LYDIA GRENFELL
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.
[Illustration: ST. MICHAEL'S MOUNT AT FULL TIDE.]
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.
On my mentioning my desire of translating some of the Scriptures
with him, he advised me by all means to desist till I knew much
more of the language, by having resided some years in the
country. He said it was the rock on which missions had split,
that they had attempted to write and preach before they knew the
language. The Lord's Prayer, he said, was now a common subject
of ridicule with the people, on account of the manner in which
it had been translated. All these are useful hints to me.
The mode of appointing to Indian chaplaincies has varied so much since
the time of Charles Grant and Simeon, that it is interesting to see
what was done in Henry Martyn's case.
_1805, April 1._--Went to Lord Hawkesbury's office, but, being
too early, I went into St. James's Park, and sat down on a bench
to read my Bible. After a little time a person came and sat down
on the same bench; on entering into conversation with him I
found he had known better days. He was about seventy years of
age, and of a very passionate and disappointed spirit. He spoke
sensibly on several subjects, and was acquainted with the
Gospel; but was offended at my reminding him of several things
concerning it. On my offering him some money, which I saw he
needed, he confessed his poverty; he was thankful for my little
donation, and I repeated my advice of seeking divine
consolation.
_April 2._--Breakfasted with ----. Our conversation was on the
most delightful subject to me, the spread of the Gospel in
future ages. I went away animated and happy. Went with Mr. Grant
towards the India House. He said that he was that day about to
take the necessary steps for bringing forward the business of
the chaplains, and that by to-morrow night I should know whether
I could go or not. In prayer at night my soul panted after God,
and longed to be entirely conformed to His image.
_April 3._--After dinner, passed some time in prayer, and
rejoiced to think that God would finally glorify Himself,
whatever hindrance may arise for a time. Going to Mr. Grant's, I
found that the chaplaincies had been agreed to, after two hours'
debate, and some obloquy thrown upon Mr. Grant by the chairman,
for his connection with Mr. Wilberforce and _those people_. Mr.
G. said that though my nomination had not taken place, the case
was now beyond danger, and that I should appear before the court
in a couple of days in my canonicals. I felt very indignant at
this, not so much, I think, from personal pride, as on account
of the degradation of my office. Mr. G. pleasantly said, I must
attend to my appearance, as I should be much remarked, on
account of the person who had nominated me. I feel this will be
a trial to me, which I would never submit to for gain; but I
rejoice that it will be for my dear and blessed Lord.
_April 4._--Went down to Cambridge.
_April 6._--Passed most of the morning in the Fellows' garden.
It was the last time I visited this favourite retreat, where I
have often enjoyed the presence of God.
_April 7._ (Sunday.)--Preached at Lolworth on Prov. xxii. 17;
very few seemed affected at my leaving them, and those chiefly
women. An old farmer of a neighbouring parish, as he was taking
leave of me, turned aside to shed tears; this affected me more
than anything. Rode away with my heart heavy, partly at my own
corruption, partly at the thoughts of leaving this place in such
general hardness of heart. Yet so it hath pleased God, I hope,
to reserve them for a more faithful minister. Prayed over the
whole of my sermon for the evening, and when I came to preach
it, God assisted me beyond my hopes. Most of the younger people
seemed to be in tears. The text was 2 Sam. vii. 28, 29. Took
leave of Dr. Milner; he was much affected, and said himself his
heart was full. Mr. Simeon commended me to God in prayer, in
which he pleaded, amongst other things, for a richer blessing on
my soul. He perceives that I want it, and so do I. Professor
Parish walked home with me to the college gate, and there I
parted from him, with no small sorrow.
_April 8._--My young friends in the University, who have
scarcely left me a moment to myself, were with me this morning
as soon as I was moving, leaving me no time for prayer. My mind
was very solemn, and I wished much to be left alone. A great
many accompanied me to the coach, which took me up at the end of
the town. It was a thick, misty morning, so the University, with
its towers and spires, was out of sight in an instant.
_April 24._--Keenly disappointed at finding no letter from
Lydia; thus it pleased God, in the riches of His grace, to quash
at once all my beginnings of entanglement. Oh, may it be to make
me more entirely His own. 'The Lord shall be the portion of mine
inheritance, and of my cup.' Oh, may I live indeed a more
spiritual life of faith! Prayed that I might obtain a more deep
acquaintance with the mysteries of the Gospel, and the offices
of Christ; my soul was solemnised. Went to Russell Square, and
found from Mr. Grant that I was that day appointed a chaplain
to the East India Company, but that my particular destination
would depend on the government in India. Rather may I say that
it depends on the will of my God, who in His own time thus
brings things to pass. Oh, now let my heart be spiritualised;
that the glorious and arduous work before me may fill all my
soul, and stir me up to prayer.
_April 25._--Breakfasted with the venerable Mr. Newton, who made
several striking remarks in reference to my work. He said he had
heard of a clever gardener, who would sow the seeds when the
meat was put down to roast, and engage to produce a salad by the
time it was ready; but the Lord did not sow oaks in this way. On
my saying that perhaps I should never live to see much fruit, he
answered, I should have a bird's eye view of it, which would be
better. When I spoke of the opposition that I should be likely
to meet with, he said, he supposed Satan would not love me for
what I was about to do. The old man prayed afterwards, with
sweet simplicity. Drank tea at C. Our hearts seemed full of the
joy which comes from the communion of saints.
_April 26._--Met D. at Mr. Grant's, and was much affected at
some marks of love expressed by the people at Cambridge, at the
time of my leaving them. He said that as I was going down the
aisle they all rose up to take their last view.
_May 4._--Waiting this morning on the Archbishop of Canterbury
at Lambeth Palace. He had learnt from somebody my circumstances,
the degree I had taken, and my object in going to India. He
spoke much on the importance of the work, the small
ecclesiastical establishment for so great a body of people, and
the state of those English there, who, he said, 'called
themselves Christians.' He was throughout very civil, and wished
me all the success I desired. I then proceeded to the India
House, and received directions to attend on Wednesday to be
sworn in. Afterwards walked to Mr. Wilberforce's at Broomfield.
_May 8._--Reading Mr. Grant's book.[13] The state of the
natives, and the prospects of doing good there, the character of
Schwartz, &c., set forth in it, much impressed my mind, and I
found great satisfaction in pleading for the fulfilment of God's
promises to the heathen. It seemed painful to think of myself at
all, except in reference to the Church of Christ. Being somewhat
in danger of distraction this evening, from many concurrent
circumstances, I found a very short prayer answered by my being
kept steady. Heard from Mr. Parry this evening, that in
consequence of an embargo laid on all the ships by government,
who had taken the best seamen from the Company's ships, on
account of the sailing of the French and Spanish fleets, I
should not be able to go before the middle of June, if so soon.
_May 15._--Read prayers at Mr. Newton's, and preached on Eph.
ii. 19-21. The clerk threw out very disrespectful and even
uncivil things respecting my going to India; though I thought
the asperity and contemptuousness he manifested unsuitable to
his profession, I felt happy in the comfortable assurance of
being upright in my intentions. The sermon was much praised by
some people coming in, but happily this gives me little
satisfaction. Went home and read a sermon of Flavel's, on
knowing nothing but Christ.
_May 17._--Walked out, and continued in earnest striving with my
corruption. I made a covenant with my eyes, which I kept
strictly; though I was astonished to find the difficulty I had
in doing even this.
_May 22._--Endeavoured to guard my thoughts this morning in a
more particular manner, as expecting to pass it, with Sargent,
in prayer for assistance in the ministry. Called at Mr.
Wilberforce's, when I met Mr. Babington. The extreme kindness
and cordiality of these two was very pleasing to me, though
rather elating. By a letter from B. to-day, learnt that two
young men of Chesterton had come forward, who professed to have
been awakened by a sermon of mine on Psalm ix. 17. I was not so
affected with gratitude and joy as I expected to be; could not
easily ascribe the glory to God; yet I will bless Him through
all my ignorance that He has thus owned the ministry of one so
weak. Oh, may I have faith to go onward, expecting to see
miracles wrought by the foolishness of preaching. H., to whom I
had made application for the loan which Major Sandys found it
inconvenient to advance, dined with me, and surprised me by the
difficulty he started. After dinner went to the India House to
take leave. Mr. ----, the other chaplain, sat with me before we
were called in, and I found that I knew a little of him, having
been at his house. As he knew my character, I spoke very freely
to him on the subject of religion. Was called in to take the
oaths. All the directors were present, I think. Mr. Grant, in
the chair, addressed a charge to us, extempore. One thing struck
my attention, which was, that he warned us of the enervating
effects of the climate.
I felt more acutely than ever I did in my life the shame
attending poverty. Nothing but the remembrance that I was not to
blame supported me. Whatever comes to me in the way of
Providence is, and must be, for my good.
_May 30._--Went to the India House. Kept the covenant with my
eyes pretty well. Oh, what bitter experience have I had to teach
me carefulness against temptation! I have found this method,
which I have sometimes had recourse to, useful to-day--namely,
that of praying in ejaculations for any particular person whose
appearance might prove an occasion of sinful thoughts. After
asking of God that she might be as pure and beautiful in her
mind and heart as in body, and be a temple of the Holy Ghost,
consecrated to the service of God, for whose glory she was
made, I dare not harbour a thought of an opposite tendency.
_June 6._--How many temptations are there in the streets of
London!
_June 14._--Sent off all my luggage, as preparatory to its going
on board. Dined at Mr. Cecil's; he endeavoured to correct my
reading, but in vain. 'Brother M.,' says he, 'you are a humble
man, and would gain regard in private life; but to gain public
attention you must force yourself into a more marked and
expressive manner.' Generally, to-night, have I been above the
world; Lydia, and other comforts, I would resign.
_June 16._--I thought it probable, from illness, that death
might be at hand, and this was before me all the day; sometimes
I was exceedingly refreshed and comforted at the thought, at
other times I felt unwilling and afraid to die. Shed tears at
night, at the thought of my departure, and the roaring sea, that
would soon be rolling between me and all that is dear to me upon
earth.
Mrs. T.M. Hitchins, his cousin's wife, having asked him for some of
his sermons, he replied:
London: June 24, 1805.
The arguments you offer to induce me seem not to possess that
force which I look for in your reasoning. Sermons cannot be good
memorials, because once read they are done with--especially a
young man's sermons, unless they possess a peculiar simplicity
and spirituality; which I need not say are qualities not
belonging to mine. I hope, however, that I am improving and I
trust that--now I am removed from the contagion of academic
air--I am in the way of acquiring a greater knowledge of men and
of my own heart--I shall exchange my jejune scholastic style for
a simple spiritual exhibition of profitable truth. Mr. Cecil has
been taking a great deal of pains with me. My insipid,
inanimate manner in the pulpit, he says, is intolerable. Sir,
said he, it is cupola-painting, not miniature, that must be the
character of a man that harangues a multitude. Lieut. Wynter
called on me last Saturday, and last night drank tea with me. I
cannot but admire his great seriousness. I feel greatly attached
to him. He is just the sort of person, of a sober thoughtful
cast, that I love to associate with. He mentioned Lydia, I do
not know why, but he could not tell me half enough about her,
while she was at Plymouth, to satisfy my curiosity. Whitsun-week
was a time of the utmost distress to me on her account. On the
Monday at the Eclectic, Mr. Cecil, speaking of celibacy, said, I
was acting like a madman in going out without a wife. So thought
all the other ten or eleven ministers present, and Mr. Foster
among the rest, who is unmarried. This opinion, coming
deliberately from so many experienced ministers, threw me into
great perplexity, which increased, as my affections began to be
set more afloat, for then I was less able than before to discern
the path of duty. At last I wrote to Simeon, stating to him the
strongest arguments I heard in favour of marriage in my case.
His answer decided my mind. He put it in this way. Is it
necessary? To this I could answer, No. Then is it expedient? He
here produced so many weighty reasons against its expediency,
that I was soon satisfied in my mind. My turbulent will was,
however, not so easily pacified. I was again obliged to undergo
the severest pain in making that sacrifice which had cost me so
dear before. Better had it been if those wounds had never been
torn open. But now again, through the mercy of God, I am once
more at peace. What cannot His power effect? The present wish of
my heart is that there may be _never_ a necessity of marriage,
so that I may henceforth have no one thing upon earth for which
I would wish to stay another hour, except it be to serve the
Lord my Saviour in the work of the ministry. Once more,
therefore, I say to Lydia, and with her to all earthly schemes
of happiness, Farewell. Let her live happy and useful in her
present situation, since that is the will of God. How long these
thoughts may continue, I cannot say. At times of indolence, or
distress, or prevalent corruption, the former wishes, I suppose,
will occur and renew my pain: but pray, my dear sister, that the
Lord may keep in the imaginations of the thoughts of my heart
all that may be for the glory of His great name. The only
objection which presented itself to my advisers to marriage was
the difficulty of finding a proper person to be the wife of a
missionary. I told them that perhaps I should not have occasion
to search a long time for one. Simeon knows all about Lydia. I
think it very likely that he will endeavour to see her when she
comes to town next winter.
(_Addendum at the commencement, before the Address._)
I never returned my acknowledgment for the little hymn book,
which is a memento of both. It is just the sort of thing.
Instead of sending the books I intended, I shall inclose in the
tea-caddy a little _Pilgrim's Progress_ for you, and another for
Lydia.
July 2 was spent with Corrie in prayer, and converse 'about the great
work among the heathen.' Martyn gave a final sitting for his miniature
for his sister, to 'the painter lady, who still repeated her infidel
cavils; having nothing more to say in the way of argument, I thought
it right to declare the threatenings of God to those who reject the
Gospel.' On the 8th he sat for his picture, for his friend Bates, to
Russel. After his farewell to Sargent, and riding back,
Though I was in good health a moment before, yet as I was
undressing I fainted and fell into a convulsive fit; I lost my
senses for some time, and on recovering a little found myself
in intense pain. Death appeared near at hand, and seemed
somewhat different and more terrible than I could have conceived
before, not in its conclusion, but in itself. I felt assured of
my safety in Christ. Slept very little that night, from extreme
debility. Tenth, I went to Portsmouth, where we arrived to
breakfast, and find friends from Cambridge. Went with my things
on board the Union at the Motherbank. Mr. Simeon read and prayed
in the afternoon, thinking I was to go on board for the last
time. Mr. Simeon first prayed, and then myself. On our way to
the ship we sung hymns. The time was exceedingly solemn, and our
hearts seemed filled with solemn joy.
As tidings from Lord Nelson were waited for, the fleet--consisting of
fifteen sail under convoy of the Belliqueuse, Captain Byng--went no
farther than Plymouth, and then anchored off Falmouth.
The coast of Devonshire and Cornwall was passing before me. The
memory of beloved friends, then, was very strong and
affecting.... I was rather flurried at the singularity of this
providence of God, in thus leading me once more to the bosom of
all my friends.... I have thought with exceeding tenderness of
Lydia to-day; how I long to see her; but if it be the Lord's
will, He will open a way. I shall not take any steps to produce
a meeting.
So he wrote on July 20. On the same day, the Rev. T.M. Hitchins wrote
to him, thus: 'Lydia, from whom we heard about ten days ago, is quite
well. She is much interested in your welfare.' Mrs. Hitchins wrote:
'Lydia, whom I heard lately from, is well, and never omits mentioning
you in her letters--and, I may venture to say, what you will value
still more, in her prayers also.' Martyn wrote to Mr. Hitchins on the
23rd: 'A great work lies before me, and I must submit to many
privations if I would see it accomplished. I should say, however, that
poverty is not one of the evils I shall have to encounter; the salary
of a chaplain, even at the lowest, is 600 rupees a month. Give my kind
love to mama--as also to Miss L. Grenfell.' A postscript to the letter
stated that the writer had taken his place in the coach for Marazion:
'Trust to pass some part of the morning at Miss Grenfell's.' He thus
records in his _Journal_ the interviews which resulted in what
amounted to a brief engagement:
I arrived at Marazion in time for breakfast, and met my beloved
Lydia. In the course of the morning I walked with her, though
not uninterruptedly; with much confusion I declared my affection
for her, with the intention of learning whether, if ever I saw
it right in India to be married, she would come out; but she
would not declare her sentiments, she said that the shortness of
arrangement was an obstacle, even if all others were removed. In
great tumult I walked up to St. Hilary, whence, after dining, I
returned to Mr. Grenfell's, but, on account of the number of
persons there, I had not an opportunity of being alone with
Lydia. Went back to Falmouth with G. I was more disposed to talk
of Lydia all the way, but roused myself to a sense of my duty,
and addressed him on the subject of religion. The next day I was
exceedingly melancholy at what had taken place between Lydia and
myself, and at the thought of being separated from her. I could
not bring myself to believe that God had settled the whole
matter, because I was not willing to believe it.
TO MISS LYDIA GRENFELL, MARAZION
Union, Falmouth Harbour: July 27, 1805.
... As I was coming on board this morning, and reading Mr.
Serle's hymn you wrote out for me, a sudden gust of wind blew
it into the sea. I made the boatmen immediately heave to, and
recovered it, happily without any injury except what it had
received from the sea. I should have told you that the Morning
Hymn, which I always kept carefully in my pocket-book, was one
day stolen with it, and other valuable letters, from my rooms in
college. It would be extremely gratifying to me to possess
another copy of it, as it always reminded me most forcibly of
the happy day on which we visited the aged saint. The fleet, it
is said, will not sail for three weeks, but if you are willing
to employ any of your time in providing me with this or any
other manuscript hymns, the sooner you write them, the more
certain I shall be of receiving them. Pardon me for thus
intruding on your time; you will in no wise lose your reward.
The encouragement conveyed in little compositions of this sort
is more refreshing than a cup of cold water. The Lord of the
harvest, who is sending forth me, who am most truly less than
the least of all saints, will reward you for being willing to
help forward even the meanest of His servants. The love which
you bear to the cause of Christ, as well as motives of private
friendship, will, I trust, induce you to commend me to God, and
to the word of His grace, at those sacred moments when you
approach the throne of our covenant God. To His gracious care I
commend you. May you long live happy and holy, daily growing
more meet for the inheritance of the saints in light. I remain,
with affectionate regard, yours most truly,
H. MARTYN.
_July 28._--(Sunday.)--Preached in the morning, on board, on
John iii. 3. In the afternoon, at Falmouth Church, on 1 Cor. i.
20 to 26.
_July 29._--My gloom returned. Walked to Lamorran; alternately
repining at my dispensation, and giving it up to the Lord.
Sometimes--after thinking of Lydia for a long time together, so
as to feel almost outrageous at being deprived of her--my soul
would feel its guilt, and flee again to God. I was much relieved
at intervals by learning the hymn, 'The God of Abraham praise.'
The lady's _Diary_ has these passages, which show that her sister,
Mrs. Hitchins, had rightly represented the state of her heart as not
altogether refusing to return Martyn's affection:
_1805, July 25._--I was surprised this morning by a visit from
H.M., and have passed the day chiefly with him. The distance he
is going, and the errand he is going on, rendered his society
particularly interesting. I felt as if bidding a final adieu to
him in this world, and all he said was as the words of one on
the borders of eternity. May I improve the opportunity I have
enjoyed of Christian converse, and may the Lord moderate the
sorrow I feel at parting with so valuable and excellent
friend--some pains have attended it, known only to God and
myself. Thou God, that knowest them, canst alone give
comfort.... Oh, may we each pursue our different paths, and meet
at last around our Father's throne; may we often meet now in
spirit, praying and obtaining blessings for each other. Now, my
soul, return to God, the author of them.
_July 26._--Oh, how this day has passed away! Nothing done to
any good purpose. Lord, help me! I feel Thy loved presence
withdrawn; I feel departing from Thee. Oh, let Thy mercy pardon,
let Thy love succour, me. Deliver me from this temptation, set
my soul at liberty, and I will praise Thee. I know the cause of
all this darkness, this depression; dare I desire what Thou dost
plainly, by the voice of Thy providence, condemn? O Lord, help
me to conquer my natural feelings, help me to be watchful as Thy
child. Oh, leave me not; or I fall a prey to this corroding
care. Let me cast every care on Thee.
_Gurlyn, July 30._--Blessed Lord, I thank Thee for affording me
the retirement I so much delight in; here I enjoy freedom from
all the noise and interruption of a town. Oh, may the Lord
sanctify this pleasure. Oh, may it prove the means of benefiting
my soul. Oh, may I watch against the intrusions of vain
thoughts; else, instead of an advantage, I shall find solitude
ruinous to my soul.
_August 4._--This evening my soul has been pained with many
fears concerning an absent friend, yet the Lord sweetly supports
me, and is truly a refuge to me. It is a stormy and tempestuous
night; the stillness and retirement of this place add to the
solemnity of the hour. I hear the voice of God in every
blast--it seems to say, 'Sin has brought storm and tempest on a
guilty world.' O my Father and my God, Thou art righteous in all
Thy judgments, merciful in all Thy ways. I would humbly trust in
Thee, and confide all who are dear to me into Thy hands. The
anxieties of nature, the apprehensions of affection, do Thou
regulate, and make me acquiesce in whatever is Thy will.
_August 5._--My mind is relieved to-day by hearing the fleet, in
which I thought my friend had sailed, has not left the port. Oh,
how frequently do unnecessary pains destroy our peace. Lord,
look on me to-night, pardon my sins and make me more watchful
and fight against my inward corruption. Oh, it is a state of
conflict indeed!
He thus wrote to Mrs. Hitchins:
Falmouth: July 30, 1805.
'My dearest Cousin,--I am exceedingly rejoiced at being
permitted to send you one more letter, as the former, if it had
been the last, would have left, I fear, a painful impression on
your mind. It pleased God to restore peace to my mind soon after
I came on board--as I thought--finally. I was left more alone
with God, and found blessed seasons of intercourse with Him. But
when your letter came, I found it so sympathising, so
affectionate, that my heart was filled with joy and thankfulness
to God for such a dear friend, and I could not refrain from
bowing my knees immediately to pray that God might bless all
your words to the good of my soul, and bless you for having
written them. My views of the respective importance of things
continue, I hope, to rectify. The shortness of time, the
precious value of immortal souls, and the plain command of
Christ, all conspire to teach me that Lydia must be
resigned--and for ever--for though you suggest the possibility
of my hereafter returning and being united to her, I rather wish
to beware of looking forward to anything in this life as the end
or reward of my labours. It would be a temptation to me to
return before being necessitated. The rest which remaineth for
the people of God is in another world, where they neither marry
nor are given in marriage. But while I thus reason, still a sigh
will ever and anon escape me at the thought of a final
separation from her. In the morning when I rise, before prayer
puts grace into exercise, there is generally a very heavy gloom
on my spirits--and a distaste for everything in earth or heaven.
You do not seem to suppose that any objection would remain in
her mind, if I should return and other obstacles were
removed--which opinion of yours is, no doubt, very pleasing to
me--but if there _were_ anything more than friendship, do you
think it at all likely she could have spoken and written to me
as she has? However, do not suppose from this that I wish to
hear from you anything more on this subject--in the hope of
being gratified with an assurance to the contrary. I cannot tell
what induced me to take my leave of the people in the west when
I was last there, as it was so probable we should be detained;
were it not for having bid them adieu, I believe I should pay
them another visit--only that I could not do it without being
with Lydia again, which might not perhaps answer any good
purpose, and more probably would renew the pain.
If, in India, I should be persuaded of the expediency of
marriage, you perceive that I can do nothing less than make her
the offer, or rather propose the sacrifice. It would be almost
cruel and presumptuous in me to make such an application to her,
especially as she would be induced by a sense of duty rather
than personal attachment. But what else can be done? Should she
not, then, be warned of my intention--before I go? If you
advance no objection, I shall write a letter to her,
notwithstanding her prohibition. When this is done no further
step remains to be taken, that I know of. The shortness of our
acquaintance, which she made a ground of objection, cannot now
be remedied.
The matter, as it stands, must be left with God--and I do leave
it with Him very cheerfully. I pray that hereafter I may not be
tempted to follow my will, and mistake it for God's--to fancy I
am called to marriage, when I ought to remain single--and you
will likewise pray, my dear cousin, that my mind may be always
under a right direction.
His _Journal_ thus continues:
_July 31._--Went on board this morning in extreme anguish. I
could not help saying, 'Lord, it is not a sinful attachment in
itself, and therefore I may commune more freely with Thee about
it.' I sought for hymns suitable to my case, but none did
sufficiently; most complained of spiritual distress, but mine
was not from any doubt of God's favour, for I felt no doubt of
that.
_August 1._--Rose in great anguish of mind, but prayer relieved
me a little. The wind continuing foul, I went ashore after
breakfast; but before this, sat down to write to Lydia, hoping
to relieve the burden of my mind. I wrote in great turbulence,
but in a little time my tumult unaccountably subsided, and I
enjoyed a peace to which I have been for some time a stranger. I
felt exceedingly willing to leave her, and to go on my way
rejoicing. I could not account for this, except by ascribing it
to the gracious influence of God. The first few Psalms were
exceedingly comfortable to me. Received a letter this evening
from Emma, and received it as from God; I was animated before,
but this added tenfold encouragement. She warned me, from
experience, of the carefulness it would bring upon me; but spoke
with such sympathy and tenderness, that my heart was quite
refreshed. I bowed my knees to bless and adore God for it, and
devoted myself anew to His beloved service. Went on board at
night; the sea ran high, but I felt a sweet tranquillity in Him
who stilleth the raging of the sea. I was delighted to find that
the Lascars understood me perfectly when I spoke to them a
sentence or two in Hindustani.
_August 5._--Went ashore. Walked to Pendennis garrison; enjoyed
some happy reflections as I sat on one of the ramparts, looking
at the ships and sea.
_August 7._--Preached at Falmouth Church, on Psalm iii. 1, with
much comfort; after church, set off to walk to St. Hilary.
Reached Helston in three hours in extraordinary spirits. The joy
of my soul was very great. Every object around me called forth
praise and gratitude to God. Perhaps it might have been joy at
the prospect of seeing Lydia, but I asked myself at the time,
whether out of love to God I was willing to turn back and see
her no more. I persuaded myself that I could. But perhaps had I
been put to the trial, it would have been otherwise. I arrived
safe at St. Hilary, and passed the evening agreeably with R.
8th. Enjoyed much of the presence of God in morning prayer. The
morning passed profitably in writing on Heb. ii. 3. My soul
seemed to breathe seriously after God. Walked down with R. to
Gurlyn to call on Lydia. She was not at home when we called, so
I walked out to meet her. When I met her coming up the hill, I
was almost induced to believe her more interested about me than
I had conceived. Went away in the expectation of visiting her
frequently. Called on my way (from Falmouth) at Gurlyn. My mind
not in peace; at night in prayer, my soul was much overwhelmed
with fear, which caused me to approach God in fervent petition,
that He would make me perfectly upright, and my walk consistent
with the high character I am called to assume.
_August 10._--Rose very early, with uneasiness increased by
seeing the wind northerly; walked away at seven to Gurlyn,
feeling little or no pleasure at the thought of seeing Lydia;
apprehension about the sailing of the fleet made me dreadfully
uneasy; was with Lydia a short time before breakfast; afterwards
I read the 10th Psalm, with Horne's Commentary, to her and her
mother; she was then just putting into my hand the 10th of
Genesis to read when a servant came in, and said a horse was
come for me from St. Hilary, where a carriage was waiting to
convey me to Falmouth. All my painful presentiments were thus
realised, and it came upon me like a thunderbolt. Lydia was
evidently painfully affected by it; she came out, that we might
be alone at taking leave, and I then told her, that if it should
appear to be God's will that I should be married, she must not
be offended at receiving a letter from me. In the great hurry
she discovered more of her mind than she intended; she made no
objection whatever to coming out. Thinking, perhaps, I wished to
make an engagement with her, she said we had better go quite
free; with this I left her, not knowing yet for what purpose I
have been permitted, by an unexpected providence, to enjoy these
interviews. I galloped back to St. Hilary, and instantly got
into a chaise with Mr. R., who had been awaked by the signal gun
at five in the morning, and had come for me. At Hildon I got a
horse, with which I rode to Falmouth, meeting on the road
another express sent after me by R. I arrived about twelve, and
instantly went on board; almost all the other ships were under
weigh, but the Union had got entangled in the chains. The
commodore expressed his anger as he passed, at this delay, but
I blessed the Lord, who had thus saved His poor creature from
shame and trouble. How delusive are schemes of pleasure; at nine
in the morning I was sitting at ease, with the person dearest to
me on earth, intending to go out with her afterwards to see the
different views, to visit some persons with her, and to preach
on the morrow; four hours only elapsed, and I was under sail
from England! The anxiety to get on board, and the joy I felt at
not being left behind, absorbed other sorrowful considerations
for a time; wrote several letters as soon as I was on board.
When I was left a little at leisure, my spirits began to sink;
yet how backward was I to draw near to my God. I found relief
occasionally, yet still was slow to fly to this refuge of my
weary soul. Was meditating on a subject for to-morrow. As more
of the land gradually appeared behind the Lizard, I watched with
my spy-glass for the Mount (St. Michael's), but in consequence
of lying to for the purser, and thus dropping astern of the
fleet, night came on before we weathered the point. Oh, let not
my soul be deceived and distracted by these foolish vanities,
but now that I am actually embarked in Christ's cause, let a
peculiar unction rest upon my soul, to wean me from the world,
and to inspire me with ardent zeal for the good of souls.
TO MISS LYDIA GRENFELL
Union, Falmouth: August 10, 1805.
My dear Miss Lydia,--It will perhaps be some satisfaction to
yourself and your mother, to know that I was in time. Our ship
was entangled in the chain, and was by that means the only one
not under weigh when I arrived. It seems that most of the people
on board had given me up, and did not mean to wait for me. I
cannot but feel sensibly this instance of Divine mercy in thus
preserving me from the great trouble that would have attended
the loss of my passage. Mount's Bay will soon be in sight, and
recall you all once more to my affectionate remembrance.... I
bid you a long Farewell. God ever bless you, and help you
sometimes to intercede for me.
H. MARTYN.
The lady alludes thus, in her _Diary_, to these events, in language
which confesses her love, as she did not again confess it till after
his death:[14]
_August 8._--I was surprised again to-day by a visit from my
friend, Mr. Martyn, who, contrary to every expectation, is
detained, perhaps weeks longer. I feel myself called on to act
decisively--oh how difficult and painful a part--Lord, assist
me. I desire to be directed by Thy wisdom, and to follow
implicitly what appears Thy will. May we each consider Thy
honour as entrusted to us, and resolve, whatever it may cost us,
to seek Thy glory and do Thy will. O Lord, I feel myself so weak
that I would fain fly from the trial. My hope is in Thee--do
Thou strengthen me, help me to seek, to know, and resolutely to
do, Thy will, and that we may be each divinely influenced, and
may principle be victorious over feeling. Thou, blessed Spirit,
aid, support, and guide us. Now may we be in the armour of God,
now may we flee from temptation. O blessed Jesus, leave me not,
forsake me not.
_August 9._--What a day of conflict has this been! I was much
blessed, as if to prepare me for it, in the morning, and
expected to see my friend, and hoped to have acted with
Christian resolution. At Tregembo I learnt he had been called on
by express last night. The effect this intelligence had on me
shows how much my affections are engaged. O Lord, I lament it, I
wonder at myself, I tremble at what may be before me--but do
not, O Lord, forsake me. The idea of his going, when at parting
I behaved with greater coolness and reserve than I ever did
before, was a distress I could hardly bear, and I prayed the
Lord to afford me an opportunity of doing away the impression
from his mind. I saw no possibility of this--imagining the fleet
must have sailed--when, to my astonishment, I learnt from our
servant that he had called again this evening, and left a
message that he would be here to-morrow. Oh, I feel less able
than ever to conceal my real sentiments, and the necessity of
doing it does not so much weigh with me. O my soul, pause,
reflect--thy future happiness, and his too, the glory of God,
the peace of my dear mother--all are concerned in what may pass
to-morrow; I can only look and pray to be directed aright.
_August 10._--Much have I to testify of supporting grace this
day, and of what I must consider Divine interference in my
favour, and that of my dear friend, who is now gone to return no
more. My affections are engaged past recalling, and the anguish
I endured yesterday, from an apprehension that I had treated him
with coolness, exceeds my power to express; but God saw it, and
kindly ordered it that he should come and do away the idea from
my mind. It contributed likewise to my peace, and I hope to his,
that it is clearly now understood between us that he is free to
marry where he is going, and I have felt quite resigned to the
will of God in this, and shall often pray the Lord to find him a
suitable partner.
Went to meeting in a comfortable frame, but the intelligence
brought me there--that the fleet had probably sailed without my
friend--so distressed and distracted my mind, that I would
gladly have exchanged my feelings of yesterday for those I was
now exercised with; yet in prayer I found relief, and in
appealing to God. How unsought by me was his coming here. I
still felt anxiety beyond all expression to hear if he arrived
in time or not. Oh, not for all the world could offer me would I
he should lose his passage!--yet stay, my soul, recollect
thyself, are not all events at the Lord's disposal? Are not the
steps of a good man ordered by the Lord? Cast then this burden
on Him who carest for thee, my soul. Oh, let not Thy name, great
God, be blasphemed through us--surely we desire to glorify it
above all things, and would sacrifice everything to do so; enter
then my mind this night, and let me in every dark providence
trust in the Lord.
_August 11._--A day of singular mercies. O my soul, how should
the increasing goodness of God engage thee to serve Him with
more zeal and ardour. I had a comfortable season in prayer
before breakfast, enjoying sweet liberty of spirit before God my
Saviour, God, the sinner's friend and helper. Went to church,
but could get no comfort from the sermon; the service I found in
some parts quickening. On my return I found a letter from my
excellent friend, dated on board the Union. Oh, what a relief to
my mind! By a singular providence this ship was prevented
sailing by getting entangled in the chain; every other belonging
to the fleet was under weigh when he reached Falmouth, and his
friends there had given over the hope of his arriving in time.
Doth not God care for His people, and order everything, even the
most trifling, that concerns them? The fleet must not sail till
the man of God joined it;--praised be the name of the Lord for
this instance of His watchful care. And now, my soul, turn to
God, thy rest. Oh, may the remembrance of my dear friend, whilst
it is cherished as it ought, be no hindrance to my progress in
grace and holiness. May God alone fill my thoughts, and may my
regard for my friend be sanctified, and be a means of
stimulating me to press forward, and animate me in devoting
myself entirely to God. Lord, I would unfeignedly adore Thee for
all the instances of Thy loving kindness to me this week. I have
had many remarkable answers to prayer, many proofs that the Lord
watches over me, unworthy as I am. O Divine Saviour, how shall I
praise Thee? Walked this evening to a little meeting at Thirton
Wood. I was greatly refreshed and comforted. Oh, what a support
in time of trouble is the Lord God of Israel! I am about
retiring to rest--oh, may my thoughts upon my bed be solemn and
spiritual. The remembrance of my dear friend is at times
attended with feelings most painful, and yet, when I consider
why he is gone, and Whom he is serving, every burden is removed,
and I rejoice on his account, and rejoice that the Lord has such
a faithful servant employed in the work. Oh, may I find grace
triumphant over every feeling of my heart. Come, Lord Jesus, and
dwell with me.
_August 12._--Passed a sweet, peaceful day, enjoying much of His
presence whose favour giveth life, and joy, and peace. Visited
several of the poor near me, and found ability to speak freely
and feelingly to them of the state of their souls. My dear
absent friend is constantly remembered by me, but I find not his
remembrance a hindrance to my soul in following after God--no,
rather does it stimulate me in my course. Thus hath the Lord
answered my prayers, as it respects myself, that our regard
might be a sanctified one. Oh, bless the Lord, my soul, for
ever! praise Him in cheerful lays from day to day, and hope
eternally to do so.
_August 13._--Awoke early and had a happy season. Visited a poor
old man in great poverty, whose mind seemed disposed to receive
instruction, and in some measure enlightened to know his sinful
state and need of Christ; I found it a good time whilst with
him. This evening my spirits are depressed; my absent friend is
present to my remembrance, possessing more than common
sensibility and affection. What must his sufferings be? but God
is sufficient for him. He that careth for the falling sparrow
will not forget him--this is my never-failing source of
consolation.
_August 15._--My soul has been cold in duties to-day. Oh, for
the spirit of devotion! Great are the things God has wrought for
me; oh, let these great things suitably impress my soul. I have
had many painful reflections to-day respecting my absent friend,
fearing whether I may not be the occasion of much sorrow to him
and possibly of hindering him in the work. I could not do such
violence to my feelings as to treat him with reserve and
distance, yet, in his circumstances, I think I ought to. O Lord,
if in this I have offended, forgive me, and oh, do away from his
mind every improper remembrance of me. Help me to cast my cares
on Thee to-night, and help me with peace.
_Marazion, September 2._--My mind has been exercised with many
painful anxieties about my dear friend, but I have poured out my
soul to God, and am relieved; I have left my sorrows with Him.
Isaiah (41st chapter) has comforted me. Oh, what pleasure did
that permission give me when my heart was overburdened to-day.
'Produce your cause'--what a privilege to come to God as a
friend. I disclose those feelings to Him I have no power to any
earthly friend. Those I could say most to seem to avoid the
subject that occupies my mind; I have been wounded by their
silence, yet I do not imagine them indifferent or unconcerned.
It is well for me they have seemed to be so, for it has made me
more frequent at a throne of grace, and brought me more
acquainted with God as a friend who will hear all my complaints.
Oh, how sweet to approach Him, through Christ, as my God. 'Fear
not,' He says, 'for I am with you: be not dismayed, I am thy
God, I will strengthen thee, yea (O blessed assurance!) I will
help thee, yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of My
righteousness;' and so I find it--glory be to God! Lord, hear
the frequent prayers I offer for Thy dear servant, sanctify our
mutual regard; may it continue through eternity, flowing from
our love to Thee.
_September 3._--Still no letters from Stoke, and no intelligence
whether the fleet has sailed--this is no small exercise of my
patience, but at times I feel a sweet complacency in saying,
'Thou art my portion, O Lord.' I have often felt happy in saying
this, but it is in a season such as this, when creature comforts
fail, that we may know whether we are sincere in saying so. Ah!
how do we imperceptibly cleave to earth, and how soon withdraw
our affections from God. I am sensible mine would never fix on
Him but by His own power effecting it. I rest on Thy power, O
God most high, retired from human observation.
When the commodore opened his sealed despatches off the Lizard, it was
found that the fleet was to linger still longer at Cork, whence Henry
Martyn wrote again to Lydia's sister, Mrs. Hitchins. On Sunday, when
becalmed in Mount's Bay, and he would have given anything to have been
ashore preaching at Marazion or St. Hilary, he had taken for his text
Hebrews xi. 16: 'But now they desire a better country, that is, an
heavenly.'
Cork Harbour: August 19, 1805.
The beloved objects were still in sight, and Lydia I knew was
about that time at St. Hilary, but every wave bore me farther
and farther from them. I introduced what I had to say by
observing that we had now bid adieu to England, and its shores
were dying away from the view. The female part of my audience
were much affected, but I do not know that any were induced to
seek the better country. The Mount continued in sight till five
o'clock, when it disappeared behind the western boundary of the
bay. Amidst the extreme gloom of my mind this day I found great
comfort in interceding earnestly for my beloved friends all over
England. If you have heard from Marazion since Sunday, I should
be curious to know whether the fleet was observed passing....
We are now in the midst of a vast number of transports filled
with troops. It is now certain from our coming here that we are
to join in some expedition, probably the Cape of Good Hope, or
the Brazils; anywhere for me so long as the Lord goes with me.
If it should please God to send me another letter from you,
which I scarcely dare hope, do not forget to tell me as much as
you can about Lydia. I cannot write to her, or I should find the
greatest relief and pleasure even in transmitting upon paper the
assurances of my tenderest love.
Cove of Cork: August 28, 1805.
My dearest Cousin,--I have but a few minutes to say that we are
again going to sea--under convoy of five men of war. Very
anxiously have I been expecting to receive an answer to the
letter I sent you on my arrival at this port, bearing date
August 16; from the manner in which I had it conveyed to the
post-office, I begin to fear it has never reached you. I have
this instant received the letter you wrote me the day on which
we sailed from Falmouth. Everything from you gives me the
greatest pleasure, but this letter has rather tended to excite
sentiments of pain as well as pleasure. I fear my proceedings
have met with your disapprobation, and have therefore been
wrong--since it is more probable you should judge impartially
than myself.
I am now fully of opinion that, were I convinced of the
expediency of marriage, I ought not in conscience to propose it,
while the obstacle of S.J. remains. Whatever others have said, I
think that Lydia acts no more than consistently by persevering
in her present determination. I confess, therefore, that till
this obstacle is removed my path is perfectly clear, and,
blessed be God! I feel very, very happy in all that my God shall
order concerning me. Let me suffer privation, and sorrow and
death, if I may by these tribulations enter into the kingdom of
God. Since we have been lying here I have been enjoying a peace
almost uninterrupted. The Spirit of adoption has been drawing me
near to God, and giving me the full assurance of His love. My
prayer is continually that I may be more deeply and habitually
convinced of His unchanging, everlasting love, and that my whole
soul may be altogether in Christ. The Lord teaches me to desire
Christ for my all in all--to long to be encircled in His
everlasting arms, to be swallowed up in the fulness of His love.
Surely the soul is happy that thus bathes in a medium of love. I
wish no created good, but to be one with Him and to be living
for my Saviour and Lord. Oh, may it be my constant care to live
free from the spirit of bondage, and at all times have access to
the Father. This I now feel, my beloved cousin, should be our
state--perfect reconciliation with God, perfect appropriation of
Him in all His endearing attributes, according to all that He
has promised. This shall bear us safely through the storm. Oh,
how happy are we in being introduced to such high privileges!
You and my dear brother, and Lydia, I rejoice to think, are
often praying for me and interested about me. I have, of course,
much more time and leisure to intercede for you than you for
me--and you may be assured I do not fail to employ my superior
opportunities in your behalf. Especially is it my prayer that
the mind of my dear cousin, formed as it is by nature and by
grace for higher occupations, may not be rendered uneasy by the
employments and cares of this.
Hearing nothing accurately of the India fleet after its departure from
Mount's Bay, Lydia Grenfell thus betrayed to herself and laid before
God her loving anxiety:
_1805, September 24._--Have I not reason ever, and in all
things, to trust and bless God? O my soul, why dost thou yield
to despondency? why art thou disquieted? O my soul, put thy
trust in God, assured that thou shalt yet praise Him, who is the
help of thy countenance and thy God in Christ Jesus. My mind is
under considerable anxiety, arising from the uncertainty of my
dear friend's situation, and an apprehension of his being ill.
Oh, how soon is my soul filled with confusion! yet I find repose
for it in the love of Jesus--oh, let me then raise my eyes to
Him, and may His love be shed abroad in my heart; make me in all
things resigned to Thy will, to trust and hope and rejoice in
Thee.
_November 1._--My dear absent friend has too much occupied my
thoughts and affections, and broken my peace--but Jesus reigns
in providence and grace, and He does all things well. Yes, in my
best moments I can rejoice in believing this, but too often I
yield to unbelieving fears and discouragements. The thought that
we shall meet no more sinks at times my spirits, yet I would say
and feel submissive--Thy will be done. Choose for my motto, on
entering my thirty-first year, this Scripture: 'Our days on the
earth are as a shadow, and there is none abiding.'
_November 4._--I think of my friend, but blessed be God for not
suffering my regard to lead me from Himself.
_November 16._--I have been employed to-day in a painful manner,
writing[15] (perhaps for the last time) to too dear a friend. I
have to bless God for keeping me composed whilst doing so, and
for peace of mind since, arising from a conviction that I have
done right; and oh, that I may now be enabled to turn my thought
from all below to that better world where my soul hopes
eternally to dwell. Blessed Lord Jesus, be my strength and
shield. Oh, let not the enemy harass me, nor draw my affections
from Thee.
_November 17._--Felt great depression of spirits to-day, from
the improbability of ever seeing H.M. return. I feel it
necessary to fly to God, praying for submission to His will, and
to rest assured of the wisdom and love of this painful event. O
my soul, rise from these cares, look beyond the boundary of
time. Oh, cheering prospect, in that blest world where my
Redeemer lives I shall regain every friend I love--with
Christian love again. Be resigned then, my soul, Jesus is thine,
and He does all things well.
FOOTNOTES:
[10] Deposited by Henry Martyn Jeffery, Esq., in the Truro Museum of
the Royal Institution, where the MS. may be consulted.
[11] Hitherto unpublished. We owe the copy of this significant letter
to the courtesy of H.M. Jeffery, Esq., F.R.S., for whom Canon Moor, of
St. Clement's, near Truro, procured it from the friend to whom Mrs.
T.M. Hitchins had given it.
[12] _Essays in Ecclesiastical Biography._
[13] The _Observations on the State of Society among the Asiatic
Subjects of Great Britain_, written in 1792.
[14] The parallel between Henry Martyn and David Brainerd, so close as
to spiritual experience and missionary service, hereditary consumption
and early death, is even more remarkable in their hopeless but
purifying love. Brainerd was engaged to Jerusha, younger daughter of
the great Jonathan Edwards. 'Dear Jerusha, are you willing to part
with me?' said the dying missionary on October 4, 1747.... 'If I
thought I should not see you and be happy with you in another world, I
could not bear to part with you. But we shall spend a happy eternity
together!' See J.M. Sherwood's edition (1885) of the _Memoirs of Rev.
David Brainerd_, prefaced by Jonathan Edwards, D.D., p. 340.
[15] This letter never reached its destination, but was captured in
the Bell Packet.