with Mr. Pierce of Bury, who informed me of a conversation,
which he had a few days before. Mr. Cudworth, he said, then
told him, ‘that, he had prevailed on Mr. Hervey to write
against me, who likewise, in what he had written, referred to
the book, which he (Mr. Cudworth) had lately published.’

“Every one is welcome to write what he pleases concerning me.
But would it not be well for you to remember, that, before
I published anything concerning you, I sent it to you in a
private letter?—that, I waited for an answer several months,
but was not favoured with one line?—that, when at length I
published part of what I had sent you, I did it in the most
inoffensive manner possible; in the latter end of a larger
work, purely designed to _preserve_ those in connection with
me from being tossed to and fro by various doctrines? What,
therefore, I may fairly expect from my friend, is, to mete to
me with the same measure:—to send to me first, in a private
manner, any complaint he has against me;—to wait as many
months;—and, if I give you none, or no satisfactory answer,
then to lay the matter before the world, if you judge it will
be to the glory of God.

“But, whatever you do in this respect, one thing I request of
you. Give no countenance to that insolent, scurrilous, virulent
libel, which bears the name of William Cudworth. Indeed, how
you can converse with a man of his spirit, I cannot comprehend.
O leave not your old well-tried friends! The new is not
comparable to them. I speak not this because I am _afraid_ of
what any one can say or do to _me_; but I am really concerned
for _you_. An evil man has gained the ascendant over you; and
has persuaded a dying man, who had shunned it all his life,
to enter into controversy as he is stepping into eternity!
Put off your armour, my brother! You and I have no moments to
spare. Let us employ them all in promoting peace and good-will
among men. And may the peace of God keep your heart and mind in
Christ Jesus! So prays,

“Your affectionate brother and servant,

“J. WESLEY.”[256]

This was Wesley’s last letter to Hervey; the following, written three weeks later, was Whitefield’s:—

“LONDON, _December 19, 1758_.

“And is my dear friend indeed about to take his last flight?
I dare not wish your return into this vale of tears; but our
prayers are constantly ascending to the Father of our spirits,
that, you may die in the embraces of a never-failing Jesus, and
in all the fulness of an exalted faith. Oh when will my time
come! I groan in this tabernacle, being burdened; and long to
be clothed with my house from heaven.

“Farewell! My very dear friend, F-a-r-e-w-e-l-l! Yet a little
while, and we shall meet,

“‘Where sin, and strife, and sorrow cease,
And all is love, and joy, and peace.’

“There Jesus will reward you for all the tokens of love which
you have showed, for His great name’s sake, to

“Yours most affectionately, in our common Lord,

“G. WHITEFIELD.”

“P.S.—God comfort your mother and relations, and thousands and
thousands more that will bewail your departure!”[257]

The following, it is believed, are Hervey’s last letters,—the first to Mr. Cudworth; the second to Lady Frances Shirley:—

“_December 15, 1758._

“DEAR MR. CUDWORTH,—I am so weak, I am scarce able to write my
name.

“J. HERVEY.”

“WESTON-FAVEL, _December 16, 1758_.

“MADAM,—I have received your ladyship’s favour, and should have
answered it before now; but I have been extremely ill, and
still remain so bad, as to be obliged to make use of the pen of
another, to inform your ladyship, that I am,

“Madam, your ladyship’s most obliged, and most obedient, humble servant,

“J. HERVEY.”

Nine days afterwards, Hervey was a corpse. To his curate, the Rev. Abraham Maddock, he observed,—

“O! how much Christ has done for me; and how little have I
done for Him! If I preached even once a week, it was at last
a burden to me. I have not visited the people of my parish as
I ought to have done, I have not taken every opportunity of
speaking for Christ. But, do not think, that, I am afraid to
die; I assure you I am not. I know what my Saviour hath done
for me, and I want to be gone.”

On December 20th, being visited by his friend Dr. Stonehouse, he remarked,—

“True, doctor, true; the only valuable treasures are in heaven.
What would it avail me now to be Archbishop of Canterbury?
Disease would show no respect to my mitre. The Gospel is
offered to me, a poor country parson, the same as to his
grace. Christ makes no difference between us. Oh! why then do
ministers neglect the charge of so kind a Saviour, fawn upon
the great, and hunt after worldly preferments with so much
eagerness, to the disgrace of our orders? These, these are the
things, not our poverty or obscurity, which render the clergy
so justly contemptible to worldlings. No wonder, the service
of our Church, grieved I am to say it, is become such a formal
lifeless thing, since it is, alas! too generally executed by
persons dead to godliness in all their conversation; whose
indifferent religion, and worldly-minded behaviour proclaim the
little regard they pay to the doctrines of the Lord, who bought
them.”

The day before his death, in walking across his room, he fainted, and, to all appearance was dead. On reviving, his brother William said, “We were afraid you were gone”; to which he answered, “I wish I were.” And well he might, for, besides the utter exhaustion of his strength, his bones were so intensely sore, that, he shrank from the touch of his attendants, when it was necessary to alter his position; but, in the midst of weakness and of pain, he was unceasingly praising God for His boundless mercies, and never received even a piece of lemon to moisten his parched mouth, without uttering thanks.

On December 25, the day he died, he complained of a great inward conflict, and, as he sat in his easy chair, (for he was not able to lie in bed,) almost constantly had his eyes lifted towards heaven, and his hands clasped in prayer. “O let me spend,” said he, “my last few moments in adoring our great Redeemer! ‘Though my flesh and my heart fail me, yet, God is the strength of my heart, and my portion for ever.’” He then proceeded to expatiate on the words of St. Paul, “All things are yours,—life and death,—for ye are Christ’s.”

“Here,” said he, “is the treasure of a Christian. Death is
reckoned in this inventory. How thankful am I for death. It
is the passage through which I pass to the Lord and giver
of eternal life. It frees me from all this misery which I
now endure, and which I am willing to endure, as long as God
thinks fit. These light afflictions are but for a moment; and
then comes an eternal weight of glory. O! welcome, welcome
death! Thou mayest well be reckoned among the treasures of the
Christian. To live is Christ, but to die is gain.”

Being raised a little in his chair, he exclaimed, “Lord, now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace, according to Thy Word; for mine eyes have seen Thy salvation.” “Here,” he continued, “is my cordial. What are all the cordials given to support the dying, in comparison of that which arises from the promises of salvation by Christ? This, this supports me.”

About three o’clock in the afternoon, he remarked, “The great conflict is over. Now all is done:” after which the only words he articulated intelligibly were, “Precious salvation.” Between the hours of four and five on Christmas-Day, 1758, James Hervey tranquilly fell asleep, in the forty-fifth year of his age.

Three days afterwards, his body was buried under the Communion table of Weston-Favel Church, in the presence of a large congregation. By his own desire, the pall used, on the occasion, was that employed in covering the coffins of his poor parishioners. Deep was the distress of the assembled crowd. Some wept in silence; others sobbed; and others were even more violently affected. The devout Rector was where “the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest.”

Funeral sermons were preached, and printed, in London, by Romaine, the Lecturer of St. Dunstan’s; and by Cudworth, the dissenting minister, in Margaret Street. Charles Wesley, also, poured out the affection of his lyric soul, in one of his glowing hymns, from which the following stanzas are extracted:—

“He’s gone! the spotless soul is gone
Triumphant to his place above;
The prison walls are broken down,
The angels speed his swift remove,
And, shouting, on their wings he flies,
And _Hervey_ rests in Paradise.

“Redeemed by righteousness divine,
In God’s own portraiture complete,
With brighter rays ordained to shine.
He casts his brown at Jesu’s feet,
And hails Him sitting on the throne,
For ever saved by grace alone.

“Father, to us vouchsafe the grace
Which brought our friend victorious through;
Let us his shining footsteps trace,
Let us his steadfast faith pursue,
Follow this follower of the Lamb,
And conquer all through Jesu’s name.

“In vain the Gnostic tempter tried,
With guile, his upright heart to’ ensnare;
His upright heart the fiend defied:
No room for sin when Christ was there;
No need of _fancied_ liberty,
When Christ had made him truly free.

“Free from the law of sin and death,
Free from the Antinomian leaven,
He led his Master’s life beneath,
And, labouring for the rest of heaven,
By active love, and watchful prayer,
He showed his heart already there.

“How full of heaven his latest word!
‘Thou bidd’st me now in peace depart;
For I have known my precious Lord,
Have clasped Thee, Saviour, in my heart,
My eyes Thy glorious joy have seen,’
He spake, he died, and entered in.”

The principal facts in Hervey’s life have been narrated; and eulogy is not needed. His devout and loving piety has been amply illustrated in the numerous extracts from his letters. In learning, he was inferior to few. His acquaintance with the Latin authors was extensive; and it was one of his peculiarities, when he was called to tea, to bring with him his Hebrew Bible or Greek Testament, and lovingly instruct the members of his family, from the sacred text. His kindness to the poor was only bounded by his means. Private fortune he had none; and, after the payment of his curate, his church emoluments were small; but all the profits arising from the sale of his books,—no inconsiderable sum,—were devoted to the cause of charity; and one of his last directions was, that all future profits should be constantly applied to the same sacred purpose. As the master of a family, his example was worthy of imitation. Twice a day his domestics were summoned for holy worship. At nine every night, he spent about a quarter of an hour in expounding a text of Scripture, and concluded with a prayer. At eight next morning, each of his servants was required to repeat the text of the previous evening, when he gave a summary of his exposition, and again engaged in prayer. As a friend, he was affectionate and faithful. “Though always ill,” said Dr. Stonehouse, “Hervey was always cheerful.” “I am always weak and ill,” he himself remarked; “half dead while I live; yet my spirit rejoices in God my Saviour.” His religion, however, led him to live a life of comparative retirement. The gentlemen of his neighbourhood showed him great respect; but he was seldom among their table guests; observing, “I can hardly name a polite family where the conversation ever turns on the things of God. I hear much frothy chit-chat; but not a word of Christ. And I am determined not to visit those companies where there is not room for my Master as well as for myself.”

His ministerial duties were all performed with the greatest strictness. Few of his sermons have been printed,[258] for the simple reason, that, except in outline and in shorthand, few were written; but, in the pulpit, he was always earnest, fervent, and affectionate, and often eloquent. He spake, because he believed and felt. Besides his Sunday preaching, he set up a week-night lecture; catechized the children; and, to the utmost of his ability, visited the homes of his parishioners. “Mr. Hervey,” said the Rev. Henry Venn, “was the most extraordinary man I ever saw.”[259] Probably there was a little of extravagance in this gushing eulogy; but there must have been distinguished excellence to prompt such a man as Venn to utter it. In the same way, the rapturous effusions of John Ryland must be received with caution; and likewise not a few of the hyperbolical encomiums of Mr. Brown; but we heartily endorse the judgment of the late Rev. David McNicol:—

“If Seneca is right in placing the praise of goodness above
that of greatness, Mr. Hervey has secured to himself, for
ages, the noblest kind of estimation. As a man, he was the
delight of all who had the happiness to be numbered among his
acquaintance. Friendship in him was Christian love, softened
with a tenderness peculiar to himself, and placed on a select
object; a love accompanied by the most ingenuous confidence,
and exercised with unwearied honesty. In every other relation
also of the circle in which he moved, he was equally remarkable
for his courtesy and virtue.”

Hervey was one of the most godly men of the age in which he lived; and certainly, he was one of the most popular and successful authors. It is a curious fact, that, at least, four of the Oxford Methodists were gifted with poetic genius,—the two Wesleys, Gambold, and Hervey. In early life, Hervey wrote several short poems, some of them beautiful, and sent several of his hymns to his friend Whitefield; but, strangely enough, he ceased to cultivate his talent, from a fear lest his poetry should feed the pride and vanity of his heart. Throughout life, however, his love of nature was that of an enthusiast; and his “Meditations,” especially, to a great extent, are poetry in prose. Devoutly he blesses the Providence of God, for his well-used microscope, which, in the gardens and fields about Weston-Favel, he almost always took with him. He believed and intimated that the discovery of so much of the wisdom, power, and goodness of the great Creator, even in the minutest parts of vegetable and animalcular creation, helped to attune his soul to sing the song of the four-and-twenty elders, “Thou art worthy, O Lord, to receive glory and honour and power; for Thou hast created all things, and for Thy pleasure they are and were created.”

“His character and career,” observes a certain writer, “were
a contrast to those of Whitefield and of Wesley. He was
essentially contemplative; they were eminently practical.
His mission was to sanctify the sentimentalism of the day.
In him, the breath of life did not blow, as in Wesley, in a
strong, steady, all-pervading current; or, as in Whitefield,
like a rushing and resistless wind; but in a gentle zephyr,
toying with the tresses of the trees, shaking the petals of
the flowers and grasses of the grave, yet the minister of
convalescence and the messenger of peace.”

Of course, opinions vary respecting Hervey’s peculiar style; but the fact cannot be denied, that he became one of the most widely-read writers of his time. The young still read his “Meditations” with avidity; and many of the old remember the pleasure that his writings afforded them in their early days. With some degree of appropriateness, he has been designated the Melancthon of the Methodist Reformation. It is quite certain that the elaborated polish of Hervey’s works secured them the attention of the upper circles of society, to a far greater extent than that attention was secured for the writings of Whitefield and Wesley. Hervey avowedly wrote for the _élite_; Whitefield and Wesley for the masses. Hervey’s style is objectionable to those who cultivate a taste for the simple and chaste, in opposition to what is elaborate and grand; but, somehow, in Hervey’s day, his books, as Whitefield said, “suited the taste of the polite.” May it not be added, that, they also helped to refine the taste of Methodists? The polite read them because they were flowery; the Methodists, because they were savoury; and while, through their medium, the former looked at grace with less prejudice; the latter looked at nature with more delight.

The following, from the _North British Review_, is, perhaps, as just a critique on Hervey’s writings as can be furnished:—

“Last century was the first in which pious people cared for
style. The Puritans had apple-trees in their orchards, and
savoury herbs in their kitchen-gardens, but kept no greenhouse,
nor parterre; and, amongst evangelical authors, Hervey was
about the first who made his style a study, and who sought, by
planting flowers at the gate, to allure passengers into the
garden. It is not, therefore, surprising that his ornaments
should be more distinguished for profusion and brilliant hues
than for simplicity and grace. Most people admire tulips
and peonies and martegon-lilies, before they get on to love
store-cups and mosses and ferns. We used to admire them
ourselves, and felt that summer was not fully blown till we saw
it sure and certain in these ample and exuberant flowers. Yes,
and even now we feel that it would make a warmer June could we
love peonies and martegons once more. Hervey was a man of taste
equal to his age, and of a warmth and venturesomeness beyond
it. He introduced the poetical and picturesque into religious
literature, and became the Shenstone of theology. And, although
he did what none had dared before him, the world was ready,
and his success was rapid. The “Meditations” evangelized the
natural sciences, and embowered the old divinity. There was
philosophy in its right mind, and at the Saviour’s feet; and
the Lutheran dogma relieved from the academic gown, and keeping
healthful holiday in shady woods and by the mountain stream.
The tendency of his writing was to open the believer’s eye
in kindness and wonder on the works of God, and their effort
was to attract to the Incarnate Mystery the heart surprised
or softened by these works. We cannot, at the distance of a
century, recall the fascination which surrounded them when
newly published,—when no similar attempts had forestalled
their freshness, and no imitations had blown their vigour into
bombast. But we can trace their mellow influence still. We see,
that, they have helped to make men of faith men of feeling,
and men of piety men of taste. Over the bald and rugged places
of systematic orthodoxy, they have trained the sweetest
beauties of creation and softest graces of piety, and over
its entire landscape have shed an illumination as genial as
it is growthful and clear. If his ‘Meditations’ be not purely
classical, they are evangelical, and singularly adapted to the
whole of man. Their cadence is in our popular preaching still,
and may their spirit never quit our Christianity! It is the
spirit of securest faith, and sunniest hope, and most seraphic
love. And though it may be dangerous for young divines, like
Samuel Parr, to copy their descriptive melody, it were a
blessed ambition to emulate their author’s large and lightsome
piety,—his heart, ‘open to the whole noon of nature,’ and
through all its brightness drinking the smile of a present God.”

Here Hervey’s Memoir ought to end; but, unfortunately, posthumous facts must be added.

Already, it has been stated, that, the last days of the devout Rector of Weston-Favel were employed in writing his “Eleven Letters” in answer to Wesley’s “Remarks on Theron and Aspasio.” It is extremely disagreeable to tag to the end of a life so beautiful as Hervey’s a controversial fracas which ought never to have happened, but fidelity forbids the unpleasant duty to be avoided. For more than a hundred years, partisans, on both sides, have discussed the question; and, on both sides, not a little has been written which both Hervey and Wesley would wish to have blotted out. It would not be difficult to lengthen the unprofitable controversy by an analysis of Hervey’s “Eleven Letters” (next to his “Theron and Aspasio,” his ablest work), but the task is uninviting, and the subject shall be dismissed as briefly as possible.

Six years after Hervey’s death, his “Eleven Letters” were surreptitiously published, 12mo, 288 pp., without the printer’s name attached, and with nothing but a brief Preface, signed “Philolethes,” who acknowledged that the work now “found its way into the world, as it were, by stealth.” A year afterwards, in 1765, an authentic edition was issued, with the following title—“Eleven Letters from the late Rev. Mr. Hervey, to the Rev. Mr. John Wesley; containing An Answer to that Gentleman’s Remarks on Theron and Aspasio, Published from the Author’s Manuscript, left in the possession of his Brother, Mr. Hervey. With a Preface, showing the Reason of their being now printed.” 12mo, 297 pp.[260]

The Preface states, that, Hervey did not commence his reply to Wesley before Wesley published his private letter to Hervey, in his “Preservative against Unsettled Notions in Religion;” in other words, not until after June 23, 1758. This is an error; for, in a letter to the Rev. Mr. Ryland, dated “_January_, 1758, Hervey says he was even then ‘transcribing his intended answer to Mr. Wesley for the press’” (see 315 page preceding).

Hervey’s brother, in the Preface, proceeds to say:—

“When, in December, 1758, I was sent for to Weston, I asked him
the evening before he died, ‘what he would have done with the
Letters to Mr. Wesley, whether he would have them published
after his death?’ He answered, ‘By no means, because he had
only transcribed about half of them fair for the press; but,
as the corrections and alterations of the latter part were
mostly in short-hand, it would be difficult to understand them,
especially as some of the short-hand was entirely his own, and
others could not make it out; therefore, he said, as it is not
a finished piece, I desire you will think no more about it.”

Mr. William Hervey adds:—

“As these were the last orders of my brother, I thought it
right to obey them, and, therefore, I withstood the repeated
solicitations of many of his friends, who wanted to have them
printed. Notwithstanding the regard I had for the persons who
solicited the publication, I could not be persuaded to print
the Letters; and they never had appeared in public, with my
consent, had not a surreptitious edition of them lately made
its way from the press, and were I not under a firm persuasion
that will be followed by more.

“As this is the case, I think it my duty to the memory of my
late brother to send forth as correct an edition as I possibly
can, for as to that which has appeared (from what editor I
know not) it is so faulty and incorrect, that, but little
judgment can be formed from it, of the propriety and force of
my brother’s answers to Mr. Wesley.

“As to the unfairness of publishing my brother’s Letters
without my consent, and the injustice to his memory in sending
so mangled a performance out under his name, they are too
apparent to need any proof; and though, the editor, as I have
been informed, gave away the whole impression, so that it
is plain lucre was not the motive of his proceeding, and I
would charitably hope he did it with a view of benefiting his
readers, yet, it is so like doing evil that good may come, as,
in my opinion, to be quite unjustifiable.

“I have one thing more to add, which is concerning the
_seasonableness_ of the following publication. It may, perhaps,
be thought a needless revival of a dispute, which happened
long ago, and which is now probably forgotten. In answer to
which, I can assure the reader, that, though my brother died
December 25, 1758, the controversy did by no means die with
him, but still subsists in the daily publication and sale of
Mr. Wesley’s ‘Preservative.’ The controversy is, in the most
effectual manner, daily and hourly kept alive by Mr. Wesley
himself. This proves very sufficiently the _seasonableness_,
and, as things have happened, the _expediency_ of the present
appearance of the following Letters in public.”

Such was the substance of Mr. William Hervey’s explanation or apology.

He says, he knew not who was the editor of the surreptitious edition of his brother’s letters; and, in the absence of counter evidence, he is entitled to belief. It is somewhat staggering, however, that he had been informed, the editor “gave away the whole impression,” without being told the donor’s name; and also, that, as the proprietor of his brother’s manuscript, he must have known in whose hands the manuscript had been placed since his brother’s death. Mr. Cudworth is generally believed to have been the stealthy publisher; but, if he was, he was not alone. Mr. Ryland writes:—

“These letters were just upon the point of being suppressed,
and lost to the Christian world for ever. Soon after Mr.
Hervey’s death, they were put into my hands for twelve or
fourteen weeks. From a principle of foolish and false delicacy
I did not take a copy of them, which I ought to have done.
Happy for the Church, the manuscript fell into the hands
of three of my friends, who had more sincerity, zeal, and
courage than I had, and thus the manuscript was rescued from
destruction, and the original copy at last brought to light.”

Not many will coincide with Mr. Ryland’s notions “of foolish and false delicacy.” Apart from the question, Hervey _versus_ Wesley, the surreptitious publication of the book was a base, treacherous, nefarious deed. No wonder that the name of the editor was never authoritatively announced.

Mr. William Hervey complains, that, the edition was extremely “faulty and incorrect,” and did not convey an adequate idea “of the propriety and force of his brother’s Answers to Mr. Wesley.” Fair play makes it imperative to say, that, intentionally or otherwise, this is far from being true. Any one who takes the trouble to compare the two editions will perceive, that, except in typographical corrections, the insertion of Hebrew words in Hebrew instead of English characters, the punctuation of sentences, and the addition of a quotation from St. Chrysostom in Greek, the authentic edition hardly differs a hair-breadth from the surreptitious one.

Mr. William Hervey’s last reason, for the publication of his brother’s manuscript, is not without force. Seven years before, Wesley had unwisely printed his “Remarks on Theron and Aspasio” in his “Preservative against Unsettled Notions in Religion.” Notwithstanding Hervey’s death, that book was still on sale; and, thus, Hervey was continuously attacked without being able to answer for himself. Was this fair, and brotherly? Perhaps, it was not enough to justify the avowed violation of Hervey’s dying wish, and absolute command; but does it not somewhat palliate the dishonour of the treacherous act, and, to some extent, relieve William Hervey of the odium which has been cast upon him?

It is undeniable, that, Hervey’s “Letters” contain severe, and apparently bitter recriminations against his old Oxford acquaintance; but did he himself write them? Those, who are the friends of both the combatants, have doubted this, and have, at least, insinuated that their author was William Cudworth, Wesley’s inveterate enemy. This might be so; but it might be otherwise. It is true, that, the taunting reproaches in the “Eleven Letters” are not what might have been reasonably expected from a man of Hervey’s loving and gentle spirit. His other writings are perfectly exempt from bitterness. He seemed incapable of wounding even an enemy, much more one who, in former days at least, had been a friend. Was his the hand, then, that wrote the reproaches in his “Letters”? Defenders regarded Cudworth as the culprit. There cannot be a doubt, that Cudworth was capable of this. He hated Wesley, and his style of writing, when he chose, was trenchant; but, after all, he might be innocent. The “Eleven Letters” were written during the last year of Hervey’s life, when his illness, always serious, was greatly augmented, and not unlikely to affect his spirits. From his letters, already quoted, it is evident, his irritation against Wesley was such, that, he honestly confesses, he found it “no small difficulty to preserve the decency of the gentleman, and the meekness of the Christian in his intended Answer.” Further, though naturally so loving and so gentle, his sensitiveness was excessive. And, once again, it must be borne in mind, that, with one or two exceptions, such as the attack in the _Critical Review_, his writings had evoked unmingled approbation,—religious, literary, and aristocratic circles all uniting in his praise; and, that this was not adapted to prepare him for the unceremonious animadversions sent to him by Wesley. God forbid! that, we should cast a speck, which does not belong to it, on a character so beautiful; but no man is exempt from errors; and, perhaps, the hints just dropped are worthy of attention.

The results were painful, and, in some respects, disastrous. Wesley himself was exceedingly annoyed. It was one of the _great_ trials of his life. It engendered a polemical warfare which culminated in the great Calvinian controversy of 1770; a controversy which, on one side at least, grew in bitterness until the death of Toplady, in 1778. And, lastly, not to mention other direful effects, by the action of Dr. Erskine, who published Hervey’s “Eleven Letters” in Scotland, and, not only so, but, in his Preface, made a violent attack on Wesley’s doctrines, Methodism, across the Tweed, sustained an injury, not only deep, but of many years’ duration.

It is a painful task to conclude the life of Hervey amid the din of war; but the facts are too important to be entirely omitted. The difference between the two Oxford Methodists was a mournful occurrence. Neither of them was perfect. Both are blamable. It was a misfortune, that, Wesley’s animadversions were written in a style so blunt. It was a mistake in Hervey to allow his excessive sensitiveness to obtain such a mastery as to prevent his writing to his faithful friend for friendly explanation. It was a serious blunder for Wesley to publish his critique in his “Preservative against Unsettled Notions in Religion.” And, finally, though Hervey’s “Letters” are ably written, it was a great calamity, that, he died before he had given them a finishing revision; and it was a huge breach of trust, as well as a grave impertinence, for any one to violate Hervey’s most solemn wish, and to commit to the public press an uncompleted manuscript, whose publication Hervey, in dying accents, had prohibited.

REV. THOMAS BROUGHTON, M.A., THE FAITHFUL SECRETARY.

Thomas Broughton was the son of English parents, who resided in Scotland. His father was Commissioner of Excise, at Edinburgh, and had sixteen children, born and baptized.

Even Mr. Broughton’s descendants seem to know nothing of his early life. From Wesley, we learn, that he was a member of Exeter College, Oxford, and that he joined the Methodists in 1732.[261]

On leaving the University, he appears, first of all, to have officiated at Cowley, near Uxbridge; and, with such success, that, Sir John Harold remarks, in a letter to Wesley, “Several of Mr. Broughton’s late parishioners at Cowley forget not the assembling of themselves together.” In 1736, he became curate at the Tower of London; undertook to preach to the prisoners in Ludgate prison every Tuesday afternoon; and read prayers every night to a religious society at Wapping. By means of Whitefield, he was presented to St. Helen’s, Bishopsgate Street Within; and, through faithfulness to his old Oxford friend, he lost it. The parishioners objected to Whitefield having the use of Broughton’s pulpit. Broughton answered, “Through Mr. Whitefield’s influence, I obtained the living of St. Helen’s, and, if he insists upon it, he shall have my pulpit.” Whitefield did insist, and Broughton lost his lectureship.

Like all the other Oxford Methodists, Broughton was ardently attached to Wesley. In the spring of 1735, when the venerable Rector of Epworth was at the point of death, he used his utmost endeavours, to secure the appointment of Wesley to the vacant rectory; but without effect. In the autumn of that year, Wesley went on his mission to Georgia; and Broughton wrote to him the following self-abasing letter, which has not before been published.

“OXON, _November 27, 1735_.

“DEAR SIR,—God grant, that, this letter may find you happily
arrived at the wished-for haven!

“O cross of Jesus! what a rock of offence art thou become to
the greatest part of Christians! The Christians of the present
times are ashamed of Christ; and thou, that art a teacher
in Israel, art thou unlearning this sure, this important
lesson,—‘All that will live godly in Christ Jesus, shall
suffer persecution’? You know I have. If I should say, that
I have not shrunk from under the cross, I should be a liar.
My own bad heart, and the observation I made of the agreeable
life of my London friends, occasioned my first abatements in
strictness of life and holiness of conversation. What pangs and
agonies of heart, I felt at intervals! I laboured for peace;
I panted after the love of God; but my heart grew foul, and
became a cage of unclean thoughts, for want of mortification
and self-denial. I embraced the doctrine of _imputed
righteousness_, and had mean thoughts of works. Almost every
day furnished me with new ideas of religion; but, alas! they
all savoured too much, I doubt, of flesh and blood. Since my
return from London, too, I have been amusing myself with pretty
dreams of true religion; nor am I awake yet. Good God! art
Thou as mighty to cast into hell NOW, as Thou wert seventeen
hundred years ago? Did the first Christians cry mightily unto
Thee to spare them, and did they see it _absolutely_ necessary
to work out their salvation with fear and trembling; and dare
I, who have been a wretch, and most excessively wicked sinner,
think to obtain heaven with less labour and sufferings? O! pray
for me, that Satan may not sift me as wheat! I am a worm, and
no man, tossed about with every blast of doctrine. Stablish,
strengthen, settle me, O my God!

“Mr. Battely has committed his parish to my care. O! that I may
feed his sheep, and be not a hireling! Mr. Salmon’s heart is
with you; but, he informs me, Mr. Clayton has convinced him,
that, he ought to abide where he is, till his parents cease to
forbid him going to Georgia. God will never suffer a supply of
fit and able men to be wanting to take charge of his work in
America.

“At Oxon, we hope to be stirring. The hand of the Lord will
uphold our fainting steps. Cease not, dear brother, to pray for
us, as we hope always to pray for you. Salute the brethren. We
all salute you.

“I am, dear sir, your most obliged and affectionate brother in
Christ,

“T. BROUGHTON.”

This is far from being a bright and joyous letter; and yet it is conscientious and earnest. Like all the other Oxford Methodists, Broughton was seeking to be saved by his own good works. These were far from perfect; and, hence, his abasement, anguish, and despondency.

In 1737, in the course of his official duty, as curate at the Tower of London, Broughton preached a sermon, which, by request of the commander of the garrison, was published, with the title,—

“The Christian Soldier; or, the Duties of a Religious Life
recommended to the Army, from the Example of Cornelius.” Text,
Acts x. 1, 2.

In 1748, a second edition of this discourse was printed, with a Dedication to The Right Honourable Lord Viscount Ossulstone, in which, in reference to his style, Broughton says,—

“If your Lordship should think the Discourse, to the
soldiers,[262] penned with too much emotion of heart, and
warmth of expression,—if, as a spiritual watchman, the
preacher has lifted up his voice as a trumpet, sounded an
alarm, and uttered his words in thunder,—he would meekly
desire to be understood with candour, as accommodating himself
to the military genius and character, which disdain a cold,
lifeless, and unpersuasive harangue. He has indeed used great
plainness of speech; and the rather, because no one has a more
sincere regard for the profession, or a higher esteem for
those excellent persons, who worthily fill the chief and most
conspicuous posts in the army, than myself.”

The following brief extracts from Broughton’s sermon will furnish an idea of his fidelity, and honest-speaking zeal. Having described the character and conduct of Cornelius, he addressed his military audience as follows:—

“Cornelius was a devout man, and one that feared God. But are
there many of you, my brethren, of this religious disposition?
Not to enumerate all the instances of piety and devotion, in
which you are grossly and wholly defective, I will mention but
a few.

“And, first, in point of _sobriety_. Alas! my friends, what
strangers, nay, what enemies, are most of you to a sober,
temperate way of life. How frequently do you, the meaner sort
especially, through excess of liquor, _reel to and fro, and
stagger, and lie in the streets like dead men_! How insatiable
is your thirst after drink, as if the gratification of that
appetite was a joy unspeakable and full of comfort! To this
purpose, you assemble by troops in tippling-houses, where
you destroy your health, and waste your money and time, in
tumults, revellings, and drunkenness. In these houses, you
often sit till midnight, and prevent the morning watch, not
with hymns and psalms, as David did, but, with blasphemous rant
and obscene songs.

“Again, your offences, in point of _chastity_, are very
scandalous, and too notorious to be denied; insomuch, that, the
bare sight of you is suspicious and painful to the modest part
of the daughters of our land. Having eyes full of uncleanness
and adultery, you wander after pernicious deceivers, and give
yourselves loose to vile lusts and brutish affections. That I
do not charge you wrongfully, in this respect, is too manifest,
from the numerous and melancholy instances among you of
putrefied bodies and rotten bones.

“Cornelius prayed to God always. But where, alas! shall we find
this practice among you? Prayer seems to have been banished
from the army, and cursing and swearing brought in, in its
room. Most of you, I fear, live without prayer, and pass away
days, months, and years, without bending your knees to the
God who made you, to the Saviour that redeemed you, or to the
Holy Ghost who alone can sanctify your souls, and fit you
for heaven. Let me not seem uncharitable in this assertion:
I speak truth, when I pass this censure on the most of you:
for, if you did accustom yourselves to pray, the ears of good
Christians would not be so often stunned with that horrible din
of blasphemy, nor shocked with those dreadful oaths, curses,
and ungodly speeches, which daily and hourly proceed out of
your mouth. It is an unpleasant office, my friends, to reprove
you in this public manner; but many of you can bear me witness,
that, I have not spared private reproof, when, in my hearing,
the name of God has been by you blasphemed. Oh! that the horrid
practice of profane cursing and swearing was less frequent in
the army! Is it, my friends, a military accomplishment to curse
and swear? Do you imagine, that, it adds grace to your speech,
or manliness to your looks? Or do you fancy, that, it resembles
the roaring of a lion, and renders your presence terrible?
Alas! vain men! no wise and good man looks upon a swearer to be
a hero, or accounts him a courageous person, because he is a
profane and wicked one.”

The preacher uttering such reproofs as these was, to say the least, a courageous man,—a worthy brother of Wesley himself, who, four years afterwards, preached his withering sermon, on “The Almost Christian” before the Oxford University. Perhaps both were more pointed than pleasant; but in the time-serving age in which we live, the pulpit would be improved by a dash of that stern fidelity which was used by Wesley, Broughton, and the first Methodists. It is far easier to condemn sins, than to reprove sinners. It required greater heroism for Nathan to say to David, “Thou art the man,” than to deliver Nathan’s parable concerning the heinousness of David’s sin; and for Elijah to say to Ahab, “Thou and thy father’s house have troubled Israel,” than to dwell on the general evils of idolatry. John the Baptist was, not rude, but, courageous, when, face to face, he told king Herod, “it was not lawful” for him to have his brother Philip’s wife; and when, in a crowd of Pharisees and Sadducees, he exclaimed, “O generation of vipers, who hath warned you to flee from the wrath to come?” Who will accuse the Divine Redeemer of want of manners, in His fearful utterance, “Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! for ye are like unto whited sepulchres, which indeed appear beautiful outward, but are within full of dead men’s bones, and of all uncleanness. Ye outwardly appear righteous unto men, but within are full of hypocrisy and iniquity. Ye serpents, ye generation of vipers, how can ye escape the damnation of hell?” Is such fidelity now common in the pulpits of England? Is it less necessary now than it used to be in the days of old? Are the congregations of the present day more educated and refined than David, Ahab, Herod, and the scribes and Pharisees? Have preachers improved upon the spirit and the courage of Nathan, Elijah, the Baptist, and Jesus Christ? And have they discovered a more effectual mode of addressing sinners? Is it not a fact, that, “Whatsoever things were written aforetime were written for our learning”? Is it better and safer to listen to those who “say to the seers, See not, and to the prophets, Prophesy not unto us right things, speak unto us smooth things, prophesy deceits”; or to listen to the voice of God Himself, “O son of man, I have set thee a watchman unto the house of Israel; therefore, thou shalt hear the word at my mouth, and warn them from me. When I say unto the wicked, O wicked man, thou shalt surely die: if thou dost not speak to warn the wicked from his way, that wicked man shall die in his iniquity; but his blood will I require at thine hand”?

This string of questions may be thought to indicate, that, the writer approves of the rough fidelity of the Oxford Methodists, and is far from satisfied with much of the preaching of the present day. Be it so. He has no wish to avoid the odium, if odium it be. Fine preaching has never effected great reformations. Preaching is often too polite to be powerful. The pulpits of the age would be more successful if filled by men like Wesley, Whitefield, and their friend Broughton. A luxurious, self-indulgent generation needs, not obsequiousness, but, unflinching honesty. Costly clothing, and refined tastes do not turn sinners into saints; but is it not a truth, that, in many instances, they frighten preachers from a faithful, uncompromising discharge of duty?

Broughton belonged to another class. He fearlessly reproved the sinner, and as fearlessly told him of his danger. Addressing his congregation of soldiers,—officers as well as privates,—the bold preacher says,—